Day 143: West Bend Segment (Part 2), Washington County

Day 143: Sunday, February 27th, 2022

Total Miles covered for the day: 4.9

Location 1: The West Bend Segment, from County Road D to Washington Street

2.6 miles of trail covered

"Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt. - John Muir

Sunday is usually our go-home day, and today was no different. Not until the end, anyway. 

Theresa was unusually eager to get going this morning. Last night we looked at the maps, and we felt like if we got going early enough we could finish the five miles of trail left on the West Bend Segment before heading home. 

Doing this would mean that we had truly overachieved over the last two weeks. It was ten days ago that we stood metaphorically at the north end of the Parnell Segment, staring down 30 miles of the Kettle Moraine Northern Unit between us and West Bend. In those ten days, of which four had to be spent back in Wausau at work, we have covered the Parnell Segment (13.9 miles), the Milwaukee River Segments in both Fond Du Lac and Washington Counties (11.2 miles), the Kewaskum and Southern Kewaskum Segments (3.2 miles) and even a little bit of the West Bend Segment as a filler. Finishing this segment would mean we were down to only 24 segments left to hike, plus a little bit of connecting route.

OK, a lot of connecting route. But it's still amazing to us. 

By 9:50 am we were checked out of the hotel and had cars in position. The first one was the easiest. Theresa drove the 0.1 miles to the Culver's parking lot and left a car there, then we drove a few miles north to the north end of the West Bend Segment. It was 27 degrees, there was only a light 10 mph breeze, and there were no clouds. We couldn't ask for a better Sunday.

I have mentioned before, and I will say it again here. There is nothing - and I mean NOTHING - to identify the north end of the West Bend Segment. Not even a yellow blaze visible down the trail if you stand at the end and look down as far as you can see. Even looking the other direction onto the South Kewaskum Segment you only see one yellow blaze on a telephone pole if you know what you're looking for. 

If I hadn't had the exact coordinates of the north end of the trail, I would have had no way of knowing I was in the right place until I took a two-tenths of a mile journey south. I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt and say it hasn't always been like that, but they could sure use a little emergency maintenance in the form of yellow blazes. 

At first the trail was straight as an arrow, proceeding along what looked like it could be a snowmobile trail, but wasn't. I didn't take any photos along that first quarter of a mile. It was basically like walking on a bike path. 

But then the trail took a 90 degree turn to the west and and headed off into the hills. And I do mean HILLS. That was one of the most amazing discoveries for me, was learning just how rugged this whole section was. 

I started thinking about trees, and the stories they have to tell. I'm not sure what this young tree suffered, but the wound was impressive.

Here was a slanted oak tree, bent from a storm and hosting mosses and fungi. 

And here was a tree that was dead, it's bark gone, exposing the inner battle it waged and lost against the many beetle larvae who ate away at the cambium layer. 

Up, up, up we hiked. It wasn't steep, but it kept going up. 20 feet - 60 feet - 100 feet in elevation. And oddly enough, we weren't alone. A lot of the trail through here is shared use, and bicycles are allowed. You wouldn't think that would be much of an issue in winter, but we saw almost as many fat-tired bikes as we did hikers. 

We also saw a small flock of red-bellied woodpeckers, which was a treat. Far too often we hike the trail with no sign of a birds anywhere. 

But once we were on top, we found that there was a lot of level and downhill walking before we reached Beaver Dam Road. 

This photo gives an idea of the scale and steepness of the hills. This tree had fallen in such a way that it bridged the span, and hikers simply pass underneath. 

The parking area at Beaver Dam Road (it's labeled as Jefferson Street on the maps) is next to a sign identifying the region as the Glacial Blue Hills Recreation Area.  The parking lot is large, meant to accommodate 20 cars or more. That does not guarantee a spot, however, as this area appears to be extremely popular with the locals. I can see why. 

Standing at the spot where the trail came out on the north side of the parking lot, it wasn't entirely easy to spot the trail sign on the other side of the road. However, when we moved around the small island of trees in the way it it was hard to miss. 

The way south from here is quite steep, but not viciously so like in other parts of Kettle Moraine north of here. Instead there was a series of well-placed logs acting as both steps and erosion control. 

On the way up I met this fine, bearded fellow. 

And in case you were wondering, West Bend is a place where blazes are allowed on trees, unlike the trails further north. Up there there is only occasional blazes on 4x4 posts. Here, at least, you could count on a little paint to guide the way - once you got a quarter of a mile into the trail, anyway. 

Here is another tree who has been sharing food with some fungi. This is the sign of a distressed tree, and probably the reason we've been hearing so many woodpeckers. 

These two nobbly fellows were sharing close quarters and had a lot to say to each other, but very little to me. 

This tree had a different kind of fungus growing on the bark, giving it the appearance of vitiligo.

And this tree below, the beech tree, has the unique ability to retain a smooth outer bark surface throughout it's entire life, except at the very base where some scarring is always visible on the older trees. 

Some trees seem to flake their skin off like scales, as is the case with this cherry tree.

Sometimes you run out of things to talk about on the trail, and your mind starts to wander. I had been spending a lot of time on this hike thinking about trees. 

And I thought to myself, 'What do the trees think about?'

Out loud I asked Theresa, "When the trees get older, do you think they have more to say, or less to say?"

"Less."

I waited, but there was nothing else forthcoming. There's a joke in there somewhere. 

"Do they talk loudly or softly?"

"It depends on who they're talking to."

"Do their voices get deeper as they get older?"

"Yes."

This was tougher than I thought it was going to be. 

"What do you think they like to talk about?"

She didn't bite. "What do they say to you?"

I guess that was a fair question. 

"They don't seem to have much to say to me today. I think they spend most of their time talking to each other."

"What do the hills have to say?", she asked me. 

This threw me for a loop. Here I was anthropomorphising the trees and she went right for the ground beneath our feet. 

"The hills aren't talking to me either," I told her. "They're too busy talking to the trees."

"The hills talk to some people," she said, enigmatically. That as where the conversation ended. 

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One of the amazing things about this Segment is how close it is to civilization, and yet how remote and distant it feels. Surrounded by the city of West Bend, the only reminder was the occasional intrusion of highway noise, and even that was subdued for most of the trip. 

Shortly after spotting this sign we crossed Park Avenue. 

There were a few benches along the way, but we didn't make use of many of them. Instead we kept moving along, tackling hill after hill, until we saw the final descent to Washington Street, identifiable by the blue and white Culver's sign.

2.6 miles down, 2.3 to go. 

Location 2: The West Bend Segment, from the parking area on Wheat Ridge Lane to the southern trailhead on Paradise Drive.

2.3 miles of trail covered

Since we had both already hiked the next 1.8 miles, we skipped that and went to the south end to walk the last 2.3. We dropped a car at the very nice southern trailhead parking area and then drove back up to Wheat Ridge Lane to hike south. 

The wind had picked up a bit, and we did the best we could to not have it directly in our faces. To that end, we were hiking north to south with each leg. 

We touched the sign at 1:04 pm, temperature a balmy 33 degrees. I stayed layered. The wind was chilly and damp. 

Right at the trail sign, on both ends of this leg, is a sign warning hikers that there are closures due to logging that will be happening at some point during the fall or winter season. Well - it was already pretty late into the winter season. We were prepared to do an out and back if necessary, but figured if we did encounter any logging it would be possible to bypass it on a Sunday. It never became an issue. There was no logging. 

This leg was an interesting combination of the other two legs to the north. There was water to see, usually quite a ways off in the distance, but there was also the hills and the trees. 

Once again, we were faced with a long uphill climb to get on top of the eskers, but once we were on top we pretty much stayed there. 

We found this perfectly lovely bench, and couldn't help ourselves but to take a long, leisurely rest to celebrate our accomplishments over the last two weekends. 

This was where Theresa had her epiphany. 

"I'm going to write a post on Facebook," she told me. "It's time to add to the 'I hate hiking' series."

I wasn't sure where this was going, but I was feeling relaxed, and even a little sleepy-eyed on the bench, so I just let her talk. 

She went on to tell me how she envisioned her post would read. How when she started this whole adventure, she hated hiking. That for eight hundred miles, she kept hiking, hating almost everything about it, especially the walking part of it. She didn't like walking. And she didn't like hills. She didn't like rock, or roots, or mosquitoes, or gnats, or flies, or pokey branches and bushes. She didn't like heat and she was afraid of the ice. But then something amazing happened. Something astounding. Something miraculous. She discovered that with the right equipment, she liked hiking in the wintertime. No, she LOVED hiking in the wintertime! She could breathe! She didn't get overheated! There were no bugs! No Flies! No rattlesnakes! And with the right gear for her hands and feet, she didn't have to worry about pain in her fingers and toes, and she didn't have to worry about slipping and falling. Today, she realized to her own amazement, there WAS some part of hiking that she could actually LOVE. 

She still hates hills, though. 

As we sat on the bench, two hikers passed us by, moving fast. We would meet them again later as they made their way back. 

After a long, relaxing rest, Theresa stood up and started back down the trail. We walked a long, long way south, it felt like, before we started walking the looping switchbacks that took us down the hill towards the river. 

And I encountered yet another friend with distinct bark, the paper birch. 

Sadly, the very thing that makes the beech tree so unusual also makes it a target for carving. The smooth outer bark is easily scored, and the effect lasts forever. The act of carving initials and hearts on a tree is romantic in novels, but on a well-used trail it just becomes another destructive form of graffiti. 

1.3 miles into the trip, we finally approached the river, with this impressive bridge to help span the water. 

"Take my picture!" she said. I want to get a good photo for my 'I love winter hiking' post!"

"Make sure there's lots of snow in the background."

That wasn't hard - there was snow in every direction. 

"OK," I said,  "How about one by the river?"

And while we were hanging around down by the river, the other couple came hiking back the other way. Meet Kevin and Carol Ott. 

They told us they hiked as far as the scout camp. We had been concerned about the possibility of closures due to logging, but they said so far there are none. 

When we reached the scout camp, Camp Silver Brook, there was an astonishing array of signs warning hikers to stay away from the camp, and off of any private trails. Some of the signs bordered on rude, and I was a little surprised the Girl Scouts would take that stance. It's hard to imagine what they must have encountered that would have made them respond that way. 

This sign, on the other hand, told us a little more about eskers. We had the impression that eskers formed as tubes of water flowing through the ice. Apparently (and logically) sometimes those rivers flow along right on top of the underlying earth. It's not the first time we've seen this sign, but it was the first time either of us really looked hard at it. 

And yes, here is another woody fellow. This one wears his skin like feathers. It's a shagbark hickory. 

As we approached the end of the segment, the sun still fairly high in the sky, we took our last walk through and among the junipers. 

This juniper tree, also called a red cedar, has its own distinctive bark.

Almost there...

The end. 

It was 3:04 pm and the temperature hit 35 degrees. The snow was melty under our feet for much of the hike, but we weren't getting all the ice balls on our cleats like we were the other day, or at least nowhere near as bad. 

We climbed into the van and headed back to pick up the other car and head home. 

This might have been the end of a great weekend. As I mentioned, we couldn't have asked for a better Sunday. Except that on the way home, while cruising down the highway at a road-clogging 72 miles per hour, my van decided to take a nap. 

It's a discomforting feeling having your vehicle suddenly shake and cough violently, then after pulling over to the side of the road, having it simply refuse to respond to any and all attempts at resuscitation. 

Broken down on the side of the road, I was deeply grateful that Theresa was right behind me, in the other car, and we were able to simply transfer all the gear over to the Prius and drive home. This thing could have broken down anywhere. And if you've done any kind of serious hiking on the Ice Age Trail you know just how isolated and remote that 'anywhere' could be.

But no, I was right here on the Interstate. We called the Insurance company. "Tow truck should be there in 55 minutes or less."

I told the officer, who had stopped by to check on us, that we were fine, and we would be waiting for the tow truck.

"You sure?" he asked.

"No problem," I assured him. "We have warm clothes, a second car, food, beverages -  we even have a portable toilet with us." This brought a slight chuckle. 

The officer left, and we waited. A full two hours passed before we were picked up. Wires had been crossed, and let's just say I'm glad the tow service did a better job of following up than our insurance company. But who was I to complain? The tow actually cost only about $150, and I was expecting much more. 

The repair bill, on the other hand, is going to be a lot higher. We got home a little later than planned, and short exactly one vehicle. But we were home safe. 

UPDATE: We broke down just north of Fond du Lac, but chose to have our vehicle towed closer to home, to Oshkosh. We figured we had a dead fuel pump, and we weren't wrong. When that was replaced, they were able to get the car running - sort of. 

"Well - we have a problem," the shop told us. "It's running, but there's still something wrong with it."

I'll spare all the gory details. It is now eight days later and we have received the good news that the repair will only cost us about $6,500. We're actually celebrating at that. A new van would cost on the order of 30-50 thousand, and if the old one had needed a new engine (a very real possibility given what happened to it), it would have been more like 14 or 15 thousand. Given those options, a mere six or seven grand seemed like quite a bargain. 

The van isn't home yet, but I'm crossing my fingers that this will be the final tally. 

Running Total: 956.1 miles of trail covered, 147.6 miles 'extra' hiking/biking. End of Day 143.

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Day 142: Milwaukee River Segment (Washington County), West Bend Segment (Part 1), Washington County

Day 142: Saturday, February 26th, 2022

Total Miles covered for the day: 8.7

Location 1: The Milwaukee River Segment (Washington County)

6.9 miles of trail covered

“Distance changes utterly when you take the world on foot. A mile becomes a long way, two miles literally considerable, ten miles whopping, fifty miles at the very limits of conception. The world, you realize, is enormous in a way that only you and a small community of fellow hikers know. Planetary scale is your little secret." 

― Bill Bryson, A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail

Bill Bryson, a celebrated author who wrote a book about his aborted attempt to hike the Appalachian Trail, nevertheless embodies the very essence of the Snail. Achievements do not have to be done quickly to be celebrated, and need not be measured by any yardstick other than one's own. Though he did not walk all of the Appalachian Trail, he nevertheless considers himself to be a veteran achiever of merit. 

It is certainly our intent to continue forward with this pursuit, and eventually walk all 1200 miles of it. But if anything were to interrupt that goal we are no less satisfied in knowing that we have covered over 900 miles on this trail, and have seen pretty much every variation of natural terrain Wisconsin has to offer, from bog and swamp to lofty peak, from thickest forest to sandy savanna, from hemlock grove to wave-crashed beach. We have, at this point, seen it all. Our drive to finish is merely to be able to say to ourselves that we are done with the thing, and what a great adventure it has been.  

Today was one of those rare times we hooked up with another hiker, to walk side-by-side with us as we inched our way down the trail. 

Welcome to The Snails, Billie Burdick!

Yesterday we told people where we were hiking and there was lots of interest. Several people said they wanted to hike with us, and we left it open for anyone who wanted to attend. Billie was the one one who showed up on time at the launch point. 

Actually, we were the ones who were a little late. I had been at the launch point, the parking area on East Moraine Drive, before the intended start time of 10:30 and found it to be still covered in snow from the day before. I pulled out my trusty shovel and within 15 minutes or so had cleared out enough parking for three cars. Theresa arrived, a few minutes before 10:30, and she followed me north to the drop zone for our target vehicle. 

While we were there, at the connection between the northern and southern Milwaukee River Segments, we encountered three hikers who hadn't heard of us, but still were glad recipients of the SnOTT patches. They declined a photo. However, this took some time, and by the time we got back to the parking lot, Billie was waiting alone for us, and we were nearly 10 minutes late. 

In no time at all we explained our method of hiking and Billie grasped it faster than most. We started hiking north at 10:45 am, and the temperature was 20 degrees. 

It was chilly, with steady 15 mile per hour winds blowing south to north, and that made for a complicated decision on layers. After snapping the photo above a big gust of wind came up and I decided it would be better to have too many layers on than not enough. While the two women hiked north, I ran back to the car to put on one more.  

We were following the tracks of some four-tired monster that marked the trail. I don't know if this was something done intentionally to make hiking easier, but it certainly worked out that way, and it made it easier for us to walk side-by-side with Billie and have a conversation as we went. 

Somewhere on this stretch there is a nice bench to sit on, but we declined. It was too early to get our butts soaking wet. 

The segment is named for the county it's in, but at the very north end the last four tenths of a mile are in Fond Du Lac County. Somewhere near that county line there is one medium-sized hill to climb, and on top of it we met the three hikers whom we had given patches to earlier.

They were great people, fun-loving and energetic, and we spent a little more time chatting with them and introducing them to Billie. But - we were headed north, and they were headed south, so with a smile and a wave, we parted ways. 

Somewhere along the way the Snowcat, or whatever vehicle was used to flatten the snow on the trail, had turned around. Now that I think about it, maybe there were only two tires, and what I was seeing was two out and two back. That meant we were back to normal slogging through the snow, but there had already been many footfalls before us to mark the way. 

The section was heavily wooded with trees that were a little on the young side.  

When we got to the road, 1.0 miles into our planned hike for the day, we met two new snails, Anne and Jim Wilson, and their dog Lexie. 

I must say that Billie was very patient and understanding of our desire to interact with hikers and give patches away. In fact, she rather seemed to enjoy it. 

Before we left I said, "Hang on - I need to go over there and touch the sign." We explained to Billie that we did this as a ritual, and that we did it so that we could always say we covered every inch of the trail. 

"I totally get it," she said. 

Next, we drove down to the Hwy 28 parking area, which was loaded with parked cars. There were two people waiting for us at the trail head sign. 

Camille Sterr and Stacy Schickert had hiked this section before, but really wanted to come find us and get SnOTT patches, so they came here again to cross paths with us. They had hiked the trail from our launch point headed south, thinking they would definitely cross paths with us, but they underestimated our snailishness. By the time they had finished their 1.8 mile hike from East Moraine Drive to Hwy 28, we had not quite completed our one mile hike to the north and gotten to the Hwy 28 trailhead, even though they left a little after we did. 

Apparently they forgot to factor in socializing time. 

Fortunately, they got our group chat message before they left the parking area, and they waited for us to arrive. As a reward, they became our 7th and 8th SnOTT patch recipients of the day, and Theresa proclaimed that one of them was actually our 200th recipient. 

Of all the investments we've made so that we could enjoy our hiking, these patches were the best. 

We headed north again at 12:06 pm, with a brisk wind at our backs. Thankfully the temperature was creeping up, and would hit 30 before the day was done. 

Right at the trailhead was a sign telling a brief history of the Kettle Moraine State Forest. I found the information interesting. 

It was also interesting that this small part of the trail was covered in juniper trees, both the low-lying variety and the standing variety, also known as red cedar. I hadn't seen these growing north of here in any abundance, but they made for a dominant presence on the hills surrounding the parking lot. 

The going was hilly, but I really felt like this particular section wasn't too bad. It was getting trampled already from all the people who had been there in the last 30 hours. 

We spent the next two hours hiking along this gorgeous section of trail, mostly walking on top of an esker that at times seemed ridiculously level and straight, considering the hills around us. The going was so easy, and the conversation so enjoyable, that I forgot to take very many photos. 

We did see a hairy woodpecker flitting across the sky, and heard another pileated off in the distance. Even so, we talked about the absence of other birds we should have seen. Cardinals, blue jays, juncos, chickadees - all were notably absent in sight, sound and tracks in the snow. Only the woodpeckers and the crows were present, and not even those in abundance. 

We crossed paths with many people, as we hiked this section, none of whom seemed like appropriate recipients for snail patches. It was a delightful walk, and we ended this leg at about 1:35 pm.

Our next leg took us all the way down to the intersection with County Road H, where the bridge is out. We weren't sure where to park, so we parked right down by the barricades. We made sure to walk as close to the water's edge as was reasonable before heading north again. Ironically, this was the first glimpse we had of the river for which these two segments are named. 

After walking up the road a very short distance we headed into the woods. If you look closely, you can see one of the cranes in the background that is being used to reconstruct the bridge. 

There was a lone set of footprints in front of us. 

"Not so many hikers through this part," I said. I wasn't wrong, but I wasn't right either. One tenth of a mile from where we started at the water's edge the trail dipped down to the parking area, which was large enough to accommodate many vehicles, and many were there. 

"These folks here, I said, "are trail hikers. That fellow we followed back there," I said, gesturing back the way we had come and indicating that lone set of tracks, "is an Ice Age Trail Hiker. He wanted to get cover every single inch."

The shared joke went over well. 

We decided I should run back down to the road to get the car and bring it back up to the parking lot. No sense leaving it in the way. I did that while Billie and Theresa kept hiking.

I caught up to them about a quarter mile down the trail, where there there is an actual hand pump for water. Many times I have extolled the virtues of these 'old-fashioned' pumps, because they work. More 'modern' water systems all require electricity and leave water exposed in areas where it will freeze and destroy the delicate plumbing. These old beauties solve that by leaving the water deep in the ground, where it won't freeze. All it takes is a little elbow grease to pump the water up, and you can have fresh, clean water year round. 

Shortly after that, the trail heads up into the hills again. 

Unlike the first tenth of a mile, this section looked like fifty people had walked both ways, averaging 0.6 dogs per person. The path was trampled four feet wide, although it tended towards a left and a right main channel. 

After that first hill, however, the way once again became fairly level and easy going. To either side of us the kettles plunged, wide and deep, and other eskers ran merrily alongside the one we were walking on. The topography through here is both intimidating and breathtaking, assuming you like hills and trees in close quarters. 

I never found a way to photograph them and give them any justice at all. 

This leg, which I felt was the nicest of all the Milwaukee River short-hikes, ended at 3:22 pm. We had managed to complete map 87, which is becoming a rarity for us at the moment. Rather than focusing on finishing maps, we're focused on finishing Segments. It just so happens that there is no Connecting Route mileage on map 87. 

We needed to take a break, and we weren't at all sure what our plans were going forward, so we bid adieu to Billie for the day before figuring out what to do next.

With two miles left of the segment, we weren't sure we could finish before dark. We took the long drive around to the parking area on the other side of the missing bridge, then went to check out the situation. We determined it would be possible to park on Sandy Ridge Road, right at the top of the hill where the trail crosses, once I shoveled a space for myself. 

The sun was going down fast, and we were trying to learn the lessons of the day before. Thirty during the afternoon, sure, but with that wind blowing the temperatures fall fast when the sun starts going down. We brought our extra layers with us. 

The wind was picking up speed, and was starting to have a bit of a bite. This leg started at 4:05 pm.

We had just missed a group of hikers traveling the same direction we were headed. We saw them far off in the field, and never crossed paths with them. They did, however, trample down the path for us a bit. Right as we got started, we saw a group of three bald eagles flying above the river and settling into a tree. The open water of the Milwaukee River brought them, and they will often congregate in groups in spots like this during the winter. 

The hike started out with a walk through the field that felt longer than it really was because of the wind. 

Then it rounds a corner and goes into the woods. This woods has a different feel to it, though, than the rest of the segment. This part feels more like some farmer's 'back 40', and there are the nearby fields and grassy tree lines to prove it. 

The going was not very hilly at all, and we made pretty good time as we walked. For the first and only time, as we finished this leg, we actually spent a few minutes walking within sight of the Milwaukee River. The trail didn't go right next to it, but we could see it from where we walked. 

just before reaching the car at the other great parking area next to the river, I stopped in the biting air long enough to take this shot of the sun casting shadows across the snow scallops formed by the stiff wind today. The low angle of the sun highlighted the crest of the snow-waves, and the wind deposited grains of snow and ice in a gentle slope behind each crest. In miniature, this is the same pattern seen on a drumlin, where the leading edge is steep, and the trailing edge more shallow. Contrary to what might seem reasonable, snow does not 'pile up' against a barrier in windy conditions. Instead, the barrier will be almost free of snow, while the trailing edge behind it will fill in to the top. It is the downwind side of a house that will have the highest snowdrifts after a storm.

The more of these signs I see, the more I like them. I am reminded that the Ice Age Trail did not spring forth whole from the earth in its present form. It took planning, time, and money, and the generosity of families like the Schaefers to get it to where it is today. There is a dream that someday the trail will be complete and uninterrupted, with no connecting routes. One mile at a time, the efforts of the Ice Age Trail Alliance are dedicated to making that dream a reality. 

We reached this sign at 4:42 pm and decided we had enough time to finishf the Segment. 

The last mile of the segment at the southern end runs between Highway 45 to Sandy Ridge Road. I remembered from the weekend before that right at the trailhead there is an access road that runs directly off the highway for a few dozen feet before crossing the bike trail. We were certainly not the first people to have pulled in there to park, though I'm guessing the trail groomers who had been there earlier in the day may have taken exception to our use of the space if they had come by after us. 

Either way, we found a convenient place to park to launch our last hike of the day. 

We started at 5:05 pm. The sun was just setting behind the ski hill as we began our walk across the marsh. 

The trail goes east, and south, and east, and south. This meant that the south wind we had been avoiding most of the day was in our faces for part of the hike. 

Of all the bits and parts of the Milwaukee River Segment, this is the only one that could truly be considered 'flat'. The first four tenths of a mile ran on top of a berm that had been dredged up or laid across the marsh. 

I caught this picture as we were hiking south along that stretch. 

And then, as we left the marsh behind and started walking through the woods in sight of a row of houses up on the hill, we finally saw some beech trees. 

When I was in school, I got an undergraduate degree in forestry. That was where I cemented most of my tree-lore, learning about identification and care of trees and woodlands. I became intimately familiar with the types of trees that fill the typical 'mixed hardwood forest' in Wisconsin - oaks, maples, hickory, basswood, aspen, birch, cherry, ash, walnut, butternut, elm, locust and cottonwood among others. I learned how to identify those species up close and from a distance, in winter and summer. 

But over the decades since I received this education I had forgotten about the American Beech tree. I saw a description of mixed hardwood forests in Wisconsin and it included Beech trees, and I thought, 'Beech trees? Why don't I remember the beech tree?'

I wouldn't have known a beech tree if I stubbed my toe on one. Yet I remembered learning about them. So I looked them up. The leaf is non-descript, ovoid and pointed with no interesting lobes or venation. But the bark of the tree is unique in Wisconsin. It is smooth and grey, even in the very oldest specimens, and they stand out in the forest like elves among dwarves. 

I also learned that the American Beech tree does not populate the entirety of Wisconsin, but heavily favors the Fox valley and the Lake Michigan shoreline. The places where I spent my youth and much of my adulthood, in Madison, Minocqua, Wausau and Richland County, did not have beech trees. Perhaps I can be forgiven for forgetting about them.

All the same, I made it a point to keep my eyes open for them and when I saw one, one foot from the trail and bearing a yellow blaze, I stopped in my tracks to look around me and noticed that I was in the presence of not one, but a whole grove of beech trees. They were not the only trees there, but they were plentiful, and I think they are a beautiful tree. 

I had Theresa come back to admire one, and she also took delight in seeing it. 

When no one was looking, I gave it a hug. 

To add one more surprise, we had finally gotten to a place where there was paint on trees, rather than a string of 4x4 posts. That meant there were more blazes to follow, which I always appreciate. 

There is a boardwalk or two through here, indicating that the way might get wet in other seasons. Theresa noticed there had been burning going on in the past, either intentional or otherwise, and she was pausing along the way trying to puzzle out which area had been burned and how long ago. Unfortunately, I was feeling chilled and was impatient to get going. My boots were wet and I had on one layer too few, so she didn't get as much time as she wanted to investigate. 

Heading up and over this one hill on the section, we hiked back out of the woods and onto a field, which we crossed to find the waiting van, sitting next to this lonely box elder tree.

Here at the end we were delighted to see that the eagles were still hanging around. 

The snapshot of the eagles at sunset was taken at 5:50 pm. The sun was long gone behind the bluffs to the west, but there was still plenty of light to go by. 

We were tired and cold, but we were happy and a little amazed that we finished the whole Washington County part of the Milwaukee River Segment in one day, and both halves over the last two days. 

We look tired in this photo. We earned it. 

Location 2: The West Bend Segment between the parking area at the end of Wheat Ridge Lane and Washington Street

1.8 miles of trail covered

We picked up our other vehicle and made our way back to the hotel, which was getting closer with every hike. When we got there, Theresa asked me if I wanted her to drop me off at the Wheat Ridge Lane parking area so that I could walk the 1.8 miles back to the hotel, as she had done on Thursday afternoon when she arrived in West Bend. 

I had absolutely wanted to walk this section before the weekend was out, so I agreed, as long as I could go inside and put on some dry socks. 

The boots I was wearing today fit my feet better than the Keen shoes I've been using, if only because my feet have changes size over the years and my buying habits have not. But the boots had not been properly waterproofed for for too long, and the leather was squishy and cold. Putting on new socks would help for a while, but I knew that before I was done I would only end up with another pair of wet socks. 

I also needed to use a headlamp, because the half-hour between the end of our last hike and the start of this one had brought on total darkness. 

I started hiking at 6:30 pm. 

Here is Theresa's pic from two days earlier.

At first I had planned on walking with the headlamp off, instead relying on the ample moonlight to guide my way. I changed my mind on that within a tenth of a mile, when I encountered an intersection and couldn't figure out which way the trail went. After turning on the headlamp I discovered that there were not four paths leading away from this nexus point, but five. I came in on one of them, and this fifth leg, the one I hadn't even seen before I turned the light on, was the continuation of the trail. 

From that point forward, I left the light on.

I had every intention of hurrying through this section, just to get back to the hotel, but I found that I couldn't do it. Even at night it was too pretty. I was walking through a beautiful woods, next to a very much broadened portion of Silver creek, made fatter by the presence of a few dams. 

The river was frozen, and I could see that many people have been walking out on the surface. That would be insane to do alone, and even more insane to do at night. I stayed on the trail. 

Photos were challenging. With only a pool of light from the headlamp it was difficult to get any perspective on what I was seeing to show up on film. I did end up with a couple of pics, however. 

There was a really nice picnic table and shelter.

In this shot you can tell that the trail had been trampled over the last two days.

I stopped at one of several small dams, restricting water flow and creating ponds. There were logs and branches that had gotten stuck in the neck, so I spent time removing them. Doing so allows the water to flow more smoothly, and also gives fish a prayer of a chance to be able to make it upstream if they so choose. 

The water was clean, but had the brownish tinge of tannins. 

There was one spot along the way where there were two options for which way to go, and neither was marked. Taking my best guess I stayed to the right, doubling back the way I had come, and it turned out to be the right choice. 

I encountered no other hikers as I made my way through in the dark. When I came out onto North University Drive I could see yellow blazes on the electric poles, guiding me north. On the ice-covered sidewalk I was glad that I was still wearing my ice cleats, and I chuckled as I saw the variety of tracks left behind by cleats, spikes and YakTraks. There was a high percentage of well-prepared walkers on this sidewalk. 

At the end of the road I crossed the still-busy West Washington Street and made my way up to the Culver's parking lot, and then the extra tenth of a mile to the hotel. My hiking day came to an end at 7:30 pm. The temperature was down to 18 degrees, but thankfully the wind had died down a little bit. My toes were wrinkled and cold, but we had achieved great things so far this weekend. I was very happy.

Running Total: 951.2 miles of trail covered, 147.6 miles 'extra' hiking/biking. End of Day 142.

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