Louden's Ridge Horse Trail

 

I had a good hike today but ended up having to get rescued by the DNR (Department of Natural Resources).

The park office came into view as I arrived a little after 8:30am, and I could feel the warmth of the morning sun on my skin. I had emailed the Property Manager, eager to learn about the trail’s condition and the experience I could expect while hiking it. I took advantage of being in the area and made an impromptu stop.

Despite purchasing a map a few months ago, I was disappointed to find out that it was no longer accurate. The trail’s identity was not determined by the markings on the map, but by its name and the vivid hue that distinguished it. A printout with the most up-to-date map was handed to me, crisp and neatly folded.

Today’s trek would be on the Louden’s Ridge horse’s trail. The trail travels one way for 2.1 miles (upon which I would need to return) and is described on the property map as “The Louden’s Ridge Trail begins on the Interstate Loop a short distance off State Road 62. There is a scenic vista that overlooks the Blue River valley at marker 206.”

I drove to the designated parking lot, got out of my car, and noticed the “If you are lost sign…” which had the number 208 under it. I grabbed my camera, feeling its weight in my hands, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and locked the car before setting off. It wasn’t long before I encountered a mysterious road, which I did not know existed, just a few hundred feet up the trail. Serving as a logging road, this pathway presented two options: a straightforward connection to Highway 62 on the right or a meandering climb up the hill on the left. As I went left, I could feel the soft breeze brushing against my face.

I couldn’t believe my eyes as I ascended the gravel road and spotted a herd of deer gracefully bounding through the forest to my right. As I approached post 204, the starting point of the Louden Trail, I could already hear nature beckoning me to explore.

I carefully maneuvered through the thorny briars, making my way past the towering cedar trees and eventually crossing the first of two dried-up creeks. As I headed uphill, the scent of freshly cut wood filled the air in the area that had recently been logged. In this area, the forest was dotted with trees marked in orange, showing future logging. The only tree on the trail I was on stood out, marked in yellow, but it was lying on its side.

Looking to each side, all I saw were trees and underbrush, with no sign of a trail or a yellow blaze to guide me. I called my wife, explaining my frustration, and began walking in three different directions, not finding any yellow markers. Determined to reach the ridge, I trudged up the steep slope, feeling the loose soil slip beneath my boots. I then saw some painted trees. The first one was a vibrant shade of orange, the second a bright yellow, the third a deep orange, and the final one a pale yellow. I began scanning the ground and located the trail, which I made my way over to.

I reached the ridge top and had a spectacular view of the Blue River a few hundred feet below me and could hear the cars rumbling down Highway 62 also below me.

The path led me downhill, and soon I came across a fork in the road, with a clear sign pointing towards the green horse trail. I reached out to a friend for guidance, and they reassured me I was going in the right direction, so I kept going.

As I continued, I reached a field with telephone poles and electric lines stretching across the sky above me. The grass in the area varied in height, ranging from waist to shoulder level. As I ambled along the discernable path, I could hear the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves.

Looking at the map below, let me quickly summarize. I parked at 208 and embarked on a challenging hike up to 204, then made my way to marker 206, where I was rewarded with stunning panoramic vistas. I never passed marker 207, but then confusion washed over me as I stood next to 208, wondering why my car was missing and why I was not in a parking lot.

I was standing on Highway 62 with cars whizzing by, not knowing how far I was from my car and even what direction to go. I called the number on the sign that led me to a conservation officer who first asked what county I was in and then stated he was unsure where I was. He was not from these parts, as he mentioned Wyandotte Cave as Wydotte Cave.

When I called the Forestry office, there was no response. In the end, I was fortunate enough to finally contact O’Bannon Woods. After a few minutes, they kindly offered to send someone to fetch me.

I waited on the side of Highway 62 as cars whipped by and waved. I spoke to my wife and texted some friends. Soon, the DNR vehicle picked me up and drove me back to my car. Highway 62 gets very narrow and if I had walked, I likely might have gotten hit.

The trail map showed the one-way trek was 2.1 miles. I had over 3.5 miles when I reached marker 208. The hike back would have been too much.

My confusion stemmed from the absence of a sign marked as 205 and the presence of two mislabeled signs displayed as 208.

The dense canopy swallowed the rays of sunlight, casting long, menacing shadows across the forest floor. Panic gnawed at the edges of my mind. What had started as a leisurely hike had morphed into an unnerving scramble. Every towering oak and gnarled root looked identical, mocking attempts to retrace my steps. The playful chirps of birds had morphed into an unsettling silence, broken only by the frantic thudding of my heart. Lost and alone. I found my way home.

Until next time,

Tim