Beauty Abounds at Devil's Lake

Snow has finally come to Wisconsin, putting cars in the ditch and bringing shovels and snow blowers out of their summer hibernation.  The Packers beat the Lions with snow falling at Lambeau; winter was here (at least for a few days).  The wet snow stuck to anything cold enough to hold it.  Trees, shrubs, lawns, cars and houses all came under the white spell.  Snow can bring charm to a city, but does its best work in the country where wind-blown drifts can consume fences and roads, and forests await, eager for the insulating cover of snow. 

I pulled into my temporary abode at Devil’s Lake after the Packer game and, although it was dark, the ghost-like trees drew me in.  Every branch and twig held onto the snow creating a luminance that brightened the forest.  I couldn’t wait to see my surroundings in daylight (I actually set the alarm to wake up early – oh the rough life of a bum).

Morning came and I packed my bag, inserted the fully charged battery into the camera and set off at half-past 7 (this is early for me).  There was only a couple inches of snow, but everything was white, even the sky, as the clouds blended into the trees.  I walked cross-country towards the West Bluff Trail, in awe of what I was walking through.  The first vista presented itself and I stared out across the steel gray landscape, the dark waters of the lake contrasting the snow.  Sigurd Olson said the first snowfall “is the drawing of the curtain on so many of the warm-weather activities that consume so much time.  The snow means a return to a world of order, peace, and simplicity.  Those first drifting flakes are a benediction and the day on which they come is different from any other in the year.”

Onward I went, trying to find the best vantage point.  A window with a long view would open and I felt like I was back up in the Boundary Waters, gazing over an unbroken, undisturbed wilderness.  The sound of a solitary plow, sadly, reminded me where I was. 

Off-trail I went in search of Cleopatra’s Needle, a spire of rock rising above the trees trying to hide it.  My coworker was a rock climbing nerd and kept talking about taking me up Cleo’s Needle, but I didn’t know exactly where it was and I wanted to find it (she failed at her quest to take me rock climbing).  The going was slow with the snow hiding the rocks and sticks of the forest floor, but I soon sniffed out the Needle.  I moved around to find different angles for pictures when I discovered the West Bluff Trail and sat scratching my head on how I hadn’t seen it before (I can be an idiot sometimes). 

Rock climbing nerd coworker with her opera glasses

Cleopatra's Needle

Walking around the south shore, the sun decided to peak out, casting a brilliance on the snow-covered oaks, maples and white pines.  I believe this was the definition of resplendent.  I came across a few footprints as people had stopped their cars to get out and get a closer look at the early winter majesty. (Here's the link to the rest of my pictures)

Up the Balanced Rock Trail I went, the sun shining stronger and causing the snow to glisten as it warmed with the sun’s rays.  The sky above was a blue only Mother Nature can create.  She was at her scenic best today.  Atop the East Bluff, a yellow blaze of the Ice Age National Scenic Trail stood out like a beacon, beckoning me along.  I had been on the Ice Age Trail since I joined the West Bluff Trail at the start of my hike, but the sunlight picked out this one blaze to shine exceptionally strong. 

I continued on to the Devil’s Doorway, a name that seemed wholly out of place on a day like today.  It looked more like an Angel’s Archway to Heaven than an entrance to Hell (If this was what Hell looks like, I wouldn’t mind spending eternity here).  Down from the Doorway, the glacial moraine stretched over to the South Bluff, heaving up like a white bosom from the flat valley floor.  Beauty abounded with the first snow. 

Terminal moraine in its winter best

Devil's Doorway

Turning back, I traced the East Bluff Trail towards the north shore while trees closed in along the path.  Snow clung to the branches and leaves, refusing to fall off until a gentle nudge from the breeze helped complete the snowflakes descent to the ground.  I stepped out onto one of the last vista’s heading north; Devil’s Lake was cloaked in a beauty that only early winter can provide.  Civilization felt so far away and then I turned around to see a trail paved with blacktop.  Ugh.  

Finding Walden

I talk a big game when it comes to my disdain for the trappings of the modern world – cell phones, Facebook or even the Internet in general, but I’m addicted to it just like everyone else.  I’m always texting or looking for a response and if you give me a computer with internet, I’ll waste hours and hours trolling the depths of cyberspace, believing that I’m actually learning something.  After one of these episodes, I’ll feel ashamed at my lack of productivity with all the reading or writing (not arithmetic) I could’ve accomplished.

I’ll go to my shack with the hopes of “getting away.”  There’s no TV (or electricity), a radio that sometimes works and cell reception that is scant at best.  So it shouldn’t be hard to live like I was in the Dark Ages right?  Well maybe I’ll turn my phone on and set it outside where the reception is slightly better and see if anyone’s trying to get ahold of me.  I wonder how the football game ended up last night so I’ll try the radio for a bit.  These are all distractions, needlessly taking up space in my head.

After a worthless day with nothing to show for it, I’ll start forcing myself to restrain from turning on the cell phone or radio and my mind will start clearing up.  I’ll get into a good rhythm of just living.  I’ll read, grill, go for a walk and write the day away.  At days end I can finally look back and feel good about it.  Today was not a lost cause; today was a good day.

Those days are, sadly, rare.  I let distractions overrun my life, never letting me achieve my full potential.  I need to get better at releasing my mind from the wired world, while still living in it.  I make it sound like other people are holding me back from leading a fulfilling life, but that’s not the case, because I’m the culprit.  Thoreau wrote about finding the solitude in your mind.  You needn’t be secluded in the woods to find that inner peace, but anywhere you can take a step back and block out distractions can be your Walden.

As I write this, I’m in the middle of the Chequamegon National Forest on a log overlooking the Chippewa Flowage while texting people trying to find the Badger score.  Looks like I have a long way to go to find Walden.

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Eleven

I woke up in the loft of the Gray Knob cabin in the White Mountains, Mt. Adams more specifically.  The wind howled through the night, bringing rain and sleet.  I wasn’t meeting Matt and his family until later that evening so I had time to spare.  The caretaker and I struck up a conversation again, carrying on from last night.  He got the weather report from Mt. Washington, just a few miles away, of 100 mile an hour winds.  I know Mt. Washington is home of the worst weather on Earth, but it’s another thing when you are in the midst of that weather.  The caretaker said the winds on Mt. Adams were probably only 90 mph and maybe 60 or 70 where we were, so nothing out of the ordinary (The highest recorded wind speed on Earth at a manned station was 231 mph on Mt. Washington in 1934).  I guess this was not the day to summit Mt. Adams, a thought that had crossed my mind.  The caretaker said he took trips to the summit most days when the weather cooperated.  I guess I’ll have to come back another time and give it a shot.

I didn’t start down the mountain until 2:30 that afternoon (I can be so damn putzy with someone to talk to).  I definitely want to go back someday and stay at the Gray Knob cabin again.  The caretaker said it’s actually fairly out of the ordinary to have no hikers staying at the cabin.  He also enjoys when people bring up beer for him to drink!  I’ll make sure to do that next time.

The snowpack had turned to 8 inches of slush, not giving my feet a chance to stay dry.  I found another stick to serve as my hiking companion and headed towards Crag Camp.  Speckles of rain would blow in from time to time, along with passing wisps of clouds, enclosing my path from the rest of the world.  Less than a mile later, the trail opened up to Crag Camp.  The blowing clouds opened up for a few seconds to reveal the view of the valley below.  The guy in Maine was right, this was a perfect spot to watch the sunrise.  I moseyed into the cabin to check out the accommodations; a large open room with a wall of windows looking east filled with benches, tables and a stack of board games and puzzles in the corner, and two smaller rooms crammed with bunk beds.  I’d like to check this out in warmer days.

Crag Camp

The view from Crag Camp looking east

The descent was more difficult than the ascent because everything was more slippery after the rain.  I slipped off a rock while crossing a brook, soaking my foot, but causing no other damage.  It was slow going, but eventually I made it back to my car.  I looked back up the mountain and thought about how awesome of a mini-adventure that was.

I found a yellow blaze! (it's up on the right side)

After taking off my wet shoes and socks and putting dry ones on, I loaded everything into my car and took off towards Wolfeboro and Lake Winnipesaukee.  It was getting dark and I couldn’t see the mountains so I concentrated on the road ahead.  In our conversation about local beer, the caretaker gave directions to the liquor store with the best selection around and I stopped in to take a look myself.  I wanted to get Matt a 6er of good Wisconsin beer if I could find it for all the help he had provided on my journey.  Needless to say, I was underwhelmed by the Wisconsin selection.  There were a few flavors of Leinie’s, but I wasn’t about to pass Berry Weiss and Sunset Wheat off as good beer from Wisconsin (or any state for that matter).  The only other choice I had was two varieties from Hinterland Brewing out of Green Bay.  I liked what I’ve had from them, but these were new ones to me (their Winterland and Maple Bock are quite tasty).  I went with the Luna Coffee Stout and hoped for the best.

An hour later, I arrived at Matt’s house out in the middle of nowhere.  Matt welcomed me in and offered up a beer.  His wife was out running errands and picking up their daughter from school.  He gave me the tour and started getting dinner ready.  A big ol’ pot of Jambalaya was on the menu!  I caught him up my travels since I last saw him a week earlier and he talked about some great music he’d seen in the area.  His wife Jess and daughter Sam showed up later and we sat down to eat.  I’m not sure what Matt’s family thought of me, a bedraggled bum from the woods who was drinking their beer and making himself at home.  We finished dinner and moved onto ice cream.  I didn’t really need the ice cream, but who am I to pass up food?  Sam had homework to do so she excused herself, leaving Matt, Jess and myself to talk away the evening.  I’m always a talker and up to retell my stories and they were willing to listen. 

Matt and Jess had to get up early the next morning, but they were going to let me stay as long as I wanted, even another night perhaps.  The kindness of strangers to open up their house and allow me free reign when they aren’t around to supervise, is humbling.  I love it!  The chance encounters we have can lead to truly wonderful outcomes if you allow yourself to trust a fellow stranger.  I’m not saying trust everyone, there are some bad apples out there, but spending time talking to locals on the road, you get a feeling of who the good people are.  Matt had a beard and was a fan of Cornmeal and that’s enough in my book to trust him.  That trust and belief in the goodness of people led to a far richer road trip for me.  Matt’s good people.  We’re all strangers at some point of our lives; sometimes a few words can turn a stranger into a friend.  I fell asleep with a full belly, glad to have met Matt and his family.  

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Ten

For some reason I woke up Wednesday with a slight hangover.  I guess the Rangeley locals know how to treat a guest.  With my gear dried out and myself clean after a shower (that’s showers in back to back days!), I hit the road to New Hampshire and the White Mountain National Forest.  Matt had directed me to take Hwy 16 because he sees moose on that road often and I wanted to see a moose!  I looked at the map and saw it took me past Mooselookmeguntic Lake, which is now my favorite lake name.  The scenery was beautiful as the evergreens shook off the snow from the previous night.  Sadly, I did not see a moose. 

Entering New Hampshire, I came across the Umbagog National Wildlife Refuge and stopped into the visitor center.  I got a late start that morning, pushing my arrival in the White’s ‘til mid-afternoon, so I thought I’d see if there was any camping in the refuge.  “No,” was the answer so I dallied around the center, learning a little about the area and collecting a few brochures for my archives.  I got back on the road with the compass pointed toward the White Mountains.

Umbagog

Umbagog

The weather report for the evening and following morning called for rain, heavy at times.  Awesome.  As I looked at the maps, trying to discern a good spot to camp, I thought about the motels I had passed a few miles back in Berlin and Gorham.  Boy, it would be easy to take refuge in a motel for the night, staying dry and getting caught up some writing.  Countering the thoughts of the easy way out was the thought of staying in one of the shelters up in the mountains.  This idea was planted in my head by a guy back in Millinocket who said one of his favorite places to stay was Crag Camp in the White’s.  The camp was perched high on the mountainside looking east, granting visitors a spectacular sunrise he said.  I had looked up the shelter and found that it was managed and maintained by the Randolph Mountain Club.  They operated a few other shelters in the area, including Gray Knob, which had a caretaker year round.  So do I stay in a motel or push it up the mountain in the waning afternoon light, not knowing how the trail is or if I can even make it?  Screw it.  Up the mountain it is!

I parked at the Appalachia Trailhead off of US 2 and got my pack in order.  I decided to leave my tent behind so I could move lighter and faster.  This meant I had to make it one of the shelters or somehow make it down in the darkness.  If I ran into trouble and was unable to make it to safety, I’d be screwed.  It was about 3 by the time I started my hike, not sure which shelter I wanted to go to.  With the skies cloudy that left me maybe an hour of solid light with darkness quickly falling after that.  The trail was 3.5 miles to either camp, so it would be a game-time decision on which one to go to.  As I got going, I thought to myself, “this may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”  Did I mention that I didn’t have a map? 

Ahhh, I'm going to call their bluff on this one

I quickly heated up as the trail began its gentle ascent.  The landscape was stunning in the early winter snow cover.  The trail followed a brook that fell over rocks and waterfalls from its origin higher up the mountain.  It was immensely peaceful and serene.  John Muir described a waterfall as “singing Nature’s old love song with solemn enthusiasm,” and the song this waterfall was singing was pure and sweet. 

Onward I pushed as the trail began to ascend quicker. The temp was in the 30’s when I started but I was down to my Mobile Skills Crew Crew Leader shirt before too long.  The higher I went, the more snow and ice I encountered, trying to slow me down.  I didn’t have crampons or even hiking poles to help keep me upright.  I found a good stick to use in the hiking poles stead, but after a few close calls with falling, it broke into a chunk about two feet in length.  Even in its diminutive state the stick came in useful as the trail became steeper and steeper and I was resorting to a partial crawl to make it up the mountain. 

This idiot has no idea what he's doing

A fog rolled in as I climbed in elevation (I guess they call that a cloud), obscuring any view of the valley in the little light that remained.  I had put my knee-high gaiters on earlier to keep the snow and slush out of my shoes and was pleased at how well they were working - my feet were relatively dry!  I came to an intersection where I had to decide which camp to head for.  Crag Camp and the cold solitude it would bring, or Gray Knob and the promise of someone to talk to and a wood stove that was lit for an hour or two a day?  Gray Knob it was.

The trail crossing a small stream

The trail crossed a stream or two, which were treacherous to cross safely in the falling light on ice-covered rocks.  I nearly lost it and took a plunge, but somehow managed to stay upright and dry.  Darkness was closing in around me as I made the final push to the shelter.  The trail was somehow even steeper, probably at a 60 or 70% grade.  The trees became shorter and more rigid and the snow deeper as I moved ever closer to the tree line.  Finally I rounded a corner and saw the most beautiful sight, a small Christmas tree, adorned with a string of lights, gazing out from the window of the Gray Knob shelter.  I made it!

I stumbled in, not knowing what or whom to expect.  A guy about my age with a scruffy beard greeted me.  The caretaker I presume.  He had just lit the fire and I simultaneously tried to stop sweating and dry off while trying to stay warm and not get the chills.  I got talking to the caretaker (I don’t think I ever got his name) and it turned out I’m the only idiot up there that night.  It was in-between seasons and with the weather crappy, not a lot of folks made it up there during the week. 

Gray Knob

I changed into dry clothes and went about making dinner.  After settling in, I was glad I chose Gray Knob over Crag Camp.  Crag Camp had shelter from the wind, but no heat or conversation.  Granted they only lit the stove for an hour or two a day at Gray Knob, never warming the cabin over 50, but it didn’t get below freezing while I was there.  The Gray Knob cabin had been recently rebuilt because the original cabin had began to rot from the humidity, so that’s why they lit the stove everyday, to suck out the moisture. 

My accommodations at Gray Knob

The caretaker and I talked into the night on a wide range of topics, from trail construction standards, to how to deal with human waste in the woods, to local beer, and to Rhode Island basketball with Tyson Wheeler and Lamar Odom.  He switches off with another caretaker each week and when he’s off the mountain, the folks who employ him have a place for him to stay.  He collects the $13 fee that is required at the shelter and goes around to the other two shelters in the area each day to see if anyone is staying there to collect their fees too.  That sounds like an awesome job. 

It was a great evening in the White Mountains.  I had climbed over 3000 feet in 3.5 miles, the most I had ever climbed by far, through snow and ice to a destination I wasn’t sure of, but I made it and enjoyed every minute of it.  It was another memorable day in a trip littered with them.  My trip was slowly coming to a close, but more memories and stories were waiting for me before my return to Wisconsin.