Happy trails along a hot holiday creek

The last time I had been to this place, I came alone. I wasn’t seeking ghosts on previous visits or conjuring a Waldenesque journey of self-discovery; rather, a brief detour from a marriage which had collapsed into rust a month or so before. I pitched my pop-up tent, walked some trails, drank a few beers at my humble campfire, turned in for the night, and headed back to Indy not long after sunrise.

Before, this had been a setting for many fine camping trips with my daughters and blended family. Good memories all. But life goes on, yes?

A few days ago, I returned to McCormick’s Creek – some 60  miles southwest of Indy and two galaxies away in stress reduction – but I wasn’t alone. My dear girlfriend. Robyn, and I were able to coordinate some down time from work over the Independence Day holiday, so we booked a room in advance at the park’s Canyon Inn, a far more comfortable place to place your head from sharing the space with crushing 100-plus degree heat, lung-sucking humidity and pesky, hungry critters. Better, the Inn offers a swimming pool to its guests.

So, we arrived at these gentle, rolling hills near Spencer, Owen County early in the afternoon, settled into our small room and immediately began to tackle the first of the many trails of this nearly 2,000-acre park.

Item 1:Eons before us pale-faced invaders arrived, this area was home to the Miami Native Americans, who roamed the nearby White River and hunting game and hauling in fish. Then a fellow named John McCormick laid claim to some rocky acreage circa 1816.

Item 2: John died and others moved in, clearing timber, raising livestock and farming hardscrabble patches. A couple of ambitious souls even tried their hand at setting up sawmills on the canyon-slicing creek, but took a beating because the creek current barely could turn saws.

Early the next morning, we gorged ourselves on the Inn’s homey restaurant buffet of eggs, pig meat, fruit, fried taters, biscuits and milk gravy, coffee and juices. We laughed at the birds outside our window, clamoring for beak time at the feeders. Funny, how you can have so many open opportunities, but you still want to nudge in on others’ space. Francis of Assisi would have had his hands filled separating these winged creatures from their greed.

With our bellies filled and water bottles in cargo pants, we hit the 3-mile Trail 2, leading to Wolf Cave. It meanders up and down through a beech and maple canopy – a perfect umbrella against a relentless Hoosier sun – and leads to the cave’s mouth at half-way point. Can’t go in it at this time because of a disease threat to bats. I had squirmed through that moist morass many times before, all 50 or so yards of it.

Item 3: Local legend has it that Nancy Peden, the married daughter of John McCormick who inhabited the area, is responsible for the naming of Wolf Cave. One version suggests she was attacked by timber wolves emerging from the cave after she finished doing laundry in the creek, and escaped by tossing clothes to distract the attackers. Another alleges she was on her way home from selling butter and eggs to others at the western end of the creek. Could be possible, in my jaded mind, she lost the money playing stud poker with the roughnecks running the nearby sawmill operation.

Along this route we upped-and-downed hills and ravines, passed a ghostly looking piece of standing and fallen timber, and sweated our way to the end of the trail. Dunked down bottled water then headed to the Nature Center to view a stuffed coyote, owl and other former forest-dwellers

Then we headed for the old limestone quarry at the park’s western reaches, through the loop to the remnants of the limestone quarry. We crawled up the abandoned rock terraces to stand on millions-old stone used for the stately Indiana Statehouse and other mansions and monuments, a venture that was cut short when railroad routes were tacked down in the late 1800s.

Item 4: You can still see the terraced, sliced rocks and cutters’ markings, and the abandoned pile. Apparently, there was no offer of a federal government bailout in those days.

Item 5: What guts those workers possessed to earn a few measly dollars for such hard and dangerous labor. It puts my occasional experiences of computer down-time into perspective.

And then we rested at mid-afternoon in the Canyon Inn swimming pool. Slathered in sunscreen, wearing Wayfarer shades and donned in swimsuits, we relaxed in the water. I was especially grateful none of the kids tossed harpoons at me nor shouted encouraging words of “Swim, big fella! Go home to the big waters!”

That evening, Robyn and I took our books to common area of the inn to wind down. Nearby, was a family reunion, of sorts and a celebration of a couple’s golden wedding anniversary. My reading slowed as the toasts began. Here was a couple from the area, now living in Louisiana, whose families had traveled far beyond Indiana to gather at this small inn. Through eavesdropping, I gathered bits and pieces of their lives and travels.

Deaths, divorces, estrangements, laughter, sorrow, job changes, children and grandchildren. Dreams lost and found and those yet to be realized. They toasted one another with cheap champagne in red plastic cups.

Item 6: Family, whether by DNA or choice, is all that matters. We are all connected in various ways.

Scooting ahead, on our final day, we traveled to the depths of the canyon and its most visited site. We took the easy way down a stairway to the creek and stepped our way across rocks through shallow waters to the base of the falls. This was the place I really wanted Robyn to see. 

Though Indiana thirsts for rainfall and is struggling with drought, a small torrent smacked downward and the air was cool.

She walked near the base, touched the glistening rock and then looked back at me, a toothy smile spreading across her sun-lighted face. I snapped a photo.

Young tattooed parents with a passel of progeny in bathing suits were making their way up to the falls. The youngsters slipped and tottered on the mossy rocks. So much more ahead of them, but what a great introduction their Mom and Dad were giving them

Robyn and I sat on nearby boulders, holding hands and grinning. Appreciating the moment. Just watching other lives traverse McCormick’s Creek.

Item 7: It’s good to have a companion on any journey.