Today’s guest post is by Steve Grooms.
Crosby Farm Park is a former farm turned into a 736-acre urban park. It lies along the east bank of the Mississippi River just below Hidden Falls Park, across the river from Fort Snelling. Crosby includes almost 7 miles of trails, a boardwalk over a marsh, a long river shore and two small lakes.
It has critters, too. It was well known for years that there was a coyote pack in the park that was kept alive by a diet including rabbits, muskrats and unlucky house cats from the homes just off Shepard Road. On my first visit, I saw a gray fox (a tree-climbing variant of the usual red fox). I also know for a fact Crosby was home to a black bear for a while in 2001. Does a bear poop in the woods? Yes, and on the walking paths, at least that year.
Crosby is many things, but what it is not is a dog park. That is, any dog down there is supposed to be on a leash. I’ve always blamed the Russians for that. The park is used heavily by Russian immigrants, and they have a terrible opinion of dogs. If an unleashed dog approaches someone with a sweet smile and wagging tail, and if that person nearly faints away with fear and disgust, you’ve encountered a Russian.
In spite of the rules, Crosby is really attractive to dog owners. Dogs can sprint along the river beach and swim for sticks. The park is so big a dog gets to roam a lot without encountering other dogs or people. It is just a pretty place and great playground for people and dogs. And if you hike down there during low-use hours, you’ll probably not see a Russian or any other human. There’s no harm in that!
There is harm, however, if you get caught. It is risky to run your dog off leash in Crosby even if you are in remote areas of the park where others don’t go. At the end of your hike you have to get back to your car in the parking lot, and that means you have to walk where park rangers often go. When a friend got caught with her golden retriever off his leash, she was fined $75. When she got caught again, the bill went to $100. That’s a lot of dog food!
I’ve allowed my English setter, Katie, to run off her leash in Crosby since she was a puppy just a few months old. She doesn’t range far, and she is the sweetest dog I’ve known in a lifetime among dogs. That means she doesn’t intimidate anyone except a freshly-immigrated Russian. I’ll admit it feels spooky to walk around looking out for someone who could tag you for $100, but I did it for years with no close calls.
Katie and I took a hike in Crosby in the winter of 2008. Because the woods were full of snow that had gone through several melting-freezing cycles, all the paths were covered with treacherous ice. I adapted to that by lashing on “traction devices,” a sort of rubber attachment to my boots that carried short bolts like the studs in winter tires. With a traction device you can walk normally on ice without slipping or falling.
At the end of our walk, Katie and I were on the return loop about a mile from the parking lot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that a large man was following us, a large man wearing a chartreuse vest. Adrenaline hit my system as I tried to think of anyone who might wear a chartreuse vest except a park employee. Maybe this was just someone who was checking the health of the place, but the odds were good that he was a ranger with a pad of citation tickets in his pocket. But I was ahead of him by 200 yards or so, and I had good traction.
It was a fascinating problem. I had to get to my car before he caught up with me, and I had to get there with enough time to throw Katie in the back of the car and make my getaway without getting caught. Was my lead good enough for all of that? Probably not. But if I walked at a normal pace I could pretend I wasn’t knowingly breaking the rules. Authority figures in Minnesota are more likely to issue warnings than fines if they think you were dumb enough to break the laws. Or putting it the other way around, if you run and skulk and make it obvious that you are trying to get away with something, even Minnesota authority figures can get ticked off.
We came to a fork in the road. I went left, not taking the short path to the parking lot. The path I took went through deep woods, and it was used by few people. Without letting my pursuer know it, I turned just enough to peek behind me. Dang! The guy in the vest was still on my trail, having taken the path in the woods like I had. The evidence was mounting that I was his quarry.
Even while struggling to avoid a $100 fine, I could see the humor of my dilemma. I had to make good time, flying over the ice, without looking like a guilty person. I was a bit like the duck that seems placid above water while he is actually madly paddling beneath. And I thought of the OJ Simpson low-speed chase. I was walking and the ranger was walking, but we were both trying for as much speed as we could get without breaking form and actually running. In spite of my casual body language, arms gently swinging, I was panting by now.
As we neared the parking lot, a fellow got out of a white car and headed down the woods path right at us. With this fellow were a black Labrador and some sort of gray mutt.
“Hello!” cried the newcomer. “Do you know how I can get down to the beach?”
“Just keep going,” I said, “and turn left when you get to a T in the trail. You’re going just the right way now!” This guy with two off-leash dogs was going to run smack into the ranger.
As I passed the newcomer, I smiled broadly. “Damn! You wouldn’t believe how happy I am to see you down here today!”
Trail Baboon 