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Every once in a while a breeze finds its way to our shady lane. It gives a chill down the back of my neck as my biology makes the most of evaporative cooling. But the shade will not be with us much longer. Up ahead we can start to see the greening of the roadway accompanied by the clear blue sky above. The grassy road suddenly turns to oil treated gravel as we intersect a country road. We might have driven here and begun our trek from this point if only there was a reasonable place to park. But that's okay; at least we know where we are.
Twenty yards to the east is a concrete bridge. Two lane, gravel surface and cast concrete side railings that almost look too fancy to be this deep in the forest. I'm pretty sure that the creek beneath the bridge loosely marks the boundary for the eastern edge of Hoosier National Forest. I guess it’s fitting to gussy-up the entrance to federal land. Could be worse - could be a guard shack. (I love this country.)
That same structure, which I see as some sort of sudo-monument, Richey apparently sees as one more fixture in the playground that is this countryside. Such that as we approach the bridge, he jogs 3 or 4 steps toward the side railing and bounds the 30 inches or so to land - pretty as you please - atop the concrete balance beam. With hiking stick across his chest presumably for balance he continues on across at a normal pace. Not a care in the world. Now if I was to try that, I just know things would not be so nonchalant. No - this 30Lb backpack would shift just as I lit atop the rail or I'd jump up 28 inches instead of 30 - either way I'd end up as a big pile of chalant 20 feet below in the bed of that creek. Just the thought of it brings another chill to the back of my neck but for other biological reasons.
In a manner more befitting my sanity, I move to the edge of the bridge. Looking out and down at the creek below, I can hardly believe my eyes. We fully expected the water level to be down, but I did not really expect the depth to be absolute zero! The creek bed is bone dry. What was once it's muddy bottom is now a dry, reticulated skin of earth. If it wasn't for the high volume of rocky blemishes and its khaki color you would think you where looking onto the Salt-flats of Bonneville. This is weird. I've been fishing in this creek. Where are the fish? What once was a bit of an oasis for our previous treks into this area now appears to be completely devoid of life. But wait... what was that movement over at the base of the bridge to my right? It appears to be almost humanoid! Yes it is. It's Richey 'The Reckless' already trampling the surface of this strange new world.
"Hey Mike, get down here. This is cool!", was all the encouragement I needed. I cross over the bridge and negotiate the rocky embankment beside the bridge down to where Richey is poking and prodding the dry, cracked mud. This stuff is really hard. Using my hiking stick as a pry bar and a rock as a fulcrum, I pop up a flake of this stuff. Picking up the half inch thick plate made of dirt I am amazed how really tough it is. It's almost like adobe or something. This would make a good clay pigeon for target practice. If there where a body of water here I would instinctively give this thing a skip - but that's irony for ya.
"Oh man, this smells like crap!" exclaims Richey while holding his specimen of mud cake to his nose. "How's it taste?" I ask. He ignores. The bottom side is dark gray and apparently made of sewage. The hole it left in the creek bed is also dark gray and moist. There is a stench coming from the hole that seems to suggest that it is time to get going.
Without discussion we both head north up the creek bed as if we where walking down the middle of the street. Occasionally we see 'fish jerky' - poor little fishies that could not comprehend the fate that awaited them as the waters receded. Apparently these guys found themselves trapped in a pool of water that was destined to become a mud puddle. Unfortunately not ideal conditions for what was once a bluegill. I don't see how hiking conditions could be any better, nor - like the bluegill - do I comprehend how they could be worse. My friend and I are both on the road to discovery.
To be continued...