Quarries and caves made the day ~ April 28, 2004

David Heiller

It’s funny how something can sneak up on you and bring a smile.

Cindy and I found that on Sunday afternoon, when we took a walk to the quarry by Reno.

The view of the quarry from the top of Hillside Road

We parked our car in the little lot on Hillside Drive, walked up the broad trail, then turned right and marched up the old road to the quar­ry.

It’s a marvelous spot. The limestone stands sheer and beautiful, 100 feet high, and still looks amazingly fresh. You almost expect to hear a dump truck come rumbling up for a load. Of course, that won’t happen; there are a lot of trees growing in the quarry pit now, big birches that tell you it’s been three or four decades since this quarry was active.

And that’s probably good, because another blast or two of dynamite might send the entire bluff onto Highway 26 and into the river. It’s really just a sliver of rock by nature’s standards.

It’s a spiritual spot. A couple of young people have died tragically in recent years, and their friends have gone to the quarry and spelled out their names – Josh and Mark – while someone braver than I stood at the top of the quarry and took their picture. I can see why they would do that there.

We walked around the south side of the quar­ry, and up a trail to a little goat prairie. It’s so steep that I got dizzy looking at the river and had to sit down. What a view! We could see both spillways on the dike that leads to Genoa. And what a pretty sight that city is.

The wind carved a current in the river that paralleled the land all the way to Wisconsin. Or was it the wind? Maybe it was a line of river current, a ghost of the old days before the Army Corp of Engineers dammed up the river in the 1930s.

We walked to the edge of the quarry, about two thirds of the way up, and thought about climbing the narrow ledge to its peak. But not for long. It’s not a climb you want to make if there is a shadow of doubt.

David and I hiked throughout our marriage.
There is nothing that a hike doesn't
 help put into perspective.

We climbed up the other side of the quarry as far as we dared also. It’s even more dangerous, with a crumbling ledge about two feet wide, fol­lowed by a clump of boulders eight feet high that stops most people. I remember climbing over that spot with a friend when I was in col­lege. Was I braver then, or just dumber? Yes to both.

We left the quarry and headed north to Fairy Rock. I wanted to check out the old cave.

I found the path and scrambled down. Someone had tied a rope to a tree to help in the final six-foot drop. I still came close to falling. Our two dogs couldn’t make it, and Cindy thought better of it too. So it was just me and the cave.

It hasn’t changed much since the last time I visited it, but I still marvel at it. The ceiling is about 12 feet high at the highest spot, and it’s about 25 feet long. The limestone inside peels off easily when you scrape it. The colors are rich browns, all shades, and some red thrown in here and there. There’s plenty of light from the two big openings, but it’s still always evening inside the cave. Another spiritual spot.

I always wonder who has lived in this cave over the eons — I mean before Tim Serres. And all the people who have visited it. I remember seeing my dad’s initials in it when I was a kid — at least I think I remember it.

I checked out the names that are carved in it now. Most looked new. “Carolyn + John.” “Brad ‘99” Then I stood on a ledge, and looked up and to my right, and there it was, a big fat “D.H.” And that brought the smile. I don’t remember — wait, it’s coming back a little. Didn’t I stand on that ledge, right there, and carve that? Yes, Jeff Mitchell was with, and Billy Burfield. We rode our bikes down, and after that we went to the Root Beer Stand and bought a root beer for a nickel from Rita Grams.

OK, maybe that all didn’t happen. It doesn’t matter.

I left the cave and looked up. An eagle soared past, heading south, then another, then another.

I scrambled back to the top, where Cindy and the dogs waited patiently. We headed back home, both smiling on a fine April evening made even finer by the Reno Quarry and good old Fairy Rock.