Chacala Trail
Virtual Guide to Paynes Prairie
Part Two: The Chacala Trail
You drive on a winding road, shadows leapfrogging in your way, now through a dense stand of forest, now curving around a corner of waving grass.
The only traffic noise is the grunt of gators negotiating unseen waters far off. The only signals, the flash of white flags of the bounding deer. The only pedestrian, an anxious turtle.
On a drive like this, why breathe the stale metallic offerings of the air conditioner? Roll down your windows, and depending on where the road meanders through, rich pine or sweet maple scents accent the air, energizing and cool.
Welcome to the main park of the Paynes Prairie Preserve.
There are many places to explore, and the Visitor Center’s the place to leaf through nature books, enjoy wildlife photographs, peer at stuffed specimens and plan out your adventure.
The observation tower, only a few steps beyond the center, gives you a tempting taste of what could be seen much closer on the trails. You can feel the tower sway ever so slightly under your weight as you climb. The top of the tower is level with the tree line, offering a bird’s eye view of the prairie; and without great mountains spiking the landscape, the sky seems to hover so low, so close, as if you reach up, you can grasp the blue fabric and pluck the cotton clouds sewn on.
To take in everything in sight, you have to swivel your head all around like an owl. Bison roam in the distance, and occasionally wild horses kick their hooves. A sudden hoot perhaps sounds besides you. A real owl is in a nearby tree, obviously enjoying the vantage point view as well.
Within walking distance from the tower is the trailhead for the Jackson’s Gap Trail, which also leads onto the Chacala Trail on its southern end. Jackson’s Gap Trail is a scenic, green tunnel formed by trees bending overhead; a whimsical framework of an ancient, teetering house can be seen along one side, and you can gaze through the gaps of paneling to see the prairie waving on the other side. As for the Chacala Trail, parts of it are carpeted with a short, bouncy grass that are a treat to walk upon—and pleasing to the eye, too, for the grass is fine like moss, and a newly yellow-green, shining in the distance among darker green of pines, more alluring than any yellow brick road.
The further on you go, to where fewer people venture, the more active the prairie becomes to promote your physical well-being. Branches reach out to style your hair. A metallic beetle strives to be your earring. And twigs spanning the path stretch spiderweb facials for you to walk into.
But the branches that try to comb your hair also snag a smile on your face. The wilderness can be forgiven for being what it is.
There are some special moments on this trail combination. For me, I remember seeing myself reflected in the liquid eyes of a fawn. I was at the fork of two paths, unable to decide which path to choose, much like in Frost’s poem; except the fawn stood wobbly-legged on one. I looked over its shoulder as far as I could, but I saw no doe. Something about it being so frail and new, without fear and with a lot of curiosity made me pause. Perhaps, I thought, I should take the trail less fawn-trodden by. Yet at that moment, the fawn ambled over to the side, to chew on the leaves growing deeper in the woods. As I followed its movement with my eyes, I saw it look back at me. Meaningfully.
I took the trail that it had guarded, curious.
It leads to higher land, through a forest of pines grown close together. The light that streamed through the trees and onto the path was sliced into thin, parallel lines. All tall, all slim, all straight, those trees. All except one. Its branches were unleashed in all directions, exuberant, crooked and curled, defying conformity. Ah, a rebel tree.
Was that what the fawn wanted me to see?
I sat on a log and studied the scene. I suddenly remembered something I’d heard: If a tree falls in a forest and nobody is there to hear it, is there a sound?
Those words always made me think of desolate, desperate silence. How lonely it is, that a sound has to be verified by a bystander to exist.
But I was thinking: If a tree decides to roar in rebellion but has no voice, is there a sound?
I do not know how the pine tree became this way. Perhaps it was struck by lightning, but I like to think that it was trying to roar, and I have heard it in my mind.