Of the 20-some signs one can enjoy along the Tyoga Historical Pathway, my favorite is "Bed Bugs!""... Some lumberjacks claimed the sleeping camps so bad that the only way they could get to sleep was to turn their underwear inside out and quickly fall asleep before the lice got inside again. ..."
This sign is about halfway around the 1.4-mile hiking trail, and it's hard to read it without feeling a little tickle here and there and the itch to move along. But at this point there's no turning back; one can only continue and hope that the bed bugs are as long gone as the lumberjacks and the town of Tyoga itself.
I returned to the Tyoga trail this week on a sunny mid-40s day. A strong breeze off Lake Superior was holding back more spring-like temperatures, but in the woods spring was in full swing. All traces of snow were gone, and in its place were broad patches of fledgling meadow rue, bright green spikes of new grass, a beaten down carpet of old pale brown leaves, and rampantly emerging lily of the valley, wild strawberry, and trout lily, to name just the ones I know.
The trail was still tricky with windfalls blocking my path now and again, bringing out the gymnast in me - the gymnast I never knew was there - but overall it was easy going. It was squishy and wet in spots, but my boots stayed dry.
My favorite part of the trail comes soon after the bed bug warning, just beyond the site where the Tyoga Lumber Company Store stood, selling, as a plaque informs us, "Food, tobacco, clothing and various odds and ends ... ." It's where the trail meets the old railroad grade for the Duluth, South Shore and Atlantic Railway, which brought in the supplies to stock the store and hauled out lumber. It marks the beginning of a stretch of trail that is relatively straight and easily navigated, a beautiful, dappled corridor cutting through a forest of hemlock. Very soon you cross a foot bridge that spans a gurgling stream, and it's a perfect place to stop, sit, listen, gaze, drift away.
At various points along the trail I stop to listen. Mostly it is still. Occasionally the twitter or call of a bird or two. The wind through the trees. The dim roar of Lake Superior on those north-windy days. The squeaking of tree trunks and limbs as they rub against each other. In the fall, a constant trickle of falling leaves. I look around. Just a forest with trees, boulders, moss, lichen, hundreds of tiny wildflowers not yet bloomed, rocks, roots, and water. Deer poop. Berry canes. Fallen trees, rotting away, giving life to moss, lichen, wildflowers.
A bit further on is the sign "Widow Makers," telling about the rough life in the logging camp, how easily accidents and death came about due to "... a falling limb, an exploded boiler, or a wrecked train ... ." Just beyond the sign are two wooden crosses, presumably marking old graves, but I've never known if the graves are real or just there for effect. I've always found it to be a very good effect.
I lost the trail a couple of times, veered off when walking around an obstacle or two, but I was always able to regain it. Two or three years ago I'm not sure I could have done that. I am beginning to know Tyoga, and that feels good. Every time I visit I try to discern exactly what it is that draws me to this trail, exactly why I so enjoy Tyoga, but I cannot grab onto it. I can feel it, but I cannot capture it. It's almost as if it captures me.
When I got home I decided to look for bed bugs and found instead a tic. Oh yes. Spring is here.
Tyoga Trail: Part One
Tyoga Trail: Part Three
