In the woods, there is a freedom. A mystic release from the struggles of daily survival. In the woods, I can forget about conference calls and receivables, crowded airports and slow moving traffic. In the woods, I am home.

There is no place I would rather be than out in nature. Exploring her, capturing her in image, writing about her in prose and poem is what my heart tells me I belong doing.

But, like the parent that puts work in front of being there for their children's journey to adulthood, I put too much in front of my passion for nature. They say that happiness is found when you find your hearts home. My home is in the outdoors, camera in hand, girl and dog alongside, exploring her nuances and mysteries.

This is a story a recent visit to the woods. It is longer than most. I pray you indulge me.

We arrived at Hacklebarney Park late in the afternoon. I had only been twice before, just before this years Spring took root, to look for a Kentucky Warbler. Then the parking lots were empty, the trails quiet. Not today. As we pulled into the parking lot, we were surprised that most of the spots were taken. As we got out of the car, the noise of people was everywhere. Stryder was happy, there were smells everywhere. I was not. This was not what we expected. Unpacking my gear, I shared with Cindy my fear that the park would be overrun. I was unsure that we would find any places to photograph. We made our way to the trailhead.

Trout River, a small Lamington River tributary weaved its way over a rocky bed 40 yards below us. The trailhead began on its uphill side, next to an unmanned Park station. Families surrounded us. Children in bathing suits darted to and from the water as adults paused their picnic feasts to laconically admonished them to be careful.

Stopping to gather my bearings, I looked ahead with disappointment. In front of me, fading into the forest as far as the eye could see, was a macadam trail. I realized that in the effort to make the park accessible it had been stamped with the ugly footprint of modern man. Mother Earth was buried somewhere beneath. It was sad. I had hoped that we might find a natural trail to wander down.

My camera, with its 600mm lens attached, was bolted firmly on my tripod. In my backpack I carried two other lenses, all told covering 16mm through 600. Joining this were filters and a flash in case fill light was needed. I had come ready to shoot nature, to capture her beauty as a trophy to look upon during days trapped in business meetings. This was not what I had hoped for. I was unsure I would find any unsullied nature to photograph. I slung my tripod over my shoulder, turned to look at Cindy and Stryder, and shrugged as if to say, "We are here. We have hope. Lets see what we see". We headed downstream.

Within five minutes, I came upon a Father and Son carrying tripods. They had the type of accomplished smiles on their faces that only those who has achieved a goal can find. Kindred spirits, we stopped and spoke about photography for a while. They told me that there was a waterfall up ahead. They asked some questions. With an opportunity to pay back the generous knowledge and time other photographers gifted to me, I answered. We spoke about filters and shutter speeds for a while and went on our way.

We found the waterfall soon after. It was small, about 12 feet, but had a strong flow. Being so close to the trailhead it was also crowded. I waited my turn and took a couple of shots. I immediately felt better. Waterfalls, no matter how small, always bring happiness.

Making our way along the rocks we crossed the river. Avoiding the people along the route, we saw a new trail and headed towards it. Once again the trail was covered in asphalt, but it directed up and away. Where? We didn't know. That was a good start.

As we climbed higher, the river faded further away, the crowds thinned, and the silence grew. We could still hear the laughter of children dancing in the rapids, but grew fainter with every step. The canopy thickened, and the light faded. The hot, muggy discomfort of July gave way to a cool breeze and the smell of decomposing ground. It was the forests perfume, one of the most intoxicating scents on the planet. About a mile in we found what we were looking for. A natural trail, unmarked but well travelled, headed into the forest. It was our cue to take a new path.

We could see the Trout River to our right for a while, and then it was gone. The next time we saw the water it was traveling in a different direction. We had finally glimpsed the Lamington. That was our new destination.

Eventually, our trail led back to the main trail. Lucky for us, the trails macadam narrowed and faded to a dirt path that ultimately led to the river. There were still many families around, but it was different. This area did not have progress etched into it. This was a wilder, more free place. Watching the children swim and fight the rivers current was liberating. It brought back pleasant memories of my childhood in the Laurentians, where a mountain stream was our version of a water park.
Cynthia smiled. Stryder bounded along the water smelling and dipping in. For a while he was no longer 13. I could see my puppy shine through his coat.

The forest cover was thinner over the river. The light that made it through shaded all with a yellow tint. The leaves took on a faint golden glow. As I stood on her bank and listened to the water splash downstream I saw this picture in my mind. I realized could not capture the sense of the river from the shore. I needed to wade in.

Setting up my tripod in the middle of the stream I bracketed a series of shots. I knew that this would not be an HDR print, but I needed the different exposures to capture all the nuances of color properly. I could put them together when I got home.

As I stood in the water, as it rushed through my legs, massaging my calves as it flowed by, the rest of the world went away. I was home. I had my girl. I had my dog. I was complete. It is only in the wilderness that I ever get this feeling.

I hope you enjoy.