The calendar told the tale — the winter solstice, the first day of winter. A cause for celebration. Days would gradually lengthen. A great day for a “walkabout.” Never mind the weather. Some days sunny and cold. Other times snow that melted, froze and turned pathways icy. One day might have snow, cold wind, sun, and rain clouds peppered with hail.

Armed with a camera with a telephoto lens, a heavy coat and winter boots, I headed out on a walkabout which might last until I get past the neighborhood or accompany a couple friends headed to the woods.

I achieved a high level of walkabout skills by the time I was about 7 when, along with two younger brothers, I realized we lived in a rain-soaked environment. If we waited until the weather turned mild, we’d never go exploring. On a miserable wet Saturday morning while still dark, my brothers and I sloshed along in oversized rain gear through pelting rain accompanied by a protective family watchdog.

Through the years, I experienced walkabouts in several locations. On a trip to American Samoa on a VLB (very low budget) travel plan, the plane landed barely ahead of a tropical storm. The VLB room rental owner bragged of his location at the edge of a rainforest that lived up to its name. The storm’s aftermath left downed power lines and a flooded hospital basement.

“No, I won’t take you into town to help slosh out the hospital basement,” said the owner. “And too many downed power lines to hike there yourself.”

After the owner left, I did a quick survey of the land. No power poles from the driveway to a couple blocks away to a local corner grocery store. I enjoyed a safe, pleasant stroll until the “devil dogs” roared out from behind trees and secluded bungalows. The dogs resembled bristly-coated cattle dogs coupled with the temperament of Tasmanian devils. Snarling and barking, the “devil dogs” invited strangers (me) to skedaddle back to their rented room or else …

That walkabout ended in a hustle back to safer territory.

Eventually I did get in a Samoan walkabout. I hung around in the center of a passel of local kids with cabin fever heading to the grocery store to buy candies and sugary drinks.

Back home another year and I loaded up camera gear in the vehicle to head to the woods with a couple of friends for a walkabout. Few flowers in bloom. I spotted a columbine, the shape reminiscent of the blue-and-white columbine, the state flower of Colorado. Local columbine had the typical columbine shape, but the petal-like sepals were red and the stamens yellow. Flashy colors — great hummingbird magnets.

Time for a break. The friends just out of sight around a bend in the road. No handy tree stumps. I pulled out a small stool from the vehicle, positioned it so I could enjoy the view, and sat down. The stool tipped, I fell backwards and conked my head on a rock the size of a river boulder. No blood. No bones scrambled. I did suffer from the leading cause of walkabout trauma, namely embarrassment. Fortunately, my friends were just out of sight.

As long as I was comfortable with my boulder pillow, I turned philosophical. Why are bodies of water named after aggressive critters, two- or four-legged? The creek below known as “Murderers Creek.” Campgrounds and a town named after cougars. I’ve seen Yellow Jacket Lane. Why not Fluffy Kitty Creek? Or Lark Song Lake?