The park straddles Sugar Creek like a blanket made out of trees.
 |
| An uncomfortable blanket with random bridges in the middle of it. |
Thing is, all of the parking and less nature-type attractions on one side of the river, while the hiking trails are on the other side. So a good chunk of the people hang out at the pool, nature center, and other places that have actual plumbing.
Others take lazy trips down the river. Often involving booze.
 |
| Foreground: Scenic Sugar Creek Background: The Indiana Drunkard in its natural habitat. |
Eschewing both plumbing and booze, we forded the creek (the main bridge was closed) and set off into the wild on the far side.
 |
| By "wild" we mean "well-maintained nature preserve." But you get my drift. |
Turkey Run features many nice paths through forests, but that's not why anyone hikes there. People hike there for the sandstone gorges.
 |
| Once you step off that walkway, it's just you, the creek, and the gorge. |
Turkey Run lies just south of where the glaciers halted during the Ice Age. The tallest thing from there to Lake Michigan is the windmill electric generators. So the canyons and hills are pretty striking.
But let's pause for a second to consider history. Before Turkey Run was a state park, it was largely owned by the Lusk family. They did things like farm the nearby flat lands and built a coal mine with very low ground clearance.
 |
| This is the opposite of the "You Must be This Tall to Ride" signs. |
It really wasn't a productive mine. It pretty much gave them enough to use at their house. Today it's ruled by the Lord of the Bats. See that grating? It's specially designed to keep stupid teenagers out while allowing bats in. How do I know this? Why, an informative plaque, of course!
 |
| Informative! |
Educational activities aside, we opted for the trail that took you over the most varied path. Otherwise known as the most fascinating path.
 |
| Mud? Rocks? Dirty water? Exxcelllennnt... |
The path we took takes you along the creek bed through a canyon. You're often climbing on the actual rocks the water travels over. Being the mountain-raised fool I am, this meant barefoot hippie climbing.
 |
| Others might sigh and find a way around. I rip off my bourgeois shoes and bound forward like a toddler after a shot of espresso. |
This is definitely my favorite part of Turkey Run. But the other end of the gorge still involves a lot of fun ups and downs.
 |
| Sometimes very up. |
But the great thing, of course, is the nature everywhere. There's something heart warming about being surrounded by nature.
 |
| Even if it does raise it's middle finger at your maintained pathways. |
The whole thing was a great reminder that nature hangs right outside our manicured fields, lawns, and towns. Much like how stereotypical hoodlums hang outside stores smoking cigarettes and sneering.
 |
| Nature would like to say, "Screw your wooden staircases!" |
Sometimes, however, steps just aren't enough to get through the canyons. But nobody lets that stop them.
 |
| Seriously. This is just part of the trail. |
What's kind of neat is the reminder of how much people had to claw their lives away from the wilderness.
Because once you walked along the river's shores...
 |
| Please note: Kayakers are not authentic to the 19th century. |
...and once you walked past the dramatic cliffs...
 |
| The cliffs, however, are authentic to the 19th century. ...and, you know, thousands of years before that. |
...you'd find the old Lusk family home in a small clearing surrounded by woods.
 |
| You know, the one that used coal from the short mine. |
And while I got the pleasure of enjoying Turkey Run on a lovely early fall day, the Lusk family lived there all year. Including the dead of winter.
But that's the thing. No matter how much nature raises its wooden middle finger at me, I still love it. And as the Impressive Clergyman would say, "Chewish your wove."
Even if it means running around like a crazy turkey.
No comments:
Post a Comment