By Chance

 

By Chance

By John W. Vander Velden

 

A few weeks ago, we went hiking in the Hocking Hills area. We spent three days wandering the trails of the state park. But our final walking place was not in the park proper, but the adjacent, Conkle’s Hollow State Nature Preserve.

There are two trails at Conkle’s Hollow. One of which is a mile long at the bottom of canyon, with sheer cliffs on both sides. We first took the trail that ran the length of the gorge right down the middle. A very nearly flat mostly paved pathway along the stream, that had over the eons, cut the Black Hand Sandstone.

A light drizzle fell off and on as we wandered at our own pace admiring God’s creation. Had to scamper over and around some rocks for the best views of the two small waterfalls at the trail’s end.

It was one of the rare two-way trails of the area, and we spent an hour and a half, maybe a little more, among the trees in that canyon while being surrounded by those stone walls.

After a very quick lunch beneath the lifted hatch of our Jeep, as the rain continued, we prepared for the last trail on our list of things to do. The Conkle Ridge Trail. A two-and half-mile hike along the top of the canyon. A one-way horseshoe trail far above the canyon floor. The warning sign at the trail’s beginning was identical to the signs we had read on many of the others. It did not seem overly concerning.

A fine stairway of ninety steps, (I counted them), began the journey. Those stairs took us about two thirds of the way to the top. The remaining upward portion of was an earth covered trail. As we went, we would pause and allow those that had lived fewer seasons that we, to pass us. However, there was one younger couple who indicated they liked the pace we were taking and would continue in our wake.

Jackie and I enjoy hiking, we enjoy the outdoors, we enjoy seeing new places that reveal the magnificence of our God and creator. We didn’t particularly enjoy the rain. Past experiences had taught us to come prepared. You know, carry some water, wear the right equipment, such as hiking boots and rain jackets. We have hiking poles, so we began this trail confident in our abilities.

Tree roots. that have had the soil washed out from around them, are our bane. Rain makes them extremely slippery, so you need to watch each step. It made progress slow and tedious, but we had the time. And it would have been worth it, but even as the trail ran very near the edge of the precipice, seldom could see beyond the trees.

I became the designated leader, and kept us moving along the trails edge, furthest from death. For the path of soil, stone and thousands of tree roots was slippery. Yet our spirits were high as we wandered the way, slowly becoming acquainted with the couple that followed, sometime near, sometimes a bit further back. When we came to the bridge over the stream that leaped off the cliff and formed the waterfalls we had observed earlier, we paused for a few minutes. That area offered the best views of the canyon from above.

That bridge also meant we were halfway.

By that time my knees were planning a rebellion.

I have never taken a hike that I wished would be over―before. But the rain, the mud, and the uncertain footing, had ended the fun of this walk, by the time we had reached the bridge. So, I trudged on, helping Jackie navigate the wet stones and many of the other more difficult obstacles. But alas, I failed her, for she slipped on a particular set of roots, and found herself prone in the pathway. Bruised, but not broken, with her glasses and hiking pole bent, upset with herself for allowing that fool root to cause her crashing.

Fortunately, our new friends were right there, and that was our official meeting with Antony and Jill. Antony helped me get my beloved to her feet, while Jill, who had worked as a technician in an eye doctor’s office, straightened Jackie’s glasses and attempted to return the left lens back into the frame.

These wonderful folks helped us finish the hike, for what waited at the conclusion, was a difficult decent, not of stairs as on other trails, but a series of worn stone slabs eighteen or more inches thick that you needed to crawl/slide down.

Some may say that it was by chance, that Antony and Jill happened to walk the trail that rainy afternoon. That by chance, they were willing to follow an older couple on difficult trail. That by chance, they were with us at the very moment, Jackie fell.

By chance?

I don’t think so…

(824 Words) 5-27-2023

           

Benny's Adventure

 

Benny’s Adventure

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Hi I’m Benny, just ordinary Jeep, if there is such a thing. But you can’t know how hard it is to share a garage with my older sister, Pearl. She goes on and on about the trips John and Jackie have taken her. How she carried them rough and rumble up and down five miles of private lane so they could hike another two miles to reach Montreal Falls. Or the other times they went to UP Michigan and mushed and mudded ten miles trying to get to Crisp Point Lighthouse, only to mud their way out to find a better route.

Every night it’s the same thing, “I remember a time in North Carolina, or was it Kentucky.” I’ve been to Kentucky too, so she doesn’t hit me with those trips often. Well I’m here to tell you...and Pearl too...that I had quite an adventure of my own.

I thought she’d turn green when I told her I went to Colorado. I guess its fortunate her white paint didn’t, but I could tell sis was envious. Yes, ole Benny here went Rocky Mountain high, and Pearl, she hadn’t even crossed the Mississippi River. Ha!

Coming out of the clouds

I can’t say I cared much for the traffic, being an outdoorsy guy, but I held my own. The Denver area is hectic, to say the least, silly cars and trucks everywhere and all in a hurry. But Colorado is more than Denver, and we went to see the mountains, and we did. Drove high enough to be in the clouds on our way into Estes Park. The road winds this way and that up, up, up, and then drops into the pocket where that town can be found. Pretty county Estes park. Had to stop to let a herd of Elk cross the road. A bunch of them. Saw Big Horn Sheep standing on the side of the rock like it was flat ground. Yes, that was a fun day. Pearl, sorry you couldn’t come. Not!

I guess I shouldn’t rub it in, but pay backs are... Well you know what they are.

Estes Park

We also drove down to Garden of the Gods the views and the red rocks were unbelievable. The sun shown that morning which made the day extra fantastic. On another time, John and Jackie took a scenic train ride just outside of Georgetown. I wanted to ride too, but it’s a narrow gauge railroad and didn’t have Jeep seating. I guess I didn’t mind too much waiting in the parking lot. Parked beside me was a Subaru from Iowa, which was cool but the dogs kept interrupting our conversation.

Garden of the Gods

We went to Loveland and through Longmont and Boulder visited with friends and relatives, had supper with Nick several times in Arvada, but my favorite part was the drive we took the last day on CO 103. Wow, that road has more curves than a bottle of jelly worms. Echo Lake was worth the stop...twice. We crossed eleven thousand feet on that road and pulled off the road several times ‘cause John took lots of pictures.  Next time we’ll drive up to Mount Evans, the highest paved road in the continental U.S.. Not that I need payment you understand, but driving up to fourteen thousand feet would be so cool!

Anyway, now when my sister begins bragging about Door County, Wisconsin or the Keweenaw Peninsula or a hundred other places, I just dim my headlights and dream of Colorado.

Echo Lake...didn't I say it was worth the stop

View from near the top

This is Benny sayin' happy travels...

The Shortest Route May Not Be The Best           

By John W. Vander Velden

I’ll admit it. I’ve gotten lazy.

I don’t always pour over maps, plotting courses, writing down driving directions anymore. Why should I? I have a smart phone. So heading out to Crisp Point on a mid- July morning, Google would be our guide. Two and a half hours we were told, mostly north from our hotel in St. Ignace an easy drive to be sure. I had read that the lighthouse was out of the way, that several miles of back, read dirt, road remained in our path.

Nearly all the highways in the Upper Peninsula are great, so we moved along on an overcast misty morning. But blue skies and sun were promised to arrive by noon, so I had timed our departure accordingly.

Zipping down Highway 123 Jackie said, “Alexa says we needed to turn off there.” She pointed to the right as we whizzed past what certainly did not look like a road.

I know Google’s voice isn’t Alexa, wrong trademark, but we call the female sounding voice that all the same.

But back to the story. All I had seen of the supposed road was a lane with a post standing near the highway. A post with about fifteen boards nailed to it. Each a different color of faded, peeling paint, which pointed to what seemed a path going to the north and through the trees.

It can’t be, my thought, but Alexa seemed confident, well she always does, so I found a place to turn around and guided Pearl, onto the road Alexia had chosen for us. Oh, if you didn’t know Jackie named her Jeep Renegade Pearl. No, we don’t have a birth certificate, if we did it’d be in Italian and couldn’t read it anyway, but the name seems to fit our vehicle.

This was not a paved road. It was not a gravel road. It was a dirt road, mostly sand. Now let’s add to this the fact that it had rained, seriously, sometime during the night before. So that made this lane a mud road, more so in some places than others. There were places the road was underwater. Not flowing water you understand, just deep puddles that reached from berm to berm.

I do not drive headlong through water, standing or otherwise. I paused a second before carefully plodding through what seemed the shallowest portion, along the left edge of the road. No problem. Pearl seemed pleased with herself. Jackie was concerned!

We continued on crossing several water holes, mud puddles, or lakes, choose you own descriptors, when we reached a turnoff, or so Alexia demanded. Barriers prevents our pleasing the voice within Jackie’s phone, for the road had been closed for reconstruction. That blocked turnoff was strangely comforting. The silent bright yellow trucks lined up along Farm Trail Road seemed to prove that we were indeed on a maintained roadway, instead of just on some strange trek into the boonies created by the minds of a machine half a world away.

We pressed on.

The road grew narrower as we continued. As we went, only trees could be seen, though the post with the pointed signs at the highway might indicate that people lived along that way, we saw no houses. Only a few scattered lanes, perhaps driveways, which emptied onto the continually narrowing way we drove. Coming upon a place where the road was, how can I say it, softer, or muddy, with some serious ruts that seemed to scream, “driver beware”, gave me another concerning situation. Hmm... Dialed the 4wdr control to mud and eased into the quagmire. I can’t be certain but as we passed through that obstacle cutting our own ruts, the sound of Pearl’s engine seemed to be a bit like music. It was as if our little Jeep was singing a portion of an Italian Opera. A delightful tune that told us, no worries I got this. She never spun a wheel!

Some miles later, the closed section of Farm Trail Road joined us and Alexa seemed to relax a bit. She can get a bit tedious. Onward we moved confident that though the road was now just one lane, one narrow lane, one very narrow lane, that our destination was attainable. Jackie said, “Soon we reach a very tight right turn. We did, and found a road grader waiting for better conditions wedged at the road’s edge.

“Alexa says it’s still fifteen miles...”

“Say what!” I exclaimed. “Fifteen more miles.” I stopped. Looked down the road, and wondered.

I grabbed my own phone and found we had no cell service. Hmmmmmm.... The branches along the road now nearly touched Pearl. Would the road that continually narrowed get suddenly wider...probably not? Fifteen miles.

Enough already. I turned around.

Without cell service my mind began to run wild. Could we mere humans be able to find our way back to civilization, or would we be guests, one day, on one of the morning network shows.

Today’s we are so happy to have Jackie and John Vander Velden who were lost in the wilds of Upper Peninsula Michigan. They survived forty days living off wild berries, tree bark, and a bottle of water. I shook my head and returned to the task at hand.

I followed the tire tracks on the road, our tracks, the only tracks. That was until we met some bold off roaders mudding our way. They were so kind as to squeeze off the road in one of the rare wider portions to allow us to slip passed.

Through the mud. Through the water. Between the millions of trees. It was ten miles before we reached the strange post with all the pointed boards, and glad of it.

Thirteen miles further on Highway 123 we came to a sign pointing the way to Crisp Point Lighthouse. And yes it was a dirt road. But it was nineteen miles of WIDER dirt road with tire tracks that proved other human had driven the road THAT DAY. The puddles were shallower, the road firmer, survival seemed likely. So much for being guests on morning TV, but I can live without that.

(1025 Words) 8-15-2019

To the OBX Part 3

To the OBX      Part 3

By John W. Vander Velden

 

It had been a rainy overnight our stay in West Virginia.
The heavy rains spilled down the mountains all
along the route. But there were a few grander waterfalls.

The day broke cool and gray the next morning as we loaded up Pearl, our Jeep  and left the OBX behind. We could have spent more time there. Perhaps next time we will take the ferry to Ocracoke Island, but we enjoyed our few days and had yet another adventure to see on this trip. We left the OBX by a different route than our arrival. Going across Roanoke and driving west across nearly four hundred miles of North Carolina before twisting north in to West Virginia. We allowed Google to be our guide and abandoned the Interstate near Beckley and drove nearly twenty miles of mountain highway on a misty evening. Turns on the narrow way with sheer rock cliffs on one side and almost NOTHING on the other. Low shoulder took a new meaning that evening. At one point the road narrowed to one lane because the other had washed away. Falling rocks took a different significance when you drive beneath stony overhangs. And the smell of coal hung in the air everywhere.

The clouds hung low upon the mountains giving them a surreal appearance.
We took a few minutes to stop at Kanawha River Falls.
 

Jackie was concerned that our little computer friend was leading us far astray as we pushed on mile after mile, through small mountain towns, past coal processing plants, through wood and along river, along overhanging rock walls, and on cliff edges. At last the sight of a Dollar General and a BP station reminded us that we had not abandoned civilization entirely. Highway 3 came at last to a four lane and our confidence in “Alexa” grew.

You drive along back highways and come across some interesting things.
We stumbled upon yet another waterfall.
This one was marked so we could know it was Cathedral Falls.
Though it was a misty day, several people stopped to see this wonderful sight.

The hotel in Chapmanville, WV was very nice, and the jump off place for our last outing of this trip. In 2008 we had come to West Virginia and we used that trip to see Glade Creek Grist Mill. It was there I hoped to return. Much to Jackie’s chagrin the route from the hotel to Babcock State Park demanded forty miles of the same kind of road that we had traveled the night before. Twenty on the same Highway 3 we had white knuckled before. But daylight helped immensely and the three hours the journey took were not unpleasant. The night’s rain had caused hundreds of small waterfalls, rivulets spilling down the rock face at the roads edge, but also fed two large water falls we stopped to photograph. We stumbled upon them in passing and went till we found a place to turnaround to return.  The first one unnamed, or in the least its name was not posted,

the larger, Cathedral Falls, had a substantial parking area and drew several people.

 

 

Onward we reached Babcock State Park and drove directly to the mill. I am told it is the most photographed mill in North America. Seeing it again I could understand why. We spent a few hours wandering the grounds and braving the rain while I shot my photos. Leaving for we had “many miles to go before we had our sleep” we made a quick stop at a bridge nearby. The New River Gorge Bridge is an engineering wonder. Our last hotel was too far for us to spend a proper amount of time there. On our last visit we had a lengthy visit even driving down the gorge across the rickety wood bridge and under the great steel structure 800 feet overhead. But on this quick stop it was rush down hundreds of steps to the viewing platform take some picts and back up to the parking lot to hurry off.

The reason we drove more than two hours on back country highways.
Glade Creek Grist Mill, Babcock State Park, WV.
Our second visit to what is described as the most photographed mill in the US.

All that remained was the drive home. The sun was setting when we reached the last hotel on this trip. I worked on photos and Jackie watched “When Calls the Heart” we don’t get the Hallmark Channel at home. The next day would take us home safe and sound, not really rested, that wasn’t the point, but our head filled with the

Yes, I was there!

memories of another adventure, as we surveyed lawns in desperate need of shortening. Where will we go next? You know we haven’t decided...yet.

 

 



 

Though we had miles to go and the day was becoming quickly spent, we made an unplanned stop.
Here I walked the pathway to the many steps that led down to the viewing platform.
I counted 156 steps...not so many, but hurrying they were sufficient to set my heart a racing.


 

 

 

The New River Gorge Bridge is an Engineering marvel.
The four lane roadway is more than 800 feet above the river.

 

 

But the bridge is not the only wonder you will see from that platform.
Turning you can look down the gorge itself.
Even on a misty afternoon the view is amazing.
(This picture does not do it justice)

 

Off to the OBX part 2

Off to the OBX     Part 2

By John W. Vander Velden

 

 

The grand lighthouse in its new location.
The lighthouse has been moved nearly a quarter mile from its original place to protect it from the surf.
 

Our first day in the OBX broke clear and so we headed south to see what we had  prepared for months to see. For we had been practicing. We ran up the stairs in our home again and again. It has only ten steps but, if you run them twenty times you have reached a sizable number. For we intended to climb the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. Eleven years ago we walked the grounds of the park, too early in the season to be allowed to climb. Jackie and I would remedy that situation. We had after all climbed many lighthouses, and now we prepared to climb the tallest masonry lighthouse in North America.

There are 257 steps we were told, but like I said we came prepared. The view was spectacular! But more we had accomplished a goal we had set for ourselves. But Hatteras was just the first, a few hours later we stood on the catwalk at the top of Bodie (pronounced Body) Lighthouse. The wind had picked up a bit, but together we enjoyed the view across the marshes of Bodie Island and the Atlantic in the distance and the shining waters of the bay beyond the other side of the island.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bodie Island Lighhouse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Up the stairs we go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later we walked out on that pier.

 

 

The next day sent us north through Duck, an interesting name for a town don’t you think, which had grown substantially in our absence, up to Currituck Beach and its lighthouse. We were told to prepare, for the winds at the catwalk were over thirty-five miles-per-hour. The blustery breeze added to the thrill of standing more than one hundred fifty feet up on a sunny morning. What a gem.

Currituck Beach Lighthouse

 

 

Most people have heard of the wild horses of Currituck. Abandoned by the Spanish in the sixteenth century, they are truly wild creatures, to be given a proper berth. But we shared the back of a pickup truck with another family while our guide, Gattor, told us all about the horses and countryside. In the sixteenth century the Spanish cast their horses overboard to lighten their ship that had run aground. The mustangs capable swimmers it seems. Now the wild horses of the OBX are the last descendants of those Spanish Mustangs. They are not the cute ponies they appear but wild beasts that roam over thousands of acres of dune land.  We saw more than thirty of the magnificent animals on the shore. The wind, the sand, and the horses,

made another adventure we will never forget.

We closed out the day walking the beach, watching the sea birds, a chain of pelicans flying single file out of the north passing us by and going on and out of sight far to the south. A hawk like bird, a kite I believe, hovered overhead for some moments. Those winged creatures mixed with a few gulls gave life to world we walked, a world of wind and waves, as the tide came in yet again following its age old cycle of rising and falling twice each day. It brought the perfect close to what was so near a perfect day.

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

A New Traveling Friend

A New Traveling Friend                   

By John W. Vander Velden

When it comes to traveling I guess I’m old school.  Maybe you don’t know what I mean.  Well when I plan a trip, I get out the atlas, remember those, and go over the route.  I take some time before we leave and write down a list of roads and directions and hand them to Jackie my navigator.  But we did things a bit different this summer.  We invited a friend to come along.  I think her name is Alexia.

Alexia doesn’t take much room in the car.  She rides inside my tablet.  But she has very strong opinions and voices them at any moment whether you’re ready to hear them or not.  There are times she is downright rude.  But overall not obnoxious.  Sometimes she rides on Jackie’s lap diligently tracking our progress.  “In one thousand feet turn right on to exit 283A, stay right at the fork and…”  Ooops, I missed that exit.  No problem, if Alexia is one thing she is patient…and persistent.  “In one half mile take exit 284A turn right make a U-turn…” Yeah...maybe.

But all-in-all Alexia is true enough that I come to depend upon her…maybe too much.  Throw the atlas in the back seat, give Alexia an address and off we go.

But sometimes we have a conflict with her.  Friends do that you know.  There are times I would want to travel by a route Alexia feels is less efficient.  Then her persistence becomes a bit annoying.  “Turn right make a U-turn...” “At the next road and make a U-turn...”  You expect the voice to say, “for crying out loud, go back.”  Now, now, now, Alexia, time for your nap.

Jackie puts the dear friend to sleep and sets her on the back seat as we trundle along only to hear her instructions, “turn right and make a U-turn,” her voice calls out from behind us.  Talk about a backseat driver!

Yet it astonishes me how she knows EXACTLY where we are.  It’s not to within a mile or quarter mile for that matter, it is within feet.  FREAKY!  Even when the wi-fi is off, it’s like the car talks to her in their own secret digital GPS language as we watch our progress on the screen.

So Alexia like all friends has some good points and well...other points.  To get the most out our friendship I overlook the annoying aspects of her personality.  I also have to accept her knowing our every move.  A bit voyeur-ish don’t you think.  But I ignore those quirks because Alexia is our friend… 

(431 Words) 8/21/2018

The Road Led North

The Road Led North

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Those that know us were surprised that our first escape came so late in the year.  They remember how we venture “away” in mid-March or there abouts.  But circumstances beyond our control stole those opportunities...or rather postponed them.  October was a long time ago, and that was the last chance we had to “get away” just for the sake of getting away.  Oh there were a couple of overnights since, but a real get away...no.

The hotel at Gordon's Lodge sits on more than 100Acres
along the edge of the North Bay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



We learned the story of why there are goats on the roof
of Al Johnson's Swedish Restaurant 

Last week we ventured to new places, not that they had just been created you understand, but they were new to us.  The praise we had heard about Door County Wisconsin peaked our interest.  The peninsula that forms Green Bay was all we had heard and more.  The three days we spent there was mostly a “see what’s

 

Cana Island Lighthouse is a gem

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 there” expedition.  What we saw and learned will prepare our next longer stay because we will be back.

The unreachable...for now,
Copper Harbor Lighthouse

When the window for our vacation materialized, I felt fortunate to have found us a room.  But on our arriving we discovered that Gordon’s Lodge on North Bay was more than just a find...it was a fabulous room in an unbelievable gorgeous location.  We overlooked the sun bursting out of the waters of Lake Michigan from our room each morning, and watched it set across the bay a few steps from our door.  Perhaps it’s just a bit out of the way, but you can be assured we’ll be back.

The road goes up and up, then you park and walk even higher
The Lake of the Clouds

After just a taste of the lighthouses and wilderness of Door County we ventured north to another peninsula...Keweenaw, in Michigan.  The year was 1982 when I last saw the northern most part of the U.P..  I was thirty when my brother Jim and I motorcycled up to Copper Harbor, the place the highway ends.  I had yearned for years to return to the place that becomes buried in snow for nearly half the year.  A sign ”post” (literally) displayed last winter’s white stuff total of more than twenty-five feet.  I should never complain about winter again.  The highway wound between stands of pines and birches as we drove beneath a brilliant blue sky.

The jacket limited the insects access.

The lighthouse at Copper Harbor is unreachable at this time.  Sealed off by privately owned land the boat service that had taken sightseers over has ceased operations.  Clouds moved in as we made our way south along the cliffs on Superior’s edge and a stop in Eagle Harbor after some fourteen miles traveled offered us a wonderful lighthouse on the rocks overlooking the water.  We were directed to the “Mountain” eight miles north, the highest point on the peninsula, and there at nearly two thousand feet on a blustery afternoon threatening rain we overlooked the wide and wild northland and the lake not so many miles away.

The following day we went west to Porcupine Mountains, our first stop Lake of the Clouds. Though the day was overcast it was warm and the view will be one we will long remember.  We spent the day hiking to the mountain top and searching out some waterfalls only scratching the surface of an amazing place.

We hustled about the Upper Peninsula for six days using Houghton as our base camp.  Lighthouses, waterfalls, hikes along Lake Superior’s shoreline, an outing to Marquette, and a mine tour filled the days to bursting. 

There are many waterfalls in the Porcupine Mountains
Overlooked Falls

Time came to turn our back upon the “North Country” and so, regretfully we returned our sites on home and work and fetching our dear sweat dog from her visit to the spa (kennel).  No one would say our trip was a restful respite, but that’s not why we go to the places we choose.  We go to see and to do, and are grateful for the road that led north.   

A view few will venture to see.  5.5 miles of private unimproved
single lane road and a two mile hike along the top of the cliffs
brought us a chance to see Lake Superior from near
Montreal Falls 

We're going in!
University students enlarged the drainage tunnel in the Quincy
Copper Mine, Hamilton, MI.
We went a mile into the side of the mountain and reached
the old mine's seventh level.
The air is COLD (42 Degrees) and water is dripping from above
The 85 levels below are now flooded