Ice Age Trail: Sauk County Pt 1. - Devil’s Lake State Park (Wisconsin)
Trail Day : 1
IAT Segments Completed: Devil's Lake (westbound)
IAT Miles : 10.9
Drive from Moline: 3 hours
Firsts & Notables: First segment on the IAT!
Stayed: Fox Hill RV Park & Campground
Friday, July 10th, 2020 (2:30AM)
I am awake because Matt is up and saying he doesn’t feel good. That he is nauseated. A pang of nausea hits me in the gut, too, and now my whole body wracks once with anxiety. Though he will later determine his own cause for the nausea, I secretly believe that it’s actually my fault. Anxiety is rolling off of me in waves and I want to throw up or cry or both. I’m sensitive to other peoples’ anxiety and so I can only assume it works both ways. I feel terrible, for myself and for him, but I can’t stop it. And I definitely can't tell him about it.
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I’ve had this weekend vaguely marked off on the calendar as a ‘hiking trip weekend’ for a while, because I knew Matt would be working the whole weekend. But I wasn't totally sure where I was going to go. I had thought about the Yellow River in Iowa or Starved Rock. But deep down, I really wanted to go hike Devil’s Lake and kick off my Ice Age Trail hiking. When I found 1 spot still available at a campground not far away from Devils Lake, I decided to go for it. All week, the details seemed to fall more and more into place and my excitement has grown. I am FINALLY getting that distance and elevation gain that I've been looking for. But earlier tonight, as I sat at my computer in the IAT facebook group called Thousand Miler wannabes, something unexpected happened that has put me into a fit of anxiety.
“What are your favorite restaurants in Baraboo?!” I asked. “I’m headed to Devil’s Lake this weekend and might grab takeout in town Friday night.”
“Driftless Glen. No brainer.”
“Little village cafe!!! Fish tacos were amazing.”
“Cheeze Factory.”
And then a response that stopped me in my tracks. “I just saw a rattlesnake on one of those trails, be careful!”
“How recently?” I asked, feigning nonchalance, panic rising in my throat.
“Last month. I was walking over a rock and there it was.” She replied.
I hike solo, mostly out of necessity. And I have grown up and done most of that solo hiking in Illinois, where we don’t have to worry about shit like rattlesnakes. I was already talked off the ledge earlier this summer over black bears and assured that they want nothing to do with me. But now rattlesnakes?! A quick Google search and I learned there are not only 1, but 2 kinds of rattlesnakes that live in the driftless area of southwestern Wisconsin, and I was even able to pull up some videos and photos from Devils Lake Park of people encountering them on the trails.
I reached out to the trail vets to ask if I’m being reckless in hiking alone, and without any particular protection against bears or snakes and anything. They all assured me that encountering these creatures is so incredibly rare, it’s almost laughable to even think about it and certainly no need to carry bear spray or snake bite kits. They said I should be a lot more worried about how slowly all the tourists are going to be climbing the bluffs. It didn't relieve the panic, but it did add another (more sensible) voice to the chatter in my head.
And so I lay here wrestling with my mortality and playing out scenarios in my head.
Friday, July 10th, 2020 (9:30PM)
I'm sitting in the back of my RAV4 with the rear hatch and windows open. Through the bug nets I've attached, I can look out on the campground as people arrive and settle in for their weekend away from the city. It reminds me of the Wisconsin campgrounds that I spent a lot of time at as a kid, with its bike path through the woods and the events for families scheduled throughout the weekend. I'm here during "Christmas in July" and in the distance I can see Christmas Vacation playing on a screen at the playground.
There is a Mexican family next to me cracking beers and playing music and for a moment, I want to join them. I have the feeling of being at a music festival, where it would be perfectly acceptable to wander over. But, alas, the music festivals are all cancelled and it's not definitely not acceptable to crash someones camp site in the middle of a pandemic. I don't feel lonely necessarily, just alone.
On the other side of my site is a cabin with a young family. One of the little boys is in awe of my "Christmas lights", which makes me feel cool. I am very proud of my camping setup. This is my third solo car camping excursion, and it feels like I've got a pretty good system now. I set up my lights and my bed in the back before I leave home and then I pack on top of it. When I arrive at my campsite, I put the bug nets on the windows and back door, put my water/paper towels/ citronella candle out on the picnic table, and set up my camp chair. I put up the sunshades and curtain.
I had so much to think about packing for this trip that I didn't both much with food. No camp kitchen. I'll drive through town multiple times, so I can easily grab something to go or stop in a gas station. Plus I'm still struggling with anxiety, so I'm not that hungry anyway. Tonights dinner was a couple bottles of Spotted Cow and some snacks from the campground office. And even those had to wait until I finished my chores, which included practicing strapping my poles to my day pack with bungee cords and making sure I could ride my bike like that without impaling myself or my back tire when I'm bike shuttling myself tomorrow.
So, not only did I have to pack my car for camping. I also had to pack for my longest day hike yet and bring my bike, since I'll be bike shuttling myself. As a notoriously light packer, I have never managed so much gear in my life. But I'm figuring it out.
On the way to camp today, I forewent spending any time in Baraboo for dinner or hiking so that I could scope out my starting point for tomorrow instead. I needed to take off the edge of uncertainty, and it felt good to see the parking lot I'll park in. To drive down the hill I will ride my bike down, and to see the meadow I'll set off into. I'm going to sleep a lot less anxious tonight.
Saturday, July 11th, 2020
I woke up several times in the night because the full moon was SO BRIGHT through my bug net shades that it was like a flashlight. And also because I had to pee. Normally I walk all the way to the restrooms, but I was feeling bolder last night and just peed outside my door.
I was camped on the far Eastern edge of the campground, and so the sunrise greeted me early Saturday morning, seeping through the forest behind me. I wanted to get an early start because I heard the small parking lot could fill up quickly, so I didn't mind the early rise. In fact, I woke up in the best mood! It took me no time to pack up. I grabbed coffee in Baraboo on the way and by 8am I was at the small parking lot on 113, with plenty of space still.
It did take me longer than expected to get road ready, as I made sure I had everything I needed for my bike & hike. Because the bike portion was a steep downhill, there would be no coming back. When I finally decided I was as ready as I was going to be, I peddled off onto 113 and started my downhill coast. It occurred to me that I should have been more frightened. Steep Grade signs dotted the road beside me and there was no shoulder, except for 1 foot of gravel. But I had already seen other bikers on this road yesterday and before me today, so I decided to have some faith that locals expect bikers. Although I kept my hand on the brake the entire time, the ride was exhilarating! It took me just a few minutes from top to bottom.
When I got to Rozno's Meadow, I locked my bike to the painted brown sign and hoped that wasn't a problem. This bike & hike route came at the suggestion of a seasoned IAT hiker, Kris Van Handel (author of Hiking with Hair Tie), so I figured she would have mentioned if it was an issue. The IAT vets are great at explaining the expectations of local police.
I started the AllTrails app to record my route and opened up Guthooks for the official route to follow, and set off into the meadow. In my mind, this beginning part of my day held the most risk of bear or snake encounter. The majority of people that visit the park go straight to the north & south shore beaches, so out in the meadow and climbing up the Eastern bluff, I was the most alone and lacking the people noise and scent around me that would scare off animals. It was also early in the day, when bears are most active. For this reason, I spent a great deal of time calling out, singing to myself, and using my poles to push foliage out of my way before I step. The few people I did encounter probably thought I was looney tunes.
A few miles in, as I became climbing through the woods, I noticed my knees were feeling a bit tight already, so I stopped and went through some warmup movements. It was well worth the 10minute stop because they felt much better. Shortly after this, the terrain started to change again, and I started to encounter more people. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the quartzite boulders and gnarled cedars. I felt like I stepped into a completely different part of the country! It was impossible that this was 3 hours from my home.
I found spot to stop for a minute and take in spectacular views of the moraine, a mass of rocks and sediment carried down and deposited by a glacier. That's really the whole point of this trail, to walk where the glacier once was and to feel the enormity of it. That massive field of boulders was dropped there like pebbles that had floated on a stream. It's hard to comprehend.
After this point, I connected with some other trails and joined a crowd. I made my way down a steep, rocky descent and was wisftful that I didn't' have time to take the side trails I passed.
Eventually I was spit on to a shore. TONS of people were setting up picnics or running into the water. After 4 months of hardly seeing a soul, this was nothing short of overwhelming. Yes, we were outside, but it felt wrong. I watched as people rolled gas grills from home out of their trucks and over over to their picnic tables, and laughed at the signs telling us to stay 1 cows distance apart.
Dressed in my hiking shirt and leggings and already quite sweaty less than halfway through my hike, I felt like a an outsider next to all the people that were dolled up for their day at the beach with friends. But I had no interest in trading them places. In fact, I rather liked being an observer, just passing through.
I stopped and had a couple of my snacks, then continued on. I took a long boardwalk over the sandy beach and stopped for a bit to put my feet in the water. Then I began the climb up the western bluff. WOW. That was challenging, and I'm still amazed at some of the people I saw at the top. It was not for the faint of heart. Literally.
But the views warranted every second of it. Looking out over the bright blue water was breathtaking and I continued stopped at nearly every lookout point. The climb down from that bluff, I was starting to notice my knees talking to me again. I used my poles and I tried to stretch a couple of times, but it was clear the steep downhills were taking their toll and I began to get a little nervous. I still had 4 or 5 miles to go.
Once down the Western bluff, I entered the North Shore beach. This one was quite full as well. I stopped at the concessions to get a Gatorade, which was a lifesaver, and use the restroom. I was also able to refill my pack which I had nearly emptied of water due to the heat.
Next, I meandered through some campgrounds, and at one point realized that the 2 ladies hiking up ahead of me were probably IAT hikers as well. Why else would they be hiking this way? I eventually caught up to them and asked as much. They said they weren't, but were just hiking whatever trails they could find around the park and had a map that showed them to go this way. At the top of the road, the blazes that had been so perfectly easy to follow all day suddenly got very confusing. They seemed to point us back down the way we had just come from and I was technically off trail from where Guthook showed me to be. Seeing our confusion, someone called to us from a campsite that they had seen other hikers cut through the campsite across from them up to a trail. So we did the same and sure enough, I was back on route. I was moving faster than the other 2, and anxious to get to my car, so I said farewell.
A half mile later, my knees were officially screaming. We had gone from caution flags to full surrender. I got out my knee brace and placed it on the worse knee, put as much of my weight as I could on the trekking poles, and basically hobbled the last 1-2 miles.
When I finally, FINALLY exited the woods onto 113, the parking lot I had left my car at was nowhere in sight. I had SEEN the trailhead in the parking lot where I presumed I would end my hike and for a moment, I panicked. Had I misunderstood where to park or where to end my hike?! Did I have further to go on these knees that were completely toast?!
Just then a car turned onto 113 on my left and I realized they were turning from Country Road DL. Which meant my parking lot couldn't be too much farther to the south (right) of me. I walked a few hundred feet and could make it out up ahead. Thank God! I walked gingerly the final block to that parking lot and nearly cried with relief when I sat down in my car.
I DID IT. Relief and pride flooded over me. And even more relief when I drove down to Rozno's Meadow and saw my bike waiting for me. I hoisted back on the car and began my drive home. I put my audiobook back on, Thousand Miler, by Melanie Radzicki McManus. I had been listening to audiobooks by IAT hikers for a few months, but now I listened for the first time as one of them.