A Walk in the Park

My first attempt to "research" the Raccoon River park trail in West Des Moines for this piece were rebuffed by the terrible condition of the place- snow and ice were everywhere, and after my note-taking pen ran out of ink and I slipped and fell on the ice, I wisely decided to beat a hasty (but cautious!) retreat. The second time, the conditions were better but I had hardly made it a half-mile before fatigue set in, and as my father had recently been quite sick I reluctantly chose to back out yet again.

By the time I was actually writing this essay, I was in the death grip of the emperor of all respiratory flus. The paper was written in a haze of fatigue with the help of months-old memories of the place, Google Earth, and my mostly-recovered father's stalwart proofreading (not to mention his laptop). And given the conditions under which it was conceived, I think it turned out fairly well. It's the most entertaining of texts, to be sure, but if you want a fairly thorough walk-through description of the park's trail in winter, well, here you go!


____________________________________________________


A Walk in the Park


Snow thickly blankets the gravel section of Raccoon River Park’s trail, hiding every last trace of gravel and transforming every last inch of the usually straight trail into a minefield of bumps and valleys. A lone runner whips around the moment she sees this mess and hurries back along the paved and cleared section of the path she’d just completed. No one can blame her. You’d have to be nuts to attempt the trail in its current condition.

Gulp.

Going through the entrance gate and onto the trail, you’re immediately greeted with a dual view of the magnificent Blue Heron Lake on your left and a swampy, tree-flanked pond on your right, both of them frozen and dusted with snow. The former even has several trails of footprints stamped across it, suggesting humans and animals for whom the threat of hypothermia and death was evidently not a great enough concern to dissuade them from a few moments of ice-walking fun.

Walking on, you’ll find yourself flanked by flora of increasing size and number- just a few little bushes at first (reduced to twigs in winter, naturally), but quickly growing into thick sets of bare, skeletal trees, punctuated by a sudden, scenic lump of lake that recedes as quickly as it appears. A few moments ahead of this point, a bit of land sits to the left- usually a peninsula, the lake’s increased volume has temporarily cut it off from the land, though as a layer of solid ice is all there is to the separation, crossing over would hardly be a difficult task.

The trees thin considerably up ahead as the lake and fen regain their choke-hold on the trail, but their dominion is short-lived: the lake is quickly shunted aside by a small stretch of frozen field, while the swamp is recaptured by a thickening of the trees, shortly before tapering off altogether into grass and trees.

A copse of sorts now sits to your left. Though vibrant in the summer and fall, winter has left it white, brown, and lifeless, and the deer known for their liking of the place are very rarely seen. A big left turn up ahead marks a fork in the trail that, especially in winter, is somewhat difficult to notice. To the right, a minor, mowed path distinguishable in heavy snow only by its lack of trees leads to a fork, which in turn separates a path to the park’s soccer fields to the north from one that skims the river to the west. These paths are seldom trodden upon, but there’s no denying their worth.

Turning left, you’ll find yourself in what is by far the longest straightaway you’ve encountered thus far, with a clear view of hundreds of feet of trail ahead of you. The trees on both sides (which are magnificent in-season, but sadly lifeless in the winter) gradually thin as you go, and, on your left, the lake returns and hovers shiftily at the edge of your vision.

Just a little farther on you’ll get your first good, clear view of the Raccoon River, a behemoth of purpose and direction, brought to a halt by the unforgiving chills of February. This wide-open strip is full of life during the rest of the year; birds fly about the treetops on the opposite bank, and the white rocks on the shore that are used to prevent the river from eroding the trail are a favorite spot for fishermen casting their lines. Now, however, it’s about as lively as the glacial river itself.
The right side of the area up ahead regains some of the plant-life of those preceding the river, though the trees and shrubs are considerably smaller- many of them have even been chewed down by beavers. The angle of the trail and the predominance of the lake make this one of the best sunset-viewing spots on the trail- though if the sun is already setting by the time you get here, you’d better step it up.

Into the woods! The next stretch of trail will have you walking through masses of tall, stately trees, like arches stretching upward and meeting above your head. Gorgeous in autumn, this section is unfortunately drab in winter, though the wide variety of tree species and a long-lasting view of the river and its shoreline prevent the area from ever being anything like an eyesore. This is also the best part of the trail for spotting wildlife, particularly deer, which I’ve spotted quite a few of and which seem to populate the park in great numbers.

Emerging at last from the trees, you’re greeted on your right side by, of all things, a port-a-potty. This contemptible sham of a public toilet, which has been knocked upside-down and sideways by wind and pranksters alike, carries a stench strong enough to frighten away all but the most resolute of souls. I’ve actually known people to use the bushes mere feet from this devil contraption, and I, if pressed by nature, would be very likely to imitate them. Hold your nose as you move forward, and avoid it like the plague.

On your right you’ll find some shrubs and berry trees, on your right, a large pond. This is a fantastic place to find ducks and geese during any decent time of year, not to mention the beloved blue heron. Midwinter, however, all you’ll likely see are some rusted bits of the pond’s nest boxes (built for the aforementioned waterfowl) sticking up out of the ice.

Up the path and around another turn, you’ll find two small, swampy ponds, one on either side. These are constantly changing their water level throughout the seasons- sometimes so high as to be just a few feet from the trail, sometimes so small they’ll have grass growing at their bottoms. And just a little farther on sits a nice hunk of repaired trail that was completely washed out in last year’s flood. Indeed, it’s so well restored, you’d never suspect it was, less than a year ago, a watery mud-pit strewn with fallen trees- a trail that had to be walked around, not through.

A few hundred more feet through fairly featureless and dull snow and trees, and you’ll come to another fork in the trail- left, this time. The alternate path leads through a sizeable chunk of parkland and onto a small peninsula jutting out into the lake – passing, along the way, the shore where, on Independence Day, West Des Moines launches its fireworks display.

If you stick to the primary trail, however, you’ll soon find yourself walking in-between two pretty, very orderly lines of short trees, not unlike a guard of honor, before stepping out into the open and the last few feet of gravel trail. And so, with the lake on your left and the park’s dog park on you right, you’ll cross over onto the coveted, well-cared-for paved section of the trail. Congratulations: your job just got a lot easier, though it comes at the expense of the rest of the trail’s natural feel- you’re in bona-fide, one-hundred percent people country now, folks.

Moving parallel to the park’s road on your right and the shore of the lake on your left, you’ll follow the trail as it crosses a vest expanse of snow which, during the better months, would be chock-full of young kickball players, kite-flyers, and tag-players, but is now bare and empty of all activity, a thick, oppressive blanket covering what was once a cheery scene. Up ahead and on your left: the lake’s human-made sand beach, where many an Iowan has spent a lively summer’s day pretending not to live about as far from any ocean as a U.S. citizen can be, no longer able, in this weather, to properly emulate saltwater coastline. On your right: the park’s picnic shelters and playground, the latter of which is a mix of cookie-cutter, dime-a-dozen park equipment (the sort of plastic jungle gym that I’d swear was delivered pre-made and simply screwed in) and unique, loveable charm (the makeshift sailboat is especially worthy of attention).

Next up is the well-known Raccoon River Park Nature Lodge, a nice building that has lots of information about the park and its local animals, not to mention a decent restroom and a drinking fountain, one or both of which you may need by this stage of your walk. It’s also the first heated/cooled structure you will have encountered since you started, so the weather has too strong a hold on you for your comfort, hopping inside for a moment or two can freshen you up for the final stretch. Of course, that’s if it’s open.

Most of the remainder of your walk will be in the middle of a nice bit of restructured prairie grass, followed on your left by a fishing dock sitting rather comically in the ice, and on your right by a parking lot. All that’s left after that is an up/down slope and a quick cross of the road and, after 3.2 miles, you’re back where you started. Pointless exercise?

Well, what do you think?