Briefly Lost in The Dark Woods

Last Monday, Labor Day, Tom (my husband) and I drove to Fort Snelling State Park and hiked around Pike Island. We got a late start, but the dusky light was perfect for illuminating the dark beauty of that wild place.

Considered sacred by the Mdewakanton Sioux Indians, there is vague reference to the conditions of its sale to the United States in 1805 on markers there. The history of Pike Island, which you can look up for yourself if interested, is not the subject of this post, but I did want to mention that it is situated at the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota rivers and is shaped like a long arrowhead with the two rivers running on either side and joining at the tip.

We started our hike at the base of the arrowhead where a foot bridge links it to the park. We decided to walk up the Mississippi side of the island, not knowing how long it would take to reach the tip. Since we had arrived late, the park building was closed and we didn't have a map with directions and distances.

I hadn't brought a camera with me, but as we walked I was so awed by the beauty of the place I wanted to take pictures. Luckily, I had my cellphone in my pocket with camera. Everywhere I looked seemed like a work of art, and I took many photos as we strolled through what felt like another world.

The thing that struck me the most was how much personality the trees seemed to have. Each one seemed unique - and groups of trees seemed to have formed unique communities with ancient elders, mothers, fathers and many children.

I felt dwarfed my the sheer size of some of the trees there. In the cityscape of my life, even the largest trees I encounter every day didn't match the majesty of these. I lingered often for a better angle. I wanted to know the story of every scar, bend and hollow. One of the trees offered a person-sized cave that I could literally walk into. How many creatures had sought shelter there?

As we continued on our walk, it seemed to be taking a long time to get to the tip of the island. As it turns out, it is about 1.5 miles to the tip from either side, and we had thought that we could make the loop in about 45 minutes.

Perhaps we could have if we had simply walked at a comfortable, steady speed, but we lingered for pictures like awestruck guests in fairyland.

At one point I thought we should turn back so that we wouldn't be caught in the dark. I thought of looking at a map on my cellphone (with gps enabled) and we saw that we were about 4/5 of the way to the tip of the island. We decided to keep going and try to pick up the pace on the way back. 


When we arrived at the tip there were two boats anchored on the beach. People were relaxing on board in the quiet waters. The sun was quickly setting so we didn't linger there. We started back along the Minnesota River side and noticed even more beauty in the dying light. We tried to stay aware of wanting not to get caught in the dark, and we quickened our pace.

Tom was slightly ahead of me, and stopped suddenly. I came up behind him and saw the deer, about 5 of them, standing in and near the path feeding. As I approached I must have startled them because they all looked up at the same time, then bolted to the right - not too far - and stood vigil.

Again, we lingered a bit. I took the picture on the left of one of the deer (the tiny brown shape to the right of the low arched branch and below left of the higher arch). Tom called, come on, let's go.

We tried to hike quickly, but I still had to take a few more pictures before it became too dark. And it DID become too dark before we reached the way out.


Some of the awe and wonder I had felt earlier was replaced now by an uneasiness and, well, fear. I didn't know quite what I was afraid of, or what there was to be afraid of, but the darkness transformed our fairyland into a dark, wild woods with unknown dangers.

We knew intellectually that we were in an urban park with clear paths, that there was really nowhere very far from our car to wander, but the feeling of being vulnerable in the dark persisted. Together, we kept our eyes on the sandy path and eventually came to the foot bridge. Once across, I breathed a sigh of relief - a little ashamed that I had been afraid. But then came another challenge. Which way to the car? Did we remember? No.

OK. We went to the right. Both of us thought that was the right way, but about 100 yards down the path we noticed a kiosk and a fork in the path. Neither of us remembered seeing a kiosk on the way there from the parking lot. We must have gone the wrong way!

We turned back and I felt the fear trickling back - even though I knew there was really nothing to be afraid of. Those looming, dark, undulating shapes were simply trees and brush swaying in the wind. Right? We took the left path and got to the end of it - the river - and no parking lot.

OK. Maybe there had been a kiosk and we didn't remember it (as I started to hyperventilate).

Tom noticed another path leading into the woods. It pointed toward the highway bridge high above the river valley, and we remembered our car was parked under that bridge. We decided to take the path and were soon very relieved when we saw the lights of the parking lot start to glitter through the trees.

On the way home we could laugh about the adventure of the whole experience. I was reminded of the power of nature and my own vulnerability when unprepared. I had been glad to have my cellphone with me so that I could photo-journal what I saw, and despite my nervous fear in the dark, it reassured me that I was still attached to the larger world by at least 2 bars.

The next day I had an appointment in Eagan, so I decided to return to Pike Island in the daytime and walk the path in the light. I found the lurking dangers of the night before to be now stunning beauty. I took some great pictures and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. That trip will have to be the subject of another post.

Happy hiking to you,
Cindy Wold