Tag: Missouri

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

The weather is lovely lately, so much so that I’ve attempted twice to go out and get photos of the wintering bald eagles in our area. Both times I’ve gone to locations some form of Eagle Days was happening, and either I arrived too late or I couldn’t get in because I wasn’t a school kid.

When I went to Chain of Rocks Bridge on Monday, the bridge was closed because of a school program. I decided to visit a park not far from the bridge to see if I could get down to the banks of the Mississippi and walk back to the bridge.

There was a boat launch to the water, and the river was low enough to expose ‘beach’ along the side. However, a beach in Mississippi terms is a relatively flat area of mud of differing thickness, scattered about with various forms of debris (not to mention garbage left by some of those who frequent the area in the nights). I didn’t have my hiking boots but thought I would be able to manage with just my tennis shoes–bringing truth to that old saw that there’s no fool quite like an old fool.

After slipping and sliding along for about 1/2 a mile, I could see the bridge, as well as the rapids, in addition to a rusted out old hulk I’d never noticed before. I passed two fishermen along the way, bundled up against the cold and this sudden incursion of tennis shoe clad tourists, one of whom was hauling an expensive camera to what is the absolute worst neighborhood in St. Louis. Whatever their thoughts, they were locked tight behind stony faces, and eyes fixed on lines in the water.

A family was exploring by the hulk, so I thought if they had no problems getting to the area, I would not either. I then proceeded to step on top of what I thought was firm sand, only to sink into the thickest, muckiest mud you ever did see–sinking up to my ankles and held fast.

I tried to lift one foot, then the other, but neither would budge. I stood there for a few minutes, contemplating my options (“Hello police? I’m stuck in the mud of the Mississippi and I can’t get out…Hello Rob? I’m stuck in the mud of the Mississippi and I can’t get out…”)

While I was standing there, the family walked past me, up the hill among the scrub, which explains why I didn’t see other footprints along the path I was taking. We called out to each other, chatting about the eagles, and how it was too bad the Bridge was closed. The mother said the kids liked walking along the beach. I said kids would. Too bad we didn’t think to wear hiking boots. Yes, she replied, laughing. I thought of asking them for help pulling me out, but suddenly felt shy of exposing my predicament; feeling a little foolish.

I noticed a bird up above one of the trees and thought at first it was an eagle. I whipped my camera out and took a couple of hasty, blurry shots, but it was only a hawk. Only a hawk–normally getting even a bad photo of a hawk is a good day of shooting.

I also noticed that the mud was full of animal prints, and would have gotten some shots of them and my feet stuck in the mud, but all I had was my 400mm and both were too close. I could have changed lenses, but I thought all that fussing around would probably send my butt into the mud and if my feet were stuck so deep, my god, what would happen to my butt?

I couldn’t see them, but I did wonder if the fishermen down the beach could see me, stuck in the mud. Or did they keep their eyes fixed on their fishing lines?

I think I stood there looking around for close to 20 minutes or so. During that time, I kept moving my feet side to side, trying to break the suction. Finally, with a decided *thwopt*, I could pull out first my left foot, then my right. Still with tennis shoes, though my feet were covered with the thick, persistent brown muck.

On my way home, I noticed people leaving by the Bridge and stopped by the gate to ask if it might be opening. I talked to the guy at the gate and he said as soon as the tents were folded up, they’d be leaving. He looked in and saw all my camera equipment and said whatever I did, to not leave it in the car. Even with guards, they’d had windows smashed in and items grabbed from cars. I mentioned that I leave my extra items in the trunk, and he said make sure I put them in before parking, because the thieves will wait in the bushes (and here he pointed at some bushes by the bridge) to see who puts something valuable in their trunks, and they’ll pry them open as soon as I’m out of sight.

He then looked at me and my 400mm and said whatever I did, make sure others were on the bridge before I walked. While he was talking to me, other cars pulled up to check to see if the bridge was open. It’s a popular place to walk in the neighborhood. There weren’t many parks that close to the river.

Today, I went down again, this time later in the afternoon, hoping I would catch the eagles. When I pulled into the lot, a large, older black car was driving back and forth between the cars–windows tinted dark. It eventually moved off and I parked, in the center of the lot in a place with no other cars around and easy view from both the road and the bridge.

There weren’t any eagles, but there were doves, seagulls, and heron so I enjoyed the walk and took a few photos. To be safe, I waited until a man walking with his dog and his two kids started heading back to the cars and followed them. When I got to the lot, I noticed, to the side, the large black car I’d seen earlier. It was sitting there, with its engine running, and lights on.

The man and his kids stopped at a SUV a distance from me, and I passed him (still holding that same damn 400mm lens) and hurried to my car. As I approached it, the black car started heading toward me. When I was about 6 feet away from my car, a small, bright yellow SUV pulled into the lot, and then slowed near my car. I signaled the doors unlocked, opened the passenger side, and threw my camera and gear into the car.

The black car turned away, sped up, and pulled out of the lot. The yellow SUV then continued on to park.

When I told my roommate what happened when I got home, he agreed with me that the people in the car were most likely going to try and grab my gear. Chances are the people in the yellow SUV guessed this, too, and stopped near me to keep them away. He also said, and I agreed, I won’t be able to go back to the bridge by myself to go walking again. This hurts, physically hurts, because it’s one of my favorite places to walk. And since I can’t handle the hikes I normally go on at this time, my places to walk are becoming more limited.

Between one moment and the next, Missouri had stopped feeling like home.

Come down to the banks of Old Man River.

Come down to the banks, and step into the mean muds of the Mississippi.

Sink down until they hold you tight.

Stand there caught, can’t move, and despair.

Because Old Muddy, he don’t want to let none of you go.

No sir, he don’t want let none of you go.

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 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.

Yesterday afternoon I walked around Forest Park in St. Louis, and today, I went to Horseshoe Lake Park in Illinois. However, on the way today, I spotted a Pumpkin Patch festival and had to stop to check it out. Which is my way of saying I have a few photos to share. (More will be posted to Tinfoil Project).

It has been a disappointing fall, for the leaf color just isn’t going to be there this year. Too dry too late, and the weather continues slightly sultry. I may be able to get some color in the Ozarks at the end of the month, but it’s not going to be as vivid as the colors were last year.

I looked all around Forest Park yesterday for some Fall color, knowing that you and I would both be disappointed by my not finding something bright and cheerful and just saturated by rich hues. However, about the only spot of bright color I ran into was in the bridesmaids dresses of a wedding party having their photos taken at the Park. It was a pretty color, too –like the deep red/orange of a new fall leaf. Everywhere I went, I seemed to meet up with the same wedding party of bride in fancy white dress, groom and groom’s men in black, and the bride’s maids in their lovely scarlet frocks. I remember thinking to myself the photographer must be a terror to have them whip around from place to place so quickly.

It was when I was wandering around the Great Basin area, with the fountains and the lake, and the very picturesque bridges that I discovered the truth. Towards the west was what I thought was the wedding party I had been seeing, including the ladies in their lovely frocks. However, towards the east, I could see another wedding party and the ladies in this party were also wearing red. They were having pictures taken on one of the bridges and I could see waiting behind them another wedding party, and the maids in it were also wearing red. It was a variation, true. The first party’s ladies wore a rusty red; the second wore more of a ruby red; and the last a bright apple red. But red, nonetheless. What are the odds?

I was standing there, marveling at how similar all of these wedding parties were when I noticed another limo bus pulling up, with another wedding party. The door opened, and I held my breath. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. Then I spotted a bright flash of color as satin spilled out of the door.

Red! Arrggghhh!

Later as I thought about all of these weddings and the brides and their choices of what must be the popular color this Fall, and how even this pretty color lost its appeal when repeated over and over. A nice reminder that every autumn photo doesn’t have to be brilliant orange, scarlet, and yellow to be special; and I need not stop and take a photo of every orange butterfly sitting on a purple flower.

Did I happen to mention that I have long legs? And no, I’m not that oddly shaped — I was wearing a jacket and carrying a camera bag. The head is mine, though.

However, that’s not to say that I’m going to walk away from color, and that’s why I enjoyed my visit to the Pumpkin Patch. It was held on a farm along Highway 111 on the way to Horsehoe Lake, and it seemed to be quite a party. There was live country music, and a haunted petting zoo–a haunted petting zoo, can you dig it?– as well as a corn castle, and hay slide. This in addition to the more traditional tractor pull, horse drawn carriage, and hayride.

Larger photo

There was also a few other rides, but simple small fair stuff.

People could buy already harvested pumpkins and squash, or could pick their own. The ones in the field seemed pretty picked over, but I noticed that there were some nice pumpkins that were just set around, detached from the vines. I figured the farm must seed the field each day of the festival so there’s always good pumpkins in the field. A clever trick, and no harm to the act.

Today I saw my first silver colored pumpkin. I’ve seen white ones before, but silver?

From there it was only ten minutes to the lake. It’s more popular than I like, but enough space to allow one time to oneself. I was particularly taken with was the beautiful blue water in some areas and the green algae close to shore in others. I also rather liked the dead trees that had fallen into the lake. There’s something esthetically pleasing about these trees–a bittersweet beauty in their graceful, bare, limbs. They remind me of Audrey Hepburn.

Fishing is popular in this lake and there were several fishermen out when I was there. I watched one pull a fish from the lake, pull it off the line, toss it on to the grass with others, before re-baiting his hook and throwing the line back in–in one smooth motion. Takes years of fishing to get that proficient, but a lot of people depend on the local fish, and game, for their meat.

There’s an island that can be reached by a built-up ridge intersecting the water. The hike I followed was on this island and was supposed to be 2 miles, but after the Pumpkin Patch, I was already tired and the distance seemed longer. It was also quite warm, though a lovely breeze was blowing. Not many birds this time of day, but lots of grasshoppers and other insects. I watched heron in the lake, but didn’t get close enough for any decent photo.

About half way around I met two older ladies out walking their dogs, and we ended up chatting as I petted their pups. They lived in Illinois but had just spent several weeks traveling across the northern part of the states to Maine and back. They were so delighted by their trip that I kept asking them questions about it, just to hear them talk.

In Maine or Michigan, I’m not sure which, they had picked blueberries from bushes and had them for their breakfast, and I gather this was their first time exposed to blueberries in the wild. Both kept talking about grabbing handfuls of blueberries, and how they tasted so much better than anything they’d had before.

larger photo

Isn’t it wonderful to meet people who take such a delight from such an simple activity? I grew up in an area where huckleberries grew wild and we would pick them every year; even then, I could identify with these ladies–picking berries and then putting them directly on your pancakes for a late morning breakfast is an immensely satisfying experience.

About like going out to a pumpkin patch for your own Halloween pumpkin. Or catching your fish directly from a lake. Sure beats going to K-Mart or the Mall.