Isle Royale National Park | Day Five

West Chickenbone Lake to McCargoe Cove:
The Best Day Ever!

McCargoe Cove reflection

I awoke with the confusing feeling that I had somehow fallen asleep in my tent in a strip mall parking lot under a bright streetlight. An owl hooted and I checked my watch. It was 4:00 am, and I remembered that I was in the woods, not preparing to buy a Nintendo Wii at Best Buy the morning after Thanksgiving. Where was that bright light coming from?

Minong Ridge Trail

I twisted my head around to look out the window and found the moon beaming down on our tent like a spotlight shining out of an otherwise pitch black sky. Wide awake, I spent the early morning in my sleeping bag listening to owls and loons conversing with the forest around Chickenbone Lake. At 5:30 am, a wolf started howling. This time, it sounded much closer than the distant chorus we had heard a few days before while hiking on the Rock Harbor Trail. My hand hovered above Craig's arm, ready to alert him should it happen again. Suddenly, multiple canine voices were everywhere. I shook Craig awake and we both held our breath and listened to this nearby pack of wolves howl under the bright moon. It was a moment to remember.

As suddenly as it started, the howling stopped and the woods went quiet. Neither of us could fall back to sleep after that, and as soon as we detected the slightest lightening of the sky, we left the tent to start our morning routine. Chickenbone Lake was shrouded in fog which went from gray to pink as the sky lightened. I imagined a canoe floating from shore toward the small island in the distance and disappearing from view as the fog swallowed it up. It would have been a wonderful, spooky time to paddle out into the quiet water.

Foggy sunrise on Chickenbone Lake

Dew clung heavily to everything, so it was necessary to pack up our tent while it was wet. Heading out of the West Chickenbone Lake campground, Indian Portage Trail swings west and crosses a stream before curving back north and hugging the edge of the lake for almost two miles. Our destination was McCargoe Cove on the north shore – a distance of just under three miles. We anticipated a short day of hiking followed by what we hoped would be another relaxing campsite similar to what we had at Moskey Basin a few nights before.

Since the brush along the narrow trail was dripping with dew and leaning inward, it wasn't long before we were both soaking wet from hip to ankle. Ten minutes after leaving our campsite, the ground became marshy and we found ourselves walking a long stretch of protective plank bridge. Just before reaching the stream crossing, the trail curved to the right and Craig suddenly stopped in front of me, turned around and said very calmly, “Uh...a whole pack of wolves...”

Boot prints mingle with paw prints

His voice trailed off as he turned back around to face forward again. I thought he was trying to be funny since I couldn't yet see what was around the corner. After inching forward another foot or so, he turned to me again and the look on his face was priceless. “I'm not kidding,” he said. “There are at least five wolves on the trail ahead of us.” The next few moments were the most surreal and exciting I've ever experienced.

Afraid I would scare them away, I crept forward as quietly as I could. We could not stand side by side due to the narrow footbridge, but I could see them once I stopped directly behind Craig. Before I had caught up, he witnessed two wolves dart into the woods from the trail. Three were still there, and of these, a big gray one was clearly in charge. He looked directly at us and stepped forward on the bridge. It looked like he was ensuring that his pack could cross the bridge behind him into the safety of the woods while he kept an eye on us. Another gray wolf ran behind him into the trees, then a tall brown one moved forward to stand behind the first one. The two of them simply stood there and watched us.

No one had any idea what to do – including the wolves, it appeared. Everything we had heard and read said that wolves avoid humans and will run when they get wind of people. Fleeting glimpses are all anyone is usually lucky enough to see. There are specific things hikers know to do when encountering bears in the backcountry, but what about a wolf pack? What is the etiquette in this type of situation? There was no passing lane; who had the right of way? Do we offer intel, like the coordinates of where we saw that lone moose the day before, as a kind of bridge toll? Should we get out our wallets and show them pictures of our dogs? It was unreal, and we just stood there dumbfounded.

Indian Portage Trail

I wondered if we should give them space and retreat the way we came, but Craig felt that was a bad idea, so we just continued to stand there trying to look casual. Then, looking right at us, the leader slowly took four steps closer then stopped again. At this point we were holding our breath and really not believing what was happening. It felt like a dream; it was, literally, the wildest thing I've ever seen. There was clearly no question about who needed to respect whom in this scenario, but I did not feel scared. I think I was too shocked and amazed at our luck. It was the most exciting moment I'd ever experienced.

Apparently satisfied that we were not a threat, the two of them stepped off the bridge and spent a few seconds debriefing next to the trail before nonchalantly strolling into the woods. We waited for several seconds before continuing on the bridge. When we walked past the spot where they had disappeared, we were convinced we were being watched by many well-camouflaged eyes. We had seen five of them, but wolf study information at the time stated that the current packs ranged in size from 2 to 9 members, so there could have been more.

Two wolves on Indian Portage Trail

Although it had seemed like we were locked in a stand-off for several minutes, in reality the whole thing was probably over in under one minute. The wolves were tall and similar in size to our 80-lb German Shepard/Lab mix, but with longer legs. As soon as I saw them, I quietly took out my camera and snapped three photos in succession without giving it time to focus. It was then or never. The shots I ended up with consist of one gray blur in the trees, one photo of Craig - eyes like saucers - with the barely discernible form of a wolf ahead of him looking in the opposite direction, and one blurry shot of the (assumed) alpha and the brown wolf backing him up (see above). It's better than nothing, and I was actually just happy that I didn't accidentally step off the bridge and make a fun, prey-like spectacle of myself in the muck below.

Indian Portage Trail crosses a stream

The rest of that morning's hike is mostly a blur due to the excitement we both felt. We stopped every fifteen seconds or so to re-tell the story to each other and confirm that it actually did happen. I do remember that the trail was very pleasant, with Chickenbone Lake to our immediate right most of the way, and we passed a beaver dam at some point. The happy mood we were in prevented us from getting the slightest bit bothered by how wet we continued to get from the dewy vegetation, and before we knew it, we arrived at McCargoe Cove.

Shelter #4 at McCargoe Cove

It was only 9:30 am, and once again we had the place practically to ourselves. We met a lone backpacker who had been hiking the length of Isle Royale via the Minong Ridge Trail, which is known to be difficult. He had started out hiking from Windigo with his brother, who quit after the first day. Although the shelters here were not right on the water, ours had a nice view of the cove, and a large dock provided a good space to lie in the sun after braving the frigid water. (I was not actually brave at all and made quite an ass of myself trying to get in without actually getting in.) Later in the afternoon we would end up spending a couple of hours just sitting on the dock watching loons swim on the smooth glassy surface, and staring mesmerized at the perfect reflection of trees on the opposite shore.

The dock at McCargoe Cove - a difficult place to leave

The remains of an old copper mine provided a fun, 2-mile roundtrip day hike just west on the Minong Ridge. We brought our headlamps (totally unnecessary) and ventured down into the old mine shaft, which still has a section of train track previously used to cart the mineral deposits out. Being a card-carrying rock nerd, I could have easily spent a couple of hours investigating the dark wet cave, but we returned to our shelter to make lunch and re-live our wolf encounter ten thousand more times.

Minong Mine

To be continued in: Day Six - McCargoe Cove to Daisy Farm

More photos from this trip can be seen here.

Isle Royale National Park | Day Four

Moskey Basin to West Chickenbone Lake

Chickenbone Lake

Moskey Basin is known for its sunrises, and although the morning started off a bit cloudy, we were not disappointed. We went about our morning routine at a leisurely pace, and once oatmeal and coffee were consumed we discussed our day's route. We had two possible destinations: Lake Richie or West Chickenbone Lake. Both are inland lakes known for good fishing and moose spotting potential, and each offers only a small number of tent sites. We decided to roll the dice and just see what happened.

Sunrise at Moskey Basin

We backtracked to the trail intersection and headed west on Lake Richie Trail which brought us to the campground in just under 2.5 miles. Lake Richie is a favorite spot for canoeing and fishing, but the drawback is that the campsites are located away from the lake and up a ridge. While the lake is picturesque and dotted with small islands, all of the campsites appeared to be in direct sunlight, and on this warm sunny day there would be no chance of shade until evening. We stopped in one of the campsites to eat a snack and make a decision. While Craig munched on trail mix, I visited the outhouse. It was terrifying.

Lake Richie

A side note on going to the bathroom in the woods: I feel a bit prissy complaining about the outhouse, so let me explain. When we first began planning this trip, we figured that the Isle Royale backcountry bathroom experience would consist of digging holes and bringing our own TP.  We are not unfamiliar with this form of dehumanization; however, later on in the planning stage, we were happy to learn that there were pit toilets located at all campsites. Once on the island, the clean state of the facilities at our first three locations made us very happy. We became spoiled.

Outhouse at West Chickenbone Lake
A charming path lures hikers to the horrors within

After detouring to a private spot in the woods, I returned to the campsite and reported my grim bathroom findings. It was only 10:30 am, and we decided that we didn't want to spend an entire day in the open sun. If we had a canoe for exploring the lake we might have felt differently, but we decided to keep going and try our luck at West Chickenbone.

Lake Richie Trail ends at Indian Portage Trail which follows the north side of the lake for a little over ½ mile. Indian Portage Trail runs the the width of Isle Royale from north to south and connects the opposite shores of the island via four inland lakes and a handful of canoe portages. A hearty person could paddle a canoe up Chippewa Harbor to the south, then paddle his/her way north through Lakes Richie, LeSage, Livermore, and Chickenbone before re-entering Lake Superior through McCargoe Cove to the north.

Portaging a canoe is nuts. Once heading north on Indian Portage Trail, we crossed paths with a park ranger whose head was hidden inside the upside-down canoe balanced on top of his shoulders. He asked us for our names as we passed him. “I like to make a mental note of who I encounter out here in case of an emergency,” his voice echoed down to us. I have no idea how he could see where he was going. A bit further north, the trail hooks around Lake LeSage, then begins to climb some ridges. Here, another canoe portage follows the trail and creates a connection with Lake Livermore. This stretch included a descent so steep it took me several minutes (only with slight exaggeration) to navigate it relying heavily on my trek poles for balance. I had recently sent the poles back to Leki for repairs; if one of them had collapsed, I would be dictating this from a full body cast. Portagers would have to scramble up or down that segment while hoisting a canoe. To us it seemed impossible, but one person we met along the way assured us that the canoeing experience on Isle Royale is worth the work involved.

Fishermen on Chickenbone Lake

The trail hugs the marshy west end of Lake Livermore before ascending the Greenstone Ridge. Rounding the narrow end of the lake, something caught our attention through a window-like opening in the trees. An unidentifiable big brown object stood in the water on the opposite shore. We stood there for several minutes when the thought occurred to each of us simultaneously that we might be a couple of idiots staring at a large overturned tree. As soon as Craig gave up and started to move on, the tree moved its huge head. MOOSE! I was so excited I nearly fell off the narrow footbridge we were standing on. It was far enough away that we couldn't tell whether it was male or female, and it wasn't until we returned home and could view the enlarged photo that we were able to see antlers.

A bull moose cooling off in Lake Livermore

We left our moose window and began to climb the Greenstone, which was not nearly as steep a climb here as in other places. Once at the top, beautiful glimpses of Chickenbone Lake could be seen through the white birch trees. Here, the trail descends steeply and passes a group campsite on the way to the individual sites at the lake's edge. We saw the 2 young hikers we had met leaving Lane Cove on our second morning. They had ended up taking 2 days to get to Chippewa Harbor, and were currently hiking the 10.6-mile length of Indian Portage Trail to McCargoe Cove. West Chickenbone was a convenient place for a break along the way.

A glimpse of Chickenbone Lake while descending the Greenstone Ridge

Chickenbone Lake is shaped like a chicken wing and the west campground offers six tent sites. After some debate over location, we settled in and took a swim. The pit toilet here was a horror show which Craig advised I not attempt to use if I could help it. A sign hung in the outhouse explaining that the facilities further inland can't receive as much attention as the others, which makes perfect sense. A very bold and chatty squirrel took up residence in our site and proceeded to pester us for the duration of our stay. Known for chewing through both tent and backpack in search of food, we had read about these tiny menaces which are closer to chipmunks in size and unique to Isle Royale. After it engaged Craig in a game of chicken around our Nalgene bottle, we decided to hang our food as a precaution.

Our campsite at West Chickenbone Lake

The only tree with an adequate branch for hanging food was located at the water's edge. Our minds got carried away with an elaborate fantasy of a moose wandering through our site in the middle of the night, heading toward the water, hooking an antler on the hanging bag, and dragging our food supply out into the lake. The squirrel watched the entire food hanging process with disturbing intensity, chattering loudly the whole time. We kept our fingers crossed that it would retire for the night and leave our packs undisturbed under the tent's vestibules. In the end, all was safe and the squirrel entertained itself by chasing a snowshoe hare back and forth through our campsite until dark when we all went to bed.

Left: PCT food hanging method thwarts demonic squirrels.

Right: Showshoe hare flees tiny squirrel, is unfazed by giant human.

To be continued in: Isle Royale Day Five: West Chickenbone to McCargoe Cove

More photos from this trip can be seen here.

DeTour Passage

Rodney and I sat at the picnic table watching the sun rise over the St. Marys River. It was 6:15 am and the sky above was deep midnight blue. One star was still winking at us to the east and an orange strip was just beginning to make itself visible on the horizon.

I sipped my coffee and turned to Rodney. “ This is nice,” I said. “Quiet, kind of chilly out…I like it.” Actually the fall morning was pretty cold. My breath fogged between the two of us as I attempted conversation. “I’m glad to be spending this time with you, Rodney.” My uncommunicative companion stared at the water. Slowly the orange was pushed out of the way and replaced with yellow. Layers of color were waking up and stretching as I drank my coffee. Yellow, orange, light blue, dark blue, midnight, black. The little star twinkled.

The water in front of our rental cottage was DeTour Passage, named for the tiny town on the shore and for the fact that this is the bottom of the waterway linking two of the Great Lakes. On the other side of the river sat Drummond Island. Ships traveling the Great Lakes waterway squeeze through this passage to make their way down from Lake Superior to Lake Huron or the other way around. We had been witnessing this happen over the last few days from our front porch. Now as we watched, a huge ship lit up with yellow lights in the morning gloom and puffing a wisp of dark smoke against the orange sky lumbered slowly by, almost silent in the still water. Looking up squinting I could just barely make out our friendly star shining feebly.

“What should we do today? We could take a walk into the town a little later when things open up. I know you are suspicious of that Halloween scarecrow out in front of the post office, but maybe you’ll feel better about it today. What do you say?”

“Woof.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“…..”

“Fine, I won’t push it. Want to walk the pier and look at the boats? You can bark at that buoy in the water some more.”

Rodney sat up and wagged his tail energetically, looking at me with doggie intensity. I had no idea what he was thinking but figured I couldn’t go wrong with a walk on the water at sunrise. Coffee cup now in the sink, I plucked my friend’s leash from its hook and, leaving the door unlocked, we headed out into the perfect morning.