Black Coffee at Sunrise

Superior Hiking Trail | Day Five

2012-01-15T10:51:00.000-08:00

Kennedy Creek to Bear Lake

High Falls

The sun was shining early in the morning on day five. We got up and discovered that it was cold (no surprise there), but the wind had died down, which made us very happy. We ate oatmeal and shivered. I took a few photos of the campsite, but the immediate area was not very scenic with the creek bed completely dry. While we drank coffee, the sun gradually warmed things up. The combination of caffeine and warmth from the sun's rays quickly had us feeling much better.

Craig takes a snack break
Farmer John was up now and the three of us talked about the trail and his adventures while Craig and I packed up. John is retired and lives in Hawaii where he grows tropical fruit to keep busy and for supplemental retirement income (hence the trail name). He thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail back in 1987, and had recently taken up hiking again as a way to get back in shape in order to enjoy his retirement for many years to come. He told us that his health had been declining – he was overweight and had high blood pressure – so he decided to fly to the lower 48, where he hiked 800 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail. He immediately followed this by flying east and hiking 500 miles of the AT before taking a break to visit family and plan where to go next. After discovering the SHT, he ordered the guidebook, flew to MN, and began the round-trip journey. He had lost 35 pounds so far and had grown a pretty impressive hiker's beard.

View from Mt. Trudee

We headed out onto the trail at 9:30 am. It was quickly becoming a beautiful day, and right from the beginning, we were awarded wonderful views of cliffs, valleys, ridges, Lake Superior, and inland lakes. We crossed paths with a family on the trail with a child of about 6. Just ahead of his parents, the kid was slowly dragging himself up the steep hill that we were descending. The parents both had enormous packs, and the dad's had a stuffed giraffe peeking out of it hilariously. Although we were tired, we both thoroughly enjoyed the hike on this day. We walked along a ridge above Wolf Lake, which is a beautiful curvy lake not far from Lake Superior. We stopped to take in the view, and from where we stood, we could see both lakes if we looked just slightly to our left. This was one of our favorite spots on the trip and would be a spectacular place to live.

Wolf Lake. Lake Superior is just a little to the left.

The next two hours were spent hiking up and down the ridge, with almost continuous great views. We stopped for short breaks here and there, and just before we reached High Falls, we walked through a shady tunnel of fir trees. We heard a loud racket in the forest and thought that we might finally see some exciting wildlife, but it turned out to be a big pileated woodpecker noisily making its way through the thick trees. A spur trail led us to a long, steep staircase to the base of High Falls on the Baptism River. Once we saw this place, we decided a long lunch break was in order. Or maybe a permanent stay – it was not an easy place to leave.

High Falls

This part of the trail travels through Tettegouche State Park, and this waterfall is accessible to day visitors. Despite this, there were only two other people there with their dog until Farmer John caught up with us and decided to eat lunch there as well. The day had turned out gorgeous, and I couldn't believe how lucky we were to arrive here when the weather was good and it was not crowded with park visitors. We stayed here for an hour, and I took countless pictures now that my camera battery scare was over. Farmer John told us more of his hiking stories and showed us a few photos from his PCT trip. It was amazing to see his physical transformation. Now he was healthy and fit-looking, regularly covered 15-20 miles a day, and looked like he had never been out of shape. The photos showed a very different person, and he looked weird clean-shaven. He was pretty sure he was going to keep the beard.

After reluctantly leaving High Falls, we followed the trail across a metal suspension bridge over the river near the top of the waterfall, passed a few confusing trail signs within the state park, then headed back into the forest. The next major encounter was a section of trail referred to as “The Drain Pipe,” a steep, 150-foot crevice with rock steps. It was scary to deal with, and I was extremely thankful that it wasn't raining, hailing, snowing, or icy in any way. A sign announcing its presence is attached to a cedar with a menacing-looking tangle of roots. We stood staring at the rocky climb for a few minutes, and Craig said that it looked like a cataclysmic event happened to make this section of trail. I attached my trek poles to my pack and hauled myself up, the whole time aware that one slip or wrong move would pitch me backward and that things would go very badly from there.

The magic bench
A few hours after leaving High Falls, we were tired and getting ready for a break. Craig mentioned that he hoped we found a good resting spot soon, and less than 30 seconds later, a bench suddenly appeared in the middle of a clearing near a trail junction. Magic! We took a break with our packs off here, and Farmer John caught up with us again. Although he hikes much longer distances than we do, he is very social and often stops to chat along the way, which is why he kept "catching up" with us (not because we were faster). We ended up hiking the rest of the day with him, and the afternoon was filled with awesome views, just as the morning had been. We climbed a dome called Mt. Trudee, which provided far-reaching views of the forest and a few small lakes. A little further on, the Bean and Bear Lakes area was our destination. There is a campsite directly on the shore of Bear Lake, which is supposed to provide space for a few tents, and we were looking forward to stopping for the day and having a relaxing night at camp without having to hide from the weather.

On the trail above Bear Lake

Unfortunately, the campsite on Bear Lake was taken, which was disappointing for a few reasons: 1) it was awesome and truly right on the shore of the beautiful lake; 2) we had to hike down a very long, steep hill to get to it, which we now had to hike back up; and 3) we were really tired at this point. Luckily, a few makeshift, overflow campsites had been created at the top of the hill just off the trail, probably because this happens a lot. A hand-written sign attached to a tree dubbed this area “The Rest Stop”. It is actually a decent place to camp; the lake below can still be seen through the trees, and there was plenty of space for Craig and I and Farmer John to set up separate camps, each with it's own fire ring. We were very excited to finally have a campfire, since we had not yet done so, mostly due to the extreme wind. We were not excited at the lack of privy (it was located near the real campsite down at the lake) or the fact that the steep hill had to be descended and climbed once again to collect water from the lake. I was glad that this extra campsite existed, however, and that we didn't have to keep going to find somewhere else. It was close to getting dark, and the cold was quickly creeping up on us along with the setting sun.

Bear Lake at sunset

We quickly set up camp, and I collected wood and started a fire while Craig revisited the lake for water and began preparations for dinner. It was nice to have a fire at last, and we stayed up for as long as we could to enjoy it. Once all of the wood had been burned we turned in. Our feet were very sore and it was another sub-freezing night, but the day's experience had been worth it. I laid awake in the dark listening to a loon calling out across Bear Lake and felt extremely happy to be right where I was, despite the cold and uncomfortably hard ground. We had just a few miles to hike the following day back to the car, and even though I looked forward to driving to a restaurant and eating everything in sight, I was sad that it was coming to an end.

Our campsite above Bear Lake

To be continued in: Day 6 – Beautiful Bear Lake, Breathtaking Bean Lake, and Bountiful Breakfast

Superior Hiking Trail | Day Four

2011-11-20T11:14:00.000-08:00

Section 13 to Kennedy Creek

From the ridgeline - one of many awesome views of Lake Superior and surrounding hillsides

The morning of day four was miserably cold, and as much as I wanted to pack up as quickly as possible, I could not get my fingers, limbs, or brain to cooperate beyond a zombie-like shuffle. The night before had been long, freezing, and uncomfortable. It still had not rained beyond a brief sprinkle here and there, but the wind remained relentless. My +15 down mummy bag, which is usually much warmer than necessary, had proven barely adequate. At some point during the night, I had to put on the fleece jacket that I had folded up under my pillow for extra cushion. I wore a wool hat, and my sleeping bag's hood was cinched tightly around my face, but the exposed area around my eyes and nose did not receive much relief from the cold air. We ate Pro Bars for breakfast because it was too windy and cold to consider lingering to make coffee and oatmeal. Plus, since we hadn't come across a water source at the end of the previous day, we did not want to waste our drinking water cooking a hot breakfast.

View from the rocky bald at the top of Section 13 Cliffs at 7:30 a.m.

Although we looked forward to warming up once we got going, it was cold enough that we had to start out wearing fleeces, hats, gloves, and long underwear under our clothes. We stopped for a few minutes to take photos and admire the view at the amazing 360º vantage point just down the trail. The moon stood out in the clear blue morning sky, and we were fairly sure we could see ice on the surface of a distant beaver pond. The sun shone brightly and the wind was insane. I climbed up to the highest point, where I tried to take in the moment and commit the view around me to memory before the punishing wind became too much to handle. We headed back into the woods along the same stretch of trail I had walked the day before in search of the stream that was said to be located ½ mile south of the campsite. After about 30 minutes, we came to a tiny stream, barely more than a trickle, which we estimated to be about 1 mile from Section 13. We assumed this was Sawmill Creek, the stream mentioned in the book, though we expected a little more fanfare. We stopped to filter a small supply of water here, not knowing how many of the streams we would cross that day would actually contain water due to the dry conditions. About 10 minutes after leaving this tiny stream, we reached the real Sawmill Creek, a much larger stream marked with a sign. Obviously, this stream is much further than ½ mile from Section 13 campsite – word to the wise.

The hiking was noticeably more strenuous today, with a lot of steep, rocky climbs. After a few hours, we stopped at the top of a steep ascent to ditch the long underwear. We finally saw our first view of Lake Superior at 10:30 am, which was cause for celebration. Stopping to take a few photos, I had a horrible realization: It hadn't occurred to me to protect my camera batteries from the cold of the night before, and my current battery was prematurely reading as nearly drained. I put it in an inside pocket for body heat and hoped that it would revive itself. I tried to take photos sparingly during the day's hike, but of course, the scenery was really starting to get good at this point, and for the rest of the day we were met with constant scenic views of the lake to our east and the valley to our west. Luckily, the batteries had life in them again once they spent the day warming up, and I made sure to keep them and my headlamp batteries in my sleeping bag with me overnight for the rest of the trip.

Another view from the ridgeline

We descended steeply, crossed County Road 6, then climbed back up again to the top of the ridgeline. Once at the top of the steep ridge, we looked back down into Sawmill Creek Valley and the road far below. Another sharp climb followed, which led us to the top of Sawmill Dome, another scenic viewpoint. We continued hiking along the ridgeline above Lake Superior and were awarded with many views of the lake and surrounding landscape. The views were awesome, but the weather continued to torment us. The never-ceasing wind blew in more threatening clouds, and just as we came out of tree cover onto an open stretch of trail along the side of a cliff, it began to hail. We retreated back into the trees, seeking shelter from the frozen, pea-sized bullets. The hail lasted for only five minutes, but the weather remained ominous. One minute the sky was clear and sunny, the next minute black clouds would float across the sky, bringing short bursts of rain before floating away again as if nothing had happened. Again, it never actually stormed; it was as if nature was taunting us and letting us know that it controlled us, not the other way around.

Climbing to the top of Sawmill Dome

Shortly before reaching Kennedy Creek, the SHT passes through a clearing and some land managed by a power company. As we walked through this clearing, to our left was a clear view out to Lake Superior. Though we were walking in sun, clouds hung over the lake, and we could see rain misting down over the water. There are campsites on the east and west sides of Kennedy Creek. We chose the west site, and proceeded to make up for not eating much that morning or the night before. The creek was completely dry, but Craig found a small lake nearby for water. We inhaled ramen noodles, followed by Pack-it Gourmet's banana pudding for dessert. Honestly, I do not remember whether we stopped for lunch on this day, or just ate a snack while hiking. I did not take many photos because I was attempting to conserve my frozen camera batteries, and once we set up camp, I was so cold that I did not write down many notes about the day.

Near the beginning of the climb to Sawmill Dome

Once we cleaned up after our dinner, we chose a spot for our tent nestled in the trees directly alongside the dry creek bed. If the weather had been better and the creek flowing, it might have been a nice night. The reality was not so nice. It hailed again while we were pitching our tent, the temperature had dropped further, and now that we were not moving anymore, I was getting colder by the minute. I had put on additional layers before dinner, but they were no longer helping. When the tent was set up and our food bag hung, I got in the tent and did not come out again except when I had to go to the bathroom and could not hold it any longer. It was only 5:30; I was in for a very long, cold night. I put on nearly every item of clothing I brought – including my rain gear – and didn't take any of it off when I went to sleep. This included 2 pairs of wool socks, long underwear, hiking pants, rain pants, long-sleeved wool t-shirt, long-sleeved polyester t-shirt, fleece jacket, rain jacket (with hood up), wool hat and gloves.

Kennedy Creek - dry like many other streams on this trip

I laid in my sleeping bag and attempted to read a book and maybe take a nap to pass the time. For the first time since the beginning of the trip, we suddenly had company. I heard someone calling 'hello', and looked out to see a bearded 61-year-old man walking around in camp wearing shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt. My first reaction was extreme irritation – one because I had to get half-way out of my sleeping bag to see what was going on and I was already cold because of it, and two, because he was clearly mocking me with his fashion choices. Although I only briefly spoke to him before grumpily crawling back into my sleeping bag for the night, I learned that he had hiked 18 miles that day and that he had begun his hike back in August. He had hiked the entire 235-mile length of the SHT from south-to-north, then turned around and was in the middle of hiking it back the other way. (The total length of the SHT is 277 miles, but the 42-mile segment south of Duluth is currently day-hiking only. He was considering tackling that portion after his current round trip.) He did not have any warm clothes with him, because it was hot when he started one month earlier. At some point when he passed through a town, he was going to buy warm clothes, but the cold came out of nowhere and he hadn't gotten around to it yet. He had been through a town a few days earlier and told us about the huge forest fire raging just north of us in the Boundary Waters area. This was the source of the mysterious ash that had been in the air over the last few days, and it was also contributing to the unusual weather. By this point the fire was big news across the country and we had had no idea.

Another glimpse of Lake Superior. A freighter can be seen on the lake - click to enlarge

Our new friend's name was John (trail name: Farmer John), and we would end up learning many more interesting things about him the following day, when I was feeling more social. Until then, I would spend the coldest night of my life thus far, again getting very little sleep. What sleep I did manage was disturbed by a dream of my dog crawling up onto my chest to cuddle. The problem came when I realized that I hadn't brought my dog, so whatever was crawling on me could not be her. In my dream, I refused to open my eyes and began to reason with myself. By the feel of the paws and the weight, it must be a coyote; however, it would be impossible for a coyote to get past the tightly staked and zipped rain fly, then the zipped tent door without me waking up. Even when I'm not freezing to death and attempting to sleep on a bunch of rocks and tree roots, I'm a very light sleeper. One paw, then another, then the entire weight of a 50-lb animal was on me. It felt 100% real, and it was too much to handle anymore. I told myself that there was no way this could possibly be happening, that I had to be dreaming, and that I needed to wake up. That worked, but once I was awake I remembered how cold it was and thought death by midnight coyote attack might have been more enjoyable.

On top of the bald on Section 13. Amazing 360º view!

A check of the weather history after I returned home revealed that the overnight low had been 26º F. After the warm first 2 days (when I had actually been complaining that it was too hot and that I wanted cold weather), overnight/early morning lows for the rest of the trip were mid-20s to mid-30s. We thought we were pretty well-prepared for cold, but we hadn't anticipated nights below freezing. I thought of the couple from Kentucky that we met on the shuttle and wondered how they were holding up.

10:30 a.m. on Day 4: Our first glimpse of Lake Superior.

To be continued in Day 5: Kennedy Creek to Bear Lake (the story of Farmer John and an awesome day all around!)

Superior Hiking Trail | Day Three

2011-10-29T16:30:00.000-07:00

Egge Lake to Section 13 Cliffs

Egge Lake, 6:30 a.m.

After a restless night without much sleep, I woke up for good at 6:30 a.m. and listened to loons calling on Egge Lake. A full moon hung in the sky above the lake, and it was very cold. Bundled up in fleece jackets, hats, and gloves, we made breakfast before packing up and heading back onto the trail at 9:00 for a nice, cold morning hike.

East Branch of Baptism River

Our destination was Section 13 Campsite, located at the top of the steep Section 13 Cliffs, which is a popular spot for rock climbers. Although we still did not have any views of Lake Superior, the trail was very scenic and interesting throughout the entire day. We crossed the Baptism River again and passed an old bear den which was marked with a sign. It was cold, but the sun shone through the trees, creating a beautiful green glow all around, with the occasional splash of fall color jumping out.

The green glow

We stopped for lunch at Leskinen Creek Campsite, which is spacious and could fit several tents. The temperature remained somewhat cold, the sky became overcast, and the wind picked up again as we sat on a bench by the fire ring, cooking and eating Mary Jane Farms' Chili Mac. We did not linger there long, as the weather was becoming increasingly temperamental, and we wanted to make it to the next campsite as soon as possible.

Awesome forest scene

There were many more steep climbs along this section of trail than during the previous two days, and a lot more scenery to enjoy as a reward. At one point, we climbed up a long, steep stone staircase surrounded by trees, which darkened the path and made me think of the perilous, never-ending hidden staircase of Barad-dur. The trail skirts an enormous boulder, which was left behind by a retreating glacier at the end of the last ice age. It is a couple stories high and was a definite trail highlight.

The Glacial Erratic

We traveled across a few bog areas, and crossed a large beaver pond called Sawmill Pond on a long stretch of boardwalk. A trail register is posted at one end, and someone had recorded details in it of a bear sighting at the pond the day before. The only wildlife we would encounter that day was a grouse that scared us when we accidentally flushed it next to the trail. Just before I finished crossing the pond, it began raining. I put my camera away for safe-keeping, and missed the chance to get a picture of the beaver lodge, which eventually came into view. The rain didn't last long, but came and went several more times throughout the day, causing us to put our rain gear on, then remove it a few minutes later on more than one occasion. The sky was filled with dark, menacing-looking clouds, and the wind had continued to get stronger, leading us to believe we were in for a storm, but so far it had been just one false alarm after another.

The boardwalk crossing Sawmill Creek Bog Area

Crossing Sawmill Beaver Pond

There is no water access at Section 13 Campsite, but according to the guide book, there is a stream ½ mile north and another ½ mile south of camp. We did not want to rely entirely on these streams having water (many of the streams we had encountered so far were dry), so we stopped for a little water at a stream we crossed earlier in the day. If the streams near Section 13 were flowing, we would be able to collect more for cooking; if not, we would at least have enough to drink until finding more the following day. We eventually climbed to the top of Section 13 cliffs and reached our campsite at the top. The first of the nearby streams had been bone-dry, and by the time we reached camp, the weather had become frightening. It sprinkled off and on, a storm still threatening but holding back; however, the wind howled and was so strong that I was afraid to get close to the edge of the cliffs.

Aster along the trail near Section 13 Cliffs

We rested for only a short time before determining a good spot for our tent and quickly setting it up, staking extra guyout lines for the rainfly just in case. I had been excited about camping in this high spot with its amazing views, but my excitement began wearing off as the temperature continued to drop, and I watched the towering trees swaying in the wind all around our tent. Unfortunately, I would not be doing much exploring of the cliffs or drinking hot chocolate by a fire, which I had been fantasizing about all day.

Section 13 Campsite

It was only 4:30, and despite the weather and the day's strenuous hike, I was feeling energized and volunteered to hike to the next stream, an alleged ½ mile south. I put my winter hat and rain jacket on, grabbed one of our Platypus water containers and headed out. Almost immediately, I found myself on top of a bald where it is possible to take in a spectacular 360º view of the surrounding forest, river valley, and other cliffs. The intense wind prevented me from spending much time here, however, and I returned to the trail and my quest for water. It began raining, and the wind drove the cold drops sharply into my face until I began descending into the woods, taking cover under the trees.

Looking out from near the top of Section 13 Cliffs

The trail descends very steeply here and there was no stream in sight. I hiked on, thinking that maybe it would be just beyond the next hill. Then the next. This went on and on until I was certain I had hiked further than a half-mile. At this point, I could see far enough ahead to determine that this supposed stream was either dry or a total fabrication. Turning around, I began the steep climb northward back along the trail toward camp. By now it was extremely cold and the wind was brutal. With only a small supply of water and the unpleasant weather, we skipped cooking dinner and just ate a quick snack before hanging our food bag and retiring to the tent. By 7pm we were in for the rest of the night. I had wanted to return to the excellent vantage point just down the trail to take some photos at sunset, but the sky was so overcast at this point that there would not have been much of a view. I crossed my fingers that the morning would be better, changed into heavier wool socks, long underwear, and a long-sleeved Smartwool t-shirt, and settled in for the coldest night of sleeping I had ever experienced (until the following night).

Sawmill Beaver Pond

To be continued in Day 4: Section 13 to Kennedy Creek

Superior Hiking Trail | Day Two

2011-10-15T19:08:00.000-07:00

Sonju Lake to Egge Lake

Sonju Lake in the morning

We woke up to the soothing sound of loud goose honking. The morning was chilly, but the wind had stopped some time overnight. Sonju Lake was calm and still, and after coffee and oatmeal, I spent some time on Lilly's island taking in the reflection of the surrounding forest and blue sky above in the glassy lake. It was a gorgeous morning, and as much as I looked forward to the day's hike, I wished that I could spend more time on this little rocky island.

Me sitting on a boulder at the tip of Lilly's Island in the morning

We left our campsite just before 11am, a very late start for us. We usually get going fairly early, but we did not feel especially rushed and took our time packing up. We passed the remains of a decaying trapper's cabin, but the majority of the day's hike was actually a bit boring. There would be no views of Lake Superior during the first few days of our hike, and this section did not provide much in the way of scenery. We arrived at Egge Lake around 12:30 and stopped for lunch at North Egge Lake campsite. Both North and South Egge Lake campsites are on the shore, and cables are provided for hanging food bags out of the reach of bears. We had never seen these types of cables before; they were strung between trees overhead, but didn't seem high enough to be effective.

The old trapper's cabin

After collecting water from the lake, we ran into a bit of a snag. Our water filter suddenly became very difficult to use. The internal filter should be good for several uses, and this one appeared in good shape before we left, but on only our 2nd of six days on the trail, it was suddenly so clogged that it barely worked. We must have put it through more work than we thought prior to this trip. Luckily we had water treatment tablets with us as a back-up in the event something went wrong with the filter. We managed to filter a good supply of water at Egge Lake, but throughout the rest of the week we used the filter sparingly and treated most of our water with tablets. It's good to have contingency plans.

My new favorite trail lunch. Wasa flatbreads with cheese or various Justin's Nut Butters.

The wind picked up again and we decided to stay where we were and set up camp. The last forecast we had seen had predicted rain on this day, and it seemed like a storm was coming, so we stowed our gear in the tent vestibules and decided to give the questionable bear cable a try. Most of our food was in an Ursack, which we just tied to a tree trunk, and we strung a stuff sack with some additional food and our garbage as high as it would go on the cable just in time for the wind to go nuts. The food bag swung back and forth violently, and we ended up more worried about the wind blowing trees down than a bear rummaging through our camp and testing the height of the bear cable.

Our campsite at Egge Lake

The sky darkened quickly and dramatically, turning purple above the choppy water of Egge Lake. We lingered at the shore and watched the storm blow in as long as we could before the increasing wind and scary weather drove us into the tent at 7:45 pm. Like the night before, we noticed ash on the surface of our tent, but again figured that the wind was carrying it from the campsite's fire ring. As we laid in the tent listening to the wind howling outside throughout the night, we felt the temperature drop steadily. The warmer than expected weather of the first two days was coming to an abrupt end. After about an hour, we both noticed the smell of campfire, which made us extremely uneasy. We suspected people were camping at the South Egge Lake campsite, but we didn't think anyone would be so reckless as to build a fire in this kind of wind. I started to think about things that had never occurred to me before: What would we do in the event of a forest fire? Would we be able to hike out in the dark, or would our way be blocked by fire? It was getting bitterly cold; would we have to take refuge in the lake to avoid being consumed by flames? How long would we be able to withstand the cold water? (I had tried to get in the lake earlier in the day but wimped out.) What are the odds of a tree falling on our tent giving me a fatal head injury before escaping a forest fire becomes a concern? These paranoid thoughts combined with the loud wind kept me from getting much sleep, and it wasn't until morning that the wind died down enough for me to relax and listen to the welcoming sound of a barred owl hooting nearby. I'm sure it would have already fled if the surrounding forest was about to become a charred hellscape.

Stormy sky above Egge Lake

To be continued in Day 3: Egge Lake to Section 13 Cliffs

Superior Hiking Trail | Day One

2011-10-03T08:50:00.000-07:00

Crosby-Manitou State Park to Sonju Lake

Sonju Lake

We parked at the Silver Bay SHT trailhead at 8:20 am. The shuttle was scheduled to pick us up at 9:07 am and take us to the trailhead at Crosby-Manitou State Park, approximately 37 trail miles north. The shuttle showed up around 9:15, and we met a couple from Kentucky who were being driven to the far north end of the trail and planned to hike it in its entirety (referred to as thru-hiking). They had stopped in the trail HQ in Two Harbors the day before and received an updated weather forecast. Temperatures were going to be colder than expected, and they were told there was even the possibility of snow flurries. This didn't bother Craig and I too much, but the woman we were speaking with was nervous; she had planned for the 50-70 degrees an earlier forecast had predicted, and in doing so, brought her +45 sleeping bag instead of one rated for colder weather. They were experienced long-distance hikers who have likely handled many challenging situations, but I would think of her now and then over the coming week as the weather did a spectacular swan-dive. I didn't think to ask what kind of shelter they were using, but if they were tarping, I'm not sure how she fared. I hoped that she brought some good warm layers, and wasn't too miserable during the cold, windy nights.

Reflections in the Baptism River

At 10:00, the shuttle dropped us off on a dirt road next to an unassuming trail sign that marks the southbound trailhead at Crosby-Manitou State Park. It was much warmer than we expected this morning, and mosquitoes were bothersome throughout the day. The trail was interesting, however, and within an hour, we found ourselves in a section thick with cedars, which provided shade and cooled things off a bit. Soon we reached the east branch of the Baptism River and a spot where the SHT intersects with the North Shore State Trail, which crosses the river on a bridge. The North Shore State Trail is a snowmobile trail that can also be used in the summer for horseback riding, mountain biking, or hiking. Beyond the bridge, the SHT re-enters the woods and we found ourselves at Blesner Creek Campsite.

From Blesner Creek Campsite, looking back toward the trail bridge

Blesner Creek flows into the Baptism River, and the campsite is situated between the two streams, just before they connect. It is a wonderful spot for a campsite, and although we had hiked only about three miles, we seriously considered staying there. While we thought over the idea of setting up camp and adding extra miles to the following day, I filtered water from the river and Craig made burritos for lunch. We ended up spending an hour there taking a break, eating lunch, and enjoying the surroundings before deciding to keep going. Even though we had not planned to stay at Blesner Creek, we hoped that we weren't making a mistake leaving such a nice spot to stick with our itinerary.

Blesner Creek Campsite
The site is up to the left; the trail goes off to the right
Blesner Creek is in the foreground, and the Baptism River is to the left, just out of the shot

Just after 2pm, we arrived at Sonju Lake, which has two areas for camping – a north site and a south site. We planned to stay at North Sonju Lake Campsite, because it was supposed to be right on the lake shore. This didn't appear to be the case once we got there. The lake was visible through the trees, but the campsite was in the woods. The guidebook says there are 4 tent pads there, but we couldn't see any spot that stood out as a clear place to pitch a tent and explored the area a bit to see if we were missing something. Over the coming week, we would learn that the book's “tent pads” are not always obvious, and are probably more of a guideline of how many small tents could potentially be set up at a campsite. We decided to check out South Sonju Lake Campsite, which was not on the shore and had 6 tent pads according to the book. Here a clearing in the woods provides a fire ring and enough space for several tents. Although we were the only people there and there was a lot of space, it took us quite a while to decide on a spot for our tent because the ground was very uneven and sloped in each place that looked promising. We finally found a patch of flat ground and began to set up, only to find that the ground had so many roots and rocks just under the surface, that staking our rainfly was nearly impossible! The questionable skies above the lake did not make us feel comfortable leaving the rainfly off, so we spent even more time moving our tent this way and that until we could coax all of the stakes into the ground. This would end up being a regular struggle throughout the week, and we just had to get used to the challenge.

Our tent at South Sonju Lake Campsite

Once camp was finally set up, we took some time to collect water and explore the lake. A narrow boardwalk provides access to Lilly's Island, a small rocky island near the lake's east end. This was a fun place to visit, and we spent some time there sitting on a boulder, cooling off, and watching wind ripple across the surface of the water. Despite the cold weather that would come, the week started out very warm, and it had been a hot, sweaty day on the trail. The wind had become fairly strong, and stormy-looking clouds gathered periodically overhead, drifting away and returning throughout the rest of the day. Lilly's island would remain one of my favorite spots of the whole trip, and I was glad that we had decided to come here instead of staying at Blesner Creek.

View of the lake from Lilly's Island

Back at camp, we noticed ash on the surface of our tent. This seemed weird, but we assumed it was being kicked up from the nearby fire ring due to the periodic gusts of wind, though the fire ring seemed undisturbed. Little did we know what was going on north of us near Boundary Waters (we would not learn the news until 3 days later). We made Packit Gourmet's tortilla soup for dinner and went to bed when it started getting dark. Small animals (probably mice) scurried around outside of the tent for a while, and I tried to read but ended up drifting off to sleep quickly. I tend to dream a lot when camping, and that night I dreamed a bear was lurking around the outside of the tent, sniffing at the ground. It rubbed against the tent above my head when it walked by, and I could feel it's fur sliding against the top of my head through the thin nylon wall. I woke up and there was nothing but silence.

View of Lilly's Island from shore

To be continued in Day 2: Sonju Lake to Egge Lake

Superior Hiking Trail (Section Hike) - Introduction: Trip Planning and the Journey to Duluth

2011-09-24T12:31:00.000-07:00

View from Mt. Trudee, Superior Hiking Trail

Introduction: Trip Planning and the Journey to Duluth

Permits are not required, fees are not charged, and reservations are not needed to hike and camp along the Superior Hiking Trail in northern Minnesota. This volunteer-maintained trail begins near Duluth and runs north, following a ridge above Lake Superior and finally ending near the Minnesota/Canada border. It is currently 277 miles long and growing, as a segment is being built to link Duluth with the small town of Two Harbors – home of the Superior Hiking Trail Association.

Port of Duluth

Choosing a segment of trail to cover on this trip was difficult. We had heard that it was nearly impossible to go wrong with any part of the trail, as it winds through several state parks, follows rivers and streams, climbs ridges above small lakes, and reveals many other interesting features along its entire length. We considered hiking a segment at the far north, beginning at the end of the trail near Canada, but ended up choosing a segment closer to the middle that would include several inland lakes, panoramic views of Lake Superior, and a waterfall. A few different shuttle services are available in the area, and we made arrangements with Superior Shuttle to drop us off at the trailhead at Crosby-Manitou State Park. From there we planned to hike southward over 6 days, ending at the trailhead in Silver Bay where our car would be waiting. Total, we would end up hiking only 42 miles or so over 6 days, including the main trail and miscellaneous spurs and deviations, but the hiking proved challenging enough without having to cover major mileage on any given day.

The SHTA publishes a guide book, which we ordered online to help plan the trip. Although its table of contents directs readers to both day hiking and backpacking opportunities, the book is divided into short segments, which is more suited to planning day hikes, and a bit tedious to use for planning a long-distance trip. It is also geared toward a south-to-north hike, the direction that proved most popular based on our findings later. Though the book walks hikers through each trail segment and includes information such as mileage between campsites, number of tent pads (more on that later) at each site, etc., I found it somewhat confusing, especially since we were traveling in a direction opposite from the book's descriptions. At first glance, these issues seemed easy to deal with, but as we delved further into the trip planning, and occasionally once we were on the trail, we found ourselves scratching our heads. Still, Guide to the Superior Hiking Trail is the only detailed guide available, and it does provide helpful information, such as what water sources are unreliable in dry conditions. Luckily, we paid attention to this and were able to use the book to determine alternate sources, which proved to be valuable knowledge later. My gripes about the book aside, this is a wonderful trail, and the non-profit Superior Hiking Trail Association deserves much respect and admiration for its efforts in building and maintaining this long footpath for the enjoyment of so many.

Traveling from Metro Detroit to Duluth: Friday, September 9 – Saturday, September 10

Mackinac Bridge

We began the drive north at 9:30 am, crossed the Mackinac Bridge at 1:45 pm and stopped at Lehto's on US-2 for pasties. A few hours later, we took a break and had coffee at Falling Rock Cafe in Munising, then continued westward to Marquette. This was a good stopping point and we decided to stay at the Cedar Motor Inn, despite having tentatively planned to camp somewhere nearby. The motel was very nice, and our room backed up to the woods, with the smell of evergreen trees drifting in through the open windows. We were lucky to find a room, since it was the night before the U.P. Fall Beer Festival and the Friday before school started at NMU. Although we were sad to miss the beer fest, we stopped in The Vierling and had a few pints of one of their specialty beers – Citral Imperial IPA, which was excellent!

Marquette Ore Dock

RV Lake Char - Research Vessel, Michigan DNR Fisheries Division

Middle Branch of Ontonagon River, just upstream from Agate Falls. We filled our Nalgene here and dropped a purification tablet in it for drinking in the car. Bottled water is for suckers.

The next morning, we continued through the western half of the U.P., cut through northern Wisconsin, then crossed the bridge that connects the cities of Superior, WI and Duluth, MN where the Port of Duluth is located on Lake Superior. While in Marquette the night before, we were lucky enough to hear from friends who had moved from Michigan to Duluth several years ago. Fellow lovers of the outdoors, they invited us to their house, made us a snack, showed us around town a bit, took us shopping at an outfitters (not that we needed anything, but there is always an excuse to look at gear!), bought us dinner at Fitger's (a local brew pub and restaurant) and set us up in their guest room. To top it off, they knew we planned to get an early start the following morning, so they got up at 6:00 am and made us a breakfast of blueberry pancakes, bacon, coffee, and espresso! They did all this despite the fact they now have a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old (and a golden retriever – can't leave her out), and didn't even know we were going to be in town until late the night before. They were amazing, and it was really great to spend time with them.

The Harvest Moon Wild Rice Burger at Fitger's
Above - A Freighter Waits in the Moonlight Outside the Port of Duluth

We pulled out of their driveway at 7:00 am, wound our way through their neighborhood toward Highway 61 and began heading north, with Lake Superior on our immediate right, sparkling in the bright morning sun. It was Sunday, September 11, and we would be hiking through Friday, September 16. When we last checked the weather forecast for the coming week, high temps were expected to be in the mid-60s to low 70s, with lows in the 40s and 50s – great hiking weather, with the exception of one possible rainy day. We were prepared mostly for this type of weather, with long underwear, fleece jackets, winter hats, and gloves for chilly mornings or overnights that might get colder than expected. We would end up needing every item of clothing we brought, and my +15 down sleeping bag would be put to the test, as the weather took some very interesting turns throughout the trip.

This is Lily. Hopefully she won't mind showing up in this blog post.

To be continued in: Day One – Crosby-Manitou State Park to Sonju Lake

South Manitou Island | Day 3

2011-09-02T03:54:00.000-07:00

(Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore)

Weather Station to Boathouse

The beach near Weather Station

I spent the morning of my final day on South Manitou Island near my campsite deviating from my normal reclusive nature and socializing with several fellow campers that I had met the day before. Everyone I had met so far on this trip was extremely friendly, and I enjoyed getting to know a few of the people who were camping near me at Weather Station. At the campsite next to mine and directly overlooking the lakeshore bluff was a father/daughter pair of campers who had travelled to the island without the mother and sister who would normally complete their family. I didn't ask why this was (I was trying to be social, not nosy), but the dad eventually told me that the daughter (who looked to be around 10) was extraordinarily shy, and this trip was an attempt to draw her out of her shell a bit and get her to do a few new things on her own. It seemed to be working, as she eventually came over to my campsite to share an interesting bug with me that she had found burrowing in the sand. This also helped me out, as I am stupidly awkward with children and tried my best not to be an idiot.

Descending the bluff from Weather Station Campground

A couple who looked to be in their 50s was also camping near me, and this was their first experience carrying their gear in to a campsite (Weather Station campground is about 1 ½ miles from the boathouse and ranger station where the ferry drops visitors off). They were sleeping in a 4-person dome tent and had also lugged in a big air mattress. Luckily, they had to carry that stuff only for a short distance. They were very friendly and asked me for advice for future trips. A young, college-aged couple was camping next to them and had spent the day before climbing dunes. Everyone was happy and having a great time. It would be impossible not to.

Unless you got poison ivy. This is the path to the beach near my campsite.

Probably the most interesting person I met was a guy from Chicago, who was here with his three kids – two daughters and a son. His wife had become ill right before the trip, so he was going it alone. He looked like an old-school hiker – tall, skinny, bearded, said things like “far out” and “groovy”, and was really interested in talking about camping gear. He was also convinced that he had seen a rattle snake, and was telling the story with such lively detail and excitement that I didn't have the heart to tell him that was extremely unlikely. He found out later from a ranger that it was an eastern hog-nosed, which has a fake rattle for defense.

Approaching South Manitou Lighthouse

After oatmeal and coffee, I packed up for the short hike back to the boathouse. Again, I followed the beach to South Manitou Lighthouse, which was bathed in rays of sunlight breaking through the overcast sky. Behind the lighthouse, near its outbuildings, there is a boardwalk that leads to the visitor center. From there it is a short walk on a sandy path to the boathouse, where hikers can drop their packs and leave them until the ferry departs. The sky had cleared, and I was in for another beautiful day on the island. I leaned my pack against the wall inside the boathouse and left to find a shady spot to make lunch. I ended up sitting on a bench under a tree, enjoying the lake breeze and deciding what to do next. I had arrived at the boathouse at 11:00 am and the ferry was not due to leave until 4:00 pm. Although the hike to Valley of the Giants is only six miles round-trip, there were other things to do nearby and I did not want to feel rushed. I am fascinated by trees, and I knew that if I hiked out there, I would end up spending who knows how many hours taking photos and might end up missing the ferry. This would not be the worst thing that could happen, and the island is prepared for such occurrences with a “Stranded Camper Donation Box” - a metal chest located inside the boathouse where campers can discard any unopened, non-perishable food items that they did not use on their trip. If the weather turns bad and the ferry cannot make the trip to the island, or if someone doesn't make it back to the boathouse by departure time, he or she will not go hungry while stranded.

After lunch, I checked out historical information and artifacts in the visitor center, which is located in the island's former general store, then found a grassy spot in the shade near the ranger station to read until the tour of the lighthouse was scheduled to start. While bumming around the boathouse and ranger station, people who had been giving me furtive glances finally began asking me the questions that had obviously been on their minds. I had heard a few whispers here and there as people walked past my campsite at Weather Station, stuff to the effect of, “There's that girl who is hiking by herself!” I do not take offense to this, but I do find it funny that some people think this is the craziest thing in the world. It's not that I don't understand what they might be nervous about, but some people truly do not understand why a female would even want to do something like this on her own. Many women enjoy the outdoors, and if a friend or significant other isn't available or doesn't share the same interest, the choice must be made to either go solo or not go at all, which might mean missing out on a lot of things. This idea goes both ways, of course.

South Manitou Island Visitor Center

A couple in their early 50's approached me and asked if I was a park ranger. They had seen me on the ferry alone and were trying to figure out why I would be traveling by myself. Being a ranger on duty was their best theory. Another woman who had been kayaking with her husband asked me if I was here alone because she had seen me with a huge backpack, walking by myself. I explained that, yes, I was here alone on my first solo trip. I further explained that I am married and usually go backpacking with my husband, but we do things on our own from time to time. She looked surprised, but also kind of interested and asked, “But, how do you keep him from, you know,...freaking out?”

At 2:00 pm I joined the small crowd waiting to begin the lighthouse tour. The ranger-guided tour reveals the history of the lighthouse, with details of its architecture and a trip up its spiral iron staircase. There are 117 steps, with platforms at various levels where the light keeper could look out windows to view the lake. At the very top, we were allowed outside onto the circular deck, despite the fact that the wind must have been blowing at around 1000 miles per hour. Everyone had to remove their hats and sunglasses if they did not want them blown right off. The view was outstanding, but I managed to grab only a few photos since it was difficult to maneuver my camera while holding on to my hat and sunglasses, while also hugging the exterior wall of the tower so as not to be flung over the iron railing by the wind. The day before (Saturday, July 16), the annual Chicago to Mackinac sailboat race had started, and by this time sailboats had reached Manitou Passage and could be seen passing through from the excellent vantage point of the observation deck.

I should have thought a bit more about the strength of that wind when I made the decision to not take my motion sickness medicine prior to boarding the ferry at 4pm. I remembered the calm ride a few days earlier and believed I would be fine. Just before we left the dock, the captain informed everyone that we would be heading into some fairly heavy seas, making for a pretty rough trip back to the mainland. At about the ½ way point, we would be able to turn so that the wind would be at our back, but until then, things were going to be exciting. This was not good news. I thought about the research paper I wrote a few year ago about the history of Great Lakes shipwrecks and what makes these lakes so dangerous. They are so massive that they create their own weather system, which, at the moment, was not ideal for sailing. I immediately took two motion sickness pills, but knew that I might be in trouble, since it takes about ½ hour for the medicine to take effect. I was going to have to get through this voyage on an steadfast, iron-fisted refusal to get sick.

Boarding the ferry for the trip back to the mainland

As soon as the trip got underway, the show began. The small passenger ferry rocked back and forth and over swells, its bow climbing up waves, then crashing back down. I left my seat on the lower deck every once in a while to stumble around and distract myself when the nausea kicked in. Access to the open deck at the front of the ferry was allowed at first, and people cheered and screamed in fun while getting drenched by waves breaking over the sides. Gradually, some of the children's screams of fun escalated to screams of fright as the situation became less amusing, and the crew eventually made everyone return to their seats and closed off the deck. The ferry came very close to quite a few of the sailboats involved in the race, and as relieved as I was that this trip back to the mainland would be short, I was even more thankful that I was not on one of those boats. Later that night, the weather over the lake intensified to a severe thunderstorm, and two sailors from Michigan were killed when their sailboat capsized near South Fox Island to the north. Although conditions on Lake Michigan can turn dangerous quickly, theirs were the first accident-related deaths in the Chicago to Mackinac race's history. People come from all over the United States, and even other countries, to compete in this annual race, an event which started back in 1898.

Once safely back on land, I hopped on the first shuttle to the Manitou Transit parking lot to retrieve my car. I was on the road and heading home in no time, with a 5 ½ – hour drive to think over the last few days. I felt very lucky to have experienced such an awesome trip; the weather was gorgeous, the scenery was spectacular, and I finally have a solo backpacking trip under my belt. I would gladly do the whole thing again sometime without hesitation. A few weeks after returning from South Manitou Island, I was contacted by someone at the Sleeping Bear Dunes Visitor's Bureau, who informed me that Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore had been nominated for Good Morning America's “Most Beautiful Place in America” contest. Viewers could cast their votes once the show narrowed all of the entries down to the top 10 contenders. Our little lakeshore made it into the top 10, and GMA aired a really nice spot featuring the area, their anchors clearly impressed and surprised by the little-known national lakeshore. Word spread quickly about the top 10 standing, and Michiganders showed their support, casting votes furiously. Amazingly, Sleeping Bear Dunes won, beating out places like Sedona, AZ; Aspen, CO; and Cape Cod, MA. There was some skepticism expressed in the print and online media about this; however, having just come from spending a perfect weekend on a quiet island within this beautiful lakeshore, I believe it is well-deserved.

South Manitou Island | Day 2

2011-08-19T18:08:00.000-07:00

(Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore)

Popple to Weather Station - via the beach

Dune view on the island's west side, heading south

Despite the tent's somewhat cramped quarters, I slept pretty well overnight. I had wanted to get an early start, but did not feel motivated to get up. My sleeping bag was comfortable, and I dozed on and off, enjoying the silence. Eventually the thought of a cup of coffee prodded me out of the tent and over to the tree where my food was hanging. Besides a spoon/fork combo utensil, the only dish I had brought was my aluminum mug. I had been using a Guyot squishy bowl and cup set, but found that they were retaining food smells during my last trip. After enduring days of a lingering garlic smell that permeated the food bag and tainted whatever I ate, I decided that I could get by with one metal cup. I ate oatmeal from it before preparing a hot cup of Starbucks Via, which helped unstick the oatmeal dregs from the cup in addition to waking me up.

I left my campsite at Popple around 9:45 am and headed back to the lakeshore to begin my day's hike along the beach. Following the water's edge along South Manitou Island's west side, it is a seven mile walk to Weather Station Campground at the south end of the island. Hiking alone might sound lonely to some, but this is what I was here for. I had a whole day to walk a seven mile stretch of nearly deserted Lake Michigan beach. The weather was perfect; an occasional wispy cloud decorated the blue sky, and the constant wind blowing from the lake kept the relentless sun from feeling overwhelmingly hot. I could spend as much time as I wanted taking in the views without having to be concerned with another person's agenda or level of interest. I had gotten away from everything, and my time was purely my own.

Awesome and all to myself

I followed the curve of the island's northwest corner and was amazed at the beautiful stretch of lakeshore in front of me. I would think the same thought over and over during my hike that day: 'this is perfect.' I could not have imagined a more perfect way to spend a day, let alone my first solo backpacking experience. In Jim DuFresne's excellent hiker's guide, Backpacking in Michigan, he describes this stretch of shore as follows: “At one point the perched dunes rise 425 feet from Lake Michigan. These spectacular dunes make up the entire west shore of South Manitou. Only Sleeping Bear Bluffs across the Manitou Passage on the mainland are higher and more dramatic. Those perched dunes, however, are crawling with tourists most of the summer. Out here, you're by yourself, in what feels like the edge of the world. Or at least the edge of Michigan.” His sentiments are 100% accurate.

I must have stopped every 20 feet to take a photo. The colors alone were fascinating; the different shades of the blue/green water, the khaki sand, the green dune grass, the blue sky – although I have a lot of experience with the beauty of the Great Lakes, it never fails to amaze me. The feeling was slightly otherworldly, like I was visiting some dramatic and remote planet on Star Trek. Great dunes rose hundreds of feet above me on my left, an endless expanse of blue water stretched away on my right, and the shoreline ahead and behind me was made up of angles where these features met, curving in and out for miles. I could not believe that no one else was here. It is amazing what a little walking can reveal to someone who is willing to get off the beaten path.

Heading south

The hiking itself was easy, starting out with solid terrain where the sand was damp and hard-packed near the water's edge. This changed after a little while and became a bit hard on the feet, with the beach alternating between dry sand and loose rock (or sometimes a combination of both). Although these conditions can be cumbersome to walk through, the terrain was flat, with no elevation gain or loss. With so much constant, direct sun, I was sure to apply plenty of sunblock. Mosquitoes were not an issue, and the wind coming off the lake was strong enough that the biting flies that are sometimes annoying along the lakeshore were not able to linger long enough to be a problem. Zebra mussel shells were unfortunately common along the beach, and occasional huge mounds of them were shocking evidence of the prevalence of this invasive species. Occasionally, one would somehow make its way into the ankle of my boot, slicing through wool hiking socks and skin as I walked. Invasive jerks.

I watched a freighter far out on the lake disappear behind the southwest corner of the island. As I approached this corner, the beach became rockier and a bit more rugged-looking. The dunes of the mainland several miles away became visible in the distance, and those towering on my immediate left became much greener with vegetation. Dune grass blanketed the sandy slopes, and trees clung at various angles above me. Somehow, this corner of this island was even more beautiful than everything I had seen before it. Boulders littered the turquoise shallows, and the steep green slopes gave me the impression of being somewhere far more exotic than the American Midwest. Enhancing this feeling, the remains of a shipwreck jutted out of the water approximately 100 yards offshore.

The view after rounding the southwest corner of the island

According to Manitou Islands Archives, over 130 ships have been lost in Manitou Passage since the mid-1800s. The Francisco Morazan is a fairly recent shipwreck; it ran aground during a snowstorm in November, 1960. All aboard were rescued, but the ship was not so lucky. It was at the beach directly across from this shipwreck that I finally began to see other people – five miles from the start of my hike.

Francisco Morazan shipwreck

Since rounding the southwest corner of the island, I had lost the westerly wind, and it was much hotter without its constant cooling influence. The water near shore was fairly rough, but beachgoers were swimming as well as lying on the sand and soaking in the intense sun. I spoke with a couple of guys on the beach who had swum out close to the shipwreck. They reported that it smelled terrible near the ship's remains, and the cormorants guarding it tried to chase them off, so they returned to shore before actually reaching it.

Once I rounded another bend and was out of view of the shipwreck, I took a break and ate a snack of wasa crackers and babybel cheese. Just under two miles ahead, a series of five paths lead up the bluff to Weather Station campground. As I climbed up one of these short paths to reach the main trail through the campground, I was shocked at the change in temperature. Halfway up the bluff and into the woods, the temperature rose drastically and suddenly, as if I had passed through an invisible barrier. Luckily, I managed to find a campsite near the edge of the bluff overlooking the lake instead of ending up further back in the woods. Once again, a steady breeze kept my campsite comfortable and bug-free. There was, however, poison ivy everywhere. The perimeter of my site was safe, but poison ivy lined many of the paths, almost as if it had deliberately been used in landscaping. I cringed every time I saw someone walking a path barefoot, either going to or returning from the beach. Many of the people I spoke with admitted they didn't know what poison ivy looked like.

My campsite at Weather Station.

My proximity to the beach ensured I met several people, and I enjoyed sharing stories with a few interesting characters I met as they wandered the path near my campsite. I learned from nearly everyone I spoke with that the full moon I had missed the night before had been spectacular. Weather Station is more of a social campground than I would normally stay in; however, almost everyone was either at the beach or day hiking, so there wasn't much activity or noise, and I spent the whole relaxing afternoon reading.

Sunset on the beach east of Weather Station

I saved the good stuff for tonight's dinner: Mary Jane's Farm ChiliMac and a mini bottle of merlot. Around sunset, I walked east along the beach to South Manitou Lighthouse, approximately 1.5 miles away. It was the perfect time to observe the lighthouse; the waning light cast a soft purple glow on everything, and not a single person was there, which surprised me. I think everyone was exhausted from climbing dunes and being in the sun all day. The seagulls around the lighthouse were not happy with my presence and made their feelings known, flying around above me and screeching loudly. Once the sun went down completely I began to walk back, hoping I would be able to return by the light of the moon.

South Manitou Lighthouse comes into view

After a few minutes the moon began to rise from the lake, huge and glowing red, and I got my camera ready. Just as it emerged fully from the horizon, it slipped behind a cloud and that was that. I walked back in the dark, against the wind, with my headlamp on and thousands of gnats pelting me in the face. I have a belief that the good things encountered while hiking always have a price – a scenic overlook requires a steep climb, a waterfall in the woods means being eaten alive by mosquitoes, a nice downhill stretch of trail means an uphill trudge is sure to follow, etc. I think this was my belated price for having such a great day. All in all not a bad deal, although my face felt like a bettered windshield by the time I returned to the path leading up to my campsite.

I saw a couple of toads on my nighttime walk and a few garter snakes throughout the day, but this was the extent of the day's wildlife sightings. It is a testament to the good time everyone must have had on this perfect summer day that no one bothered to use the community fire ring located near my campsite. I was sure that at least a few people would gather around to toast marshmallows and talk about their day's adventures, but it seemed everyone had gone to bed early. The campsite was totally silent, and I laid in the tent reading for quite a while before falling asleep. I awoke during the night and the brightness outside indicated the moon must have found its way out of the clouds and was undoubtedly reflecting brightly over the lake, but I could not drag myself out of my sleeping bag to look. Another opportunity ignored in favor of sleep.

To be continued in Day 3: Weather Station to Boathouse

South Manitou Island | Day 1

2011-08-05T19:58:00.000-07:00

(Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore)

Boathouse to Popple

I boarded the small passenger ferry, Mishe-Mokwa, just before 10 a.m. and took a seat on the lower deck in the 2nd row. The seven mile trip to South Manitou Island would take an hour and a half, and the water was calm. I hate to admit it, but I am prone to sea-sickness, so the calm lake was a welcome sight. Last night while I was walking around the Leland Yacht Harbor and imagining what it would be like to be a 'Summer Boat Person', I had conveniently forgotten about this slight problem. Now, sitting in my seat on the boat (which was still docked and tied on) and already feeling dizzy despite not having moved one inch from land, I realized that type of life would never be for me. Luckily I had come prepared with some non-drowsy motion sickness medication.

The trip across Manitou Passage was slow and relaxing (unlike the trip back would be a few days later), and I spent most of the time reading the book I had chosen to bring along, AWOL on the Appalachian Trail. The seat ahead of me was occupied by a young park ranger, who was reading a hard cover copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. A covert glance over his shoulder revealed that he was near the end, somewhere in the nail-biting chapter The Cave. I successfully beat down the desire to strike up dorky conversation about the story and reveal the type of high-functioning nerd that was about to spend 3 days hiking alone on the island. I'm sure his job is difficult enough; there was no need to make him uneasy before I even got there. Instead, I enjoyed the views of Pyramid Point and North Manitou Shoal Light, and occupied myself with my own book, which told the story of a hiker named David Miller, who through-hiked the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine during a 5-month period back in 2003.

North Manitou Shoal Light

We arrived at South Manitou Island at 11:30 a.m., and those who were staying for more than the afternoon gathered for orientation at the nearby boathouse. After about 20 minutes of information and Q&A from the two national park rangers stationed on the island, our permits were officially registered and information was recorded pertaining to each hiker's destination. There are three official campgrounds on the island, and random camping is not allowed. Two of the three are located within 1 ½ miles from the boathouse and ranger station, and the majority of island visitors were heading toward one of them with the intention of staying put. My plans were different; I planned to hike to Popple campground, which was a short 3.7 miles away, but located on the island's seldom-visited north side. The following day I would follow the beach along the entire west side of the island, ending up at the south end for night #2. Only myself and a father/son pair were heading north, and the young ranger from the ferry gave me the impression that no one ever goes there. He asked me a few questions to make sure that I knew what I was doing before handing my permit back to me. It was less than four miles away, but you would have thought I was heading into the depths of the Grand Canyon to hunt for Voldemort's horcruxes–Oh...Sorry.

A stretch of beach near Popple campground

I began hiking at noon. There are two options for those heading north to Popple – either follow the beach along Crescent Bay for about a mile before cutting inland and heading north on an old farm road, or head inland immediately to hike past an old restored school house and a spur to Florence Lake. I took the inland route and enjoyed mostly flat and easy hiking, but it wasn't long before mosquitoes became irritating and I had to stop to apply insect repellant. After the schoolhouse, this path passes an interpretive sign and cluster of old farm equipment, and a side trail leads to the remains of the island's farms, which date back to the mid 1800s. Descendents of the island's early homesteaders are buried in the cemetery just north on the path, and a little further on, the trail swings past an old barn and a restored farmhouse before beginning to climb the low sandy bluffs that separate the interior of the island from the shore.

Hutzler Farmhouse

I arrived at Popple campground at 1:45 and was a bit uneasy at first. There are seven sites and all are located away from the beach, behind a sand dune and in the woods. As I walked the path through the campground, mosquitoes whined all around me, waiting to attack the minute I slowed down. The last mile of my hike had been extremely hot, and I was sweaty and uncomfortable as it was without the added irritation of biting insects. I worried that I was about to spend the next several hours holed up in my tent taking refuge from the nature I had planned to enjoy. Luckily, I was the only one there and had my pick of the sites. Five of the seven sites were at the base of the dune, but two were higher, located at the top of sandy bluffs. Although there was no view of the beach, the higher elevation allowed the steady breeze coming from the lake to provide a cooling effect and keep the bugs at bay.

Campsite #7 - food hung for chipmunk-proofing

I attached my permit to the post at site #7, leaned my pack against a fallen log, and began looking for a good spot for the single person tent I would be trying out. The Kelty Crestone 1 was a birthday gift for Craig, but I would be the first of us to sleep in it. After my initial worry about this location, I became aware of the absolute solitude of my surroundings. The seven sites were situated allowing a lot of privacy; from my spot at the top of the low bluff, I could not tell where any of the other sites were located, and I never saw nor heard the father/son hikers arrive. In the morning I would see their permit posted at the other blufftop site, but would never have known they were there had it not been for that. Although I had read and heard from others that this area is supposed to be crawling with poison ivy, I did not encounter much near my campsite, so the majority of plants must have been located elsewhere in the campground. Before and after prime bug season, this part of the island would be an ideal place to get away and experience quiet, relaxing camping with a secluded beach a few steps away. I ended up very happy with my choice of destination.

Once I had set up camp and visited the outhouse, I followed the short path to the beach to check out my little section of Lake Michigan. Backpacking to remote spots along the Great Lakes often results in having a stretch of sandy beach to oneself. Using my foldable bucket, I collected water for filtering back at the campsite. The water was absolutely clear, and I waded in to cool off, looking out to North Manitou Island approximately 4 ½ miles away. On the beach, the constant cool breeze tempered the sun's rays, and I ended up changing into long sleeves despite how hot I had been a short time earlier. I laid in the sand with my head on my nearly empty backpack and read for an hour or two. I had forgotten to bring a watch and had no idea how much time had passed since arriving at Popple. (I turned my cell phone on earlier to check the time, but immediately turned it off again once it started searching for service.) Even when on vacation with no real obligation to be anywhere by a certain time, I find that I have difficulty letting go of the need to keep track of time. Alone on a beautiful beach, with nothing to worry about except filtering water to drink and cook with later, there was no need to concern myself with the hour.

Crystal clear water at the beach at Popple campground

Once I began to get restless, I returned to my campsite to cook dinner. There are no bears on South Manitou Island, but food should be properly hung due to hardcore chipmunks who will investigate and chew anything that smells interesting. I dug the Jetboil out of my pack, retrieved my food bag from its spot in midair, and prepared the evening's dehydrated special: Mountain House spaghetti. It appeared that I still had a good amount of daylight left (as far as I could tell without a watch), so I decided to hang out in the tent and read for a while.

The path from Popple leading to the beach. North Manitou Island is directly ahead.

Single person tents are not meant to be places to spend time in; they are strictly shelters for sleeping and/or avoiding the elements. The Crestone 1 has a vestibule just big enough to fit a pack underneath and a decent amount of space just above the head area to stow a few items one might want inside overnight. Once I got comfortable and had been reading for a while, I found that I had trouble staying awake. I had planned to return to the beach at sunset and hopefully see the moon rise, which was supposed to be full on this night. I decided to just embrace my vacation and do what felt right at the moment – sleep. I left the tent for a final trip to the outhouse, then returned to read for a little while longer. I eventually drifted off some time before dark and never once worried about being in the woods alone.

To be continued in Day 2: Popple to Weather Station - Beach Hike

South Manitou Island Backpacking Trip (Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore)

2011-07-18T20:02:00.000-07:00

Prologue: Trip Plans and Fishtown

My first solo backpacking trip was hastily planned and threatened by a forbidding, thunderstormy forecast. Despite this, it was a huge success. My destination was South Manitou Island, one of two islands within Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

Chippewa legend says that long ago, a great fire broke out in the land that is now Wisconsin. Animals fled the forest, and a mother bear and her two cubs sought refuge in Lake Michigan. They swam for days to reach the opposite shore, but the two cubs became weak and fell behind. When mother bear reached the Michigan shore, she climbed to the top of a tall bluff to watch for her cubs. Sadly, they did not make it, and in remembrance, a great spirit created North and South Manitou Islands in the place where they were last seen. Sleeping Bear – a tree-covered hump at the top of the most picturesque of the mainland lakeshore's sand dunes – is said to be the mother bear, still watching and waiting for her cubs to this day.

The Manitou Islands are reached via passenger ferry from Leland, a small resort town just north of the national lakeshore. The 7-mile, 90-minute voyage departs from Leland's historic Fishtown, the center of a former commercial fishing village. Currently owned by the Fishtown Preservation Society, Fishtown is a cluster of old but maintained fishing shanties, which line the banks of the Leland river near its mouth. These days, fishing tugs still operate here and fish can be purchased, but most of the shanties have been converted to shops selling artwork, jewelry, and other gifts, much of which is locally-made. There is also a candy store, a cheese and sandwich shop, and a small motel located right on the water. Directly north of the Fishtown district, Leland Yacht Harbor hosts a variety of boats for those spending their summer vacations on the lake.

Fishtown, looking upriver

The ferry was scheduled to leave at 10 am Saturday, so I made arrangements to spend the night in Fishtown. Despite its summer touristy-ness, Fishtown was a fun place to spend the afternoon and evening. I visited all of the shops, enjoyed a sandwich and Bell's Two-Hearted Ale at Village Cheese Shanty, and watched otters playing in the water just upstream from the river mouth. The docks lining both banks of the river act like a boardwalk, and people dropped lines in the water and caught fish right from the docks. I ventured out of Fishtown and along M-22 to check out various shops in Leland, then returned for a couple of glasses of local Pinot Grigio at The Cove, a restaurant directly across the river from Falling Waters Lodge.

Fishtown

The weather forecast had improved over the week, and I was looking forward to reaching the island the following day and hiking for the first time since September. I was slightly nervous and my pack was ridiculously heavy for such a short trip. Having only three days, South Manitou Island is an ideal destination. Instead of exploring the island's interior trails from a base camp, my plan was to hike the perimeter of the island via the beach. At 12 miles, this could be accomplished in one day, but I intended this trip to be part solo adventure / part summer beach vacation, so I planned to use all three days and to enjoy the short vacation as much as possible.

Fishtown, viewed from Falling Waters Lodge

To be continued in Day One: Boathouse to Popple

Porcupine Mountains | Day Six

2011-01-09T14:46:00.000-08:00

Lake Superior Trail:  
Lake Superior Cabin to Presque Isle River

  “Mud hole? Slimy? My home this is!” - Yoda  

Presque Isle River gorge

It had rained all night. I woke up around 6 am, burrowed further into my sleeping bag, listened to the rain which continued to fall, and cursed the fact that I had to go to the bathroom. I ignored this problem for as long as I could, and when it stopped raining at 7:00, I climbed down from the top bunk, got dressed, and went in search of a Sherpa to assist in the ascent of the hill to the outhouse (see day 1 at Big Carp 4-bunk cabin).  

Lake Superior Trail

We left Lake Superior Cabin at 9 am wearing our rain gear. Although it had stopped raining, all of the vegetation was wet and the sky was still overcast, so we decided to play it safe. The first mile and a half was a repeat of our hike the morning of our second day, so again we passed a series of outstanding tent sites on the lake as we headed in the direction of Little Carp River. Instead of turning left here like we did earlier in the trip, we crossed the river in order to continue following Lake Superior Trail to its end at Presque Isle River. The stretch of LST west of Little Carp River merges with the North Country Trail, a 4600-mile multi-state trail that travels through the Porcupine Mountains on its way through Michigan's Upper Peninsula.   

Footbridge on Lake Superior Trail

The trail conditions were extremely muddy and slippery, and we were in for a rough day of hiking. This final stretch of LST features a lot of descending and climbing due to the many stream valleys and ravines along the way. The slippery conditions made some of these areas treacherous, and I took each step with extreme caution as I did not want to risk falling and getting injured. In a few spots, my boots could not grip the unstable, muddy ground, and I had to give up on my trek poles and pull myself up the steep slopes by grabbing onto exposed tree roots. On his way down into one of these steep stream valleys, Craig slipped in the mud and fell, sliding down several feet before the ground leveled out. Luckily he was not hurt, but he was covered in mud on one side from shoulder to foot, another reason rain gear was a good idea. I had fallen a couple of days before, not due to mud, but when I lost my balance climbing down a ravine. I over-corrected, and the weight of my backpack pulled me backwards, causing me to roll around like an upside-down turtle.   

Having to be so careful made for slow progress. Despite our lack of speed, we both became tired quickly from the frequent ups and downs. It eventually warmed up enough that we took our rain jackets off, but continued to wear rain pants because our boots were constantly stepping in puddles, getting sucked into deep mud, and sloshing it up onto our pant legs. Naturally, it began raining again shortly after we removed our jackets, and a light rain continued for the last 2-3 miles of the trail. I thought of Yoda on his home planet and was determined not to whine like Luke Skywalker (Craig wasn’t so successful).  

Presque Isle River, just upstream from the peninsula

Just before the end of Lake Superior Trail, the path emerges from the trees and into the Presque Isle River gorge. The trail actually crosses a peninsula that divides the mouth of the river ("Presque Isle" means almost an island). For someone interested in geology, the exposed layers of shale found here make this an ideal spot for a long break. This was one of the places I was most looking forward to on this trip, but unfortunately for this rock nerd, the threat of more rain and the irritability of my tired hiking partner prevented any long-term exploration of the area. After lingering for a few minutes, we moved on, walking across the layered rock on our way to the main crossing of the Presque Isle River, just upstream from its mouth.  

Presque Isle River - crossing the peninsula

The Presque Isle is considered a formidable whitewater river whose rapids are an attraction for canoeists and kayakers. A suspension bridge provides a way to cross the river safely. From overhead, one can watch the fast water rushing over the layered, eroded rock and swirling in circular pools that have been carved by the water’s destructive force over many millennia. I remembered standing in this same spot six years ago. The water level had been a bit lower during that visit, exposing more of the rock’s interesting eroded patterns. Short trails along the river allow park visitors to see a series of three interesting waterfalls a bit further upstream (Manabezho, Manido, and Nawadaha Falls). Just downstream, the Presque Isle flows into Lake Superior. 

Presque Isle River viewed from the bridge

After crossing the bridge, we found ourselves back in civilization, with people heading toward the riverside trails from the parking lot where we had left our car six days before. Three deer were hanging out near our parking spot; this was the most exciting wildlife we had encountered all week despite the high concentration of black bears in the park. It was 2:00 when we limped across the concrete to our vehicle, peeled off our muddy layers and went in search of the biggest cheeseburgers we could find. We ended up at Ma's Place Cafe, a small restaurant on US 2 in Wakefield that probably sees its fair share of grimy hikers. I enjoyed the rarest, juiciest, most amazing burger I had eaten in a long time before we began the long drive home.

Miles: 7.5

Videos: Presque Isle River

Porcupine Mountains | Day Five

2011-01-01T20:00:00.000-08:00

Lake Superior Trail:
Buckshot Cabin to Lake Superior Cabin

Lake Superior Cabin seen from the thimbleberries

Although we did not want to, we left Buckshot Cabin just after 10 am to continue on Lake Superior Trail. Most of this day's hike was fairly boring, as the trail did not provide much in the way of scenery. This trail's name is deceptive; with few exceptions, it stays far enough inland that we could not see Lake Superior. Approximately four miles from Buckshot, the trail finally breaks out onto the shoreline, and we enjoyed walking along the rocks and drift logs. This is what I had imagined most of the trail would be like and was a bit disappointed to discover differently. After following the shore for a while, the trail swings inland and climbs a ridge that runs parallel to the lake. The forest drops off on either side of the path, which follows along the ridge's narrow top. We finally managed to see an animal when we inadvertently spooked a doe out of hiding behind a group of trees. Aside from a mouse, a couple of frogs, and a few chipmunks, we had seen no wildlife yet.

Lake Superior Trail along a rare lakeshore stretch

Eventually we found ourselves on top of a bluff over the mouth of the Big Carp River. We descended and crossed the footbridge that spans the narrow river just before it flows into Lake Superior. At this point, we found ourselves exactly where we were the first night of the trip. To our left was the short path to Big Carp 4-bunk cabin (where we stayed the first night), but our destination was Lake Superior Cabin a little further ahead and near the lakeshore.

Lake Superior Cabin

Arriving at the cabin at 1:30 pm, we dropped our packs inside and walked back to the river. Despite our close proximity to rivers and lakes over the last five days, I got into the water here at the river mouth for the very first time on this trip. The water was freezing but it was worth the few minutes of torture. I upset a merganser who must have had a nest nearby. It did not let me out of its sight and quacked at me until I took the hint and got out of its territory.

Lake Superior: A freshwater sea

The day had turned out to be gorgeous – sunny, with a blue sky and temperatures in the mid-60s. We made ramen for lunch, and I spent some time on the beach while Craig took a nap. Lake Superior Cabin is located in a very pleasant spot. A short trail through thick thimbleberry plants leads to the shore, but this late in the season all of the berries had been eaten by bears, birds, and other hikers. Since we arrived so early in the day, we spent a lot of time just sitting on the bench in front of the cabin, relaxing and enjoying the view.

A relaxing cup of coffee outside Lake Superior Cabin

A hiker nearly scared us to death when he suddenly came around the corner of the cabin. He must have wandered off the main trail, which is closer to the lake. He was carrying a couple of containers and explained that he was looking for water. Considering that we were on the shore of Lake Superior, arguably the coldest, clearest source of fresh water in North America, this was a bit absurd. I didn't realize the oddness of this right away and tried to be helpful, explaining that there was good access to the lake just about anywhere. He seemed a little bewildered and headed toward the river. Craig was convinced he was crazy, but I suggested that maybe he didn't want to get his feet wet in the lake and was hoping to have easier access at the river. I was trying to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, but that reasoning sounded weak even to my own ears. (I went for a short walk later and discovered that he was camping with his wife in a great site that was practically on the lake. Why he didn't collect water 10 feet from his tent remains a mystery.)

About 15 minutes later, he surprised us again when he came from the opposite direction, again not on the path, and walked directly toward our fire ring. We just sat and watched him as he contemplated the logs we had stacked up. Instead of walking around them, through the wide open space he had just recently been through, he stepped directly onto a stray log, which immediately started to roll. He flailed around for a few seconds, but caught himself before he could fall. At this point we assumed he was either over-exhausted or just plain nuts. I had a feeling we were going to see a lot more of him throughout the day, but luckily I was wrong.

We haven't hiked anywhere in quite a while where campfires are allowed, so we built a fire and planned to sit outside and enjoy the good weather and excellent view for as long as we could keep the fire going. Since the following day was going to be our last, we decided to indulge in our food. A few hours after our ramen lunch, Craig made beef stew and I cut up the remainder of the summer sausage in preparation for grilling over the fire. We experienced a slight culinary mishap when we were almost finished eating our beef stew and Craig discovered that he had not removed the desiccant packet from the dehydrated ingredients before cooking. We found the grainy contents of the packet had mostly settled as sludge at the bottom of the pot. Since it was natural clay and not silica, we assumed we were not too poisoned and would live to hike another day.

Packit Gourmet's Tuscan Beef Stew served over polenta

Lake Superior Cabin is another place where I could easily spend several days. This trail is a lot less scenic (until the end) than others in the park, so if a hiker wants to use the cabins instead of a tent, I recommend planning to stay at well-located cabins like Buckshot, Big Carp 6, or Lake Superior for more than one night when taking this route. Despite the lack of scenery while hiking, these locations are well worth the effort it takes to reach them, and hikers will get more out of the trip by spending some extra time in these spots if schedules permit. Unless the goal is simply to pound out the miles, that is.

Sunset on Lake Superior

Product review side note: I am extremely impressed with the Ex Officio Dryflite shirt that I had purchased right before the trip. I had been wearing it for four days at this point, and it did not smell like a dead animal (I cannot say the same for the REI Sahara shirt I wore the first day). I rarely wear long sleeves because I get too warm, but this shirt is very breathable and it stopped me from getting bitten by mosquitoes earlier in the day when they came out of hiding to take advantage of the nice weather. I wore it the following day as well, and could have gotten away with packing only that shirt for the whole trip since the weather was mostly on the cool side.

Miles: 7
Wildlife: 1 deer, 1 merganser, 1 bat

To be continued in Day 6: Lake Superior Cabin to Presque Isle River Mouth

Porcupine Mountains | Day Four

2010-12-29T13:00:00.000-08:00

North Mirror Lake Trail, Lake Superior Trail
(Mirror Lake to Buckshot Cabin)

Sunrise and fog on Mirror Lake

I reluctantly left my warm sleeping bag at 7 am on the fourth day to make coffee and put on a few layers of warm clothing. It felt like temperatures had dropped into the low 40s during the night, and we were in for a cold start to the day. The wind had stopped, so I followed the path to the lake hoping I would be able to take a decent reflective photograph. Mirror Lake was almost completely hidden in fog, but with the sun rising above it, the effect was just as amazing. I lingered at the water's edge for a few minutes, then returned to the cabin to eat a quick oatmeal breakfast, pack up, and get ready for the day's hike.

I overheat easily while hiking, even in winter, so I usually wear the lightest clothing possible. When we left the cabin at 9 am, however, it was so cold that I wore a fleece pullover over a long-sleeved hiking shirt for the first hour. North Mirror Lake trail follows the northwest edge of the lake, and we passed two other cabins situated off the trail. A few people were up early, enjoying cups of coffee and the beautiful view of Mirror Lake, which was finally beginning to emerge from the fog just as we were leaving. We crossed a stream that feeds into the lake before the trail veers north, heading toward Lake of the Clouds.

Mirror Lake's reflection reveals itself just as we leave

The trail descends steeply along the edge of an amazingly green and very scenic stream valley. I had developed some pain in my left knee, so this long descent was as torturous as it was beautiful. The steepest stretch of this segment descends about 500 feet in ½ mile, and in a particularly interesting spot, the trail becomes a gnarled network of tree roots that tangles its way down the valley.

North Mirror Lake Trail

We stopped partway down to look back the way we had come. Like something out of a Tolkien novel, the trees looked like they might start creeping in on us using their tentacle-like roots. We were very glad to be traveling north on this trail instead of climbing it in the opposite direction.

Lake of the Clouds

At 11:45 am, we arrived at Lake of the Clouds and the end of Mirror Lake Trail. Before reaching the scenic overlook, the trail crosses a stream via a long footbridge, then climbs steeply through a series of switchbacks. The clouds hung low in the overcast sky, which gave credibility to the lake's name. We took advantage of this highly visited spot by emptying our garbage, using the nice bathroom, and taking a long lunch break at a picnic table. We decided to live a little and mixed gatorade powder into our water and made a few quick dehydrated meals instead of peanut butter & jelly. At 12:45, we left Lake of the Clouds and walked east on M-107 for a mile until we found Lake Superior Trail.

The three miles from the trailhead to Buckshot cabin include a lot of steep terrain, much of it a fairly sharp descent. The trail itself consists mostly of loose, jagged hunks of shale, which makes for a somewhat slow progress. Only a few times did the trail break out of the trees to provide views of Lake Superior. For the most part, the big lake was just beyond view. A sign marks the spur to Buckshot Cabin and warns hikers to stay away from the structure unless they are staying there, as paying guests make their reservations well in advance in order to enjoy the quite, private setting.

We arrived at the cabin just before 3 pm and found about 15 college-aged kids in front of it, their pack contents spilled out everywhere, a fire burning in the ring, and even more kids in bathing suits coming up the short path from the beach. We asked them if they had stayed the night before and were getting ready to leave, and were informed that, no, they had not used the cabin and they planned to hang out for the afternoon.

We want to be cool to anyone we meet on the trail, but this was very bad etiquette. Hikers do not invade others' campsites, and this was no different. The situation was extremely awkward. We unlocked the cabin, and Craig let them know that we preferred they didn't stay long. After about 15 minutes, the cabin crashers packed up and left, apologizing on their way out (past the previously ignored sign telling them to keep away from the cabin).

The interior of Buckshot Cabin

Bad start aside, Buckshot Cabin was the best location of the whole trip. In fact, someone had written “Best Place Ever” on the cover of the cabin logbook. Windows along one side look out onto the lake, and the cabin is open and spacious inside. Since it is located at the edge of the forest and close to the lake, the windows let in plenty of sunlight, delaying the need for headlamps and candles. A short path leads to the rocky shore, where large slabs of rock provide excellent spots to lay in the sun. We soaked our sore feet in the freezing cold water, and Craig was actually brave enough to go for a very quick swim.

The lakeshore in front of Buckshot Cabin

Buckshot Cabin would be the perfect spot to spend a whole week, and I knew that I was going to be very sad to leave the following day. If we could do the trip over again, we would plan to stay here for more than one night. The woodpile in the corner to the left of the door was a mess, so Craig spent some time cleaning it up and re-stocking it while I started a fire in the wood burning stove. After dark, we walked to the lakeshore to lay on the smooth rock under a black sky filled with an unfathomable number of stars.

Miles: 7.5 (approx)
To be continued in: Day 5 - Buckshot Cabin to Lake Superior Cabin

The video below is of Lake Superior just after sunset.

Porcupine Mountains | Day Three

2010-11-27T14:44:00.000-08:00

Little Carp River Trail: Greenstone Falls to Mirror Lake

It had stopped raining the night before, and it was in the low 60's as we left the Greenstone Falls area at 9:45 on our third morning. We continued to follow Little Carp River Trail as it swung northeast toward Mirror Lake.

Yesterday's rain had made trail conditions muddy and a little slippery, but the terrain of this segment of LCRT was mostly easy, with a steady ascent at the beginning and a few minor ups and downs throughout. Once again, we passed more spectacular backcountry camp sites. The most impressive were two adjacent sites located at a spot where the trail crosses a shallow section of Little Carp River as it trickles over a wash of rocks. We stopped for a break and thought about how nice it would be to end the day there, pitch a tent, cook over a fire, and fall asleep listening to the river running quietly alongside us.

Backcountry campsite on Little Carp River

Little Carp River Trail ends at Mirror Lake. We arrived at 1:45 and found the small 2-bunk cabin at the end of a short spur west of the lake. Perfect for two people with the desire to spend time in seclusion, Mirror Lake's tiny 2-bunk cabin sits right in the center of the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness. While exploring our surroundings, we were struck with the awesome feeling of being alone in a huge forest. Thick with enormous pines, the low mountains stretched for miles behind the cabin, and the complete silence impressed upon us the enormity of our satisfying loneliness. Only when a dog barked in the distance did we remember that there were two other cabins near the lake, and other hikers were doubtlessly out there among the trees, discovering that same feeling of solitude.

Mirror Lake 2-bunk Cabin

After removing our packs and changing into warmer clothing, we left the cabin to explore the lake. Mirror Lake earns its name from the perfect reflection it gives on a calm day of the forest surrounding it and the sky above. Unfortunately, the wind had picked up throughout the day, rippling the lake's surface and eliminating our chance of observing the water's mirror-like quality. A canoe is available to those using the Mirror Lake cabin, and we paddled out in order to collect water and try to catch a fish.

Although the air was cold, the sun shone brightly and was obscured only by the occasional fluffy white cloud. We were dressed warmly and enjoyed paddling around aimlessly, casting a line here and there, and letting the rocking motion of the canoe lull us into relaxation. We had no sense of time and no obligation to be anywhere else. Our only concern was starting a fire as soon as we returned to the cabin because it was going to be a cold night in the deep forest.

After fruitlessly floating for an unknown amount of time, we found ourselves at the far end of the lake. As soon as we began paddling back toward our cabin, the wind started blowing with purpose. Paddling with all our strength and making little progress, our relaxing afternoon on the lake became an impromptu and torturous upper body workout. If we stopped paddling for one second, we were immediately blown further from our destination. Exhausted from nature's treachery, we eventually arrived back on our side of the lake and returned to the cabin to collect wood and think about dinner.

Summer sausage cooked over a fire. Best food ever.

Since we didn't have to worry about hanging our food on this trip, I brought along an item that I have always wanted to eat on a hiking trip, but have never packed due to its tantalizing, guaranteed bear-attracting aroma. A stick of summer sausage, courtesy of my grandmother and purchased from a butcher in my family's hometown in Wisconsin, was ceremoniously unwrapped from its protective tinfoil and cut into chunks. It was intended as a snack, but we ended up grilling half of it over the fire and calling it dinner. Dripping fat and grease sizzled in the wood burning stove as we roasted the hunks of meat on sticks over the flames and watched the edges become charred and crusty. Later, we made Packit Gourmet's banana pudding for dessert – a new essential item for future trips.

Super-awesome instant banana pudding

As usual, we went to bed early, but I laid awake reading by headlamp for quite a while until I drifted off.

(Note: This cabin is spacious despite its size, but the sucker who volunteers to sleep on the top bunk is not able to sit upright due to its close proximity to the slanted roof.)

Miles: 6.3

To be continued in: Day 4 - Mirror Lake to Buckshot Cabin

Porcupine Mountains | Day Two

2010-11-07T17:50:00.000-08:00

Little Carp River Trail:
From Lake Superior to Greenstone Falls

I awoke in the cold semi-darkness to the sounds of light rain and rough Lake Superior surf. After firing up the Jetboil and making a cup of coffee, I retrieved the first aid kit in order to deal with my blister. One safety pin, alcohol swab, moleskin donut, and band aid later, I was ready to brave Kilimanjaro once more to go to the bathroom. (Might not look like much in a photo, but it was nearly vertical and slippery with mud in the morning.)

I made it all the way to the summit, only to find the outhouse was occupied by someone from a nearby cabin. The worst part: it was occupied by a male. Who knew how long he was going to take? Should I stay and wait? What kind of situation would I find in there when it was my turn? I felt too awkward lurking outside the door, so I decided to descend the mountain and wait the situation out. Upon my second death-defying ascent, I found that the previous occupant had not only left the lid open (an obvious violation of common sense when using a pit toilet in the woods), but he had also left the door to the outhouse wide open―a serious breach in outhouse protocol. Most people prefer not finding a family of raccoons or a bear inside an outhouse when armed with only a crumpled, slightly damp roll of toilet paper. I count myself among them.

After blister first aid came equally important peanut butter squeeze tube repair

We hit the trail at 11:30 a.m. in full rain gear. The weather was chilly, and waves crashed along the shore as we followed the lake for a little over a mile. This short stretch of trail includes a few spectacular campsites quite close to shore. Over the years, hikers have altered two of these sites to make them more inviting. Slabs of rock have been collected and arranged to form chairs with supportive backs around the sites' fire rings. One of these sites is referred to as “The Hilton” in the hiking community. Though this practice conflicts with Leave No Trace principles, the stones were likely collected from the rocky shore directly in front of the campsites, and nothing appears to have been damaged to create these primitive camp chairs.

Non-LNT, but very kick-ass

The rain persisted as we reached the junction at Little Carp River Trail. We headed southeast, away from the lake and back into the forest. Though the day remained cold and rainy, LCRT provided a very interesting hike. Similarly to the day before, we followed Little Carp River and enjoyed scenic views of the river valley. The trail difficulty was moderate, with slippery, somewhat muddy conditions due to the rain. We encountered a fair amount of ups and downs, lots of rocks and roots, and two unaided river crossings. We saw many more huge hemlocks and passed three or four small waterfalls.

Crossing Little Carp River

One of the most impressive elements of this section of LCRT is the backcountry campsites. Situated for maximum privacy, the sites are spacious, with an abundance of flat tent space. We stopped for lunch at a nice site overlooking the river and enjoyed peanut butter and jelly in the cold drizzle.

Lunch break in the rain at a nice backcountry campsite on the river

By the time we reached our destination, we were worn out and hoping that whoever had used our cabin before us had stocked it with firewood. Although we were perfectly warm from exercise, it was a chilly day and we knew the cabin would be cold. We were anxious to unload our packs, remove our rain gear, get a fire going, and eat something warm.

Trappers Falls

Section 17 Cabin was originally a ranger patrol cabin and is located across the river from the trail in a secluded spot. A wooden footbridge guided us across Little Carp River just downstream from Greenstone Falls. The cabin is not much to look at from the outside, but it is close to the river and within earshot of the small waterfall. A sign on the door informed us that we would have to go back across the river to use the newly constructed outhouse near Greenstone Falls Cabin.

On Little Carp River Trail. Cross the bridge to find Section 17 Cabin.

We entered the small cabin and were very happy to find a big pile of dry firewood in the corner. We removed our muddy boots and hung our wet rain jackets, rain pants, and pack covers on some pegs on the wall. Within minutes, we had a fire going and the cabin warmed up instantly.

Inside Section 17 Cabin

For dinner we prepared Packit Gourmet's “Austintacious Tortilla Soup” (they are based in Austin, TX), which lived up to its reputation as a tasty, satisfying camp meal. We also had their cheddar jack cheese spread with crackers, which was very garlicy and could have been a meal by itself.

Tortilla soup ingredients. Lime and Cholula are essential components.

We replenished the cabin's wood supply as well as we could, although the new wood we brought in was wet. Exhausted, sore, and feeling the effects of a relatively big meal, we retired early. Despite the cold, we left a window open so that we could hear the river as we went to sleep.

Miles: 7.3

To be continued in:
Day 3: Little Carp River Trail - Greenstone Falls to Mirror Lake

Porcupine Mountains | Day One

2010-10-10T12:14:00.000-07:00

Big Carp River Trail

View from Big Carp River Trail

Monday morning we shuttled our car to Presque Isle campground – the finish line of the trip at the park's western end – then stopped at the park HQ to pick up keys for each of the cabins we would be using over the next six days. The park ranger on duty was surprised to find so many keys reserved for us. It is apparently not very common to hike cabin-to-cabin over so many days. He then gave me a heap of park information to take along, including a flyer about black bears. A bear had been sighted frequently along one of the trails we would be hiking, and he advised extra caution.

Enjoying the view from the escarpment

The hike would begin at Lake of the Clouds overlook, the most popular destination in the park. Our shuttle driver pulled away after leaving us alone in the parking lot, and we experienced that exciting moment of realization of what we were about to do. We now had no means of communication (our phones lost their signals as soon as we left the resort that morning), and six days of hiking stood between us and our car. We started up the path to the overlook to find the trailhead and leave the tourist scene behind. It was 11:30 a.m., sunny, breezy, and felt like low to mid 60's: perfect hiking weather.

Another view from the escarpment. Lake of the Clouds is in the distance.

After snapping a few photos at the overlook (including a shot of an interpretive sign that some insane creationist had defaced by scratching off each reference to the length of time it took for the landscape to form), we struck out on Big Carp River Trail. At 9.6 miles, BCRT follows its namesake river from Lake of the Clouds to its mouth on Lake Superior.

Geology - it's amazing what can happen overnight!

High above the river valley, BCRT starts out along the escarpment that is a geologic highlight of the park. The escarpment was formed by ancient lava flows. A tilted layer of basalt sits on top of a layer of sandstone, and as the sandstone erodes away, chunks of rock fall down the cliff's face and pile up as talus. The trail begins by following the edge of this steep ridge and offers view after view of mountaintops, endless forest, and the river valley below. If we would have been able to push our trip back a month, the fall color in October would have been stunning.

Frogs are awesome. (This might be a toad. Either way - still awesome)

About two miles from the trailhead, the trail descends into the forest. Here the shaded understory cools the air, and sunlight filtering through the forest canopy creates a wonderful green glow above. Car-sized boulders sit along the trail, and enormous hemlocks and pines, many hundreds of years old, tower overhead.

Big Carp River Trail after descending from the escarpment

For the next four or five miles, BCRT has a few steep climbs and descents as it follows the river valley. We passed a handful of very nice, spacious backcountry campsites along the trail. For our lunch break, we rested on a fallen tree and made peanut butter and jelly tortillas. We started eating this meal on our first backpacking trip, and it has remained our favorite trail food. The materials are very easy to pack, there is no mess to clean up, and peanut butter and jelly always tastes great after a few hours of hiking.

Best trail lunch ever

Shortly after lunch, we finally reached the river and came to the first of the day's two river crossings. A footbridge guided us over the first one; the second one came a mile and a half later and was a bit more interesting. Here the river had to be forded, but it was only about ankle-deep. Not wanting to push our luck with the waterproofing of our boots, we slowly made our way across, stepping from one slippery rock to the next.

Fording Big Carp River

We passed a few more impressive backcountry sites, the best of which was at Shining Cloud Falls. At this point, the trail follows a steep ravine, where a series of 2 cascades can be heard rushing down the valley. The campsite in this spot is near the river and within earshot of the falls. This would be a terrific place to spend the night, and if we hadn't made plans to stay elsewhere, we would have happily pitched our tent. Unfortunately, we were so tired at this point that the steep and slippery descent to the water in order to get a better look was too much to contemplate. Continuing on, a few more small unnamed waterfalls provided points of interest along the remainder of the trail.

Lake Superior at the mouth of Big Carp River

We reached the mouth of Big Carp River around 5:30 p.m. Our cabin, Big Carp River 4-bunk, was located upstream, away from the lake. Because it was tucked back in the woods, not much light penetrated the windows, and it was fairly dark inside. The river bubbled past the side of the cabin, and a short walk from the front door led to Lake Superior's rocky shore. In the cabin log book, the previous guest left a note to “enjoy climbing Kilimanjaro” to go to the bathroom. He or she was not exaggerating much; the outhouse was located at the top of an extremely steep and intimidating hill. I had managed to develop a blister on my left big toe, which added a thrilling element of pain to the nearly vertical climb.

Big Carp 4-bunk Cabin

The previous guests had left a little firewood inside the cabin. We collected a bit more, but nearly all of it was damp, and we had some difficulty getting a fire going in the wood burning stove. We settled for a very small fire and made use of a few candles that had been left behind. Dinner was made and eaten quickly, and we went to bed soon after. The thin mattresses on the bunk beds were rock hard, which made us feel a little less like sellouts for not tent camping on this trip. High winds, rain and thunder woke me up frequently throughout the night, and I wondered what tomorrow would bring.

Interior of Big Carp 4-bunk Cabin at night

Miles: 9.6
Wildlife sightings: 1 eagle, 1 frog (or toad)

To be continued in Day Two:
Little Carp River Trail - From Lake Superior to Greenstone Falls

See below for a video taken from an awesome backcountry campsite on the escarpment. The wind kicked up just as I started shooting, so I apologize for the noise. Once I figure out how to eliminate sound from this clip, I will re-post.

Porcupine Mountains | Intro Pt. 2

2010-10-02T08:06:00.001-07:00

The Journey North

Crossing the Mackinac Bridge under stormy skies

We took our time and spent 2 days driving north to the UP, then west to the Porcupine Mountains. The first day was rainy and shockingly cold considering the intense heatwave Michigan had recently endured. Storm clouds hovered over the Straits of Mackinac, and rough waves crashed on the Lake Michigan shore along US 2. Just after crossing the Mackinac Bridge, we stopped at Lehto's for a couple of their delicious pasties. The hearty combination of beef and potatoes contained within a warm flaky crust energized us after the long, boring drive through the Lower Peninsula.

A pasty from Lehto's

The plan was to camp for the night at Mead Creek - a small, off the beaten path campground on the Manistique River near Seney National Wildlife Refuge. All sites were empty, and based on the registration tags that remained on a few posts, it looked as though no one had been there in a month. It was still very cold, and camping in the rain lost its appeal once we discovered the fish weren't biting. We decided to push on and head toward Munising. At the intersection of M77 and M28, a rainbow curved into the sky, and a couple of pairs of sandhill cranes walked in the grass along the edge of the refuge.

Fishing at Mead Creek Campground - Sept. 4 and I'm wearing gloves

It was Labor Day weekend, so all motels around Munising were booked. We pulled into Bay Furnace Campground in Christmas, across the bay from Grand Island. The campground is located at a historical site where a blast furnace converted iron ore for shipping back in the 1800s. Daylight was fading, so we quickly chose a site and set up our tent in the rain. It had been a long time since I'd gone car camping; compared to our backpacking tent, the old REI Campdome 4 was a palace! I spent the near-freezing night completely zipped up in my +15 mummy bag, wearing long underwear and a winter hat, and with the sleeping bag's hood cinched tightly around my face. My nose suffered in the cold air, but the rest of me was well-insulated.

Getting ready to hunker down for a cold night

The next morning we continued west and stopped for breakfast at Peggy Sue's Cafe in Negaunee. A bald eagle swooped across US 41 near Craig Lake State Park, and I may have spotted a golden eagle above Hwy 38 as we approached Ontonagon. Golden eagles aren't common here, but they are seen in the western U.P. now and then. Another fishing attempt was made on the Sturgeon River somewhere between Baraga and Ontonagon, but without any luck.

A couple of regulars at Peggy Sue's Cafe

We checked in to Superior Shores Resort on the outskirts of Ontonagon. Owners Don and Linda are very helpful and are involved in the Peter Wolfe chapter of the North Country Trail Association. Don loaned us a handful of books and a detailed map of the area. We took his advice and visited Bonanza Falls – a section of Big Iron River where a series of small waterfalls cascade over layers of shale. The bright midday sun made it difficult to capture good photos, but it was an interesting spot, and we spent about an hour wandering along the river.

Bonanza Falls

We ate an early dinner at Syl's Cafe in Ontonagon, then headed back to our room on the shore of Lake Superior to make sure we were organized and ready to go the following morning. Amazingly, neither of us had worn a watch. In addition to being in an area remote enough that our cell phones couldn't get a signal, we were also close enough to the border between the Eastern and Central Time Zones that the phones were caught in some kind of time vortex. Their displays kept switching from an hour ahead to an hour behind. One minute it was 8pm, the next it was 9pm. Could we trust the car's dashboard clock, or were we supposed to have switched to Central Time at some point during the day? We had completely forgotten to check the time zone situation, and suddenly our 5 months of planning seemed inadequate. We didn't want to go to the resort office and admit that we couldn't tell time, so we took a guess and set an alarm for the morning.* I made a note of the weather outlook for the next 6 days:

Monday: High 72, sun/clouds
Tuesday: High 55, rain
Wednesday: High 61, sun/clouds
Thursday: High 61, sun/clouds
Friday: High 64, sun/chance of rain
Saturday: High 68, sun/chance of rain

Rock layers at Bonanza Falls

* If we'd just consulted our road map, Ontonagon is clearly shown in Eastern Time.

To be continued in Day One: Big Carp River Trail

Porcupine Mountains | Intro Pt. 1

2010-09-25T22:10:00.001-07:00

Trip Planning

After some researching, Craig and I decided on Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park for our September backpacking trip. We visited the area back in 2004, but only for a short time, and we've always wanted to go back and see more of the park.

Including an extensive tract of old-growth forest, the 60,000 acre park was created in 1945 and is Michigan's largest state park. It includes impressive vistas, several waterfalls, rocky Lake Superior shoreline, and lots of black bears. 90 miles of hiking trails provide opportunities for short day hikes or long multi-day journeys into the park's backcountry. In winter, snowshoeing as well as both Alpine and cross-country skiing are possible.

Manabehzo Falls. Photo from 2004 trip.

The difficult part of planning was choosing which trails to hike. We decided to make the most of our time by combining 2 short trips that could be linked together to create one 6-day hike. The first trip is a 27-mile loop consisting of the Big Carp River, Little Carp River, and North Mirror Lake trails deep in the heart of the park. We would spend 3 nights along the this route, completing the loop on the fourth day. Then we would walk about a mile to another trailhead and transition right in to the next segment: Lake Superior Trail. A rugged 17-mile route along the lakeshore, LST ends at a scenic spot where the Presque Isle River flows into Lake Superior. Total miles: 45.

Since we planned this trip nearly 5 months in advance, we discovered that we had an option open to us that we had never considered before. Backcountry cabins were located near each of the sites where we planned to camp along our route. On a whim, we checked the availability and found that we could stay in a cabin each night if we reserved them with the DNR. The decision would have to be made right away because these cabins are in demand and get booked up quickly.

Enormous boulder along Big Carp River Trail

The idea of not using our tent made us a little uncomfortable, but we also thought it might be fun to do a cabin-to-cabin hike. The cabins are rustic – no electricity, running water, etc. - so we would still need to do most of the things required of tent camping. Water would still need to be collected from streams or lakes and filtered, and wood would have to be gathered if we wanted to have a fire in the provided fire ring. An advantage the cabins have are wood burning stoves, which we could use if the weather was cold enough.

One of 18 rustic cabins in the Porcupine Mountains

We debated. Are we sell-outs for exchanging hard self-inflating mattresses for hard bunk beds? Will we feel like we're missing out if we don't sleep in our cramped but trustworthy Kelty backpacking tent? Will we miss the paranoia of potential food smells lingering on our clothes while tucked semi-safely behind a wooden cabin door? Eventually we decided that the hiking and scenery were the goals, and since the opportunity was there, why not try something new?

Spontaneity won and reservations with the DNR were made. Now we just had to wait five months.

To be continued in Prologue Part 2: The Journey North

Tahquamenon River Trail

2010-03-19T12:15:00.000-07:00

Tahquamenon Falls State Park

Upper Falls. Beautiful, but not the only reason to visit!

The 2nd largest state park in Michigan (#1 is Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park) boasts the 2nd largest waterfall in the U.S., east of the Mississippi. Tahquamenon Falls State Park receives 500,000 visitors a year due primarily to the two waterfalls that call the park home. Not to discount the park's other draws, the falls are far from the only reason to stop by.

Snowshoeing the Tahquamenon River Trail

Undisturbed forest, some of it old growth, surrounds park explorers, and it is the tannic acid from the many hemlock and cedar trees that give the falls their unusual brown tones. Evidence of beaver activity presents itself in the gnawed-on trunks of many of these trees along the river. Year-round presentations and workshops educate visitors, such as a snowshoe making workshop, in which participants weave their own pair of traditional snowshoes.

Tahquamenon River

Winter is a spectacular time to visit Tahquamenon Falls State Park. The droves of loud snowmobiles tend to wipe out any chance of seeing moose; however, the 40+ miles of hiking trails ensure plenty of opportunity for peaceful winter hiking. Many miles of cross-country ski trails are groomed, and some of these are lit with lanterns for night skiing.

Lanterns have been lit along a ski trail in preparation for night skiing

Backcountry campsites have recently been added to the state park and more are in development, providing year-round camping opportunities. The North Country Trail uses the scenic Tahquamenon River Trail as it winds through northern Michigan before eventually making its way south to the Lower Peninsula.

Tahquamenon River Trail follows the river for 4 miles
between the 2 waterfalls

For hikers with a lot of vacation time, the North Country Trail Association recommends a 102-mile stretch through the Upper Peninsula - beginning at Munising Falls in Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore and ending at Lower Falls in Tahquamenon Falls State Park - and considers it a premier segment of this 4600 mile multi-state hiking trail. A couple of weeks could not be better spent!

Smokey should have worn a sweater. He looks nervous.

With an average of 200 inches of annual snowfall, winter enthusiasts of all kinds are guaranteed not to be disappointed when traveling to this park. Snowshoeing is an ideal way to explore the area in winter, and on a recent trip to the winter wonderland that is the Tahquamenon River Trail, snowshoes were a must.

Enjoying the winter wonderland

A 4-mile, one-way route between the Upper and Lower Falls, the TRT is possibly the most beautiful trail I've ever hiked in winter. Beginning at the Lower Falls, we were greeted by the roaring sound of the fast-moving river. Mist filled the air above mounds of snow and ice, which had accumulated along the river bank and around the island that splits the river and causes a series of cascades.

A section of Lower Falls - mostly hidden under snow and ice

True to its name, the Tahquamenon River Trail briefly leaves the water to climb a ridge, but quickly returns to hug the river for the majority of the trip. As we walked between the river and snow-blanketed forest, the only sounds we heard depended on the mood of the river – serene bubbling in calm areas, or loud roaring where the the current was more forceful. Light intermittent snowfall added to the beauty of the day, and reinforced my philosophy that most things are better with snow.

Snow-blanketed forest along Tahquamenon River

The festive looking Interpretive Gazebo
Snowshoes were made available for park visitors who wanted to try them out

The Upper Falls can be seen along the trail from the top of the canyon in which the river flows. A staircase then leads visitors to a viewing platform near the top of the waterfall for an up close view of the 200-feet wide by 50-feet high drop. Near the Upper Falls parking lot, an interpretive gazebo provides park information, and is a hub of activity such as the guided snowshoe that was taking place on this particular weekend. Tahquamenon Falls Brewery and Pub is the perfect place to finish off the day with a bowl of wild rice soup, a whitefish sandwich and a pint of Porcupine Pale Ale by the fireplace.

A beautiful moonrise over Tahquamenon Falls Brewery & Pub

Press Play on the 2 videos below to see the Upper and Lower Falls in action!

Upper Falls:

Lower Falls:
(video temporarily unavailable)

Mosquito River Snowshoe

2010-03-03T11:59:00.000-08:00

10+ miles The Chapel / Mosquito trailhead is not accessible by car in winter. Roads are plowed only to certain points, and from these spots it is necessary to rely on other means of travel. Some areas of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore are accessible by snowmobile; other locations forbid any type of motorized vehicle. Cross-country skis would be very handy in some of these areas, as it is sometimes necessary to travel a significant distance on foot, which would normally by covered by car. Since I have not yet ventured into the world of skiing, snowshoes would have to suffice when my sister, Andrea, and I set out to hike to the Mosquito River and Falls.

On the way to the trailhead. Snow blankets Lake Superior State Forest.

Leaving Munising, we headed east on H-58 around 8am. I channeled the stoic nerves of an Ice Road Trucker as I slid around on the solid sheet of snow-covered ice disguised as a road. Luckily, we appeared to be the only people awake and moving about, so we did not have to be careful of other drivers. Also in our favor was the fact that the local deer seemed to be sleeping in.

Andrea descends a steep slope into a valley.

This was the first time I have driven this route in the winter, and once we entered the birch forest, the scenery became a winter wonderland postcard. Around 9am, we reached the end of the plowed portion of the road and parked off to the side. Based on the park service road closure map, I guessed it was about 3 miles to the Chapel / Mosquito trailhead, where hikers would normally park and begin walking.

Snowshoes on and trek poles in hand, we left the car behind and continued on foot. A layer of light snow covered older snowshoe and cross-country ski tracks, which looked to be resting atop a layer of snow 18” – 24” deep. After a mile, I was feeling pretty good about being 1/3 of the way there. Then we passed a sign indicating that we still had 3 miles to go. I may need to invest in skis.

We pressed on, and eventually reached the trailhead where I engaged in my favorite winter challenge: using an outhouse while wearing snowshoes. Foolishly, I was not able to determine how long it took us to reach this point from the car (and, also, how long we would need to get back) because I was not wearing a watch. Although I was fully aware that there is no cell phone reception in this area, I stupidly forgot that this would also affect my phone’s clock. When I pulled my phone from my backpack and found the battery draining while searching hopelessly for a signal (and not displaying the time), I felt like an idiot. I may also need to invest in a watch.

Photo by Andrea

The first section of Mosquito Falls is approximately one mile from the trailhead. I had not hiked this trail in 3 or 4 years, so it was almost a new experience. Luckily, Andrea had been there in autumn and the details were fresh in her mind.

For close to ½ mile, no previous tracks were visible, but the fresh snow looked slightly depressed where it had coated the path. The trail is not blazed, however, and after the first ½ mile, it disappeared altogether. If I had been alone, I would have had no idea where to go, as the trail climbs ridges, then descends into steep valleys, and the river is not always audible. Andrea knew exactly where to go and led us to the shallow canyon overlooking the first section of Mosquito falls without incident. Due to the steepness of portions of this trail, the crampons on the bottoms of our snowshoes were invaluable and I definitely recommend using trek poles.

In warmer months, it is easy to climb down to the river’s edge. This appeared impossible due to the snow and ice, so we remained at the top of the cliff overlooking the river. Mosquito Falls consists of three small cascades, which are very subtle even in peak season. Icicles hung along the canyon walls, and the heavy blanket of snow did not leave much of the falls visible.

The first section of Mosquito Falls is mostly hidden by snow and ice.
Photo by Andrea

We explored along the river for ½ mile or so, then began the long trek back to the car. Although I did not remember the hike to the trailhead being downhill, the walk back felt like a slight but never-ceasing incline which made the journey a very slow trudge. Andrea is a stronger hiker than I am, and before long she was leaving me in her powdery dust while I wheezed along.

We finally reached the car and I was surprised at it being only 3pm. Hiking a little over 10 miles in 6 hours is really not bad at all in snow, especially with much time spent gazing at the river and taking pictures. We headed back to the motel to eat a quick late lunch before heading back out to visit more icy areas in Munising before the sun went down.
Video below:

Click the play button to see a small section of Mosquito Falls

Munising Falls

2010-02-25T16:48:00.000-08:00

It is tradition for me to visit Munising Falls whenever I’m near the western end of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. Even in summer, when not much more than an unenthusiastic trickle of water drools from the top, I still must see it.

For me, most of the attraction is the sandstone formation that the water falls from. I am fascinated by the eroded cliff formations and canyons that were formed in the region when it was covered by glaciers. Here, Munising Creek drops 50 feet into the canyon below on its way to Lake Superior, a short distance away.

I could spend hours examining the layered walls of rock that surround me while walking the short path from the interpretive center to the waterfall. I am mystified by the people I have seen walk briskly toward the sound of splattering water, never once look from side to side, stop for a moment at the first viewing spot, snap a photo and turn around. I lose sleep over this kind of thing; it is the curse of the obsessive rock nerd.

Barriers have been put in place fairly recently in an attempt to stop visitors from walking under the cliff and behind the waterfall. Signs posted warning of the potential danger of falling rock lend justification to these measures, and in warmer months it is not unusual to see a park ranger keeping a casual eye on potential adventurers.

During winter, Munising Falls creates a different, possibly even more spectacular scene. A massive column of ice is created, giving the falls a much bigger presence. Unfortunately, lack of funding does not allow the interpretive center to remain open through the winter months, but the smaller number of visitors allows more freedom to explore and photograph the area without having to wait for people to get out of your frames. You are also less likely to get caught climbing over the barricades. Normally, I obey the rules about this kind of thing. I respect the desire to keep natural areas untouched and keep erosion to a minimum, but it is really hard to resist getting closer to that column of ice.

I speculate that when rules are broken and the ice is observed directly, the sound of running water can still be heard from within the frozen waterfall. I imagine that the trickling echo could lead someone to look down past the base of the ice to see the stream of water rush out to continue its journey. I can’t say for sure, though, and I have no idea where these photos came from.

The North Country Trail (also called the Lakeshore Trail along this stretch of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula) can be accessed directly behind the interpretive center. For backpackers through-hiking the NCT - a 4600-mile footpath running from North Dakota to New York - Munising Falls would be a nice rest stop. It is also either the starting or ending point for those hiking the 42-mile Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore section only. This route is a one-way trip from Munising to Grand Marais (or the other way around) and features some of the most awe-inspiring scenery of the entire multi-state trail. I am considering this option for a fall backpacking trip later this year.

Eben Ice Caves

2010-02-17T09:29:00.000-08:00

Rock River Canyon Wilderness

Stalactites of Ice

I recently returned from three days of snowshoeing in the Upper Peninsula with my sister, Andrea. We dubbed our trip 'Frozen Ice Crystal Palace Adventure 2010'. In addition to being fanatical rock nerds, we are also certified ice geeks and had been looking forward to visiting some icy hot spots in the far north of Michigan.

Photo by Andrea
Our first destination for FICPA 2010 was the Eben Ice Caves, located in Rock River Canyon Wilderness in the western section of Hiawatha National Forest. Rock River Canyon is 150 feet deep and lined with sandstone outcrops, which have been eroded to form concave overhangs. During winter, ground water seeps over the edge and down through the sandstone where it freezes, creating huge curtains of ice and closing off the front of the outcrops to form caves.

In winter it is possible to access the ice caves from the south side of the wilderness area. A few miles north of Eben Junction, visitors can park their cars by the side of the road and cross an open field to the forest. The field is private property, but the owner allows for its use in winter to access the ice caves.

Photo by Andrea

After checking in at the Sunset Motel in Munising, we headed west on M-94, drove through Chatham, turned North at the Eben post office, then right onto Frey Road. We parked the car where the road curves left at the open field and headed to the first phase of our Ice Adventure.

Rock River Canyon

It felt much colder than it actually was. The temperature was somewhere in the low-mid 20's, but the light wind felt like an arctic assault to the face. Shortly after entering the woods, the effects of the wind tapered off and an interpretive sign welcomed us with information about the wilderness.

First Glimpse of Ice

From there the trail is easy to follow; the path has a few steep spots, but doesn't really require much work for such an awesome pay-off. Shortly before the caves, a short bridge cuts across a stream, then the trail curves to the right and begins to climb. The ice becomes visible at the center of the “V” created by the hills on either side of the path.

The Ice Cave

We had both seen a few photos of the ice caves, but none of them really captured the size of this phenomenon. It was difficult to decide where to begin to tackle it photographically, and we immediately began climbing around the hillsides to get a more expansive view, and crouching and crawling around at the base of the ice to see every possible angle. Unfortunately, my camera malfunctioned shortly after our arrival (I was able to fix the problem later), but luckily I could rely on Andrea to capture every square inch of the area and give me copies later.

Blue chandelier

What we weren't able to capture, however, was the amazing sound inside the cave. The drips of water falling from above created wonderful echoes and added to the cave atmosphere. There is much variation of color and texture to the ice in different parts of the cave. Some formations were smooth and clear, others were bumpy and hollow-sounding, and there were some columns that looked like dripping candle wax.

Waxy Ice Column

The ice was mostly white or had a yellowish tint from the sandstone. Light shining through from outside of the cave gave other areas a blue or green glow. The cave floor consisted of waxy-looking pools of frozen water in some areas, and exposed earth in others.

Inside the cave - Photo by Andrea

We spent at least an hour at the Eben Ice Caves, and could have lingered a lot longer had it not been for the cold catching up to us due to lack of activity. We had intended to hike to a nearby waterfall after leaving Rock River Canyon, but it was now close to sunset, so we tabled that for later in the trip and headed back to Munising to drink hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and decide on the following day's hike.

"I could happily die in this cave." - Andrea

More photos of the Eben Ice Caves can be seen here.

Kensington Nature Trails in Winter

2010-01-19T19:11:00.000-08:00

For a quick winter hiking fix, I visited Kensington Metropark a few weeks ago to spend the afternoon walking a few of the park's quiet nature trails. We had received a good amount of snow earlier that week, and temperatures in the teens ensured it lasted through the weekend when I could get out and enjoy it.

When I reached the parking area near the nature center, I decided to leave my snowshoes in the car. There were many people taking advantage of the freezing but sunny day, so the trails were trampled to the point where snowshoes were not necessary; however, Yaktrax might have made walking a bit easier.

Cattails along Aspen Trail

First I headed out onto Aspen Trail. I passed a few photographers out trying to get shots of birds against the snowy background of the trail and powdered trees. Chickadees ate seeds out of a man's hand, while his female companion took photos with her massive camera.

Freeloaders

I saw surprisingly little wildlife that afternoon, but this could be due to the number of people out. The trails were by no means crowded, but I saw considerably more people on this cold day than any of the times I visited the nature trails during the summer.

Wildwing Trail

After finishing the Aspen Trail, I continued on Wildwing Trail which circles Wildwing Lake. It was interesting to observe many parts of these trails without the thick green foliage typical of the warmer months. Wildwing Lake was a bit boring without all the birds that call it home at other times of the year, however. Ice fishing was getting underway and I could see a few people setting up shop out on the ice.

The rules

By now, most of the snow we received earlier this month has melted, which is typical of this part of Michigan. I plan to head up north in a few weeks for real winter conditions and for the opportunity to get my snowshoes out of the car.

Winter Is Coming

2009-12-05T18:12:00.000-08:00

Soon, the mighty Sasquatch who haunts the sparkling white trails - aka me with my many layers of outerwear - will be glimpsed loping clumsily through the Michigan forests.

Sasquatch?

Although we haven't been sprinkled with any snow yet in lovely Metro Detroit, it is freezing outside today (and not much better inside). I'm not quite in winter mode yet, so I've been revisiting last year, looking at pictures from snowshoeing weekends past, and thinking about exciting and chilly things to look forward to.

Pinecone nestled in snow - Hartwick Pines State Park

I recently received two Michigan hiking books from my in-laws for my birthday. The pages I have read so far have succeeded in plunging me into a serious state of couch-bound hiking fever. I intend to use them to plan a cold weather adventure or two for after the holidays, but until then, I am going to spend some time remembering when...

Au Sable River

Typically, my partner in all things winter adventure is my sister, Andrea. Always ready for a spontaneous trek through snow and prepared with enough survival equipment and provisions in her car to sustain a small community, Andrea is an ideal cohort. Were we to become stranded on a seldom-used logging road in the Upper Peninsula, we would be able to live comfortably in her Toyota Camry for quite some time. She even has a specialized tool to break the car window glass should we become submerged in an icy lake after sliding on a patch of black ice. Of course, most of these points are moot considering we usually take my larger vehicle; regardless, when we are together I rest easy knowing every scenario is covered.

Parking Lot at the Trailhead - Au Sable River Trail

In Andrea's opinion, vast stores of knowledge and random skills should be acquired in the event of cataclysm or extreme boredom. Once, while camping in the Pictured Rocks area, she insisted upon attempting to start a fire by rolling a stick between her hands, intent on using the friction on the end of it to ignite a small pile of tinder. Despite my protests, she continued in this endeavor while I unloaded our equipment, started an actual fire in the provided fire ring, began cooking dinner and enjoyed a spectacular sunset over Lake Superior. Only when the scent of brats grilling over open flame proved too overwhelming to the senses did she relent, claiming that she almost had smoke, but needed to change into warmer clothes due to the 'sudden' disappearance of the sun.

Trekking through snow - Photo by Andrea

Last winter, Michigan experienced heavy snowfalls and temperatures in the single digits and teens for the first several weeks of the season. Andrea and I decided to travel to the Grayling area the first weekend in February to visit Hartwick Pines State Park and to check out the nearby Au Sable River Trail. When under several feet of snow, this part of the state is a popular destination and it is not uncommon to see much of the population getting around on snowmobiles instead of in cars. It strikes downstaters as funny that printed advertisements in much of Northern Michigan for restaurants, hotels, and other attractions often include driving directions for traveling by snowmobile.

The foggy forest - Au Sable River Trail

Naturally, a spontaneous warm-up tried to destroy our plans. A solid month of below freezing temps and nearly constant snow was about to be thwarted by a freakish warm front; however, cold conditions prevailed throughout the first day for our visit to the Old Growth Forest in Hartwick Pines State Park. We found that the trail had been heavily groomed for Cross-country skiing and walking without the aid of snowshoes, so we took the advice of the DNR employee at the visitor center and ventured off-trail. Somehow we managed to spend 5 hours in this small section of woods, tramping through snow drifts, photographing large trees, and occasionally falling on our faces. We returned to the visitor center as the sun started to go down to find everyone had gone home.

Chapel Of The Pines - Hartwick Pines State Park

Overnight, the temperature began to rise, causing the air to be thick with fog when we set out for the Au Sable River Trail at 8:00 the next morning. Although the warm-up bummed us out a little and caused the thick blanket of snow to change from solid to gas practically before our eyes, the fog added an interesting element to that day's hike. The Au Sable River Trail is one of the prettiest trails I have ever seen, and we hit the jackpot of first impressions by seeing it in winter. At the first of 2 river crossings, our minds were so blown by the beautiful scenery that we accidentally spent an hour there marveling at the view and taking photos from every angle. A lone cross-country skier from Lansing stopped to chat with us and said that she travels to that area as often as she can in winter just for this trail. She described it as mystical, and I could not argue.

Bridge crossing the Au Sable River with fancy mystical effect

Back in Detroit, Andrea insisted on visiting a strange local phenomenon before heading back to her home on the west side of the state. Last winter, one could find images of this mysterious oddity all over Flickr. On Belle Isle in the Detroit River, a gigantic blob of blue ice formed and grew, attracting people for miles around. I tried to convince Andrea that while this enormous ice beast had once been magnificent, due to the warming temperatures, it must be a puddle by now. She was not to be discouraged, and we soon found ourselves driving across the Belle Isle Bridge in order to seek out this anomaly.

Belle Isle Ice Blob

Lo and behold, the majestic ice sculpture still lived, though it was smaller and kind of melty-looking. It was still pretty impressive, though, and I apologized for naysaying. Next year, we will be better prepared to appreciate this frozen mountain while it is in the prime of its short life; however, the ultra cold conditions of last winter provided a special set of circumstances that might not be repeated again soon.

Andrea gets a closer inspection of the melting ice blob

My fingers are crossed for another spectacular Michigan Winter, but if the weather remains as quirky as it has been over the last month, I may be disappointed. My dogs' coats can't decide what to do, and the pattern of shedding, thickening, then shedding again is driving me insane. I'm sure they are looking forward to games of 'catch the snowball', and so am I.

Au Sable River Trail

Queen and King of Winter

Isle Royale National Park | Day Eight

2009-11-21T21:45:00.000-08:00

Rock Harbor to Copper Harbor

A female moose with 2 young notices me

Visitors on Isle Royale can't simply wander into the Rock Harbor Dining Room willy nilly with unscheduled hunger. This is how civilized society breaks down. Meals are served during specific time intervals; therefore, it was necessary on day 8 to wake up early to meet the 7am-9am breakfast schedule. We are big fans of breakfast, and being early risers, this was not too difficult to accomplish. Still, I felt bad for those who woke at a more reasonable hour with dreams of eggs and hash browns still fresh in their minds, only to find they had missed this narrow opportunity.

Rock Harbor Lodge and Guest House viewed from the water

Still dark outside, we arrived promptly at 6:55 am and loitered outside the restaurant entrance like a couple of 15-year-olds waiting for Twilight tickets. It was very quiet and we appeared to be the only people awake in Rock Harbor, aside from those we could hear inside preparing to open.

While enjoying a breakfast of coffee and pancakes (no real maple syrup despite the fact that Isle Royale is technically in the U.P.), we discussed how to spend our last day on the island. The 2:45 pm ferry was several hours away, giving us plenty of time to explore trails, coves, and small islands in the Rock Harbor area. We felt good, but pathetic as this sounds, we still felt like Annie Wilkes had taken a sledge hammer to our ankles. There were a handful of day hikes I would have loved to have taken, and paddling around all of the inlets sounded great, but we were both content just relaxing for a while. We put the ½ day canoe voucher on hold and decided to spend the morning hanging around the visitor center and dock.

Leaving Isle Royale

Rock Harbor could prove an enjoyable place to spend 2 or 3 days if backpacking isn't appealing. A handful of very interesting day hikes start there and range anywhere from a few miles to 10 miles roundtrip. Rock Harbor Lodge also operates a boat service that allows visitors to see a few other parts of the island without having to hike long distances. Smaller islands can be explored up close via canoe or kayak. I could easily see myself going back and spending more time there.

By 10:30 I was feeling a bit restless and decided to go for a walk. There were murmurings of a cow moose in the area, so I decided to take a walk along Tobin Harbor Trail to see if I could find one. Craig was still in energy saver mode, so he elected to stay behind and keep an eye on the supply of dill pickle potato chips in the camp store. I struck out on the trail and headed toward the sea plane dock. A few hikers were waiting there for a flight off the island, including the woman we had met solo hiking the Greenstone. Within a few minutes, the sound of a small plane could be heard. It appeared over the trees and I watched it land in Tobin Harbor. While the group got ready to board, I got back on the trail and resumed my search.

I joined up with a few other hikers who were also killing time before the afternoon ferry. Within just a few minutes, we spotted a big female moose in the trees just off the trail. She seemed ok with our presence, provided we didn't get too close. After about 5 minutes of hushed excitement and jockeying for position to take photos, everyone else left. I decided to stay and keep watch from a distance. There was a clearing ahead on the other side of the trail, and I had a feeling she was heading that way. If I stayed far enough away and didn't bother her, maybe I would be able to get a good clear view for a photo.

My plan paid off as she emerged from the trees with two previously hidden calves the size of ponies. The three of them slowly lumbered across the trail and into the clearing. Eventually, I followed and stood on the trail watching them as they walked toward the woods on the far side of the clearing to browse the foliage. At that moment, Craig appeared with a couple of hikers he had met at the dock. We all watched the moose family for a few minutes, before they disappeared into the woods. Later we would hear a theory that this particular female is staying close to the Rock Harbor area, the idea being that it is easier to protect her calves in an area where wolves are hesitant to enter due to human activity. She has her work cut out for her for the upcoming winter.

Something grabs the attention of this moose family

We returned to the dock and learned that the hikers Craig had met belonged to a Northeast Ohio Backpacking Club. One of them had taken a couple of outstanding photos of a huge bull moose a few days before. He was ahead of his group and came around a corner to find the enormous animal staring at him. Although I was green with envy, I probably would have had a seizure from excitement at the sight of those antlers.

We spent the last few hours browsing the books in the visitor center and talking with our new acquaintances while waiting for the ferry. About an hour before boarding, I made the decision to take some motion sickness pills. I didn't think I'd have trouble with sea sickness, but this proved untrue on the initial ferry ride to the island the week before. Despite calm waters, about halfway there I started to feel queasy from the constant gentle rocking of the ship. I frequently had to step outside onto the deck in the cold fresh air to avoid getting sick.

A park ranger waits to greet a new batch of visitors

The Isle Royale Queen is known in the hiking community as “The Barf Barge.” It is a relatively small vessel, and is prone to causing chain reaction vomiting when the water is anything but glassy smooth. We had read grim accounts of passengers lining the deck shoulder to shoulder, gripping the handrails and leaning over the side for the entire journey. The problem with taking medicine for motion sickness it that it causes me to fall into a zombie-like state – too out of it to read, think clearly, or have a coherent conversation, but not out of it enough to fall asleep. This makes for a miserable time. But, I really didn't want to take the risk of being the one to start the dominoes falling.

The boat was full, and for the first hour, I was very high from the motion sickness pills. This was a good thing as a very chatty woman sat with us once she and her husband discovered they couldn't find seats together. The husband stood there dumbly for a moment, before his wife harshly shooed him away to go sit outside off the back of the boat. Without any exaggeration, this woman talked non-stop for two solid hours. I don't think she breathed. We learned lots of interesting “facts” which she had absorbed during her time staying at the lodge and taking boat tours. She explained to us that both male and female moose have antlers (I tried to object to this, but she wouldn't have it), and that she had met a family of hikers, which included a grandfather in his 70's and a 12-year-old child, who had just hiked the entire 42+ miles across the island - in a single day. I looked down at her foot and saw a bloody wad of toilet paper stuck under the strap of her sandal. “Alright,” I interrupted suddenly. “What's the deal with your foot?” Emboldened by the power of the motion sickness pills, I felt that if I was to be held prisoner by this woman's never ceasing aural assault, I should be able to ask whatever the hell I wanted.

Copper Harbor at sunset

It turns out a leach had affixed itself to her foot while canoeing earlier that day, and upon showing it to her husband, he simply reached over and ripped it off. I explained to her that I had taken some medication to prevent becoming violently ill and to please forgive me if I wasn't very lively company. She really was very friendly, but one can only take so much.

A view of the Isle Royale Queen from the dock behind King Copper Motel

It took almost 4 hours to reach Copper Harbor and I was barely conscious for the last two of them. We retrieved our car from the ferry parking lot, and I was impressed by the distance people had traveled to visit Isle Royale. States all over the country were represented by the license plates I observed: New York, Washington, Iowa, Texas, Colorado, Wisconsin, and Indiana to name a few. Since there is no reliable cell phone service in Copper Harbor, we checked in with our families by way of the pay phone outside the King Copper Motel. After eating whitefish chowder and warm panini sandwiches at The Mariner, and drinking a couple of Keweenaw Amber Ales at Zik's, we headed back to the motel and went to sleep in preparation for our 12-hour drive home.

A small but excellent selection of draft beers at Zik's

This hiking trip to Isle Royale National Park is the best vacation I have ever taken. It was at once beautiful, simplistic, physically exhausting, and rewarding. A feeling of contentment settled over us while on Isle Royale and it lasted for several weeks after returning home. Despite how much I may have enjoyed other vacations, no other trip has managed to have that effect. Once home, I spent countless hours sorting through our photos, reading trip reports from other hikers and viewing their pictures as well. Isle Royale left an impression on us that will not fade any time soon. We want to go back someday, and hope that the delicate balance of life in this remote wilderness will find a way to thrive into the uncertain future.

More photos from my trip can be seen here , or by clicking on the Isle Royale link to the upper right under photos.

Informative Links:

Isle Royale Wolf-Moose Study

Isle Royale - NPS Page

Photos (amazing photos taken by honest-to-goodness photographers):

Sweetwater Visions - Isle Royale Page

Terra Galleria - Isle Royale Page

Brimmages

Isle Royale National Park | Day Seven

2009-11-07T19:21:00.000-08:00

Daisy Farm to Rock Harbor

Rock Harbor Lighthouse in the distance across Rock Harbor

After the usual coffee, oatmeal, and spellbinding sunrise, we left Daisy Farm at 7:45 am. Although it hadn't stormed during the night, the overcast sky and wind told us that the weather hadn't officially decided what to do yet.

Ho, hum. Another mediocre sunrise.

Today, the 7^th day of our trip, we would follow Rock Harbor Trail for a little over 7 miles with Rock Harbor as our final destination. From the reading we had done beforehand, we learned that Rock Harbor Trail consists of very rocky terrain and tends to become slippery in wet conditions. The path runs along the water's edge, and for the first few miles is relatively easy hiking. The sky slowly cleared over the course of the morning and it looked like our good weather luck would continue.

Don't fall in

We passed the site of Siskowit Mine – a copper mine that had been in use during a brief period in the mid-1800s. Signs urge caution when venturing off-trail to explore the area. We stayed on the trail but were still able to see the remains of a few stone foundations where old buildings had once been. Across the harbor, we could see Mott Island which is the home of Isle Royale's National Park Service HQ. The island was named after Angelique and Charlie Mott – a couple who had been hired to come to Isle Royale one summer in the mid 1800s in order to guard a mining claim. The remoteness and the fact that there were very few provisions made Mrs. Mott nervous, but their employer promised a boat of supplies would soon arrive, followed by another boat in the Fall, which would bring them home before winter. Neither boat showed up, and once their meagre food rations were gone, the Motts resorted to eating tree bark to survive. Eventually, Charlie Mott went crazy from starvation and fever and, legend has it, attempted to kill and eat his wife. Luckily for Angelique, he was so weak by that point that she was able to thwart his cannibalistic plot and survive. Unluckily for Charlie, he died soon after leaving his widow alone on the frozen island. She managed to survive by trapping the occasional rabbit using snares she made from her own hair until a ship arrived after the spring thaw. Here a section of shoreline that juts out from the main island across the harbor from Mott Island is aptly named Starvation Point.

About ½ mile west of Three Mile Campground, Rock Harbor Trail really starts to get interesting. We suddenly understood why this could be a difficult hike in wet conditions. Here the south slope of Isle Royale tumbles into Lake Superior, and a steady up and down pattern of climbing over rocky terrain makes for quite a spectacular hike. I was very happy we had saved this section of trail for our last full day of hiking as it gave us a fun (and tiring) end to the trip. Although we still had one day left and planned to do some day hiking around the Rock Harbor area, this was the last true hiking day.

Rock Harbor Trail

Expecting to see mountain goats peeking at us from the tops of rocky crests, we made our way along the shore, frequently using cairns to guide us over the ambiguous landscape. We spoke with a hiker coming from the other direction who had recently seen a female moose visiting the water for a drink. We had yet to see a moose up close, so we kept our eyes and ears peeled but had no luck. I really hoped I would get to see another one before leaving the following afternoon. It isn't uncommon to spot moose in the Rock Harbor area, so I still held out hope.

Rock Harbor Trail

We eventually came full circle and arrived back at the Rock Harbor Visitor Center at 11:30 am. Our first order of business was to visit the camp store for snacks. I highly recommend the dill pickle potato chips; they are popular for good reason! That done, we needed to decide where to stay. The Rock Harbor campground offers shelters and tent sites, but we decided to be spontaneous and see if there was a room available at the lodge. We justified splurging at the end of the trip in the spirit of seeing what the whole Rock Harbor experience was all about.

Sign at Rock Harbor Visitor Center

Being that it was near the end of the Isle Royale season, both the lodge and camp store were scheduled to close down the following day, so we were just in time. A room was available and after confirming that the restaurants were still serving a full menu (they stop stocking supplies after a certain point), we decided to go for it. Luckily we had read about the Rock Harbor Lodge prior to our trip; therefore, we knew not to expect anything extravagant (despite the price tag). Anyone planning to stay there must accept that he/she is paying for the miracle of the existence of a lodging establishment in the middle of nowhere, not for luxury of any kind. The beds are clearly left over from a time in our world's history where the human being was a much smaller creature. I'm 5'5" tall and my feet were in danger of hanging off the end. Still, a hot shower and real pillows after seven days was a treat. We visited the cheaper of the two restaurants, the Greenstone Grille, for lunch (I have never eaten so fast in my entire life), and returned to our room where we instantly fell asleep for an hour or two.

Ate this in approximately 9 seconds

Once we woke from our involuntary naps, we ventured out to the visitor center to turn in our itinerary and fill out a form describing our wolf sighting. There is a very thick guest book that visitors can sign, and we saw an entry from a couple who had been coming to Isle Royale every year for 47 years. We received a complimentary ½ day canoe rental with our room at the lodge, but we were both too tired to use it right then. We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the immediate area before deciding what to do for dinner. The Rock Harbor Dining Room was a bit too expensive for our mood, so we opted for the Greenstone Grille again. While waiting for our frozen pizza and enjoying one of our favorite Michigan beers, Bell's Two Hearted Ale, we entertained ourselves by watching all the hikers coming and going through the restaurant/giftshop. Every single one of them was limping in the exact same way (including ourselves), and we knew exactly how each of them felt.

One of the buildings at Rock Harbor Lodge

We returned to our room overlooking Lake Superior and were treated to the first real view of the amazing quantity of stars overhead that we'd had all during the trip. I fell asleep listening to waves washing up on the rocky shore below our window. Although I was sad that the trip was coming to an end, I looked forward to a relaxing day of exploring our surroundings without the need to push on to another destination.

To be continued in:
Day 8: Rock Harbor - New Acquaintances, More Animal Sightings, & Dramamine

More photos from this trip can be seen here.

Isle Royale National Park | Day Six

2009-10-25T15:01:00.000-07:00

McCargoe Cove to Daisy Farm

We had declined an invitation the night before from friendly camp neighbors to join them at the fire ring (one of only a handful on Isle Royale) in favor of retiring early. We wanted to get an early start for our 8.2 mile hike to Daisy Farm since we knew that half of it would be along the Greenstone Ridge. Our goal was to get up to the ridge as early as possible to avoid having the midday sun beating on our heads. Plus, we had now become a bit spoiled by the shelters and wanted to get to Daisy Farm as early as possible in the hopes of securing one.

Regarding the shelters, we were very impressed with their condition. From reading tales of other hikers trekking in areas such as the Appalachian Trail, we were not expecting the cleanliness that we encountered. The shelters were heavily graffitied, and based on some of the handwritten messages (side note: Apparently lots of people count a black sharpie among essential gear to be taken on a trip where the goal is to pack as few items as possible!), the structures have been in place since at least the early 1970s. Despite this, the 3-sided structures were in great shape. Isle Royale's shelters have a screen front to keep bugs and other visitors out, and I was amazed at how successfully they did their job. I didn't see a single spider or even a cob web in any of the 4 we used. A broom hangs from a nail by the door of each one with the understanding that visitors sweep dirt and debris from the floor before leaving camp. Designed to sleep six, it's considered good etiquette to share a shelter with other parties should the campground fill up and the weather turn bad; however, due to the perfect weather and lateness of the season, we managed to have one to ourselves each time we elected not to sleep in our tent.

We ventured down to the dock for a quick sunrise photo, then stepped onto the trail just after 7:00 am. After backtracking past the beaver dam and along the stream that connects McCargoe Cove to Chickenbone Lake, we began to climb back up the Greenstone Ridge. The East Chickenbone Lake Trail (unnamed on the map, but everyone calls it by this name) is a beautiful 1.6 mile stretch which winds past the eastern side of Chickenbone Lake, creeping over rocky ridges and dipping down into cool, foggy valleys.

Crossing a footbridge over an unnamed stream

Our early start ensured nice cool temperatures, and once again our pants were quickly soaked through from the dew-covered vegetation. Just before the end of the trail, it abruptly ascends via a couple of steep switchbacks to the top of the Greenstone Ridge. We reached the top around 8:30 am and stopped for a 15-minute breather. Like the lookout at Mt. Franklin, this unnamed spot offers an expansive view of the north side of the island from a height of around 900 feet. From here, the 4.2 mile stretch of the Greenstone Ridge heading east is a tiring, yet pleasant hike. The path weaves alternately in and out of forest and onto bare rocky crests, and hints of fall color were just starting to peek through the trees. We were happy to discover that it was alternately shady and sunny, and therefore not nearly as hot as the section we had hiked between Mt. Franklin and Mt. Ojibway on day two.

Taking a break to enjoy the view atop the Greenstone Ridge

During a snack break, we met a woman solo hiking the length of the island via the Greenstone. This was her fourth consecutive year hiking Isle Royale and she had yet to see a moose. I actually felt guilty that we'd had the good fortune of seeing some exciting wildlife during the first five days of our first visit. This lone hiker had flown on the sea plane to Windigo and was heading east to Rock Harbor where she would fly out at the end of her trip. I take the occasional solo vacation which usually incorporates day hikes, but I don't know if I have the guts to to an overnight by myself. Yet.

We descended the Greenstone Ridge around 11:00 am heading southeast along Daisy Farm Trail. Foot bridges guide hikers over a few small streams, swamps, and marshy areas before the 1.7 mile trail ends at Rock Harbor Trail.

We arrived at Daisy Farm Campground at noon and were able to claim a good shelter very close to the water. I can't say what, exactly, made this day so tiring, but I have never been so exhausted as I was when we dropped our packs at Daisy Farm. Every muscle felt devastated, and I could not have cared less about filtering water, changing clothes (aside from removing my boots), or preparing food. I don't think I moved for nearly an hour once my sleeping pad was inflated and I could lie down. Each one of my limbs weighed at least 1000 pounds, and once horizontal, all well-meaning thoughts such as, “I should really do some stretches,” were squashed in favor of slowly sinking into a coma.

Early morning fog lurks in a valley along East Chickenbone Lake Trail

Once I managed to miraculously regain consciousness, I hobbled unsteadily down the short path to the water. The shore along this part of Rock Harbor consists of small volcanic rocks and is a nice spot to cool off and lay clothes out to dry in the sun. The water was freezing and my washcloth-sized MSR pack towel came in handy as I could not bring myself to fully submerge. I limped back to the shelter where Craig and I drank hot peppermint tea and shared a bar of dark chocolate that we had been saving.

The rocky shore in front of our shelter at Daisy Farm

After more resting, we visited the dock to filter water and absorb some sun. Truthfully, I don't remember much else about the rest of our day at Daisy Farm. We spent most of our time lying in the shelter, eating snacks, talking about how great the trip had been thus far, and marveling at how completely destroyed we felt. The sky turned overcast and the wind picked up when we went to bed. From what we could remember of the forecast, there was a chance of rain the next day and we wondered if a storm was blowing in. Part of me would have liked to witness a Lake Superior storm from the relative safety of our shelter in the harbor, but the rest of me was hoping for dry conditions during our hike along the potentially slippery Rock Harbor Trail the following day. We felt that we had been so fortunate with the weather that it had to change at some point. We would just have to wait and see what the morning would bring.

Looking out at Rock Harbor from inside our shelter at Daisy Farm

To be continued in:
Day Seven: Daisy Farm to Rock Harbor

More photos from this trip can be seen here.

Isle Royale National Park | Day Five

2009-10-18T19:14:00.000-07:00

West Chickenbone Lake to McCargoe Cove:
The Best Day Ever!

McCargoe Cove reflection

I awoke with the confusing feeling that I had somehow fallen asleep in my tent in a strip mall parking lot under a bright streetlight. An owl hooted and I checked my watch. It was 4:00 am, and I remembered that I was in the woods, not preparing to buy a Nintendo Wii at Best Buy the morning after Thanksgiving. Where was that bright light coming from?

Minong Ridge Trail

I twisted my head around to look out the window and found the moon beaming down on our tent like a spotlight shining out of an otherwise pitch black sky. Wide awake, I spent the early morning in my sleeping bag listening to owls and loons conversing with the forest around Chickenbone Lake. At 5:30 am, a wolf started howling. This time, it sounded much closer than the distant chorus we had heard a few days before while hiking on the Rock Harbor Trail. My hand hovered above Craig's arm, ready to alert him should it happen again. Suddenly, multiple canine voices were everywhere. I shook Craig awake and we both held our breath and listened to this nearby pack of wolves howl under the bright moon. It was a moment to remember.

As suddenly as it started, the howling stopped and the woods went quiet. Neither of us could fall back to sleep after that, and as soon as we detected the slightest lightening of the sky, we left the tent to start our morning routine. Chickenbone Lake was shrouded in fog which went from gray to pink as the sky lightened. I imagined a canoe floating from shore toward the small island in the distance and disappearing from view as the fog swallowed it up. It would have been a wonderful time, albeit a bit spooky, to paddle out into the quiet water.

Foggy Sunrise on Chickenbone Lake

Dew clung heavily to everything, so it was necessary to pack up our tent while it was wet. Heading out of the West Chickenbone Lake campground, Indian Portage Trail swings west and crosses a stream before curving back north and hugging the edge of the lake for almost two miles. Our destination was McCargoe Cove on the north shore – a distance of just under three miles. We anticipated a short day of hiking followed by what we hoped would be another relaxing campsite similar to what we had at Moskey Basin a few nights before.

Since the vegetation along the narrow trail was dripping with dew and leaning inward, it wasn't long before we were both soaking wet from hip to ankle. Ten minutes after leaving our campsite, the ground became marshy and we found ourselves walking a long stretch of protective plank bridge. Just before reaching the stream crossing, the trail curved to the right and Craig suddenly stopped in front of me, turned around and said very calmly, “Uh...a whole pack of wolves...”

Boot prints mingle with paw prints

His voice trailed off as he turned back around to face forward again. I thought he was trying to be funny since I couldn't yet see what was around the corner. After inching forward another foot or so, he turned to me again and the look on his face was priceless. “I'm not kidding,” he said. “There are at least five wolves on the trail ahead of us.” The next few moments were the most surreal and exciting I've ever experienced.

Afraid I would scare them away, I crept forward as quietly as I could. We could not stand side by side due to the narrow footbridge, but I could see them once I stopped directly behind Craig. Before I had caught up, he witnessed two wolves dart into the woods from the trail. Three were still there, and of these, a big gray one was clearly the leader. He looked directly at us and stepped forward on the bridge. It looked to us like he was ensuring that his pack could cross the bridge behind him into the safety of the woods while he kept an eye on us. Another gray wolf ran behind him into the trees, then a tall brown one moved forward to stand behind the first one. The two of them simply stood there and watched us.

No one had any idea what to do – including the wolves, it appeared. Everything we had heard and read said that wolves avoid humans and will run when they get wind of people. Fleeting glimpses are all anyone is usually lucky enough to see. There are specific things hikers know to do when encountering bears in the backcountry, but what about a wolf pack? What is the etiquette in this type of situation? There was no passing lane; who had the right of way? Do we offer intel, like the coordinates of where we saw that lone moose the day before, as a kind of bridge toll? Should we get out our wallets and show them pictures of our dogs? It was unreal, and we just stood there dumbfounded.

Indian Portage Trail

I briefly wondered if we should give them space and retreat the way we came, but Craig felt that was a bad idea, so we just continued to stand there trying to look casual. Then, looking right at us, the leader slowly took four steps closer then stopped again. At this point we were holding our breath and really not believing what was happening. It was, literally, the wildest thing I've ever seen and there was no question that this was an animal that could kill us if it wanted to. Still, there have been no reported cases of wolves attacking humans, and I did not feel scared. I think I was simply too shocked.

Apparently satisfied that we were not a threat (or food), the two of them stepped off the bridge and spent a few seconds debriefing next to the trail before nonchalantly strolling into the woods. We waited for several seconds before continuing on the bridge. When we walked past the spot where they had disappeared, we were convinced we were being watched by many well-camouflaged eyes. We had seen five animals, but recent wolf study information stated that the current packs ranged in size from 2 to 9 members, so there could have been more.

Two wolves on Indian Portage Trail

Although it had seemed like we were locked in a stand-off for several minutes, in reality the whole thing was probably over in under one minute. The wolves were tall and similar in size to our 85-lb German Shepard/Lab mix, but with longer legs. As soon as I saw them, I took out my camera and snapped three photos in succession without giving it time to focus. It was then or never. The shots I ended up with consist of one gray blur in the trees, one photo of Craig - eyes like saucers - with the barely discernible form of a wolf ahead of him looking in the opposite direction, and one blurry shot of the (assumed) alpha and the brown wolf backing him up. It's better than nothing, and I was actually quite happy that I didn't accidentally step off the bridge and make a fun, prey-like spectacle of myself in the muck below.

Indian Portage Trail crosses a stream

The rest of that morning's hike is mostly a blur due to the elation we both felt. We stopped every fifteen seconds or so to re-tell the story to each other and confirm that it actually did happen. I do remember that the trail was very pleasant, with Chickenbone Lake to our immediate right most of the way, and we passed a beaver dam at some point. The happy mood we were in prevented us from getting the slightest bit bothered by how wet we continued to get from the dewy vegetation, and before we knew it, we arrived at McCargoe Cove.

Shelter #4 at McCargoe Cove

It was only 9:30 am, and once again we had the place practically to ourselves. We met a lone backpacker who had been hiking the length of Isle Royale via the Minong Ridge Trail, which is known to be very difficult. He had started out hiking from Windigo with his brother who quit after the first day. Although the shelters here were not right on the water, ours had a nice view of the cove, and a large dock provided a good space to lie in the sun after braving the frigid water. I confess I was not actually brave at all and made quite an ass of myself trying to get in without actually getting in. Later in the afternoon we would end up spending a couple of hours just sitting on the dock watching loons swim on the smooth glassy surface, and staring mesmerized at the perfect reflection of trees on the opposite shore.

The dock at McCargo Cove - a difficult place to leave

The remains of an old copper mine provided a fun, 2-mile roundtrip day hike just west on the Minong Ridge. We brought our headlamps (totally unnecessary) and ventured down into the old mine shaft, which still has a section of train track previously used to cart the mineral deposits out. Being a card-carrying rock nerd, I could have easily spent a couple of hours investigating the dark wet cave, but we returned to our shelter to make lunch and re-live our wolf encounter ten thousand more times.

Minong Mine

To be continued in: Day Six - McCargoe Cove to Daisy Farm

More photos from this trip can be seen here.

Isle Royale National Park | Day Four

2009-10-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

Moskey Basin to West Chickenbone Lake

Chickenbone Lake

Moskey Basin is known for its sunrises, and although the morning started off a bit cloudy, we were not disappointed. We went about our morning routine at a leisurely pace, and once oatmeal and coffee were consumed we discussed our day's route. We had two possible destinations: Lake Richie or West Chickenbone Lake. Both are inland lakes known for good fishing and moose spotting potential, and each offers only a small number of tent sites. We decided to roll the dice and just see what happened.

Sunrise at Moskey Basin

We backtracked to the trail intersection and headed west on Lake Richie Trail which brought us to the campground in just under 2.5 miles. Lake Richie is a favorite spot for canoeing and fishing, but the drawback is that the campsites are located away from the lake and up a ridge. While the lake is picturesque and dotted with small islands, all of the campsites appeared to be in direct sunlight, and on this warm sunny day there would be no chance of shade until evening. We stopped in one of the campsites to eat a snack and make a decision. While Craig munched on trail mix, I visited the outhouse. It was terrifying.

Lake Richie

A side note on going to the bathroom in the woods: I feel a bit prissy complaining about the outhouse, so let me explain. When we first began planning this trip, we figured that the Isle Royale backcountry bathroom experience would consist of digging holes and bringing our own TP. We are not virgins to this form of dehumanization. Later on in the planning stage, we were happy to learn that there were pit toilets located at all campsites. Once on the island, the clean state of the facilities at our first three locations made us very happy indeed. We became spoiled.

Outhouse at West Chickenbone Lake
A charming path lures hikers to the horrors within

After detouring to a private spot in the woods, I returned to the campsite and reported my grim bathroom findings. It was only 10:30 am, and we decided that we didn't want to spend an entire day in the open sun. If we had a canoe for exploring the lake we might have felt differently, but we decided to keep going and try our luck at West Chickenbone.

Lake Richie Trail ends at Indian Portage Trail which follows the north side of the lake for a little over ½ mile. Indian Portage Trail runs the the width of Isle Royale from north to south and connects the opposite shores of the island via four inland lakes and a handful of canoe portages. A hearty person could paddle a canoe up Chippewa Harbor to the south, then paddle his/her way north through Lakes Richie, LeSage, Livermore, and Chickenbone before re-entering Lake Superior through McCargoe Cove to the north.

Portaging a canoe is nuts. Once heading north on Indian Portage Trail, we crossed paths with a forest ranger whose head was hidden inside the upside-down canoe balanced on top of his shoulders. He asked us for our names as we passed him. “I like to make a mental note of who I encounter out here in case of an emergency,” his voice echoed down to us. I have no idea how he could see where he was going. A bit further north, the trail hooks around Lake LeSage, then begins to climb some ridges. Here, another canoe portage follows the trail and creates a connection with Lake Livermore. This stretch included a descent so steep it took me several minutes (only with slight exaggeration) to navigate it relying heavily on my trek poles for balance. I had recently sent the poles back to Leki for repairs; if one of them had collapsed, I would be dictating this from a full body cast. Portagers would have to scramble up or down that segment while hoisting a canoe. To us it seemed impossible, but one person we met along the way assured us that the canoeing experience on Isle Royale is worth the work involved.

Fishermen on Chickenbone Lake

The trail hugs the marshy west end of Lake Livermore before ascending the Greenstone Ridge. Rounding the narrow end of the lake, something caught our attention through a window-like opening in the trees. An unidentifiable big brown object stood in the water on the opposite shore. We stood there for several minutes when the thought occurred to each of us simultaneously that we might be a couple of idiots staring at a large overturned tree. As soon as Craig gave up and started to move on, the tree moved its huge head. MOOSE! I was so excited I nearly fell off the plank bridge we were standing on. It was far enough away that we couldn't tell whether it was male or female, and it wasn't until we returned home and could view the enlarged photo that we were able to see antlers.

A bull moose cooling off in Lake Livermore

We left our moose window and began to climb the Greenstone, which was not nearly as steep a climb here as in other places. Once at the top, beautiful glimpses of Chickenbone Lake could be seen through the white birch trees. Here, the trail descends steeply and passes a group campsite on the way to the individual sites at the lake's edge. We saw the 2 young hikers we had met leaving Lane Cove on our second morning. They had ended up taking 2 days to get to Chippewa Harbor, and were currently hiking the 10.6-mile length of Indian Portage Trail to McCargoe Cove. West Chickenbone was a convenient place for a break along the way.

A glimpse of Chickenbone Lake while descending the Greenstone Ridge

Chickenbone Lake is shaped like a chicken wing and the west campground offers six tent sites. After some debate over location, we settled in and took a swim. The pit toilet here was a horror show which Craig advised I not attempt to use if I could help it. A sign hung in the outhouse explaining that the facilities further inland can't receive as much attention as the others, which makes perfect sense. A very bold and chatty squirrel took up residence in our site and proceeded to pester us for the duration of our stay. Known for chewing through both tent and backpack in search of food, we had read about these tiny menaces which are closer to chipmunks in size and unique to Isle Royale. After it engaged Craig in a game of chicken around our Nalgene bottle, we decided to hang our food as a precaution.

Our campsite at West Chickenbone Lake

The only tree with an adequate branch for hanging food was located at the water's edge. Our minds got carried away with an elaborate fantasy of a moose wandering through our site in the middle of the night, heading toward the water, hooking an antler on the hanging bag, and dragging our food supply out into the lake. The squirrel watched the entire food hanging process with disturbing intensity, chattering loudly the whole time. We kept our fingers crossed that it would retire for the night and leave our packs undisturbed under the tent's vestibules. In the end, all was safe and the squirrel entertained itself by chasing a snowshoe hare back and forth through our campsite until dark when we all went to bed.

PCT food hanging method thwarts demonic squirrels

Snowshoe Hare flees tiny squirrel, is unfazed by giant human

To be continued in: Isle Royale Day Five: West Chickenbone to McCargoe Cove

More photos from this trip can be seen here.

Isle Royale National Park | Day Three

2009-10-03T17:55:00.000-07:00

Daisy Farm to Moskey Basin
“I did nothing, and it was everything I ever thought it could be.” -Office Space

Although we only had to hike about 4 miles to get to our destination, we decided to get an early start in the hope of securing a good spot at Moskey Basin. There was no hint of sunlight when we awoke around 6:30 am and attempted to quietly deflate and roll up our sleeping pads.

Islets along Rock Harbor

Throughout the trip, we tended to wake before anyone else and set out on our day's hike just as others were emerging from their sleeping bags. I love getting up early when camping to enjoy the sunrise if I'm in a position to do so. Plus, I think there is a better chance of spotting wildlife in the early morning, a philosophy that Craig eventually embraced and would pay off big time later in the trip.

After getting dressed and eating breakfast by headlamp, I wandered down to the water to witness a magnificent sunrise. A handful of others were now awake, standing at the water's edge and staring in awe at the purple and pink horizon.

Sunrise at Daisy Farm

When I returned to the shelter, Craig was visiting the two women camping next door. We had filtered much more water than we needed the night before, and we didn't want to carry the excess since we had plenty to drink and would be able to get more at our next site. After debating whether he would seem like some kind of weird forest creep by offering to give away our extra water, he had apparently decided to go for it. Since they weren't chasing him out of their campsite with torches, it appeared to have gone well.

Scraggly trees along Rock Harbor Trail

We finished packing and headed west on the Rock Harbor Trail just after sunrise. This section of trail proved very interesting and would be my favorite hike of the trip. Admittedly, I felt relieved that we only had this 4-mile stretch to accomplish that day. If we had pushed all the way the day before and been made to endure this stretch of trail at the end of the planned 10.8-mile trek from Lane Cove to Moskey Basin, I might have set fire to the trail, then salted the earth.

Here's how Jim DuFresne describes this route in his essential guidebook, Isle Royale National Park: Foot Trails & Water Routes: “...the trail begins its up-and-down course over one rocky crest after another. A few times it dips down into wooded terrain, only to break out and ascend another bare, rocky crest. Keep sharp eyes out for rock cairns because the trail is easy to lose. There are a few steep climbs and descents but none of them are long.” This is basically right on point, although I don't remember losing the trail more than once or twice, and only for a few seconds each time.

Contemplating the Awesomeness

The constant up/down that DuFresne describes was exactly that – constant. But the landscape was so fascinating I couldn't help but love the entire journey. I took breaks here and there to catch my breath and, in between the gasping and panting, exclaimed about the utter awesomeness of our surroundings. The trees here were very scraggly and covered in old man's beard, giving everything a very old and weathered look. The rocky terrain revealed Isle Royale for what it actually is – a huge, ancient rock that has somehow managed to grow a forest on it.

The terrain of Rock Harbor Trail

As we ascended a ridge topped with a clearing, we heard something that stopped us dead in our tracks. A low moan somewhere in the distance rose in pitch and then became quiet. We stopped and waited, staring at each other with wide eyes. Again we heard it - a low-pitched, mournful moaning which was soon joined by a few more, all at different tones. It wasn't really how I imagined the sound, but it could be nothing else: We were listening to wolves howl for the very first time. Soon, a chorus of howling washed over us, and we stood there rooted to the spot, smiling at each other crazily. It was the most exciting sound I've ever heard.

At the top of yet another ridge

Abruptly, the howling stopped. We shook ourselves out of the stupor the sound had caused and descended the slope, paying extra attention to everything around us. Not long after listening to the wolf pack at the top of the ridge, we began to notice wolf scat along the trail. It looks similar to that of a big dog, but with hair in it from whatever animal had been a recent meal. While moose are the gray wolf's main food source on Isle Royale, they turn to beaver during the summer. The park brochure gives insight into the cycle of life on the island, describing the interdependency between the moose, wolf, beaver, red fox and snowshoe hare, and how each of them is needed to maintain symbiosis in this unique ecosystem.

"To simply hear a wolf is an honor; to see one is a wilderness favor granted to few."

About an hour before reaching Moskey Basin, we crossed paths with the couple from Wisconsin whom we had met the day before. Unlike us, they had made it all the way to Moskey Basin and were now making their way back toward Rock Harbor before heading home. When I mentioned how amazing the trail was, the husband looked at me like I was sprouting velvety antlers and said, “You like this trail? I hate it!” We asked them if they heard the wolves, and he got very excited. “We saw one,” he blurted. They explained that about ½ hour back, they had seen one standing in the trees at the edge of the trail near a stream crossing. They suggested we keep our eyes peeled when we get to this area because it might still be there.

Now on tenterhooks and more aware than ever of our surroundings, we made our way quietly along the trail. Every sound had us stopping, listening, and squinting into the trees. Eventually we decided that if the wolf didn't want us to see it, we wouldn't. And we didn't.

We arrived at Moskey Basin around 10:30 am, late enough that everyone had cleared out except for one tent camper who was still sleeping, and early enough that no one had arrived yet. Not only were we able to claim a shelter, but we also scored the best site possible. Smooth, solid rock rises out of this inlet of Lake Superior and slopes gently upward, eventually flattening out. The shelters are placed right at the tops of these wonderful rocky slopes and are very close to the water. Our shelter appeared to have the best rock surface in front which eased gradually into the lake – perfect for swimming and collecting as much water as we would need for cooking, drinking, and doing some pseudo laundry.

Our front yard at Moskey Basin

This was instantly our favorite spot so far and we knew it would be impossible to top. I can say confidently that it is the best spot in which I've ever camped. The scenery was so beautiful that I won't even bother to describe it because I don't think it's possible. We were very glad that we had wimped out the day before and changed our plans. This was going to be an excellent spot to spend a whole day doing absolutely nothing. A park ranger passed through briefly to check on things and asked how we were doing. Loons called to one another, and two very young ones practiced diving for fish, popping back up here and there in front of our site. Other unidentified birds sunned themselves on rocks, and after getting in the water ourselves, we did the same.

Feeling refreshed, we strung a line in front of our shelter and hung our clothes to dry. As we prepared lunch at our picnic table, a lone hiker showed up at the next shelter and told us his story. He was from Traverse City and had made arrangements to meet up with a friend on the island the day before. After hiking as fast as possible to get from Rock Harbor to Mt. Ojibway (their meeting place) by a predetermined time, his friend had already come and gone. Since there is nowhere to camp at Mt. Ojibway, this meant that our new acquaintance had to turn around and hike back to the first place he could find – Daisy Farm. A group of hikers found him, slightly hallucinating and dehydrated, and invited him into their shelter. After receiving water and food, the poor guy passed out and awoke the next morning, embarrassed to find a ranger checking on him. Now he was at Moskey Basin because he thought his hiking partner might show up there. If not, he was going to hitch a ride with some boaters who were heading to Three Mile and had offered to take him along.

Lichen covered trees frame the view next door at Moskey Basin

After lazily resting in our shelter for an undetermined length of time, we made dinner and watched 3 otters splash around in the water in front of our site. By now, Mr. Traverse City's friend had shown up and they had gone, and a big group of hikers from a Minnesota backpacking club had taken up residence next door.

Moskey Basin, the view east from our site

We looked forward to lying on our sleeping pads that night out on the rock, hopefully watching more bats, and stargazing. If some wolves decided to join us and howl at the moon, which was going to rise directly in front of us, that would also be acceptable. Unfortunately, cloud cover obscured the moon, and mosquitoes became a bit bothersome at dusk which ruined the atmosphere somewhat. A few toads hopped around the rock, and one of them stood at the water's edge repeatedly nabbing insects with its tongue. We lingered outside as long as possible, not wanting to give up this amazing place to go to sleep. Eventually we had to turn in, but I tried to stay awake as long as possible like a little kid, hoping to hear the wolves again. Owls hooted and loons called, and eventually I drifted off. This was the best day so far, but our trip would get even better.

At the end of Moskey Basin, looking back toward our site

To be continued in:
Isle Royale Day Four: Moskey Basin to West Chickenbone Lake

More photos from this trip can be seen here.