The Beaver House

After stopping in Grand Marais, MN to buy gas and groceries, I decided to explore the town. I wandered around the marina, then checked out the little shops and stores. If you're ever in town you might want to visit The World's Best Donuts shop before you go across the street to the Beaver House where they sell tackle and bait, including live leeches.

Ashland Blue

I continued clockwise, along the Superior shoreline, and entered Wisconsin where I stopped for lunch at a convenient roadside park in Ashland, overlooking the town's tidy little marina. The view of the marina, water, hills and sky beyond seemed to be all primary colors; like a child's drawing on white paper. While she had used her red and green crayons here and there, it was obvious her favorite color, blue, must have been worn down to a nub.

A Change Of Seasons

The last time I camped at the Presque Isle campground, in the Porcupine Mountains was in early November. The leaves on the trees were a toasty golden brown, falling as the temperatures fell and the nights grew long. I was the only one in the campground and I hiked the trails admiring the quiet, wild beauty.

This year I camped during full summer. The park was crowded with people searching the Lake Superior shore for agates, exploring the trails and waterfalls, fishing and even skinny-dipping in the cool river. I watched and talked to them all. When the skinny-dipping man switched from a crawl to a backstroke I decided it was time to move on.

Ancient Spirits

I had passed the Canyon Falls rest stop many times driving to and from the Keweenaw, but for some reason had never stopped. This time I did, walking down the trail to the river and canyon with its dark slick rocks and cold, rushing waters. I sat on a welcoming ledge, feet dangling in the river, eyes closed, listening to the canyon and feeling the cool spray against my face. The canyon was peaceful and calming, but it wasn't until my walk back that I felt the real spirit of the place.

Near the trail, surrounding and almost engulfing a huge boulder, grew a clump of trees, mostly cedars but also others. They grew on top of and over a massive, inhospitable boulder. Perhaps when the trees were just seedlings, there was enough soil and moisture to shelter them on the rock, but as they grew and outgrew their stony host, they sent their roots out towards the ground searching for nourishment and a more secure anchorage. Now, through patience, perseverance and determination the roots, twining and twisting, had nearly engulfed the rock.

Perhaps, some day, the roots and the leaves and the duff will cover the boulder, hiding it beneath the soil but in the end, long after the trees have died and rotted back into the forest, the rock will remain.

Crisp Point Misadventure

It took me two years to find the Crisp Point Light and what I found there was more than I expected. If you want to visit Crisp Point you have to realize it's not on the way to anywhere. To find it you have to travel on poorly marked tiny, curvy, seasonal and at times two-track roads that may or may not end up in the backyard of a remote hunter's cabin, or on a dead end road blocked by a fallen tree. So why did I want to find Crisp Point? Because once the Detroit Free Press described the lighthouse as "the loneliness place in America" and that's reason enough for me.

After getting lost in the boonies for two years in a row, I finally reached my destination...a carefully restored 1903 light on a remote, sandy Lake Superior beach. It was beautiful and pretty much what I had expected. This story, however, is about the unexpected.

When I arrived at the light, after my long, bouncy, rough road adventure, I headed straight to the visitors center where I met one of the Crisp Point volunteers, Nancy Cornwell and her two little dogs Micky and Minnie. We talked about the light and I looked at the exhibits, including one on agates. I remembered a rock I had found which I thought might be an agate, so went back to Van to look for it. There I discovered that the "evil" Van had lock me out!

Now, you have to understand how remote Crisp Point is---no cell phone service, no land lines, no way to contact AAA or a locksmith, even if they would consider coming to my rescue. There was no way I could walk out, without my hiking gear, which was locked in the van.

I kept circling Van, trying to discover some sort of magical, secret entrance. Finally, I decided I'd try to remove one of my rear side windows. Once in a cave down south, I'd squeezed through a hole the size of a watermelon and that little window looked at least that large. Of course all of my tools were inside Van. I swear I could hear an evil chuckle and the jingling of car keys coming from inside my vehicle.

Luckily, Joe Cornwell, Nancy's husband, had tools I could borrow to remove the glass and part of the window frame. With his help, I was soon ready to squeeze through my little window. Both Joe and Nancy promised not to laugh or take pictures, as I stripped down to the bare minimum I could wear and still remain decent, then I stuck my head and shoulders through the tiny opening. Well, the hole was bigger than a watermelon, but even standing on two milk crates, I couldn't shift myself into the right position to squeeze through.

About the time I was considering breaking a window to unlock the door, a car with a family of young kids (skinny, young kids) drove up. I asked the father if I could borrow one of his children to help me out. His daughter volunteered and he picked her up and slid her through the window, as easily as a sliver of soap slipping through wet fingers. She landed gently on my bed, found and handed me my keys and I let her out through the door.

I never learned the girl's name but I'm sure this was the kind of adventure she'll write about in her "What I Did During Summer Vacation" essay when she returns to school. At least, that's what I'm doing. Thank you to all the volunteers who helped save my day!