High 4; mostly sunny
This is an account of a hike I took on January 27, 2007. I doubt much has changed, but perhaps the ice is a little more solid today.
The Bog Trail meets Hunt Road at a nondescript intersection. There are no trail signs, save for a sign marked “Stop. Dead End.” The map shows the trail meeting up with the multi-use Poverty Hill Trail in less than a mile, so this sign makes me question the audience of this sign. Is it meant for snowmobilers? Because it is possible that this trail becomes unsuitable for them. Deciding to see where it takes me, I begin following what I can only assume is the Bog Trail.
Up a steep hill the trail meanders along the property ling of Kenneth Dubuque State Forest. This part, at least, is consistant with the map so I press on. The trail is wide and road-like, and eventually it forks. The right fork appears to go toward private property, so I stay left. The trail narrows. Young hemlocks, encased in ice, bend over the trail and some need to be pushed aside. Mountain laurel encroaches on the trail, seeming to grow underfoot. I get a sense of acidic soil. Branches and the leathery laurel leaves clatter like broken glass. I am becoming less convinced that this trail is legitimate when I see snags and cattails ahead on the right. Obvious signs of the wetland that was shown on the map. I navigate through the brush and come across a plaque mounted on a rock. It was a plaque stating that this, Hawley Bog, is a National Landmark. Amazing, and somewhat unexpected.
The bog was a beautiful sight, but why was it hidden, and why was the trail so unkempt? How sad that thsi pristine and valuable natural area is underappreciated such that its access is in disrepair.
I walked farther, and spurred on by the open spaces created by the water. I followed what seemed like a trail, skirting around frozen areas. But no more than 50 feet from the plaque, the ice underfoot cracked and my leg dipped down into freezing water up to the knee. Disheartened, I was forced to turn around and head back to the “trailhead”. My pant leg froze and knocked against my boot as I made my way back through the frozen landscape. My toes slightly numb, I made it back safe and cranked up the heat of the car.
New England Naturalist 