On a spring day last year, I chose Portage as my destination. I had previously passed through the small city in central Wisconsin, spending a couple of nights camping at the local high school during a weeklong, organized bicycle tour. This time, I wanted to linger longer while hiking and investigating two segments of Wisconsin’s Ice Age Trail: Portage Canal and Marquette.
IAT is a remnant of Wisconsin’s last ice age, which occurred a mind-stretching 10,000-plus years ago. In 1993 I made it a quest to walk every mile of the remarkable 1,100-mile glacial pathway. On this more recent occasion, my purpose was to add newer off-road segments to the hundreds of miles I had already covered.
Throughout the years, I have found the trail to be compelling. It traverses the state in a continuous, sinuous fashion through small towns, scenic forests and on country roads roughly following a terminal moraine. There are two Wisconsin state parks on either end: Door County’s Potowatomi to the northeast and Interstate, located on the Minnesota-Wisconsin border, to the northwest. In between these illustrious bookends are countless commonalities. Many of them are glacial in nature. They include kettles, kames, drumlins, eskers and ancient glacial lakes that pepper the route in a seemingly haphazard fashion. There are also certain characteristics that uniquely define each section.
When preparing an IAT hike, I consult the comprehensive Ice Age Trail Companion Guide and Atlas of the Ice Age Park and Trail Foundation, recently renamed the Ice Age Trail Alliance. According to the included maps, I came to expect a 13.2-mile continuation of my last trek in neighboring Sauk County. Often I solicit IAT chapter volunteers, and family and friends for rides to and fro. This was to be a solo effort, however. Although sharing the experience with others is enjoyable, I have experienced considerable delight and self-satisfaction in tackling some segments independently and using my bicycle as a means of support.
On the prescribed mid-May morning, I parked my car at Governor’s Bend County Park. I then mounted my bike, eager for the day’s events to unfold. Undaunted by gray skies, I was thrilled to be outdoors amid pedaling again after the long winter months. As I proceeded on peaceful County Road F past a mixed array of single homes, small family farms and burgeoning greenery, I felt the usual excitement for the adventure finally under way. As bright sunshine broke through the clouds, I arrived at the beginning of the hike at Pierre Pauquette Park on the south west edge of Portage. Here, I secured my bicycle and began to walk.
This south central part of the state has an interesting and varied history. My introduction was immediate at the pleasant park. According to my trustworthy Ice Age Trail Companion Guide, the park’s namesake was a legendary fur trader who owned and operated a ferry and trading post on the site between 1820 and 1834. I also learned that the city of Portage resides on a half-mile slip of land between the Wisconsin and Fox rivers. These two rivers eventually connect and spill into the Mississippi. The area’s importance as an easy canoe portage for American Indians, settlers, explorers and fur traders was first recorded by Rev. Jacques Marquette and Louis Joliet more than three centuries ago. Later, a canal was dug allowing boat traffic from the mid-1850s to 1951.
With this knowledge, I forge ahead in a northeasterly direction through the city following the familiar yellow IAT blazes hung from trees and lampposts. These colorfully painted slashes, maintained by volunteers, distinctly mark the route throughout the state.
My next stop was three blocks away outside the former home of Zona Gale. This Pulitzer Prize-winning writer lived here from 1906 to 1928. Onward I trekked on city streets often with views of the famed canal. I was enjoying my solitude and imagining what it would be like to live here in Gale’s era when I arrived at my destination, the IAT information kiosk and parking lot on the north side of State Highway 33. From there the landscape leading to the Marquette segment was more rural and parallel to the Portage Canal containing the lively Fox River.
In short order I was captivated by this enchanting corridor. Thanks to the Green Bay Lobe of Wisconsin’s last ice age, lush forests as well as prairie grasses, farmland and, of course, the river lined the route. Interspersed were an impressive assortment of wildlife: turtles quietly sunning themselves on the riverbank and path, crossing grass snakes, swooping gold finches, gregarious red-winged blackbirds, bluebirds and Baltimore orioles, as well as statuesque great blue herons and sandhill cranes.
Early on I came upon the restored Old Indian Agency House. It was built in 1832 for the federal government’s Indian agent for the Winnebago tribe. Because it was closed that day, I’m planning a return visit. Four miles from Portage, I was surprised to discover the partially abandoned W.C. Fox River Bridge. An accompanying historical marker explained its checkered past as a swing, then a draw, and finally, rebuilt as a swing bridge for trains in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Interestingly, a bridge “tender” operated the controls from April to November and lived out of a boxcar. The main part of the bridge was retired in 1945 and relocated to Oshkosh and Neenah. The remaining piece of history was a footbridge I used to cross the river to Governor’s Bend County Park. Reportedly, it was one of 21 bridges that Scouts constructed in 1951. My only disappointment was the lack of a sign explaining the naming of the park.
There was much to contemplate on the drive back to Portage to retrieve my bicycle. I happily concluded that the day’s journey was successful in all ways. I had satisfactorily completed new IAT miles, depending on myself for sole support. And I greatly enjoyed exploring some of the specific historical features that define Portage and the adjoining countryside. I knew that there would never be another day like it. I gladly added this spring trek to my growing list of extraordinary IAT hikes.
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