Where the Mind Wanders (or, Too Much Television)

You know the storyline used in many cop shows on television, the one where serial killer stalks unsuspecting innocent who misses all the signs and ends up in the proverbial death trap. Somehow that storyline infiltrated my otherwise beautiful late afternoon in the woods.

The call was for an eagle rescue in Kinnickinnic State Park, just across the river from Afton Alps ski area. Steve waited for me at the end of his driveway located just across from the park where he had three hours earlier walked his dogs, as he has almost every day of the last twenty years. As I approached in my Jeep at around 3:30 p.m., I saw he was carrying a large lantern.

"It's getting late in the day, and we've got a bit of a hike, so I thought I should bring a light in case it gets dark before we get back," he said as he jumped in the passenger seat. Wow. Good thinking. How far away IS this eagle, I wondered.

We drove on a bit to a small parking pull out along the side of the road and next to a prairie field.

"We can walk the trail around this field, or cut across to the woods on the other side. The eagle is down that way close to the Kinny river, about a mile in as the crow flies - probably about 20 minutes," Steve offered.

"Let's take the short way so we can get back before the sun starts to set," I replied, as I grabbed my gloves and set up the carrier for our return.

The snow wasn't deep, but the brush from the prairie grasses and flowers made walking more of an effort. By the time we reached the other side of the field, I was good and warm, and breathing a little heavier. As we entered the woods, I thought it might be a good time to put on my safety glasses as the brush poked at my face and scraped my legs and coat. Steve had mentioned that he and the dogs followed a deer trail, so I hoped our trip back out would not be so dense with brush and saplings.

Another couple of minutes of hiking brought us to a wide trail marked with the tracks of four-wheelers, contradicting the claim by Steve that there was not a trail that we could navigate with the Jeep.

"Oh, I forgot about the folks that live back here. They have a home just down the way, with their property surrounded by DNR land. They use some of these trails. We could have asked their permission to use their driveway to get closer to these woods which might have saved some time and distance," he said.

On we marched with dusk approaching, following Steve's nose through the woods that he knew so well. That's the first time the television storyline invaded my conscience. "Serial killer lures innocent volunteer into the woods, using a route intended to exhaust and disorient." I smiled at the thought as I searched for my phone. Darn, left it in the Jeep. That was dumb. What if we got lost. Or needed help. Or medical assistance. Or the police. Okay, enough of the storyline, I thought, let's just watch where we're stepping. We were starting down a hillside that would lead us to the river, I supposed, and because I hadn't made the stop at home to get better equipped with hiking gear or bird carriers, I was still in my slip-on shop shoes, causing me to slip on a bit on the steeper parts.

After about 15 minutes since leaving the car, we came up to a deer trail. Steve was getting warm from the hike, and removed his hat. It revealed a shaved head that, along with his goatee, gave him that incarcerated look.

"Here it is, we're close now," Steve said as he went left along the steep trail down another hundred yards or so, with me grabbing a branch every now and then to keep from sliding.

"Hmmm, I thought he was by this log. Maybe it's a bit further," he said as he climbed over the tree. "Why don't you wait here while I check it out."

Back to the storyline. This is where he disappears, leaving me to wonder where I am, or how to make my way back in the dark. No phone. Getting colder. Weak from the strain of the hike.... alright already. Enough!

"Sorry about that. I should have taken a right instead of a left when we broke out on the trail," Steve said as he passed, marching back up the hill. More exertion. I could start to feel my legs.

In the other direction, the trail followed the bluff. I could see the river below and understand why Steve and his dogs loved those walks every day. Quiet, remote, full of wildlife and beautiful scenery. Soon we came upon the eagle, cowering against a fallen tree, just where Steve had seen it earlier that day. It didn't move as I approached. Both signs of bad health. As I reached down to try to motivate her into a defensive position so I could find her legs, Steve walked around the tree to the other side. He stood well back, as though the eagle might lunge at any time. Or to watch the eagle attack me, I wasn't sure. In any case, I soon came up with the exhausted and confused eagle, ready to make the march back to the car.

I stepped over the tree and started to follow Steve when I looked ahead and saw him navigate a narrow ledge at the edge of the bluff. Now handicapped by the fact that I had to hold the eagle with both hands, there was nothing left for balancing or for grabbing hold of a tree limb or such should I start to fall or slip. The ledge had few options, all ensconced in ice or snow. As I approached, Steve turned around and started back, presumably to help... but...perhaps... to give me a push instead. It would be a long drop onto the rocks below.

Instead, he tentatively reached out his hand to provide something to grab onto if necessary. I say tentatively, because it wasn't clear to him what he would grab, with an eagle in the mix. And an eagle that at the time was contesting her capture, biting at my coat, and reaching for my hands. I balanced each step carefully, alternating between looking for the next place to put my foot and watching Steve out of the corner of my eye.

After agreeing to take a short cut straight up the hill rather than the longer traverse, we came upon a larger trail that had obviously been used by four-wheelers. Steve recommended that I walk along that trail as it would lead to the driveway of the home he mentioned earlier. In the meantime, he proposed that he cross the field and take my Jeep to meet me on that driveway. All he needed were the keys.

He was well on his way as I recovered my wind from the climb, disappearing over the hill when my imagination fed the storyline once again. The keys to my car now joined my phone as tools no longer available for my escape. How do I know there's a house at the end of the trail? The trail met another trail, and then another. Which was the right trail? The eagle came to life for a moment, fighting my grasp and reaching for my hands with his beak. Did she know something? "No, not that way... that's certain death."

Just about the time I applied a mental brake to my free wheeling imagination, I can upon the asphalt driveway. It was a long driveway, disappearing near the horizon. The eagle and I waited, and waited, and waited. My arms started to grow heavy as I thought about walking to the house to inform the police of my missing Jeep. Just then the headlights poked through the woods. Down the driveway he came, slowly. The eagle and I could finally relax, as I anticipated the warmth and security of the trip back to the Raptor Center while she rested in the carrier.

Steve was of course a very caring and conscientious wildlife advocate, with only the eagles interests at heart. As I dropped him off at the end of his driveway, he thanked me for making the trip and suffering the short cuts. He never did need to use his lantern, as we were back just before dark.

I shook my head on the drive back. wondering why I had spent so much mental energy on a storyline that was obviously preposterous, rather than just enjoying my surroundings and the hike. But I vowed to come more prepared on my next call, with the right shoes, the right carrier, and a phone in my pocket.