Arboreal kingdom proves prime place to branch out

Nobody likes to contract Lyme disease, or be poked in the eye and slapped on the face by a tree – especially Rab. But such things won’t stop him from swallowing his fears and diving deep into the forest...

I have strayed off the straight and narrow path. Allow me to clarify. The path is neither straight nor particularly narrow. Nevertheless, there’s an unusual grain of truth in my bombshell opening sentence.

For I have indeed strayed – into the woods. Oh, I know I go into the woods all the time. But, usually, I stick to the paths. Sometimes, on such walks, I look into the mirk of the deep and pathless forest – reminiscent indeed of Mirkwood in The Hobbit – and am unclear if it’s socially acceptable to wander therein.

Moreover, I’ve my well-documented – and probably valid – fear of Lyme disease, often contracted in woods where deer are wont to wander. But I believe the disease-bearing bugs are dormant in winter, so I figured it ought to be safe to venture forth.

It was a bit stormy and drizzly as usual, and there were no other walkers. I didn’t anticipate meeting any either, which was important, as one might have been thought peculiar if seen coming off the path and entering the woods.

So, after a look left and right, I dived in among the serried ranks of trees. Suddenly, the atmosphere felt different, deeply brooding and heavily ancient. I was on the territory of other entities, in their world.

It’s easy to believe that trees dislike us. They bar your way, poke you in the eye and slap you in the face. Who can blame them? They’re probably thinking: “It’s one of those pesky humans with their destructive ways. Let’s make life difficult for him.”

It was also darker in there, a canopied world where the forest floor saw only fractured light, and you could almost touch the silence, so deeply did it permeate the atmosphere. Once more, I thought of Mirkwood, which had a personality of its own, and a malevolent one.

It contained beasties of similar ilk, most noticeably giant spiders, who – you will recall – tried to eat the hobbit and the dwarves.

But I saw nothing at all. As I’ve said before, there’s hardly any wildlife left anywhere now. You can walk miles in the wild and never see a thing, day after day.

As for the wood itself, after a couple of slaps and a poke, I got good vibes from it. They’d decided: “He’s all right. No saws or axes. Treading carefully. Not breaking anything. Looks daft in that hat, right enough.”

I staggered hither and yon, it being impossible to keep in a straight line, and I made mental markers of things such as fallen branches or a trickling burn to help me find my way back. It being a bit breezy, I was aware of the possibility of a branch or even a whole tree falling on ma heid.

But no such mischance occurred, and I continued until I came to a dead end, and then I turned back. At the straight (not very) and narrow (not particularly) path, I looked right and I looked left and, seeing no other humans, resumed my walk as if I were any other common or garden rambler sticking to the approved way. But I was not. I was now Rab of the Woods, an adventurer from the arboreal kingdom, a man of the trees who liked to branch out now and again.

Taking the path less trodden, or not trodden at all, Rab found a canopied world where the forest floor sees only fractured light. Picture: Shutterstock.