These woods expand outward behind Holyoke Community College and up toward Mount Tom State Reservation.
By PATRICK O'CONNOR
When you think of Holyoke, what do you picture? A line of mills stretching alongside a thick-watered canal? Maybe, the dam holding back the violent push of the Connecticut River?
Or, do you see a black bear lumbering in a patch of woods? Do you see a bobcat tiptoeing on the bank of a city reservoir?
Both animals live in the Paper City and the winter is a perfect time to follow them and others.
On a recent Sunday, I set out to do just that, arriving at the entrance to Ashley’s Reservoir, where a few cars were already parked. I walked across Route 202 and headed a little ways up the hill to a more isolated trail. These woods expand outward behind Holyoke Community College and up toward Mount Tom State Reservation.
The sun shone brightly and the air was unseasonably warm. Although it felt like early spring, the bare trees held little birdsong.
It was going to be a slow walk, as the freak October snowstorm had felled several large trees, which now created precarious tunnels along the trail. On and around the trail, there were scant patches of snow with the imprints of the boots of a passerby and the paws of a domestic dog, but there were no wild animal tracks.
Yet, I know they are here.
Early one morning a few years earlier, a friend was driving over the hill on Route 202 when she saw a bobcat, just sitting on one of the rock ledges.
Also not far from there, my wife Lisa (who at the time was my girlfriend) and her friend Vicki were taking a walk down Reservation Road in Mount Tom State Park when Vicki’s six-month-old husky named Zoe yanked her leash.
She pulled Vicki towards the woods sloping up the mountain. There, my wife saw what she later said looked like big beaver. It moved slowly across the slope, not intimidated by the Zoe’s barks.
After speaking to her father, who is a naturalist, and doing some research online, she discovered what animal she had seen: a fisher cat.
And, just last year, the apple tree in my backyard (which is a couple of miles from Ashley’s Reservoir) had a visitor that spent some time chomping on its fallen fruit. Then, one day, a hunched body appeared and then disappeared behind our above ground pool.
“A bear’s in the backyard!” I yelled to Lisa.
But, she didn’t believe me.
“Wait,” I said, “and watch the other side of the pool.”
We stood looking from behind a sliding glass door and then we saw a head the size of football. Before my wife could lock the door, I excitedly (and recklessly) stepped outside to get a closer look.
But the black bear loped off into my neighbor’s backyard and halted at a hanging birdfeeder. It stood on its hind legs, grabbed the feeder and snapped it down for an afternoon snack.
So, I know these animals roam here and on this Sunday, I had the chance of seeing any one of their tracks.
I walked onwards with this hope, passing some spruce trees along the trail’s edge, which offered color to the gray landscape. Tall pines stretched far above me.
Then, I saw something, a tight brown spiral frozen on the trail. I bent down to get a closer look, poking the scat with a branch. It broke apart and revealed fur matted inside. It was the droppings of a coyote.
Last spring, less than a mile from this spot, a coyote was struck by a car; I was glad to see it wasn’t the only one in the area.
I walked around, hoping to find the canine’s prints, but there just wasn’t enough snow, and I could find nothing.
So, I walked ahead a little farther before deciding to turn back. On the way, a few dark-eyed juncos, or “snowbirds,” cut precisely between a tangle of shrubs, and a hairy woodpecker swung around the trunk of an oak tree, hiding on its far side.
I waited for it to reappear, and when it didn’t, I moved on again.
By the time I made it out of the trail, a few more cars had parked at the entrance to the reservoir. The day was warming and walkers, runners and a few adventurous bicyclists were taking advantage.
Perhaps, when you read this, our New England winter will have returned and snow will have fallen, leaving many tracks to be found and followed.