Cave-in-Rock State Park

Posted on October 26, 2020 by admin

Snow this morning. It didn’t stick, but it did remind us all of the cold months to come.

At the beginning of 2020, works published in 1924 finally entered public domain in the U.S. The Center for the Study of the Public Domain noted some of the better known works now available to all.

“These works include George Gershwin’s ‘Rhapsody in Blue,’ silent films by Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd, and books such as Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, E. M. Forster’s A Passage to India, and A. A. Milne’s When We Were Very Young.”

Plenty of obscure works are now available as well. One I have in mind is The Outlaws of Cave-in-Rock by Otto A. Rothert, published in 1924. Rothert (1871-1954) was secretary of the Filson Historical Society in Louisville, and apparently took a strong interest in regional history

The Outlaws of Cave-in-Rock can now be found in Google Books. I haven’t read it all, but I have sampled some of it. Such as the first few paragraphs.

“This book is intended to give the authentic story of the famous Cave-in-Rock of the lower Ohio River… and to present verified accounts of the most notorious of those highwaymen and river pirates who in the early days of the middle West and South filled the Mississippi basin with alarm and terror of their crimes and exploits.

“All the criminals herein treated made their headquarters at one time or another in this famous cavern. It became a natural, safe hiding-place for the pirates who preyed on the flatboat traffic before the days of steamboats….

“A century ago and more, its rock-ribbed walls echoed the drunken hilarity of villains and witnessed the death struggles of many a vanished man. Today this former haunt of criminals is as quiet as a tomb. Nothing is left in the Cave to indicate the outrages that were committed there in the olden days.”

The book also tells the tale, in four chapters, of the exceptionally murderous Harpe brothers (or cousins), a bloody story deftly summarized by the late Jim Ridley in the Nashville Scene some years ago. Enough to note here that the Harpes and their women roamed western Tennessee and Kentucky around the beginning of 19th century, murdering and robbing as they went, but especially murdering.

They spent some time among the blackguards at Cave-in-Rock, but were forced to leave after they threw a man bound to a horse to his (and the horse’s) death off the cliff’s edge above the cave for fun. Even river pirates have their standards.

In our time, and in fact since 1929, the cave has been the central feature of Cave-in-Rock State Park. Not quiet as a tomb, quiet as a minor tourist attraction. It isn’t part of Shawnee National Forest, but some of the national forest lands are nearby. Note the sign isn’t a stickler for hyphens.

The park is near the small town of Cave-in-Rock, Illinois, which is walkable distance to the south from the park. We arrived at the park on the afternoon of October 11.

You park in a small lot and climb 50 or so steps uphill, to a crest overlooking the Ohio River, sporting picnic shelters and tall trees. Views from the crest, looking across to Kentucky.

From the crest, you go down more stairs most of the way to the river’s edge. The cave entrance is under a high cliff and a few feet higher than a small beach on the river.
Looking back up at some trees lording over the edge of the cliff.

A few more steps and you’re in front of Cave-in-Rock. It’s an apt name.

Soon you’re inside, looking out.

It doesn’t go too far back, at least not that I know of. Graffiti, mostly painted signatures, is prominent on the roof of the cave.

J. & B.C. Cole were here in 1913, pre-park and probably dangling from a rope over the cliff edge. The more recent Marty and R.S. were here in 2011, and probably had rappelling gear.

Pounds Hollow Recreation Area

Posted on October 25, 2020 by admin

The vista at Garden of the Gods in Shawnee National Forest was fairly crowded. A few miles away, the lake and the hiking trails and the bluff at Pounds Hollow Recreation Area were much less busy, though still in the national forest. After taking in the Garden of the Gods, Ann and I spent a few pleasant hours there early on the afternoon of October 11.

Near the parking lot is a small beach on the small Pounds Lake.

From there, a trail leads more-or-less southwest.

The lake’s still in view much of the way, and what a sight in mid-October.Tall trees mark the path as well.

Eventually the lake peters out into more of a wetland.
Leaving that behind, the land is covered with leaves this time of the year.

When the wind blew, more leaves cascaded to the ground.

Pounds Escarpment rises from the forest floor along the trail, with parts of it curiously mottled in black and white.

The CCC crafted some stairs to climb to the top. We climbed them.

It wasn’t all stairs. Along the path there were a few fat man’s misery passages, which I suspect were natural cracks enlarged and smoothed by CCC muscle power.

At the top of the escarpment is a viewing platform, not nearly as crowded as the Garden of the Gods.

In fact, we were the only ones there for a few minutes, taking in the wooded vista.

Garden of the Gods

Posted on October 22, 2020 by admin

Heavy rain last night, and instead of a winter-like blast today, the afternoon proved to be sunny and warm. More rain is expected this evening, however, and afterwards cold air will blow in. I couldn’t spend much time outside today because of work, but on whole I’m not sorry to be back after taking a week off. That means, among other things, I’m not ready to retire.

Below is the postcard view at Garden of the Gods in Shawnee National Forest, not far south of Harrisburg, Illinois. I think I’ll get that out of the way. Except that’s an obsolete reference. The Instagram view, for people unfamiliar with postcards.

Late in the morning of Sunday, October 11, we arrived at Garden of the Gods, driving the short distance from Harrisburg. Unlike some views that involve hiking and hill climbing, Garden of the Gods is mostly accessible by road. You park at the edge of a path called the Observation Trail and walk it for about five minutes, up a mild slope, to reach the view.

Flagstones pave the trail. That’s got to be CCC work, once again.

You can’t say you haven’t been warned. People meet their end at Garden of the Gods sometimes.Near the lookout.

Sometimes you don’t need to look to a vista to see interesting rock formations.

Still, you come for the views.

People do take their chances.

Most of my pictures don’t show it, but on a pleasant autumn Sunday, a lot of people come to Garden of the Gods. So many that you had to wait behind them sometimes to see an overlook, such as at the postcard view.

It was worth dealing with the crowds to see the rocks, weatherworn relics of an ancient seabed uplifted, rising over a sweeping forest. It’s hard to look at such rocks and think they’re anything but permanent, but they’re as ephemeral as the trees below, just on a much longer scale.

As a tourist mecca, I suspect the rocks are fairly new. One local shop owner I talked to — a small shop, no one else was there — said that Garden of the Gods has been particularly popular since the 2017 eclipse, when Shawnee NF was a good location to see it. No doubt people visited before that, but then again not for so long. The WPA Guide to Illinois (1939) doesn’t have the Garden of the Gods in its index, nor Shawnee NF for that matter, and for good reason when it comes to the latter. The national forest was established the same year the book came out, probably missing the publication deadline by a bit. The book amusingly refers to this part of the state as the “Illinois Ozarks,” a term that seems to have faded away. Well, not quite.

Another thing strange to imagine: Shawnee NF is in Illinois. Same state as the endless corn fields along the highway, the towers of the Chicago megalopolis and my ordinary grassy back yard. This was a thought that came up more than once during our visit to extreme southern Illinois.

Old Shawneetown

Posted on October 21, 2020 by admin

If you drive east from Carbondale along Illinois 13, you’ll pass through a number of towns connected by that four-lane highway: Cartersville, Marion and finally Harrisburg, after which the road narrows to two lanes. That was our route on the afternoon of October 10.

There’s a branch of 17th Street Barbecue in Marion, with the original in Murphysboro, Illinois. It’s a barbecue joint of some local renown. I can’t remember when I first heard about it. Some Internet list, probably, but anyway I knew about it and decided to get lunch there in Marion.

Meals on the road in 2020 have involved takeout in all cases, either to eat in the car, or our room, or when possible at an outdoor public picnic table. We found a table in a small park in Marion to eat our 17th Street ‘cue.

We both got barbecue pork sandwiches. The meat was fine, but whoever made the sandwiches shorted us on the sauce, so the meal was a little dry. I’d be willing to try the place again if ever I’m down that way, but I’m going to insist on sauce.

The eastern terminus of Illinois 13 is Old Shawneetown on the banks of the Ohio River. Too close to the river, and thus prone to flooding. The Great Ohio River Flood of 1937 finally drove most of the residents away to found a new Shawneetown a few miles to the west. But Old Shawneetown isn’t a ghost town in our time, since 160 or so people live there, just the residuum of a larger place.

The town’s main intersection.
The original Shawneetown had its moment, a little more than 200 years ago, when it was home to a federal government land office for the Illinois Territory, and as a transshipment point for salt extracted nearby. During the famed 1825 tour of the U.S. by Gen. Lafayette, Shawneetown was on his itinerary, surely marking the town’s peak of fame if not population.

Peaked too soon, looks like. No railroad passed through Shawneetown in the following decades, at least by the time this map was published in 1855. That tells me that Shawneetown never really prospered after the land office and salt mine closed.

I’ve known about the place for a long time. I knew girl in college from around Shawneetown, a coaxing elf of full Irish ancestry who grew up on a nearby popcorn farm. Gallatin County even now is a nexus of popcorn agriculture. Last I heard, she lived in Ankara with her French husband. People get around.

The main surviving building from the town’s storied past is the Shawneetown Bank State Historic Site, dating from 1840. Home to banks for about 100 years — they seem to have come and gone with various financial panics — it stands neglected these days.

It’s not the only abandoned structure in the neighborhood. A white Texaco station is catercorner across from the bank. If it were on U.S. 66, it might be a little museum. Maybe someone has that in mind. Though abandoned, the structure looks in fairly good shape, especially the sign.

There are a few plaques and other acknowledgments of the town’s history. Such as cutouts of Lewis & Clark, who passed this way just before there was a town.

I like to think that the Corps of Discovery made a stop here at the only gas station along their route.

As Lewis wrote in his journal, Nov. 6, 1803: Arrived at Swanee Txco Station. Pay’d owner 2 dollards for provisions, — Cheetos, other divers chips, Coke & Pepsi, choco bars etc. Men also bought provis. for own use Mr Wm. Jones store mger, reports recent visit by Indian band from furth. north. — buying his entr. stock of funyuns.

Down the street from the abandoned bank and the abandoned gas station is Hogdaddy’s Saloon, an abandoned entertainment venue, though not so long ago, from the looks of it.
What Old Shawneetown needs (in more normal times) is a music festival right there on the main street. If Bonnaroo can, so can Shawneetown. Something for the hipsters to discover, to put the town on the hipster map and attract hipster dollars. As long as they believe the place is authentic somehow, they will come. That way a place like Hogdaddy’s could make a go of it.

An embankment separates the town from the river, part of a levee system built long ago to keep out flood waters — in vain. The always interesting WPA Guide to Illinois (1939) tells the story better than any online source I’ve found (p. 436). For that book, the ’37 flood was a recent event.

“The town bore the yearly invasions of the Ohio unprotected until the unusually severe flood of 1884, after which it constructed a comprehensive levee system,” the Guide notes. “But in 1898, and again in 1913, Shawneetown was under water. In 1932, the levee was raised five feet above the 1913 high-water mark….

“But Shawneetown had not envisioned anything like the 1937 flood. By January 24 of that year, menacing yellow waters were slipping silently past the town, only inches from the levee top… Small groups of people huddled on street corners, terrified, waiting; the telephone service ceased; hemmed in by the ever-swelling Ohio, Shawneewtown flashed a desperate cry for help over an amateur’s short-wave radio.

“Responding to the call, a river packet and several motorboats evacuated the townspeople just as the waters began to trickle over the levee. A roaring crashing avalanche soon inundated the cuplike townsite…

“The 1937 flood marked the end of Shawneetown’s ‘pertinacious adhesion’ to the riverbank. Gone were the packets and keelboats which induced her to hazard annual submersion. Gone was the steady traffic of settlers, goods and singing rivermen. With the aid of the State, the RFC, and the WPA, a project is under way for transplanting the town to the hills 4 miles back from the river… The State plans to establish a State park at the present site of Shawneetown.”

Guess the state never quite got around to that, maybe because not everyone wanted to leave.

A stairway leads to the embankment’s top, which offers a view of the Ohio. Looking upriver.

And downriver, looking at the bridge that crosses over to Kentucky.

On the side of the embankment is a graffito. Any graffiti would be a little odd in such a town, but this would be odd anywhere.

Left by a passing bailiff with a can of spray paint?

Indiana Dunes National Park

Posted on September 22, 2020 by admin

Officially the park service entity occupying part of the Lake Michigan shore of Indiana, along with some adjacent lands, is Indiana Dunes National Park. Has been for about a year and a half now, for the usual reason: a Congressman from the region had the pull to promote it from its previous sub-park designation, national lakeshore, to national park.

Not much has changed besides the name. Even the signs have the old name. Signs cost money.

We’ve visited two or three times over the years, including one memorable time when Lilly’s stroller was difficult to push on sandy trails. That’s how long ago it was. Stroller issues have long been a non-issue for us, but even so the national lakeshore seldom suggested itself as a place to visit, maybe because the main way to get there — the highways running south of Lake Michigan — are often congested chokepoints.

We decided to go on September 18 for the day. The weather was flawless for walking around: clear and in the mid-60s. Got a later start than planned, so it was more of a visit for the afternoon. But a good one, focused on some short trails.

The trailhead of a small loop called Dune Ridge Trail.Mostly the trail wasn’t sand-dune sand, but even the more packed underfoot soil forming the trail was sandy.
There was a climb, but not too bad.
Leading to views of an expansive marsh.Later in the afternoon, we walked along the Great Marsh Trail.
A great marsh all right.
Still wildflower season in northern Indiana.
Indiana Dunes National Park Leisure to stroll among the short-time green?
We’re fortunate to have it.

Two Wisconsin Vistas: Granddad Bluff Park & Tower Hill SP

Posted on September 10, 2020 by admin

On Tuesday night late, a storm blew threw, bringing rain and fall-like temps, and leaving Wednesday wet and cool and gray. Today wasn’t quite so cool, but still not summer-like. It will be warm again, but this is our first taste of fall.

Late Saturday afternoon, we made our way to Granddad Bluff Park in La Crosse. Unlike some of the other vistas we’ve taken in recently, you can drive most of the way to the overlook at Granddad Bluff. From the parking lot, it’s a short walk to the edge of the bluff.

Not sure about that L. I suppose it stands for La Crosse. I didn’t see any other letters to spell out the name, Hollywood Sign-style.Nice views. La Crosse spreads out to the west of the bluff. The city, pop. 51,000 or so, mostly hugs the Mississippi just south of where the Black River joins it.

I’d have guessed that roving Frenchmen founded the place, but apparently not. Lt. Zebulon Pike passed this way in 1805 and called the area Prairie La Crosse, but the town wasn’t founded until 1841 when a New Yorker named Nathan Myrick showed up.

“Myrick found a partner [and] in Nov. 1841, borrowed an army keelboat and a stock of trader’s goods, and poled up the Mississippi River to Prairie la Crosse (now La Crosse, Wis.),” explains the Clark County History Buffs. “There they built a cabin, the first in La Crosse, and became successful in the Indian trade…”

I have my own tenuous connection to La Crosse, even though last weekend was the first time I’d more than passed through the town. La Crosse is the first place I ever saw in Wisconsin, back in 1978 as our bus rolled through, probably on I-90 at the northern edge of town. I remember being impressed by the rolling hills after traveling through so much Midwestern flatland.

We buzzed through in 2005 on the way to Yellowstone, and I thought then it would be good to visit La Crosse someday. The day happened to be September 5, 2020, first with a look from Granddad Bluff.

The bluff was a source of quarried rock in the 19th century, but as a lookout and prominent local feature, La Crosse residents have reportedly always been fond of the place. So much so that more than 100 years ago, when they believed a new owner was doing to destroy it for stone, a wealthy local resident arranged for the city to acquire it for a park.

Here she is in the park: Ellen Hixon, depicted in a bronze by Wisconsin artist Mike Martino.“A subscription was organized and Ellen P. Hixon, encouraged by two of her sons, Frank and Joseph, donated $12,000 to start the fund,” a sign near the bronze says. In current money, that’s more than $310,000. She was the widow of a local lumber baron, Gideon Hixon. Their house is now a museum, which is only open in a limited way now.

“About twenty other local benefactors and companies then contributed another $3,000 to purchase adjacent lands and to fund roads and other improvements. By 1912 the Hixon family was able to transfer title for the property to the city for use as a public park, and the bluff was saved.”

Good for her. As legacies go, Granddad Bluff’s a pretty good one.

Earlier in the day, we stopped briefly at Tower Hill State Park near Spring Green, Wisconsin, which is better known for Taliesin.

It too offers a good vista, but you have to climb a hill to see it.
At the top of the bluff is a reconstruction of the Helena Shot Tower. It’s closed for now.
In the early 1830s, a Green Bay businessman named Daniel Whitney had the shot tower built for the manufacture of lead shot. Molten lead dropped from a height forms into globes on the way down, which harden when hitting a pool of water below.

You’d think such an operation would do serious business during the Civil War, but it was closed by then. Later Jenkin Lloyd Jones, who was Frank Lloyd Wright’s uncle, developed a retreat on the site. His widow gave it to the state of Wisconsin, which created the park in the 20th century and had the shot tower rebuilt.

The view from near the shot tower is toward the Wisconsin River.
Worth the climb, which wasn’t nearly as exhausting as Devil’s Lake SP or Starved Rock SP or Wyalusing SP or Effigy Mounds NM. Been quite a summer for climbing hills, now that I think about it.

Starved Rock State Park ’20

Posted on July 27, 2020 by admin

Hot-and-sweaty weekend until a steady warm wind came on Sunday afternoon, a baby sirocco you might call it, and blew away the humidity. That left the golden glow of dusk warm but dry.

All of us, dog included, took an in-state overnight (30-hour) trip over the weekend, with Starved Rock State Park as the prime destination. Been a while since we’d all been there together, but each of the girls had visited with friends in more recent years.

That isn’t a postcard of mine, though if the state sold it at the park, I’d buy one.

The 2,630-acre Starved Rock SP hews close to the south banks of the Illinois River in LaSalle County, its distinctive topography a creation of long-ago floods and glacial movement. The state acquired the land in 1911 and (of course) the CCC did park infrastructure work during that agency’s short existence. It’s a popular place, more so now than ever. Guess that’s because driving destinations are the thing at our moment in history.

We waited until after the highest early afternoon heat had passed on Saturday to take our hikes. Late afternoon was still steamy, but tolerable, especially under trees. When we came to this fork, we took the path to French Canyon.
It isn’t long before the French Canyon walls rise around you.
Before long, you reach a waterfall. Just a trickle in late July.
Doubling back to the fork, we then followed a trail that’s mostly boardwalk, plus a lot of stairs that I didn’t document.
To the view from Lover’s Leap.
The nearby Eagles Cliff vista, looking upriver.
Look a little downriver and you see why the Illinois is so wide just below Eagle Cliff.
The Starved Rock Lock and Dam, also known as Lock and Dam No. 6, completed in 1933 and operated by the Army Corps of Engineers.

We might have walked further into other canyons after that, or up to the Starved Rock feature, but the heat and stair climbing spent our energy. Mine, anyway. We ought to go back some cooler day in the fall. I’ve been visiting the place since the late ’80s and still haven’t seen some of the other canyons.

Kek Lok Si Temple, Penang

Posted on July 12, 2020 by admin

In July 1994 we spent a pleasant, and sweaty, few days in Panang. In George Town, that is. To avoid confusion: Panang is one of the 13 states of the federation of Malaysia, consisting of Penang Island in the Straits of Malacca, and a mainland component called Seberang Perai. George Town is capital of the state, located on Penang Island. UNESCO tapped its historic core — long after we visited — as a World Heritage Site, along with Malacca. I just thought it was a charming old dump.

“Georgetown turned out to be a low-rise, whitewashed, somewhat seedy town, good for walking after the heat of the day died down, and early in the morning,” I wrote about the visit. “I took a couple of good walks before Yuriko woke. Over the next few days [we] took in Ft. Cornwallis (nice clock tower), wandered around the Komtar Mall, saw the Kek Lok Sri [sic] temple, climbing its pagoda, swam at Batu Ferringhi beach, and rode the cable railway up Penang Hill.”

Here’s the view of George Town from Kek Lok Si, which is on a high hill in the suburb of Air Itam.

I’m surprised I didn’t take a picture from below, but that’s the way things were in those days — limited film, as opposed to the practical infinity of digital images.

“Ayer Itam’s most recognizable landmark is the Kek Lok Si temple. Also known as the Temple of Supreme Bliss, it is the largest Buddhist temple in Malaysia,” says Penang 500 Early Postcards. “The founder of KLS was Abbot Beow Lean (1844-1907), from the Kushan Abbey in Fujian, China… The KLS, sited at the foot of the Penang hills, consists of many prayer halls, pavilions, carved pillars, tortoise and fish ponds, and flower gardens linked by winding and ascending pathways.”

Along with a pagoda in a mix of styles: Chinese, Thai and Burmese. It’s behind Yuriko here.

And what’s a Buddhist temple without some Buddharūpa?

This monumental statue, depicting Guanyin, didn’t exist — or at least wasn’t in its present physical form — when we visited. As I understand it, Guanyin is a bodhisattva associated with compassion. Sounds like a good fellow to have around.

Effigy Mounds National Monument

Posted on July 6, 2020 by admin

Another holiday weekend, another pop up to Wisconsin for a short spell. Actually, Wisconsin and a small slice of Iowa — that being the main goal of the trip: Effigy Mounds National Monument, which is mostly in Allamakee County, Iowa’s northeastern-most county.
The 50-hour trip took us to Madison on Thursday evening to spend the first night, and from there to Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin and environs, where we stayed from late morning Friday to early afternoon Saturday. We returned home late Saturday afternoon, in time for Vietnamese takeout dinner at home — and to hear a July 4 neighborhood blasting of fireworks like none I’ve heard before.

Why Effigy Mounds and Prairie du Chien? Because I’ve seen those places on maps for years. I’ve read about them as well, of course, but spots on a map can be alluring in a way no mere textual description is. Come here, the spots say; come see what’s here.
Also, the rolling, verdant Driftless Area is a special place. I’ve only come to appreciate it in recent years.

A road trip at this moment in history is necessarily different than before. Gone for now are casual meals at restaurants picked on a whim, visits to intriguing local museums or wandering down busy small-town shopping/tourist streets and spending time in their specialty stores.

Now the trip means takeout — from the only Chinese restaurant in Prairie du Chien, for example — finding places where few people go (such as cemeteries) and generally spending your time outdoors, as we did on the trails of the national monument and a Wisconsin state park.

Or staying in your room. It so happened that on Friday night, some high school-vintage friends (two in this picture) invited me to a social Zoom, and I managed to figure out how I could attend using my phone. We had a good time.

We arrived at Effigy Mounds NM early Friday afternoon. Temps were high, about 90, and we were warned on a sign that the trail from the (closed) visitors center to the first fork involved a rise of about 350 feet.

I can’t say I wasn’t warned. Up we went.

The shade moderated the heat some. I wore a hat — one I’d bought at Joshua Tree NP in February, where it was just as sunny but not as hot. I had water. I made progress through the winding green tunnels, resting often. Yuriko was soon far ahead.

Eventually I could tell I was near the crest of the hill.

I don’t need a sign to tell me that. By that point, I was well tired. Just another thing I should have done 20 (30) years ago. Still, the vista was worth the effort: a view of the Mississippi, looking southeast, from a spot called Fire Point. Prairie du Chien is in the distance.

Due east: party boats gathered on the river for July 3.

Besides a nice vista, Fire Point featured a collection of mounds. Larger —

— and a row of smaller ones.

Something inspired the peoples who lived here to reshape the ground into recognizable forms. Recognizable, but you need to squint a little. Not nearly as recognizable in simple photos, unfortunately.

Not far from Fire Point is Great Bear Mound. Probably best visible from above, though park management helpfully trimmed the grass to make the shape a little easier to see from ground level, and you do see it — but it’s also good to bring a little historical imagination to the task. (As it is even in highly visible places.)I expect these mounds survived farming and other depredations of the 19th century because the land was too steep to farm or even harvest timber. President Truman created the monument, which protects 206 mounds, in 1949.

“The Late Woodland Period (1400-750 B.P.) along the Upper Mississippi River and extending east to Lake Michigan is associated with the culture known today as the Effigy Moundbuilders,” notes the NPS. “The construction of effigy mounds was a regional cultural phenomenon. Mounds of earth in the shapes of birds, bear, deer, bison, lynx, turtle, panther or water spirit are the most common images…

“The Effigy Moundbuilders also built linear or long rectangular mounds that were used for ceremonial purposes that remain a mystery. Some archeologists believe they were built to mark celestial events or seasonal observances. Others speculate they were constructed as territorial markers or as boundaries between groups.”

Why did Moundbuilders build mounts? The answer is dunno even among modern experts. They had their reasons. The mists of time are pretty thick in the hills of the Driftless Area.

Devil’s Lake State Park

Posted on June 22, 2020 by admin

Over the weekend we visited Devil’s Lake State Park in Sauk County, Wisconsin. We drove up one evening, spent the night at a motel in Madison, and then the next morning continued on to the park, which is about 45 minutes to the northwest of the capital. After spending most of the day in the park, we drove home from there.

The closest town is Baraboo, which we last saw in 2007 — home of the delightful Circus World Museum. This time we drove by the museum. Even if we’d wanted to go again, which we didn’t, that wouldn’t have been possible. At least it’s still there. I hope Circus World manages to reopen sometime.

Devil’s Lake is a pleasant-looking, 360-acre lake with a couple of beaches and other lakeshore amenities, but those aren’t the main draw. What makes it the most popular Wisconsin state park are the Quartzite bluffs on two sides of the lake, east and west, relics of the most recent ice age. Rising to as high as 500 feet, they offer quite a view.

First, of course, you have to follow a trail that takes you up to those views. We picked the one on the east side of the lake, the fittingly named East Bluff Trail.
Up it goes.
I wondered what the people ahead of us were carrying on their backs — note the black and green rectangular packs. They turned out to be crash pads. For the sport, or activity, of bouldering. That is, climbing boulders. I knew people climb rock faces, but that was a variation I’d never heard of. Guess the people ahead of us were out for a day of bouldering. Takes all kinds.

I’ll bet Devil’s Lake SP is a good place for that. There are many, many boulders.

Like some other recent uphill hikes, it took me longer than the rest of the family. Rests were necessary. But I made it to various vistas.

There are a couple of named rock formations near the East Bluff Trail. One is the impressive Devil’s Doorway.

Looks solid, but surely the formation doesn’t have long to exist in geologic terms. Fleeting as a firefly on that scale. So is the whole bluff, come to think of it.

To provide a sense of scale.

Near Devil’s Door, the East Bluff Trail meets the East Bluff Woods Trail, which has a much gentler slope. We returned via that trail.

In June, the trail passes through a lush forest in the first flush of a septentrional summer. Past occasional fern fields.

Do ferns consider flowering plants a pack of johnny-come-latelies? That’s the kind of deep-time thing I wonder about when wandering through a forest, dog-tired from climbing a Holocene-vintage bluff.

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Category Archives: Vistas