It was spring time and it was time for fiddlehead ferns to appear. These are a common forage food there in Alaska and really are quite tasty. It was weekend and we decided to take a drive and see if we could locate some. Having stopped at several places, we had no luck at all. Then there was a small dirt road, almost a lane that we saw running off to the left of the road and disappearing into the trees. We sat there, motor running and discussed following it. We elected to go and have a look, so I drove into the darkness of that path. It was a sort of muddy earth trail where the tires would roll and vegetation grew up in between the tire tracks. It wasn't long until I could not go any further. There was no place to turn around, so we got out and got ready to head off to the side because we could see through the trees that there was a clearing on the other side. We looked for the sack and locked up the truck, whispering for some reason when we had something to say. We walked across towardstrees and turned our torsos as we slipped through them as if they were narrow turnstyles. We entered the open area and walked towards more trees, which were more densly growing than the first set...as we approached we could already hear the muffled roar of a waterfall. We walked further until the ground became soppy with each step. The ground was covered with a blanket of tiny, pink "shooting stars", or Dodecatheon. Nearer the treeline, their little heads wibbled in the wind coming from out of the trees and the sound was much louder now. We entered the thickish undergrowth and the sunlight began to fade, filtered by the thick leaf growth of the bushes and saplings. We walked towards the ever louder roar of the great power of the falling water. It was tight in that thicket and due to the soupy fog-like mist from the waterfall, it was dark and unclear. Suddenly we broke into an opening where we could see this long, thin-ish stream of water pouring out of a clove in the rock way above us. It hit the rocks below, making a deafening sound...continuously--so loud the sound filled one's head and chest with a deep drone. We just stood, speechless...looking at the beauty of this strange and almost magical setting. Looking around us I noticed that it was impossible to see much further than a few feet due to the thick mist caused by the roaring waterfall. As we stood there in silence the mist began to form and bead on our faces and clothing. We looked down and our feet were surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands of fiddlehead ferns poking up like coiled aliens from the lushly green floor, their stems covered in tiny droplets of misted water. An uneasy feeling was in the air... My partner tugged at my elbow and spoke soundless words to me. I took out the sack and motioned for us to begin harvesting. We hurriedly clipped the fronds off, stuffing their firm, wet bodies into the plastic sack. We frequently looked up at eachother as if not to loose contact. There was an odd feeling that there was something there with us in the mist, just out of sight. When we had enough for a meal, we stopped and looked at each other...turned to the waterfall and pool again and just stared, enchanted...transfixed. It all felt really odd there, almost like we were robbing an ancient tomb of some lost religious entity from thousands of years ago. I became aware of how totally cold I felt. Not a normal coldness, but rather a deep, penetrating coldness that went right into my chest and the marrow of my bones. The wind off the cold waterfall blew vapourous water onto us, soaking our clothing and covering our faces with droplets that streamed down like cold perspiration. It almost seemed to be falling harder, more ferociously. One thing was certain--it was decidedly darker than when we entered. Very dark, in fact. We looked at each other with blinking eyes stretched wide to see better... and began to slowly back away from this surreal scene... backing back into the densest part of the thicket. It was odd, but we backed away from the waterfall rather than turning our backs to it as we tried to leave. We contorted and wormed our way in what we thought was the direction back. It all looked the same in that thick mist. The branches of the trees seemed to thwart our every wish to go in a calculated direction so that we made tens of detours. The cold air kept blowing onto us even through the foilage and stems of the bushes and trees, like the cold breath of some protective monster close on our heels. My hands were waxy-white and wrinkled like a drowned corpse that had been dumped in a bog and the bag of fiddleheads seemed disproportionately heavy. At last we saw the glade of dodecatheons and emerged from the treeline to slog our way back to the truck. We got in, turned up the heater and drove home in silence. I don't recall us speaking a word until we were finally inside our little cabin again. It was some time until I could hear without having the sensation that I had earmuffs on. The fiddleheads were very tasty, sauteed in butter and garlic--- Even now as I tell this tale, I can recall...almost feel the penetrating coldness and pull of that place. The ferns were in abundance there, but we never went back again...not even to look for the jade ring that had fallen off my wet and shrivvled hand while taking the fiddleheads from that forbidden and enchanted place.
Well, it was a most unusual experience...one that is difficult to put down in words, because is was an experience that was of the senses I guess. An experience that involved "feelings" rather than hard factual events. The feeling was odd, but the fernheads were delicious.
