Isle Royale National Park July 2016 | Introduction

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.

Stoll Trail at Dusk

Introduction

The first time I went to Isle Royale was in September 2009. It was the second backpacking trip my husband and I had ever taken, and it blew our minds and nearly destroyed our bodies. The eight days we spent on the eastern half of the island proved to be an unforgettable adventure. The experience was magical, and its memory has grown to mythic proportions over the years.

My second trip was in September 2013. By then we had been on several more backpacking trips (for Craig this included a solo, return trip to the island the year before), but Isle Royale still kicked our asses. We thought it would be a cool way to mark our tenth wedding anniversary, and we proceeded to put ourselves through several days of mostly grueling misery in celebration. Even though that trip was spent on the island’s more gentle western end, the cold, rain, and fog we encountered were formidable adversaries, making us earn every reward, whether it was a glimpse of wildlife, a beautiful campsite, or a few hours of warm sun.

I experienced surprising encounters with wolves on both trips—strokes of extraordinary luck, the significance of which is not lost on me, especially considering the island’s current wolf/moose predicament. I feel honored to have had those experiences; to this day they are among the most exciting moments I’ve known.

Left: Indian Portage Trail, September 2009.       Right: Siskiwit Bay Site #5, September 2013.

I returned to Isle Royale for a third visit this summer, solo this time when I found myself with some unexpected time off in late-July. In preparation, I thought it would be fun to re-read the trip report from my first trip, revisiting my thoughts and observations at the time. Though some of it is cringeworthy—the typos that slipped through despite obsessive proof-reading, the sharing of too much information at times, etc.—it was interesting to read my thoughts about what it would be like to do certain things from a perspective of having now done them. (Would I ever have the guts to go solo backpacking? Check! Would I ever travel by sea plane? Check!)

What stands out the most in that youthful report are the feelings I expressed about this little-known national park: “This hiking trip to Isle Royale National Park is the best vacation I have ever taken. It was at once beautiful and subtle, physically exhausting and mentally rewarding. A feeling of contentment settled over us while on Isle Royale and it lasted for several weeks after returning home...no other trip has managed to have that effect...Isle Royale left an impression on us that will not fade any time soon.”  I still feel that way, and I still think about that trip often.  As I would go on to state later in my 2013 Isle Royale trip report, that first trip set the bar very high for future adventures.

Unnamed stream draining Chickenbone Lake into McCargoe Cove

Unlike that first trip—meticulously planned months in advance after countless hours of research—this trip was spur-of-the-moment, planned over a few days. I had six days off, two of which would be spent driving to and from the Keweenaw Peninsula, leaving four days on the island. I spent a bit of time planning a hiking loop, trying to decide what my best options were for four days, but then I had an idea and decided to simplify things.

At the end of that first trip in 2009, we spent our last day at Rock Harbor waiting for the afternoon ferry back to the mainland. I took note of a few things that I would like to do in the Rock Harbor area if I ever found myself back there with time to bum around, even stating in the last entry of that report, “I could easily see myself going back and spending more time there.”  I decided that since this was going to be a short, solo venture, that’s what this trip should be about.

I abandoned the planning of a loop and instead explored the idea of staying in the Rock Harbor area and doing some long day hikes and canoeing. I wanted to take my time exploring, taking pictures, and wandering aimlessly.

The immediate Rock Harbor area near the main dock and visitor center has a small camp store and marina. The campground is west of the visitor center, a short distance down the Rock Harbor Trail. Just east of the visitor center is The Rock Harbor Lodge, a mid-century guest lodge with 60 rooms facing Lake Superior. It also has 20 cottages a short walk north through the woods, tucked in the trees facing Tobin Harbor and virtually hidden from anyone not deliberately seeking them out.

The Rock Harbor Lodge offers a few options to assist hikers and paddlers. A water taxi service is available to shuttle people, canoes, and kayaks out to some of the smaller islands within Isle Royale’s archipelago, and to more remote locations on the main island. For instance, a hiker with only a couple of days to spend on the island could take a water taxi to Chippewa Harbor, then hike back to Rock Harbor over a few days, thus covering a good stretch of trail on a one-way hike. Kayakers could get dropped off at Birch Island, spend a couple of days paddling and camping in the various coves and on small islands to the north, and eventually make their way to Duncan Bay to be picked up at the dock at a predetermined time. Another option, on certain days of the week the lodge’s sight-seeing boat, the Sandy, also doubles as a “water bus.” If empty seats are available, hikers can pay a small fee to hitch a ride, and the Sandy will drop them off at designated locations on its route. 

I reviewed the lodge’s website and called the office to discuss some of these options, and a plan began to take shape. I could split my time between exploring places I was interested in in the immediate area, like Scoville Point on foot, and Tobin Harbor by canoe, and some longer day hikes assisted by the water taxi service to get me out to more distant starting points, from which I could hike back.

On a whim while discussing the above options on the phone, I asked if any cottages were available, fully expecting the answer to be “no.”  To my surprise, one was open despite the short notice. I took this as a sign and spontaneously decided to integrate a few nights at one of these mysterious cottages into the mix. We had stumbled upon one of them on the last day of our 2009 trip while keeping tabs on a moose that was hanging around the area. At the time, we assumed it was park employee lodging, and we talked about how cool it would be to live there—another thing I could now investigate for myself.

As far as getting to the island, I opted to travel by sea plane out of Houghton in order to make the most of my limited time. Isle Royale Seaplanes (f/k/a Royale Air Service) confirmed they could fit me on one of their flights with just a few days’ notice. If I had more time, I would have loved to spend a day in Copper Harbor and take the ferry, the Isle Royale Queen. The journey by boat across Lake Superior is part of the full experience and helps one appreciate the island’s remoteness and the massive body of water that rules it.

The Ranger III travels between Houghton, Michigan and Rock Harbor, ferrying passengers, canoes, kayaks, and small boats.

The Isle Royale Queen IV passenger ferry travels from Copper Harbor, Michigan and can transport kayaks and canoes.

The Voyageur II brings passengers, canoes, and kayaks from Grand Portage, Minnesota to Windigo, then circumnavigates the island, providing transportation to and from other designated locations within the park.

The Isle Royale Sea Plane brings passengers from Houghton, Michigan to Rock Harbor (docking in Tobin Harbor) and Windigo (docking in Washington Harbor).

I had everything I needed for the trip, including food, as our basement has become a hub of camping gear, including a collection of various freeze-dried meals leftover from previous trips. Other than a few snack items picked up the night before I left, I gathered everything needed during a few trips to the basement gear shop and was ready in no time.

I had three main goals for this trip: 1) Hike to Scoville Point at either sunrise or sunset, 2) Hike up to Lookout Louise and see the notoriously great view, and 3) Spend time canoeing in Tobin Harbor.

(Spoiler alert: I more or less failed at all three. You can make plans, but the island sometimes has ideas of its own.)

I was ready Thursday morning for the 10-hour drive north to Houghton, but I hadn’t yet thought about where I would stay that night. I didn’t feel like staying in a motel, so I decided to look into camping options. McLain State Park, a large park on Lake Superior outside of Hancock, had one campsite left for that night according to the Michigan State Parks reservation system, which I was able to reserve. That settled, I left home at 9:15 am and headed north.

I crossed the Mackinac Bridge at 1:30 pm and stopped at Lehto’s for a pasty soon thereafter. I reached Munising just before 4:00 pm and headed west, driving through one of my favorite stretches in the U.P. The drive from Munising to Marquette on M-28 provides view after beautiful view of Lake Superior, with places to pull off here and there and take a break and wonder why on Earth I live in the Lower Peninsula. The sky was blue and clear, and I enjoyed the drive. My plane didn’t leave until 2:00 pm the following day, and I was in no rush. All I had to do was get to my campsite at McLain State Park and pitch a tent, preferably before dark.

I realized I forgot my watch, which I needed in order to set alarms so I didn’t miss important things like boats and planes while on the island without cell phone service. I stopped at Target in Marquette to buy a cheap watch for the trip. It was intensely hot; according to forecasts, the heat wave most of the country had been experiencing this summer was not going away anytime soon. I sincerely hoped it would not be as hot on Isle Royale as it was on the mainland. Lake Superior helps keep it cooler in the summer, but this heat wave was extreme, and I wondered what it was like up on the Greenstone Ridge in the sun.

I arrived in Houghton around 6:45 pm and attempted to stop at the Isle Royale Visitor Center. It was closed, and the docking area was secured behind a locked fence, preventing anyone from getting close to the Ranger III, the huge National Park Service boat that ferries the majority of visitors to Isle Royale. Since I couldn’t bum around the visitor center, I headed north across the Portage Lake Lift Bridge that connects the cities of Houghton and Hancock in the Keweenaw Peninsula. McLain State Park was packed, and the campground was completely full. I drove to my site, slowly navigating the one-lane dirt road as people ambled alongside of it, and kids on bikes wove all over the place. Not the type of place I would normally choose to camp at the height of summer vacation season, but it would serve its purpose for the night, and it was right on the Lake Superior shore, which helped.

There was a healthy combination of tents and trailers of various sizes and states of adornment indicative of their inhabitants’ lengths of stay. Providing lighting and mood around each home base was everything from classic camping lanterns to strings of festive lights to actual outdoor post lighting. I parked at my site and set up our Kelty Crestone 1 single-person tent, which I planned to use on Isle Royale. I hadn’t used this tent since 2011, and it was a lot smaller than I remembered. I could have brought our car-camping tent, but for one night I didn’t really need a bunch of extra space. All I planned to do was cook dinner, check out the beach at sunset, and go to sleep. A few people marveled at the small tent, which looked like a cocoon, and speculated about my level of hardcore-ness in low voices when they walked by.

Site 61 at McLain State Park

At sunset, I walked down to the beach to find it completely deserted despite the full campground. I stayed there for about an hour and did not see a single other person the whole time. I find this extremely weird; out of the 91 campsites, each probably containing a conservative average of 3 people given the number of families I observed, not a single person besides me wanted to visit the Lake Superior beach at sunset?

I prepared to go to bed and discovered that the valve on my Cocoon Hyperlight Air Core inflatable pillow had cracked, and the pillow no longer held air. This was a major bummer; however, before I left home I threw a few extra things in my car, one of which was my old Therm-a-rest camp pillow that I used to take backpacking before replacing it with the much smaller inflatable one. I brought it so I could have the luxury of two tiny pillows while car camping at this state park. Good thing I did, as I would have been without a pillow otherwise, and at this point—as all the supercool people in movies say—I’m far too old for that shit.

I crawled in the little tent to go to bed, nestling in the cocoon-like shelter to read by headlamp for a while. The weather here was beautiful, and it stayed a comfortable temperature all night. I fell asleep around midnight and slept well, waking up just a few times and hearing only the big lake’s surf.

To be continued in Part One: Houghton, the Flight to Isle Royale, and The Stoll Trail Incident.

Craig Lake State Park | Fall 2015

Part Two: Craig Lake Trail

Craig Lake

Craig Lake Trail is known as a rugged hiking trail.  I found it to be a perfect day hike—8 miles of rolling terrain in a beautiful forest circling the quiet lake.  The landscape is hilly, with a bit of climbing here and there, but nothing extremely strenuous.  We finished the hike in just over 3 hours; it was a beautiful, chilly fall day, and I would’ve been happy to hike a little longer.  

Blue blazes on Craig Lake Trail

We left the yurt at Teddy Lake and drove to the Craig Lake Trailhead, about a mile away.  There is no outhouse at the trailhead parking lot, which is unusual and a bit of a buzzkill if you arrive with nature already calling from an excess of morning coffee.  After wandering around for a few minutes, I accepted defeat and ventured into the woods.  There were only a few vehicles parked at the trailhead, and it was very quiet.  

Old school sign

Some of the signs along Craig Lake Trail have obviously been there for a long time, sporting a weathered, mid-century look.  Trailhead signs point hikers to various spots along Craig Lake Trail, and toward the North Country Trail, which also meanders around Craig Lake on its 4,600-mile journey from North Dakota to New York.  Our longest national scenic trail, the NCT shares a path with Craig Lake Trail along the east side of the lake before veering east toward its route through the McCormick Wilderness, then on to Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, Tahquamenon Falls State Park, and beyond.

The full Michigan DNR map can be found here: http://goo.gl/ydlEKX

We decided to head west and circle Craig Lake in a clockwise direction.  Craig Lake Trail starts out following an old two-track road, which is used as a private access road for park employees to service the park’s two rustic lakeside cabins.  During our visit, it was buried in fallen leaves that rustled as we walked, making the only sound in the otherwise silent forest.  

The trail begins on an old road

In about a quarter-mile, the trail leads to an open area along the shore of the lake that is a popular canoe put-in spot with a few campsites.  There are also two outhouses, which I took advantage of on principle.  From there the trail hugs the lake and heads north toward the park’s two rustic cabins - Miller Lodge and the Caretaker’s Cabin.  Built in the early 1950s by Fred Miller of Miller Brewing Company in what was then his private fishing retreat, the cabins are now state park property and can be rented through the Michigan DNR. 

High Life Creek

About a half-mile before the cabins, the trail/road crosses over High Life Creek on a short, one-lane bridge.  The Caretaker’s Cabin is reached first; no one was there, so we spent a little time checking things out.  The front of the cabin faces the trail, with a woodshed off to the side.  In the back there is a fire ring and picnic table, and a nice view of Craig Lake.  A rowboat was overturned and secured at the shore, waiting for the next guests to take it for a spin. 

The Caretaker's Cabin

We moved on and reached Miller Lodge about a minute later.  There were people at this cabin, so we didn’t explore it.  Here the overgrown road ends and the path continues north, becoming a proper hiking trail, disappearing into the trees behind the cabin and beginning to curve around the north end of the lake.  The forest was aglow with color—a variety of green, yellow, orange, and red shone around and above us, and blanketed the trail below.  Every once in a while I looked up to catch glimpses of the vibrant blue fall sky framed by multi-colored leaves.  Enormous boulders appear here and there along the trail—glacial erratics deposited during the last ice age.    

Blue fall sky and a splatter of red

Red and yellow maple leaves

Glacial erratic. I love these guys.

At the north end of the lake, we reached the backcountry campsite near the portage to Clair Lake.  There is a fire ring, small area to pitch a tent, and a wonderful view of Craig Lake.  The trail passes Craig Lake Portage and crosses a small stream over a wooden footbridge before climbing to a rocky bluff providing another nice view of the lake and surrounding trees sparkling in the bright sunlight.  The trail descends back into the forest and to the Peshekee River, which is crossed via a suspension bridge that was built in 2014.  Before that, hikers crossed the river using a fallen log.  

Backcountry campsite near the Clair Lake portage

Fall color on Craig Lake, seen from the Backcountry campsite near the Clair Lake portage

Rocky bluff at the north end of Craig Lake

The trail heads south along the east side of the lake, over hilly terrain.  This part of the trail wanders through stands of tall maple trees, whose leaves were a striking, luminescent yellow at this time of year.  It passes more backcountry campsites on Craig Lake and crosses the portage to Crooked Lake, where additional campsites can be found.  The trail curves around the south end of the lake and passes a path to more campsites on the shore of Craig Lake, referred to as the Sandy Beach Campsites.  Shortly after, the trail arrives back at the beginning of the loop.  Turning left brought us back to the trailhead parking area in about a quarter-mile.

Towering yellow

We returned to Teddy Lake and spent the rest of the day at the yurt, eating hotdogs, reading, and keeping warm near the wood stove.  It was a day well spent.

Craig Lake State Park | Fall 2015

Part One: Teddy Lake Yurt

Teddy Lake in Craig Lake State Park

The state park boat floated in absolute silence on the small lake.  Not a single bird chirped in the surrounding thick autumn forest; no fish splashed and broke the perfect, colorful reflection on the water beneath.  Absolutely nothing stirred.  I strained to hear any sound, but only stillness pushed back against my ears.

This would be a decent place to spend my last day alive if the world was ending and the circumstances didn’t allow for my optimal method of passing.  (If given the choice, I’d prefer to be killed in a volcanic eruption.)  Note to self. 

The path to Teddy Lake Yurt

This moment of eerie Zen took place on Teddy Lake, located in the most remote state park in Michigan—Craig Lake State Park.  A designated wilderness area approximately 45 miles west of Marquette, Craig Lake has no park headquarters or DNR facility of its own.  Registration and information must be obtained at Van Riper State Park, about 8 miles east of the entrance to Craig Lake.

A rowboat awaits behind the yurt at Teddy Lake

Craig Lake is reached via a one-lane logging road, which, until fairly recently, was often impassible without 4-wheel drive and high ground clearance.  High clearance is still advised, but recent improvements to the road have made the park more accessible to visitors with standard vehicles.  The road can still be a bit hazardous, with large rocks lurking over hills and around bends, and drivers should stay alert and drive slowly to avoid surprises and undercarriage damage.  It’s a good idea to call Van Riper State Park to check the road conditions ahead of time. 

This is the only road through the park, and it creeps through the forest for 7 miles to reach the Craig Lake Trailhead—the starting point of the park’s trail system—and another mile to reach Teddy Lake.  As soon as one turns off US 41 and onto the dirt road, a large, no-nonsense sign warns visitors of the rustic and remote nature of the park, and its lack of cell phone service, flush toilets, or modern “camping” hook-ups, and offers unprepared visitors an out by advising that it’s ok to turn around now and try again another time.  No hard feelings.

The road into Craig Lake State Park

Once at the trailhead it’s foot traffic or paddling only.  A network of trails loops around Craig Lake and forms various canoe portages connecting it to Clair Lake and Crooked Lake.  The North Country Trail also winds through the park on its route through the U.P.  There are backcountry campsites throughout the park, as well as two yurts—one on Lake Keewaydin and another on Teddy Lake, and two rustic cabins on Craig Lake.  The cabins were built in the early 1950s by Fred Miller of Miller Brewing Company; what is now state park land used to be Miller’s private fishing retreat, and Craig, Clair, and Teddy lakes were named after his children.  Not to snub the family business, there is also a High Life Creek, which leads to High Life Lake, outside of the park boundary.

The Miller cabins and the two yurts can be reserved through the Michigan DNR.  They do not have electricity or running water, but they do have wood-burning stoves for heat, and the park service keeps them well-stocked with wood.  The park’s only water pump is located near the larger of the two Miller cabins.  If staying anywhere else, water must be carried in or obtained from a lake or a stream and then purified.

Driving the eight miles to the Teddy Lake Yurt took almost an hour, but it was beautiful.  It was the first week of October, and fall colors were peaking in this part of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  Aside from a few trucks parked at the trailhead, we didn’t see a single other vehicle.  Once at Teddy Lake, there is a spot to pull off the road and park, but the yurt is at the end of a footpath, a few minutes’ walk through the woods. 

We took a few trips back and forth to load our things into the yurt—standard car-camping stuff: sleeping bags, lantern, a month's supply of food for 2 days, etc.  The thick blanket of fallen leaves rustled on the path as we walked, and sunlight filtering through the yellow and orange foliage above gave the forest a golden glow.  It was a crisp, gorgeous fall day.

The path to Teddy Lake Yurt. The outhouse can be seen in the trees.

The yurt sits on a hill above Teddy Lake.  It is small, with just enough space for the essentials: 2 sets of bunk beds, a small table and chairs, and a wood-burning stove. The space is ideal for 2, or parents with small children.  Four adults would be cramped if spending significant time inside, but it’s doable.

Teddy Lake Yurt

A cabinet just outside the door contains various cooking supplies, some provided by the park service, others left behind by previous guests, and a long picnic table provides a good space to cook and eat meals.  A well-stocked woodshed sits nearby, and there is an outhouse along the path to the road.

We each claimed a bunk, then went for a paddle around the lake.  Teddy Lake is one of six lakes located within the park’s 8,500 acres.  The park provides a rowboat, paddles, and PFDs at the yurt.  With the exception of Lake Keewaydin, no motorized boats are allowed on the lakes within the park.  According to the park map, a backcountry campsite is located on the opposite side of the lake, but we could see no sign of it.  This location is known as a good spot to hear the common loon—my favorite sound on Earth—but we heard absolutely nothing.  The lake was utterly still during our visit.  I have never experienced such complete silence during other trips to the backcountry.  Something somewhere almost always stirs—a raven squawks, a toad croaks, a dragonfly buzzes.  Here: nothing. 

Looking at Teddy Lake Yurt from the lake

We returned to the yurt and browsed the visitors’ log.  Like other rustic wilderness structures, the yurt was prone to mice invasion, and the log book told stories of battles won and lost against the tiny, relentless intruders.  A single mouse trap lay on the floor behind one of the bunks—a lone artifact of the previous warrior-guest, who had taken it upon himself to wage an organized attack, apparently arriving prepared for an offensive and setting up traps all over the yurt, racking up impressive body counts according to his epic retelling.  Those who came before him wrote of their efforts to deter the nightly storm of mice, only to find rodent droppings on nearly every surface each morning.  They even provided an illustrated storyboard of what they imagined was happening under the cover of darkness

Despite having stayed in rustic state park cabins before, we had forgotten about this issue.  We were relieved that we happened to have packed all of our food for this trip in a plastic bin with a lid, and we secured the rest of our supplies as well as we could.  If mice want to get in, there isn’t much that can be done.  The best we could do was not leave any food lying around to encourage them, and hope they preferred the cold outside to the warm yurt when night fell. 

With daylight fading and cold creeping in, we started a fire in the wood-burning stove.  The yurt warmed up immediately, and the dome window in the center of the ceiling had to be cracked open to regulate the heat.  I unloaded some supplies on the picnic table outside, opened a Blackrocks 51K IPA, and made quesadillas on our Jetboil stove.  It was a clear night, and the small opening in the tree canopy directly above allowed just a small glimpse of the night sky and its infinite stars.  We turned in early, planning to hike Craig Lake Trail the next day.

To be continued in: Day Two - Craig Lake Trail
 

Partial map.  The full MIDNR map can be found here: http://www.michigandnr.com/publications/pdfs/RecreationCamping/craig_lake_map.pdf

Isle Royale National Park 2013 | Day Six

Washington Creek to Huginnin Cove – 
The most magical place on Earth (Sorry, Disneyland)
(Map at bottom of post)

Huginnin Cove

We woke up at 7:30 am, again to grey sky and still more fog – not a welcome sight. Regardless of the weather, we were heading to Huginnin Cove today, but we hoped that things would improve.

East Huginnin Cove Trail

Huginnin Cove is on Isle Royale's north side, approximately 5 miles from Windigo. It is tent-only (no group sites), and the campsites are close to the Lake Superior shore, with views of Canada to the north. Despite this, Huginnin Cove is apparently more of a day-hiking location than an overnight destination. I had read about the rugged trail and rocky shore and was looking forward to spending a night here.

East Huginnin Cove Trail near Lake Superior

I felt very lethargic this morning, and after eating breakfast, I packed up sluggishly. Because Huginnin Cove is so close, we were not in a hurry to leave early. The sun actually came out around 10 am, and it was clear and sunny for a whole 20 minutes. Just as our spirits were lifting, it became overcast and cloudy again.

Butterfly at Huginnin Cove

Huginnin Cove can be reached by two different trails that form a loop beginning and ending just east of Windigo. Our plan was to hike there via the East Huginnin Cove trail, taking West Huginnin Cove Trail on the way back. To reach the HC trails, we headed east past Washington Creek campground to the Minong Ridge Trail. It is necessary to hike about a mile of the Minong Ridge Trail to reach the junction with East HCT. Heading east on the Minong Ridge, the trail crosses a bridge over Washington Creek, which has a shed built next to it containing equipment to monitor the flow of the creek (I did not think to ask the reason for this, unfortunately). The junction with West HCT is located a short distance from the creek, followed by the East HCT junction a quarter-mile or so further.

Heading north on East HCT, the trail passes the remains of Wendigo mine, which operated briefly in the early 1890s. The mine closed after just two years after failing to yield a worthwhile amount of copper. The trail winds through marshes and swampy areas, which are usually good for moose-spotting, but we didn't see any on our way there.

East Huginnin Cove Trail gets interesting

The first few miles of hiking are mostly in nondescript woods and not very exciting. However, once the trail gets closer to Lake Superior, things get much more interesting. This is what I'd been looking forward to, and I was not disappointed. For about a mile, the trail runs along a short bluff above the lake. Below us, waves emerged from the fog to crash against the rocky shoreline. Huge boulders are strewn everywhere along this stretch of trail, with thick moss growing on everything, and gnarled tree roots snaking all along the trail and over some of the boulders. This was more like it.

Waves come ashore along East Huginnin Cove Trail

Unfortunately everything was extremely slippery due to the recent rain and the endless wet fog. We had to be very careful; the rocks were slimy with mud and wet moss, and the tree roots were like well-oiled death traps. Despite taking deliberate care with every step I made, my left foot slipped on a rock, going right out from under me and causing me to crash hard on my left side. Fortunately, I didn't fall straight forward onto my face and onto more rocks. I managed to fall on relatively soft, mossy ground to the side of the trail and was not hurt. I was very lucky. 

Rocks at the beach at Huginnin Cove

This is a wonderful, short hike – by far our favorite of the trip – and we were both happy to be hiking on this rugged, scenic terrain. The trail continued following close to shore, and soon we came upon the first of two coves. The first cove is filled with enormous pieces of driftwood – entire tree trunks that have washed into the cove and onto shore. It looked mystical in the fog. Just past this cove, the trail heads away from the water, winding through the woods and around to the second cove and the campsites.

The first of two coves on East Huginnin Cove Trail

Hiking into camp, the trail runs close to Huginnin Creek before emerging onto the beach, directly at the center of the cove. Huginnin Cove has five sites; standing at the center of the cove, we looked to the right to see Site #1 located just offshore on the spit of land that creates the cove's east border. Sites 2-5 are to the left and in the woods off the beach. Lucky for us, no one else was here at this time, so after a quick walk-through of the sites, we set up camp at Site #1, which is far and away the best. This site has one half of the cove to itself, including the large boulders at its eastern tip, where it is possible to sit and watch the lake for hours.

Campsite #1 at Huginnin Cove

It had been persistently foggy and overcast during our hike, and we were still unsure which way the weather was going to turn. We set up our tent and changed into warmer clothes quickly in case things took a turn for the worse. Our luck continued, however, and the sky cleared suddenly around 3:00 pm. The sun shone warmly, and fluffy white clouds floated overhead in a gorgeous blue sky. We had almost forgotten what that looked like.

The view north from Campsite #1 at Huginnin Cove

The scenario could not have been more perfect. We had nabbed a kick-ass campsite, and the weather had become beautiful. Our tent was just a few steps from the water, surrounded by trees and rocks. We spent a lot of time out on the boulders, either climbing around and exploring, or sitting in the sun and watching the green-blue lake. Directly ahead is Canada, with Pie Island around 20 miles away and looking like a misplaced butte – its rectangular shape and flat top standing out against the horizon. 

Looking north to Canada from Site #1 at Huginnin Cove

We waded in the cove for a while, and Craig eventually returned to the tent to take a nap. There was no way I was going to spend any time inside if I didn't have to, and I sat on the beach sifting through rocks and just enjoying the view and weather for a couple of hours. At some point, two more hikers had shown up and set up camp at other sites. Sites 2-5 are not visible from the water, but are relatively close to shore. Site #2 is probably the next best site after #1. It is close to the beach, though not directly on it.

Campsite #1 at Huginnin Cove

Being on the northwest end of the island, Huginnin Cove would allow for good sunset viewing later in the evening if the sky remained clear. We decided this was the perfect time and place to eat our favorites from the food bag – chilimac from Mary Jane's Farm, followed by banana pudding from Pack-it Gourmet for dessert. While we cooked dinner, a couple of snowshoe hares hopped through our camp. They are really fast and surprisingly big, with huge rear feet.

The view east from campsite #1 at Huginnin Cove. The Canadian shore can be seen in the distance.

After eating, we returned to the boulders to watch the lake and explore a bit more. Craig climbed over the rocks and over to the adjacent cove, while I took photographs of the area in the pre-sunset waning light. Unfortunately, a wall of clouds appeared just as the sun was about to set. The sun sank behind it, preventing the spectacular sunset I was hoping for. I was too happy to be disappointed by this, however. Today had been a wonderful day.

Moon above Huginnin Cove

The moon rose above the cove, and we sat outside of our tent watching it illuminate the trees and reflect on the water. As dumb as it might sound, Huginnin Cove was magical. The gloomy weather and rain of the days before were worth it just to spend a day here. Neither of us wanted to leave. We would have loved to stay here a second night, but the weather was still questionable. The number of people we had seen stranded at Windigo due to bad flying conditions was worrisome, and we didn't know if this good weather would hold. We decided the best plan would be to hike back to Windigo the following morning in order to give ourselves a better chance of getting home on time. If the weather looked like it would take another bad turn, maybe we would be able to leave early.

Moon above Huginnin Cove

We stayed up as long as we could, turning in only when we couldn't stay awake anymore. I didn't even try to read; I laid in my sleeping bag listening to waves washing on shore in the moonlit cove and trying to make the moments last as long as possible. I drifted in and out of a light sleep, eventually hearing a light rain gently falling on our tent later in the night. 

To be continued in Day Seven: Huginnin Cove to Windigo