South Manitou Island | Day 2

(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 battered 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

The Ghost Forest

Photo below by Andrea

A fascinating place to visit while hiking lies within Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. Located in the northwestern part of Michigan's Lower Peninsula, Sleeping Bear Dunes is home to beautiful beaches, historic lighthouses, wilderness camping, spectacular views of ocean-like Lake Michigan, miles of rolling sand dunes, and dozens of trails. Sleeping Bear Point Trail is particularly interesting because it is where the Ghost Forest appears to unsuspecting hikers.

The sand that makes up the landscape of the Sleeping Bear area is constantly moving. This phenomenon is not necessarily noticeable from one day to the next, but year after year the tiny quartz grains shift little by little. Constant winds blow off of Lake Michigan causing the dunes to migrate and expand, and for new dunes to grow.

Over time, the drifting and accumulating sand will bury whatever is in its path. This is true for man-made structures such as the U.S. Life-Saving Station (now a maritime museum) which had to be moved in the 1930s due to encroaching sand, and natural objects such as trees.

When migrating sand moves into a wooded area, it gradually engulfs and kills the trees. As the years pass and the sand continues on its journey, the trees are eventually uncovered. Those that manage to remain standing appear as ghosts – dead, white, and stripped of their branches.

A group of ghost trees haunts Sleeping Bear Point Trail somewhere around the halfway point and is a captivating sight especially if one is not anticipating such an encounter.

These trees once lived happy forest lives but were killed, perhaps hundreds of years ago, when westerly winds blew across Lake Michigan and slowly buried their woodland home in sand. Who knows how long these enduring phantoms will remain, wraith-like as they withstand the elements, surprising innocent hikers and plotting their revenge...

October 2008: Fall in the L.P.

Part Two: Old Mission PeninsulaThe tip of Old Mission Peninsula sits at the 45th parallel: a latitude shared with Bordaux, France which gives it the distinction of being near the heart of Michigan's wine country.Known for its cherry and apple orchards, vineyards, and a handful of wineries, this narrow finger of land makes for a scenic and leisurely fall drive. I stopped to take a look at a few of the orchards (some of which have a U-pick policy at certain times) but the extremely windy conditions of the day made it difficult to get many good photos.
Cherry season was long over, but apple season was in full swing and many types of apples are grown in this region. Local growers operating roadside produce stands are prevalent in this part of Michigan and I took advantage of this, buying a few enormous Honeycrisp apples which ended up as my dinner once I got back on the road later and didn't feel like stopping to eat.

On the peninsula, one can shop for supplies and food (including locally-grown canned items) at Old Mission General Store which has been around since the mid-1800s. A tiny white schoolhouse from the same era is also still operational nearby. Driving all the way to the tip of the peninsula brought me to Old Mission Lighthouse. Built in 1870, the light helped guide ships around the rocky point once shipping in the area had grown significantly. A log home built in the 1850s by early settlers sits in the woods just west of the lighthouse. Historically speaking, Old Mission Peninsula has many interesting things to offer.

Heading south and back down the peninsula, I stopped at Ogdensburg Cemetary to crunch through the fallen leaves and view old headstones from the 1800s. Nearby, the vineyard of Chateau Grand Traverse Winery provided a striking vista stretching out from the road toward a stand of forest in the early stages of fall color and the blue water of West Grand Traverse Bay.

Overall, fall color was not yet at its height here due to the proximity of Lake Michigan and Grand Traverse Bay. I always forget that it tends to stay a bit warmer (although it may not feel like it) along the lakeshore because large bodies of water retain the heat they absorb during summer. This phenomenon causes the fall season to extend a bit longer.

Sleeping Bear Dunes Pt. 3: Snowshoeing and Chocolate

Wishful thinking inspired Andrea and I to bring our snowshoes with us to Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore on the last weekend in March. It was technically spring, but the weather was ignoring the calendar. With statewide highs still only in the 30’s, even Metro Detroit had received several inches of snow the week before to the dismay of most. I, however, was excited about this as my snowshoes looked sad and bored gathering dust on the basement shelving unit with the rest of my hiking stuff. This could be my last chance to escape the self-induced house arrest I had been wallowing in all winter.

By a stroke of luck, we arrived at the Sleeping Bear Dunes visitor center just as a park ranger was about to begin a group hike. Although we did not join with them (we had to visit the chocolate shop down the street first – more on that later), she informed us that the trails that lead out to the tops of dunes and were exposed to the sun were mostly snow-free but those that stayed in the shelter of trees still had up to 18 inches in some spots. She recommended the scenic drive, which is unplowed in the winter and closed to cars but converts to a ski trail. The Scenic Drive Ski Trail follows the road and includes lookout points and extra loops that veer off into the woods to create 8 miles of excellent skiing/snowshoeing/hiking opportunity.

Starting from the trailhead parking lot, we ignored the superfluous 1.5 mile loop to our left and headed up the trail marked “advanced” which would hook up with the scenic drive in about a mile. This would mean that by following the main trail we would walk about 6 miles and pass a handful of lookouts over dunes, Lake Michigan, and North Bar Lake.

It was 1 pm and we didn’t have anything else planned so this was the perfect means to justify the huge breakfast I shouldn’t have eaten right before at Art’s Tavern in Glen Haven. By the time we reached the end of the “advanced” section of trail I had removed a few layers and was a quivering sweaty disaster (Andrea has horrific photographic evidence of this). Luckily I encountered a perfect sitting log thankfully fallen at the top of the hill and collapsed pathetically onto it. This is what happens when you haven’t gone outside in 4 months, I guess.

Once the wheezing stopped we continued on through the completely silent woods. The rest of the trail is a mixture of uphill and downhill and even though the majority of the trail is marked “easy”, this is really only meant to be a guide for skiing. The snow, unstable from partially thawing then refreezing several times, was challenging to get through in a few areas so the greasy sausage patties were more than worked off and the chocolate truffles we would reward ourselves with later in the car were well-deserved.

We had stopped at Grocer’s Daughter Chocolate on M-22 in Empire earlier in the day and loaded up on their wonderful dark chocolate truffles. These chocolate goddesses make magnificent delicacies from locally-grown natural ingredients. On our way out of town we would again stop there to pick up a few more things for the drive home. Visit their yummy and friendly store if you are in town. If you appreciate good dark chocolate you will be very happy. I recommend the Espresso Truffles although I sampled a bit of everything and it was all worth purchasing - so we did!

One of the most exciting things about snowshoeing the Scenic Drive Ski Trail was the variety of animal tracks that crossed our path and were clearly visible in the snow. Highlights were coyote and what could only have been sasquatch-bird hybrid tracks. Seriously! These things were HUGE! Of course, like the famous blurry video footage of the elusive sasquatch, my photos of these tracks did not turn out. I’m hoping Andrea fared better and am awaiting copies provided the government doesn’t shut us down. It seemed odd that a bird would walk through the woods for a distance great enough to leave the amount of tracks that were there, but I suppose it is not unheard of for them to chase prey along the ground (although it is kind of creepy).

Consulting Scat and Tracks of the Great Lakes, a book that I would buy on our way out of the park (a bit late but I’m prepared for next time), we later determined from our clear and rational memories that the tracks were bigger than those of the largest birds in the book - Sandhill Crane, Great Blue Heron, and Eagle. Either the snow had seriously distorted things or we were onto something BIG.

Shaking off the uneasy feeling haunting us after seeing the giant mutant bird tracks, we found ourselves heading out of the thicker trees and onto the stretch of road where the covered bridge stands. As we approached the bridge we were startled by the sound of running from behind us. I turned around as quickly as possible without getting tangled in my own snowshoes and saw a 60ish year old man jogging toward us. Jogging! Wearing running shoes. Holding a water bottle and barely breathing hard. In 6-18 inches of snow depending on the section of trail. I thought we were about to be ambushed but this was far worse. He shouted a cheerful greeting, warned us about the 4 inches of ice that lurked under the bridge, and continued trotting happily up the approaching hill.

By the time we reached the top of the slope he was long gone and we would continue to follow his tracks for the rest of the hike. They would disappear at a point about 2 miles from the end (where we turned away from a section that was closed and marked “danger”), then reappear later making it clear that he had not only taken the dangerous section, but that he had also managed to leave us in his snowy dust even with adding an extra loop to his route without the aid of snowshoes or trek poles or a proper hands-free hydration system. Ignoring the comical humiliation, I focused on the truffles waiting for us in the car and trudged the last mile and a half to the place where we began 5 short hours ago.

The following evening at home I would tell Craig all about the fun we had over the last couple of days. I would show him the photos I took and tell him about the scenery, the animal tracks, the hikes, the herds of deer all over the roads, and the paraglider we saw take off into the wind above Lake Michigan on a sunny, 35-degree day.

His only response would be: “You spent ten dollars on a book about poop?”

Sleeping Bear Dunes Pt. 2: Here Be Cougars

Before the excruciatingly boring 5-hour drive east across the state and then south toward Metro Detroit, I decided to check out Sleeping Bear Point Hiking Trail near Glen Haven. I anticipated spending around 2 hours completing the 3-mile loop because I wanted to take my time, enjoy the sun before it became too hot, observe some of the plant life along the way, and spend as much time as I pleased taking in the expanse of water and sand.

I arrived at the trailhead around 9am to find a surprisingly empty parking lot. This made me exceptionally happy because I am rabidly anti-social and dislike uncomfortable chit chat with strangers especially if they are accompanied by annoying children. Stepping out of my car, I helped myself to a generous dollop of sunblock and headed over to read the informative sign erected by the park service at the start of the trail.

What’s this? I’m a visitor in Cougar Habitat? It’s true there have been rumors of large cats in various areas across Michigan, but surely the odds of actually seeing one are slim.

What does the park service say about this?
- Recent sightings in the area
- Adults range from 5-8 feet long (…really?)

According to the sign, if one should encounter a cougar it is wise to do the following:
- Wave arms, shout, throw rocks or sticks
- If attacked, fight back aggressively
Shite.
This is ridiculous. There is no way I’m going to encounter a Mountain Lion on a sand dune next to Lake Michigan. I will just stuff my pockets full of rocks as a precaution (ensuring that I will have weaponry while at the same time weighing myself down so that it will be harder to run away which is a very bad idea according to the sign) and have a nice walk. Perhaps at a bit more brisk a pace than I originally planned, but the exercise will not kill me. Neither will a cougar. That’s just stupid.

- Travel in groups whenever possible

Well now I felt as if I was being personally ridiculed for wanting some peace and quiet. I belligerently photographed the sign so that when my camera is eventually found amongst my mutilated remains, people will at least think, “Well, she knew what she was getting into. What bravery! Who wants to die of something boring, anyway?”
The day was glorious along Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. After walking a short distance along the first stretch of the trail, I found myself on top of a dune looking out toward Sleeping Bear Point. I observed North and South Manitou Islands to the north across the quiet water of Manitou Passage. Stretching out endlessly to the west, the expanse of perfectly calm blue water reflected itself back into the perfectly clear blue sky. To the east a beech-maple forest provided innumerable places for cougars to hide and stalk my solitary progress.

I turned and headed southwest along the trail, following the rise and fall of the hilly landscape. Ahead in the distance I spied what appeared to be a cluster of sticks that someone before me had jammed into the sand to stab at the sky at various angles. Was this some kind of message? A warning to trespassers on this land to venture no further? If I grasped a couple of rocks in my trembling hand as a precaution, I would rather not say.

Approaching the sticks with caution, I soon realized they were much bigger than early observation suggested. They were, in fact, a ghost forest. At some point this whole area had been covered in woods, but centuries* of blowing sand blasted and eventually buried the trees. Inevitably the sand moved along and a few skeletons were left standing like lonely monuments along this stark and desolate lakeshore. I mean desolate in a very beautiful way and I stopped to take in my surroundings.
It was deafeningly quiet and a bit eerie, an alien planet blanketed with sand. Hills and valleys rolled away in one direction, a mirage of water in the other, and right in the middle stood this handful of ghostly white towers. Memories assailed me of a nightmare I once had involving a Roman colosseum and an unfortunate man’s demise by man-eating lion. Suddenly the beautiful ghost trees loomed and intimidated and felt again like the warning I originally mistook them for. I decided it was time to move on.
An edge of forest waited in the distance on the other side of a valley of sand and some gently rolling grassy hills. The trail markers suggested I proceed in that direction so I did as they bade. After a half-mile or so I approached the shade of the woods and immediately heard the dreaded sound of a twig snapping.

If there is one thing at which I feel I would truly excel magnificently if given the opportunity, it is blind panic. At last, my shining moment! Preparing myself to flail and scream, I spun around wildly looking in all directions, anticipating attack but seeing nothing.
Is this what people trekking across the Sahara feel? Suffocating isolation and fear of some deranged sand creature showing up to aggressively dine on them? No escape because there’s nowhere to go and your ineffective body is weighted down with predator-repelling rocks?

I lurched into the forest with determination to finish this haunting experience. I calculated that I was roughly halfway through the trail loop and would arrive at the safety of my car in about an hour. For the second time in as many days I wondered why I did not have the foresight to bring my dog for company.

Unfriendly noises assaulted me from all directions. A large bird swooped in from above my head to land in a nearby tree, thus directing my attention to the upper reaches of the forest, the perfect spot for a cunning feline to launch an attack maneuver. It seemed the trees themselves were mocking me with their patronizing stature and murmuring leaves.

Where are the other hikers? Oh, how I would welcome delightful conversation with new acquaintances and their endearing children!

Clearly what one needs in a situation such as this is an emergency cyanide pill. As I speed-walked past menacing logs and rustling underbrush I wondered if there were secret back rooms at select outfitters where one could procure such an item. With a secret handshake or password of some kind, those who are “cool” are escorted through a hidden passage to a secret darkened VIP room where items of a sensitive nature can be obtained at a price. Later, the credit card statement will read: “Topographic Aid”.

Oh dear God! Is that some kind of structure up ahead? Perhaps I can seek refuge inside and wait out the pursuing storm of bloodthirsty Death Cats. Surely someone will come along eventually and I will be rescued! I thrashed through the branches toward this vision of salvation and stumbled out onto the pavement of the parking lot. The safe haven was actually the trailhead outhouse and I found myself staring at my car.
Well now I just felt foolish and cheated out of my leisurely 2-hour stroll, which had been condensed into a sweaty 1-hour battle of survival. I was tempted to immediately do the whole thing over, taking my time now that I was an accomplished veteran. However, the parking lot showed evidence I was no longer alone and once someone has been through an experience as harrowing as this, it is difficult to relate to the common citizen. What I needed was solitude.

Somewhere between Traverse City and Kalkaska, with the threat of grisly death but a memory, I stopped to buy a quart of cherries and a peach pie from a roadside farm stand and tried not to eat all of it during the remainder of the drive home.

*Those who lean toward Intelligent Design may ignore this brazen use of logic.