Isle Royale National Park July 2016 | Day Two

Rock Harbor Trail, Geological Reverie, and the Impossible Question

Continued from: Day One

Backpackers on Rock Harbor Trail

(This report is regarding day hiking out of Rock Harbor. For backpacking trip reports, go here for the eastern, Rock Harbor side and here for the western, Windigo side.)

I woke up at 6:30 am after sleeping well despite the small, weird bed in the cottage I was "researching."  I opened the curtains to let in the view of Tobin Harbor, went back to bed, and dozed on and off for another half-hour. After coffee and oatmeal for breakfast, I filled my day pack with provisions for the day and headed to Rock Harbor Lodge to catch the Sandy at 9:00. I would be riding standby—hitching a ride with lodge guests who were going on a tour of Edison Fishery and Rock Harbor Lighthouse. After dropping everyone off at the fishery, the Sandy would shoot across the harbor and drop me at the dock at Daisy Farm. I planned a leisurely hike back on Rock Harbor Trail, taking as much time as I wanted to cover the 7.1 mile stretch. I could pause as often as I felt like to photograph the landscape and plant life, take breaks and relax at scenic spots along the water (which is basically everywhere on this trail), and enjoy the hike without the weight of a full backpack, or the concern of getting to camp as soon as possible to secure a site.

Rock Harbor Trail follows a rock ledge at the water's edge

I boarded the Sandy at 9:00 am, taking a seat toward the back. A little boy of maybe 5 years old climbed on board with his dad, and they took seats behind me.  While we waited to shove off, the dad asked the boy the most outrageous question I’ve ever heard: “What do you like better, legos or dinosaurs?” It was an impossible question, and I involuntarily laughed when I heard it. The boy thought for a few seconds, then gave the best possible answer—the only answer there could possibly be: “Hmmm. I like both. Maybe a lego dinosaur.” A few minutes later, I heard the boy talking about a “unicorn boat” across the water. I turned around—real casual so as not to look like I was interested—to look across the harbor and saw the Ranger III with its crane extended.  Whoa. (Keanu Reeves voice)

Edison Fishery and Rock Harbor Lighthouse

We docked at Edison Fishery and everyone but me and the boat crew disembarked. The lodge excursion consists of a guided tour of the restored, historic fishery, and a walk to the Rock Harbor Lighthouse which sits nearby—a literal and figurative bright white beacon that is one of the most iconic images of this island park.

Left: The Sandy leaves me at the dock at Daisy Farm.  Right: Moose prints at Daisy Farm 

I was shuttled across the harbor and a short distance further west and dropped off at the Daisy Farm dock. The Sandy headed back across the harbor, and I shouldered my pack and walked the long cement dock toward the campground and trail. It was 10:00 am; the weather was beautiful, the sky was clear and blue, and it was pleasantly cool near the water with a nice breeze.

I’ve looked forward to hiking this stretch of trail again ever since my first trip here. It is rugged and scenic, and follows the shoreline on the side of a ridge that slopes down to Lake Superior, showcasing the island’s most unique geologic characteristic.

(Information sources listed at the end.)

As anyone who has trudged around on Isle Royale knows, the island is made up of a series of ridges. Essentially, each ridge is part of an ancient volcanic flow, formed before Lake Superior existed, and originally laid down in a series of horizontal layers. A billion or so years ago, a massive rift opened up in what is now the American Midwest. Known cleverly as the Midcontinent Rift, the continent began separating in two, opening a chasm in the Earth that stretched from present-day Kansas, up through the middle of what is now Lake Superior, curving east and then south through most of Michigan’s lower peninsula. Near the center of present-day Lake Superior, volcanic eruptions occurred from fissures in the rift, the lava extruding and spreading laterally toward the outer edges of the rift valley. The eruptions happened periodically, with intermittent lulls in volcanic activity, during which time sedimentary deposits accumulated on top of the igneous layers. Volcanic activity would eventually resume, and the process would start over. Over time the basin gradually sunk under its own weight, forming a syncline. 

"Flood Basalts and Sediments showing the process of interbedding." USGS Bulletin 1309 (Fig. 43).

For reasons that are still being researched, the rift failed, and the continent stopped its attempted separation. Upward movements of two faults—the Keweenaw and Isle Royale Faults—caused dramatic steepening of the syncline near the margins of the basin, approximately 50 miles apart. Opposite ends of the same layered volcanic land mass, they are now known as the Keweenaw Peninsula and Isle Royale. Exposed bookends that mirror each other, the Keweenaw and Isle Royale reveal millions of years of geologic process thanks to their jaunty upward tilts.

USGS Bulletin 1309

Views east and west along Rock Harbor Trail

The exposed ends of the tilted volcanic and sedimentary layers are what make up the ridge and valley structure of Isle Royale. Over time the sedimentary layers were eroded by the elements and glaciers, while the more resistant igneous rock better withstood the forces. Striations in the exposed rock of Isle Royale reveal the directions of glacier movement. The ridge that forms the rugged spine of Isle Royale, the Greenstone Ridge, is the exposed end of the largest of the ancient volcanic flows—the Greenstone Flow.

USGS Bulletin 1309

Walking along Rock Harbor Trail, evidence of the tilted layers is obvious. Rock Harbor itself is space between ridges that has filled with water—the small islands and islets to the south that follow a neat line are what’s visible above water of the next volcanic layer below the surface of the lake.

The USGS document goes into many more fascinating details about the variety of rocks found on Isle Royale and their origins, and I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to match photos I’ve taken of rocks on the island to the USGS descriptions and grainy black and white images in efforts to determine if what I thought was conglomerate at Siskiwit Bay is really conglomerate, or just really spectacular pyroclastic rock. I really like geology.

Eating a snack and looking across the harbor to some outer islands--aka the top of the next ridge

Looking north, up the ridge on Rock Harbor Trail

The campground was deserted at Daisy Farm, which is unusual. Given that it was mid-morning, everyone had likely already hit the trails to wherever adventure awaited them on this day, and newcomers had yet to arrive. I thought I would see at least a few people, however, and I wondered if a few hikers were tucked away in the sites further up the ridge in the trees, sleeping one off. I lingered at shelter #13 for a few minutes, reminiscing about the time we stayed there unexpectedly after realizing our limits on this island’s terrain during our first trip. We had planned to hike from Lane Cove to Moskey Basin, but after climbing up Lane Cove Trail to the Greenstone Ridge, hiking west across the ridge in the hot sun, then heading south on Mt. Ojibway Trail—a “descent” that is a never-ending series of down-then-back-up-again-why-won’t-it-stop-I-should-have-looked-more-closely-at-the-topographic-lines-on-the-map climbs over smaller ridges, we understood the island was trying to kill us and we should respect its supremacy, avoid looking it in the eye, and stop walking around on it at the soonest opportunity.  Once we reached the end of Mt. Ojibway Trail, we zombie-shuffled into Daisy Farm Campground and decided to hole up there for the night.

Thimbleberries aren't ripe yet in July. Another reason to go later in the season.

Thimbleberries were abundant during that early September trip, and we collected a good stash from the plants around the shelter to add to our oatmeal and for general snacking while we recuperated from being so near death, allowing what nutrients the berries possessed to invigorate our weary bloodstreams. On this July trip, however, none of the berries were remotely ripe yet, and the plants were still in their flowering phase.

The terrain of Rock Harbor Trail varies from a standard dirt path (i.e., mud), to the occasional boardwalk protecting marshy ground vegetation, to obstacle courses of jumbled boulders and tangled tree roots, to stretches of smooth exposed bedrock. I had a great time; going slow and not carrying a 35-pound backpack certainly allowed me to have a different experience. I’m not sure I can legitimately call what I did hiking, as I took over 6 hours to go 7.1 miles, but I definitely enjoyed myself. As I walked, it was fun to see things again that I remembered from my previous hike of this trail. I was mesmerized by this trail my first time here; it blew me away, especially the particularly rugged and scenic section between Three Mile CG and Rock Harbor CG. (And the section further west from Daisy Farm to Moskey basin is rugged and awesome, but I did not revisit it on this trip.)

Various trail conditions--mud, foot/ankle punishing rock & root bonanza, smooth bedrock

I looked for a landmark that was no longer there—on our first trip we took a short break on a sandy section of shore with a view of Rock Harbor Lighthouse in the distance. I looked forward to sitting here for a while, but I couldn’t find it, and I eventually determined that the sandy shore we happened upon in 2009 was probably not a normal occurrence and was instead due to Lake Superior having a lower water level at the time. Back in 2006-2009-ish, the Great Lakes were experiencing lower lake levels, and it was causing issues across the region. It may not seem very significant, but a decrease of mere inches can cause far-reaching problems, from recreational boaters being unable to dock their pleasure boats in Great Lakes’ parks for fear of running aground, to billions of dollars lost in the Great Lakes shipping industry--the lower the water level, the lighter a cargo ship’s load must be.

Left: A sandy stretch of beach existed here in 2009 when the lake level was lower.   Right: About the same spot in 2016.

The trail was nearly as deserted as Daisy Farm Campground, which was—again—surprising. At the height of summer vacation season, it’s possible to experience solitude at Isle Royale National Park even on the most popular hiking routes. I crossed paths with a couple of small groups of hikers, who were interested in what I noticed of site availability at Daisy Farm, and one large group of young hikers, who looked to be part of a girl scout or other outdoor-type group. Common loons played games of cat-and-mouse with me throughout the day ("human-and-aquatic bird" doesn't have the same ring to it), taunting me with their magical calls and allowing only fleeting glimpses of them before they dove beneath the surface of the water and out of my life.

I returned to Rock Harbor around 4:00. It had gotten very hot in the midday sun, and I felt only a little guilty enjoying the luxury of a shower, followed by a walk to the Greenstone Grille for a pint of Keweenaw Brewing Company Pick-Axe Blond Ale. Another change from the last time I was in Rock Harbor, the Greenstone Grille now has a nice variety of real pizzas on its menu. When we were here in 2009, it had frozen pizza only, which we gratefully shoved in our faces after the previous 7 days’ physical punishment. I remember it was amazing, and I felt a touch of sadness at the inevitable progress of the world.

I wandered around the harbor for a while before returning to my cottage to read and relax for the evening. I had an early day planned for tomorrow, taking an 8:00 am water taxi to Hidden Lake, where I would climb up the Greenstone Ridge for the notoriously awesome views of the sexy volcanic ridges to the north from the vantage point of Lookout Louise. But a storm was coming...

To be continued in Day 3: Lookout Louise and the Greenstone Ridge

Geological information sources

USGS Bulletin 1309: The Geologic Story of Isle Royale National Park:
https://pubs.usgs.gov/bul/1309/report.pdf
Nature.com:

http://www.nature.com/news/geology-north-america-s-broken-heart-1.14281)

Badlands National Park 2015 | Part Four

Castle Trail/Medicine Root Loop
4.22.15

Castle Trail

It was still a ghost town at Cedar Pass Lodge when we left our cabin on our third morning at Badlands National Park. Once again we walked over to the Cedar Pass Restaurant for breakfast before heading to the trailhead. We planned to hike Castle Trail, an out-and-back hike by itself that can be combined with another trail—Medicine Root Trail—to make a loop of 6.6 miles.  It’s a nice day hike provided the weather isn’t too hot, which...you know.

Left: Indian Fry Bread with berry pudding   Right: Cedar Pass Lodge

Castle Trail/Medicine Root Trail loop combo

The weather today was actually much better. Although it was still windy and freezing in the morning, it was sunny and the temperature would eventually rise into the 60s in the afternoon. We started out hiking in warm layers and wool hats, but eventually we were able to take our jackets off as it warmed up.  

We returned to the parking lot where most of the park’s trails are accessed and found only a single car parked in its long expanse and no other sign of human activity.  Two turkey vultures were perched high on the Badlands Wall. Lurking. Waiting.

It happened to be Earth Day.  I hope everyone took a few minutes to show their eroded sedimentary rock formation how they feel.  

At the beginning of Castle Trail, there is a bulletin board with trail descriptions and safety information regarding heat, dehydration, the lack of shade or water on the trails, cacti, and rattlesnakes. There is also a backcountry registration box for those venturing into the backcountry. Backcountry camping does not require a permit here, and backpackers can set out off-trail and camp anywhere in the park.  There are no trails to follow in the backcountry, and due to the severe nature of the landscape—extreme heat in summer/cold in winter, violent summer storms, non-availability of water anywhere within the park—exploring far into the backcountry should be attempted only by experienced, well-prepared hikers.

Left: Cautionary messages  Right: Red stakes mark the way along Castle Trail

The backcountry registration box had been defaced—with good intentions—by other hikers.  Scribbled notes regarding Castle Trail offered pointers on how to avoid getting lost immediately. This appears to be a frequent occurrence; messages scrawled with escalating urgency gave advice like “Go left,” “Look up,” “Don’t go down river bed,” and “Don’t proceed until you see red marker,” and were accompanied by “Listen to these people,” and “Pay heed people!” with arrows pointing to the previous notes. This stood out as not run-of-the-mill graffiti, and it grabbed our attention.  

Paying heed as directed, we took a minute to look around, stopping ourselves from proceeding to the right, down what looked deceptively like a trail but was likely the riverbed mentioned in one of the cautionary notes. We looked to our left and eventually spotted the first red trail marker up a hill in the distance.

Castle Trail starts out in a dry grassy area, winding past the occasional rock formation. Before long the formations become more frequent, sometimes appearing majestic, rising in pyramids and turrets, and other times looking decrepit, like an unearthed, ancient crumbling canyon.

The trail itself follows pretty easy terrain; there are some rolling hills, but no steep climbing. The ground can be a bit rough, and prickly pear cactus grows within the grass in some areas (not to mention rattlesnakes can be present when it’s warm), so appropriate hiking shoes should be worn.  We saw several female bighorn sheep throughout the hike, and they watched us with cautious curiosity. Only four other hikers crossed our path. 

Around three miles in, at the intersection of three trails—Castle, Medicine Root, and Saddle Pass—we headed northeast on Medicine Route Trail to begin the loop back.  This trail guides hikers through a flatter, grassier area, with Badlands formations to the south, and prairie to the north.  It is interesting hiking between these two extremes; the jagged peaks and spires of the Badlands formations in the distance on one side, and on the other side, a mostly empty, flat grassy expanse.

Green stakes mark Medicine Root Trail

Standing out oddly in a landscape otherwise devoid of such features, fields of a variety of rocks suddenly appear in a few locations on both Castle and Medicine Root Trails.  These rocks do not look like they belong; it is as if they were dumped here from another location and then spread out across a few open areas.  After doing some reading of the geological information available on the NPS website, it appears this actually is the case.  If I understand correctly, these rocks are part of what is referred to as “Medicine Root Gravels”: rocks that were carried here from the Black Hills and deposited in this area a few million years ago by fast-flowing rivers.  (If anyone knows of another explanation for the existence of these rocks, let me know.  But I will probably cover my ears and not listen because this scenario is mind-blowingly fascinating to me.)

There was still just one other car in the trailhead parking lot when we got back.  When we returned to Cedar Pass Lodge, we discovered another cabin was now occupied.  This place was getting far too warm and crowded; it was time to go.

We decided to stay at our cabin for dinner, and we dug into the contents of our box of camp food for various meal options.  I chose my favorite dehydrated meal, Mary Jane’s Farm Chilimac, which I prepared on our front porch with our Jetboil stove.  It was still windy, but the sun was warm, and I stayed outside on the porch for as long as I could tolerate the wind and I started developing a nice sunburn above the v-neck of my t-shirt to compliment my windburned face.

Sunset at Cedar Pass

As was the pattern on this trip, the wind died down in the evening, and I walked around the Cedar Pass area, enjoying the surroundings on our last night in the park.  The grassy area across the road from Cedar Pass Lodge was a good spot to watch the sunset, and I watched the sky turn magnificent shades of orange behind a silhouette of Badlands peaks. Afterwards I returned to our cabin and sat outside as the sky darkened and the crescent moon rose, and watched stars break out across the black expanse of the big sky.

I don't have proper equipment for night photography, so this is the best I could do.

We left Badlands National Park the next morning, taking a northern route home through South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, and finally Michigan.  I fell in love hard in Madison, WI with a huge black Labrador retriever that was waiting patiently outside Gotham Bagels, wearing the most solemn expression I’ve ever seen on a dog.  A year and a half later, I’m still not over it.  

Left: Lonely road in South Dakota.  Right: This dog tried to mesmerize me into buying it a lox bagel in Madison, WI.

Badlands National Park 2015 | Part Three

Landscapes and Wildlife

4.20.15

American bison

This segment of the trip report is best presented simply as photographic documentation of the drive through the park on Badlands Loop Road and Sage Creek Rim Road, and the landscapes and wildlife observed.  Not much narration is needed as the pictures speak for themselves, but I will of course have to include a little geology.

Recommended driving music: Queens of the Stone Age (first album) or something mystical and weird

The ever-moody weather enhanced the light and drama

The park was still almost completely deserted.  Encountering another car was rare, and the many overlooks along the road were lonely and, ironically, being overlooked.

Panorama Point

The red sedimentary layers (horizons) like these are fossil soils (paleosols) and are evidence of a warmer and wetter climate in the geologic past.

Red horizons seen from the overlook at Panorama Point

Approaching the Yellow Mounds area of the park, it looked like we were venturing into a desolate, post-apocalyptic land, where mutant warriors were lying in wait, ready to ambush us and steal our water and gasoline.   

But there was no one.

Approaching the aptly-named Yellow Mounds

Completely deserted--not a single car parked at the overlook.  The lonely interpretive sign waits for a visitor.

The yellow mounds are an odd feature in an already strange landscape.  Of these geologic formations, the National Park Service explains that when the ancient sea that covered this part of North America drained away as a result of the uplift of the mountains to the west (see the previous post), the top layers of the former sea floor became weathered over time into a yellow soil.  Creatively, they are now called Yellow Mounds.  (But I challenge anyone to name them something more appropriate.)  These mounds are another example of a paleosol.  

https://www.nps.gov/badl/learn/nature/geologicformations.htm

A couple of ewes grazing

We passed a few female bighorn sheep as we meandered along.  They were unfazed by our presence as we slowed down to watch them graze near the side of the road. Unless it's mating season, rams and ewes do not intermingle; they live separately, congregating in groups of their own sex.

A lovely lady

At the north entrance to the park, Badlands Loop Road ends and forks north to exit the park on highway 240, and west to continue through the park via Sage Creek Rim Road--a dirt road that skirts Badlands Wilderness Area, which is home to the park's nearly 1,300 bison. It is also home to a community of prairie dogs known as Roberts Prairie Dog Town. 

Here the rugged landscape abruptly ends, giving way to the vast, rolling grassland of the surrounding region. 

Camping at Sage Creek is for the self-sufficient adventurer who prefers to camp far from the busier, more modern campground at Cedar Pass. (Both were completely empty during our visit.)  The Sage Creek Campground is free and somewhat primitive; there is no water, but there are pit toilets, and picnic tables with awnings for sun protection. These awnings are unusual sights for someone from east of the Mississippi, where there are no expansive grasslands or deserts with potentially dangerous sun exposure.  

Camping at Sage Creek is also for those who don't mind living with the bison, who have the run of the place.  I had looked forward to experiencing this first-hand, but since the weather prevented us from camping, it was not to be.  My sister camped here during her trip a few years before and shared some photos of her experience:

Sage Creek Campground, May 2010

Look how warm it seems. And fragrant.

This is a good time to exhibit the difference in the weather and landscape in just one month.  My photos were taken in mid-April, hers in mid-May.  While mine look cold, with dark, dramatic clouds and bleakness; hers are all warm light, green grass, and desert flowers.

April in Roberts Prairie Dog Town:

May:

All May photos taken by Andrea

A few more examples:

Left: Yellow Mounds area in April  |  Right: Yellow Mounds area in May

Plains Prickly Pear Cactus--forlorn in April (left) / festive in May (right)

The grass--bland and beige in April (left) / bright and blooming in May (right)

The ground--featureless in April (left) / fancy in May (right)

I was so excited to see bison that I started taking photographs as soon as I spotted tiny brown dots miles away on the horizon.  I worried that I might not be lucky enough to see one up close, but there ended up being no need for that concern.  After driving for a few minutes, bison appeared everywhere.  They are huge and fascinating.  They look like enormous, old, grumpy wardens of the land, sporting unkempt beards with miscellaneous debris stuck in them. 

Also beware of birds.

The extent of park traffic during our visit

We slowly drove along the road, stopping periodically to watch them wandering around and grazing.  I wanted to stay there forever.

(Taken at a distance with a zoom lens)

Bison! Yellow Mounds! Badlands!

After winding our way through the Sage Creek area, we turned around and headed back toward Cedar Pass, where we saw more bighorn sheep, this time perched high up on the formations.

A ram strolling alongside the road near Cedar Pass

Formations across the road from Cedar Pass Lodge

Back at our cabin, I spent time watching the smaller fauna in our immediate surroundings. A flock of yellow-headed blackbirds foraged in the dry grass in front of our cabin, and a few cottontail rabbits took shelter under our picnic table and in the taller grass behind the cabin.

The striking mountain bluebird we saw earlier at Door Trail was impressive, but my favorite was the western meadowlark. Considered an archetypal prairie bird, the western meadowlark is common in this part of the country--like seeing a robin in my neck of the woods--but to me it was an unfamiliar species with an exotic song that I ended up enjoying almost as much as the amazing landscape I drove for two days to see.  

I sat outside for as long as I could stand the cold wind, watching one of these birds flit around in a tree behind our cabin, singing his little lungs out.

For a video of this guy singing, go here.

A male western meadowlark singing in a tree behind our cabin at Cedar Pass

With no other visitors at Cedar Pass, the view behind our cabin was deserted and beautiful, and the only sounds were birds and wind.

To be continued in Part Four: Castle Trail.