A Visit To Isle Royale
By Jeremy Speer
The following trip occured over Aug. 20th, 2001 to Aug. 26th, 20001
“The arctic sun - penetrating,
intense - seems not so much to shine as to strike.”
- John McPhee, ”Coming into the Country.”
John McPhee was writing about Alaska when he wrote that sentence. After 7 days on-water around Isle Royale National Park I can assure you his statement applies to Northern Lake Superior too.
Isle Royale(click for LARGE National Park Service map, with trip route) is the largest island on the largest lake (by surface area) in the world. A grooved rocky mass running Southwest to Northeast its fingers continue just below the surface of the lake making navigation treacherous. It is an environmental microcosm with several well-documented wolf packs and a large population of moose. Next to Pukaskwa National Park in Canada, it is about as remote as one can get on Lake Superior. Annette and I had wanted to visit the island for years. Currently living in Minneapolis puts us about as close as we ever plan to be.
Getting to Isle Royale is either easy or dismally difficult depending on your circumstances. The only ways to get to the island are by boat or by floatplane. Since Annette and I had a limited amount of time and wanted to see as much as possible we decided to join a seven day group trip offered by John Amran of Grand Marais outfitter Cascade Kayaks. We would arrive by boat. He gave us an item by item discount since we used our own kayak and all equipment. True we could have done the whole trip on our own, but we figured we’d pay some money and have somebody else worry about the food, the route, and, most importantly, getting to the island.
The most efficient way to reach Isle Royale (assuming of course you’re not planning on making the 22-mile crossing in your kayak) is to book passage on the MV Voyageur II out of Grand Portage, MN. The boat departs Grand Portage every other day, overnighting at Rock Harbor on Isle Royale. The cost, according to the website, is $56/person each way and $32 each way for a large single or small tandem kayak. 40 lbs. of gear/person is included in the price. Again, booking the trip through John of Cascade Kayaks helped since we parked our car at his shop for the full duration of the trip and he ferried us from Grand Marais to Grand Portage in his van and trailer. Limited onsite parking at the boat dock is available for an extra fee I didn’t ask about.
Preparations
When I booked the trip with John (months in advance) I also made reservations at Judge C.R. Magney State Park for before and after the trip. North Shore Minnesota parks are almost all booked solid during the summer so reservations are imperative. We packed our gear and departed for Points North on Saturday, August 18th.
Grand Marais is a wonderful town. The MNDOT sign welcoming us said the population is 1359, but in season I’m guessing it is triple that. The town has a world-class harbor catering to the surprisingly large number of Great Lakes transient sail and motor yachts. All in all it has the feel of a remote outpost on any coast lacking only the salt smell. Close your eyes and you might be in Maine or Northern California.
We found our way, not hard to do considering there is only one road, Hwy 61, to our campground, and set up our snazzy new Moss tent. We’d bought the tent (a Starlet) specifically for this trip since it uses clips rather than pole sleeves and thus sets up in minutes with a minimum of struggle.
Judge C.R. Magney is the last State Park before Canada with camping facilities and as such is a fine staging ground for North Shore exploration. The campground itself is average, catering mostly to modest RV’s and a plethora of pop-up trailers. There is a superb hiking trail along the Brule River leading to the Lower Falls and the Devil’s Teakettle. Both are reached by descending a spectacular wooden staircase of over 160 steps.
Our first walk was to try and cross Hwy 61 and say hello to the big lake. We took the footbridge across the Brule, turned south and followed a short trail toward the road. We popped out of the trees a few hundred yards beyond where we’d originally turned into the State Park. We were directly across the road from the famous Naniboujou Lodge. It seems Annette and I have a knack for finding campgrounds within easy walking distance of good restaurants.
Quickly crossing hwy 61 we pretended to be guests of The Lodge and used their pebble beach to greet the big cold lake. As an unexpected bonus Annette noted they serve Sunday brunch.
After Brunch at the Lodge the following day we began our exploration by heading North to Grand Portage. Just as coastal Maine becomes sparsely populated North of Camden, Minnesota North of Grand Marais becomes a series of lake houses and fewer and fewer cars.
Grand Portage is located on reservation lands and for all intents and purposes really isn’t a town. There is a combo post office, general store, gas station, but that is dwarfed by the Grand Portage Lodge & Casino. Proceeds from the casino have been reinvested in a magnificent high school and major improvements to the area’s sewage treatment system. There is also the massive recreation of the Grand Portage National Monument. This is the reconstructed headquarters of the famous (infamous?) Northwest Fur Company. It was through here hundreds of thousands of fur pelts were processed and shipped back to eastern cities. Young people in period dress staff the monument, telling honest stories about the trade of the day. It is sobering to hear how decades of unmitigated trapping resulted in the complete descimation of all fur bearing animals as far as Western Canada. The single largest commodity produced from the fur, over 90%, were hats. The excesses of the Northwest Company’s activities also caused the entire region to become deforested. All in all a monument to human greed and stupidity.
Returning to Grand Marais we met up with John and "checked in." John Amran turned out to be a tall thin quiet guy who tended to express himself in conditionals. When asked what time should we show up tomorrow he answered, "maybe you want to be here at 6, but we never leave on time." Well, maybe 6 would be ok.
Back at C.R. Magney our alarm went off at 4:15. We broke camp in total darkness as quietly as possible. Driving to Grand Marais we found the restaurant John had told us starts serving at 5:00 AM. During our breakfast two women came in dressed pretty much as Annette and I were dressed; not like the locals. They took a corner booth. Annette and I looked at each other, we knew we’d see them again shortly. We paid and drove around the corner to John’s shop where preparations were getting underway.
The Group & Day 1: Loading, Crossing, Windigo, Motoring, McCargoe Cove and on To Belle Isle:
The group was Mary and Mary Starr (here after referred to as "The Marys," two friends who were doing the trip to celebrate their upcoming 50th birthdays. George, a civil engineer originally from Chicago, Annette, John the guide and me. George was a quiet guy, but with a really great sense of humor. This was to be his sixth trip to Isle Royale with John. They got on famously in a quiet, Minnesotan sort of way. We loaded our gear into mesh bags, loaded John’s trailer, swapped our big Nootka over to the trailer, tied it all down and departed for the Grand Portage dock. I left my Garmin GPS sitting in the back of my car.
We would be in our Nootka, George was in a glass Arluk III that happened to have the same color scheme as the Swedish flag ("it just came that way, really!"). Mary was using her own ivory Solstice SS and Mary Starr had a red plastic Looksha IV furnished by John who was paddling a green and white kevlar/carbon Arluk 1.9.
Within an hour we were loading the bags onto the MV Voyageur II. Being the only embarkation point for the boat, there was tons of gear to be loaded. Dozens of heavily loaded backpacks were handed up onto the top deck. One huge pack proved particularly heavy. The mate who had the job of stowing the bags flashed a look of incredulous disgust as he wrestled the mammoth pack into an open space. The boats went up next. I was glad to see padding over the aluminum rails the boats would ride on. John said the padding was new this year.
With all the gear and passengers stowed the boat backed away from the dock and headed out. The captain, whose name I never got, and Scott the mate, gave a brief orientation speech over the loudspeaker. 22 miles, calm conditions were pretty much all I remember. After only a few minutes, however, the drone of the big diesels abruptly died and the boat turned 180 degrees.
"Well, some of you may have noticed that we’ve turned around. This is because your incredibly intelligent captain left the mail bag on the dock."
We returned, hovered a few feet off the dock, and the mailbag was flung aboard.
So, now with the gear, passengers and mail safely stowed we crossed the big lake to the big island to begin our adventure.
At Windigo, the first stop, we went ashore and received a brief but effective lecture about Leave No Trace camping. The talk, delivered by Ranger Valerie, inspired acts of "trace removal" by others and myself over the course of our trip. After Windigo, we continued on for almost the same distance to what would be our starting point: McCargoe Cove. We had departed Grand Portage around 8 AM, we didn’t reach McCargoe Cove until after three.
On the long way down McCargoe Cove I noticed the first campsite, Birch Island. There was one shelter and maybe one spot for a tent. To my dismay several very large, scantily clad men inhabited the site.
A woman next to me asked a guy with binoculars, "are they naked?"
"No. I think they’re wearing speedos. Want to look?"
I ducked into the cabin and asked John, "was Birch Island our first stop?"
"Yeah."
"It was taken by several large men."
"Hmmm. Well, maybe we’ll do something else."
We offloaded at the McCargoe Cove dock. Being over a mile inland from the lake the temperature had rocketed from a pleasant 70 something to almost 90 something. Off loading the gear proved a sweaty ordeal. I quickly learned two things. First, the campsites are all first come-first served. You provide an itinerary to the rangers at Windigo as a courtesy only. Second, beaches for loading/unloading big kayaks are few and far between.
We had our first group decision to make: stay here for the night or load and go to the next site, Belle Isle. After a brief discussion and quick look around the McCargoe cove campsite I was overjoyed to hear the consensus was to load and go to Belle Isle.
We loaded the boats. The Marys seemed a bit uncertain what would go where, but they quickly got into the swing of it. John provided some guidance and a helpful whack when a stubborn drybag refused to cooperate. Annette and I loaded the Nootka in the water since to do otherwise would require us to carry the fully loaded boat down a rocky slope into the water. We didn’t do too well packing and for this first night didn’t carry our share of the communal drybags. Despite the heat I pulled on my drysuit over my silkweight Capilene shirt. Finally, after beginning the day at 4:15AM, we were in our boat and on our way
.The group’s speed was well matched and we found it easy to all stay together as we headed out into teeny chop along the Amygdaloid channel. The pleasant breeze started up again as we exited McCargoe Cove and I quickly became glad for my suit. John took us on a nifty short cut and we landed at Belle Isle campsite around 6:00PM.
Isle Royale has a long and mixed history. Belle Isle had once been the location of a huge resort. A path leading up from the beach crosses a concrete slab that was once the shuffleboard court. We got to know our neighbors in the next shelter, a father and his two sons who were starting a two-week trip. Father Jerry, son Christopher who was just turning 14, and Timothy, 7, who didn’t like his haircut and always wore a hat. After dinner two men who had arrived by motor boat came along with a ziplock bag full of breaded and fried pieces of lake trout. They had eaten all they wanted and were giving away the rest.
After sunset the bugs began to come out. We set up our tent at the designated tent site, a sketchy affair, and walked down the short path to look at the lake. It was almost dark and took a few moments before I realized the entire surface of the cove was swarming with bats. I’d never seen so many bats. They were swooping and diving all around eating the bugs that were over the lake. I watched for some time in amazement until I remembered how long the day had been. Both Annette and I were asleep within minutes of lying down.
Day 2: Merritt Lane
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Without trying we woke the next morning at dawn. We packed up our bedding and tent and wandered up the path to find John boiling water for coffee. He and I quickly bonded over the morning coffee ritual.
After a full breakfast of fresh eggs (with a smile John warned the food would get progressively worse as the trip went on) we said goodbye to Timothy and headed off to our next stop. The lake was calm as a millpond, the paddling effortless. Sleeping Giant was off to our left as we glided along what seemed more like mercury than water.
The Marys and John took an inside route, we took the outside route with George as we made our way past Five Finger Bay. After a brief rest stop George sped off ahead of the group and disappeared around Blake Point. We closed in on John and asked what was up.
"Well, I’ve never gotten a spot at Merritt Lane, so I thought I’d send George on ahead to see if anybody was there."
"You’ve never gotten a spot there?"
"Nope. Never made it to Malone Bay either."
"What? You’ve never made it to the ending point for this trip??"
"Nope. Not yet anyway."
Annette and I put on the speed and quickly rounded Blake Point. Light chop replaced the glassy surface and a pleasant breeze kicked up as we rounded the point. George was far ahead, but Annette and I started cranking managing to close to a few boat lengths by the time we reached the campsite.
It was a beautiful spot. And more importantly it was vacant! It was easy to see why this was a tough spot to get. There was just one shelter and one tent site. What’s worse it was only a comparatively short distance from Rock Harbor the major stopping spot on the island.
Again the only drawback was no easy way to unload the boats. Steep, slippery rock extended from the grass down to the water. Annette lost her footing on the green algae and fell hard while unloading the Nootka. Fortunately the cold water functions well as a cold compress and her wrist was okay after a while. We all got together and hauled the singles up onto the grass. Then all six of us managed to haul the big Nootka out of the water and get it up on the grass as well. Thus after a few minutes of heavy lifting we were set up at a beautiful spot and it was just coming on lunchtime.
After lunch we all took turns swimming in the crystal clear, icy cold water off the dock. It turned out Mary Starr was an excellent swimmer who had no problem with the chilly water. She swam back and forth for hours. Annette and Mary swam in wetsuits. I swam a little, but the water was just too cold for me to stay in long. We used the remainder of the day to rinse out our clothes, hang them in the sun to dry and to marvel at the beauty of the place.
Around five o’clock we were joined by a modest cabin cruiser. The owner had spent the night on Passage Island and was going to tie up here for the night before heading to Rock Harbor. Later two women in a canoe who had arrived earlier at Rock Harbor joined the party. They had rented the canoe and were planning to paddle to McCargoe Cove and then hike for several days. They had large packs wrapped in the poor man’s drybag, heavy duty lawn & leaf bags.
After dinner I was reminded of one of the truly great joys of paddling on Lake Superior: fresh water. Using my tow rope I tossed the collapsible bucket off the dock and retrieved a bucketful. I hauled it up to the picnic table, we got out John’s filter and we proceeded to fill all our bottles. The filter, a standard issue PUR Scout, seemed a bit stiff and hard to pump. George and I took turns on the handle. Water filtering became our task of the trip.
That night Annette and I tried putting our heads at the opposite end of our tent. Although we were a bit close together the advantage was we could stair straight up through the foot-end netting into the night sky.
Again, after about 30 seconds of squirming, I was sound asleep. But later, as I’d hoped, I woke up and looked into a sight I’ve never before seen. It was better than the Hayden Planetarium. There were so many stars the sky seemed gray rather than black. The Milky Way was a bright swath like a brush stroke across the sky. I got up and went outside and stared. The moon had set or at least was completely out of site. The only light was starlight and I was casting a shadow! I told myself I must be dreaming and crawled back into the tent. Annette groaned and asked why I was up.
"Look at the stars!"
"Oh, Wow!" she exclaimed, opening her eyes. "Get my glasses, is that all stars? It’s just a big blur."
I pulled her glasses down from the oh-so-convenient Moss-provided gear loft.
"Wow! This is sort of freaky."
Despite the scene before us I put her glasses back and we were both again asleep in a few seconds. Fleeting but unforgettable.
Day 3: Rock Harbor & Daisy Farm.
We again woke effortlessly at dawn. The bedding bagged up and the tent rolled and stuffed in only minutes. The Marys who had camped directly behind us were only a few moments behind us in packing. John was up and the coffee water was boiling by the time we stumbled down the short path to the shelter.
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After a breakfast of cold cereal we were quickly packed and ready to go. Our friend in the motor boat was up and listening to the weather forecast and the canoe women were slowly getting going. The forecast remained almost surrealistically good.
We loaded the boats, muscled them down the rocky slopes into the water, and were eventually on our way. John told the story of how on a trip in the past he told the group, "there’ll be a moose around the next bend."
Then as now nobody believed him.
"But on that trip," he explained, "there was a moose around the next bend. I don’t think anybody was more surprised than me to see it."
However this time no moose appeared. In fact we had wandered down a dead end bay. This part of the island was rife with dead end "finger bays" that extended along the path of travel of the last glacier to visit the region.
We backtracked and found a passage through to the outside. The weather was pleasantly brisk. I was completely comfortable in my drysuit with very little under it. As we came closer to the exposed part of the island the wind and chop increased but it was still calm paddling. We decided to take the outside approach to Rock Harbor.
As we cleared a string of islands on our way towards Scoville Point we entered our first extended zone of open water. The wind and chop were very modest, but we were feeling the first hint of sea; rolling waves, the kind rarely seen on "normal" lakes. The feeling was subtle. I first noticed the water’s movement when I looked at other members of our group and realized I couldn’t see their boats for several seconds at a time. There were a few moments when I couldn’t see half their bodies either.
Some quick facts: my eyes are approximately 28 inches above the surface of the water when I’m sitting in a loaded kayak. The tips of my paddle blades are maybe another 18 inches higher (I tend to have a very low stroke). So, a good way to guestimate wave height is if I can’t see the horizon, the crest to trough distance must be 28 or more inches. If I lose the horizon for several seconds the waves are either growing larger or increasing in wavelength. The freaky part starts when you start loosing sight of other member’s paddle blades… but I’ll get to that later on.
We continued on toward Scoville Point, cleared it and turned slightly right to follow along the island. Clearing a point is always a great moment and this didn’t disappoint. We had nothing but big lake on our left and low rocky island stretching as far as the eye could see on our right.
After a while a big part of the illusion of remoteness took a back seat as we closed in on Rock Harbor. A portion of the Rock Harbor Lodge runs right along the coast. The two storey motel is constructed on large I-beams right at the rocky shore. You could fall off the front deck and land in the lake. The color scheme was such to minimize the impact, but the design was still 1950’s highway motel ugly. Native stone walls on the ends of the building helped, I guess. We rounded a point with a large floating dock and cruised into Rock Harbor.
The Rock Harbor Lodge is a concession run within a National Park much like the lodges and gift shops at Grand Canyon National Park. As such they do a pretty good job of trying to blend the buildings in the scenery. There were very few guests visible. John assured us this is pretty awful place to stay if you’re looking for a wilderness experience.
"Screen doors slamming ALL night long. Parties and loud music too. But it’s the screen doors that really ruin it."
After a bathroom break (I almost forgot how to work a flusher) we backed away from the shore and continued on our way. We stayed inside for a while, but then ducked through a passage and returned to the more open water. John pointed out, "stay in here and you might as well be paddling a lake in the Boundary Waters." The breeze and chop returned along with the gentle swells as we made our way along the outside of Mott Island.
"It’s better on this side," assured John, "the other side has a huge government dock and crane and stuff for offloading supplies. This side just has a few houses to look at."
True, there were just a few government-style houses cluttering the scenery. Radio masts poked through the trees here and there as well. Nearer the shore I noticed a stone structure with no windows. It was very near the water.
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"Probably a pump house, or maybe water storage," John offered.
We ducked back inside through a narrow passage and saw Daisy Farm, our destination, off to the left.
Daisy Farm proved to be the largest campsite so far on the trip. The first thing I noticed as we approached was an actual beach to land on! There were many shelters hidden all over the place. The bad part was they all seemed taken. Clearly this was a popular spot. The residents all seemed to be hikers, a remarkably grungy bunch. We split up and managed to snag a shelter not too far back from the beach. Again we had made it to our destination before lunch.
After lunch John mentioned a good hike originates from this campsite: the Mt. Ojibwa trail. Maybe we wanted to hike it? "There’s lookout tower," he added enthusiastically.
The Marys opted not to hike, but the rest of us hesitantly agreed. It was either walk the trail or sit and watch the steady stream of somewhat bedraggled hikers make their way through the campsite looking for an empty shelter.
The hike proved pleasant and even a bit challenging at points. We crossed just about every kind of terrain possible: meadow, forest, bog, swamp, lichen covered rock faces, and even some loose rocky scramble areas. Since we were crossing perpendicular to the grooves of the island we ascended, then descended, then ascended again, up and down then up up up. The temperature climbed as we moved farther and farther inland, but we eventually reached the surprisingly massive lookout tower. Good views were had by all.
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After dinner that night, since it was Annette’s birthday, we made a chocolate moussey thing and crumbled double chocolate Milano cookies over it. For Annette’s portion we added crumbled cookies, thimble berries (a local berry that grows in great abundance on the island and has a sweet/tart flavor) and some rum we had brought along for just this occasion.
Day 4: Edison Fishery, Big Water, Chippewa Harbor
We listened to the weather radio during breakfast. While the chance of precipitation remained at zero the winds were forecast to pick up throughout the day. This could be good or bad news depending on whether or not you liked the idea of big waves. The remainder of our trip was to be along the most exposed part of the island.
We loaded the boats and crossed the top of Moskey Basin to the Edison Fishery. Normally there is a couple who live at the fishery and tell the story of the Edison’s who spent almost their entire lives here catching fish. But they sped off in a motor boat as we approached their dock. So we did a self-guided tour.
We followed the trail to the Rock Harbor Lighthouse. As we emerged from the trees I immediately felt the wind. At the fishery we were on the protected side. Now as we came over the crest we could look out on the big lake and feel the chill of the wind blowing, unobstructed, across nearly the entire surface.
The lighthouse was well restored and contained much information on Great Lakes shipwrecks. The government doesn’t call them wrecks; they are "submerged cultural resources." The waters of Isle Royale are particularly rich with these cultural resources.
George and I climbed up the light. The lamphouse was cramped and stuffy but afforded great views of what the lake had in store for us. Truth be told, it didn’t look all that bad. We could see for miles along the coast. Sure, there were waves in evidence. And yes, there didn’t seem to be any obvious landing spots in sight. And yes, the waves breaking on the rocky shore seemed sort of big, and we’d be in a following sea the whole way, but we wouldn’t really know until we were out there. So we descended the stairs and returned to our boats largely in silence.
As we rounded the point the learning experience began. I’ll try to avoid exaggeration by sticking to observations. The forecast was for waves 3 to 5 feet. On average I would say my observations bear this out. After clearing the point with the Rock Harbor Light we continued out into deeper water with the waves coming in on our port bow. We kept a slow steady pace and managed to stay remarkably close together.
As we continued away from shore I noticed the horizon vanishing regularly. Members of the group, depending when I looked for them, were either disembodied heads floating along with paddle blades flashing, gone altogether with just the tips of white blades showing, or floating high in the air with nothing but water all around.
We kept tacking, trying to not take the waves directly on our beam. But given the angle of the wind and waves, we’d have to continue a ways offshore before turning towards our destination. We continued this rollercoaster ride as we closed on Saginaw Point.
As a wave passed I kicked right rudder and swung the big double diagonally toward shore as did much of the group. After a moment I heard a snarling sound behind and the boat rose slightly then fell rapidly, pitching up towards the sky. A massive wall of water with white froth on top rolled away from us. Just as suddenly the bow dropped as the stern shot up into the air. I dropped a blade into the water and paddled gently backwards to avoid inadvertent surfing. The wave was large enough to fit the entire length of the Nootka on its face. We lofted over the top and again could see nothing but water all around us. Where were these monster waves coming from? They seemed twice the size of what we had been working with. Mary Starr gave a yell as she suddenly began surfing. John paddled near us.
"You two ok?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"How about a few encouraging words?" Annette asked.
"You’re still upright, how’s that?"
Indeed everybody seemed to still be upright. John corralled the group as best he could and said loudly, "well, these are some particularly LARGE waves. We may be crossing a shallow area. Let’s head a little closer to shore. You all did a great job… I though for sure we’d have some folks in the water after those. I think that’ll be the highlight of the trip."
We made our way slightly closer to shore and tried our best to just let the boat bob and weave with the forces of the waves. After a few hours I actually got used to the sight of George’s head bobbing along, his body and boat completely hidden. Or the times I looked over to my right and all I could see were the very tips of Mary Starr’s paddles. It all became sort of "normal."
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But those big waves, the troughs opening up like giant crevasses before us and the crests boiling five feet over our heads behind us, spooked me. I suppose it is a lesson in trust. Trust in the boat and trust in the waves.
With the wind and waves behind us we were able to make excellent time to Chippewa harbor, again arriving before lunch. Once again there was no beach to land on, but we managed to haul the boats out of the water and up onto the grassy slope. The shelters were arranged in a curve on top of a rocky face. The harbor seemed to be a mini fjord. I scurried off to find the tent sites. Annette and I had stayed in the shelter the previous night with George and John. Although we had more room to move about we both agreed that sleeping in the tent was preferable.
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Later in the day Annette and I paddled further up the harbor. About half way in we discovered a cove off to the right with a modest sailboat anchored. How perfect would that be? Completely sheltered and hidden from the outside world this little cove would be the ideal place to vanish for weeks at a time.
Although each campsite and area had it’s own benefits I believe Chippewa Harbor was the prettiest of the sites.
Day 5, 6, 7: Malone Bay, More Malone Bay, and the Return Trip
We started a little earlier the next day. There was some concern over the paddling conditions since we had no way of knowing if the waves had subsided or built up over night. There had been several moments during the night when a stiff breeze kicked up and woke us. Also the previous night a US Fish & Wildlife crew who were on their way to Mott Island had pulled in and spent the night. They reported 3 to 5 foot seas. They were in a modified "john boat" that looked like it would be more at home in a Louisiana bayou than in large waves on Superior.
We launched and headed straight out into the lake. The waves had indeed died down a little from the previous day. The conditions seemed more confused than the day before, but as we made our way along I noticed only occasionally did George become a floating head. And I could always see some part of Mary Starr, not just her paddle tips. We pulled in for a brief rest at a beautiful little cove, one of only a handful of stopping spots long the rocky shore.
We launched and, feeling a bit cocky, Annette and I put on some speed and smashed into the waves beyond the mouth of the little cove. Later after what seemed only a few moments we were heading in between a group of islands, the waves down to just a foot or so, and we could see our final destination: Malone Bay campsite.
So, we had made it. What’s more we made it a full day ahead of schedule. We had planned to do a day trip out to Isle Royale Lighthouse on Menagerie Island for the second day at the campsite, but the weather turned cooler and a thick fog blew in so we busied ourselves drinking coffee, picking berries and hiking around the vicinity.
Annette and I helped carry John and George’s boats over to Siskiwit Lake so John and George could claim to have circumnavigated the largest island on the largest lake while circumnavigating the largest island on the largest lake.
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Later I noticed one of the groups occupying a shelter was Jerry, Christopher and Timothy, the family we’d met on our first night at Belle Isle. We greeted each other like old friends and swapped stories about portaging and big open-water waves. They still had one week left in their trip.
The final day of the trip was spent pretty much as the first day had been spent: loading, waiting around, then watching the island go by as we came around to Windigo from the opposite direction aboard the MV Voyageur II. A quick stop at the ranger station to let them know we had indeed survived the trip and we were off for the mainland.
Despite the length of this narrative rest assured there are hundreds of wonderful moments left out. My goal was to provide a good overview of the region and the trip that would help anybody who is interested in visiting Isle Royale. Two points that bear repeating are first, Lake Superior is an ice-water inland sea, and second, when the sky is clear, which it often is, the sun will bake you. McPhee knew of what he spoke. When you are in shade you’ll feel almost too cool, but walk into the sun and it will seem to strike you.
Finally, I recommend John Amren as a guide without hesitation: 800-720-2809.
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PS If anybody wants to reject the tax rebate... might I suggest giving it to the Parks Department!
