Genesee Oak Opening and Fen SNA: Enchantment and adventure!

November 28, 2023  |  Topics: Places, Stories

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By Eddee Daniel

I inch my car slowly backwards along the long, narrow, one-lane track that is the entrance drive to Genesee Oak Opening and Fen State Natural Area. I’m going backwards along the tunnel-like lane because the last time I was here my four-wheel drive Subaru got thoroughly stuck in a hole when I tried to turn around at the end. I had to call a tow truck to pull me out. There is no parking area at the dead end of the drive. I back carefully up to the gate so I won’t have to turn around this time. As always, no other cars are here. As always, I wonder what would happen if more than two cars did show up at the same time.

I’ve loved this place when I’ve visited before, always in warmer seasons. Coming back in snow has been high on my to-do list, but I hadn’t attempted it again since the fiasco last winter.

The sky is low and gloomy, but the inch or so of late-November snow is beautiful, with fine, almost misty, snow still falling. As expected, the place is magical. A long, narrow path leads from the gate to the wilds of the woodland. Open land stretches out to one side, part meadow, part wetland. Goldenrod and other forbs gone to seed all wear snowy caps like tiny knit beanies. Multitudes of common ninebark bushes along the other side of the path, heavily laden, reach down towards me as I pass, as if in supplication.

The trail splits at the base of the first hill. The one I usually take, to the right, leads up to the crest. I decide to explore the other trail this time, which skirts around the base of the hill to the left. Someone has been here before me today. I follow their footprints all the way around to the far side of the hill where an impenetrable thicket blocks the way. The trail splits again to circumvent the thicket. Intuitively, I feel I’ve gone beyond the park boundary, so I turn towards the hill and head up.

The hilltop is beyond magical. Gnarled and twisted, ancient oaks and maples crown the crest like the enchanted thicket of thorns surrounding Sleeping Beauty’s castle, giving the place a haunted feeling. And there at the center, improbably, is the ruin of the castle! Or so I fancy it. Likely a cabin once, all that remains is a poured concrete floor and an unevenly constructed stone chimney, which seems rather grand for the size of the foundation. The overcast sky thins a bit; the sun tries but fails to break through.

Having circled the hilltop, I glance down the slope. I see blaze orange moving up the trail below. When the hunter sees me, I wave and say hello. He looks at me briefly and continues silently past, up the hill and across the ridge towards the next promontory. Along with his rifle, he is carrying a large camouflage-patterned pack with poles protruding from the top. Curious, I follow at a distance.

Before long, without a backward glance, he disappears over the edge of the ridge. By the time I catch up, I spot him at the bottom of the steep slope. The mystery of his pack is revealed as he pulls it apart and begins to set up a temporary blind. Methodically, he unfolds it, spreads it between two trees and then hunkers down behind it facing an open field. He raises the rifle, sights on something, lowers it. Settles in to wait. He may be willing to sit for however long it takes, but my own hunting is over, my catch bagged in my camera’s memory card. I head back.

Halfway down the trail, through the giant trees, I can see to the end of the road I came in on. Alongside my car is another, likely belonging to the hunter I’ve just encountered. I also see another spot of blaze orange bobbing around beyond my car. I hope, idly, that I’m not parked in, though I’m not really worried about it. I wait, thinking I might catch a photo of the second hunter coming up the trail towards me. We photographers have that in common with hunters, waiting for the right moment to shoot.

I take several quick shots as he approaches the split in the trail, still fairly far away. Then he veers off in the other direction. Once again, I am done for the day, I think. On the way back I spot a third hunter, far off but his blaze orange coat is clearly visible in a tree overlooking the field. The math is indisputable. That makes four. Not hunters. Cars.

Sure enough, I arrive at the gate to see with dismay that my car is completely boxed in. Two sedans are pulled over to one side, out of the way. But a large red pickup truck is right in front of my car. The driver probably thought I could squeeze my way between his truck and the other two cars. At first, I try to do just that. Wedged in between, with an inch or two to spare, I discover I would have to turn ever so slightly to get past the second car. That would scrape the side of my car on the truck’s rear bumper. Cars just don’t squeeze, y’ know.

I ease backwards again. Now what? The afternoon is fading, the gloom deepening. There is nothing to do but go back and hunt for the hunter who parked me in. I know which way he’d gone. I retrace my steps, following his boot prints, which are easy to distinguish. I find him halfway up the backside of the hill, crouched behind a tree, keeping quite still. I must not have made any noise because when I come up behind him and say, softly, “excuse me,” he jumps.

Apologizing, I explain the situation. He doesn’t complain. He rises, stubs out his cigarette, and we set off, single file, him in the lead. Me staring at his rifle all the way back. (For the record, while I don’t hunt myself, I have no problem with deer hunting as long as it’s done responsibly. There are plenty of deer in Wisconsin!) It’s the last day of deer hunting season and I ask if he’s gotten one yet. He says, “no.” He is friendly enough, but when we try to chat, his words, spoken softly, swirl away in the blowing snow. We walk most of the way in silence, snow settling gently on our shoulders.

There is no way he is going to be able to turn his truck around. I believe he would have to move only a few inches for me to get through. But, as I sit in my car waiting, he unhurriedly stows all his gear, then removes his coat, hat and camouflage snow pants. Finally, he hops in the cab and begins to back slowly all the way up the lane. I follow, driving forwards this time with confidence. The whole time no shots have been fired anywhere nearby. I guess the deer are winning this round.

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Don’t let my story dissuade you from visiting Genesee Oak Opening and Fen State Natural Area if you find the photos as enchanting and haunting as I do. I’ll happily return myself. Maybe not during hunting season again. And I won’t park all the way back at the gate!

For more information about Genesee Oak Opening and Fen State Natural Area go to our Find-a-Park page.

Eddee Daniel is a board member of Preserve Our Parks. He keeps a blaze yellow vest in his car for contingencies like the one in this story. All images shot Nov. 26, 2023, except as noted.

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