Winter Miles at Starved Rock State Park 🥾
Yesterday Murphy and I headed south for one of our favorite kinds of days — a long, quiet winter hike with no expectations other than fresh air and movement. We logged just over five miles together, weaving along the river, through the canyons, and across frozen overlooks under a sky that felt soft, gray, and still.
It wasn’t one of those dramatic winter days with glittering blue ice and bold sunshine. The ice falls this year were less than magnificent — not nearly as full or sculpted as in heavier moisture seasons. You could tell we simply haven’t had the consistent precipitation needed to build those towering frozen curtains that usually steal the show.
And yet… it was still beautiful.
There’s something grounding about seeing the park when it’s asleep. The trees are bare and honest. The boardwalks echo under your boots. The river is glazed in muted green and white. The waterfalls whisper instead of roar. Winter at Starved Rock strips everything back to structure and texture — rock, bark, ice, water.
Murphy didn’t mind one bit.
He trotted ahead on the trail, paused often to look back at me, and stood proudly against the frozen shoreline like he owned the whole bluff. Five miles with your best friend on a quiet weekday afternoon? That’s a gift.
Photographing the Stillness
I brought my Nikon again — and I can feel myself slowly falling back in love with using it. There’s something different about holding a real camera in your hands versus reaching for a phone. It asks you to slow down. To frame intentionally. To notice light, even on a dreary day.
The soft sky worked in my favor. It gave the river a moody depth. It pulled out the warm browns of the leaves still clinging to branches. It made the ice look muted and painterly instead of harsh.
The frozen falls may not have been dramatic this year, but the details were there — delicate edges of ice clinging to sandstone, thin sheets across shallow creeks, a single branch holding onto its last curled leaves. Winter minimalism.
The Beauty of Off-Season
I love visiting this park in different seasons. In summer it hums. In fall it glows. In spring it bursts back to life. Starved Rock State Park.
But winter feels personal.
You can almost sense the pause — the restoration happening beneath the surface. The river shifts. The ground rests. The trees prepare. And in a few short weeks, the same trails we walked yesterday will soften, green, and awaken again.
That’s the rhythm I appreciate most — seeing a place both in its stillness and in its renewal.
Murphy and I will be back when the waterfalls are flowing again. I’m already looking forward to watching the canyons come alive this spring.
For now, I’ll file this one under Hiking & Photography — a gray, five-mile reminder that even quieter seasons hold their own kind of beauty.
