The Wild Place

The trip to Lower Lake near Boscobel Wisconsin

October 30, 2021

Written Nov1, 2021

There’s  a mysterious lake in western Wisconsin called Lower Lake. It is the subject of much mystery but not much folklore. Very few people on this planet have actually been to the lake because it is largely inaccessible. I say largely because it is indeed accessible but somewhat difficult especially when the marshes surrounding it are not frozen, which they are not now. There are no roads leading to it nor are there any trails to my knowledge since neither roads nor trails appear on any of the maps, satellite or otherwise.Tomorrow I am determined to reach that lake by foot and kayak and if you don’t see pictures from the lake by tomorrow that means I got lost in swamp and may not be able to get out in the forseeable future. I will bring some snacks just in case. Barring any mishaps however i hope to be back by Saturday night. It goes without saying that I will be bringing my fishing rod. 

If you the reader have been to this lake then please share the easiest way to access it so I don’t harm myself unnecessarily.

Then I went…

With a medium amount of apprehension I headed out Saturday to what I thought was a slough called Lower Lake. I was not able to leave the house until 9:45 AM and only 10 minutes into my trip I missed my turn at Barneveld, setting me back another 10 minutes. In any case I made up for it by slightly speeding through Cobb, Highland, and Muscoda so I approached the so called parking area on Highway 60 by 11:00. There was no visible sign to the entrance, only a 15 foot wide dirt path off to the left. Per the DNR map I knew it was in the area so I was going slow and caught the turn. After you turn you see a small brown and white DNR sign reading “Lower Wisconsin Waterway” which really just means the land is public, which I already knew. I had studied maps of the region, and spoken to the DNR property manager, the wildlife technician responsible for the area, and other DNR staff regarding the optimal access points. They were all pleasant but nobody had actually been to the lake physically (is there any other way), except for a man named Bob Roe, a DNR guy who had walked in there from the north, over ice in the winter. He had never been there when the terrain was thawed as it is now on October 30. The conversations were all useful in that they confirmed that my plan to enter from the west on Highway 60 was workable and indeed may be optimal so that gave me some confidence.

The entry path extended all the way up to Knapp Creek, which was the creek I planned on using to access the lake. There was a 50/50 chance that the creek would flow towards the lake, but therein lied my first obstacle, the creek flowed south, and the lake was to the north and east. Oh well, at least it would be easier on the way back if I make it that far. I figured I could still use the creek to tow my kayak with a rope, which is way better than dragging it over brush, which is when I met obstacle two. While putting on my chest waders the leg and foot felt somewhat snug as the foot traveled to the boot, and when the foot entered the boot I couldn’t get it to go in all the way. Turns out I had brought my wife’s waders which are a size 6 womens whereas I wear an 11.5 mens. Mine were an hour away at home. Now what? I could pack it in and go home, embarrassing myself in front of the readers, or find away to navigate the creek without waders, which would be tough since the water looked to be about 4ft deep. Then I remembered the Chinese girls who stuff there feet into super small shoes to keep them from growing, so I figured if they can do it for years then I could do it for a couple of hours. So I crammed my feet into the womens size 6 and headed up the creek, in some pain. After walking about a hundred feet I thought I would try paddling against the current and it was perfectly doable. There were some trees that had fallen over the creek but they usually left a gap for me to fit through, which I was able to do on the first couple of obstacles. The insidious thing about those gaps though is that with the trees forcing much of the water to fit though the gap the current is somewhat increased there, like when you put your thumb on the end of a hose to make the water squirt further. I would have to paddle with all my might to get through the opening, and sometimes I would find myself paddling in place, then quickly trying to grab a branch and pull myself though. Sometime the rushing flow would push me backwards, and almost tip me due to the hidden branches under the water behind me. I almost capsized a couple of times and then decided it would be safer to just ‘portage’, accent on the second syllable, making the word sound so French, rhyming with mirage. In addition the frequency of fallen trees over the creek had increased to the point where I would have to exit and reenter every 30 yards so the portage option seemed preferrable. So did bagging the entire trip. My feet were killing me since I had halved my shoe size unnaturally. I switched to my white waterman boots which come up to my shins and proceeded to drag my kayak, and hopefully the frequency of fallen trees would decrease so I could reenter for the duration of the trip. According to the map, if I had to portage all the way to the lake it would be about a half a mile through thorns, brush, marsh, and associated detritus. Again the specter of quitting seemed pleasant.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say that I felt God speak to me the night before about going slow on the journey. “There is no rush, enjoy the trip as well as the destination and go as slow as you like, but maybe even slower than you want to.” That proved to be excellent advice. I could drag the kayak about 40 yards through the woods along side the creek before I would rest. Sometimes I would fish the creek for a few minutes before continuing, causing the trip to approach enjoyment. I even found a marsh covered with green scum which is ideal for artificial top water frog fishing, which happened to be the lure on my rod.

As you might surmise by the initial event sequence, there are many impediments along the way, and some of them can cause you great hardship and need to be avoided when you are in the back country. Things like a sprained ankle, sharp reeds that appear as Vietnamese war era spikes that can pierce your spleen, falling into the frigid creek, getting stuck in the quicksand, but these are the things you might expect and can somewhat avoid. There is however one that people of my age don’t expect and that is a heart attack, especially when you are in a remote location with no cell service, and dragging a 60 pound loaded kayak through brush and bush. Slow is important, real important. In the moment I may feel like I’m 25 but if I do a mental year check, my birth year was right in the middle of the 20th century and we are nearly a quarter of a century into the 21st. Slow. Rest. Fish. Small segments. Don’t rush the gaps. Watch for logs or branches under the water. Don’t die now, die later when you have cell coverage.

Eventually, as I had hoped, the fallen trees started to decrease, and I could see that I could reenter the creek and then paddle, with only occasional portaging. In addition the fork in the creek was now perceptible which leads to the fabled Lake itself, and the land was starting to open up into more of a savannah as opposed to forest, which to me signified proximity to the lake, and caused great excitement and some awe. It was as if the land was welcoming me to the lake, almost rewarding me. I tied an orange ribbon to a tree so I would remember which way to turn on the way back and continued down the southeast spur of Knapp Creek. I could now see the water widening on either side and up ahead a vast expanse of water, more vast than expected, and I felt like I had just found the Northwest Passage, or like Meriwether Lewis, or like Billy Clark, or like Ferdinand Magellan, and somewhat like Chris Columbus at Hispaniola. You get the point, and don’t make me apologize for Columbus. He treated the Haitians better than they’re treated today. Yes overstated, but since I am now realizing that I will never be a great man it somehow soothes me to compare myself to those who are, or were. It also soothes me that I still have time to achieve greatness in the Kingdom if I remain faithful to Christ, and THEN in that kingdom, greatness in this one will no longer matter. At all. Think about it. At all.

I need to back there, older children would be fine, not little ones. no cell service and things happen out there, not often but on occasion, sprained ankles, lacerations from rocks and branches, but with the vehicle being 50 minutes away and no cell service it’s a little risky with kids, unless Steve went with you, carrying a first aid kit. And that way of an anyone got hurt a nom injured adult could run to the cell service and call for help. Also its hard to “run” out of that place.

Somehow I don’t feel like i’ve actually experienced a lake unless i’ve caught a fish in it. Almost like it’s not mine unless i’ve violated it, as it submits.

Lake Kendall is more tame, but still wild. No direct access but a frozen creek that welcomes you into the lake. I will go in a couple weeks. The ice seems to ground me somehow. It would be safe for children.

So many things to say on these places, just along the Lower Wisconsin Waterway itself. Such a treasure, all the islands, backwaters, much of it inaccessible exceot by kayak or canoe. The main channel of the river is dangerous though, and about 18 people a year die on it.  

In two weeks i pulled four people out who were in trouble. I cant write now, and what i do write is scattered.

This phone  is a poor writing tool, it allows for thoghts but not cohesive ones, which are necessary for understanding, UNLESS of course the reader knows you well, and then maybe communication is somehow enhanced. I do like the speech to text thing, it’s closer to thought, there is less time between the thought and the page, and for that reason it seems more raw because it is more raw. I suppose some of the ancient writers did the same, except their come pewter was another person, and they could just dictate their thoughts as a nursed whatever elixir was popular back on those mornings 2000 years ago. Actually that would be better if I just had a person that would write this down because then I wouldn’t have all these mistakes, or maybe I’d have more who knows depends on the scribe. And will describe herself being impediment, in other words would I be self-conscious, because I’m certainly not self-conscious with the phone, although I have to keep correcting her. A small price to pay. In any case the true joy would be to serve God, but a neither greater joy would be to serve him with those you love the most. I know I use the word inexhaustible a lot partly because I’ve been thinking a lot about eternity, both backwards and forwards, and depending on perspective, I am infinitely small relative to those things that are infinitely large, and conversely, infinitely large to those things that are infinitely small. It’s almost like the soul has no size, but does it have shape, and what is a spirit anyway, does it have size. In the spiritual world is size even a thing? and we already suspect the time is not a thing, so there goes two major dimensions, maybe. No man on this side of the death line knows the answer in enough detail to pontificate about it. But in my imagination I feel I have the right to create it by simple declaration, which I guess we call fiction. But I like fiction because of the freedom it affords and allowing truth to seep through entertainment. Now my thoughts are not bowed, even when they should be, and I guess it’s OK if I let them run wild as long as they run wild in a spatial construct Of my choosing. I love freedom yet sometimes I fear it, because in someways I’m weak and the freedom is stronger than my weakness. And that my friend is why we have the Scriptures and the Holy Spirit, And as the great writer who lives on the border between two counties says, “a hemming in.” I will not speak of my affection for this writer, but I guess and saying this I already have, so why even mention it. Oh I know why, I can’t help it, that’s why, say it doesn’t need to be a good enough reason, I do a lot of things without good enough reason, just add this one to the list. Has Paul said in romans while chained to his praetorian guard As they walked along the river Styx, oh wretched man that I am who shall deliver me from this body of death. Who can correct me? Very few. For most people I can spout this nonsense all day long, and people used to accuse me of that, but I would just speak in front of groups, just keep talking, until I finally started making sense. Your service that’s a lie, saying things that you don’t know are true but you don’t know that they’re false either, but for the sake of conversation you just keep going, is that like a half lie? And if it turns out false do you have to contact everybody that heard it and correct it because if not it becomes a lie permanently. I know this is getting stupid, but that’s one of the costs of freedom. Freedom to be an idiot.

Now then, Back in the box I go, it is a large Box, full of holes, and pretty flimsy, but it will contain me just fine, not because I can’t get out, because I can, but Because I love the creator of the box, I will respect its boundaries. And if through weakness i bust through the box and therby destroy it ,  I also destroy myself and the one who gave it to me, and in fear of losing All,  the box is so much stronger than it looks, and really as strong as this “this” in the center of my being. Talk about infinite.

It’s hard not being able to exhale. Harder than i thought.