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Just Shelley outdoors Photography Places

Listening to your inner monkey

The photos in the last post were from a hike I took to Crane Lake on Sunday. I read in this new hiking book I bought, that it was an ‘easy/moderate’ hike, with a north loop of 3 miles around the lake; a southern loop 2 miles in length, with an end at the dam and around yet another shut-ins.

I had hoped to make both loops, it being easy and all, but ended up getting lost on the way. I ended up on a dirt and rock road leading into the interior of the Ozarks, past national forest land and small, old homes tucked into hills and hollows. The homes had signs posted on them–the usual with ‘Keep Out’, and ‘Private Property’. All except one that had a skull painted on a black board with ‘Keep out…or else’.

Finally I found the parking lot for the lake. It was cold Sunday, but a beautiful sunny day, so I was surprised not to see anyone else there. Still, I like having hikes to myself, so made no never mind to me. (That’s a genuine Ozarks expression — I’m adapting.) It was too late, though, for both loops and I’d have to settle for just the north one around the lake.

The hike started out easy, until reached the first hill to climb down. I found the ground covered with inches of dead leaves, and I couldn’t see the footing. I ended up sliding on the gravel and tripping over rocks. The little monkey in the back of my brain was wide awake, and though it wasn’t banging at my head, it was trying to make me aware that all journeys have an option: to go on, or turn back. I thought about turning around, but remembered that the hike was ‘easy’, and I wanted to see the shut-ins.

The rest of the trail worsened, obstacles buried under too many leaves to see, twisting my ankle, and constantly having to catch at the hiking stick to keep from falling. Again I thought about turning around, but figured it might be easier returning on the other side of the lake. Besides, I wanted to see the old dam, take some photos of it.

The trail turned into the forest away from the lake, and connected up with the Maple Creek section of the Ozarks Trail. It flattened, which was good. Unfortunately, while keeping my eyes down to avoid rocks, I also managed to miss the trail markers. Another aspect of hiking in the winter, just after the leaves fall, is that they can obliterate an already hard to see trail.

No worries, though — when you hike around water, you can always find the path again. It’s just that sometimes when you go off the path, the way isn’t always easy going. Still, I headed in towards the water, found the dam, struggled through the trees and branches and grabbed a picture of it from the side, turned around, and noticed a half torn off white diamond on a tree. I’d found the trail again.

Above the dam was the beginning boulders signaling the shut-ins, but I couldn’t see any indication of where the trail led. The sun was going down, a lot faster than I thought it should, and the path was further obscured by the long shadows of the white oaks I was walking through. Long shadows are not a day hiker’s friend.

I didn’t need the monkey to tell me to turn back–my common sense had finally decided to make an appearance. However, while exploring around, I had again lost the trail. In fact, heading back to the car, I lost the trail a third time, and managed to get back to the car just as the sun started to set behind the hills.

I was a wreck, too — absolutely exhausted, badly overheated from the cold weather gear I was wearing, dehydrated because I hadn’t taken enough water, and barely able to walk after twisting about on the rocks. And I all I could think of was how hungry I was, and how I wanted some onion rings. Water, too. But I wanted onion rings. Yes, indeedy — deep fried, corn dipped onion rings, fresh out of the oil. I ended up stopping along the way, and bought some from a fast food place and wolfed them down. I then came home and promptly became sick.

After 24 hours of oranges and bananas and rest, I checked the hiking book again, actually reading the front matter this time, and found that though a hike in the book might be rated ‘easy’ this was the Sierra rating system, which is based on elevation and length of hike — not ground surface. You have to read the hike details to get a better idea of trail conditions. According to the details on Crane Lake, though the elevation change is slight, the trail itself is ‘rugged’ and often times, easy to lose because of the poor markings.

The author also mentioned in the front matter about avoiding hiking in conservation land during November and December, because of deer hunting season. I had totally forgotten that Missouri Conservation lands allow hunting, and sure enough, Sunday was right in the middle of hunting season. However, not Iron County, which was where I was hiking. No hunting was allowed at Crane Lake.

Well, no hunting, except for the feral hogs known to be in the area. Feral hogs. I’ll be damned.

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Photography Places

Pink sapphires and diamonds

Yesterday was sunny and cold and I specifically headed out to a place that suited both conditions: The Castor Shut-Ins at the Amidon Conservation area.

In a book I read, the author mentioned how during cold weather the water around the rocks would freeze into crystalline formations, adding to the beauty of the place. It also mentioned about the road leading in being unpaved, so I know I needed a clear road with no snow.

The road wasn’t bad, mainly a gravel road with some steep hills. I wasn’t surprised to see that I was the only one traveling it, being a weekday and very chilly. When I got to the trail head, I couldn’t hear any water, which I thought odd considering the shut-ins supposedly weren’t far from the trail head. The trail itself was pleasant, a gentle walk through hills full of trees that have lost their leaves.

After about a quarter mile, though, as I turned around a corner, I could glimpse a patch of pink and could hear the water and started to hurry forward, only to step out into a scene that left me breathless.

What makes the Castor shut-ins so unique is that they’re the only pink granite shut-ins, not only in the state but I believe the world. You can imagine what it’s like, then, to walk through rusty reds and pale grays of Missouri winter forest only to come out on a scene of bright pink and rose boulders, crisscrossed with brilliant aqua blue water, spotted with feathery strands of pale green lichen, and white glittery ice — all framed by the rusts of the summer trees, with here and there, a lone evergreen.

“Oh my”, I said to myself, and repeated it over and over again as I dashed about the rocks, overwhelmed into incoherance.

It was like walking in a jewelers window heaped high with pink saphire necklaces, in among white diamond earrings and aquamarine broaches, and turquoise bracelets–with here and there a hint of beaten gold and copper. And I had it all to myself.

Unfortunately, the sun was behind the hill, casting dark shadows across the stream and the rocks and the ice, but i managed to grab some photos (though they do not do the scene credit and I will return to do the job properly).

The trail to and from the shut-ins is a one mile loop, made into two miles with all the explorations. I had my trusty walking stick, and being aware of the rivlets of ice that streamed across the rocks, I bounded about, around and on top of them, taking photos and sometimes stopping, just to experience the beauty. Of course, ‘bounding’ isn’t necessary the proper term, because I am hesitant at stepping over boulders, especially near sheer drops into cold water. Still, I was pleased that I didn’t back off from any of the paths I wanted to take. The beauty overcame this fear of falling I have seem to have developed during the summer–enough to get me out on the rocks, albeit very slowly at times.

But who would want to move about this place quickly? Who could possibly want to look for a few minutes and then want to move on without a backward glance or some hesitation? Do you touch velvet with a click flick of a finger; or do you run your hand slowly and softly along its nap? This was a velvet scene.

(“Oh this is a beautiful place. Look. Look. Photos. I must leave it now, quickly, and go home and weblog about it!”)

The trail away from the Shut-Ins was equally lovely, though I’m glad there were markers or I would have lost it among the rocks and the dead leaves. It was invigorating and just challenging enough to be fun, without being too strenuous. Best of all, even though I strained at times, I could hear no evidence of humanity — just the breeze through the trees and every once in a while, the call of a bird. Cardinals and bluejays; hawk and finch.

I had to stop along the way, not to catch my breath but to grab at my exhultation, which threatened to run away with me at times. I wanted to trip down the path, but with the half buried rocks, knew that was folly. Still when I got back to the parking lot after an afternoon spent in among the beauty of this short little hike, I turned my CD player on and put in the newest CD I burned and I danced about the parking lot, in joy at what was an almost perfect experience of sight and sound, touch and taste. And feel.

The birds must have thought me mad.

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outdoors Photography Places

Pickle Creek hike

Two photos from the hike at Pickle Creek 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.

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Photography

Pickle Creek

Archive page with comments at Wayback Machine

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 guidebook 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 are 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 at Pickle Creek

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 gray 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 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.