North Woods River Runner: Blufftop Wind In The Boughs

It sounds like the ebbs and flows of traffic on a busy street or distant highway; but it’s not. There’s nobody else here—upon this bluff overlooking the Sugar River. The skies are partly cloudy, but constantly changing due to the light winds; those same winds blowing like a horde of cars through the leafless treetops of the oaks and hickory and the needled boughs of the tightly clustered white pines behind me. There’s momentary silence but also low moans from the wind, and rattles from last year’s leaves still hanging on—soon to be kicked out of the nest once this season’s buds begin to burst forth.

I’m not deep in a secret wood, or on forgotten property, I’m right here. I’m in plain view and out in the open. It’s just that I have it all to myself at this moment in time. I can hear the spring peepers and chorus frogs singing in the vernal ponds across the way—in the marshes on the other side of the river. Wild places. Mysterious places. I’ve kayaked over to that side before and walked amongst the dead grasses of spring. It’s intimate there even in its openness—before things leaf out—because you’ll find that your spirit latches onto the simplicity and complexity of it all when your senses are alert and on fire. I can see the door stoop to that area from this bluff. It’s comforting to know it’s there with its seasonal pockets of stagnant water, helping to warm the water and earth and kick-start into action the life that’s always there; so that we with our limitations can actually see it!

While here on the bluff I’m soaking all of this into my body; absorbing it into my memory for safe keeping. There are a myriad of trails nearby that I could hike, and I may do so as I’ve often done. Typically I’d have been running them as well, as I love the softness of the paths and alert nimbleness it takes to navigate the twists, turns, roots, and ruts. But, I had surgery on my right knee not too long ago for a torn meniscus, so I’m trying to be patient; trying to slowly build a foundation of strength that will get me back to that activity that I love.

In the meantime I’m sitting here in a camp chair on this bluff. I’m sitting here where history planted itself nearly 90 years ago when the W.P.A. built this limestone shelterhouse. A good friend of mine once shared a story about a time when his grandpa attached half of an oxen’s iron work shoe—from the beast of burden's cloven hoof—to this very pavilion; shared history.

I love that there’s a huge fireplace both inside and outside—where the two flues are shared by the same chimney. And while the structure is sound, it will require some tender love and care in the near future. I can only hope that a few timbers are replaced and some tuck-pointing applied so that when I’m older, and can no longer hope to run or walk the trails, I can still sit here on this bluff and listen to both the flicker and red-headed woodpecker, and the wind in the boughs.

The Outside Fireplace Of The
Limestone Shelter Built In 1939.

Today within the beauty of an early spring day, I chose to build a small fire in the outdoor hearth of the fireplace. Soon I’ll make a potato, egg, and sausage scramble in my old iron skillet—upon the still hot coals. It’ll be a hearty lunch to carry me through the rest of the day; like the resonating warmth radiating off the stone work. Afterwards I’ll take my walk on the trails along the bluff, and water’s edge, and back into the river bottom at the base of a ridge. Like the nearby squirrel gnawing on the husk of an old walnut found in its hidden pantry, the croaking calls of the sandhill cranes in the distant marsh, and the winds off the bluff through the white pine boughs, walking will give me the opportunity to reflect on life and the important things.

See you along The Way…