The flowing waters of time change everything, much like a river over generations can turn mountains into valleys and sculpt plains into canyons.
But that´s enough waxing poetical for now. DeYoung Natural Area shows how time can turn a farming homestead into a hiking spot. Gone are the crops and livestock and family. Now, you can skulk by the empty home and peer through the windows like a ghost. Marvel also at the ingenuity behind tapping the creek for its power to turn a generator to electrify this homestead.
Our house is a very, very, very fine house...
DeYoung is a Leelanau Conservancy property just northeast of Traverse City, split by Cherry Bend Road and TART's Leelanau Trail. On one side is a bit of shoreline on Cedar Lake, and a deck to go out and enjoy this pretty water body.
Cedar Lake. Come sit for a spell.
On the other is the farmhouse, the former DeYoung workshop and dozens of acres of land criss-crossed by trails. It's a short but satisfying hike, especially in the fall when the drying plants give the air a spicy smell and the changing leaves make for a beautiful sight.
Hilltop view
Overall, DeYoung offers a nice little escape from the city, and it's close enough for an afternoon of hiking followed by an evening of fun on the town. The terrain isn't challenging and there's an interesting variety of scenery.
This is another in my "six hikes in six days" series. Stay tuned for my entry on Platte Plains.
The water levels in Lake Michigan/Huron (technically one lake because of their miles-wide connection at the Straits of Mackinac... I know, I know, my nerd is showing) are heading to ridiculous levels. So much so that favorite sunning and campfire spots are now underwater.
My hope was that Green Point Dunes still had one of the few beaches beyond reach of this recurring phenomenon not seen since the year of my birth. Recall that we're six years out from record lows. This is how it looked when I went in November.
Keep walking, and you'll (eventually) reach Elberta.
Aaand this is how it looked when I went in June.
This used to be one of those beaches where you could walk a seemingly endless stretch of sand. Now you'd better get there on a day when Lake Michigan isn't numbingly cold, because you're either walking on an eroding bluff or wading in the drink.
But don't let that detract from Green Point Dunes. It's another Grand Traverse Regional Land Conservancy property just a stone's throw from the nonprofit's crown jewel, Arcadia Dunes (or as I like to think of them, Sleeping Bear South).
Park at a simple lot with signage just off M-22 and walk through a forest crossed at one point by a private drive to a spit of private land surrounded by the nature preserve. I went on a late fall day when the sun didn't do the natural splendors many favors, and my subsequent trip showed me the true beauty.
From here you can see Arcadia Dunes
The trail is short but, unsurprisingly, requires some climbs. There's a nice descent to some stairs to the beach, complete with a shipwreck that's usually covered by sand but occasionally exposed. This is used to be one of those places where one could take an hours-long walk in either direction and never reach an obstacle.
Such beaches had an undeniable allure to me when I was fresh out of college. They're perfect for the directionally challenged, as you'll never get lost unless you can't find the trail back to your starting point (a simple rock arrow can eliminate this very real possibility).
And thanks to a landmark, tested-and-still-standing but lingeringly controversial state supreme court ruling, the public can tromp on by to their heart's content. I wonder, though, what the two beachfront owners whom I unwittingly interrupted in their not-so-clandestine clinch one dark night many years ago think of the ruling... presumably not amused?
I was accused once of thinking of no one but myself on such jaunts. Fair enough: I'll cop to some self-absorption, and in my early 20's I probably was a bit more narcissistic than is typical of people in that age group.
But Mark Twain once quipped about one of his characters who, left to their own thoughts, exhausted the subject of themselves and turned inevitably to others. That's always been my experience with extended hikes. They lead me to thinking about the world outside my head, but if I'm stuck in a rut they can just as easily send me around the same circles, over and over and over again. Stewing, ruminating — whatever you call it, it's actually rather bad for you.
Sitting and thinking is one thing. Thinking while doing something else is another experience altogether. There are volumes of blogs, articles, books etc. etc. about walking as meditation, therapy through nature, forest bathing, and so on. Most times the act of getting out in the forest and walking can get me out of a rut. Others, I've needed help beyond my usual routines (thank god for counseling and my very patient family and friends, in no particular order).
But back to the hike.
We're so spoiled for dune climbs around here that it's easy to lose perspective and forget how incredible a place like Green Point Dunes truly is. Were it the only place of its kind for miles, it'd be a popular spot, maybe even loved to death. Thankfully there are other, more heavily promoted spots that leave this one a fairly quiet haven on a fall day for a solo walk.
You could backpack in an afternoon's worth of beach gear, snacks and beverages and enjoy a sunny summer day with few others around. Or bring a friend and talk about everything and anything while you tromp through the woods, then splash in the lake. Stop for burritos sorry they're gone pancakes in Elberta and beer in Frankfort.
Despite what you may see in the average Tinder profile, it's surprisingly hard to find a good hiking buddy sometimes. But then again, maybe it's just hard in general to find friends when you're in your 30s.
Thanks to my new friend for the snap.
Hardly impossible, though. In the past six months I've gone from largely solo hikes to having a few friends who are willing to lace up some good shoes then explore some spectacularly sun-drenched dunes, hoof it up a hundred stairs to the top of a rock, see the New Year's Day world all covered in snow, snowshoe on a favorite in-town path or trek across a snow-blanketed wooded dune (including an off-trail slide to avoid an impossibly snowy staircase).
The view from the latter trek at Leelanau State Park.
Now, I've got nothing against hiking alone. In fact, there's quite a bit to recommend it. You get to set your own destination, route and pace, and never do you have to wait around for others to deal with mid-hike issues.
Plus, hiking has always been very meditative for me. I've thought through some things in my past and present that left me stumped or going in circles before. The time to think has helped me realize that I've let go of past grudges and guilt, or at least made major strides.
But it's a different experience with someone by your side. You have someone to talk to, someone to see the splendor that you usually have to store away in your own head, and just someone to share the experience with in general. It's also harder to remember to stop and take pictures for your blog... but not every picture of you has to be a goddamned selfie.
Harder, but not impossible.
It's tempting to close with some pithy but well-worn truth like, "Life is all about balance," or, "The right company can make anything better." I'll let you draw your own conclusions.
(Then again, hiking can just be fun. No need to over-sentimentalize or ascribe deeper meaning where little to none is to be found. Like this no-big-freakin-deal, for example.)
Sand Lakes Quiet Area is a pretty special corner of state forest out by Kalkaska. There are a slew of tiny lakes that would make for awesome kayak jaunts, peaceful still fishing in a designated trout lake (the stream angler in me would be bored stupid, but to each their own) or just midnight splashin' with friends and beer.
I believe this water body has the imaginative
name of Sand Lake #2.
In fact, walk the shores long enough and you'll find the remains of impromptu campsites... there was once an official hike-in site on one of the lakes, but no more. So much for pathos!
The trails occasionally run on old firebreaks and forest roads, so most are pretty wide, well-worn and in places, straight shots. A few meander or take you on winding, narrow paths through the pines and poplar. And of course, there's a little piece of the North Country Trail cutting through.
I had a blast checking out all the little lakes. One had a spot where people had been digging at the clay bottom, and a short ways away someone had dragged some downed trees to form benches around an old fire pit. I went off-trail around the shore of another and took in the fall colors.
It's gentle enough terrain, and you could do a short loop or stay at Guernsey Lake State Forest Campground, do the whole six miles and have plenty of time to goof off in the woods and water after.
This was another spot on my six-new-hikes-in-six-days jam I went on in October. Honestly, now that I look back at the pictures, the cloudy weather makes it look way more drab than it was.
Saw these boids on the way.
There's ferns and witch hazel everywhere, and the soil looks like the right stuff for the place to be covered with wild blueberries in season. There's nothing that makes an August morning like heading out from camp and picking a cupful of those to go with your breakfast.
Fun postscript: (6/24/19) I recently came across a picture of my family taken prior to my birth at what I'm 98 percent certain to be Sand Lakes. It's one of the weird connections I've found with this place since moving here, like coincidentally buying my dad's old copy of Tubular Bells.
Russ Forest is pretty far afield from the places I'll typically write about. But I will do a few "bonus" vacation posts. This particular place almost always elicits warm and fuzzy memories in my heart, since I've been going there since I was a wee'un.
I've been tromping across the bridges spanning Dowagiac Creek long enough that I recall a time where I was shorter than the railings. I'd pitch a stick over one side on "Go!" along with my siblings, then we'd race over to the other railing to see whose stick floated from the other side first. It was a game we learned from Winnie the Pooh, hence the nickname among our family members: "The Pooh-Stick Woods." The same creek can be seen in the background of my high school senior picture. My latest trip was during a blissfully tranquil four-day weekend near Christmas.
The Pooh-stick bridge
It's also an awesome place to hike, but more on that later.
Fred Russ Forest Park, as it's officially known, is a Cass County Park, and one with an interesting story. There's a historic homestead next door that's open to the public one day a week and a campground in the park. It's also a research plot for Michigan State University (full disclosure: my alma mater) and I recall my oldest sister proudly pointing out the signs as we hiked through one year after she'd all but settled on her post-graduation plans.
Take the information from MSU with a grain of salt, as some is possibly out-of-date and parts definitely conflict. The lot once planted over with seedling pines seems like it hasn't been tended to in a looong time, but we did see signs of maple syrup production (one web page tells you it's MSU doing the boiling, the other Marcellus Schools... I tend to believe the former, since MSU was selling the syrup as of 2015).
There's likely more to the story: A hike my mom and I took earlier this year brought us past a sign with the name of a major paper maker on it (I think I recall which but I'll leave it alone). A publicly accessible pulpwood lot? A bit of corporate charity? Not sure, and I'll leave that research project up to others.
A bench by one of the roadside access points (and yes,
it's safe* during hunting season)
So! The hiking, eh? Stick-straight paths take you along planted forests, then give way to at-times confusing, winding paths through ancient oaks and maples, including a 300-year-old maple tree... at least I remember it being there.... we got lost and couldn't find it this time. More worrisome were the sight of several massive trees that had toppled. Was the maple a casualty as well?
Another loop takes you to a point where you can cross a road for even more paths through the woods. I have dim memories of going over there. But much more memorable, and picturesque, are the lengths of path that take you past Dowagiac Creek.
One thing to keep in mind if you go: Some trails seem prone to flooding. And it's a popular spot for equestrian types to take their horses, and... horses poop. So watch your step lest you find yourself ankle-deep in road apples.
On that note, may I introduce you to a blues song about stepping in dog shit? Please enjoy:
