Hike Reveals Salamonie's Secrets
Published: Friday, September 27, 2024
As I got deeper into the trail, the crunch of gravel turned to the soft pat-pat-pat of the forest floor. The sounds of the highway melted away and Salamonie State Forest came alive. Rushing cars turned to swishing wind, creaking trees and the spattering of a stream trying to stay alive.
I have often said that it is important to get out into nature and let it draw you in to its awe-inspiring beauty, and nearly as often, I have said Indiana is a place worth seeing. For that matter, so is Michigan. Because of these things, I have decided to launch this seasonal, monthly column, so that you can, in a sense, come along with me on my walks on the wild side .
The first place I decided to explore was the Salamonie Reservoir. It is lush with a state forest, park and waterways, which is spread out across Wabash and Huntington counties. I chose the Three Falls Trail in Lagro, even though I had my doubts as to how much water would be falling that morning after so little rain this month. I did not get to spend nearly as much time there as I would have liked.
Even before I got knee deep into the wilderness, things began to change. The straight roads, which were carved out between square fields, began to twist and bend and hills began to appear as I neared the Salamonie Reservoir.
It seemed as if the world behind me disappeared as I clomped along the trail and the wide, flat, gravel path became narrow, winding and wild. The thoughts that I had running through my head began quietly as the noise of the world drifted away. I softened my footsteps so I could take in the entirety of the woods.
Right up until the first waterfall, and wherever the trail widened, "manmade" was written all over the trail. But even among the spray-painted trees, trail cameras and gravel walkways, the only thing truly stopping me from immersing myself in nature was myself. As soon as I began to really look around, deeper than the few trees along the trail, the late-summer action became crystal clear, and the woodland air filled my lungs.
The woodlands sound different this time of year. The birds and squirrels are still busy chittering away, but the songs have changed. Birds are no longer trying to woo one another with a love song but are trilling along with their work or calling warning cries that there are people (me) nearby. The squirrels, of course, scold as loudly as ever, but the urgency of their chatter has changed. They are less willing to waste time tsking when the acorns are dropping.
I came to the first fall, and, as I suspected, it was fighting to keep its name, with only about a 2-inch stream trickling down in the shade and a few shallow puddles along the drying creek bed. The stream slowly spilled over a drop of about 8 feet, trailed across a short jog before rolling over a second fall into a receding pool.
Despite the dwindling supply of water, it was gorgeous. Drops of sun snuck through the young forest canopy and sat like dew on the woodland floor. The deep ravines housed rocks that jutted out toward the creek and created natural pathways for deer and other wildlife. Their solid presence called out silently, beckoning hikers to explore.
So, I did. And as I padded down an incline, I stopped to listen to the woodpeckers knock on the trees. From the deep drumming of the pileated woodpecker to the rat-a-tat-tat of the downy woodpecker, it seemed they were all out and about to find something to eat. As I searched for them, I stopped to watch a red bellied woodpecker fly up to its home. Unluckily, it disappeared through the hole in the tree before I could snap a photo. Shortly after, I spooked a hawk.
Walking slowly, I realized I had become a bit out of practice when it comes to observing nature.
The trail rose up and around a bend and as I climbed the hill, the steady drip of a waterfall came into view through thickets and forest flowers. This one seemed taller than the others, but was harder to get to. The trail was above it and continued on its bend, which circled back around toward the start of the trail.
I stopped near a ravine that led down into the basin of the waterfall, tempted to step off the path. But it looked steep and I didn't want to be too daring on this trip, since no one else seemed to be around. Not to mention the heat of the day was beginning to set in as it passed into the afternoon, and I didn't want to have to drag myself back up the incline in such high temperatures.
I followed the loop back to the trailhead, stopping when part of the path slithered beneath my boot. I had nearly stepped on a garter snake sunning himself on a leaf. At first, he blended in so well that I didn't see him. But once I did, it was easy to pick him out for a quick photo. I inched a bit closer to remove a leaf from the frame. As I neared, he spooked and tried to hide behind some more foliage, but the nearby spot of sun was too much for him to pass up. I learned my lesson quickly and kept my distance so I could get my shot.
As the pathway widened and the grinding gravel came into view, I stopped and looked back at the quiet and wished I did not have to return to the bustle of everyday life. Later, I found a saying that captured the moment: Into the wilderness I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.
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