The headline shocker here is that Tettegouche State Park has NO SIGN. We thought we must have just missed it, so I asked one of the park employees, who looked somewhat puzzled at the question (“A sign? No, we don’t have anything like that.”). Well, there ya go. We had to improvise, posing instead by a random park events sign and having our photo editing guru (thanks Rich) insert a photo of part of a poster we saw in the park store into the sign, in addition to putting us magically in the same photograph. He is definitely overworked and underpaid.

Although we’d just been to Gooseberry Falls State Park in the morning when it was sunny and nice, by the time we got to Tettegouche, the sun had gone behind the clouds and the wind had picked up. While it wasn’t exactly the “gales of November came early,” it was a bitter cold wind, especially when we were out in the open. In addition, I was definitely beginning to feel my lack of in-shape-ness (legs tired, feet sore), so it was encouraging to note that the hike was only 2 miles – 1 mile out to Shovel Point and then 1 mile back.

As we started out we passed a sign pointing the other direction saying that if we wanted to hike only 600 more feet (after getting back) we could also go see where the Baptism River let into Lake Superior. Kris indicated he would definitely like to do that; I remained silent, hoping that the topic would never come up again. Hey, I told y’all from the beginning how wimpy I am – I see no reason to start pretending that six or so hikes have made me into hiker of unbounded energy. I was still taking photos, but that camera was starting to hang heavy around my neck (not quite as heavy as the ring around Frodo’s neck, but getting there). Beauty is always worth capturing.

The first part of the trail was largely composed of wooden steps. There were steps going up and then steps going down again. Up. Down. Many, many steps, mostly going up. We climbed them all, so the least you can do is look at them.

Along the way, we got closer to Shovel Point, but we were up on a cliff edge of sorts, so we began to see little groups of rock climbers. I’ve never understood the appeal to rock climbing/mountain climbing, but then I am not much of a thrill seeker.

At Shovel Point we sat and had our energy bars, but were so buffeted by cold winds that there was no desire to linger. Still, to look out on all that powerful moving water is a wondrous thing – it grabs hold of you and keeps your gaze, the unheard voice saying “Look at me!”

On the way back, we stopped and talked to the head of the climbing expedition, a nice young man overseeing even younger men and women. He was a stalwart fellow that had grown up in northern Minnesota. He pointed out the fallen Tettegouche Arch, which I had taken a photo of earlier, not knowing what it was. The arch fell some 4-5 years ago and caused quite a bit of shock and dismay among the locals. Gordon Lightfoot could have done a good ballad about it: “The Fall of the Tettegouche Arch.”

When we arrived back at the beginning, it turned out Kris had not forgotten about the extra little hike down to Baptism River. Rats. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, so down we went. Down, down, down, down… It turned out to be a sweet, quiet little beach where the river got gently swallowed up into the lake. I walked across the rocks, savoring that unique sound of boots crunching into the stones, and looked for a time into the shimmering reflections of autumn in the water.

Why did I have to be talked into coming here? I need to learn to be more willing to push myself, to see more, do more…

Before we left the north shore the next morning, I did get to indulge in a few minutes of my favorite pastime up there: picking up rocks, looking for agates. I didn’t find any, but the joy is in the looking, too.

And the stones sang of their Maker.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Minneopa State Park

Don’t tell me you haven’t been to Gooseberry Falls State Park yet – c’mon! It’s a very popular place in Minnesota, as evidenced by the crowded parking lot and oodles of people there the day we went for our hike. We’d been there several times with our children and always to see the falls. Who knew there were hiking trails? The hiking club trail was a mere 2.2 miles and although it was only 43 degrees, it was mostly clear and sunny. We made a short stop in the amazingly large visitor center/gift shop and then set out to leave the crowd behind.

As usual, I’m pretty peppy at the beginning of a hike and all full of enthusiasm about taking photos. It’s all interesting at that point and I know enough now to realize that by the end of the hike I’ll be passing by the same things with nary a glance.

Soon we were rewarded with soul-filling views of Lake Superior.

As we walked along, we came to a place where you could see up the shore a ways and my husband broke into song. It’s true! It was a rousing little ditty he’d learned in his camp years about the rocky shores of Lake Superior. I wish you could have been there – it made the hike quite epic.

Along the way, we noticed little fenced enclosures here and there. Kris went to investigate and discovered that these were cribs for cute little baby white pines. Awww… We speculated that the fences were to keep deer from eating them.

Later on we passed one with a rambunctious teenage white pine in it, straining to get out.

This is the way of the world. You raise them up with prayer and protective boundaries and then one day, the fence has to come down and you have to let them face the dangers of the world on their own. But you still pray; you always pray.

Near the end of the trail, we found a cozy bench and sat down to enjoy our repast of a Clif bar and some water.

Some large birds of prey were circling overhead and Kris said nobly that if they flew down and grabbed me with their talons, he’d hold onto me and not let go. Who needs chocolates on Valentine’s Day if you can get a nitty gritty declaration of love like that?

We mused about how if those were large eagles, one of them would be Gwaihir, and this could be like the scene in Lord of the Rings when Frodo and Sam are stranded on Mount Doom after throwing the ring in, with the mountain crumbling down around them. Kris looked at me and said, “I’m glad to be with you here, at the end of all things.” No chocolates needed.

Another 2.2 miles down, 16.4 miles accumulated toward the first 25-mile patch. Next stop: Tettegouche State Park, just up the road apiece.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Tettegouche State Park

We planned an ambitious weekend: 3 hikes in two days: Banning State Park, Gooseberry Falls State Park and Tettegouche State Park. (Those of you who are clever will have deduced that there will be two more blog posts coming.) We’re really getting the hang of this thing! Banning State Park is the site of a former sandstone quarry, and part of the Hiking Club hike follows an abandoned railroad track from the Short Line of the St. Paul-Duluth Railroad that used to carry sandstone to the Twin Cities. (William Banning was president of that railroad company, so now you know important things.) We picked up a self-guided trail pamphlet at the park office and began the 2.6 mile hike which would also take us right by the Kettle River.

The trails were named Trillium Alley, Cartway Trail and Quarry Loop. On the day we were there, they would have been more aptly named Falling Red Leaf Alley:

Muddy Rut Trail:

and the Pine Needle Carpet Loop:

The act of naming is a dominion task and I wanted to take what little dominion I could.

There were numbered posts along the way, each one corresponding to a section of the pamphlet we picked up, so we dutifully stopped at each one and read the information.

In between these educational moments, we chatted about how quite a few of our friends or rellys have indicated an interest in joining us on a hike. This got us wondering if we could use the hikes as a springboard for an interesting talk show, much like Jerry Seinfeld’s “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee.” We could call it “Hikers in Boots Getting Tired.” It has potential, don’t you think?

We came to a sign that directed us to Hell’s Gate Rapids – it would take us off the official hiking club trail but seemed well worth it, considering we’d finally be right down by the river. Plus, the name “Hell’s Gate Rapids” arouses a certain amount of curiosity. The pamphlet told us that it was named by loggers who “struggled with many log jams in the narrow passageway.” It’s also supposed to be one of the state’s most challenging and dangerous river experiences for kayaks and canoes. We stopped along the way to sit on a rock by the riverside and partake of a trail bar (an important tip we picked up from Dave and Julie last time).

The hike to Hell’s Gate Rapids was definitely more rugged and challenging and when we finally got there, it didn’t seem like the rapids in front of us could possible be considered a hell’s gate. We either didn’t go far enough, or it’s a lot more hellish at other times of the year. Both might be true, actually.

Back to the regular trail and more sandstone production and transportation trivia. It was rather fascinating to think of the bustle of activity at this site back in its heyday. One of the last places we passed was the old power house in which was the generator that powered the jack hammers. Kris thought Power House would be a good name for a church. I can almost hear Captain Jean-Luc Picard saying to someone “Make it so!”

At the end of the trail we had to climb up some steep stairs to get back to the parking lot and there ran into another hiker who was also looking for the parking lot, unsuccessfully. We stood around looking at the map, trying to guess which way to go, but then a young couple ambled by and pointed us in the right direction. We were up on a ridge by this time and heard and saw the roaring and roiling of Dragon’s Tooth Rapids below. If Hell’s Gate was worse than that, I had a new respect for it. And by the way, the rapids naming people really stepped up to the plate here at Banning, didn’t they?

Lest you think all we saw was the river and the old sandstone works, I want to note officially that there were lots and lots of trees as well (red and white pines and aspen). And boulders. And some plants and mushrooms. You get the idea.

I need to make an announcement that will surely cause wails of sorrow and denial from my loyal readers: I’m giving up on the Flora and Fauna collage. No amount of begging will change my mind (although I would be delighted if there was some). The only fauna photo I snagged at Banning was this one:

Those of you with small screens are probably wondering what this photo has to do with fauna, but if you look very carefully, you’ll see a small silhouette of a bird alighting on a branch. A bit of a step down after that deer photo at Whitewater. I’m admitting defeat and moving on.

We’ve now done 14.2 cumulative miles toward our first 25-mile patch!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

P.S. Thanks again to my B-I-L Rich for doing the traditional “Us By the Park Sign” photo editing. Too bad for him I’m not giving up on that one. 😉

Next Hike: Gooseberry Falls State Park

I can’t seem to resist taking photos of the birds on our bird feeder. At least you can see the eyes and beak on this one (see my earlier post “Face Off” if you want to know the backstory on that comment). Goldfinches are so strikingly handsome, aren’t they? At times there’s been a whole party of them on the feed sock:

I like how the bird on the bottom is looking right at the camera. If there was a thought bubble by her head, I think it would say “Sheesh – the paparazzi are here again.”

I’m actually a very poor bird caretaker, or should I say, a fair weather one. At the beginning of winter, I make vague promises to the bird world in general that I’ll keep their feeders filled during the long cold months when food is scarce. Then it gets really cold and all bets are off. They seem to survive my periodic neglect and don’t hold it against me. And God provides for them, even when I am forgetful and faithless. It’s hard to imagine a bird sitting in a tree fretting about where the next meal is going to come from.

Random meanderings on birds has been brought to you by…

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.