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Friday, October 25, 2024
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Horizons Beckon Hikers onto a Never-Ending Trail


by Carolina Keegan

Published: Friday, October 25, 2024

There is just something about looking down a trail that gets lost in the horizon that calls out, claiming adventure. The trail I chose was a bit more urban than my usual hiking choice, but it came with a certain, irrefusable challenge: It was over 30 miles long.

I planned my hike, pouring over maps of the trail between Kalamazoo and South Haven. I chose to begin at Bloomingdale and, knowing full well that it was impossible to get all 33.5 miles in one day, decided on a smaller portion of the trail. I chose to hike from the Bloomingdale port to Grand Junction, which is approximately one-third of the distance.

So, on a clear, bright October morning when the air was still crisp, I set out from the 15.5-mile marker, heading west. With the recent cold front, the trees were kissed with some color. Many leaves were still only just yellowing, but a few had fiery reds and oranges dancing across the tree tips in the wind.

The first four miles were a breeze. I marveled at the trees and watched as sparrows and wrens rustled through the reeds that lined the old railroad route. Squirrels skittered to and fro gathering acorns into their cheeks and burying them here and there. I ran across some wild grapes and met several other people on the trail. Some were walking, others running, but most were riding bicycles.

The trail slipped behind neighborhoods, cut through some industrial land and marched between two bean fields. As I neared Grand Junction, a tightening in my muscles began to remind me that I have not hiked longer than four or five miles in several years. Here, only about a mile and a half from my turnaround point, I realized I had overlooked this small fact. But I wasn't worried. I paused to stretch, releasing the tightness in the muscles, and went on.

As I hiked along, the muscles around my joints began to tighten once again, but all was forgotten as the sound of a deep, heavy knocking came from within the wooded landscape to the north. It has long since been my theory that the deeper the knocking sound, the larger the woodpecker, and if that were true, this one would be huge.

I peered in, searching each tree, narrowing my focus as the woodpecker continued to drum. As I scrutinized each tree trunk, the brilliant leaves parted ways to reveal a large shadowlike bird circling a skinny, gray maple or beech tree. I gasped as it came into view. It was a pileated woodpecker, a fairly uncommon bird in Michiana and one which I have hoped to see since the age of 10. As it hopped around the trunk, anchoring itself here, pecking there, I noted its vibrant red crest and large, 17-inch body.

As I brought my camera up, it went round to the back of the tree to drum, then returned to view to corral an insect and catch its prey. It began circling the tree again, stilling itself only long enough to take flight, spreading its 26- or 29-inch wingspan and darting across the path toward another grove of trees. Through the trees and the shadows, you can just make out the shape of its body as it began to lean behind the tree, preparing for flight. In the photo I captured, it looks similar to a blob or perhaps a dark knot on the tree.

I continued on, determined to achieve my goal. With only a little way to Grand Junction left, who could turn back? Not I (though I later came to regret this). I forced my feet forward until I reached a bridge, where I paused to watch the water trickle through the creek bed. I continued on to the 9.5-mile marker in Grand Junction.

As I hiked back, I took more frequent breaks to stretch and observe the trail's scenery. As an old railway, it cut through several properties, most of which were private lands. The heat of the day had long-since kicked in, and I removed my jacket and sweatshirt that I had been wearing.

Moving even slower than before, I had covered about two and a half of the six miles that I had between me and Bloomingdale. The passing of walkers, runners and bikers began to subside from its nearly two-minute interval. I walked for half an hour without seeing anyone, and this is when the woodlands came alive.

A bluejay circled above, flitting across the trail from tree to tree, calling out its complaintive cry. A downy woodpecker tapped a sassafras tree, and a katydid chattered from atop a small fern. The distance between me and Bloomingdale shortened considerably, and I came across a woolly worm that had clung to a dying plant tufted with wild cotton.

Several hours of hiking came to an end as I gingerly crossed the threshold into Bloomingdale. I was sore and certain that I would be unable to walk the next day (I was fine), but I did it. I hiked 12 of the 33.5 miles connecting Kalamazoo to South Haven.

The horizon has a funny appeal. It starts off strong, urging you to reach its end, teasing you into accepting its invitation to adventure. Yet, each time you think you reach the end, it skips ahead to create a new sense of daunting obligation. Even when you realize the horizon cannot be reached, there is no end to the urge and excitement of seeking it out.

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