Category: outdoors

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outdoors

Making our mark

Today was going to be the last sunny day until midweek, and it would have been a shame to waste it inside. I remembered a hike I had intended to take once in the summer, Bluff View at Meramec State park, but didn’t because of the spider webs across the path. Today seemed an ideal day to try it again.

And it was an ideal day–in the 50’s, with a gentle cool breeze, and not a web in sight. Like the earlier hike, Bluff View is also a moderately difficult hike, with very rocky ground and steep hills, and narrow paths that border a cliff overlooking the Meramec River. Unlike earlier, though, the terrain was more familiar. And dry. In fact, other than having to use caution with footing, today’s hike ended up being more of a enjoyable walk than a challenging hike.

There are a couple of shelters made by the old CCC (Conservation Corp) back during the depression, along the way. Kids had spray painted messages over the one I visited. In particular, “Leslie + Jeff” featured prominantly, along with various exclamation of people ‘rulz’ and ‘Jesus Savs’.

I usually get annoyed by graffiti, but wasn’t very annoyed at the marking, primarily because the shelter itself is a marking as such: a shelter that really wasn’t needed, funded by a society that was both crafy and benevolent; built by men desperate to feed their families during one of our darkest times. The trail that led to the decision to create such a shelter is one that grew over time, rather than developed naturally–the markings of thousands of hikers like me who saw the hill and had to climb it, just to see what was at the top. And it was these same hills that provided home to ancient Indian people, who used to carve pictures of animals and gods into the rocks to celebrate a hunt or protect a new child. At the most, Leslie and Jeff were just leaving this generation’s scent on stone long claimed by humanity.

The rest of the trail was without much to remark, other than the casual mention of the quiet only broken by my footsteps and the beautiful weather and how wonderful it is to stand at the top of a tall bluff and see for miles around. But Missouri in Winter tends to exist in shades of rust and brown and gray, with an occasional slash of blue or green — I’m not sure I can continue to remark on this tree or that rock without resorting to, ‘There was a tree’ and ‘there was a rock’; or variations such as ‘there is a tree on the rock’.

The best part of the hike was getting back to the car and feeling like I hadn’t walked enough. Say now, this is progress! Especially after my dismal showing in the earlier hike. So I treated myself to a gentle walk along the road that parallels the Meramec by the campgrounds.

There were a few hearty souls out camping, friendly as always when in the back woods–nodding their heads and saying hello, or stopping to chat. Yes the same inbred ignoramuses who threw aside the chance to toss Bush out will smile at you, and tip a finger to their hats in greeting as you pass. Those savages.

I noticed a group of large, predator like birds flying in circles overhead and a man and his wife passing told me they were turkey vultures. I was surprised, because I know what an ugly bird this can be, but they were beautiful and graceful in the air as they circled. I continued walking, trying to take a photo of the birds, but without a telephoto, this would be impossible. As they flew, they overlapped each other and dove and circled, but never made a sound, quiet as death itself.

(I shamefully confess to feeling no small amount of relief when the birds suddenly found something to land on across the river because it did seem as if they were uncannily matching my steps for the longest time. I know these creatures sense of smell is keen; were they trying to tell me I needed a shower after my hike?)

I stopped at the end of the walk to take some photos of the cliff across the water as the colors seemed pretty. When I got home, I looked at one of the photos and thought I saw spots of red in the picture. Alarmed, I grabbed my camera to see if something was wrong with it, but it was fine–the red was in the pictures. I enlarged the photo and cropped down to the trees with the red.

Then I enlarged the photo again and cropped out just one of the red dots. Looking at it under magnification, it looks like a Christmas tree ball.

Categories
outdoors

The well-equipped hiker

In the last post, fellow hiking enthusiasts Loren, Doug (who found some snow today), and Joe all recommended poles for hiking; either ski poles or ones designed for trekking. Allan Moult of Leatherwood also suggested last winter that I get trekking poles, especially with the types of hikes I prefer.

I’ve had a walking stick that I’ve used for years now, shown below in the photo* from today’s hike. It’s about five feet long, made of a tree root that has been smoothed and varnished, given a rubber tip, and rounded at the top. It’s been through the muck but still looks good, and other than some oldster joking from time to time about finding …any ole branch in the forest, it’s done well by me.

I wonder, though, if I should look at investing in trekking poles. I see these used by more and more people, and they do look useful. They can fold up and be slipped into a pack, but are strong enough to take my weight when I’m headed downhill. And as noted in this page, trekking poles put equal pressure on both sides of the body.

Still, my old stick has a lot going for it. It’s the right height and firmness to provide support going uphill, and to be leaned on if making a long step between rocks going downhill; it thumps nicely on the ground, which scares away snakes, and can be used to brush spider webs out of my path. I can rest my chin on it when looking out over a vista, and can push brush out of the way when walking through grasslands. It’s unlikely I’d be attacked by wild animals, but it’s not uncommon to meet up with strange dogs in some areas, and the stick is intimidating to dogs.

And when I’ve climbed that steep, rocky hill and no one else is around, I can play Ninja Warrior.

*Just be glad I didn’t include a photo of my muddy, old, hiking boots, too.

Categories
outdoors Photography Places

There is this little primeval monkey in the back of my mind that beats its tiny hands against my skull

Wednesday I headed south to try out a new hike in the Ozarks. I plan on concentrating on Ozark hikes this winter, ranging out a bit from my usual St. Louis area favorites. I’ve done the Mississippi and Meramec, time for new waters.

Pickle Creek is a little known conservation area that’s a pleasant 70 mile drive from St. Louis. The guide book calls it was one of the best hiking trails in the state to demonstrate many aspects of Ozarks landscape, including the limestone carvings and the dark, moist canyons. The book also said the loop would be about 2 miles, which seemed like a good length for a sunny afternoon.

Once I got there, I also found it had been raining, hard, for about a week and the ground was soft, and wet, and piled high with slippery leaves. Worse, though the trail is only about 2 miles, it has some very steep portions, narrow at times, and bordering on cliffs and filled with rocks and uncertain footing.

However, it is also one of the richest hikes I’ve been on in the last couple of years, featuring limestone, rare ferns in deep woods, waterfalls, and Missouri’s only native pine.

The dead of winter is now on us, and there wasn’t another living creature around, other than a few hearty spiders. Walking in Missouri forests in the winter is such a change from summer, when the life can bear down on you from all sides. As much as I enjoy the Missouri green, I like walking in the winter, when the leaves are dropped and you can see the hills. And there’s fewer people about.

Wednesday, though, the complete lack of any sound except for creek, waterfall, and the crackle of dead leaves underfoot was unnerving. That combined with the dark, shallow caves carved into the limestone all around made me feel oddly uncomfortable.

I think the effect was heightened by the trouble I was having with the footing. The path is so narrow that the sign at the trailhead points people in the direction to take, forming a one-way flow of traffic. But the drawing at the trailhead promised so much if I continued – carved limestone, waterfalls, bridges and outlooks. And then there was The Slot.

The Slot was a crack within the ground, bounded by limestone carved by a trickle of water that runs through it. You walk through this crack, the walls blocking the view from either side. The way going is narrow and covered in lichen; dark and wet, with very muddy footing from the rains.

I’ve walked through cracks in cliffs before, but never a crack in the ground; not with dark and hidden pockets just out of view, against a background of damp, dripping cold. I started to pass through but stopped, just after entering, and couldn’t continue. There is this little primeval monkey in the back of my mind that beats its tiny hands against my skull, screaming out in terror when faced with the unknown. Though I can usually calm the monkey without much trouble–throwing millennia of evolution at it until its cries are smothered by reason–sometimes the monkey wins.

Of course, I tell myself that it was only common sense that ruled my decision. After all, there was that mud, there was the slippery footing, and there was the lateness of the day; not to mention not having told my roommate where I was hiking, in case I did become injured. But I can give all the excuses in the world – it was still the monkey.

To heck with the rules that say to walk one way. The other way didn’t have any dark and gloomy cracks, but it did have limestone cliffs along a creek, carved out from time and standing like sentries overhead. They were magnificent.

At one end of the canyon at the bottom of the trail is a creek, and a small waterfall. It was exquisite, made more so by being so delicate and light. No rushing water here, just the gentle drop of water from the top of the cliff to the ground below.

There was a hollowed out area around the bottom, and light grey sand at the bottom. Lining the walls were ferns that filled all the crannies in the rock. From an online guide, I found that wild azaleas and other flowers join the ferns in the Spring and Summer. It must seem like a land out of time when in full growth.

I walked until I reached what was known as the Boulder, and followed what I thought was the path, but reached some steep rocks that I definitely knew I wasn’t up for Wednesday. I was disappointed, though – I’d only managed a little over a mile of the trail, about two miles round trip. The footing wasn’t that bad; this was a level 4 hike, not a 5.

Perhaps the monkey is winning more than I realize–another aspect of getting older I have to come to terms with, like bad knees and a soft butt. Maybe next week, I’ll bring bananas with me. I’ve heard that potassium in bananas is good for the nerves.

Categories
outdoors Photography

From the hike

Two photos from the hike today. I have others and a hiking story, but I don’t have the writing itch tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

It was a tough hike, but beautiful. Limestone carvings and cliffs and ferns and lots and lots of boulders to climb over. Supposedly there are orchids around this area in the summer.

 

Categories
Critters outdoors

Wanderings

The weather has been very dismal lately, but it broke a couple of times, enough to get out for some short walks. Thanksgiving day was one such day, and it was the type of weather I enjoy for walks: cool but not cold, snow on the ground, but not the walks. And not many people out, which suits me, as I haven’t been in the mood for lots of chattering about.

I followed the path into the forested area, enjoying the sun breaking through the clouds. As I walked I could hear crashes all around me as snow came falling out of the taller trees, heated by the new sun. When a fairly solid chunk hit in front of me, I quickly put my camera into its waterproof carrier bag, understanding now why I had the treed area to myself. Other than that, I wasn’t worried about getting hit by the snow–it was too light to do more than send cold trickles of water down my back.

I still managed to grab a few shots, including this one I rather like. More, I also tried out the new Photo Stitch software that comes with the Canon printer to create a semi-panoramic picture, which you can access here. It’s not a true panoramic, because I didn’t have the camera on a tripod to maintain the same height for all pictures, so the software had to do a lot of extrapolation; this results in some blur, but not enough to obscure the scene and show why it’s one of my favorite contemplative retreats. It’s more popular in the summer, but I like the winter view; quiet and gentle and somewhat timeless.

Later that day, I walked through the Botanical Gardens, checking out the Conservatory and the Climatron. Of course, the Climatron, with its warm, moist atmosphere, probably will be out for wanderings the rest of the winter — not unless I get my eyes operated on so I don’t need glasses. The Conservatory was pleasant, but most of the winter flowers are still in bud and won’t be out until about the time of the orchid show.

At the main center the Gardens had created a Christmas room filled with model trains. There were antique trains, and modern ones; a San Franciso trolly car, and even a steamboat. I grabbed a closeup of one of the scenes, and then a larger photo showing the detail in the room. The larger photo is a big file, so you might want to pass on it unless you like model trains.

Yesterday morning I went on a walk at Powder Valley to exercise my ankle, which had been getting stiff from the hikes on uneven ground. I saw one of the bucks, which are a rare sight, and this young man was a beauty — a thin rack, but with several smallish points.

I had passed a father with two little girls earlier and decided to walk back and mention about the buck, to tell the young ladies if they approach quietly, they might be able to see him. After a few feet, I hear this blood curdling scream, and there was one of the girls running through the forest chasing the deer. Another was hanging on one of the trees, pulling at the vines, tromping all over the growth at the side of the “please stay on the walk” conservation area.

I continued approaching the man, smiling and he smiled back. I then proceeded to tell him that this part of Powder has a thick covering of poison ivy in most spots, and even though you can’t see the leaves, the branches of the plant are still coated with the substance that can cause serious allergic reaction. The two young ladies stopped and looked at me, as the man thanked me for telling him this and then turned to his daughters and said, “Did you hear that? You want to be careful.”

(I am visualizing a scene ten years from now when both girls leave for the evening, both stoned out of their minds, ready for as much unprotected sex with strange men as they can get, and the man points to an ad on TV warning against drugs. Did you hear that? You want to be careful.)

Today, though, was not a good day for a walk, being wet in the extreme. When I returned home from errands, I noticed, though, an odd fluff falling down from the tree above. Looking up I saw a sharp legged hawk directly above me, pulling feathers off a finch that it was eating. It would pull a feather and then spit it out into the wind; another feather, another spit, creating a trail of feathers dancing in the breeze.

I ran inside and grabbed my D70 but the battery was dead and I had forgotten to charge both it and the spare. I then grabbed my trusty old 995 and managed to grab one photo before the bird grasped what was left of its prey and flew off. It’s over-exposed, but you can at least see the bird.

He’s a beauty, isn’t he? But how will it work for cat Friday?