Isle Royale National Park July 2016 | Day 4

Rock Harbor and Departure

Continued from Day 3

A bald eagle perched at the top of a tree on an islet in Rock Harbor

(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 to a clear, sunny morning, with all traces of the previous day’s fog and moodiness gone. This was my last day on the island, and I hoped to spend some time canoeing in Tobin Harbor and just bumming around the nearby trails. I made some coffee and oatmeal and ate a leisurely breakfast before packing up. I heard the sea plane overhead, and caught sight of it out my window a few minutes later when it appeared in between some trees as it taxied to the dock.

I was itching to sleep in my tent after a few nights fulfilling my research regarding the cottages, and I set out in search of a campsite for my last night on the island. The moon was still hanging in the clear blue sky, and it was already shaping up to be a hot day. I thought about heading down to Three-Mile Campground, but because I was on the 9am sea plane the following day, I decided to stay in Rock Harbor so I would not have to hustle the following morning. After wandering up and down the path through the Rock Harbor campsites, lurking behind trees, and snooping around various sites, I concluded they were all occupied, so I set up shop in an available shelter (#7) up the hill at the edge of the woods. I did some laundry and hung various things to dry in the relentless sun.

Morning moon

The shelters at Isle Royale are a treasure trove of information. Are you interested in knowing which previous hiker’s digestive system was distressed over dehydrated burrito mix? (Trevor. In July 2010.) Have you been unsure about how you should feel about mosquitoes? (They sucked circa the beginning of time-2016.) Are you feeling under-informed regarding what bands rule? (This one is tricky, because it depends on which shelter is consulted. Iron Maiden probably, but some are in the Slayer camp. (See what I did there?)) All of this information, and much, much more, is available on the shelter walls. Some of the graffiti is typically stupid; some is funny; and some is heart-warming. (5 days spent hiking with Dad. Best time ever.) 

The people on the left felt more affectionate toward the island than those on the right.

I walked to the lodge to see about canoe rental and noticed the water in the harbor was a fairly choppy. It was sunny and very warm, but it was also quite windy, and I discovered that boats were not being rented that day due to high winds. In keeping with the theme of this trip so far, my final opportunity to fulfill my last goal—to canoe around Tobin Harbor—would not be realized. I was not particularly bummed out by this, partly because I was getting used to failing to attain my goals at this point, but also because I still had a whole day to spend wandering around this area on foot, which was fine too. By this time I was also feeling more comfortable spending a leisurely time here, not hiking my ass off. I was embracing this relaxation thing.

Rock Harbor is big. Generally people refer to the immediate area of the ferry dock, visitor center, camp store, marina, and lodge as “Rock Harbor.” Technically that specific area is Snug Harbor—a small cove within the larger protected waters of Rock Harbor, which is actually 11 miles long, beginning in Moskey Basin to the southwest and ending at Scoville Point to the northeast. 

In the mid-1800s, a handful of copper mines operated in the Rock Harbor area. This, combined with the fisheries that were functioning at the time, necessitated the building of the Rock Harbor Lighthouse in 1855. Copper mining was not successful on Isle Royale, and the lighthouse was not operational for long. It was deactivated in 1859 after the mining didn’t pan out, but was re-lit in 1874 for general shipping use. It was deactivated again in 1879 and has not been operated since. It’s now part of the national park and is open to visitors of Isle Royale.

Rock Harbor Lighthouse

Across the harbor to the south are many small islands that make up the protective outer boundary of the harbor. The park headquarters is located on one of these—Mott Island—and is an impressive operation. A few days earlier, while I was aboard the Sandy on its way to Edison Fishery and my drop-off at Daisy Farm, I learned that most park employees live on Mott Island and are ferried to work every day by boat. The park superintendent also lives there. The island is obviously very boat-dependent, and there is a large building on Mott Island that is dedicated to boat repair. A little farther down the line, Cemetery Island is the site of mysterious grave sites, the final resting place of several people who died on Isle Royale in the mid-1800s.

I spent the day wandering up and down trails, and photographing various plants and rocky islands. 

I love these small outer islands, and I particularly like the tiny islets that are not much more than a chunk of bare rock without much of anything growing on them. Of these, my favorites are those covered with elegant lichen—the crusty growth that gives the rock an orange color. Lichens are a tough combination of algae and fungus, and they are able to flourish in Isle Royale’s harsh environment. Various types of lichens grow all over the island, but the most common are elegant lichen, a type of crustose lichen that cements itself to the rock; reindeer lichen, a folios lichen that is more leaflike; and old man’s beard, a type of fruticose lichen that hangs off trees in tufts of pale green strands.

Left: Reindeer Lichen         Right: Elegant Lichen (orange)

Old Man's Beard

I made dinner, read a book for a little while, then did more of the same before turning in for the night. As I laid on the floor of the shelter, listening to waves in the harbor with my head propped against my backpack, I thought about how special this park is and wondered about its future and what my next visit here would be like.

The next morning I arrived at the sea plane dock with a park employee who worked at the Rock Harbor Lodge. He had rolled his ankle badly while hiking and was being taken to the hospital in Houghton via the sea plane. (Someone was waiting at the airport to drive him to the hospital.)  Although obviously in pain, with his ankle very badly swollen and the possibility he might not be able to finish out the season, he was excited about his first trip on the sea plane.  We talked about his experience living at the park (he had worked there a few summers in a row), and he told me a story of another lodge employee who had gotten lost while hiking a few weeks earlier. When she hadn’t returned by dark, a search party went out in a boat, and eventually found her on the shore, near the eastern end of Tobin Harbor. She had come down from the Greenstone Ridge and mistook the waters of Tobin Harbor for those of Rock Harbor. Thinking she was on the home stretch to the lodge, she headed east instead of west, and ended up disoriented and lost when she met endless forest instead of civilization, and darkness fell. She luckily had a flashlight, and she made her way to shore and shone her light out at the lake, which enabled the search party to find her. She was apparently pretty shaken up from the experience, and it was a reminder that even when mistakes happen close to home base, things can get scary fast. 

Kayakers in Tobin Harbor

While I talked with this new acquaintance, a couple of kayakers showed up with their double kayak, hauled it out to the end of the dock, lowered it into the water and set off paddling into Tobin Harbor. It was a beautiful day to be out on the water, and I watched them paddle off—directly into the path of the sea plane, which came barreling out of the sky for a landing, causing them to have to pick up the pace and get out of the way.

Rock Harbor Lighthouse from the sea plane

We boarded the plane and lifted into the air, swooping south above Rock Harbor, past the lighthouse, and out over the expanse of Lake Superior. My third visit to Isle Royale National Park was now in the rear-view mirror, and I watched it fade into the endless blue, wondering when I’d be back again.

Isle Royale National Park July 2016 | Day One

Houghton, Flight to Isle Royale, and the Stoll Trail Incident
Continued from: Introduction
(Arial map of the Rock Harbor area at the end of this post.)

Stoll 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 8:00 after a pretty good night’s sleep. It had been warm all night, with a steady wind from the lake that seemed to keep the mosquitoes at bay both last night and this morning. My agenda before leaving the campground was just to pack my backpack for the trip. When I quickly planned this trip at home, I collected everything I would need in a large storage box and put it in the back of my car. This morning I made coffee, re-packed the tent, and laid all of my gear out on the picnic table, making sure I had everything I needed one more time before packing my old REI Venus backpack. I was also bringing a day pack for shorter jaunts.

That done, I left McLain State Park around 9:30 and headed back toward Houghton. The drive along the Portage Canal is scenic, with a steep hillside rising up on the north side of the road, a steep slope to the water to the south, with houses tucked in the hillside between the road and water, and a tree canopy shading the road. At one point I pulled off to the side to photograph a particularly picturesque view of the canal through a window in the trees. I raised my camera and focused on the waterway and was immediately photo-bombed by the Ranger III, suddenly cruising into the window I was attempting to shoot through. The huge boat was making its way west through the canal and out to Lake Superior on its six-hour trip to Isle Royale, loaded with park visitors.

Portage Lake Lift Bridge

I crossed the bridge and returned to downtown Houghton, where I stopped at 5^th and Elm Coffee House and enjoyed a bagel sandwich and coffee on the patio. After that I visited Downwind Sports to see if they carried inflatable pillows similar to the one that had just self-destructed. They did not, but I bought some wool socks because I had decided earlier in the morning that I didn’t like the selection I brought with me. I bummed around town for a while, eventually stopping at Keweenaw Brewing Company for a Pick Axe Blonde and some last-minute gear arranging.

I drove north to the Houghton County Memorial Airport, arriving around 1:15 pm and heading to the Isle Royale Seaplanes “gate” area to “check in” for my 2:00 pm flight. The “” are because this experience is very casual. I set my backpack down next to a chair in the deserted seating area and the woman working at the desk said hello. She asked if I was on the 2:00 flight and I said yes and gave her my name. She looked at a piece of paper and said, “ok.” I was all set.

Eventually another passenger showed up—a lone 35-40-ish year-old man carrying a backpack and two small duffel bags, one of which was very worn, barely holding itself together by its frayed nylon threads. He was being met at Tobin Harbor by family members who had a boat, which sounded like a pretty fancy situation to me.  He told a funny story about how he had the same ancient duffel bag with him the first time he went to Isle Royale, which was via the Ranger III, and everyone was treating him like he was surely going to die within his first 12 hours in the park. “I’m just carrying this stuff onto a boat. I’m definitely not going to be roughing it,” he admitted.

Neither was I for part of this trip, and I felt weird about it. Isle Royale is such a sacred place for backcountry enthusiasts that is seems like sacrilege to deviate from a strictly backcountry agenda. Staying in a cottage is not something I ever pictured myself doing there, and I struggled with strange guilt about it until I reminded myself that I was on vacation and it was not a crime to check out something different.

The plane was running a bit behind schedule, and we didn’t leave until 2:30. There were just two passengers on this flight, and I sat up front with the pilot. The three of us chatted about various adventury things for a while, then eventually fell silent and just stared out the windows. The flight was perfect—clear blue sky above, calm blue water below, and we spotted the Isle Royale Queen on its way back to Copper Harbor, looking very small on the immense lake. Eventually the island came into view, with smaller islands dotting the outer reaches of the archipelago appearing emerald green against the deep blue water. It looked beautiful and exotic. The pilot maneuvered the plane around in order to fly over the length of Tobin Harbor, where we landed softly and cruised around a few islands on the way to the dock. The flight took about 35 minutes.

Flying into Tobin Harbor

For 2 short videos of landing in Tobin Harbor, go here and here. 

Unlike when we flew into Windigo a few years ago, there was no park ranger at the dock to greet us. We exited the plane, grabbed our gear and thanked the pilot before going our separate ways. My fellow passenger’s ride was docked about 20 feet away, a large fishing/cruiser type boat. (I don’t know anything about boats, but it looked posh.) Four people were waiting to catch the plane off the island, and they had clearly had a great time. We wished each other well as we passed on the dock, then I was basically alone. The Tobin Harbor entrance was like the Wild West—there was no one here to shepherd me to backcountry registration or talk about Leave-No-Trace principles. I looked around at the harbor, small islands, and beached canoes before heading up the path toward the visitor center, it suddenly hitting me where I was. I couldn’t stop smiling.

I walked up the dirt path from the dock, passing a few cottages along the way. This was my first up-close view of them; they are of simple mid-century design—brown rectangles with angled roofs and large panels of windows facing Tobin Harbor—and look as though they probably haven’t changed since they were built. Eventually the trail joined the main network of paths that snake into the woods from the visitor center. Dirt turned to pavement as I closed in on the hub of activity that is the visitor center/camp store/marina/ferry dock area. The sun was blazing down from the cloudless sky, and it was hot. The Ranger III was resting at the dock after having ferried a batch of visitors earlier in the day, and a variety of people were hanging around—exhausted-looking backpackers at the end of their trips, new arrivals who were currently clean and shiny but would soon enough find themselves back here looking equally exhausted, and other visitors who were there to explore the island by canoe or kayak, go fishing, or stay at the Rock Harbor Lodge and take its boat tours. I walked to the lodge to pick up my cottage key, then returned the way I had come, walking back toward the Tobin Harbor sea plane dock, but branching off north and past a spot that I recognized from my first trip. It was from this path that I watched a female moose and her two calves as they crossed a clearing and entered the woods. I remembered the mother stopping to look back at me for a moment to make sure I wasn’t following them before continuing into the trees.

I arrived at my cottage after a few minutes and was happy to discover that it had a nice view of Tobin Harbor. The cottages are duplex units; there are 10 buildings laid out in two rows—the first with front row seats to the harbor, and the second row behind them, but staggered in such a way that they probably also have at least a glimpse of water. The cottage has a kitchenette with stove, oven, mini fridge, and cabinets stocked with cookware. There is a table with four chairs for eating/card playing/activity strategizing, and two Adirondack type chairs in front of the harbor-facing windows, which take up most of that wall. Some cottages have a set of bunk beds in addition to a full-size bed; however, this one just had the one “full-size,” which was a bit small and would not be very comfortable for two adults.  (I got the impression that this cottage was used for single-occupancy reservations.)  It had a large but no-frills bathroom, with tub/shower combo, and changing area. All in all I was very happy with the accommodations. My only gripe was that it appeared I was in the only cottage that did not have a screen door, so I wasn’t able to leave my door open for extra air flow. However, I didn’t plan on spending a lot of time inside, so it wasn’t a big deal.

Time flew by as I settled in to the cottage, took a stroll around the immediate area, and visited the lodge office to verify my water taxi reservations. A retro-style poster in the office warns of moose aggression and reminds people to give them space. I wondered how quickly things will change in this park with the moose numbers rising due to the disappearance of the island’s wolves.  At last count, there were just two remaining, and the National Park Service has been weighing its options regarding the loss of this park's crucial predator.

Soon it was getting near dusk. It was a beautiful evening, warm and clear-skied, and I decided tonight was as good as any time to tackle my first goal of this trip—hike Stoll Trail out to Scoville Point. I threw a few items into my day pack—water, a variety of insect repellant (I hate mosquitoes, but I don’t like to use bug spray unless absolutely necessary, and I try to use those with natural ingredients before going for deet, but I keep both on-hand), camera, headlamp, head net, and my rain jacket and first aid kit just in case.

Snowshoe hare at the start of Stoll Trail

Stoll Trail is 4.2 miles round-trip and can be hiked in a loop, with one half hugging the Lake Superior shore/cliff edge, then looping around to take an inland path near Tobin Harbor on the way back. I planned to hike out and back along the lakeshore instead of doing the loop so I could enjoy the rugged shoreline in both directions and have a bit more light on the way back since I would be returning after sunset. It was 8:40 pm when I set out on the trail, thinking I would arrive at the point in about an hour, right as the sun was going down. I should have known that I would get distracted and take longer than that.

Rugged and rocky, the trail travels at first through thick spruce forest, with lichen hanging from branches, and the forest floor thick with thimbleberry and other plants. Mosquitoes were an immediate problem, and it wasn’t long before I abandoned the lemon eucalyptus spray and went for the hard stuff. However, the mosquitoes were not impressed with any of it, not even 100% deet. They weren’t swarming to the point where I needed my head net, and I knew that once the trail emerged into more open territory it wouldn’t be so bad, so I just tried to hurry through the dense forest.

For a video of a scene from Stoll Trail, go here.

The forest eventually thins, and the trail begins breaking out onto a series of rocky crests, with views of Lake Superior and the small islands to the south. Interesting interpretive signs placed here and there provide history and tell geological stories. I lingered for a long time at these spots; aside from the mosquitoes, it was a perfect night, and the scene was just as I had imagined it would be out on this rocky trail: the setting sun was casting the rugged, sloping rock in soft light and bringing out intense shades of orange on the little rocky islands. Amazingly, I hadn’t seen a single other person out on this trail despite the beautiful night. I was certain other hikers or lodge guests would be out here taking in the gorgeous views, but it appeared I was completely alone.

After spending a bit too much time gazing at the scenery from a makeshift log bench on the edge of an especially picturesque section of cliff, I returned to the trail, which curved behind some trees before once again rising over a crest and providing another open view of the lake. I came over this crest and found myself staring at a gigantic bull moose—way too close. I stopped dead in my tracks.

The moose also appeared to have stopped abruptly; it had been walking along the edge of the ridge in my direction, and when I popped out as the trail crested a hill, I startled it. My immediate thought was that I was looking at a cardboard cut-out or one of those black silhouettes that people put in their yard—like the cowboy lounging against a tree. This obviously made no sense, but the scene looked entirely fake, like an idyllic advertisement for the National Park Service. (In fact, almost exactly like this new poster that I saw for sale at the visitor center. Also, I have a birthday coming up.) The moose stood still and alert, staring at me. My heart was beating against the back of my throat. I backed off the trail and waited. After a few tense seconds, it turned its huge head away from me and back forward and continued walking. I took a couple of quick photos, and then waited some more. The problem was that he was walking a parallel path to me, going in the opposite direction, and we were still in clear view of one another. If I turned around and headed back, it would be behind me heading in the same direction, and I didn’t really want to hike back with a gigantic moose behind me. I waited until it walked a bit further, then I slowly stepped back onto the trail. It stopped again and so did I. I was sweating. Unlike the times I encountered wolves in this park, I was scared.

I didn’t know what the moose was going to do. I assessed my situation and did not like it. There were no substantial trees nearby to get behind if it decided I was unacceptable and charged. I tried to think of what I could do, and came up with nothing that didn’t involve me getting my face sliced open with a hoof.

It faced forward again and continued walking slowly. I took that opportunity to quickly put some distance between us, speed-walking down the trail in the opposite direction and then stopping again to watch it from afar. It was now cutting a path away from the water and toward the trail where I had been walking. It lingered behind a couple of dead spruce trees for a few minutes, then turned in a circle, and abruptly settled down with an audible “thump” right next to the trail. So...I wasn’t going back that way then.

Goodnight moose

I continued toward the point, but my mind started to wander to bad places. I had lingered longer than planned in a few spots and it was now getting dark fast. The mosquitoes were becoming relentless. Since I couldn’t return the way I had come due to moose interference, I would have to do the loop after all, hiking in the dense woods further inland on the way back. This was fine—I had brought my headlamp—but what if there was another moose on the trail and I was cut off going that way too? I really, really didn’t want to startle another one in the dark. At this point, they were all going to be hunkering down for the night—were more of them laying down in the grass up ahead? Would I be trapped and forced to hunker down out here myself? Was this scenario far-fetched? Maybe, but alone in the near-dark and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, the self-doubt was maddening. 

I thought: This is how people end up in news articles, being judged by others for their stupidity in the comments section. The situation had all the classic elements: I was alone. (Why weren’t any other hikers out here? It was a beautiful night!) I hadn’t told anyone where I was going, and no one would notice if I didn’t come back, probably for a few days. (I was just going on a short, scenic hike! What could go wrong?) I was prepared with a first aid kit and rain jacket, but I hadn’t thought to prepare for an emergency overnight due to potential moose stand-off. (ABC: Always Be Considering...potential moose stand-off.) I was fewer than two miles from Rock Harbor, but I suddenly felt completely isolated. I decided that I needed to abort this mission and get back asap before it was completely dark. I could come out here again on another day and finish where I had left off.

At about a half-mile from the point, I turned around and hightailed it back, hiking most of the trail by headlamp in the dark, while being relentlessly plagued by mosquitoes.  (My notes state: "Have never sweated so much. Mosquitoes bad.")  I was extremely relieved to find myself back at the harbor, where the blue hour was underway. Now out of the woods, the mosquitoes were no longer a nuisance, and I walked to the edge of the water at the marina, took my shoes off, dangled my feet into the water, and just sat there for 30 minutes or so, enjoying the scene. The water and sky glowed dark blue, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the lake against the docks. The Ranger III was docked for an overnight stay, and everything was shut down for the night. There was just one other person that I noticed sitting on a nearby dock and enjoying a similar experience.

10:20 pm in Snug Harbor

I walked back to my cottage by headlamp and sat at the window for a while reading a book before turning in for the night. I heard common loons calling out on Tobin Harbor as I drifted off to sleep.

Trip Goal #1: Scoville Point--Fail.

To be continued in Day Two: Return to Rock Harbor Trail

Isle Royale National Park 2013 | Day One

Windigo to Feldtmann Lake
(Map at bottom of post)

Feldtmann Lake

After debating what route(s) to take this time – Hike the Greenstone Ridge from one end of the island to the other? Explore the west side of the island, which we hadn't seen before? Return to the island's east side, but hike to places that we didn't get to last time? – we decided to visit Isle Royale's western end. We opted to travel by sea plane this time, and we booked an 8:00 am flight to ensure an early arrival at Windigo and plenty of time for hiking the first day. 

A freighter on Lake Superior

Our plan was to hike the Feldtmann Ridge/Island Mine loop, working in a stop at South Lake Desor. Once back at Windigo, we would then hike the short Huginnin Cove loop, spending a night on the island's north coast. We had eight days; this was a lot of time for what we were planning, and it ensured we would have an extra day or two to spend in places we really liked. We planned to spend two nights at Siskiwit Bay, and maybe an extra night at Huginnin Cove depending on how everything went. Anything could happen once we were there, so we were open to winging it a little. 

Feldtmann Lake viewed from the sea plane

In addition to fewer people and fewer bugs, going after Labor Day also allows visitors to stay extra nights in places that have stricter limitations during peak season. On the flip-side of that coin, however, going late in the season also means the camp store is either low on supplies or closed for the season altogether. Visitors must arrive prepared with everything they will need; relying on the camp store to have essential items is not advised.

8 days' worth of food for 2 people. The squeeze tubes were eventually filled with peanut butter and jelly.

Because we took the sea plane, we were not able to bring fuel with us for our camp stove. This made for some strategic planning when it came to food. We brought an Emberlit twig-burning stove (given the restricted nature of campfires on the island, we confirmed pre-trip that these are ok to use) and a tiny Snow Peak isobutane stove with us, as well as several meals that could be made with cold water. The camp store at Windigo would be open the day we arrived, but it was closing right after. If it had fuel left, we would buy it for the Snow Peak. If not, we would make do without. In addition to the fuel situation, we brought a little extra food with us in the event we were unable to leave on our scheduled departure day. The sea plane does not fly in dangerous weather – especially fog – and Lake Superior's weather is famously unpredictable. 

 

Flying over Isle Royale's western end

We arrived at the Houghton County Airport by 7:30 am. It was dark, and we were the only people there. We hung out in the Royale Air Service waiting area until the pilot appeared and led us outside to the small plane. In addition to the pilot, the sea plane seats four passengers, and another couple from the Metro Detroit area of Michigan soon joined us as we got ready for departure. On busy days, the pilot flies back and forth to the island all day, picking up and dropping off at both Windigo and Rock Harbor. Because of this tight schedule, there is not much room for tardiness, and we left promptly at 8:00. The weather was questionable; it was starting out overcast with a high probability of rain and thunderstorms later on. I had checked the weather outlook before leaving home, which was absolutely pointless, but it made me feel better to see that the week was supposed to be partly cloudy with barely any rain predicted. This was, of course, completely subject to change. 

 

Coming in for a landing in Washington Harbor

The flight lasted around 30 minutes, and it was smooth sailing over Lake Superior. Approaching Isle Royale and flying over forest, bays, and inland lakes was exciting, as was the fast descent and landing in Washington Harbor. The pilot maneuvered us to the sea plane dock, where Ranger Valerie was waiting to greet us. Before leaving, Craig asked the pilot about the likelihood of being stranded due to weather. He responded that it was definitely possible since things tend to get exciting in September weather-wise. He told us that if we got back ahead of schedule and wanted to leave early in the event bad weather was coming, we should hang out by the dock and come talk to him when he flies in. If he could get us on the plane early, he would. This seemed ominous and hopeful at the same time.

We walked a short path up a hill to the Windigo visitor center, where Ranger Valerie registered our itineraries and talked to us about the island and good practices for our visit. We learned that there are currently around 975 moose on the island, and the current wolf count is eight. This is depressing, but in addition to the eight confirmed wolves, the small pack that lives near Siskiwit Bay is believed to have recently had two pups. Because of this, there is a lot of communication going on amongst the members, which means that their howls are being heard often. Ranger Valerie confirmed that rain was guaranteed in the forecast, and she cautioned about slippery conditions on the trail, especially on the protective boardwalks. I had forgotten how slippery these foot bridges can be, and we would likely encounter many of them due to the swampy nature of the island's southwest corner. 

Inside Windigo Visitor's Center

After orientation, we walked a little further up the hill to the camp store. On the way there, a fox trotted out of the brush and onto the path to observe the newcomers. After a few seconds, it returned to the woods uninterested. The store had one small canister of fuel left, which we bought. There were also a couple of very large canisters of fuel on the shelf, and various food and snack items that would seem like heaven at the end of a trip, but were not necessary at that moment. 

 

The Feldtmann Lake Trail follows Washington Harbor for about a mile

At 9:30 am, we began hiking the Feldtmann Lake Trail. The sky remained overcast, and the temperature felt like somewhere in the mid-70s. The trail runs along Washington Harbor for about a mile, then it turns inland and climbs a ridge. Once at the top, the trail breaks out of the woods, offering a view of Grace Harbor and Lake Superior to the west, and providing a nice place for a break after the steep climb. The trail leaves this ridge and re-enters the forest. From here to Feldtmann lake there is not much in the way of views. There is a lot of thick vegetation on this part of the island, much of it shoulder height or taller, and it can be tedious to hike through. On the bright side, the hiking is fairly easy. At one point I spotted a moose track in the mud, but we saw no moose on the trail. The area was thick with thimbleberry plants, but few berries. Around 12:30 we stopped for lunch and ate peanut butter and jelly on tortillas with a solo hiker we had met who is also from Metro Detroit. 

 

View to the west

We arrived at Feldtmann Lake at 2:15 pm. This area is known for being a good place to see moose, and my hopes were high. The trail runs right along the lake through the campground, with all but one campsite located across the path from the lake. Site #2 is right on the lakeshore and is a really nice spot. This site was already occupied, so we chose #4, which had a view of the lake and good water access. Feldtmann Lake is tent only; there are no shelters here. Each of the sites has its own section of lakefront, and although it was still overcast, the lake was pretty, with the surrounding trees mirrored on its surface, and views at the far end of the Feldtmann Ridge.

Looking through clear water at the rocky bottom of Feldtmann Lake

We set up our tent and spent some time wading in the lake. The narrow beach is made up of red sand and tiny red pebbles, eroded versions of the rocks on the lake's bottom and the red rock we had been seeing all day during our hike. A few garter snakes were hanging out among the roots of a tree on our path to the water, and they slithered into hiding every time we walked by. I had been walking around in knee-deep water for a little while, when I looked up to discover a great blue heron casing the beach about 20 feet away. I watched it walk quietly into the lake, looking intently for fishing prospects. It walked around for about 10 minutes before unfolding its huge wings, taking flight, and gliding just over the lake's surface. It relocated further down the beach, where tall grass near the shore must have looked like a more promising location.

Great Blue Heron in Feldtmann Lake

I returned to our campsite for dinner, which consisted of the heaviest things in our food bag that we wanted to get rid of first – a foil pouch of salmon for Craig, and tuna for me, which I ate on a tortilla with mayo. Another thing that makes Isle Royale unique is its lack of bears. Typically, we would refrain from bringing such interesting-smelling food with us on a

Section of trail lined with red stones

backpacking trip simply to eliminate any unnecessary attraction to our stash. Without that concern, there is a little more freedom to bring food we might otherwise leave at home. Campers at Isle Royale are actually advised to keep their food in their tents, a practice so inherently wrong to most northwoods hikers that it can be hard to get used to. The biggest threats to a hiker's food on Isle Royale are the red fox and the red squirrel, a smaller version of the mainland squirrel and a subspecies unique to the island.

As soon as we finished eating and got everything put away it started raining. We passed the time by napping in the tent. The rain did not last long, but the sky never cleared, and it started getting dark early without the sun. A spur trail from Feldtmann Lake leads to Rainbow Cove about ¾ of a mile away. Facing west across Lake Superior, this is known to be an excellent place to watch the sunset, and I was looking forward to walking there later in the evening. Unfortunately, a visible sunset was not on the horizon that night, so we spent more time on the beach of Feldtmann Lake before turning in at 9:00. We didn't see any moose. I read for a while and listened to fish jumping in the lake before drifting off to sleep.

Campsite #4 at Feldtmann Lake

Day One Route

To be continued in: Day 2 - Feldtmann Lake to Siskiwit Bay