Originally printed October 26, 2019.
After a stern talk with myself the day before, I awoke on October 18th to a beautiful, crisp autumn morning. I broke out my credit card to scrape frost off my windshield and made my way to Camp New Wood County Park along the Wisconsin River. There I met my trail angel, Ruby, who asked, with her tongue firmly in her cheek, if I had my cell phone with me. Satisfied that I had it with me, we made our way to the trail head for today’s hike, the intersection of the IAT with Burma Road north of Merrill. At just after 8:30, I shoved off in brilliantly sunny, 37 degree weather.
Although I am generally proceeding from east to west on my hikes, I chose to do this hike from west to east. There were two reasons for this decision. First, the parking lot at the county park struck me as a more secure place to park than alongside Burma Road. The second reason for my choice concerned following directions. I have made no secret of my wrong turns on the trail. The segments I was hiking today – Turtle Rock and Grandfather Falls – has a number of twists and turns. The directions in the IATA Guide for the segments are written under the assumption of hiking from west to east. It made sense to me to hike it in that same direction and take advantage of the directions in the guide(It worked. I made no wrong turns on the day’s hike.).
The first few miles of the Turtle Rock Segment featured a fairly wide path in flat country through through what the IAT Guide dubs mixed forest. While there were trees and we were in the Lincoln County Forest, my impression was that this was more open country than the previous day’s trek through the Underdown Segment. Very shortly after starting, my path was blocked by a muddy pool of water that was roughly 10 feet by 12 feet. Fortunately, I was able to find some high ground on the edge of the road that I used to skirt the hazard while clinging to tree branches. I was not so lucky shortly afterwards, and my feet soon became soaked. Recognizing wet spots in the trail and avoiding them became a prominent part of the day’s hike. Oddly the soupiest sections were in the flat land above the Wisconsin River – not in the valley adjacent to it. The leaves covering the ground added to the difficulty in identifying the terrain and adjusting to it. Sometimes the leaves merely covered bare ground. No problem. But, at other times, the leaves were floating on top of a pool of water. If I didn’t recognize and adjust, I would quickly find myself splashing in water a couple of inches deep.
After a couple of miles, I started to descend to the west bank of the Wisconsin River. I could hear the river before I actually laid eyes on it. Up until recently, my experience with the Wisconsin River had been a canoe ride near Spring Green – wide and shallow with current moving at a sedate pace. Not so in this section. Grandfather Falls is the largest waterfall on the Wisconsin River, with a total drop of 89 feet. The sight that greeted me when I reached the riverside were the fierce rapids shown in the picture above. As you can see from the picture, the river is running high and over its banks; we have had a very rainy season. I walked one of the slower miles of my life as I continued north along the river’s edge, stopping often to take pictures or to simply gawk. Also, the very rocky terrain forced me to pick my way very slowly. After stepping into a deep hole well above my ankle – thank goodness I didn’t break my leg – I began probing the ground in front of me to make sure I was stepping on something solid. At other times, I climbed several feet above steep rocks to slide down the other side on my butt. That mile was challenging and glorious, a feast for the senses.
Eventually, the trail veered west, away from the river, intersected with a creek and followed it for roughly a half mile before I had to cross it. The description of the crossing in the Guide was benign: “rock hops”. It was hardly that. The creek was high, so there were fewer rocks to hop, and the ones above water were so far apart that I used my walking sticks as a kind of bridge to help me stretch from rock to rock . I also liberally grabbed branches from bushes and saplings to help me make my way. I could have very easily wound up in the drink. Shortly after finishing this crossing, I ended my hike of the Turtle Rock Segment and walked a quick 1.2 miles on roads to the beginning of the next segment, Grandfather Falls.
While I am it, I want to take a moment in praise of my walking sticks. Today’s hike was an advertisement for why they are necessary equipment for any hiker. When I needed help going up a hill, I would dig into the ground with my sticks and use my arms to help propel me upward. Going down a hill, I would hold my sticks like a walking cane and use them to help put on the brakes to control my descent. When having to stretch to make a step from, say, one rock in a creek to the another, I would use my sticks as a kind of bridge to aid me in making that step, much like a pool player uses a bridge to help him or her stretch to make a long shot. I already mentioned using my sticks to probe the ground lest I step into a hole. Even when simply walking on the straight and level, I used my sticks as an aid in keeping correct form while walking. I can seriously state that I might have unable to complete my hike last Friday without my walking sticks.
The Grandfather Falls Segment was a short and scenic four mile walk that began on the east side of the Wisconsin River at a parking area along State Highway 107. There is a lot of history tied up with this area. According to the IAT Guide, “Native Americans and fur traders portaged here to bypass Grandfather Falls.” Later, many logs made their way down the Wisconsin River on a watery highway to the sawmills. Again, according to the IAT Guide, in 1846, 24 lumber mills on the Wisconsin River provided 20 million board feet of lumber per year. By 1857, the industry grew to 107 mills along the river providing over 100 million board feet per year.
Most interesting to me today is the Wisconsin River and hydroelectric power. The dam at Grandfather Falls is a diversion dam. These type of dams are employed when hydroelectric development is difficult because of waterfalls, rapids, or hilly terrain. At diversion dam hydro stations, water is diverted to an open-air canal. The water is then channeled into two large pipes called penstocks which flow downstream a quarter mile to a powerhouse. The water generates hydroelectric power as it goes through turbines in the powerhouse. Then it is returned to the river proper. Signs along the way help explain the process.
The huge penstocks were originally built in 1938 of redwood, and reminded me of huge barrels a quarter mile long. You would think penstocks would have leaked like sieves, but the water flowing in the redwood “pipes” caused the slats to expand, just like wooden slats in a barrel. That expansion caused watertight seals to form in the wood. The original redwood penstocks were replaced by yellow pine in 1975. Those, in turn were replaced by steel in 2017. The following link gives a good idea of the original construction and immensity of the penstock system. https://www.garney.com/projects/grandfather-falls-hydro-plant-penstock-replacement/
At Camp New Wood County Park, the trail takes a sharp left turn and and begins a 1.7 mile (one way) out-and-back along Ripley Creek – which looked like a dandy trout stream – and through Merrill School Forest property. How this came to be school district property is also a bit of interesting history. According to the Guide, “The property came to be the school forest in 1944 when William T. Evjue, an 1898 graduate of Merrill High School, purchased 598 acres from Lincoln County and donated it to the school. The property became a memorial to William’s father, Nels P. Evjue, a pioneer Merrill woodsman. Initially, students planted 2000 conifer trees and after purchase of an additional 80 acres of land, 60,000 more trees were planted on the property.”
Now, I’ll admit to being tempted to simply pack it in right there and say I did this out-and-back without taking a further step. Heck, I’ve hiked enough distance as a result of missed directions to more than make up for the 3.4 miles. But, when I finish the IAT I want to be official, so I turned left and continued my hike. Because I had a serious case of “Are we there yet?”, it seemed to take forever. The walk made its way up an incline. At this stage of the game, I didn’t need the extra work, and this only made me long for the turn around point to come into view sooner than later. At the same time, I was still picking my way somewhat carefully to avoid going into a puddle or slipping in some mud. Meanwhile, the little devil on one shoulder was whispering to me, “Don’t be a sucker, Jim. You’ve walked plenty. Knock off.” Replying to him was the angel on my other shoulder. “Keep going. You don’t want to be kicking yourself years from now because you cheated.”
I kept going, hoping to see the turnaround point as I approached each bend in the trail, only to be disappointed. Finally, FINALLY, I saw the sign for the turn around. I snapped a picture of the sign as proof that I made it to that point. Then I put my camera away, took a step, rolled my right ankle on a rock, and fell to the ground in a heap.
After checking myself out to make sure I was OK, I dusted myself off and started on the return trip. Because I knew where I was going, and also because I no longer cared about wet feet, I made a lot better time on the “back” portion of this leg than I did on the “out” portion. Soon I was in my car headed east on Highway 64 to the Blue Spruce in Oconto County, where a shower and a fish fry awaited.
My Days on the Ice Age Trail 