Lost Creek Trail
Fillmore County, MN
June 5th, 2015
When my wife dropped me off on the
side of the road, I was stunned to see how much the trailhead was
overgrown. I had helped with a native seed planting here years ago,
and cut trees out after that, and both times it had been fairly
barren. But now, despite the trail seemingly getting regular use, the
healthy plant community had restricted the path connecting the road
walk shoulder to the small bridge that started the more “natural”
section of the trail to less than a deer trail. It bothered me that
the trail maybe wasn't getting the attention I think it deserves, but
it was good to know too that I would probably be alone.
The Lost Creek Trail in Chatfield, MN
is a 7.5 mile long hiking trail modeled after the Appalachian Trail
and the Superior Hiking Trail; which cuts across private and public
land on the western edge of the Driftless Area. The first mile or so
is a paved path in a city park and a broad shoulder walking lane on a
county road leading out of town. I helped one of the trail's
founders, who also happens to be my father-in-law, bushwhack the
route early on, as well as build a few sections later, and we chose
to start at this spot specifically because the county had the
foresight to add a walking/biking lane when they rebuilt this road
last.
The road trail goes as far as a
property owned by the local historical society, meant to preserve the
historic landscape of dense woodland. It is separated from the road
by a small ditch/stream, that now has enough water flowing in it and
plants surrounding it that it is actually quite pretty. There is a
small old bridge someone donated that crosses the stream, and this is
where I begin my hike.
The historical society site sits on a
relatively gentle slope that has been selectively logged over the
years to encourage good habitat and timber. The dominant feature I
note immediately is soaring, arrow straight walnut trees. They create
a wide open but shade filled domain that has allowed dozens of
species of woodland wildflowers and the like to form a dense, waist
high mat of green that I could almost hear respirating.
Unfortunately, I could also still hear the occasional car zip past
just beyond the confines of the woods. And so I was grateful as the
trail got into a little steeper area where more trees had been left
for erosion control and created a stronger barrier to the road. The
path was also less interrupted by low-lying foliage, and soon turned
up hill, into the defining landscape setting of Southeastern
Minnesota.
Here, a small stream has cut into a
hillside, exposing the Decorah Shale Edge. Long, thin bands of
limestone stacked on top of each other, remnants of an ancient sea
bed, compressed over millions of years. The semi-permeable nature of
the rock, called a karst topography, means water – even full blown
streams – can disappear into the ground; and that springs pop up
everywhere. All these springs and the streams they create combine
with the easily erodible limestone to form a maze of canyons, valleys
and ridges that can't be farmed and so make great woodland habitat to
explore. This would make up a large part of the rest of my day.
The trail continued up the slope before
turning sharply to the right and climbing near the top of the same
hill that was being eaten away. Another quarter mile and the woods
thinned. I came out into a grassy spot between the woods and a newly
planted cornfield, and followed a line in the grass to a gravel road.
The road that I would be walking for
the next half mile is a relatively light use gravel road, one that
doesn't really go anywhere itself but connects two other roads.
Running between farm fields with a few houses along it, this road
does offer a stark contrast to most the rest of the hike. Along the
road, in the ditches, are several sets of bird houses. 10 inch tall
pieces of 5 inch diameter PVC pikes with wooden lids on metal poles,
15 feet apart with a hole cut into them.
These are designed for Eastern
Bluebirds, a native species that has been negatively affected by the
transition to bigger fields, which means fewer trees and fence posts
for them to nest in. The nesting boxes provide perfect size cavities
with the perfect size openings for Bluebirds. Of course, other birds,
particularly wrens and swallows, are about this size as well, which
is why the nests are placed in pairs. Those wrens and swallows are
very territorial within their own species, but not towards bluebirds.
So by placing the two nests close together, enthusiasts risk giving
up one to ensure the availability of the other. And the metal pole?
That's snake protection.
The road turns 90 degress and passes a
field marked with signs pointing out the farmer is integrating hay
into his rotation of crops and practicing terracing, both means of
soil conservation. The road turns again but I continue straight, down
a field driveway into a farm field. This is a corn field, you can see
the stalks just coming up, but it also appears that this is the same
conservation minded farmer. There is a wide grassy path around the
edge for the trail, sandwiched between the tilled ground and a thick,
lush green fence row. Milkweek, raspberries, ditchweed and a host of
other plants are still in grow mode, just a few have started to
flower or even bud out. These are the types of places that are
critical habitat in farm country for species like bluebirds, but also
games birds like pheasants and quail and even whitetail deer. They
can use the habitat to shelter in bad weather or hide from predators
and nest, and it provides for more food like seeds and insects over
the year than the corn and soybean fields otherwise would.
The next section, though, shows not
all fields leave this kind of space, as the planted ground goes right
up to the forest edge, and would probably go farther if it weren't
for the fact the forest was hiding a steep drop-off. Still, the
property owner has allowed people to cross their private land, a
rarierty. And they have their own conservation practices,
particuarlary no-till planting, meaning much more organic matter
stays in the soil and it won't run off as much. There are many ways
we can have a little less impact on the land, and where we use them
is as much a factor of where and how as who; it's important to
recognize that and celebrate every step someone takes rather than
berate anyone for lacking purity. I am able to keep a good pace here,
too, and the position of the trail does provide an interesting
contrast between the woodland and modern agriculture. I pass through
a few places where the woods have taken a bite out of the corn and
soybeans before pushing through a bramble of bushes and out onto
another gravel road, this one a dead end with a few houses.
Where the road reached the trail
marker to turn, there was an interesting sign. This section of trail
is on a cartway. Public land, owned by the township that was meant to
provide a right of way and nothing more. Not paved, no power lines,
just a two track path that allows land owners a sort of back door to
hard to reach places on their property. It is a legal tool used
almost exclusively in Minnesota.
Along the cartway but facing the road
is a house, with several paddocks in back, and then a fenced in
pasture, all very bucolic. At the crest of a small hill, there is a
small but broad canopied tree, and a turn in the trail past that. The
trail enters a massive grassland there. Still being spring, it is
bright green with only specks of purple and white dames rocket, or
tiny bits of yellow from the just budding golden alexander. The next
miles is a walk in this wonderland, and after only a few steps the
rolling hills block out the last cornfield I will see until the end
of my route. And in fact, the rolling hills of prairie grasses and
flowers block out almost everything, and combined with the woods to
the other side create a real illusion of wilderness. I pause for a
while to really relish in the sight.
With the sun inching ever lower in the
evening sky, I barely half done, so I moved on. I entered the woods
on a bluff top ATV trail used by the landowners to harvest timber.
The broad, clear trail allowed me to look up and take in my
surroundings more than I had been doing in the grass while still
moving, as the regular rain and sunshine had made the trail overgrown
there and less visible.
The woods here were full of large,
majestic trees. Oak, maple, and walnut dominate, in a few variations.
But I have learned to identify stray apple, hawthorn and others as
well. These are hardwoods and the northern edge of their habitat for
the most part, and on north facing slopes coniferous woods like pines
are more prevalent. This blend makes logging all the more attractive,
as landowners have some flexibility to follow prices in choosing what
to harvest and leave the woods more diverse. These landowners are
definitely conservation minded as they take only the most choice
trees, encourage the growth of others, and leave underbrush to secure
the topsoil on the often sloping ground. The underbrush here includes
myriad woodland wildflowers, shrubs, forbs and sedges, a carpet of
green still transforming the woods out of its winter browns.
The logging trail rises and falls
repeatedly, and my legs feel it. This is a fairly aggressive section
of the trail and I'm taking it at a quick pace. I really hope to get
out more, and while a six week old baby would hamper most, I hope to
use trail time as bonding time. And a baby in a carrier makes for
great training weight that looks less ridiculous than a full blown
pack on a city street.
Heading down a hill I started to hear
the trail's namesake, Lost Creek. Or so I thought. Finally emerging
from a particularly dense bunch of trees I found a tiny creek, maybe
two inches deep and four feet wide, the small canyon it was in echoed
the babbling and making it sound much louder. Crystal clear water
cascaded over fairy tale stepping stones, clearly someone was showing
the trail some love.
And across the creek, yet another
steep embankment that displayed the bedrock hidden just below the
surface. City into that bank, where it was muddy instead of rocky,
was a staircase, at the top of which a sign indicated it had been
constructed by the Iowa/Minnesota Conservation Corps. Being an Iowa
resident, it was a little sad to see we have so little outdoor space,
so little to conserve, that we have to tacked on to a neighbor in
order to have enough work to justify a team of teenagers and college
students time. But it was a nice set of stairs and though I had spent
a good five minutes resting at the creek, I didn't mind the help
getting up the hill.
The trail here was back to a narrow
single track, the type of trail that allows hikers to present they
are so much further away than they really are. But here, one doesn't
have to wholly pretend. Sheer cliffs and dense woods mean you are
often several hours from disruption, or help. It is because of this
that southeastern Minnesota harbors more wildlife that similar or
even more northern parts of the state. In the last few years, bears,
cougars, wolves and bobcats have all been sighted, some with enough
frequency you might think there was a resident population. (Between
when I took this hike, in fact, and when I am writing this, three
bears have been spotted to the south in Iowa, along the southern rim
of this Driftless area, and logic would point they would have moved
through this very area last fall, and one seemed to be on the way
back.)
But no sightings today, and shortly
after a bit on this single track, I came to a fence with a special
device that allows people to cross, but not let out the cattle that
were being held within. After crossing the gate, the trail split into
a high road and a low road, with westbound traffic (me) indicated to
go low. The trail here was effectively a cow path, and in short order
it finally led me to Lost Creek! The cattle, which were rotationally
'flash grazed' through here, had left a broad, grassy plain at the
bottom of the valley and the creek had cut another two to four feet
through the rich soil that accumulated during floods. Because the
cattle had not apparently been here in a few weeks, and indeed were
not here while I was hiking, the grass was long and tall, and the
whisper it played so nicely with what could only be called a babbling
brook.
Since this was a place cattle
congregated, not passed through, there was no good trail. Instead,
the blue arrows posted on trees that for most of the trail were just
a gentle reassurance, were here the only sure way to know where you
were going. These were joined by the occasional metal fence pole with
a Lost Creek Trail sign and arrow attached. Normally, I would not be
so fond of this intrusion into nature, but I recalled my first time
crossing this pasture, the day we bushwhacked the predecessor to the
trail. That day was not as fine a day as I was experiencing now, and
our time was cut short in this field by a crash of thunder and a
deluge from the sky. I would not want to be in that situation not
knowing which way to go if I were a day hiker or with a small child.
I did eventually make my way out of
the creek bed, and in walking up a small slope saw a sign that read
“60 Foot Tall Cliff;” and sure enough, peering through the thick
trees I realizes I wasn't able to see all that far because a great
beige limestone mass was rising up out of the ground. I could see the
top of the sheer cliff was covered in foliage and trees that looked
identical to what I was walking in. The new awareness that this sort
of topography existed in these woods, and in fact could so easily be
hidden made me a little more cautious as I passed over another cattle
grate into denser woods.
After crossing another small creek and
climbing a valley wall the long way, there began to appear signs put
up by the local conservation authority along the small logging road
I'm now on describing sustainable forestry practices that were in
use, as well as identifying some key tree species. Small 1985 and
2010 clear cut sections of woodland show amazing regrowth when there
are plenty of seed producing adult trees around the edge. And the
shot of sunlight through the canopy can help other plants there in
the short run as well.
This is all the same idea as the
rotationally grazed cattle, wildlife development and no-till farming.
This is fragile land here, and not terribly receptive to
“traditional” row cropping methods of farming much of the time.
So some landowners have chosen to diversify their operations, and in
doing so seem to have found caring for the land above and beyond in
the short run leads to greater reward in the long run, as it so often
does.
The trail turns off the small logging
road for one last time and winder through a stand of large hardwoods
before opening up to a massive prairie bordered by evergreen trees.
Christmas trees in fact. White pines, spruces, and whole host of
pointed top green giants that make of the older plantings of Thorn
Apple Farm's Christmas Tree operation, though many of these are
beyond being used for your normal family gatherings. They have now
grown to full blown habitat and are headed towards timber status,
though some are still used for churches and very large homes, which
helps thin the stand as needed. The trail here is a broad, mowed
path, and as it moves through big blue stem and gentian, it also
passes one of the more impressive man made features on this
landscape.
Decades ago, someone built an earthen
dam in one of the many ravines, nearly 30 feet tall, it is erosion
control and creates a small pond of water if you were to graze cattle
here as a previous owner did. It also allowed for a road, probably
for early pioneers, to be built back down to the creek bottom, which
the trail now follows.
This section of Lost Creek was more
native-esque than the cattle pasture, which also means the creek was
much less often visible. Rather than able to see if for hundreds of
yards, it was only though windows between walnut saplings and lush
sedges that I could see the creek. The owner here was in the midst of
a multi-year program eliminating the invasive Reed Canary Grass with
a mix of tactics revolving around helping trees grow large enough
they could shade it out. This allows a broader diversity of native
plants to thrive, creates a more pleasant woodland, helps flood
control, and again in the future will more for a better, more
profitable timber stand.
I cross a small wooden bridge built
just for hikers on this trail, which is anchored on only one end so
it can swing out in a flood without being washed away, and then the
creek disappears behind a wall of grasses. Crossing a culvert from
Thorn Apple Spring, I can see a few dozen, well, wooden poles in the
ground. They are young trees, willows and cotton woods, roughly two
inches in diameter and 8-10 ft tall. They were harvested a few miles
away, near where I started this hike in fact, and are inserted into
small holes dug into the thick roots of the Reed Canary Grass.
Because of their species, they will sprout both roots and branches,
the roots below those of the mat-like grass roots, the branches above
the reach of browsing deer. Freed from these two impediments that
have held back reforesting, the trees grow into a canopy, eventually
providing better deer habitat an shading out the destructive invasive
grass.
The trails turns up a long hill out of
the creek valley and into a forest of oak, hickory and cherry. It
essentially doubles back and is now on top of a ridge 50 or 100 feet
above the creek. I get my first reminder in a while that I am still
in farm country, as corn becomes visible through the trees on my
left. I am nearing the end, but this last mile has some excitement in
store yet.
Just off the trail, near a sign marked
“Blow Hole” is a unique little ecosystem called an Algific Talus
Slope. Specific to this small part of the world, this quirk of
geology occurs because of the wet, porous nature of the rock, the
slope of the hill, and the wide variability in temperature through
the year. In the winter, cold, damn air flows into the open fissure,
freezing to sides and chilling the wet rock around it. Come summer,
the cool air inside the mini-cave draws more air in, but cools it and
the cool air flows through the cracks underground to other openings,
creating cool spots that have harbored plants and animals that long
ago migrated north or went extinct. This was thought to be the case
with the Iowa Pleistocene Snail, which was rediscovered in 1955.
These remnants exist throughout the Driftless area of Minnesota,
Iowa, Wisconsin and Illinois.
Shortly after my visit to the blow hole, the trail leaves the logging road it has been on and enters a thick, rolling section of woods as a narrow but well trodden track. This is my favorite part of the trail. Steep switchbacks and obvious yet hidden presence of wildlife, tracks and calls and the like, makes it feel so much more remote.
Shortly after my visit to the blow hole, the trail leaves the logging road it has been on and enters a thick, rolling section of woods as a narrow but well trodden track. This is my favorite part of the trail. Steep switchbacks and obvious yet hidden presence of wildlife, tracks and calls and the like, makes it feel so much more remote.
After a long, steep descent, the Lost
Creek Trail crosses one last small stream, a spring that has carved
out an impossible valley for how small it is. Stepping stone rocks
have been put in place, and standing on them I look back upstream
into a fairytale glen of greenery. This is in a way the boundary of
the deep seclusion of the trail. Crossing over I climb up the steep
opposing side of the valley, actually slipping a little along the
way, and finally emerge into an open prairie. In the distance I can
see a few silos, and I hear a car go past.
There is still though interesting and
impressive scenery. The landowners have direct seeded thousands of
walnuts, acorns and other seeds in the past decade, and this is now a
chest high forest where was once a cornfield. Opposite that, pine and
other coniferous trees, particularly the impressively deciduous
coniferous tamarack trees (which have pine needles which brown and
die off in the winter), have created a pleasant savannah like
setting. I pass by this and a hay field, trying to absorb the last bits of quiet as the sun creeps ever closer to the tree lined horizon.
I round a last outcropping of trees,
again they hide a steep valley that feeds a spring into Lost Creek,
and pressing up against a corn field the parking area and road come
into view. I would take a short road walk and then cut back to the
family house I was staying at, but most people will get in a car or
turn around here. Someday, maybe the trail will be extended though,
there is a bit more interesting terrain and landmarks to the west,
but now now.
I have spent many hours on the trail. Scouting out a route when it was just an idea, building, maintaining and just enjoying parts of it. But this was only my second “through hike”, and my first alone. It was a wonderful reminder not just of the physical beauty that exists in Middle America, but the community beauty. This trail is almost all on private land, organized and maintained by private individuals, and paid for with donations and a few grants. We really lack access to nature in the Midwest, but the Lost Creek Trail does a little to fix that.
I have spent many hours on the trail. Scouting out a route when it was just an idea, building, maintaining and just enjoying parts of it. But this was only my second “through hike”, and my first alone. It was a wonderful reminder not just of the physical beauty that exists in Middle America, but the community beauty. This trail is almost all on private land, organized and maintained by private individuals, and paid for with donations and a few grants. We really lack access to nature in the Midwest, but the Lost Creek Trail does a little to fix that.