Sibley State Park

 Nature hikes have always been a means of escape for me, adventures to help refocus on God’s creation, my passions, and reconnect with others. And after my three-hour hike at Sibley State Park with my mom (Deb) and dog (Red), my three avenues refilled on a gorgeous late October afternoon.  

The locals showed they had the same idea as they flocked to the 18 miles of trails the park offers. I realized the same fuel that founded Sibley State Park in 1919 by local citizens still burns brightly as an outlet for individuals of New London to continuously visit the 2,900 acres to stoke it year-round. Similar to most state parks, many ecosystems are encompassed within the boundaries, including glacial hills, wetlands, Oak Savannas, and deciduous forests.  

       

We began at the top of Mt. Tom, which is considered the highest point within 50 miles, and observed the last of the fiery reds, oranges, and yellows dying back for the year throughout the park and New London. However, we didn’t stay long as the observation tower stood as a beacon for other hiking families, plus I had Red. So, we hopped on a more remote trail that looped us around all the environments Sibley State Park protects.  

Walking among the deciduous forests, we witnessed the final fading golden-brown leaves of the multiple mature Oaks and other hardwoods up-close. These sites create an eye-catching backdrop for the surrounding prairie remnants and wetlands – whose tall-grass displayed swaying, scattered pops of green, off-white tuffs of mature seed, and their own shade of golden-brown, winter interest color. The several glacial ponds, plus Lake Andrew itself, we passed reflected the almost cloudless sky perfectly, minus the handful of swans and ducks seemingly gliding across the calm waters.  And the rolling hills promised beautiful views of recycled farmland and prairie remnants as well as an increased heart rate for both my mother and me.  

 

In the end, the visit resurfaced an important reminder; community. Community with nature and the need to keep the relationship alive. Beauty, peace, and fellowship with others are just a few factors as to how I find and see God in nature and become overwhelmed by it too. It also drives the need to protect it because if we don’t, we’re going to lose it. And as God’s touch is within it, why would we want to lose it?  

   

The Battle at Lake Bronson State Park

            In the middle of sugar beet fields is an ongoing battle between two ecosystems: the tallgrass prairie and aspen parkland. It’s a territorial battle over land that began as Glacial Lake Agassiz began to dissipate in Northeast Minnesota some 10,000 years ago. The glacial lake in its prime extended over Manitoba and Ontario in Canada reaching through Northwest North Dakota and the Northeast corner of Minnesota, creating large, flat, fertile plains as it melted. Early Pioneers took advantage of nature’s nutrition and began converting the majority of land into agricultural fields – inadvertently moving the battleground to Lake Bronson State Park (a protected 3598 acres) where visitors can now view a historical battle up close.   

The fight is intense and dependent on two main factors: humans and weather (or more importantly, fire). And before pioneers – grazing bison and elk were major factors too.  

But, before going into more detail on those, let’s set the stage for the battleground first. The areas known as aspen parkland are transitional pieces of land diving the tallgrass prairie of the dry, Western edge of Minnestoa from the well-sought moist coniferous forests that dominate the Northeast corner of the state. The parkland consists of deciduous hardwoods including Quaking Aspen (obviously) and Bur Oaks while the prairie produces tall grasses and various wildflowers.   

Now begins the disagreement of who grows and survives where. As each side claims seniority, it attempts to invade the opponent’s side with the assistance of the factors stated earlier. Before grazing herbivores combed the area, wildfires burned the land, settling the score (every 5 years or so) while also providing the prairie with a head start once it receded. Grazing animals favored the prairie too it seemed as the tree saplings became a part of the food chain. Don’t feel bad for the deciduous forest however because some years the bison and fires never arrived, giving the tree the upper hand in the fight.   

One could argue that this is the current reality within the state park as neither bison nor fire range the 3,598 acres as they once did. As of now, the prairie is highly dependent on humans conducting prescribed burns and deer or elk munching on the continuous supply of tree saplings or tree seeds. And in my opinion, the prairie is losing.    

 

To see this, I would recommend the interpretive Aspen Parkland Trail in Lake Bronson State Park and be the judge of who’s currently winning in a battle being fought for decades. (And us humans thought it was only us who fight over land domination.) The trail itself loops you through both ecosystems, providing interpretive signs explaining the history of the battle as well as fun facts about the surrounding land.   

It’s the trail I experienced and learned from in my visit to Lake Bronson. The weather wasn’t ideal as moisture spit in my face or rained down entirely throughout my hike. The lake breeze, lack of sun, and below-average temperatures for the day didn’t necessarily help either. Surrounding Quaking Aspen (mature and saplings) were the lone tree species still holding their deep yellow fall color while barren Bur Oaks and other species had already given back theirs to nature. Mature stands of both species guarded the Lake Bronson shoreline, extending to the frontline of the battlefield, where saplings of Aspen already a few years old standing taller in the surrounding tallgrass prairie. The prairie wildflowers too had completed their perennial cycle for the year and becoming dormant. Prairie grasses were the only species providing color – a golden brown – almost reflecting the color within the trees. Their swaying in the breeze brought a hypnotized peace- the prairie habitat transitioning into an Oak Savana seemingly endless, just like the history stored in their roots.    

The history doesn’t stop there as remnants of the WPA (Works Progress Administration) which the park was created from are scattered within the park – one of which is the observation tower, providing a beautiful 360-degree view of the park. A gorgeous sight in all seasons.  If you’re more into nature walks (and seeing wildlife), I’d also recommend the Meander Trail, which is the most remote path Lake Bronson State Park has to offer (the one I’d wish I had time in my visit to experience).   

Overall, like most state parks, Lake Bronson offers many opportunities to get outside to learn and discover nature year-round. Thus, you may never know what you’ll find in the middle of those surrounding sugar beet fields...

Learning to Fish at Voyagers National Park

Voyagers National Park offers a water-based experience for campers, fishermen, and canoers alike. In total, the park contains a combination of 218,054 acres of land and water across the Northern top of Minnestoa, bordering the Canadian line. This also includes 500 plus islands and 655 miles of shoreline, all of which is accessible by watercraft.  

My first visit consisted of a 3-day, 2-night fishing camp trip with relatives on my husband’s side where we literally ate, slept, and fished the entire time.  

It was awesome.  

 

We entered at Voyagers National Visitors Center where the endless Rainy Lake centered in the horizon with several boats leaving and entering the public access. Despite the upper 60-degree weather on the main land, the air felt 10 degrees cooler near this particular “mouth” of the lake – the breeze easily cooled me off after loading up the boat. We bundled up into light jackets once we set off, knowing the temperature will drop more as we scaled across the water.  

Our ride was relatively smooth even with the wind as we headed to our ‘island’ campsite. The campsite consisted of our own dock, two sand pads for tents, bear-proof food lockers, a fishing bay, and scenic views at every turn.  

 

Upon arrival, fishing quickly became the new mindset as rods were prepped in week-long built-up anticipation. Those excited waves couldn’t reach me though as my mind focused on the picturesque landscape rather than catching a fish in the unknown depths surrounding us. In my mind, trails needed to be discovered and scenic overlooks to be viewed.  

I soon came to realize I was confined on the island with fishing fanatics and not much else other than a pole and pillow. And God knowns a pillow wasn’t going to help me catch a good time.  

In the end, I re-boarded the boat and learned to fish.  

I borrowed a Fenwick rod from my husband and we began patrolling the waters closest to our campsite for areas with underwater drop-offs. Our target fish – the Minnesota state Walleye – I guess, prefers those cooler waters – especially when the 70-degree sun is blaring the surface waters.  

For the majority of the trip, a lighted bobber with various baits attached to the hook was readied for me. The bobber floats a controlled X amount of feet (depending on water depth) higher so my hook could graze the lake bottom without hindering my ability to witness the bobber to go under with the slightest nibble of a fish. I instantly struggled with the skill of determining the difference between the rocky bottom from a nibble or from boat movement while still having my hook drag across the bottom. (If it doesn’t, you lose out on catching a fish apparently.) 

Instead of fish, I caught a lot of rocks. We all did, actually, for the first night and day.  

I didn’t mind the failure at first since I still wasn’t in the mindset to fish. I was bored, honestly, just sitting in a boat all day, only to get out and eat and then repeat. I’d rather be exploring the islands we trolled past; half hidden trailheads sparking curiosity.  

However, the day we began catching fish is the day my mindset changed completely. Though I wasn’t the first, my heart still raced at the sound of a reel being rolled in quickly. I’ll be next was my repeated thought as my relatives displayed the small Northerns they successfully caught. Not our target fish obviously; however, the excitement sparked an internal challenge with nature and family to catch a fish.  

Soon, my rod became an extension of my arm, my hand – the hook grazing the lake bottom 10 plus below, waiting. The waiting morphed into peace as I became aware of the natural beauty around us, and my place within it. The surrounding water produced small rippled waved whose drops speckled us as it climbed the side of the boat. I became a part of the it too as frogs and loons sang white noise in the background with the cooler lake air keeping one alert on their own line. Time mattered no more.  

As the fishing high remained – a new part of myself awakened, even after we braked for a quick supper at the campsite. I anxiously waited to board the boat once more for the night, but we had to wait for a small, spotty rain shower to pass over.  

Not long afterwards, we trolled Rainy Lake once more, remaining close to camp in case of another evening shower. We discovered a deeper hole with the help of the boat’s sonar software capabilities roughly 50 yards from out island’s shore and decided to gamble our evening chances there. The cold front helped the fish become more active and hungrier.  

Two minutes later the first Walleye of the trip swung into the boat – a 21”. Smiles appeared all around, we found them, and the sonar showed signs of more. We anchored.  

I hooked a rock.  

Within the next ten minutes, four more various sized Walleyes were caught, with some thrown back due to being in the slot limit.  

I repeatedly caught more rocks, becoming quite frustrated.  

By this time, the setting sun displayed a blazing orange-yellow as it sat just above the water’s horizon. Distant loons seemed to sing to it as the water quieted, reflecting the sun’s colors beautify across the surrounding landscape. Deep yellows, pinks, and oranges danced upward in the sky, still providing warmth against the cooler evening air.  

After a few tips and re-adjusting my bobber to hook distance, I casted once again, bouncing my hook hopefully away from the hungry rocks I’ve been catching all weekend. I focused on the sun’s warmth on my right cheek and my hook grazing the lake bottom below.  

Crickets soon created the only sound besides the floating boat.  

Eventually, I felt a gently tug on my hook – a genuine one. Not taking any chances, I pulled back after the next tug, hoping to hook whatever curious creature lurked below. I began reeling, and after feeling some resistance, reeled faster. I soon pulled up a small 16” Walleye into the boat, with my heart pounding in excitement.  

I caught a fish, I whispered to myself as congratulations were provided. We snapped a couple photos before trying out luck again.  

The next fish got away however from my existed reeling and tugging.  

Soon, only a sliver of the sun’s glow remained so we headed back to camp. As we gently trolled back, I embraced my new-found enjoyment of fishing.  

I had become a fisherman.