Loop The Lake

I went out for a trail run at a local state park lake yesterday and really enjoyed it. The four-mile long looping pathway was refreshing and challenging, and gave me confidence that my winter training is still quite solid. The semi-hilly route begins at the swimming area, winds in and around a variety of inlets and peninsulas, along a dam and over a spillway, through a favorite camping area of ours, and over an old iron bridge or two before finishing at the boat docks. Due to the steady accumulation of snow we receive each winter, this unplowed trail is typically slick and treacherous enough that I normally resolve myself to urban street running until spring thaw. Coupled with the fact that I had stayed up well past midnight on Friday evening (had a blast playing board games with friends & family) and kept myself fairly busy most of the day on Saturday and Sunday morning as well, it only intensified my desire to rest and relax, possibly even catch a few rare moments of an afternoon nap. But something made me think of that trail on my way home from church, and as I mulled over the idea, slowly but surely, my adventurous spirit began to kick in.

I suppose what didn't help was the beautiful day we were having outside; high 20's and sunny. It truely was an opportunity I couldn't let pass. So I dug around my gear to find a warm thermal shirt and running jacket, my pair of UA winter-weight tights and fleece gloves, and grabbed my favorite "Minnesotan" hat ... the dilapidated one with the trademark tassel that swings wildly back and forth as I run. Also tossing the camera into my Jeep, I set off across the local back roads towards the state park a few miles away. Happening by a few fields on my way, I managed to observe an entire cluster of wild turkeys, all of whom seemed oblivious to my passing. Fortunately for them, they'll be safe for a while longer until spring hunting season begins. At the park entrance, I slid it into four-wheel drive and carefully made my way down to the boat dock area below.

Parking next to a couple other vehicles near the boathouse, I could already see the set of footprints of someone had already set up shop for a chilly round of ice fishing on the lake in the distance. Another set of ski tracks led away from the parking area and entered my intended trail at the edge of the lake. Affixing the pair of Yaktrax to my running shoes and pulling on my hat and sunglasses, I started off at a cautious gait as I made my way over to the trail head. Much of the path here was covered in roughly 4-6" of snow powder, with a slight crust just a couple inches under the fresh surface. Though I noticed faint sets of tracks from a few earlier visitors, most likely days before me, the cross-country ski tracks appeared much newer and I decided to follow those in anticipation of firmer footing. Tightening the straps on my ice cleats, I plodded off down the trail.

The first half-mile or so was filled with an icy winding path and heaps of deadfall. It seems much of the debris had fallen during an ice storm we had received in mid-December, and would likely remain in their resting places until park crews came out later for their spring clean up. To the best of my ability, I managed to find the paths of least resistance around each pile I encountered and only needed to hike it off-path once. Luckily I didn't venture too far into the woods, as I may have needed a pair of snowshoes further in. As I rounded the southern portion of the lake to head west, the area opened up and the trail crossed over a small bridge there. I must have startled a couple of squirrels on the path because they scattered quickly and beat me across the bridge by more than a few meters.

With the added Yaktrax traction, the next section wasn't as daunting as I had originally feared. A couple hundred feet further on, I encountered the largest and steepest hill of the entire route. It's a monster, trust me. I have troubles at times just clearing it on my hardtail. But up I went, and soon I was at the top panting like a furious sled dog. Stopping for a moment, I glanced out over the treelike at the pure and smooth lake surface as it extended far into the distance. I could see the ice fisherman still toiling away, hoping for a few for his troubles. Back down the other side and around the bend, I jogged past the trail entrance that led to a local kids camp in the area. This particular camp I have become more familiar with in the last couple of years. Interestingly, a partner and I have recently hosted a couple of adventure races there. They offer a beautiful area with rugged terrain, filled with horse trails and bunkhouses. We've also used the entire state park as part of each event, and hope to use funds raised through our efforts to install a permanent orienteering course. Though we haven't discussed plans for this coming season, it is my hope we will be able to bring our 12-14 hour race back to the area soon again.

Heading past this trail and along the lakeshore for another 10-15 minutes, I popped out onto the trail above the dam. This seemingly flat portion follows a straight path towards an iron bridge overlooking a large spillway. Over this and you enter the state park camping facilities, though a bit dormant for this time of year. I followed one of the paved roads which meandered through stacks of picnic tables and empty lots, and marveled at how my ice cleats clicked loudly on the hard surface. I made a mental note that it may not be as such a good idea, since I didn't want to end up ruining cleats and damaging the rubber bands under my shoes.

Jumping back off the roadway and onto a transitional path, I crossed over from the camping sites and into a recreational area complete with playground and shelter. The long northeastern slope there necessitated a grueling long climb up and then back down. The next trail entered me back into the woods along the water's edge and carried me for another half-mile or so until I arrived at the boat landing area. Here, I hesitated a moment before venturing out onto the ice a few meters or so to test the surface. Feeling confident, I ran the ice for maybe a hundred meters more to the edge of the landing parking lot. There the trail follows another narrow and extensive peninsula to a long iron bridge which fills the gap between the northern and upper-eastern portions of the lake. Across the bridge I ran and, upon reaching the far side, I began the last portion of trail that would take me into the parking area where I'd left my Jeep.

This was perhaps the most beautiful part of my run. As I ran south along the edge of the lake, everything took on an noticable ethereal focus. Though the sun was high overhead, it illuminated every branch and bush on the trail with a crisp icy whiteness. I thought about how I could've been at home napping, how I could have been resting all warm and cozy, and how I could have ultimately missing this rare, scenic moment. You know, it's times like these that make challenging your endurance all worthwhile. And as I packed up my gear and started the Jeep, I breathed a prayer in thankfulness. And promised myself I'd be back again soon.