Hi again finally-finally after more travelling by Ruthie and me to Boulder, Colorado, and next to Manchester, Connecticut, and to Minneapolis-St. Paul after that. In any case, here's another travel piece I think you'll enjoy that's a lot closer to home.

Roche-A-Cri State Park

          Ruthie and I visit lots of places, but for some reason I’ve never gotten around to writing about our very favorite one. Which is - go figure, because there it is only a few miles south of our mailbox and towering above Hwy 13, the tree-covered ridge of Roche-A-Cri Mound State Park. So, I went there last week to jot down whatever struck me the most. And same as always, for all the times I’ve been there, some closer looks showed things I’ve hardly noticed before.

          Walking in on the prairie trail, I hung a left to the huge stand-alone fir atop the rise. Its great-sized branches starting close to the ground make it the perfect climbing tree not only for young kids to easily climb but for me too (with adequate supervision by Ruthie).

          A short way into the woods, I stopped on the bridge crossing Carter Creek winding from east to west through the park. Realizing for the first time how crystal clear the water is, I wondered how anyone could catch the stocked trout here without their shying off and dodging away. Even our smart aleck son, Kevin the fishing champ, has caught only a few pan-fish here (also stocked).

Reaching the ring road, I looked up and up at what is claimed the most distinctive and beautiful rock formation (and the highest one) in our whole state.

(Image # 1; Sheer, red-colored sandstone wall above petroglyphs)

At its base is Petroglyph Rock and leaned toward it as close as I could, I saw, also entirely new to me, that Charles Caron chiseled in his name back in 1881. Before him, a passing explorer or settler simply scribed Oct. 31, 1845 maybe to say Happy Halloween, if they even had it back then. The sign said that in 1861, the Wisconsin 1^st Cavalry Sharpshooters fired at this rock during marksmanship trials. More interestingly, it suggested the half-moon crescents put here by the ancient Ho-Chunk people might even represent - a partial solar eclipse?

Continuing around, I picked up a plastic top saying “Made with Real Onions” (Pringles?) and tossed it into the dumpster. After using the park’s washroom at the office parking lot I joined three employees, Mona, Scott, and Ron taking a break.

Knowing Scott, I enthused, “Great job, you guys! This is the best-kept park I’ve ever seen.”

He nodded, “Yep, I keep at it with road maintenance and repair.”

Mona asked, “Notice how clean the washrooms are?”

My turn to nod - “Mine was spotless and unlike most, it even smelled good!”

Grinning, she gave me a thumbs up. Next, Ron spoke of the campsites (41 of them!) at the base of the Mound. “Camping there as a kid, I still think it’s the ideal place for it. Our campers pick up after themselves pretty well, too.”

I agreed, “All I found was a can lid some idiot left beside the road.”

Ron pointed behind me. “Speaking of which – did you lose a water bottle?”

No longer in my fanny-pack holder it was mine all right. When I picked it up, Ron said not a word but he wore a big smile.

Continuing around, I stopped short of the park’s most popular part, the 303 stairs to the overlook offering a spectacular view in all directions. Among the 5 miles of trails here, I turned off on the one almost hidden on my right to Chickadee Rock. A huge favorite of our grandsons, they bee-lined for it the last time we brought them. Had Ruthie not called a halt, they’d have spent all day tunneling through its little natural cave and climbing all over the huge boulders. Back then she finally hollered, “You guys get down here before you’re hurt! You too, Gilbert!” (Calling me that instead of Gib means I better or else).

(Image # 2; Gib and grandsons climbing Chickadee Rock)

We also climbed the stairs of course, the boys refusing to leave if we didn’t! Starting up amidst tall oaks of several varieties, red, black, and white, we relished their blazing fall colors. Higher yet were mostly red, white, and jack pines whose piney essence filled the air. Matt, the smallest, was struggling by now. But halting to give him a break, we got told off.  “Hey, no stopping! Let’s get to the top!”

And so it goes, folks, this not stopping thing with most of us who come here. With so much to see and do at this gem of a park, who wants to?