Category: Places

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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.

Categories
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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Places

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 prominently, 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 crufty 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 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.

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?)

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
Places

Disconnected a wee bit sooner

I guess I’m offline much sooner than expected, as my cable internet connection failed last night. Since I’m not ready yet for this, haven’t installed all I needed, and since I’m paid up until the 20th, a repairman is coming on Monday.

Now I’m at Panera, having a lovely Danish and latte, on a beautiful Saturday morning, using the free wireless.

I earned today’s Danish by walking around the zoo for over three hours yesterday. The place was surprisingly empty of folk, which is nice if you’re not necessarily comfortable with hordes of screaming kids, whining for their Moms and Dads to ‘carry me’ or ‘buy me something’ (from overheard conversations from the families that were there).

It was my first time seeing the new Penguin and Puffin exhibit and this alone makes the trip worthwhile. The zoo created an enclosed, ideal environment for the birds (cold), and then built the tanks so that you’re right next to them. In fact, it would seem that a favorite hobby of some of the birds is to splash the people. Flash photography is welcome and I tried to take some photos of one fine fellow, but every time I would move in close to the tank, he’d flip his wing and splash me. The attendant said he was playing with me, as I recoiled in horror, throwing my body between my new camera and the water.

At the cougar exhibit, a young girl, probably about 10 or 11 jumped up and down yelling at the cougar to, “Look at me! Look at me you stupid cat!”

My, but this Danish is good. So is the coffee. This disconnected thing could work out; after everything is installed, of course. But no worries, still plenty of posting. So don’t forget to look at me. Look at me.