Some guy from Florida
It’s not necessary to drive across the country to get a good hike in. Sure, trips to the Grand Canyon or the Great Smokies are once in a lifetime opportunities that shouldn’t be passed up. But how about on a lazy weekend, after a busy week of work? Sometimes all that’s needed is to drive across town. When I was younger, I didn’t even need to do that. I could just walk across the street.
On the stretch of road I grew up on, most homes were on one side, while mostly forest was on the other. This forest property fell under the ownership of a mysterious character from Florida, who didn’t live in the neighborhood. In fact, legend had it that he only came to Wisconsin for one week out of the year. In the minds of us kids, we had free reign to roam around the woods.
I grew up in La Crosse, WI, which is bluff country. The forest across the road from our house was blufflands. So, any hike in the woods meant first going uphill. While the bluffs don’t have the elevation of the Rockies, they are still steep, and offer a good workout. In addition, there were no permanent trails in those woods, so we needed to have our wits about us and play it safe.
Time to hike
From our house we crossed the street, entered the woods, and then hiked straight up. Once upon a time we hatched several schemes to build tree houses and forts. About the most progress we ever made was nailing some steps into the trees. On hikes we walked by these landmark trees, and then passed behind a lone house tucked away in the woods. After that the world became serene. Nothing but the trees and the birds.
Near the ridgeline the terrain got steep, so we needed to zigzag our way to the top. This ridgeline was the landmark that helped us keep our bearings. We could hike on the ridge in either direction, exploring as far as we wanted. Then, we could just turn around, find a familiar spot, and head back down the hill.
The hike to the left (west) followed the ridge until arriving at a small grove of pine trees. Most of the trees are hardwoods, so this area and its evergreen smell was similar to a finding a hidden room in a house. Once through the grove, the ridge fell away, and a big view opened up. Here, there was also a gap in the trees. A patch of long, straw colored grass and a few smooth rocks made good places to sit.
This was a perfect spot to spend a few moments on a warm, sunny day. We could see down the bluff and across the open fields below. Highway 33 ran like a ribbon over the land, and the cars looked like toys. Below us were some bushes, which on one occasion somebody slipped and fell into. Don’t worry, this wasn’t a cliff. It was more like a sledding hill.
Finding a new perspective
Another hike option, which we discovered later in our young lives, was to take a right (east) at the ridge. Then, we briefly hiked downhill, into a spot of the forest with sparse trees. I always thought that spot would be perfect for building a hole on a disc golf course. Afterwards, we hiked through one of the few really dense sections of bushes and arrived at another overlook.
This viewpoint was a little more impressive. We stood behind a cliff, on one large rock. Another rock mated with it, and there was a little gap between them. Not a great place to look down, but still easily conquered with a single step. Instead of overlooking a highway, this one overlooked an unpopulated valley between the bluffs. Here there were no signs of civilization: just trees below, and birds overhead.
Sometimes we hiked the bluff in the winter. We put on the hats, mittens, coats, snowpants, and boots, then trudged up through the deep snow. Often, we brought sleds, because some of the slopes near the ridge were quite fun for sliding. On one occasion, mysterious snowballs came flying at us from unknown directions. Was it a Yeti? No, it was just our Dad, who followed us up the hill and gave us a surprise.
A shot here, a crash there
Unfortunately, there are consequences to trespassing on Mr. Florida’s land, even if he’s only there one week a year. One time, when we were quite a bit older, we took a hike during the fall. Halfway up, we saw a line of men pacing towards us. They were about 50 yards from each other, and slowly marching in our direction like a troop of soldiers. Actually, they were hunters. When they passed, they scolded us for being on private property. One said, “If it wasn’t for his red hat, we could’ve thought you were a deer and shot you.”
It was a sobering moment. We spent so much of our childhood in those woods, to the point where they felt like an extension of our home. Then, the hunters came in and gave us a rude awakening. Well, maybe there’s still opportunity to go out on hikes: just not during hunting season.
We weren’t the only ones given a rude awakening. On one summer day, Mr. Florida turned off the highway and drove into the neighborhood. He must’ve drove all the way from Florida. As he passed in front of our neighbor’s home, a tree from the woods fell down and crashed over the hood of his car. It’s the only time I ever saw him come to the area. I suppose the woods was just offering a warm welcome to their distant owner.
