I stopped by this wooded land on the way to the Gallatin National Forest in Montana last fall. The plan was to crash out at a national forest campsite instead of the rest stop on 94, only driving about 100 miles to see some potentially good country and have a quiet night of rest. Due to intense fog on the roads heading north, I was limited to very slow speeds and did not arrive to the forest boundary until 3:30 in the morning. I crashed in the car and woke to a bright sunny day in a nice little section of the national forest. I walked a short trail, enjoying the clean, fresh air and the warm sun. The rest of the day was spent walking around some of the lakes, and even having lunch at a shoreline picnic table over at Walker Bay on Leech Lake.
I was looking for a bit of that Minnesota wild, but it wasn’t what I expected. Mostly what I found was second homes smashed onto lake shore, and very thin strips of actual national forest surrounded by cabins. Less than 2 percent of Minnesota’s forested land is old growth. That said, I was still able to get a feel for what this national forest has to offer. The strips or chunks of undeveloped land still had something to them, something important. Furthermore, the Chippewa National Forest has one of the highest bald eagle nesting densities in the nation, and was a very important stronghold in the comeback of the bird.
There was still something vital here, even amongst all those boats, cars and second homes – even crunched between the kind of lake land development that plagues the upper midwest. That spirit was still alive, the scent of the red pine, the eagles and osprey, the wolves, the beautiful lakes and the recovering forest. The air was still permeated by it.
As I headed west towards Montana, I passed the Chippewa National Forest sign. I pulled the car over, hopped across the road and took the picture, not entirely sure as to why. As I reached Detroit Lakes, I figured it out:
Any public land is better than no public land.
Long live the Chippewa National Forest.
It was late September and the rut was on. The female elk (also referred to as “cows”) seemed to be using the river as a place to get away from the relentless bulls. I saw a group of eight cows and calves just hanging out on this particular river bend. Some of the calves were sleeping in thickets along the shore.
