In Bethel, during the early stages of the COVID-19 pandemic, the woods became haunted — transformed by an idea that made use of leftovers from a spooky fire department event and grew into a trail that attracted not only bikers, but hikers as well.
Former council member Boe Wiitala saw the potential after looking over the trail area where the Bethel Fire Department, which has since merged with St. Francis, once hosted a haunted trail event.
“I realized it was bigger and better than I had imagined as far as having hardwood forest in there, big oak trees and a little creek running through and dividing it in half,” Wiitala said.
By that point, the fire department had already stopped holding the haunted trail event, leaving behind a small amount of trail along with remnants of spooky structures and other features.
Curious about what the land could become, Wiitala began looking at similar areas elsewhere, including Cuyuna, where officials had studied converting land into trails and other uses. He later brought those findings to the Bethel City Council as part of a presentation on what other communities were doing.
“If you look online, the mountain biking is credited with revitalization — it saved the little town,” Wiitala said. “Obviously, I’m biased to it, but I shared some good data with Bethel.”
That idea helped shape the early vision for the trail.
“He approached Bethel and said, hey, no one’s using this land, can I put some trails through there,” said Matt Dubbin, one of the current trail volunteers.
Wiitala said he initially expected the trail to attract mountain bikers right away. What surprised him was how many hikers showed up too. He estimated the trail now draws a roughly even split between hikers and bikers, if not more hikers, and said that during the pandemic, well over 100 people a week on average came through.
Local businesses noticed.
Wiitala said Garphish Brewing was enthusiastic about the project, offering to put up signage and donate to the trail. He said Bethel businesses have felt the trail’s impact, adding that he still smiles when he sees vehicles arrive with bikes mounted on the back.
Wiitala said that Garphish has even named some of its microbrews after the trail.
The Haunted Forest name was not part of Wiitala’s original plan. At first, he envisioned Bethel Nature Trails, a name that reflected both the city’s limited budget and a desire to create a more natural trail that could also serve hikers.
Bethel, Wiitala said, does not have a “big old budget” to spend, so the trail was not machine-built. That set it apart from many other metro-area mountain biking destinations, where machines are often used to create biking-specific trails with smoother flow and more banked corners.
Wiitala said there are around 12 to 15 mountain biking trails in the metro, with places such as Elm Creek offering a more engineered experience. By contrast, he said, the Haunted Forest’s more natural, hiker-friendly character feels closer to the roots of mountain biking.
Today, Wiitala said, about six to 10 volunteers help maintain the trail alongside the city, which continues to operate on a small budget.
“It’s a good place to bring your small family,” Wiitala said. “If you’re into biking, it’s slow moving with more raw quality. Kids on bikes move slowly, and it’s a good place to learn.”
Dubbin came to the trail after seeing activity about it on Facebook. When he first rode it, fallen leaves made the path difficult to see, so he took it upon himself to clear it with a leaf blower.
Many of the trail’s man-made features, he said, come from debris left behind from the fire department’s haunted trail days. Some sections incorporate old props, while in other places volunteers have built features out of logs, such as narrow ramps or jumps.
For Dubbin, that pieced-together, volunteer-built quality is part of what makes the place stand out.
“It’s kind of what you would call a grassroots piece of land,” Dubbin said. “Let’s just go out there and enjoy it.”