My name is Sarah. I’m 42 years old. I live in Traverse City, Michigan. I’ve been hiking the North Country Trail for fifteen years. Section 12, from the Manistee River to the Jordan River. It’s my favorite section. Or it was.
Last week, the Forest Service closed it. Indefinitely. That means forever, or close to it.
The flooding did it. We had heavy rain in March. Three inches in two days. The rivers swelled. The ground was already saturated from snowmelt. It couldn’t hold.
The trail washed out in seven places. There are landslides. There are downed trees. There are sections where the trail just isn’t there anymore. The river took it.
I went to see it yesterday. The closure signs are new. Bright yellow. “TRAIL CLOSED.” “DANGER.” “NO ENTRY.”
I walked past them. I had to see.
The first washout is about two miles in. The trail used to follow the riverbank. Now there’s a ten-foot gap. The dirt is raw. The roots of trees are exposed. The river runs through what used to be the trail.
I stood there looking at it. My boots were muddy. The rain was starting again. Light drops. Cold.
I thought about all the times I’ve walked this trail. The first time was with my dad. I was twenty-seven. He was fifty-five. We did the whole section in three days. He taught me how to read the trail markers. How to filter water from the river. How to set up a tent in the rain.
He’s gone now. Cancer took him five years ago. But I still come here. I still feel him here.
Now I can’t. The trail is closed. Indefinitely.
The Forest Service says they don’t have the money to fix it. The damage is too extensive. Seven washouts. Three landslides. Countless downed trees.
They say it would cost $500,000 to repair. Maybe more. They don’t have that money. The budget for trail maintenance was cut last year. Again.
So the trail stays closed. Maybe for a year. Maybe for five years. Maybe forever.
I’m not the only one who cares about this trail. There’s a whole community. We maintain it. We volunteer. We clear brush. We build bridges. We pick up trash.
Last year, our group put in 2,000 hours of work on this section. We rebuilt a bridge that washed out in 2023. We cleared thirty downed trees after a windstorm. We rerouted a section that was eroding.
Now it’s all gone. The bridge we rebuilt is underwater. The trees we cleared are replaced by new ones. The reroute is a landslide.
It feels pointless. All that work. All those hours. Gone.
But here’s the thing: it wasn’t pointless. The trail was open for another year. People used it. Families hiked it. Kids learned to love the woods. That matters.
Even if it’s gone now, it mattered then.
The North Country Trail is 4,800 miles long. It goes from North Dakota to Vermont. It passes through eight states. It’s one of the longest hiking trails in the country.
Section 12 is just 45 miles of that. A small part. But it’s my part. It’s the part I know. It’s the part I love.
Now it’s closed. And other sections will close too. The flooding wasn’t just here. It was all over northern Michigan. Other trails are damaged. Other bridges are out. Other landslides have happened.
This is the new normal. More rain. More flooding. More damage.
The climate is changing. I see it. The winters are warmer. The snow melts faster. The rain comes harder. The rivers rise higher.
The trails can’t keep up. The maintenance budgets can’t keep up. We can’t keep up.
But we try. We’ll keep trying.
Our volunteer group met last night. We talked about the closure. We talked about what to do.
Some people want to ignore the closure. They want to hike it anyway. They say it’s their right. They say the Forest Service can’t stop them.
I don’t agree. The trail is dangerous now. The washouts are steep. The landslides are unstable. The river is high and fast.
People could get hurt. People could die. That’s why it’s closed.
Other people want to raise money. They want to fund the repairs themselves. They think if we can raise $500,000, the Forest Service will fix it.
I don’t know if that will work. $500,000 is a lot of money. Our group has fifty members. We’d each need to raise $10,000. That’s not realistic.
But we could try. We could start small. We could raise money for one washout. Then another. Then another.
It would take years. But it might work.
I’m in the middle. I think we should wait. I think we should let the Forest Service do their assessment. I think we should see what their plan is.
But I also think we should be ready. Ready to help. Ready to volunteer. Ready to raise money if that’s what it takes.
Because this trail matters. Not just to me. To everyone who uses it.
Last year, 5,000 people hiked this section. That’s the Forest Service’s estimate. I think it’s higher. I think it’s closer to 8,000.
That’s 8,000 people who experienced this place. 8,000 people who saw the river. 8,000 people who heard the birds. 8,000 people who felt the peace of the woods.
Now it’s zero. Because the trail is closed.
Those 8,000 people will go somewhere else. They’ll crowd other trails. They’ll put pressure on other places. Or they’ll stay home. They’ll miss out.
That’s the real loss. Not just the trail. The experience. The connection. The peace.
I’m going back to the trail tomorrow. Not to hike it. Just to be there. Just to sit by the river and remember.
Remember my dad. Remember all the hikes we did. Remember all the volunteers who worked on this trail. Remember all the people who loved it.
The trail may be gone. But the memories aren’t. The community isn’t. The love for this place isn’t.
We’ll figure something out. We always do. Trail people are resilient. We adapt. We persevere.
Maybe the trail will reopen in a different place. Maybe it will follow a different route. Maybe it will be different than it was.
But it will still be a trail. It will still lead through the woods. It will still follow the river. It will still be a place people can go to find peace.
That’s what matters. Not the exact path. The fact that there is a path.
I’ll keep volunteering. I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep caring.
Because this is my place. These are my woods. This is my trail.
Even if it’s closed. Even if it’s damaged. Even if it’s different.
It’s still mine. It’s still ours.
We’ll get it back. One way or another. We’ll get it back.
Update: I went back today. The rain had stopped. The sun was out. The river was still high, but lower than yesterday.
I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. On the other side of the washout, there’s a deer trail. It goes up the hill, away from the river. It rejoins the main trail about a hundred yards later.
It’s not an official trail. It’s not maintained. It’s steep and narrow. But it’s passable.
Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe we don’t fix the old trail. Maybe we build a new one. A better one. One that’s higher up. One that’s safer.
Maybe the flood wasn’t an ending. Maybe it was a beginning. A chance to make something new. Something better.
I don’t know. But I’m thinking about it.
I’m thinking about that deer trail. I’m thinking about possibilities. I’m thinking about the future.
The trail may be closed. But my mind is open. Our community is open. Our hearts are open.
We’ll find a way. We always do.
The Forest Service held a meeting today. They invited the public. About a hundred people showed up. We filled the community center.
The Forest Service representative was a woman named Lisa. She was young. Maybe thirty. She looked tired. She had maps. She had photos. She had bad news.
The damage is worse than they thought. It’s not seven washouts. It’s eleven. It’s not three landslides. It’s five. The bridge we rebuilt last year is completely gone. The river took it.
The cost estimate is now $750,000. Not $500,000. $750,000.
Lisa said they don’t have the money. The trail maintenance budget for the entire Huron-Manistee National Forests is $200,000 per year. That’s for 978,000 acres. For hundreds of miles of trail.
$750,000 is almost four years of budget. For one section of trail. For 45 miles.
She said they’re looking at options. One option is to reroute the trail. Move it away from the river. Move it to higher ground.
That would cost less. Maybe $300,000. But it would take the trail away from the river. Away from the views. Away from what makes this section special.
Another option is to close it permanently. Decommission it. Remove it from the North Country Trail system. Reroute the whole trail around this area.
That would be the cheapest option. Maybe $50,000. But it would mean losing this section forever.
A third option is to do nothing. Leave it closed. Wait for funding. Wait for volunteers. Wait for a miracle.
That costs nothing. But it means the trail stays closed. Maybe for years. Maybe forever.
Lisa asked for our input. She asked what we wanted.
People spoke. Some were angry. Some were sad. Some were practical.
An older man named Bob spoke first. He’s 78. He’s been hiking this trail since 1975. He helped build parts of it. He said closing it is not an option. He said we have to fix it. No matter the cost.
A woman named Maria spoke next. She’s a teacher. She brings her students here every year. She said the trail is a classroom. It teaches kids about nature. About conservation. About community. She said we can’t lose that.
A young man named Tyler spoke. He’s 22. He just graduated from college. He said maybe we need to think differently. Maybe we don’t fix the old trail. Maybe we build a new kind of trail. One that’s more resilient. One that can handle flooding. One that works with the river, not against it.
I spoke last. I said my name is Sarah. I said my dad taught me to hike on this trail. I said he’s gone now, but the trail keeps him alive for me. I said I don’t care which option we choose. I just want the trail to continue. In some form. In any form.
Lisa listened. She took notes. She said she would take our comments back to her supervisors. She said there would be another meeting in a month. With more information. With more options.
After the meeting, a group of us went for coffee. Bob was there. Maria was there. Tyler was there. About twenty of us total.
We talked about what to do next. Bob wants to start a fundraising campaign. He thinks we can raise $100,000 locally. He thinks businesses will donate. He thinks hikers will donate.
Maria wants to organize volunteer work days. She thinks we can do some of the repairs ourselves. The small stuff. Clearing brush. Building water bars. Stabilizing slopes.
Tyler wants to design a new trail. He’s studying landscape architecture. He thinks he can come up with a design that’s both beautiful and resilient. He wants to present it to the Forest Service.
I said I would help with all of it. I’ll help raise money. I’ll help organize volunteers. I’ll help with the design.
We’re not giving up. We’re just getting started.
The trail may be closed. But we’re open. Open to ideas. Open to work. Open to change.
We’ll get our trail back. One way or another. We’ll get it back.
Because it’s not just a trail. It’s a community. It’s a memory. It’s a promise.
A promise that there will always be a path through the woods. A place to go. A way to connect.
We’ll keep that promise. No matter what.
Posted by: u/nct_section12
Location: Traverse City, Michigan
Status: Hopeful, determined, organizing
