The woods are silent, snowy, and icy now, which makes us look down a lot for our own protection and to be amazed at the number of tracks made by our unseen smaller fellow-travelers. As we crunch along looking down, we often don’t see Raccoons and other members of the night-working shift rouse themselves from sleep to see what our damn racket is all about. So, we usually stop every hundred yards or so, slowly turn and look around and up. Every now and then, we have a gasp-inducing moment when we peer into the angry eyes of the little owner of the territory on which we’re trespassing.

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(Brooklin, Maine)