Isle Royale National Park | Day Four

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 unfamiliar with this form of dehumanization; however, 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. 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 park 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 narrow footbridge 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.

Left: PCT food hanging method thwarts demonic squirrels.

Right: Showshoe 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

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 else 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 LakeMore photos from this trip can be seen here.

Isle Royale National Park | Day Two

The Plan: Lane Cove to Moskey Basin: 10.8 miles

Actual: Lane Cove to Daisy Farm: 6.9 miles

The view north from Mt. Franklin

After leaving the picturesque setting of our campsite at Lane Cove, it was necessary to back track up Lane Cove Trail to the top of the Greenstone Ridge. We had been dreading this moment since reading about the steepness in other hikers' trip reports while in the research and planning phase of this trip. In truth, it didn't take as long as I expected (I bet 2 hours minimum; Craig firmly wagered 1.5 hours which proved right on the money) and once we had a few minutes to recuperate at the top, we agreed that going down was worse than going up.

Junction of Greenstone Ridge, Lane Cove, and Mt. Franklin Trails

While resting at the trail junction, we met a few other hikers who had also camped at Lane Cove and were getting an early start. Two young guys had climbed out ahead of us and were headed to Chippewa Harbor – a distance of 16.6 miles. We helpfully informed them of their insanity before bidding farewell. A couple from Wisconsin arrived next and, like us, were heading to Moskey Basin. Looking to be around 50 years old and in very good shape, they were like versions of ourselves 15 years from now, only much better. Over the coming few days they would shame us as we would see them here and there, taunting us with their cursed drive and fitness.

Mt. Franklin

After a half-hour of wallowing at the trail junction, we headed west along the Greenstone Ridge toward Mt. Franklin, less than ½ mile away. Mt. Franklin is a spectacular lookout point at an elevation of 1,080 feet – this is where we should have taken our break. This vantage point offers a view far above the trees of the north side of the island, an inland lake or two, Lake Superior, and the distant shadow of Canadian shoreline. Huge chunks of rock rise out of the ridge here providing ideal spots for resting, eating lunch, or just absorbing the marvelous view. I was sad that we had lingered so long at the top of Lane Cove Trail and couldn't spend too much time here.

The view north from Mt. Franklin

The section of the Greenstone Ridge between Mt. Franklin and Mt. Ojibway – our next stop and lunch destination 2.5 miles away – is reportedly one of the most scenic stretches of this long, 42-mile trail. We agreed that it was noteworthy in that the ridge is high enough to provide panoramas of both the north and south shores of the island, and Canada on a clear day. In fall it would undoubtedly prove an impressive stretch of trail; however, it was very hot on the high, sun-exposed ridge and we looked forward to reaching Mt. Ojibway and the shade of the old fire observation tower that still stands at its summit. This section proved to be a very long and tiring stretch that seemed to go on forever.

A cairn marks the way on the Greenstone Ridge

By the time we reached Mt. Ojibway, we were exhausted and a bit annoyed with the Greenstone Ridge. We puzzled over why it is such a popular hike for people to take along the entire east to west length of Isle Royale. Luckily, we would discover later in the week that not all of it is quite so bare and exposed to the sun, but still very challenging nonetheless.

The view south from the Greenstone Ridge

We fired up the Jetboil in the shade of the fire tower and prepared to indulge in a lunch consisting of dehydrated burrito mix in whole wheat tortillas and powdered orange gatorade. Soon, other hikers showed up to share the ideal lunch and resting spot, including the sisters we had met at Lane Cove (one of them was again not speaking to anyone) and a group of young hikers from St. Joseph, MI. They had come from Moskey Basin and highly recommended we push to get there that night. We had started to doubt our ability to complete our planned 10.8 mile hike to this destination based on how we felt 5 miles into it. One of the girls in the group informed us that wolves had been active near their campsite, and they had enjoyed the movie-like experience of listening to them howl the night before under a full moon – at midnight. A few of their party had also seen a moose in the area. This information boosted my determination to make it all the way.

Before leaving Mt. Ojibway, I climbed up the fire tower to observe the view it provides. Although it is closed about 3/4 of the way up, people can still climb high enough for a nice 360º view of the island. It was a bit hazy, but on a clear day it is undoubtedly wonderful to see. No longer used to watch for fires in this remote wilderness, I think the tower now holds equipment used to monitor air pollution.

I was feeling refreshed and looking forward to the rest of our day's journey which, according to the map, looked mostly downhill. This was not the case. We descended the Greenstone Ridge down Mt. Ojibway Trail toward Daisy Farm campground where we would pick up the Rock Harbor Trail and head west to Moskey Basin. Although technically descending, Isle Royale is made up of so many ridges that the hiking is an almost constant up/down sequence. Every time we descended a steep ridge and found ourselves in a cool valley, there was another ridge to climb in front of us. Within 30 minutes of leaving the sanctuary of Mt. Ojibway, I had deteriorated into a pathetic, sweaty disaster. Craig was getting further and further ahead and suddenly I didn't feel so good. I was not going to speak of what happened next, but in the interest of honest trip reporting, here it is: Suddenly I was dizzy and decided I needed a break with my pack off. As soon as my pack hit the ground, I found myself on all fours vomiting in a very non-Leave No Trace fashion off the side of the trail. Goodbye burrito and gatorade; we had some good times. I felt like the biggest wuss on the planet, but once that was accomplished, I suddenly felt great again!

East view from the Mt. Ojibway fire tower

Craig had stopped to wait for me at the top of a steep ridge, and was feeling quite exhausted himself. He voted for stopping at Daisy Farm for the night, but I still wanted to get to Moskey Basin. “You just threw up,” he pointed out in defense of his desire for change of plans. “But wolves are near Moskey Basin,” I countered. By this point I think I had gone temporarily insane and was attributing my moment of weakness to too much sun beating on my head on the Greenstone Ridge, drinking 70 oz of water in 3 hours, too much food at Mt. Ojibway, and my as-yet-unfulfilled desire to see wildlife.

West view from the Mt. Ojibway fire tower

Part of my hesitance to stay at Daisy Farm was due to the fact that we already planned to stay there toward the end of the trip on our way back toward Rock Harbor. We had read that Daisy Farm is the largest and most popular campground on Isle Royale, and I admit I was poo-pooing it a little because I envisioned it being too crowded and social. Also, I was annoyed because I felt like a wimp. Ten miles on more familiar terrain is easy, and even though all the research we'd done clearly warned of the ruggedness of Isle Royale, experiencing is believing. In the end, changing our plans and staying at Daisy Farm was a good decision and would lead to a wonderfully long day of leisure at the very beautiful Moskey Basin on day three, not to mention change the trajectory of our trip in such a way that we ended up experiencing some truly amazing things later that we otherwise would have missed. 

Daisy Farm actually proved perfectly nice and, although busy, it was relaxing and scenic and everyone was respectful of the quiet atmosphere. We were able to find an empty 3-sided shelter near the water, dropped our packs inside, set our sleeping pads out to inflate and went in search of a good spot along the harbor to filter water. After returning with enough to refill our drinking supply and for that night's dinner and washing up, we rested in our shelter and listened to the group next door discuss their plans for the following day: Daisy Farm to Hatchet Lake – 15.4 miles. I clearly couldn't hang with this type of crowd. At one point we heard, “Hey! A fox just ran through here with a rabbit in its mouth!” Another wildlife opportunity missed, but I couldn't manage to lift my head off my cushy Thermarest pillow.

Thimbleberries

Later, once we had recovered, we did a little exploring of our surroundings. Thimbleberries grew everywhere and we collected a bowlful to add to our oatmeal in the morning. I didn't mention this about Lane Cove, but the outhouse was very clean and it was the same at Daisy Farm. Although we kept our belongings on lock-down and our eyes and ears peeled for the infamous kleptomaniac fox, there was no sign. After sunset, the moon rose huge and bright orange above the water of rock harbor in front of our shelter. We watched bats zoom out over the water to catch insects, and a big, very tolerant toad let me shine my headlamp on it and attempt to take it's portrait.

Day Two Wildlife Sightings:

Moose: 0
Fox: 0
Toad: 1
Bats: yep

To be continued in: Isle Royale, Day Three: Daisy Farm to Moskey BasinMore photos from this trip can be seen here.