The Corona Diaries Vol. 113: The straightforward pathway is lost

(Watch the prelude.) 

(late September 2023)

Although I had great fun in the Eau Claire area, it was time to venture north for a hike around my beloved Chippewa Moraine State Recreation Area. I just can’t get enough of that place.

There were a couple cars in the lot when I pulled in but that was all. No school bus, unlike some previous stops there. It was a fairly warm out but overcast with a decent chance of rain so I had my new raincoat with me and an umbrella in my backpack that rested comfortably next to enough Deet for an army.

The trailhead always reminds me of the opening lines of Dante's Inferno:

Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

The area around the interpretive center is open and there's the parking lot so setting out on the trail means moving from an open, brightly lit area into the forest where the tree canopies do a very good job of blocking out the light. Those trees are all competing for sunlight so they gather all they can leaving the floor in shadow.

One of these years I am going to time my trek up here so that the trees are at peak colors. Climate change is messing with the forests. While there certainly were some lovely colors to be had, there was still much green.

About a mile and a half in I came across a sign saying that there was logging in progress. If I recall correctly, it gave a generic caution about being cognizant of your surroundings and to get the attention of the loggers so that they can help you pass safely instead of felling a tree on your head.

Before long I was at the logging area.

At points the trail was still visible while at other spots there was some guesswork involved. Despite having been here several times, I am still far from knowing it like the back of my hand. And, it being a weekend, there were no loggers around to give directions. When I came to a point where the trail was not visible, I consulted the map from the interpretive center and then peered up at the sky to see where the brightest spot in the clouds was and then back at the map once again.

I tried to recall about how far back the last trail marker was to get an inkling of an idea where I was but failed. As a last resort, I opened the map app on my phone feeling that I was cheating by using GPS but getting lost in the woods was not my idea of fun this day. But even this was in vain as I had no signal.

And so I went forward in what I thought was an easterly direction and found the trail once again. I’m not sure if it was luck or skillful wayfinding but the straightforward pathway hadn't been lost after all.

Or so I thought.

This trail didn’t look at all familiar and became especially foreign when it widened into what I presumed was an old logging road that was paved with leaves. The maples here had been shedding - damned climate change.

It was pretty, don’t get me wrong, but I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong. This road didn't appear on the map but I consoled myself by thinking it likely that it was simply disused and not marked. But, while there are multiple trails here, I saw no markers. Still, I pressed on.

About half a mile or so down the trail, I came to a building. There were missing windows and the grass around it was quite overgrown. I walked around it and saw that there were missing sections of the roof as well as large openings on the wall which were probably screened in at one time.

Creepy.

Very creepy.

Did I dare enter?

There was a lake not far from this ruined building and I walked to the shore to regain my wits and decide if I would go investigate the structure. The water was gorgeous.

I just adore these kettle lakes.

After taking a deep breath to steel myself, I wandered back to the building. Walking up to it I discovered a large open room and figured it must have been a recreation/meeting facility for a camp. At some point in the past, kids ate hamburgers, drank soda, and laughed as they ignored the lectures of the camp counselors.

It was positively eerie and a chill ran down my spine when I realized that the place reminded me of that abandoned military base in the movie Annihilation. Thankfully, I can’t imagine there’d be a pool somewhere near with all the wonderful lakes to swim in. Upon looking up, I briefly distracted myself by recalling the days when I built trusses at a lumberyard.

I’d cut the lumber using a gigantic radial arm saw that I nicknamed “The Widowmaker”, put the pieces of wood on rollers, and then laid down gang nails. Zip through the press and voila! A truss.

Thoughts about losing body parts to The Widowmaker were probably not the things to have in my mind at this point. What if a serial killer lived here, right?

Eventually I figured I’d done enough to frighten myself and got back on the trail. It wasn’t long before it led me up a small hill. When I got to the top, I could see cabins in the distance.

Oh boy. This was getting even creepier. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Continuing down the hill, I came upon several very rough and very abandoned cabins. Moss grew on most of the roofs which were also topped with leaves and branches.

They were little more than screened in frames. Very basic accommodations.

I became convinced that this used to be a Boy Scout camp.

Next to a cluster of these primitive cabins was one that looked much less primitive, perhaps a bit more luxurious as scout camps go, if you could call it that.

The doors on both sides were open and some of the deck boards by each doorway had been removed. Now, maybe this was where the serial killer lived.

I decided to forgo entering and encountering a madman or, at least, any wild animals that had made the place their home. Instead I hastily continued down the trail past more of those rough cabins.

Once I had gotten away from the spooky structures, I calmed down and was able to enjoy the scenery.

Coming down another small hill, I was startled by a gang of turkeys a little way ahead of me. More startled than I normally would have been, I can tell you. The feeling must have been mutual as the birds beat a hasty retreat into the woods.

It wasn’t even 2 minutes before another shiver shot down my spine as I heard movement off to my right. Something was fairly close and was coming towards me! Stopping, I stood there, rooted to the ground and, looking back, am unsure if I was prepared to fight a serial killer rushing towards me axe in hand or if I was just scared stiff and couldn’t move.

Suddenly about 20 feet ahead of me a deer bounded across the trail and disappeared into the woods on my left. Whew! I heard some more rustling of leaves and branches coming from the right but off in the distance. I turned just in time to see the white butt and tail of another bambi disappear into the thick treescape.

As I forged ahead, the sky turned a little greyer but at least the path became a little less sinister. No animals leapt out of the undergrowth and no more mysterious abandoned buildings emerged from the trees.

Well, until another one did, that is.

At one point, another path veered off to the right from the one I was walking. As I was contemplating whether to take it or not, I spied a building in the distance. I opted to investigate.

What appeared to be a shed stood on the shore of a lake that I didn’t know the name of. Bedecked with "No Trespassing" signs, I beat back thoughts that the madman had made this his charnel house with the obvious conclusion that this was where the scout troops or whoever it was that had used the camp had stored their boats or canoes.

Whatever lake this was, it was sure pretty with a shoreline dotted with red and gold.

And then I heard it.

CRASH!

All at once my admiration of the natural beauty of my surroundings was cast aside as that fight or flight feeling returned and my ears took in the troubling noise. What sounded like a metal canister hitting a concrete floor echoed from behind me.

Was it a critter such as a racoon nosing around where it shouldn’t be? Or was it that serial killer reaching for his axe and accidentally knocking aside something hideous like a bucket of severed fingers?

I didn’t stay to find out.

I walked very briskly around the shed and found another path leading into the shrubs and small trees which surrounded the building. My instinct told me that it looped around was that trail I saw at that spot just before I spied the doom-laden boathouse.

My instincts proved correct and I found myself back on the main path a fair distance away from the workshop of the madman. At this point it started to drizzle so I awkwardly took my rain jacket out of my backpack and I scrambled down the trail. It is not easy to put a coat on when you’re constantly turning around to make sure no one is following you.

Before long I was back at the camp and those ominous cabins. I zipped by them as quickly as I could. That leaf-covered road soon emerged and I was back at that spot where the logging was being done. Knowing only that I had to get put as much distance as I could from that camp, I zig-zagged around, leaping over branches and suddenly found myself on that trail I had walked so many times. I suspect that some kind of instinctual survival mechanism kicked in and I subconsciously intuited the path that would get me back to the trailhead.

After emerging from the dark forest, I went into the interpretive center hoping all the while that the DNR guy behind the counter did not have an axe in his back. He proved very much alive and flashed a welcoming smile and said "Good afternoon" as I made my way to the bathroom.

My bladder empty, I returned to my car – verifying that there was no one hiding in the back first – and got in. Locking my doors quickly, I immediately started the engine and it wasn’t long before I was again on that winding county road on the way back to Highway 53 where I could put distance between myself and that accursed camp at 70+ MPH.

I needed a tonic to calm my nerves and relax my muscles so it was off to Dallas for a stop at Valkyrie Brewing for some post-hike beer. But first I grabbed a bite to eat at the unfortunately named – given the circumstances – Jen’s Choppin’ Block.

I scarfed down my lunch as fleeing axe-wielding maniacs sure does give you an appetite. Afterwards, walking back to my car, I noticed this wonderful ghost sign across the street.

Odd that I’d never noticed it before. I put it down to being in self-preservation mode and my senses being extra keen, my powers of observation heightened.

The brewery’s taproom was inviting as always with its Nordic/Viking motif which I’ll take over the usual industrial chic any day.

As she had been the last 2 or 3 times I’d been there, Ann Lee, co-owner and label designer extraordinaire, was tending bar. I ordered my usual fall post-hike restorative: Whispering Embers, a smoked Oktoberfest.

Although I’d brought a book with me, I was just too distracted to concentrate on the text. I noticed one of Ann’s paintings that was on the label of their Rune Amok, an Engilsh-style Extra Special Bitter. What I take to be Lindisfarne is ablaze in the background as some Viking longships sail away to their next point of plunder.

As I grabbed my beer, Ann began to make her way from behind the bar and said she’d be back in a jiffy. She wandered into the back room while I ambled over to the other side of the taproom. That side is largely hidden out of sight from the bar area by a big support structure/part of a wall and I was keen on seeing any other paintings of hers that may have been over there. Turning the corner, I saw a couple pinball machines, the expected artwork, and an old duffer sitting alone at a table nursing a beer.

He wore a tan jacket and had a red and black plaid Kromer cap sitting on the table before him. The scene gave off some serious Ed Gein on a night on the town vibes. His face was weathered with deep wrinkles etched into it and covered in a couple days’ worth of stubble. It’s the type of face I saw countless times when I lived up north. No doubt this guy farmed for decades and the sun and wind have left their marks.

I was mildly startled when he looked up from his beer and at me. His pale grey eyes seemed at once gentle and piercing.

"Howdy," he said. "You’re not from ‘round here, are you?" he asked knowingly and with just the barest hint of menace. I felt oddly compelled to join him at his table.

"No," I replied as I took the seat across from him. "Just up here on vacation doing some hiking."

"Oh yeah? Whereabouts?" he inquired in a tone that seemed to betray that he already knew the answer.

I explained that I’d come up to hike the Chippewa Moraine State Recreation Area as I do every year and began to relate to him how I’d gotten off track.

"I lost the trail where they are logging and ended up at some old, abandoned camp."

The old man’s eyes widened a little and he proclaimed "So, you found the old Sybaquay Girl Scout Camp, did ya. Best not go back there again." He looked down at his beer, breaking eye contact.

It occurred to me at this point that he hadn’t actually drunk from his cup, he’d merely looked at it, wiping condensation from the glass occasionally. I’d never heard of this camp.

"Sybaquay Girl Scout Camp?"

Clouds must have moved in because the room suddenly darkened a bit. The light from the pinball machines cast shadows on his worn face that seemed to move as the bumpers and back board flashed excitedly. Slowly the old man lifted his head until his piercing grey eyes were looking into mine. It felt like he was peering into the depths of my soul.

"Yes, the Sybaquay Girl Scout Camp. Them girls died at the hands of the Chippewa Ripper!"

"The who?" I replied dumbfounded. While I hadn't exactly lived in the area back in the day, I had lived close enough to be sure I'd have heard tell of a killer making his way through a Girl Scout camp.

He spat out the name once again. "The Chippewa Ripper! Back in aught 2, there was a late season camp out there. They come up from Milwaukee. Just a handful of girls and a couple of counselors. One black night the Ripper, he sneaked into the camp and killed them all!

First he snuck into the main lodge and killed the counselors. He slit their throats real quiet. Then he snuck out to those screened-in cabins where the girls were sleeping. Those poor things. Like lambs to the slaughter." His voice trailed off with a bit of tenderness and my heart sank.

"He turned that camp into a slaughterhouse," he said with a more than a hint of anger. "Tore those counselors apart. The police found their limbs under the decks of the lodge."

That explained why those deck board were missing. I knew that there was something wrong with that place!

"Did they catch the Ripper?" I asked, shaking slightly.

He looked down and turned the beer glass around in his hand a couple times before regaining eye contact with me and replying, "No. They never did. Folks 'round here say it was the work of an evil spirit. The lost soul of a German soldier from Camp Barron who was killed trying to escape."

Just then my phone vibrated in a weird pattern. I looked down to retrieve it from my front pocket and found that it had strangely turned itself off. Cheap phone. Looking back up to ask the old man about Camp Barron I found that, mysteriously, he was gone. All that remained was his beer glass, now empty.

I quickly downed the rest of my Whispering Embers but I'd need a lot more to calm my nerves at this point. Making my way to the other side of the taproom I found Ann had returned and was there wiping the bar down.

"Did you see the old man in the tan coat go outside?"

She flashed a look of mild incomprehension. "No, no old man. We just opened a little while ago and you’re our first and only customer of the day."

********

I plan on ushering in the Halloween season by listening to the latest audio drama to enter my collection, The Black Stone, an adaption of the Robert E. Howard story of the same name by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society.

It comes with a bundle of props including a half page of the Chicago Examiner.

Was there ever a real Chicago Examiner? I’ll have to look that up. Regardless, I am looking forward to some good scares.

********

Bonus photo! It’s an animal but not a cat. Here’s a cow in the middle of giving birth. She was at our favorite dairy farm, Sassy Cow. We hoped that the birth went well.

 

 

(Now watch the postlude.)