Day 127: Gibraltar Rock Segment (Part 2), Columbia County

Day 127: Sunday, January 16th, 2022

Total Miles covered for the day: 3.5

Location 1: The Gibraltar Rock Segment, between the crossing on State Road 113 and the Slack Road parking area

1.7 miles of trail covered

Theresa and I stayed up way too late last night doing a jigsaw puzzle. Too late, as in, 2 AM too late. Not sure what we were thinking. That translated into a very late start for us today. For a miracle, Theresa didn't have a headache.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, our main reason for coming down here this weekend was to hike the section of trail through the Steenbock Preserve before they cut down a whole bunch more of the beautiful red cedar trees. 

I have a degree in Forestry. I understand the concept of 'conservation' and why it's different than 'preservation'. And I know why it's necessary to cull some trees in favor of others. But the decision on what to cut must always be made with the health of the forest in mind. 

I understand the role that Tree Stand Improvement plays in the health and well-being of the forests. I have practiced that art in several small stands of woodland. I can say with some authority that cutting down large, healthy trees that are providing critical wildlife habitat for the exclusive purpose of making it possible to see the hills beyond where you are standing has nothing whatsoever to do with conservation or preservation. 

These trees, identified as the 'Cedar Curtain', have been marked for death. The worst part of this whole offensive activity is that there is no effort given to using the trees in any way, not even for lumber. They will be killed and burned for the sole purpose of providing a better view of the faraway hillside, despite the fact that they are thriving here because it is the exact spot that nature has given them to exist. 

Why do these trees grow here when they don't grow elsewhere? Is it the soil? The rocks? The amount of rainfall? The elevation?  What makes this a place where they grow, and all the other trees do not? And what makes these trees more worthy of being cut down and burned than the uncountable millions of other trees we walk past on the Ice Age Trail? We stand back and marvel at the 300-year-old oak trees, and sigh with contentment as we pass through white cedar and hemlock groves, thinking how beautiful those places are. Are we so hateful of the prickly branches of these red cedars that we forget the role they play in providing food and habitat for squirrels, birds, porcupines and the like? I am saddened by their impending doom. Those trees don't know that they have struggled through their last winter, and are seeing their last days of sunshine. I'm saddened by thinking we have brought the woodsman's axe to this beautiful place for no better reason than arrogance and avarice. 

Time to hike.

After leaving a vehicle near the Hwy 113 intersection we drove back up to the Slack Road parking area and started our hike on the Steenbock Preserve hump of the Gibraltar Rock Segment at about 12:15 pm. 

We started out by traipsing west and working our way downhill into a long ravine, eventually crossing a creek.  We also crossed paths with a new Snail by the name of Heidi Freymiller and her dog Petey. 

But then, what goes down must inevitably go up, or such is the rule of the Ice Age Trail. After crossing the small, unnamed and frozen intermittent creek we started a long uphill climb that took us from 930 feet in elevation to 1080. I can tell, from my own perspective, that a 150 foot climb doesn't seem as difficult as it once did. Based only on the fact that we didn't stop along the way, I think they are getting a little easier for Theresa, as well. Under cold-weather conditions, anyway. There were a couple nice switchbacks to help with the climb, and it was nice to see how well they were done. 

Once again I have to say how incredibly important it was that we were wearing our Microspikes. Without them, we wouldn't be able to make it up and down the ice-covered hills, let alone safely. But wearing these babies make me feel like a cat on Velcro. I couldn't slip if I wanted to. 

After crossing the first hilltop, and on the way to the second one, we walked through a stand of mature white pines, though not of the ancient monolith variety. There is a nice bench up there, and a small lean-to structure to play in. These are teepee creations using the sticks and debris that can be found in almost any public park. They are the archeological remnants of the playful, be it children or adults, as they serve no purpose other than to spark the imagination of those who would climb inside their hastily-made boundaries. 

Some, like this one, have been fortified and rebuilt over time, strengthening the illusion of walls and enhancing the allure of the entrance. "Come play inside", it says to the children who pass by. Evidence in the snow shows that many such children have passed here recently, and their patient parents sit on the convenient nearby bench while the children burn off their relentless energy. 

They are worthless, or course, from a survival perspective, except maybe as a source of raw material for building a functional lean-to shelter. And though I have not yet succumbed  to the invitation, I think, as I write this, that the next chance I get, I will crawl inside one of these structures and let my own mind wander. Or maybe I'll take some time and build something more elaborate. Goodness knows there is plenty of raw material laying around on the trail. 

It is at the top of this second hill, the one where there is an IAT Logbook and another fantastic bench to rest upon, that the sacrilege of cutting and burning is taking place. I can appreciate the view they are creating. As one gazes across the open field created in part by tree removal, one can see a magnificent vista of the Baraboo Bluffs across Lake Wisconsin. But this view is coming at the sacrifice of trees that are truly just a part of the landscape I was there to appreciate. 

Need a better view? Build a tower. 

I spent quite a while wandering around among the red cedars and enjoying their company. Interestingly enough, they aren't a cedar tree at all. They are in fact a juniper tree, juniperus virginiana, which explains the prickly nature of their branches and greenery. The mature trees all grow with a tortured and shriveled look to their trunks, like desiccated fibrous muscles without a surrounding sheath of skin. Popping out of the folds come the branches, often dead at human height, sticking out like porcupine quills, creating a barrier to large animals and a haven for smaller ones. 

The winter color of the foliage is unique, with the green flavored by a reddish-purplish hue. Once you know what you're looking for, you can spot a red cedar from a quarter mile away.

Image downloaded from the Internet

Their thick foliage plays host to many species of animals and birds, and the abundant berries are happily devoured by many others. Quails, bobwhites, ruffed grouse, pheasants, and turkeys are often found roosting in their branches. Certain species of butterflies are particularly attracted to them. The silvery bark peels off easily (if you can get to it) making it an ideal source of nesting material for birds and squirrels. In the fall you can find Robins, Juncos, Cedar Waxwings, Mockingbirds, and over 50 other species of songbirds munching on the berries right along with rabbits, foxes, raccoons, skunks, opossums, coyotes, deer and others. The berries, by the way, grow only on the female trees. The Eastern Red Cedar is one of many species of tree that is 'gendered', or dioecious. Only the females produce fruit. 

Internet Image

The greatest mystery, perhaps, is how they came to be called a 'cedar' at all. They look nothing at all like our soft, friendly white cedar, or arborvitae tree, know by the Latin name of thuja occidentalis. (I could spend more time discussing how weird it is that thuja occidentalis came to be called the 'Eastern White Cedar', but that's going too far afield.) 

There are negatives, of course. One is that the red cedar is simply too good at propagating itself. I could dedicate a similar post to the benefits and drawbacks of blackberry and raspberry thickets, and anyone who has ever tried to eradicate a patch of berry bushes is aware that they are a persistent species. Eastern Red Cedar is similarly difficult to get rid of if it is growing somewhere you don't want it to be. It is considered an 'invasive species' in many areas, because it is so good at taking over abandoned fields. 

It is this fact that brought me peace as I wandered through the open field. I saw, among the burned stumps and branches, hundreds - nay thousands - of small red cedar trees popping up through the grasses. When the IAT grows weary of cutting them down, year after year, and burning their branches, I know the cedar curtain will return to this hillside. They, alone among all tree species, are the trees that are meant to grow in this spot. 

Satisfied with our red cedar experience, we proceeded down the trail to work on our other objective, completing the Ice Age Trail (someday). 

The trail was unsurprisingly a little busy today, and there were a number of small groups making their way along in twos and fours. Several passed by as we dallied at the hilltop, and we crossed paths with one or two more as we walked down from the top of the hill. 

I took a side-trip over to see the distributed camping area, and it seemed nice enough. It was a little too sloped for my taste. Nothing flat on which to set up a tent. There is a water jug sitting there for some reason I can't think of, since it is not close to any source of water, and really - would you drink water from a jug that had been sitting in the woods for some unknown period of time? 

Catching up to Theresa, I found her sitting on a bench, situated on a little knoll in the shelter of a large Eastern Red Cedar tree. 

And there we sat and waited for a group of hikers to catch up to us. This is unusual, as we normally don't have to wait for anyone to 'catch up to us', but this group in particular was doing more exploring than hiking, with grandpa showing the grandkids all the interesting tracks in the snow, so they were slower than most. 

When the kids caught up to us, we showed them our 'Snail tracks', and awarded them with SnOTT patches. 

By now a light snow was falling, gently blown by the breeze that caught the tops of the hills but failed to penetrate the valleys. We took a final, long walk downhill to the waiting car, with the river in view much of the way. 

This leg of our journey ended at about 2:45 pm. It was a gray, chilly day (21 degrees) but the woods felt welcoming and friendly. 

Location 2: The Gibraltar Rock Segment, between the Gibraltar Road parking area and the south/west Trailhead on CTH V. 

1.8 miles of trail covered

Getting from leg one to leg two involved picking up the launch vehicle, finding a public restroom (which wasn't as easy as you might think, as there is NOTHING close-by), and repositioning both vehicles. Bottom line, we weren't ready for walking again until 3:51 pm. 

We decided the best approach would be to hike south to north, or maybe west to north, from the end of the segment to the Gibraltar Road parking area. The parking lot on the south/west end was very icy, and I had to take two runs to get up the driveway. 

As we got ourselves ready to go, two other hikers arrived and were about to start walking when they noticed our ice cleats. We advised them that they were useful, so they doubled back to put some on while we got started. 

The walk uphill was pretty mild at first, though steady. The hard-packed trail was mostly just that, but in a few places it was icy. Just as we were passing a few boulders in a grove of trees, we were passed by the other couple as they made their way up the hill. It wasn't a surprise. We aren't called "The Snails" for nuthin'. 

The trail here was was well-used - even trampled. I was hoping to get a view of the famous 'Gibraltar Rock' from the bottom as we went up, but it wasn't to be. That view would have to wait until the next day when we would walk the connecting route.

Just before we headed into the woods and started walking closer to the bluff we sat down for a think. I had never been to Gibraltar Rock before. Theresa had been here many times, though never from this side. 

As we started walking up the hill, through a jumble of talus boulders littering the landscape on the western edge of the bluff, she told me stories of some of the many trips she had taken here. As we walked and climbed, and I listened to stories of the past, the boulders, trees and cliffs fell away behind us and we barely noticed that the way was steep and icy. Well - I barely noticed, and Theresa didn't say anything, so... I'm sticking to the fantasy. 

We walked around the north end of the first peak and eventually reached the top. Given our choice, we picked the yellow trail towards the cliff (of course). 

We never did cross paths with that other couple again. While we took the yellow trail, they came back on the white loop. Which meant we had the cliff to ourselves, which is probably unusual. 

I can see why people like coming here. Even on a gray, snowy late afternoon, with light fading fast and color fading into black and white, the bluffs have a magical quality to them. There was only a hint of wind as I stared over the edge of the cliffs, off into the distance that we would be hiking tomorrow. 

But it was more than just the future I was looking at. It was also the past. Here, at the top of this cliff is a tree that is probably the most photographed tree on the whole Ice Age Trail. It is, unsurprisingly, a Red Cedar, distinctive in the loop of limb that forms a nearly perfect circle at its base. The tree has stood here, in this place, greeting visitors for as long as there have been visitors. Theresa tells me that she remembers seeing this same tree, fifty years ago, looking almost exactly the same. 

You may question how a tree can be so unchanging over so long a period of time, but that's because you're thinking about time on the scale of humans. I remember reading a while back about a researcher who was taking samples of trees in different places, trying to find the oldest trees in the state. It turns out they are located at Ship Rock, another glacial feature not far off the Ice Age Trail, and they are the gnarly and knotty old conifers hanging off the edge of the rock faces. They look like they are barely alive, precariously scratching out a meager existence. They have been doing so for over 1300 years. This tree, the famous peephole tree on the edge of the cliff at Gibraltar Rock, could easily be over 1000 years old. 

There is a bronze plaque on a rock talking about the history of the land. It used to be possible for people to drive all the way up to the top, many years ago. Theresa told me she and her family would drive up here and picnic, the kids running around and mom and dad trying to keep them from falling off the edge. 

I believe the road is still there, based on the cleft in the tree canopy that is visible from a satellite view, but the road is now gated. We saw no sign of the parking area that used to be at the top. 

This is a view taken along the edge of the cliff. The trees are sticking out from the tops of the cliff close-by, while far behind them the rock face falls away 30 and 50 and 75 feet straight down. This was as close as I wanted to get to the edge. Ice cleats or no, one slip on those ice-covered rocks would make for an unplanned detour, or an abrupt end to the adventure altogether. 

I would have stayed longer, but we were severely pushing our luck on daylight. As twilight started passing into darkness, we made our way down the stone steps that would have been treacherous and nearly impassable without our special footgear. 

Once past these stone steps, the rest of the trip was easy. The ice cleats made the footing safer, but the fading light caused us to lose depth perception and detail. Roots, stones, and even variations in the height of the snow became places we could trip over. 

 

My headlamp guided us home. We had only the one light between us, but it was enough to keep us from breaking our necks as we made our way to the car. 

We crossed the now-gated road just before reaching the parking lot and ending the day at 5:36 pm. Alive and well, we had just done the unthinkable. We hiked the Gibraltar Rock Segment in wintertime, over the ice, in the dark. 

Theresa says this wasn't her idea.

Running Total: 871.2 miles of trail covered, 144.5 miles 'extra' hiking/biking. End of Day 127.

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