At Play in the Fields

 A landscape is like a poem, and walking it is like reading it. You don't have to understand it—the geology, the human history—to appreciate the lay of the land: the balance and perhaps the depth. Variety of vegetation and terrain, openness, density, expanse. The rise and fall, the arrangement of woods, fields, marshes, potholes, lakes. A shapely island of sumac here, a copse of silvery aspens in the distance over there.

Hilary and I have been walking quite a few landscapes these last few months. We have our favorites, but we don't want to wear them out through familiarity. We try to visit new places, too, and also attack the old ones from new perspectives. The back route into William O'Brien S.P. from the gravel parking lot on County 4 stands near the top of our list, though it's no longer new. We recently began a hike at O'Brien from the standard trailhead but headed south across the fields immediately, turning up into the lozenge-shaped hills from a new angle. And just the other day, we felt our way along back roads to a new point of entry into Afton S.P. off 50th Street, which made it easy to reach the beautiful fields in the park's northwest corner without first walking a mile and a half from the main parking lot down to the St. Croix River and then up through a ravine (yes, a beautiful ravine) and on through the backpacking campground.

Afton State Park

But it might have seemed that we were getting desperate when we ventured, a week or two ago, up to Crow-Hassan Regional Park.  Although it's arguably the wildest—or at any rate the least developed—of the parks in the Three Rivers system, we have never found it much fun to explore. We would invariably arrive at the gravel parking lot after a dull drive up Interstate 94 followed by a seemingly endless meander through the farm county west of Rogers, our only real hope being to spot a rough-legged hawk on one of the stunted trees alongside the last stretch of two-lane road leading to the park.

A mink fishing on the Crow River

Upon arrival, we would head off to the west over a few hills and then through a stretch of maple woods, eager to make contact with the Crow River, which forms the park's western boundary. 

After wandering alongside the river, which is substantial, for a few hundred yards, the trail would bring us up a hill through oak woods and past a stand of handsome Scots pines planted  by some long-forgotten farmer, or perhaps a park ranger, decades ago. Here the vast expanse of rolling, grass-covered fields that covers the north half of the park presents itself. To the northeast, maybe half a mile away, you can see another grove of stately pines in the midst of a deciduous woods. 

A glance at the map—I hope you print out a PDF of the park map before you leave; signage in the park is terrible—will suggest that the river valley curls to the east just beyond those trees. It would be nice to explore up that way ... but it's windy and cold out there in the open, we've already walked a mile or two, and we're ready to head back to the parking lot, following a trail that hugs a bank of woods and then veers out into some low hills briefly before rising to the north side of the lot.

A few days after that hike, so similar to previous hikes—decent enough, but hardly exhilarating—it occurred to me that we were going the WRONG WAY. Why start off so precipitously to the west every time, heading for the river? Why not head north towards the fields immediately? Or better yet, wander amid the woods and ponds on the east side of the park on our way north to the fields and wooded patches that have always remained just beyond our reach?

With only a hint of reluctance—after all, we'd just been there—Hilary agreed to return to Crow-Hassan with me to try out the new route. And we agree, it gives the park an entirely new and more agreeable flavor. It happened to be a cold, blustery day, and our meander east and north through the woods took some time. As a result, we once again decided to turn back before reaching the enchanted woods at the northern edge of the park. But we did see a lot of new and attractive terrain, and we also explored one or two trails that don't appear on any map. The trail heading south along the west side of South Twin Lake was especially nice. We passed fields of bluestem dotted with blazing star and bee-balm—all dead, but lovely just the same in their variegated shapes and textures. Bird-life consisted of two low-flying trumpeter swans that appeared out of nowhere and one low-soaring bald eagle.

At the first of several unmarked junctures we turned right, not wanting to head back to the trail we'll come north on. At the next fork we went left; didn't want to curl around in a circle—it's easy enough to do. It was a thick, gray day and the sun was no help at all.

I knew roughly where we were, but when we finally arrived an intersection with a park sign and a map, I discovered I was wrong. We weren't anywhere near where I thought we were. I had become discombobulated by a good ninety degrees as we jogged this way and that amid the rolling hills and ice-covered ponds. "Number 11?" I said in disbelief. "That can't be right."

"I seem to remember that last week we came up through those woods," Hilary reminded me. "We went down this hill and turned left." She was right. That's what we'd done, arriving at the same point from the opposite direction. But it didn't jibe at all with the directional scheme I'd build up in my head.

So, Crow-Hassan is back on the map. Lots of new trails to explore in the months ahead. We'll make it to the north end of the park one of these days, it isn't that far. Maybe on skis!