It's Saturday morning and I'm camped at Lake Glendale in southern Illinois.
It "rained" for a good part of last night (I put rained in quotes because it was a fairly gentle rain, not like the hard, fast monsoons of the South West which, after 44 years, are the rains I'm used to.) and it's still raining this morning.
My original plan for the day was a bike ride on the northern section of the Tunnel Hill Trail, but it was just a little sloppy for that and I had no cell-signal where I was to check on the weather report and see what the rest of the day looked like, so - change of plans.
Illinois State Parks are free for day-users (you only have to pay for campsites), so I grabbed my pack, sticks, and raingear and headed that way.
If you've never ventured south of Marion you may not realize that Illinois has two faces (not counting the Chicago Metro area. And who wants to count a face like that!). Unlike the gentle farmlands of the northern part of the state, the southern tip of Illinois can get pretty rugged, which makes for interesting hikes.
Trail signage in the state park isn't great, but I had read that the Ghost Canyon trail starts behind the pool (there used to be several hot-spring spas in the area. I guess this big swim and smaller splash pool complex is a remnant of that.)
After a bit of circling on the narrow, up&down roads of the park relying more on instinct than signage, I parked near a small picnic area, walked past the well fenced pool, apparently closed for the season, through the tiny, cramped, deadend parking lot in front of the pool (this place must be a madhouse when the pool is open!), across Hills Branch Creek on an old, rotting bridge, and managed to find said trailhead.
Shortly after starting down the trail I passed under this rather substantial highway bridge leaping right over Ghost Canyon as if it, the canyon, was an afterthought.
On the way here I drove over this bridge without even noticing it, or the canyon, though to be fair, I was busy looking for the turnoff.
So suddenly coming out underneath this soaring structure on foot was a lot like stumbling into a cathedral where no catheadral was expected, an event that gives pause, no matter what imaginary friend a person believes in.
Religious War:
noun
1) Grown-ass people fighting over who has the best imaginary friend.
In places the trail demanded some rock-scrambling over rain-slick sandstone.
Reminded me of hiking Illinois' Little Grand Canyon where I managed to take one hell of a fall. It's a good thing there was no one else on the trail because I was moving slow and carefull today. Certainly didn't want a repeat of that fall!
Outbound (this is an out & back trail), Hills Branch Creek was on my left and on the right was the rugged limestone wall of the steep-sided, water-cut canyon typical of the area.
Sometimes I was down by the creek on fairly stable and safe, if wet, ground,
others, high above it on snot-slick rock.
The Gaia map shows a relatively short half-mile trail, but I read one account that spoke of traveling a mile and a half through the canyon before hittimg the state land boundary.
Well they must have been bush-wacking down the creek bed, because, right on que according to the map, I was stopped dead at this 20 foot drop-off.
Disapointing, (a half mile out and another half mile back is hardly enough time to get warmed up!) but the thought of continuing down Ghost Canyon by scrambling over jumbled, wet rock in the rain alone with little chance of help randomly stumbling on by and no cell signal, was like looking into that gaping toothy maw of Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors. - Feeeed Meee!
Nope! Not going there! Fifteen, maybe even ten, years ago, perhaps, but not today!
But that's OK. There's other trails here.
But chagota work for them a little bit. No signs say Pine Tree Trail this way, just a small dotted line on the map and one sign pointing to the primitive camping parking lot.
Even there, no trail-sign, just a path tucked in behind a dumpster leading to 6 or 7 walk-in tent sites,
until finally - - - nothing so crass as an actual trail name, or a directional arrow - unless you're ready to cut the hike short, turn around, and go back where you came from, then they're more than willing to help - but at least there's a hint that you're on the right - well, track.
It's not until you've actually found the trail that they're willing to point you to the next one!
Call me weird - don't worry, you won't be the first - but there's something about hiking in the rain.
It wraps you in the safe, secure hug of an old friend while providing comfortable isolation by creating a sound-bubble and keeping most others away.
It allows a person to climb out of the chattering madness of thier own head and breathe some uncomplicated existence for a few minutes.
And, as a final bonus, there's the hightened gratification of getting back to the shelter of the truck. Though in this case the rain had moved on by the time I got back to the truck.
Dickson Springs State Park, perhaps not an ideal destination on its own, but if you're in the area anyway, worth exploring.
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