Black Coffee at Sunrise

Isle Royale National Park | Day Seven

2009-11-07T19:21:00.000-08:00

Daisy Farm to Rock Harbor

Rock Harbor Lighthouse in the distance across Rock Harbor

After the usual coffee, oatmeal, and spellbinding sunrise, we left Daisy Farm at 7:45 am. Although it hadn't stormed during the night, the overcast sky and wind told us that the weather hadn't officially decided what to do yet.

Ho, hum. Another mediocre sunrise.

Today, the 7^th day of our trip, we would follow Rock Harbor Trail for a little over 7 miles with Rock Harbor as our final destination. From the reading we had done beforehand, we learned that Rock Harbor Trail consists of very rocky terrain and tends to become slippery in wet conditions. The path runs along the water's edge, and for the first few miles is relatively easy hiking. The sky slowly cleared over the course of the morning and it looked like our good weather luck would continue.

Don't fall in

We passed the site of Siskowit Mine – a copper mine that had been in use during a brief period in the mid-1800s. Signs urge caution when venturing off-trail to explore the area. We stayed on the trail but were still able to see the remains of a few stone foundations where old buildings had once been. Across the harbor, we could see Mott Island which is the home of Isle Royale's National Park Service HQ. The island was named after Angelique and Charlie Mott – a couple who had been hired to come to Isle Royale one summer in the mid 1800s in order to guard a mining claim. The remoteness and the fact that there were very few provisions made Mrs. Mott nervous, but their employer promised a boat of supplies would soon arrive, followed by another boat in the Fall, which would bring them home before winter. Neither boat showed up, and once their meagre food rations were gone, the Motts resorted to eating tree bark to survive. Eventually, Charlie Mott went crazy from starvation and fever and, legend has it, attempted to kill and eat his wife. Luckily for Angelique, he was so weak by that point that she was able to thwart his cannibalistic plot and survive. Unluckily for Charlie, he died soon after leaving his widow alone on the frozen island. She managed to survive by trapping the occasional rabbit using snares she made from her own hair until a ship arrived after the spring thaw. Here a section of shoreline that juts out from the main island across the harbor from Mott Island is aptly named Starvation Point.

About ½ mile west of Three Mile Campground, Rock Harbor Trail really starts to get interesting. We suddenly understood why this could be a difficult hike in wet conditions. Here the south slope of Isle Royale tumbles into Lake Superior, and a steady up and down pattern of climbing over rocky terrain makes for quite a spectacular hike. I was very happy we had saved this section of trail for our last full day of hiking as it gave us a fun (and tiring) end to the trip. Although we still had one day left and planned to do some day hiking around the Rock Harbor area, this was the last true hiking day.

Rock Harbor Trail

Expecting to see mountain goats peeking at us from the tops of rocky crests, we made our way along the shore, frequently using cairns to guide us over the ambiguous landscape. We spoke with a hiker coming from the other direction who had recently seen a female moose visiting the water for a drink. We had yet to see a moose up close, so we kept our eyes and ears peeled but had no luck. I really hoped I would get to see another one before leaving the following afternoon. It isn't uncommon to spot moose in the Rock Harbor area, so I still held out hope.

Rock Harbor Trail

We eventually came full circle and arrived back at the Rock Harbor Visitor Center at 11:30 am. Our first order of business was to visit the camp store for snacks. I highly recommend the dill pickle potato chips; they are popular for good reason! That done, we needed to decide where to stay. The Rock Harbor campground offers shelters and tent sites, but we decided to be spontaneous and see if there was a room available at the lodge. We justified splurging at the end of the trip in the spirit of seeing what the whole Rock Harbor experience was all about.

Sign at Rock Harbor Visitor Center

Being that it was near the end of the Isle Royale season, both the lodge and camp store were scheduled to close down the following day, so we were just in time. A room was available and after confirming that the restaurants were still serving a full menu (they stop stocking supplies after a certain point), we decided to go for it. Luckily we had read about the Rock Harbor Lodge prior to our trip; therefore, we knew not to expect anything extravagant (despite the price tag). Anyone planning to stay there must accept that he/she is paying for the miracle of the existence of a lodging establishment in the middle of nowhere, not for luxury of any kind. The beds are clearly left over from a time in our world's history where the human being was a much smaller creature. I'm 5'5" tall and my feet were in danger of hanging off the end. Still, a hot shower and real pillows after seven days was a treat. We visited the cheaper of the two restaurants, the Greenstone Grille, for lunch (I have never eaten so fast in my entire life), and returned to our room where we instantly fell asleep for an hour or two.

Ate this in approximately 9 seconds

Once we woke from our involuntary naps, we ventured out to the visitor center to turn in our itinerary and fill out a form describing our wolf sighting. There is a very thick guest book that visitors can sign, and we saw an entry from a couple who had been coming to Isle Royale every year for 47 years. We received a complimentary ½ day canoe rental with our room at the lodge, but we were both too tired to use it right then. We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the immediate area before deciding what to do for dinner. The Rock Harbor Dining Room was a bit too expensive for our mood, so we opted for the Greenstone Grille again. While waiting for our frozen pizza and enjoying one of our favorite Michigan beers, Bell's Two Hearted Ale, we entertained ourselves by watching all the hikers coming and going through the restaurant/giftshop. Every single one of them was limping in the exact same way (including ourselves), and we knew exactly how each of them felt.

One of the buildings at Rock Harbor Lodge

We returned to our room overlooking Lake Superior and were treated to the first real view of the amazing quantity of stars overhead that we'd had all during the trip. I fell asleep listening to waves washing up on the rocky shore below our window. Although I was sad that the trip was coming to an end, I looked forward to a relaxing day of exploring our surroundings without the need to push on to another destination.

To be continued in:
Day 8: Rock Harbor - New Acquaintances, More Animal Sightings, & Dramamine

Isle Royale National Park | Day Six

2009-10-25T15:01:00.000-07:00

McCargoe Cove to Daisy Farm

The night before we had declined an invitation from friendly camp neighbors to join them at the fire ring (one of only a handful on Isle Royale) in favor of retiring early. We wanted to get an early start for our 8.2 mile hike to Daisy Farm since we knew that half of it would be along the Greenstone Ridge. Our goal was to get up to the ridge as early as possible to avoid having the midday sun beating on our heads. Plus, we had now become a bit spoiled by the shelters and wanted to get to Daisy Farm as early as possible in the hopes of securing one.

Regarding the shelters, we were very impressed with their condition. From reading tales of other hikers trekking in areas such as the Appalachian Trail, we were not expecting the cleanliness that we encountered. The shelters were heavily graffitied, and based on some of the handwritten messages (side note: Apparently lots of people count a black sharpie among essential gear to be taken on a trip where the goal is to pack as few items as possible!), the structures have been in place since at least the early 1970s. Despite this, the 3-sided structures were in great shape. Isle Royale's shelters have a screen front to keep bugs and other visitors out, and I was amazed at how successfully they did their job. I didn't see a single spider or even a cob web in any of the 4 we used. A broom hangs from a nail by the door of each one with the understanding that visitors sweep dirt and debris from the floor before leaving camp. Designed to sleep six, it's considered good etiquette to share a shelter with other parties should the campground fill up and the weather turn bad; however, due to the perfect weather and lateness of the season, we managed to have one to ourselves each time we elected not to sleep in our tent.

We ventured down to the dock for a quick sunrise photo, then stepped onto the trail just after 7:00 am. After backtracking past the beaver dam and along the stream that connects McCargoe Cove to Chickenbone Lake, we began to climb back up the Greenstone Ridge. The East Chickenbone Lake Trail (unnamed on the map, but everyone calls it by this name) is a beautiful 1.6 mile stretch which winds past the eastern side of Chickenbone Lake, creeping over rocky ridges and dipping down into cool, foggy valleys.

Crossing a footbridge over an unnamed stream

Our early start ensured nice cool temperatures, and once again our pants were quickly soaked through from the dew-covered vegetation. Just before the end of the trail, it abruptly ascends via a couple of steep switchbacks to the top of the Greenstone Ridge. We reached the top around 8:30 am and stopped for a 15-minute breather. Like the lookout at Mt. Franklin, this unnamed spot offers an expansive view of the north side of the island from a height of around 900 feet. From here, the 4.2 mile stretch of the Greenstone Ridge heading east is a tiring, yet pleasant hike. The path weaves alternately in and out of forest and onto bare rocky crests, and hints of fall color were just starting to peek through the trees. We were happy to discover that it was alternately shady and sunny, and therefore not nearly as hot as the section we had hiked between Mt. Franklin and Mt. Ojibway on day two.

Taking a break to enjoy the view atop the Greenstone Ridge

During a snack break, we met a woman solo hiking the length of the island via the Greenstone. This was her fourth consecutive year hiking Isle Royale and she had yet to see a moose. I actually felt guilty that we'd had the good fortune of seeing some exciting wildlife during the first five days of our first visit. This lone hiker had flown on the sea plane to Windigo and was heading east to Rock Harbor where she would fly out at the end of her trip. I take the occasional solo vacation which usually incorporates day hikes, but I don't know if I have the guts to to an overnight by myself. Yet.

We descended the Greenstone Ridge around 11:00 am heading southeast along Daisy Farm Trail. Foot bridges guide hikers over a few small streams, swamps, and marshy areas before the 1.7 mile trail ends at Rock Harbor Trail.

We arrived at Daisy Farm Campground at noon and were able to claim a good shelter very close to the water. I can't say what, exactly, made this day so tiring, but I have never been so exhausted as I was when we dropped our packs at Daisy Farm. Every muscle felt devastated, and I could not have cared less about filtering water, changing clothes (aside from removing my boots), or preparing food. I don't think I moved for nearly an hour once my sleeping pad was inflated and I could lie down. Each one of my limbs weighed at least 1000 pounds, and once horizontal, all well-meaning thoughts such as, “I should really do some stretches,” were squashed in favor of slowly sinking into a coma.

Early morning fog lurks in a valley along East Chickenbone Lake Trail

Once I managed to miraculously regain consciousness, I hobbled unsteadily down the short path to the water. The shore along this part of Rock Harbor consists of small volcanic rocks and is a nice spot to cool off and lay clothes out to dry in the sun. The water was freezing and my washcloth-sized MSR pack towel came in handy as I could not bring myself to fully submerge. I limped back to the shelter where Craig and I drank hot peppermint tea and shared a bar of dark chocolate that we had been saving.

The rocky shore in front of our shelter at Daisy Farm

After more resting, we visited the dock to filter water and absorb some sun. Truthfully, I don't remember much else about the rest of our day at Daisy Farm. We spent most of our time lying in the shelter, eating snacks, talking about how great the trip had been thus far, and marveling at how completely destroyed we felt. The sky turned overcast and the wind picked up when we went to bed. From what we could remember of the forecast, there was a chance of rain the next day and we wondered if a storm was blowing in. Part of me would have liked to witness a Lake Superior storm from the relative safety of our shelter in the harbor, but the rest of me was hoping for dry conditions during our hike along the potentially slippery Rock Harbor Trail the following day. We felt that we had been so fortunate with the weather that it had to change at some point. We would just have to wait and see what the morning would bring.

Looking out at Rock Harbor from inside our shelter at Daisy Farm

To be continued in:
Day Seven: Daisy Farm to Rock Harbor

Isle Royale National Park | Day Five

2009-10-18T19:14:00.000-07:00

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 time, albeit a bit spooky, 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 vegetation 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 the leader. He looked directly at us and stepped forward on the bridge. It looked to us 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 an indication 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 briefly 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 was, literally, the wildest thing I've ever seen and there was no question that this was an animal that could kill us if it wanted to. Still, there have been no reported cases of wolves attacking humans, and I did not feel scared. I think I was simply too shocked.

Apparently satisfied that we were not a threat (or food), 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 animals, but recent wolf study information 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 85-lb German Shepard/Lab mix, but with longer legs. As soon as I saw them, I 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. It's better than nothing, and I was actually quite 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 elation 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 very 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 confess 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 McCargo 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

Isle Royale National Park | Day Four

2009-10-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

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 virgins to this form of dehumanization. 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 indeed. 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 forest 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 plank bridge 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.

PCT food hanging method thwarts demonic squirrels

Snowshoe Hare flees tiny squirrel, is unfazed by giant human

To be continued in:
Day 4 - W. Chickenbone Lake to McCargoe Cove: The Best Day Ever

Isle Royale National Park | Day Three

2009-10-03T17:55:00.000-07:00

Daisy Farm to Moskey Basin
“I did nothing, and it was everything I ever thought it could be.” -Office Space

Although we only had to hike about 4 miles to get to our destination, we decided to get an early start in the hope of securing a good spot at Moskey Basin. There was no hint of sunlight when we awoke around 6:30 am and attempted to quietly deflate and roll up our sleeping pads.

Islets along Rock Harbor

Throughout the trip, we tended to wake before anyone else and set out on our day's hike just as others were emerging from their sleeping bags. I love getting up early when camping to enjoy the sunrise if I'm in a position to do so. Plus, I think there is a better chance of spotting wildlife in the early morning, a philosophy that Craig eventually embraced and would pay off big time later in the trip.

After getting dressed and eating breakfast by headlamp, I wandered down to the water to witness a magnificent sunrise. A handful of others were now awake, standing at the water's edge and staring in awe at the purple and pink horizon.

Sunrise at Daisy Farm

When I returned to the shelter, Craig was visiting the two women camping next door. We had filtered much more water than we needed the night before, and we didn't want to carry the excess since we had plenty to drink and would be able to get more at our next site. After debating whether he would seem like some kind of weird forest creep by offering to give away our extra water, he had apparently decided to go for it. Since they weren't chasing him out of their campsite with torches, it appeared to have gone well.

Scraggly trees along Rock Harbor Trail

We finished packing and headed west on the Rock Harbor Trail just after sunrise. This section of trail proved very interesting and would be my favorite hike of the trip. Admittedly, I felt relieved that we only had this 4-mile stretch to accomplish that day. If we had pushed all the way the day before and been made to endure this stretch of trail at the end of the planned 10.8-mile trek from Lane Cove to Moskey Basin, I might have set fire to the trail, then salted the earth.

Here's how Jim DuFresne describes this route in his essential guidebook, Isle Royale National Park: Foot Trails & Water Routes: “...the trail begins its up-and-down course over one rocky crest after another. A few times it dips down into wooded terrain, only to break out and ascend another bare, rocky crest. Keep sharp eyes out for rock cairns because the trail is easy to lose. There are a few steep climbs and descents but none of them are long.” This is basically right on point, although I don't remember losing the trail more than once or twice, and only for a few seconds each time.

Contemplating the Awesomeness

The constant up/down that DuFresne describes was exactly that – constant. But the landscape was so fascinating I couldn't help but love the entire journey. I took breaks here and there to catch my breath and, in between the gasping and panting, exclaimed about the utter awesomeness of our surroundings. The trees here were very scraggly and covered in old man's beard, giving everything a very old and weathered look. The rocky terrain revealed Isle Royale for what it actually is – a huge, ancient rock that has somehow managed to grow a forest on it.

The terrain of Rock Harbor Trail

As we ascended a ridge topped with a clearing, we heard something that stopped us dead in our tracks. A low moan somewhere in the distance rose in pitch and then became quiet. We stopped and waited, staring at each other with wide eyes. Again we heard it - a low-pitched, mournful moaning which was soon joined by a few more, all at different tones. It wasn't really how I imagined the sound, but it could be nothing else: We were listening to wolves howl for the very first time. Soon, a chorus of howling washed over us, and we stood there rooted to the spot, smiling at each other crazily. It was the most exciting sound I've ever heard.

At the top of yet another ridge

Abruptly, the howling stopped. We shook ourselves out of the stupor the sound had caused and descended the slope, paying extra attention to everything around us. Not long after listening to the wolf pack at the top of the ridge, we began to notice wolf scat along the trail. It looks similar to that of a big dog, but with hair in it from whatever animal had been a recent meal. While moose are the gray wolf's main food source on Isle Royale, they turn to beaver during the summer. The park brochure gives insight into the cycle of life on the island, describing the interdependency between the moose, wolf, beaver, red fox and snowshoe hare, and how each of them is needed to maintain symbiosis in this unique ecosystem.

"To simply hear a wolf is an honor; to see one is a wilderness favor granted to few."

About an hour before reaching Moskey Basin, we crossed paths with the couple from Wisconsin whom we had met the day before. Unlike us, they had made it all the way to Moskey Basin and were now making their way back toward Rock Harbor before heading home. When I mentioned how amazing the trail was, the husband looked at me like I was sprouting velvety antlers and said, “You like this trail? I hate it!” We asked them if they heard the wolves, and he got very excited. “We saw one,” he blurted. They explained that about ½ hour back, they had seen one standing in the trees at the edge of the trail near a stream crossing. They suggested we keep our eyes peeled when we get to this area because it might still be there.

Now on tenterhooks and more aware than ever of our surroundings, we made our way quietly along the trail. Every sound had us stopping, listening, and squinting into the trees. Eventually we decided that if the wolf didn't want us to see it, we wouldn't. And we didn't.

We arrived at Moskey Basin around 10:30 am, late enough that everyone had cleared out except for one tent camper who was still sleeping, and early enough that no one had arrived yet. Not only were we able to claim a shelter, but we also scored the best site possible. Smooth, solid rock rises out of this inlet of Lake Superior and slopes gently upward, eventually flattening out. The shelters are placed right at the tops of these wonderful rocky slopes and are very close to the water. Our shelter appeared to have the best rock surface in front which eased gradually into the lake – perfect for swimming and collecting as much water as we would need for cooking, drinking, and doing some pseudo laundry.

Our front yard at Moskey Basin

This was instantly our favorite spot so far and we knew it would be impossible to top. I can say confidently that it is the best spot in which I've ever camped. The scenery was so beautiful that I won't even bother to describe it because I don't think it's possible. We were very glad that we had wimped out the day before and changed our plans. This was going to be an excellent spot to spend a whole day doing absolutely nothing. A park ranger passed through briefly to check on things and asked how we were doing. Loons called to one another, and two very young ones practiced diving for fish, popping back up here and there in front of our site. Other unidentified birds sunned themselves on rocks, and after getting in the water ourselves, we did the same.

Feeling refreshed, we strung a line in front of our shelter and hung our clothes to dry. As we prepared lunch at our picnic table, a lone hiker showed up at the next shelter and told us his story. He was from Traverse City and had made arrangements to meet up with a friend on the island the day before. After hiking as fast as possible to get from Rock Harbor to Mt. Ojibway (their meeting place) by a predetermined time, his friend had already come and gone. Since there is nowhere to camp at Mt. Ojibway, this meant that our new acquaintance had to turn around and hike back to the first place he could find – Daisy Farm. A group of hikers found him, slightly hallucinating and dehydrated, and invited him into their shelter. After receiving water and food, the poor guy passed out and awoke the next morning, embarrassed to find a ranger checking on him. Now he was at Moskey Basin because he thought his hiking partner might show up there. If not, he was going to hitch a ride with some boaters who were heading to Three Mile and had offered to take him along.

Lichen covered trees frame the view next door at Moskey Basin

After lazily resting in our shelter for an undetermined length of time, we made dinner and watched 3 otters splash around in the water in front of our site. By now, Mr. Traverse City's friend had shown up and they had gone, and a big group of hikers from a Minnesota backpacking club had taken up residence next door.

Moskey Basin, the view east from our site

We looked forward to lying on our sleeping pads that night out on the rock, hopefully watching more bats, and stargazing. If some wolves decided to join us and howl at the moon, which was going to rise directly in front of us, that would also be acceptable. Unfortunately, cloud cover obscured the moon, and mosquitoes became a bit bothersome at dusk which ruined the atmosphere somewhat. A few toads hopped around the rock, and one of them stood at the water's edge repeatedly nabbing insects with its tongue. We lingered outside as long as possible, not wanting to give up this amazing place to go to sleep. Eventually we had to turn in, but I tried to stay awake as long as possible like a little kid, hoping to hear the wolves again. Owls hooted and loons called, and eventually I drifted off. This was the best day so far, but our trip would get even better.

At the end of Moskey Basin, looking back toward our site

To be continued in:
Isle Royale Day Four: Moskey Basin to West Chickenbone Lake

Isle Royale National Park | Day Two

2009-09-26T10:17:00.000-07:00

The Plan: Lane Cove to Moskey Basin: 10.8 miles

Actual: Lane Cove to Daisy Farm: 6.9 miles

The view north from Mt. Franklin

After leaving the picturesque setting of our campsite at Lane Cove, it was necessary to back track up Lane Cove Trail to the top of the Greenstone Ridge. We had been dreading this moment since reading about the steepness in other hikers' trip reports while in the research and planning phase of this trip. In truth, it didn't take as long as I expected (I bet 2 hours minimum; Craig firmly wagered 1.5 hours which proved right on the money) and once we had a few minutes to recuperate at the top, we agreed that going down was worse than going up.

Junction of Greenstone Ridge, Lane Cove, and Mt. Franklin Trails

While resting at the trail junction, we met a few other hikers who had also camped at Lane Cove and were getting an early start. Two young guys had climbed out ahead of us and were headed to Chippewa Harbor – a distance of 16.6 miles. We helpfully informed them of their insanity before bidding farewell. A couple from Wisconsin arrived next and, like us, were heading to Moskey Basin. Looking to be around 50 years old and in very good shape, they were like versions of ourselves 15 years from now, only much better. Over the coming few days they would shame us as we would see them here and there, taunting us with their cursed drive and fitness.

Mt. Franklin

After a half-hour of wallowing at the trail junction, we headed west along the Greenstone Ridge toward Mt. Franklin, less than ½ mile away. Mt. Franklin is a spectacular lookout point at an elevation of 1,080 feet – this is where we should have taken our break. This vantage point offers a view far above the trees of the north side of the island, an inland lake or two, Lake Superior, and the distant shadow of Canadian shoreline. Huge chunks of rock rise out of the ridge here providing ideal spots for resting, eating lunch, or just absorbing the marvelous view. I was sad that we had lingered so long at the top of Lane Cove Trail and couldn't spend too much time here.

The view north from Mt. Franklin

The section of the Greenstone Ridge between Mt. Franklin and Mt. Ojibway – our next stop and lunch destination 2.5 miles away – is reportedly one of the most scenic stretches of this long, 42-mile trail. We agreed that it was noteworthy in that the ridge is high enough to provide panoramas of both the north and south shores of the island, and Canada on a clear day. In fall it would undoubtedly prove an impressive stretch of trail; however, it was very hot on the high, sun-exposed ridge and we looked forward to reaching Mt. Ojibway and the shade of the old fire observation tower that still stands at its summit. This section proved to be a very long and tiring stretch that seemed to go on forever.

A cairn marks the way on the Greenstone Ridge

By the time we reached Mt. Ojibway, we were exhausted and a bit annoyed with the Greenstone Ridge. We puzzled over why it is such a popular hike for people to take along the entire east to west length of Isle Royale. Luckily, we would discover later in the week that not all of it is quite so bare and exposed to the sun, but still very challenging nonetheless.

The view south from the Greenstone Ridge

We fired up the Jetboil in the shade of the fire tower and prepared to indulge in a lunch consisting of dehydrated burrito mix in whole wheat tortillas and powdered orange gatorade. Soon, other hikers showed up to share the ideal lunch and resting spot, including the sisters we had met at Lane Cove (one of them was again not speaking to anyone) and a group of young hikers from St. Joseph, MI. They had come from Moskey Basin and highly recommended we push to get there that night. We had started to doubt our ability to complete our planned 10.8 mile hike to this destination based on how we felt 5 miles into it. One of the girls in the group informed us that wolves had been active near their campsite, and they had enjoyed the movie-like experience of listening to them howl the night before under a full moon – at midnight. A few of their party had also seen a moose in the area. This information boosted my determination to make it all the way.

Before leaving Mt. Ojibway, I climbed up the fire tower to observe the view it provides. Although it is closed about 3/4 of the way up, people can still climb high enough for a nice 360º view of the island. It was a bit hazy, but on a clear day it is undoubtedly wonderful to see. No longer used to watch for fires in this remote wilderness, I think the tower now holds equipment used to monitor air pollution.

I was feeling refreshed and looking forward to the rest of our day's journey which, according to the map, looked mostly downhill. This was not the case. We descended the Greenstone Ridge down Mt. Ojibway Trail toward Daisy Farm campground where we would pick up the Rock Harbor Trail and head west to Moskey Basin. Although technically descending, Isle Royale is made up of so many ridges that the hiking is an almost constant up/down sequence. Every time we descended a steep ridge and found ourselves in a cool valley, there was another ridge to climb in front of us. Within 30 minutes of leaving the sanctuary of Mt. Ojibway, I had deteriorated into a sweaty, sub-human tragedy. Craig was getting further and further ahead and suddenly I didn't feel so good. I was not going to speak of what happened next, but in the interest of honest trip reporting, here it is: Suddenly I was dizzy and decided I needed a break with my pack off. As soon as my pack hit the ground, I found myself on all fours vomiting in a very non-Leave No Trace fashion off the side of the trail. Goodbye burrito and gatorade; we had some good times. I felt like the biggest wuss on the planet, but once that was accomplished, I suddenly felt great again!

East view from the Mt. Ojibway fire tower

Craig had stopped to wait for me at the top of a steep ridge, and was feeling quite exhausted himself. He voted for stopping at Daisy Farm for the night, but I still wanted to get to Moskey Basin. “You just threw up,” he pointed out in defense of his desire for change of plans. “But wolves are near Moskey Basin,” I countered. By this point I think I had gone temporarily insane and was attributing my moment of weakness to too much sun beating on my head on the Greenstone Ridge, drinking 70 oz of water in 3 hours, too much food at Mt. Ojibway, and my as-yet unfulfilled desire to see wildlife.

West view from the Mt. Ojibway fire tower

Part of my hesitance to stay at Daisy Farm was due to the fact that we already planned to stay there toward the end of the trip on our way back toward Rock Harbor. We had read that Daisy Farm is the largest and most popular campground on Isle Royale, and I admit I was poo-pooing it a little because I envisioned it being too crowded and social. Also, I was annoyed because I felt like a wimp. Ten miles on more familiar terrain is easy, and even though all the research we'd done clearly warned of the ruggedness of Isle Royale, experiencing is believing. In the end, changing our plans and staying at Daisy Farm was a good decision and would lead to a beautiful and wonderfully long day of leisure at Moskey Basin on day three.

Daisy Farm actually proved perfectly nice and, although busy, it was relaxing and scenic and everyone was respectful of the quiet atmosphere. We were able to find an empty 3-sided shelter near the water, dropped our packs inside, set our sleeping pads out to inflate and went in search of a good spot along the harbor to filter water. After returning with enough to refill our drinking supply and for that night's dinner and washing up, we rested in our shelter and listened to the group next door discuss their plans for the following day: Daisy Farm to Hatchet Lake – 15.4 miles. I clearly couldn't hang with this type of crowd. At one point we heard, “Hey! A fox just ran through here with a rabbit in its mouth!” Another wildlife opportunity missed, but I couldn't manage to lift my head off my self-inflating Thermarest pillow.

Thimbleberries

Later, once we had recovered, we did a little exploring of our surroundings. Thimbleberries grew everywhere and we collected a bowlful to add to our oatmeal in the morning. I didn't mention this about Lane Cove, but the outhouse was very clean and it was the same at Daisy Farm. Although we kept our belongings on lock-down and our eyes and ears peeled for the infamous kleptomaniac fox, there was no sign. After sunset, the moon rose huge and bright orange above the water of rock harbor in front of our shelter. We watched bats zoom out over the water to catch insects, and a big, very tolerant toad let me shine my headlamp on it and attempt to take it's portrait.

Day Two Wildlife Sightings:

Moose: 0
Fox: 0
Toad: 1
Bats: yep

To be continued in: Isle Royale, Day Three: Daisy Farm to Moskey Basin

Isle Royale National Park | Day One

2009-09-18T16:34:00.000-07:00

Rock Harbor to Lane Cove

Morning moon over Lane Cove

The orientation and permit process having taken close to an hour, we were ready to start hiking just before 1pm. Before leaving Rock Harbor, I used the hanging scale outside the camp store to weigh my pack: 34 pounds. This is a bit heavier than I'm used to; because we needed to carry enough food for 2 people for 8 days, it was necessary that I take some of the food. Normally, I take the tent, and Craig takes the food and cooking supplies. It was surprising how much weight the extra food added to both of our packs.

Moss and lichen cover boulders and rocky ridges

Our destination that day was Lane Cove on the north side of the island. We chose this location because, through our research and planning, it appeared to be off the beaten path from where most hikers go on their first day. It is more typical for people to head west from Rock Harbor with the destination of 3-Mile (so named because of its approximate distance from Rock Harbor. Those 3 miles are no joke, however – more on that in a future post.) or Daisy Farm campgrounds. This can result in trail congestion and full campsites. Our route consisted of heading west on Tobin Harbor Trail, then striking out north on Mt. Franklin Trail which would lead us up the Greenstone Ridge. Once at the top of the ridge, we would descend on Lane Cove Trail to our destination. Total miles: 7.1.

Small island in Tobin Harbor

An important thing to note about the trails on Isle Royale is that they are unmarked. Signs are posted only at trail intersections. There are no reassuring arrows when ambiguity strikes, or mile markers to give a hiker an idea of how much lies ahead or behind. At times, the trails will leave the woods and disappear at slabs of bare rock that make up the many ridges of the island. When this happens, it is necessary to look for cairns – stacks of rocks used to mark a path – to find the way until the trail reappears. Our first day would mostly consist of well-defined trails that were easy to follow; however, the constant up and down of the terrain would take its toll on me, and more than once I wondered if I should have chosen somewhere easier for my second ever multi-day backpacking trip.

Tobin Harbor Trail

I was immediately alert and searching for signs of animals. From the stories I'd heard, I had high hopes for moose sightings. I clearly pictured them everywhere – munching leaves at the edge of the water, droplets glistening from majestic antlers as they posed in the sun for my camera. As this was the start of rutting season, we were prepared to give any randy-looking bulls adequate space (after catching award-winning photos), and to make sure we didn't get between any females and their calves who would no doubt be frolicking all over the trail, impeding our progress. Needless to say based on the tone of my previous words, we saw nothing the first day. Truthfully, the hiking was strenuous enough that within the first hour, I had put my camera away in favor of concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to breath, and pushing myself to stay within sight distance of Craig, who was working on controlling his pace so that I could keep up.

Perfect spot for a photogenic moose*

The decent on Lane Cove Trail involved 4 steep switchbacks along a very rugged trail strewn with boulders and huge tree roots. By this point I was paying attention to nothing except my deteriorating physical condition and attempting to stay upright as I very slowly navigated the steep trail. Once on a flat surface, Craig stopped me just as I was about to trample a pair of clearly defined wolf prints in the mud. This was a very encouraging site and my spirits rose at the realization that there are animals here after all!

Wolf tracks - front and rear paw prints in the mud on Lane Cove Trail

At 5:15pm we thankfully reached the campground at Lane Cove and staggered into the first tent site we saw. There are no shelters at Lane Cove and the sites filled up quickly. Each site has more than one spot for a tent, and we ended up sharing ours with two sisters from the Houghton, MI area. One of them actually worked at the park many years ago, and the other was on her first ever backpacking trip. Evidence of her feelings on this matter were clear as she spoke to no one for an hour or so and looked like she was contemplating the blatant murder of her friendly and activity-encouraging sister. Even though I had recovered the use of my legs at this point and was very happily setting up our tent and thinking toward tomorrow's moose-filled adventure, I could sympathize. In the end, both new acquaintances turned out to be fun and respectful neighbors and we enjoyed their company.

Lane Cove Trail - looking back after descending a switchback

When it came time to turn in, we had to decide what to do about food storage. This had been the subject of much debate while planning the trip to Isle Royale. Being used to camping in bear territory, we just could not warm up to the idea of keeping our food in the tent, a common practice on the island due to the absence of bears. Aggressive squirrels are known to chew through backpacks and tents to get at whatever might be inside, so we decided to hang our food bags just for peace of mind. Unfortunately, none of the trees in the vicinity had adequate branches, so we secured a line between two pines and hung the bags from the line. By the end of this process we were covered in tree sap, but the food was safe.

Tired legs in warm sleeping bags

Sadly, this first day traveling to Lane Cove is mostly a blur, and I remember only a few things clearly about our campsite at the water's edge. The water itself was so cold that our ankles screamed in pain as we attempted to filter it. Luckily, our new friends had a collapsible bucket allowing us to retrieve water in large amounts, then filter it elsewhere, warm and pain-free. Later, I slept like a rock in our usually cramped and uncomfortable tent, only waking a few times to listen to loons calling eerily somewhere in the cove, and again at 5am when it suddenly got so cold that I had to cinch my sleeping bag hood around my face. At sunrise, we emerged from our cozy tent feeling refreshed and were immediately mesmerized by the sight of Lane Cove. The moon hung above the line of trees on the other side of the cove, and those trees were reflected perfectly in the water below them. Craig commented that it looked like a painting instead of a real place. My attempts to photographic it did not capture it very well.

7:30 am on Lane Cove

After eating oatmeal and drinking coffee, we packed up, said goodbye for the time-being to our camp friends, and began to drag ourselves up what we climbed down the day before.

To be continued in: Isle Royale Day Two - Lane Cove to Daisy Farm

*Smiling Moose inset can be found all over the internet, so no whining. I first saw it at FUP, which is hilarious.

Isle Royale National Park | September 2009

2009-09-13T18:30:00.000-07:00

Prologue: The Big Picture

The blue line shows our route. Click to enlarge.

Craig and I planned to spend 8 days backpacking around the eastern end of Isle Royale. We would end up experiencing the kind of vacation where we truly let go of everything back home. There was no thought or discussion of work, computers and phones were not missed, and small things like collecting berries to add to our morning oatmeal made us ridiculously happy. Toward the end, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen my own reflection in 7 days.

Calm seas. A freighter can be seen in the distance.

Isle Royale is an archipelago in northern Lake Superior created by ancient volcanic activity, then later scraped and gouged by glaciers. It is 99% wilderness featuring rugged terrain, high ridges, inland lakes, and wildlife such as loons, moose, and the gray wolf. The remoteness of the island makes it one of the least-visited national parks in the U.S., and the only one to close down in winter.

Our itinerary included 7 days of hiking, plus an extra day to use either along the way if a particular spot was especially interesting, or at the end of the trip if we felt like spending more time in the Rock Harbor area. Rock Harbor is the arrival and departure point for most visitors and is home to a ranger station, visitors center, camp store, several boat docks, and a lodge/restaurant/gift shop for those who want to spend lots of money. There are also a handful of day hikes that begin in Rock Harbor, and canoes can be rented for paddling around the many coves and small islands that make up Isle Royale's eastern end.

Leaving Copper Harbor on the Isle Royale Queen IV

On Friday, the 8am passenger ferry from Copper Harbor (Michigan's northernmost town located at the very top of the Keweenaw Peninsula) brought us 56 miles across a thankfully calm Lake Superior. We docked at Rock Harbor around 11:45 am, and joined the other hikers for orientation given by a park ranger. Intentionally planning this trip for September, we expected cooler weather and fewer hikers. While there weren't nearly as many people as there would have been in July or August, there were still quite a few. We learned that we would be enjoying the best stretch of weather the island had experienced all season, as clear skies and warmer than average temperatures would prevail for the next several days. Normally at this time of year, daytime highs in the 60's and nights in the 40's are common, but we would experience days in the mid-high 70's and lots of sun.

Orientation consisted of an overview of the 7 components of Leave No Trace, some do's and don't's regarding how to behave in the backcountry (For instance, if a moose is in your way on the trail, don't throw rocks at it. It's very sad that there are reasons why this type of advice must be given.). Sneaky foxes will steal anything left unattended. Moose need to be given a wide berth as females with young can become aggressive if they feel threatened. He also informed us that while the possibility of seeing a wolf is extremely remote, they want know about it if it happens as it could provide useful information to the wolf study team.

Young loons

Upon finishing orientation, an itinerary must be left with a ranger at the visitors center. This information is helpful not only because it provides some idea of where you might be in the backcountry should something happen, but also because if seven people in a row are heading to the same place, the ranger can warn the eighth person that the campsite might be full. They enter your info into their computer and print out a backcountry permit for you to keep with you and post at your campsites. Hikers are not required to stick to their itinerary, but any changes should be reported when you turn in your permit at the end of your visit. Apparently, the majority of hikers end up deviating from their original plans somewhere along the way.

To be continued in: Isle Royale Day One - Rock Harbor to Lane Cove

Preparing for Isle Royale National Park

2009-09-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

We are prepped and ready to leave for Isle Royale. Early tomorrow morning, we will make the 12-13 hour drive to Copper Harbor in order to board the passenger ferry Friday at 8 am. We should arrive at Isle Royale around noon, weather permitting, and plan to spend 8 days hiking, camping, taking in beautiful scenery, and hopefully viewing some wildlife.
We've heard stories of recent bad weather (On Lake Superior? There must be some mistake.) and of people getting stranded due to the ships being unable to sail and the sea plane being grounded. Hopefully we will be able to travel to and from the island without incident, but if I don't show up for work on Monday 9/14, I'm probably hunting for berries in order to stay alive in the rain and fog.

Manistee River Trail

2009-08-06T12:00:00.000-07:00

The hiking trail hugs the Manistee River

I have a new favorite Michigan trail. Well, a second favorite. Nothing beats the Grand Portal Loop on the south shore of Lake Superior, but for Michiganders who want to give the Mitten some love, Manistee River Trail is an excellent hiking spot.

One of many clear streams flowing across the trail

The Manistee River Trail in West Michigan parallels nearly 11 miles of the eastern edge of its namesake river between the Seaton Creek and Red Bridge trailheads in Manistee National Forest. A product of the Great Depression and FDR's New Deal, the land which is now home to this mixed woods was once logged to an all but barren wasteland. The Civilian Conservation Corps re-planted the area, and in 1938 the Manistee National Forest was born. Depending on what one reads, the name Manistee could be derived from either the Native American Ojibwe or Ottawa language and is thought to mean “The whispering through the pines”.

Waist-high ferns create a 2nd, miniature forest beneath the trees

The out and back nature of the MRT (10.6 miles one way) creates a logistical challenge. For those who have the time, the North Country Trail runs along the other side of the river and can be incorporated to create a much longer, multi-day loop. A very interesting walking bridge, aptly named 'Little Mac', spans the river near the northern end of the trail for this very purpose.

Little Mac

Alternatively, having two cars parked at either end would be ideal since it appears that none of the nearby canoe liveries will take bribes to spot cars for day hikers. Having a crazy hiking partner who comes up with an insane Plan B for car retrieval also works when circumstances are dire. More on that later.

Mushrooms and moss near a cliff overlooking Manistee River

With many trails, the scenery is the main attraction – mountains, valleys, waterfalls, etc. With the MRT, the trail itself is the object of interest. Hikers follow a path which often hugs the ridge along the Manistee River, which bends and snakes alongside. Truthfully, the view of the river in this area isn't particularly stunning. The water is muddy in appearance, and the banks do not stimulate much excitement with their sandy slopes and grassy ridges. However, the forest provides much in the way of enjoyment for lovers of the trail. The variety of evergreens and hardwoods undoubtedly paint a stunning picture in Autumn, and dozens of small streams trickle across the trail on their journey to the river. Simple foot bridges protect the banks and make it easy for hikers to cross these obstacles.

Campsites are sprinkled along the trail, some legitimate, others created by those who have rebelled against the establishment. These being backcountry sites, fire rings have been conveniently provided, but there are no outhouses and no potable water. Be prepared to filter from streams (I collected some extra water from a creek when my camelbak started to get low and just put a purifying tablet in it) and utilize essential hole-digging skills if spending more than a day on the trail.

My husband Craig and I spent 6 hours hiking just under 11 miles from one end of Manistee River Trail to the other. The terrain is hilly, and could be considered moderate, maybe on the difficult side of moderate, for those in less than good shape. The last mile included a gruelling, uphill trudge through sand, and we were both exhausted when we reached the opposite trailhead.

I got my first mosquito bite of the day here, amazingly.

Upon reaching Red Bridge, Craig unlocked his single speed road bike from the small tree we had secured it to and rode back 7.5 miles on the (mostly dirt) roads to Seaton Creek to pick up the car. Though I had fought against this idea, in the end no other options presented themselves. Under normal circumstances, 7.5 miles on a bike is easy; however given our weakened state, I was impressed that he didn't hallucinate a hammock in the shade, have a head-on collision with a deer, and lose consciousness along the way. We must come up with a better plan for next time.

More photos can be seen by clicking the Manistee River Trail link to the upper right under photos.

Hiking Envy

2009-08-04T15:44:00.000-07:00

The most unfair of scenarios:

Sitting at my desk at work around noon on Friday, I received a text message from my sister. Attached to this text was a camera phone photo of Spray Falls plummeting 70 feet into Lake Superior. This clearly violated the (undocumented, yet obvious) rule that a spontaneous trip to the Upper Peninsula without me is forbidden. I am the older sister; I do not get left behind. Mysterious tree stump on the beach

Although this is not my usual type of entry, I feel that a few of the photos that my villainous sister took over the weekend should be posted for everyone's viewing pleasure. She hit a couple of our favorite spots, including a stretch of the sculpted sandstone lakeshore in the Chapel Beach area, and the very charming Mosquito River trail. A section of Mosquito Falls

Near her campsite at Hurricane River, this diabolical brat of a sibling spent the late afternoon watching the temperamental sky over a somewhat rough Lake Superior. I spent my afternoon at the office working on a spreadsheet. Lake Superior near the mouth of Hurricane River

I have heard that there is a frozen pasty from Muldoon's and some chocolate mint fudge from Murdick's in my future. This softens the blow somewhat, but I remain nonetheless disgruntled.

Kensington Metropark Nature Trails - Part Two:

2009-07-06T18:03:00.000-07:00

Aspen Trail, Pine Loop, Tamarack Trail

I returned to Kensington Metropark this past weekend to check out the trails I didn't see on my last visit (and for a re-match with the Sandhill Crane). After watching a Great Blue Heron bathing in the lagoon behind the nature center, I started the morning off with Aspen Trail and hit the jackpot (as much of a jackpot as one can get in Metro Detroit).The tall grasses and cattails which line the start of the trail proved an excellent place to spy on a family of Sandhill Cranes. A mother and three young birds picked their way through the vegetation searching for breakfast while I watched from the edge of the trail.

Just before the path curves and enters the woods, a sign encourages hikers to venture off the trail to view what is left of an old summer home from the early 1900s (a couple of chunks of stone foundation are all that remain today). I happened to stop before crossing a small bridge over a stream at the edge of the woods and caught a fawn watching me from the side of the trail a safe distance away. We observed each other for several minutes, then its mother emerged from the trees with another fawn and all three bounded gracefully away to safety. Recognizing me as the suspicious character that I am, she kept a close eye on me, and I was able to watch the little family for several minutes as I made my way down the trail.

Aspen Trail turned out to be the perfect place to encounter wildlife on this particular morning. A couple of wild turkeys ambled across the path in front of me after the deer disappeared into the trees, frogs kicked their way through the many trickling streams, and Sandhill Cranes were a constant presence feeding in the aquatic habitat. The Pine Loop is a short diversion from Aspen Trail which branches northwest through slightly thicker vegetation, and Tamarack Trail winds through a very charming boggy landscape partially protected by a boardwalk.

While taking in this beautiful area, I also imagined what it would look like in other seasons. As I said in Part 1, I am very much looking forward to visiting this network of short trails later in the year when the leaves change to spectacular shades of red, orange, and yellow, and later still under a blanket of sparkling snow.More photos can be seen by clicking the Kensington Nature Trails link to the upper right under photos.

Kensington Metropark Nature Trails - Part One:

2009-06-28T13:33:00.000-07:00

Wildwing Trail, Deer Run Trail, Fox Trail and Chickadee LoopKensington Metropark is a 4500-acre recreation area surrounding Kent Lake in western Oakland County. It is a beautiful park featuring a paved walking/jogging/biking trail, boating access, golf course, numerous picnic areas, fishing access, a farm learning center, beaches, and a nature center. Near the southwest corner of Kent Lake and close to smaller Wildwing Lake, the nature center is the ideal destination for those looking for a quiet hike through the woods.

Being an outdoor enthusiast, living in Metro Detroit has its share of frustrations. This part of Michigan is a kind of nature dead zone requiring long drives to more remote areas to achieve a decent outdoor experience. This dilemma has been a source of discontentment for me lately as I just don't have the time or desire to drive 3+ hours when the mood to go hiking strikes me. Luckily, there is a solution 40 minutes away from home for spur of the moment weekend hikes.The quiet nature study area around the nature center includes a network of 7 trails where bicycles, jogging, and pets are not permitted. The trails are short, ranging from ½ mile to 2 miles, but multiple loops can be combined to allow for longer hikes and more exercise. I arrived around 8am this past Saturday morning and found the parking lot about ½ full. Despite this, I only encountered a handful of people out on the trails, many of them photographers crouching quietly in the brush waiting for their quarries to present themselves.

I decided to begin with the 2-mile Wildwing Trail which, naturally, circles Wildwing Lake. The start of the trail lead me through a sunny, swampy area before entering the woods. As I approached the trees I could hear a tremendous squawking coming from somewhere ahead of me. As I am only beginning to learn about birds, I had no idea what was making the sound, but I was intrigued. Then, just beyond the curve in the trail ahead of me, barely visible above the tall vegetation, I could see the head of a Sandhill Crane which appeard to be walking on the trail and making its way toward me. I zoomed in my camera lens and prepared for it to round the curve and come into view. Just as I was about to snap a photo, I discovered the reason for its very loud vocalizations: Another hiker was walking toward me and, against the clearly-posted rules, had a dog with her. The huge bird must have taken exception to this flagrant rule breaking and decided it had had enough. It unfolded enormous wings and took off heading directly toward my face. Although I furiously snapped off shots with my camera as it nearly took my head off, I captured nothing except blurry foliage. (The photo to the right was taken from my car, which does not count.) My disappointment was somewhat soothed as I heard the photography-ruining dog walker being reprimanded by another hiker as I wandered into the trees.

Wildwing Trail alternatively winds through thick woods and marshy landscapes. There are a few boardwalks and bridges to protect the wetter areas and various aquatic habitats. An Osprey Hacking Tower can be observed on the south side of the lake, and a long, winding footbridge leads hikers over the eastern end where waterlilies dominate the surface.
Next, I decided to combine the Deer Run, Fox, and Chickadee loops before visiting the nature center, which didn't open until 10am. Deer Run Trail primarily circles a marshy bog type landscape where trickling water can be heard throughout the walk. Fox Trail took me over hilly terrain where evidence of glacial activity was more prevalent. Larger rocks are wedged in the earth under foot, and the occasional boulder peeks out from the overgrowth. This short trail leads to the Chickadee Loop, which winds through a dense, quiet forest featuring a variety of trees, some with signs posted on them providing education regarding their type and history.
At the nature center, glass enclosures display various area wildlife and habitats, and replicas of animal tracks can be studied. I am looking forward to future visits this summer as well as fall color viewing and winter hiking as soon as the snow flies. Kensington Metropark is located in Milford off I-96 (use either the Kensington Rd. or Kent Lake Rd. exit) and is open year-round.More photos can be seen by clicking the Kensington Nature Trails link to the upper right under photos.

The Ghost Forest

2009-01-24T20:02:00.001-08:00

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...More photos can be seen by clicking the Ghost Forest link to the upper right under photos. Shadow Hiker photo taken by Andrea.

Snowshoeing In Metro Detroit

2009-01-17T22:32:00.000-08:00

Stony Creek MetroparkThe Metro Detroit area is roughly bordered by Huron River to the south and west, and Clinton River to the northeast. Following these rivers and including Southeast Michigan's five major counties, Wayne, Oakland, Macombe, Livingston, and Washtenaw, a park system provides recreation opportunities year-round.

The Huron-Clinton Metropolitan Authority was created in 1940 to provide residents of Southeast Michigan opportunities to enjoy the outdoors within a relatively short driving distance. To this end, thirteen Metroparks were developed and serve to protect the area's natural resources.

The HCMA believe their efforts “are guided by the belief that the use of parks and exposure to natural environments enhance society's health and quality of life.” I was very happy to discover the existence of this park system a few years ago, primarily for winter activities.This part of Michigan typically doesn't receive a large amount of snow (so far this season is proving to be a wonderful exception), but when a storm does comes through and blankets the region with a nice layer of fresh white powder, it's great to have a few decent trails within an hour's drive.

So far I have only explored two of the Metroparks, Kensington and Stony Creek, which also happen to be the largest at over 4300 acres each. Last Sunday, following a whopper of a snowstorm that lasted the entire day before, I drove to Stony Creek Metropark in northern Oakland County with my snowshoes, camera, camelbak, and, of course, kleenex. It's such a bummer to forget that cold air makes the nose run and not come prepared.

After paying the $4 entrance fee, I drove north very slowly on the snow-covered road that winds through the park past a golf course to the west (presently used for cross-country skiing), a fitness trail, and several designated picnic areas along the east shore of Stony Creek Lake. The lake is fed by Stony Creek and has three distinct segments; the southernmost is the largest and the center of activity at the park. The middle section hosts a few stray picnic areas, and the northern section exists within a quiet nature study area where activity is limited to hiking or mountain biking. This was my destination. The nature center at Stony Creek provides interpretive displays showcasing the area's natural points of interest and is home base for a handful of trails that wind through this section of the park. I chose the East Lake Trail which is a small network of four connected trails along the eastern shore of Upper Stony Creek Lake. On the western shore, Osprey Trail loops through an area which was part of an osprey re-introduction program that began in the late 90's.

Because of the heavy snowfall the previous day, the mixed forest surrounding Stony Creek was so serene that I couldn't help but smile as I looked around. I thought I would stumble upon the secret entrance to Narnia at any moment. I spent a very peaceful two to three hours walking through the arresting winter woods. The trail loop is only around 3 miles long, but when practically everything I see begs to be photographed, progress tends to be very slow.

I am very much looking forward to exploring more of the trails within the Metroparks in my area. As I write this, another day's worth of snow is accumulating outside making this weekend another prime opportunity.
More photos from the East Lake Trails can be seen by clicking the Stony Creek Snowshoe link to the upper right under photos.

The Ice Storm of Yore

2009-01-01T19:11:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago in January, Southeast Michigan was hit with an awesome ice storm. Even though it is a bit sad to see many trees damaged by the force of the ice, the scenery created is so beautiful that it is difficult to avoid falling in love with the sparkling aftermath.
I was working in the Ann Arbor area at the time and during the days that the ice was present, my commute was treacherous due to everyone's eyes (including my own) focusing on everything but the road. The diamond encrusted trees along the way transformed the normally boring 45-minute stretch of concrete into a gleaming crystal highway.I spent a few hours ("visiting clients") walking along the Huron River through Gallup Park and Furstenberg Nature Area marveling at this amazing frozen world - a situation that obviously made it impossible for me to work on that particular day. Projects and clients would still be around tomorrow; I couldn't say the same for the ice with any certainty, so my priorities were clear.Although it was mid-January and winter was well underway, a few trees still had their leaves including an Oak whose leaves had turned bright orange instead of the typical brown during the past fall. Suspended in a clear icy coating, they shone in the bright sun and made me wish I had come better prepared for taking photos.A few swans and mallard ducks braved the chilly water of Geddes Pond as I crossed the adjacent bridge and slowly followed the slippery path through the woods along the north bank of the river.
The ice encapsulating grasses, bushes, branches, berries, and leaves gave a distorted look to everything around me. Buds and leaves seemed magnified, and scenes like the one below gave me the impression of watercolor paintings due to the surreal quality the coat of ice gave everything.I returned to this park the following day but the temperature had warmed up just enough to begin the melting process and it just wasn't the same. The ice storm's time had passed but I was very happy to have been able to enjoy it while it lasted.More photos of the January 2007 Ice Storm can be seen by clicking the Ice Storm link to the upper right under Photos.

Snowshoeing in the Upper Peninsula

2008-12-06T15:51:00.000-08:00

Giant Pines Trail, Tahquamenon Falls State Park Although not officially winter yet, I'm currently sitting at my dining room table watching my dogs play in what is shaping up to be the first accumulating snow shower of the season in Metro Detroit. Tromping around on some Michigan trails in my slightly obnoxious yellow Redfeather snowshoes soon is an exciting prospect. I got a great deal on them a few years ago and I have to assume it is because few people would voluntarily pay full price for equipment in such a color.

According to last night's weather report, the west side of the state near Lake Michigan and the Upper Peninsula already have a respectable amount of snow. In the cold months the U.P. is a winter paradise so it was fitting that a few years ago my sister Andrea and I traveled to Tahquamenon Falls State Park located near the town of Paradise, MI for a couple of days of snowshoeing. Eight inches of snow had recently fallen atop the already impressive existing white blanket and a phone conversation with a park ranger assured me that the prime winter conditions were not going to change any time soon.

Cold weather attracts many people to Michigan who appreciate the beauty of the northern woods by snowmobiling, skiing, and snowshoeing more than 6000 miles of trails found throughout the state forests. Winter tourism accounts for 1/3 of Michigan's tourism industry and snowmobiling is king in the northern reaches of the state. Generating over $1 billion a year in economic activity, snowmobilers pour into the streets, many of them sporting neon outfits matching the loud hues of their snowmobiles. Unfortunately, this popular sport is also relatively dangerous and before the trip was over Andrea and I would find ourselves in a bar eating lunch next to a booth containing the remaining, uninjured members of a bummed-out snowmobiling party. Their seriously injured comrade was being transported to a hospital in Sault Ste. Marie, 60 miles to the east, leaving them stranded in Paradise while their car was in Newberry, almost 40 miles to the west.

A pink sun rose over the chunky pack ice of Whitefish Bay early in the morning on our first full day in Paradise and after braving the complimentary hotel breakfast, we set out for the Giant Pines Trail. This section of Tahquamenon Falls State Park winds through a stand of huge old growth white pine, many over 150 years old. As we walked across the hotel parking lot to the car, a bald eagle bade us good morning by soaring quietly 10 feet or so above our heads. We decided it was a sign that the day was destined to be a good one.

Despite the recent covering of snow, the temperature was very mild and we had to adjust our many layers upon setting out. Earlier in the season Andrea and I had taken a brisk morning snowshoe in 7º weather and vicious winds at a park near my home, so this was a very unexpected but welcome surprise. The 4-mile Giant Pines loop was in beautiful winter glory and hardly a sound was heard. The heavy snow clung to the trees in such a way that many dead trunks looked as if they held marshmallows on their tips.At some point we branched off the Giant Pines Trail to explore the path that connects the Upper and Lower Falls along the Tahquamenon River. Due to the unstable snow and ice – the weather had bounced back and forth between bitter single digit and below zero temps to almost balmy periods of mid and upper 30's – we weren't able to walk across the river to explore the many tiers of Lower Falls which was a little disappointing. Still, the there-and-back-again side trip was still fun even without the added element of surprise unstable ice could offer. Plus, Andrea got the added bonus of watching me clumsily squeeze into an outhouse like a drunken, yellow snowshoe-wearing Sasquatch. In my defense, the door would only open part way because a mound of frozen snow blocked its path. While I was extremely thrilled to find the outhouse in my moment of need, I was even more joyful that I had the foresight to bring kleenex as the roll inside was completely frozen with many a frozen bug corpse embedded in the first few layers. After finding our way back to the car, we headed to cozy and cabinesque Tahquamenon Falls Brewery for dinner which included pasties and Porcupine Pale Ale. Once back at our hotel, I gazed out the patio door at the lights of the Canadian shore across the 30-mile expanse of Whitefish Bay while Andrea got to have an engaging conversation about what the heck snowshoeing is with a shirtless (of course), crazily colored pants-wearing snowmobiler guy in the vending room. Good stuff!More photos from this trip can be seen by clicking the Tahquamenon Falls-Winter link to the upper right under photos.

Hartwick Pines State Park

2008-10-21T13:49:00.001-07:00

In the late 1920s, 8000 acres of land near Grayling in Michigan's Lower Peninsula were donated to the state as a memorial park. Included in this land were 85 acres of old growth white pine which had been spared during Michigan's booming logging industry days. Only 49 acres of this original growth forest remain today as a fierce wind storm destroyed nearly half of these massive trees in 1940.
Interpretive displays at the park visitor center tell the story of the park and surrounding Au Sable River Valley. Trails leaving from the visitor center wind through the park allowing hikers to observe maple, beech, oak, birch, hemlock, and red and white pine trees. The Old Growth Trail loops through its namesake stand of 300-400 year old white pine.When I arrived at the park after leaving Wyandotte Lodge, the morning continued to be cold and crisp. I was thankful for the hat and gloves I had thrown in the car at the last minute. Although the early October weather had been warm and sunny so far, this could change at any minute and I had to bundle up as I set out to walk through the forest. The sunny sky above the tree canopy shone a bright blue, but the thick covering of leaves did not allow much warmth to penetrate to the forest floor. Patterns of light and shadow on the green, yellow, and orange leaves created a beautiful display as I walked through the cold and quiet woods.Trails throughout the park are open year round and some are groomed in winter for cross country skiing. Despite the beautiful fall day, I began to experience the onset of Winter Fever. Another old growth stand of pines can be found in the Upper Peninsula in Tahquamenon Falls State Park, and I had the pleasure of snowshoeing the Giant Pines Trail a few years ago after a beautiful snowfall. Hartwick Pines State Park would be another ideal place to visit during the cold months for an undoubtedly stunning winter hiking experience.

Also observed along the Old Growth Trail is Chapel Of The Pines: a log Chapel built in 1953. The tiny but beautiful Chapel sneaks up on you as you curve through the forest and is a fun diversion from the trail. Inside, below the structure's most dominant feature – a large cross-shaped window – visitors can read “Nature's Prayer”: a plea for guidance in protecting our natural heritage.

The last stop before returning to the visitor center (or the first depending upon your direction of travel) is the Logging Museum. Two log structures were built in the 1930s to display exhibits and artifacts from a time in Michigan's history where the log industry generated more money than all the gold extracted during California's gold rush. One building houses tools, photographs, and displays showing how the trees were cut and moved from the forest to the Au Sable River which was used as a highway to transport the huge logs. The other building shows how loggers lived in a typical Michigan logging camp. On the grounds surrounding these two buildings one can observe various piece of old equipment used to cut and transport felled trees.

Hartwick Pines State Park is located just northeast of Grayling close to I-75. The park and visitor center are open year-round; the Logging Museum is closed November-April.

More photos can be seen by clicking the Hartwick Pines State Park link to the upper right under Photos.

October 2008: Fall Color In The L.P.

2008-10-21T13:01:00.001-07:00

Part 3: Back on the RoadA sparkling layer of frost covered the ground when I woke up the next morning and walked out onto the back deck of Wyandotte Lodge. The Au Sable River flowed quietly as the sun rose behind me in the east and began to illuminate the tops of trees that were just beginning to turn color. My breath fogged around me in the cold air – my favorite kind of morning. I imagined the scene would be really beautiful in a week or so. I always seem to have trouble timing this fall color thing.After dining on one of the best omelets I've ever eaten (the owner of Wyandotte Lodge is a retired science teacher-turned construction worker who also dabbles in cooking) I hit the road heading west toward Hartwick Pines State Park - the subject of the next post.
Unfortunately, most of the growth here was young, but these short, new trees were bursting with color. I pulled over several times to photograph bright red and yellow oak leaves, and to wait for wild turkeys to cross the road and waddle around in the tall brown grass completely unimpressed with my presence. More fall photos can be seen by clicking on the October link to the upper right under Photos.

October 2008: Fall in the L.P.

2008-10-21T12:03:00.000-07:00

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.
More photos of this area can be seen in the Old Mission Peninsula link to the upper right under Photos.

October 2008: Fall in the L.P.

2008-10-19T19:32:00.000-07:00

Part One: The Drive NorthI decided to take two days, travel north a few hours, and hopefully see some nice fall color. Planning any kind of color viewing in Michigan can be tricky as any slight change in the temperamental weather can speed up or delay the color changes. Since our weather has been very warm over the last month, I waited until the second weekend in October to venture out.
I drove north to Grayling, then headed west toward Traverse City intending to complete a circuit which would include a trip up Old Mission Peninsula – a narrow strip of land running North and South that bisects Grand Traverse Bay and is known for its orchards. The following day would be spent at Hartwick Pines State Park in the morning before heading back home.About an hour and a half or so south of Grayling, the color along I-75 started to explode. I admit to being a very bad driver for some of this trip because of all the rubbernecking required to ogle the trees. No matter how many autumn seasons I've enjoyed, I will never be able to get enough fall color. It amazes me.I picked up lunch at Grayling Restaurant – that day's special: Hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy. It was a very windy but relatively warm and sunny day so I decided to eat outside at Au Sable Park. The parks sits on a narrow stretch of the Au Sable River near a couple of canoe liveries.Heading west on M-72 I stopped to photograph a really cool abandoned barn and house in a big empty field of knee-high grass. Unfortunately I am still kicking myself for being a complete sissy and scaring myself out of getting a good look inside the barn. I approached the torn-out section and got a brief glimpse of what was probably lots of interesting stuff inside but retreated once horror movie images of things that could happen in abandoned barns in the middle of nowhere assaulted my brain.

The house next door was basically demolished inside and all its windows were gone. What happens to places like this and why have they been vacant but still standing for so long? After struggling to keep my tripod and camera still in the high wind I returned to the car to find that another person had pulled off the road to photograph the barn as well.
More Fall photos can be seen in the "October" link to the upper right under Photos.

Backpacking Grand Island National Recreation Area:

2008-10-19T08:29:00.000-07:00

Day Four: Trout Bay to Williams Landing

On day four we found ourselves ahead of schedule. We had planned to spend 2 nights in the North Point area so that we could have a day of relaxation and enjoy the beach. However, since the campsites weren't overlooking the water, we had decided to move on. Now that we had a perfect beach campsite, we needed to decide whether to stay on Trout Bay another night or to finish up on the fourth day. Williams Landing and the ferry dock were only around 5 miles away, and we didn't really see the point in packing up and staying at another campsite along that route for our final night since the Little Dune sites were so good. I voted to stay put and spend the day reading on the beach with periodic breaks to go swimming or nap in the tent. Craig is more stir crazy and wasn't sure if he could relax all day without getting bored. In the end, we compromised and planned to spend an unhurried morning eating breakfast, drinking coffee, relaxing, and eventually leave for Williams Landing around noon.

Just as we started to break camp, I spotted a couple of backpackers making their way down the boardwalk with the look of hoping against hope that our site was available. We occupied the last one, and we knew everything else was full. Upon spotting me, the woman's shoulders sagged and she turned to her male companion who pulled out a map and looked depressed. Remembering how Craig and I felt the day before, after trudging all the way to this very place, I ran over to let them know that we were clearing out and the site was theirs. They nearly cried and immediately dropped their packs and set off for the shore. A half-hour later we waved goodbye to the couple on the beach and began the last leg of our trip.

Unfortunately, we had to walk back down that stretch of road which was unprotected from the sun, now high in the sky and beating on our heads. While making our way down the road with our heads down, a shadow suddenly floated across the trail in front of us. We both looked up in time to see a magnificent bald eagle soar directly over us just above the tree line. I missed this perfect photographic opportunity because for once I did not have my camera in hand. The eagle was a beautiful sight, gliding silently against the clear blue sky, and it's presence brightened the slightly boring stretch of trail.
The trail curves sharply south and runs past Duck Lake - a small inland lake with a viewing platform – before reaching Murray Bay Beach which features picnic areas for day use and campsites for overnight stays. Various historic sites grabbed our attention along the shore of Murray Bay. The Stone Quarry Cabin, built in 1845, is one of the oldest standing structures on Lake Superior and was home to various workers such as stone cutters in Michigan's early history.

It is near this spot that we encountered the largest pile of bear scat we have ever seen. The size of a small mountain, it held evidence of a diet of berries and seemed fresh. Would we be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the undoubtedly huge fellow who released this impressive bomb? Did we really want to? Was he, right at that moment, hiding behind a tree and watching the ridiculous humans gawk at his excrement, wondering how we made it to the top of the food chain? We looked around nervously but saw no sign of a large omnivore lingering to receive praise for his accomplishment.

Further south we passed the decrepit remains of tennis courts which used to be part of a resort operated by an iron mining company in the early 1900s. The main hotel is gone, but some of the cottages still remain and are privately owned.

Once back at Williams Landing, we again encountered the forest service volunteers from the day before and chatted about our trip while waiting for the ferry that would return us to Munising. When the boat reached the dock, it unloaded a new group of visitors including a couple of backpackers with their dog who was suited up with her own pack.

We nearly broke down on the water when a huge tree branch that had been floating in the bay lodged itself in the pontoon boat's motor causing us to stall halfway to shore. Thinking fondly of showers and whitefish sandwiches, we returned to town and spent a few days relaxing before beginning the long drive home.

Backpacking Grand Island National Recreation Area:

2008-09-23T16:48:00.000-07:00

Day 3: Northeast Point to Trout BayThe morning of Day 3 began a bit testily as we realized neither of us had managed to collect as much extra drinking water as we had planned at North Point Beach the evening before. We debated walking back to the beach, adding an extra 1.5 miles to our day, or just pushing through to Trout Bay. We felt we had enough drinking water between us and for lunch we would just eat something dry instead of cooking anything requiring the boiling of water. Something told us we shouldn't delay in getting to the Trout Bay campsites, so we decided to go for it and set out around 9am.

The night before, we had been so exhausted and focused on finding a campsite, going swimming, and going to bed early (I still wasn't sleeping and had stayed up most of the night reading The Summer He Didn't Die by Jim Harrison) that we failed to notice that a lookout point displaying North Point was practically right across the trail from our campsite. We began the day's hike with a wonderfully gorgeous view of the beach we had visited, rock formations, North Light barely visible through the trees on North Point, and the point itself. It would have been a great spot to sit and watch the sun set the night before and I was really disappointed that I missed that opportunity.

Unfortunately, the breeze we had enjoyed for 2 days was gone and upon leaving the overlook, the trail immediately veered away from the cliffs and headed inland. Soon mosquitoes were attacking me with relentless ferocity and I decided it was time to get intimate with the insect repellent. The trail continued its uphill trend and the lack of air movement made it a sweaty trudge for a while.

Due to the difference in temperature, we underestimated the amount of water we would drink but we were saved by the lucky fact that Michigan had a really wet spring and early summer this year. We heard trickling water all around us and encountered a handful of streams flowing out of the woods to run down the cliffs and empty into Lake Superior. I'm certain that if we hadn't had an abundance of rain earlier in the season, these streams would have been dry. We stopped about an hour into the day's hike to filter water from a small clear stream which meandered toward us over the mossy ground but disappeared under the trail. Once finished, we followed the sound of the water on the cliff side of the trail picking our way through the trees. Down the slope a short distance from the path we found a hidden rock ledge where the little stream abruptly dropped 5 or 6 feet creating a secret mini waterfall. I named it Craig Falls.

The next few hours were a bit tedious without the cliff views and with the constant buzzing of mosquitoes. However, around 1:30 pm we found ourselves at Trout Bay Overlook which showed a big stretch of sandy beach to the southeast and the Pictured Rocks formation Indian Head away to the distant northeast. A huge sailboat resembling a pirate ship with white sails was making its way toward Munising and I learned later that it was called Madeline and it had made its way here from Traverse City on Lake Michigan.

After a few more hours of hiking we made it to the Tombolo: a section of land formed from a sand bar that served to connect Grand Island to its thumb. The thumb used to be a small separate island until the sand bar grew between them and began to develop its own vegetation. Back in the day, what is now Trout Bay was a narrow channel between the two. There were a few campsites along the tombolo that we knew were full but a few forest service volunteers had informed us that the last two sites located right on Trout Bay's beach were available. These sites were still a few miles away at the end of a wide dirt road without the advantage of a tree canopy. Cursing the clear sunny weather, we marched on. Hot, sweaty, exhausted, and very mosquito-bitten (just me), we sincerely hoped that these campsites would be worth the effort to get there and we were not disappointed.

We chose Little Dune 2 – the very last campsite along this stretch of trail, some of which is covered with boardwalk to protect the delicate vegetation growing on top of the sand. Little Dunes 1 & 2 are wonderful campsites on the bay with a nice private stretch of sandy beach and since this area was not located in dense forest, there were no bugs to speak of. We pitched our tent at the back of the site in a shady area under a couple of pine trees, went swimming, and relaxed inside the tent with a steady breeze wafting in through the screen. We decided to leave the rainfly off no matter how cold it got later in order to see the stars above us and maybe even the Northern Lights if we got lucky.

A bit later after wolfing down a couple of huge portions of beef stew, we relaxed on the beach and watched the sun set over the expanse of land to the west which we had hiked through earlier that day. This was easily our favorite campsite of the trip and we decided that we would definitely need to come back someday just to stay here again. The island's thumb at the eastern end of the beach is supposed to be a wonderful place for kayaking with sea caves to explore and a couple of campsites that are accessed by water. It is possible to hike to them, but there are no designated trails so traveling around the thumb would require bushwhacking and compass skills.

We weren't lucky enough to see the Northern Lights later that night, but the number of stars was incredible. I was happy enough to see the Little Dipper over the bay right in front of our tent which is something I never see in Metro Detroit. A loon called out once while we watched the moon rise through the trees to the south and just one more time as we drifted off to sleep.
To be continued in Grand Island: Day 4

Backpacking Grand Island National Recreation Area:

2008-09-05T17:24:00.000-07:00

Day Two: Mather Beach to Northeast PointWe prepared for an early start on the second day because there were only 3 campsites at our destination on the north side of the island. We wanted to get there early in case we encountered other hikers and we now knew it wouldn't be easy to set up camp randomly if none of the designated sites were available. Beyond the last of the north sites, there wouldn't be another one for 6.5 miles, so we were counting on getting a good site on the north side. Plus, no good access to water reportedly existed along the East Rim Trail which would be our route on day 3, so we planned to stock up at North Point Beach before setting out the next morning.After oatmeal and a couple of cups of strong coffee, we headed back to Mather Beach to filter some water and refill our camelbaks and extra bottles. Not only did this provide drinking water for the day, but the ice cold water also jolted us awake. A conveniently placed boulder about 20 feet from shore served as a perfect spot to sit and dangle the filter hose into the crystal clear water.

Once packed, we decided to explore Echo Lake, an inland lake that was a half-mile east according to the trail sign. As we headed away from the main trail and into the woods, the mosquitoes gathered alarmingly fast (around me only – they weren't interested in Craig at all) and we began to question whether this side trip would be worth the suffering. One half mile later, another sign announced that Echo Lake was a half-mile ahead. We began to sense a trap and decided to retreat to the main trail asap for fear of ending up in bug cocoons like those loggers in that episode of The X-files in which Mulder and Scully end up in bug-induced intensive care.

For the most part the hike from Mather Beach to North Point followed the cliff edges and both the weather and the view were spectacular. Several overlooks along the way revealed great expanses of Lake Superior, small islands in the distance, and rock formations along the cliffs themselves. Superior's brilliant blue/green/turquoise water sparkled under the clear sky and close to shore the rocky bottom of the lake was clearly visible from 200 feet above.Much of the day's hike was a gradual uphill climb. While not over-taxing, it was just enough to wonder when it was going to stop, which it only did in brief intervals. Walking uphill for any duration of time is one thing; biking a steady incline is entirely different and we both felt much respect for the occasional mountain biker we encountered that day. I couldn't even find it in me to feel annoyed at the gentleman who decided to take a break at the exact same time and place where I was crouched behind a tree attempting to stealthily urinate. He looked nearly unconscious and Craig managed to distract him away from the woods by talking about the view from the lookout point on the other side of the trail. Once he pedaled away and I emerged from the trees we resumed the gentle uphill climb until we reached North Point.

Again, we ended up choosing the last of the 3 sites after a few miles of apprehension over the wisdom of passing up the first 2 and several moments of worry over the high cliffs and the accuracy of my notes regarding water access. At this point though, the trail began to descend and we passed North Point Beach which startled us with its unexpected expanse of sand. After setting up camp at Northeast Point, about ¾ of a mile beyond the beach, we backtracked for a much needed swim and to filter water for that evening's dinner and washing up, plus extra for the next day's drinking supply.

On the way to the beach I got distracted by the sight of a distant rock arch at the tip of North Point and stopped to take a few pictures. I told Craig to go on ahead and that I'd catch up. Naturally, the one and only bear that would present itself during the entire trip wandered out onto the trail in front of Craig during the brief moment we were separated and I wasn't there to see or photograph it. In his excitement, Craig called out to me and the bear tore off into the woods and disappeared. The only animals I managed to see that day were a mink and a garter snake.

North Point Beach was paradise. There wasn't a single other person along the entire stretch of lakeshore and although the water was shockingly cold at first, it took surprisingly little time to get accustomed to it. Altogether we ended up walking around 10 miles that day – 3 miles further than we had intended due to various detours, and certainly a workout for first time backpackers carrying relatively heavy packs. Swimming in the cold lake somehow felt invigorating and soothing at the same time and I didn't want to get out. Later, we enthusiastically enjoyed a dinner of dehydrated chicken and mashed potatoes that tasted so magnificent we declared it one of the best thing we'd ever eaten.To be continued in Grand Island: Day 3

Backpacking Grand Island National Recreation Area:

2008-09-02T14:57:00.000-07:00

Day One: Williams Landing to Mather Beach

We woke up early to white caps on Munising Bay, cold and blustery wind, and a gloomy overcast sky. Despite the unfriendly weather, we were both looking forward to getting started. The first Grand Island ferry crossing was at 9am and we arrived at the dock a bit early wearing fleece jackets and in my case a rain jacket for extra wind protection during the 3 minute excursion across the bay to Williams Landing. The ferry is actually a pontoon boat and we would be the sole occupants that morning.

As we began skipping across the waves, the captain told us that, sadly, one of the island's black bears had been destroyed the week before because it had become a a bit too assertive. At some point, a frightened hiker dropped a backpack and fled when he or she encountered this bear, thus allowing it to help itself to whatever it found tasty or interesting in the pack. It didn't take long for the bear to establish the connection between hikers and food and it quickly became a nuisance. A bluff charge at a backpacker and a foray into an empty tent later, the unfortunate animal was put down.

This was depressing for obvious reasons, plus Craig and I already have horrible luck when it comes to wildlife viewing. It seems animals purposely avoid us and despite the trips we have taken to places where a person should be guaranteed to see bears, bald eagles, moose, etc. we typically see nothing but deer. Now there would be one less bear we were likely to spot.

Between leaving the motel and docking at Williams Landing, the sky had completely cleared up and we stepped off the boat into a sunny, 60º morning where jackets were no longer necessary. One of the many things I love about this part of Michigan is that even on warm summer days, there is usually a cool wind coming off Lake Superior which keeps it from getting too hot along the lakeshore. Lucky for us, the first two days would be spent walking close to the edge of the island's cliffs and we would experience beautiful weather in the mid 70's and a constant, pleasantly chilly breeze.

Tackling the island in a clockwise direction, we headed toward the West Rim trail and began walking. The first day would be short as the campsites we aimed for were near Mather Beach, around 5 miles away. We took our time, enjoyed a snack (only eating half of the beef jerky) in a shady area above a short cliff, and kept a close eye on the woods for bears. It appeared they preferred to use the trail as a restroom based on the number of piles of bear scat we encountered, however, no bears would make themselves visible today. Mountain bikers can bring their bikes over on the ferry and make use of this trail for day trips around the island and we guessed the sound of the occasional bike may have kept any bears from approaching the trail on this particular day.

Once we reached the Mather Beach area, we inspected the 3 designated campsites. One of our concerns was the possibility of enough hikers visiting the island to make campsite availability an issue. Campers are permitted to set up camp anywhere (subject to a few specific rules) if the designated sites are occupied. However, the forest is so dense this appeared to be impossible. Luckily none of the sites were occupied and we realized that we hadn't seen a single hiker all day with the exception of a family who was leaving the island as we arrived.

We chose the third site; it was a bit closer to the trail than the other two which meant it was also closer to the water and accompanying breeze which we hoped would keep the mosquitoes at bay. I don't typically have much trouble with mosquitoes in the Pictured Rocks area and I am one of those people who is always crazily swarmed upon. So far that day I had encountered more mosquitoes than I had expected and, considering the campsites were a decent distance inland, I was afraid of what would happen when the sun went down.

After quickly setting up our tent and securing our Ursack full of food on the provided bear pole, we walked back across the trail and down a set of wooden steps to the beach where we enjoyed our lunch of peanut butter & jelly on wheat tortillas. It might have been the best lunch we have ever had! Mather Beach is a beautiful stretch of sand capped on each end by large boulders. It is known as a great place for swimming but neither of us was in the mood so we climbed around on the boulders for a while and enjoyed the combination of warm sun and cold wind while waves crashed into the rock below.

Dinner was a grumpy ordeal. Attempting to prepare a ramen noodle feast with our Jetboil stove far enough away from the campsite to prevent food odors from lingering near our tent meant going further into the woods where the mosquitoes plagued us throughout the process. We ate as quickly as we could, performed an extremely quick wash-up of the dishes and ourselves, and escaped to the tent. The sun was just beginning to set and created a beautiful colorful glow as it streamed through the trees. Craig retired early but I did some exploring, photographing the campsite and returning to the beach to watch the sun set over another small island to our west.

Once the orange sun disappeared behind the distant trees, I returned to the tent which was now surrounded by a gathering cloud of mosquitoes. Six or seven bites later I was inside my sleeping bag reviewing our map by the light of my headlamp and listening to the menacing buzz of the blood-sucking stalkers outside under the vestibule of my tent door. “Just don't think about having to go to the bathroom,” I ordered myself as I laid awake listening for potential bear sounds and feeling the pillow I had made by shoving clothing inside my sleeping bag's stuff sack gradually harden into a cinderblock.To be continued in Grand Island: Day Two