Isle Royale
After months of research and planning, the time for our journey to
Isle Royale had come. The drive to Houghton, MI took a long time. We
woke up early and eager on the morning of our planned
departure. Thinking it might be a once in a lifetime experience,
Chris and I had booked reservations on the Isle Royale Sea Plane in
advance. When we pulled up by the dock and went inside the only
structure on this gravel lot (except for the port-a-jon out back) ,
we were greeted only by a few sparse words, "Fog. We're gonna have to
play the waiting game." No introductions, no kind words, no coffee.
One whole day went by with nothing to do but wait. No one really
seemed interested in talking. Weather updates were few and far
between. Everyone was powerless. The fog would not lift. Some people
on tight schedules had to cancel their Isle Royale trip altogether.
Others took the boats instead. The fading daylight ended our hopes .
The next day was an exact repeat of the one which had just passed.
These 48 hours were the most boring and wasteful hours I can
remember, yet it was no one's fault. We read. We picked at stones. We
walked along the canal. We slept in the back of my truck. We even
pretended that the small plants struggling up through the gravel were
really huge trees and we were giants walking through them. Our
patience was wearing very thin, but we had waited so long for this
trip we decided to give it one last morning. If the fog would not
lift, we would head toward home and find some small loop to hike as a
consolation.
We had slept at a little county park on Lake Superior. When we
woke to a bit of sun on the tent, we felt some hope and excitement
stir inside. We rushed to tear down camp and drove to the dock. As we
pulled up, people were smiling. This was to be our passage!
The wait was worth it. The plane ride was incredible. The island
seemed enchanted upon our lofty approach. Ridge lines were distinct.
As we passed over the southern shore, I could see submerged shafts of
rock angling down into Lake Superior. The lookout tower on the
Feldtmann Ridge poked up through the green mass. We would later climb
it for a view. The plane landed in Washington Harbor at the western
edge of the island. Four stranded backpackers waited eagerly for the
plane. We registered at the Windigo ranger station and set off.
We headed toward the Feldtmann Lake camp on the trail of the same
name. Skirting Washington Harbor in a pine forest, we soon broke
south and began to climb a ridge. We were rewarded with a beautiful
vista from a rocky outcropping. It was populated by thousands of
grasshoppers which flew in wild ways with each step we took. Much of
the trail was overgrown with waist high thimble berry plants. About a
half mile from Feldtmann Lake, a very large black-brown figure crashed
through the forest. Within seconds it was gone. We had just seen our
first of about nine moose! However fleeting the moment was, it was
powerful and awe inspiring. After setting up camp on Feldtmann Lake, we
took a short side trip to Rainbow Cove on Lake Superior. We were the
only souls on the rocky, burnt beach. The stones massaged our feet
and waves cooled them. The Rock of Ages lighthouse could be seen in
the distance.
Back at camp we prepared dinner and relaxed on the shore of the
inland lake. While reading a book, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. I slowly turned my head to see a rusty camp fox (about the size of my springer spaniel) seven feet in front of
me with a huge pike in its mouth! It stared at me for a second or two, then trotted on by. After watching a family of goldeneye ducks diving for food, we sipped berry tea brewed by the kind fellows from the site to our left. A half dozen haunting loon calls capped off our eventful day.
The morning was sunny. We broke camp and started toward our next destination--Siskiwit Bay. While walking through a boggy area, we encountered a bull moose feeding off to our right. Its rack appeared very large to me. He kept a watchful eye on us as we spied on him. We were sure to keep many trees between us and him. We studied him as we slowly and quietly moved along. After about ten minutes, he sauntered off deeper into the bog. We walked away with pounding hearts.
A couple miles out of the Feldtmann Lake spot, we began to climb a ridge. The view from the rocky top with scattered trees was marvelous. We could see most of the western third of the island. To the north was a sheer drop, a valley, then the Greenstone Ridge. Parts of Minnesota and Canada could be seen on the horizon. We continued eastward and went through some meadows where we stopped to forage for raspberries and blueberries. The lookout tower we saw from the plane was soon in front of us. After resting and a snack, we climbed the numerous flights of stairs to the platform for a sweeping 360 degree sight. The vista was awesome, but somewhat less fulfilling as it was created by humans to watch for fires. The ridge then leveled off and the trail followed an old logging road. The sun hammered down on us. Some type of plant was growing to shoulder length, swallowing everything. It became hard to see my own feet.
Siskiwit Bay was a wonderfully refreshing place. We picked a camp site at the end of the row, changed into our swimming trunks, then jumped into Lake Superior's bracing waters. In the evening, two moose wandered out of the woods to drink from the bay just as the sun began to set. When we turned in and started to doze off, we heard heavy clomping noises just outside our tent. We listened with shallow breath as a moose bedded down very near us! I never dreamed I would sleep next to a giant.
In the morning a cow and her calf, maybe our camp fellows, trotted right through our site. On the backs of their hind legs we could see red sores, which according to Rolf Peterson's excellent book, "The Wolves of Isle Royale," are created when leeches attach to legs of moose feeding in water. When the feeding moose come out of the water, the leeches drop off and the marks left by them get enlarged by ravenous flies.
We continued by treking north on the Island Mine Trail, skirting Siskiwit Bay for over a mile. The trail weaved back and forth from the sandy beach sprinkled with fresh moose tracks to a very narrow path covered with fist sized rocks which cut through the shoreline vegetation. Not far out of camp we began crossing a 25 yard footbridge over the Siskiwit River. We heard a crunching noise coming from the the direction of the river mouth. Within seconds a humongous bull moose came sauntering out of the forest on the south side of the river. Into the water he went! The moose was some 40 yards away from our vantage point, but he started slowly wading in our direction. He would walk a short way then stop and dip his majestic head into the creek. He came up munching greens from the bottom, water cascading off his rack. As he drew closer, we could see a dark mass of flies hovering above him. Later, when he went under, all that would show was his humped shoulders and the swarm. We wondered when he would change directions, but he never did. The river must have become deeper near us because he stopped wading and proceeded to swim right beneath our feet! We were literally within an arms length of this creature. We were close enough to clearly see his eyes. He stared at us and we at him.
Further on there was a small unbridged creek crossing or two where the footing became quite muddy. At one point the trail came to a dead end near a bog. We needed to backtrack a bit then headed for the bay. At the shore we found the trail had been re-routed without much notice to the traveler.
...TO BE CONTINUED...
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