I’ve lived in Wisconsin my entire life and I had never heard of Buckhorn State Park. In the excitement of starting our 12-Month Camping Challenge, I began booking campsites for each month through the end of fall. As I was perusing the Wisconsin DNR website for available campsites, I discovered Buckhorn State Park. It seemed perfect on paper; lots of water features, less than two hours away, fairly private campsites, etc. I was intrigued — and desperate to book a campsite for that weekend since it was our only open weekend in July — so we ended up at Buckhorn state park a couple weeks later.
We drove up after work, but by the time we arrived, the only light was from the stars. Even in the darkness, I could see the towering cedars that surrounded our campsite — the entire reason I picked site 101.
We began unloading our gear from the back of the car by the light of our handy-dandy headlamps, and every single bug in the forest came to watch. After dowsing ourselves in bug spray, we finished setting up camp in peace. Exhausted from the drive, and a long day at work, we threw ourselves into the comfort of our tent ready to retire for the evening. However, our campsite neighbors had a different idea in mind.
Two sites over a group of high school or college-aged kids were basking in their weekend freedom with a seemingly competitive game of beer pong. We let the excited whoops and hollers dissolve into white noise as we slipped into unconsciousness.
The following morning I awoke with the sun to the sound of tapping. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, so I ignored it for the first hour. And the second. By the time 9:00AM rolled around, I figured an investigation was in order. I slowly unzipped the window flap of the tent and slipped on my glasses in my morning grog. I scanned the campsite, taking it in for the first time in daylight.
Our tent faced the road but sat 50 feet away or so. No one was walking the path that seemed to be responsible for the insistent tapping. A picnic table and fire pit were off to the right, nothing suspicious there. Then a flash of red caught my eye near the car. A cardinal sat above my driver’s side door, and he had left a present all over my door handle. Then he launched himself into a flutter, hovering in front of my mirror, and began pecking at the glass. I watched as he made multiple attempts at attacking his own reflection before finally resting once again on the roof of my car.
With my curiosity satisfied, I exited the tent and the cardinal flew up into a nearby cedar. I inspected my mirrors — both of which were covered in berry juice and hundreds of little beak marks. He was clearly at it for hours.
Given our late arrival time, we hadn’t had a chance to stop for firewood the night before, so we headed into town and picked up some breakfast at a local cafe and a trunk full of firewood.
Once back at the park, we wasted no time in heading to the park office to rent a canoe for the interpretive trail we saw in the brochure we’d picked up on our way in. We headed to the canoe launch and made our way through the calm, lilypad-dotted waters. The park staff member working at the office recommended we make our way out to “the island,” a popular spot not far from the turnaround point of the interpretive trail.
The canoe trail was short, and we reached the end of it with an hour and a half still left in our rental. So we pushed further, heading out into the main river in search of “the island.” We rounded a corner and thought we saw this mysterious island, but it turned out to just be a narrow spit of land coming off the mainland. It wasn’t until we rounded that bend that we spotted what was then very clear to us as “the island.”
Dozens of boats were anchored in the shallow water surrounding this large rock of an island protruding from the water. There was a pontoon boat decked out as a swim-up bar and nearly a hundred people were just wading in the water with drinks in hand. The island was the epicenter of it all, but it probably wasn’t more than 100 yards long and maybe 20 yards wide. It was clearly a congregation point even if only four or five people actually stepped foot on the island itself.
As we paddled around the island, we watched a kid cliff jump off the backside of the island where the water was deeper. Some high schoolers on jet skis nearly sent waves crashing over the edge of our canoe, and passing boats didn’t seem to care about getting too close. As soon as we had arrived, we were ready to leave. It was a beautiful spot, but it wasn’t our type of crowd. A morning rendevous might have been a better time of day for a peaceful paddle around the island.
We made our way back onto the canoe trail and made quick work of getting back to the launch. After returning our paddles, we made our way back to the campsite, unsure of what we wanted to do next.
We stacked our hammocks and spent some time swaying back and forth talking about our recent adventures and the current trend of “being outdoorsy.” We contemplated whether or not we were part of that ‘trend’ or if we were lifestylists.
Eventually we grabbed our park map and began looking for something new to do. We decided it was a perfect time to take a hike before starting our elaborate campfire meal process. Big mistake.
We took off in the direction of the lower campsite and deterred from the road into the woods along a backpacking trail. As soon as we stepped off the paved road and into the forest, the mosquitoes came out to play. We weren’t on the trail for more than five minutes when we began to run towards to end. Swarmed by mosquitoes, we didn’t have enough hands to swat at them all. We abandoned our hike almost as soon as we had started and decided to try again in the morning when the bugs were less active.
So we started our dinner prep early, cutting up veggies and roasting weenies. We made silver turtles on the grate over our campfire, finished with a delicious cajun seasoning. We feasted and reveled at our campfire cooking abilities while enjoying a roaring fire that left our hair singed.
It was a relaxing evening by the campfire, spent doing virtually nothing, and we liked it that way. We bounced back and forth between our camp chairs by the fire and our hammocks to cool off. It was a gorgeous night.
In the morning, we once again woke up to our cardinal friend tapping at the mirrors. When we emerged from the tent, he eagerly bounced from cedar to cedar hoping we’d leave so he could continue his ritual.
For breakfast, I picked raspberries off the bushes around camp, but my harvest was rather pathetic. Nonetheless, I enjoyed eating my freshly picked berries as we packed up camp and loaded the car. We waved goodbye to our cardinal friend and drove towards the park exit with the intent to give our hike one last go.
It was still early in the day, but it was already incredibly hot. And dry. We hadn’t had rain in weeks, and the grass was brittle beneath our feet. The trail was appropriately named “The Barrens,” and we felt like we were walking through a real savannah, not Wisconsin. The trail was pleasant besides the heat, and we even managed to find the elusive tower — it was not well-marked on the park map. It wasn’t very tall, so you couldn’t actually see very far at all, but it was still pretty.
Overall, we had a wonderful experience at Buckhorn State Park. I loved the unique opportunities such as the canoe interpretive trail that the park offered, and especially loved our campsite. It was one of the most beautiful sites we’ve stayed at in our Wisconsin State Parks camping experience. Tucked away, not able to see your neighbors (though hearing them is a different story), and sleeping underneath the towering cedars was a dream. I’ll definitely find my way back to this park, there’s lots more yet to be explored.
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