Nature Journal

"The ridge was a place the bobcats might well chose for the coming of their young around the middle of April. They would pick a sunny slope below the cliffs, preferably with big rocks and crevices, a windfall, a hollow log, or even the depression under a stump, some place where the den would be protected and the kittens could play undisturbed." Sigurd Olson, from "Bobcat Trail"









28 Feb

When the hiking gods align, the weather cooperates, mother nature surprises, the participants feel like all of those false starts previously encountered are well worthwhile.  The true hiker's dilemma is that you don't really know what you're going to get until you get there; and even then, it's possible that the eyes that behold the natural masterpieces might not much be in the mood to adore.  We made the trip to Devil's Lake yesterday and experienced the profound beauty of the driftless area in a way not yet encountered.

Olson above speaks of the trail that is shared by the mystique of wildlife, the bobcat.  On this particular hike along the East Bluff Trail at Devil's Lake Baraboo, the mystique was a nearly bizarre combination of rising rock and frozen lake.  Devil's Lake is a little bit like landing on the moon: you ask, where did this come from, from what geology, what glaciation brought this to us as if a stage from which to witness history itself?

For those of us who love to play connoisseur of the Wisconsin sandstone ridgeline, Devil's Lake puts us in our place.  Along the soft lines of the coulee region, our footing and instincts still reign supreme. Golden prairies merge with oak savannahs to reveal good farmland history, but here at Devil's there is no farming.  Eruptions and pure rock violence from prehistory turn bluffs to disruptions.  

Below is what looks to be a natural moraine that we only tend to see in the Alpine reaches of the Rockies.  Tough pines line the crevices of the shore or the reaching cliffsides.  Off the backside of the ridges lies a fine and mellow foothills littered with the outcroppings of granite.  The old East Bluff Woods trail holds marks of a large footprint beyond any domesticated pet on a leash.  

A small run off creek gurgles along the trail underneath a thinning sheen of melting ice.  If you're lucky, the sun is out to shine the ripples.  The deciduous stands stark against the silly colorless days of deep February.