Copper Country Capers

Copper country’s bounty is not in its copper but in its beauty. The peninsula is dotted with small, historic towns, waterfalls, lighthouses and homes, ranging from quaint cottages to modern villas, line the shores. The coast is scenically rocky with pristine beaches in shallow, protected coves. The northern tip contains snug harbors where boaters can take refuge from the unexpected fog that rolls in from the lake’s cool depths. Chris and Jay spent hours traveling the roads beyond Calumet through Eagle River, Eagle Harbor, Mandan, Phoenix, Mohawk, Bete Grise and Gay.

One day they drove to Copper Harbor at the northern tip of the peninsula and toured Fort Wilkins State Park. It was created in 1844 to protect the miners from Indians. The Indians in the area were migratory and only came to the northern coastal areas in the summer to hunt and fish. Since the mining took place in the central part of the peninsula and most of the supplies the inhabitants needed arrived by ship or rail, the Indians didn’t feel threatened and were never a hostile presence. The fort was abandoned a few years after its creation.

Some of the buildings at Fort Wilkins State Park.

Situated on an inland lake, the overall size of the complex was reasonably small as there were less than 100 men assigned to it when it was active. The adult and child employees dressed in costumes of the period and spoke as if they lived there. The children were barefoot and played games in the central compound, while two young women sat in one of the enlisted quarters cabins, complaining about the long, cold winters they had to endure and how they had to go all the way to the harbor for water because the fort slaughter house made the lake water just outside their cabin unfit for consumption.

A young girl in costume.

Always on the lookout for hiking trails Chris found the Estivant Pines Nature Sanctuary noted in a brochure local to the Copper Harbor area. The directions took them down a rutty dirt road deep into the woods where they found, to their surprise, ample parking! The 500 acre tract sanctuary is home to 300 to 500 year old, three to five foot diameter White Pine. In the 1970s the Michigan Nature Association bought the land saving the ancients from a logging fate. Two loop trails took them through the home of these giants. At first there seemed nothing unusual about the forest - it was just trees and undergrowth - until they began to look closely at the diameters of some of the trunks. Their gazes followed the massive wooden pillars skyward to the top branches towering over all other forest life. Humbled by their magnificence, Chris and Jay were grateful that these specimens had been spared from the “take no prisoners” policies of the 19^th and 20^th century lumber trade.

Chris and one of the monstrous White Pines.

Jay had remembered a high, scenic road that he had driven with his parents when they visited him in the 60s. The Visitor Information rag identified it as the Copper Country Trail National Scenic Byway. They found it began at Copper Harbor and wound up the nearby hills, followed the top of the ridge and afforded sweeping views of Lake Superior to the west and gently rolling terrain dotted with lakes to the east from the numerous scenic overlooks. West Bluff, the highest point, was completely unprotected and they almost had to lean into the wind to stay upright while they walked around the loop road to read the signs and absorb the sublime views. The heavy, carved, wooden signs posted near the road informed them, among other trivia, that they were 726 feet above lake level and 1,328 feet above sea level. Not a bad ski run distance if you could handle the winds.

View of Copper Harbour from the Scenic Byway.

On another day’s drive they discovered Lake Linden, located southwest of Calumet. It sat at the north end of Torch Lake and retained the 19^th century historic buildings on the main road through the heart of town. They stopped for lunch at the Lindell Chocolate Shoppe, an adorable café with the original 1920s décor of patterned tile floors, wooden booths, with juke box music selectors and stained glass wall lamps at each booth. The original wooden juke box stood centrally against the back wall. Memorabilia of days gone by, probably collected over the 80 years of continuous operation, were housed in built in glass cabinets covering one side wall near the front of the café. Chris was surprised to find a (mostly) vegan sandwich on the menu which was delicious and Jay sunk his teeth into a plate of an open-faced beef sandwich smothered in gravy with mashed potatoes – his meat fix for the week.

The ornately decorated wall at each booth with stained glass shade and juke box selector.

After lunch they continued south and discovered Tamarack City, the location of the Hungarian Falls listed in a guide that they could not find because the town wasn’t on any of their maps! Chris had been anxious to find it because the photograph in the guide looked so wonderful that she just had to try her hand at capturing it. They found what they believed was the road to the falls, parked and, equipped only with hiking boots, hats and point-and-shoot camera, began to hike around and around and around searching for the falls. (They started out so sparsely because Chris wanted to see the falls and confirm they were worth photographing before lugging all of her camera gear there.) Eventually they took a trail that led them back down the hill toward the town where they cut through a wooded area and located the stream. It was shallow and strewn with enough rocks and low banks that they started to hop from rock to rock, crossing the stream dozens of times as they made their way toward where they hoped to find the falls. After their experience at Siskiwit Falls they loved the idea of actually hiking through the water, but this time they didn’t have their sandals on and had to work a bit at staying dry. They could hear but not see the fall as they arrived at an area strewn with large boulders, fallen trees and deeper water. Deciding that the going had finally gotten too rough they were lucky enough to find a path up the steep hillside adjacent to the stream and it led to another path that followed the ridge to the falls. They were worth photographing but the trail took them to the top of the main fall and it was evident that it was only clearly visible, and therefore photographable, from the stream 50 feet below. A short distance further up the stream was a second, smaller, and actually more beautiful fall and beyond that a man-made dam created a fair sized pond. Content that they had adequately explored the stream’s meanderings Jay and Chris found a road leading away from the falls which took them to where they should have parked in the first place. It was decided that they would return the next day, fully equipped with water wading sandals and camera gear to photograph.

Some of the myriad of stones they stepped on while working their way up the stream.

The trip up the stream in sandals wasn’t quite as much fun as the day before because of the extra weight and bulk of the backpacks. To steady their balance in the rough areas, Chris used the tripod and Jay an adjustable walking pole. Persistence paid off and they emerged a little wet but triumphant at the base of the lower Hungarian Falls. The water flow wasn’t as profuse as the guide photograph but then again it was mid-July and the snows which provided that volume had melted months ago. Chris actually preferred the lighter flow as the water cascaded down layer after layer of rock creating multitudes of mini falls rather than one giant torrent. She located a slippery, narrow, knob of earth about 20’ above the water which provided a reasonably unobstructed view of the fall, set up the tripod and camera and, praying that it was all worth it, snapped away. Jay was content staying waterside with his magazine and reluctantly ascended the slippery slope to occasionally hand needed gear to Chris. When Chris had finished photographing they picked their way downstream through the boulders and fallen trees to the path they had ascended the previous day and set up at the upper falls. Chris spent more time photographing at this location as there was a greater variety of views while Jay found a comfortable rock at just the right height to sit on and settled in to read his magazines. Time passes quickly in such beautiful locations and with digital cards filled with a variety of views and the sun nearly setting they headed home chatting about the wonderful days they’d just experienced.

Upper Hungarian Falls

More Than We Ever Wanted to Know About Mining

The Keweenaw Peninsula was home to one of the largest copper mining industries in the nation from the 1840s through the 1960s. The town of Calumet was the home office of the Calumet and Hecla Copper Mining Company which is now the Keweenaw National Historic Park. The town and park have an unusual partnership to preserve the area’s history. The Mining Company office, home of the owner, library and a few other buildings are owned by the National Park. Many other buildings throughout the town are privately owned but are in partnership with the Park and preserved for historical and tourist purposes. Jay and Chris were so intrigued with the history of the area that they spent several days following the walking tours outlined in the park booklets visiting the historical buildings and learning all about mining in the 19^th century.

Jay standing in front of a 9,392 lb. Float Copper which is created by glacial action tearing it from the veins as it scrapes the earth’s surface.

The Company buildings of the National Park were beautifully restored but unusual in exterior appearance. Irregularly shaped waste rock from the mines, in shades of brown, black and white, was the primary exterior material with building corners, chimneys, and window and door frames trimmed in red brick. Although unique and economical, Chris didn’t think it an attractive material for buildings owned by such a wealthy company although the architectural features were.

The main administrative building of the Calumet-Hecla Mining Company.

They toured the Coppertown Museum and learned all about the mining drills, tram cars that carried the ore out of the mines, the helmet mounted lighting systems and the pattern shop. Displays explained how workers migrated from a dozen different countries to work the mines, open stores and found churches in town.

A miner’s hat complete with candle for illuminating the work area.

Rusting hulks of mining cars used over the years.

Copper was discovered in the Keweenaw Peninsula in 1843 and by 1849 the area’s dozens of mines provided 85 percent of the entire United States’ copper needs, exceeding 11 billion pounds of the mineral over the next hundred years. The process required thousands of workers both under and above ground working around the clock. Calumet and the nearby town of Laurium, where Jay lived and where the wealthier employees and merchants lived, grew in population by the tens of thousands. The Calumet and Hecla Copper Mining Company provided housing, schools, medical care, a library and many other services for its workers and their families.

Jay standing in front of the house he lived in when he lived in Laurium.

But the services didn’t lessen the gruelingly hard work and inhospitable environment created by the industry. The conditions the miners experienced were brought to life for Chris and Jay when they toured the Quincy Mine just outside of Hancock. The mine shafts were poorly lit, and ranged in temperatures from the low forties several hundred feet down to the high nineties at the deepest levels of one to two miles below the earth’s surface. The air was thick with smoke from the many boiler houses which provided the power to operate the tram cars that climbed the shaft full of ore laden rocks, then when emptied descended for another load. Smokestacks from smelting buildings contributed to the lofty morass. The ground vibrated as charges were set off far below and the air was filled with the constant roar of big machinery as railcars brought coal to the boilers and left filled with ore for the smelting houses. The type of lives these people led is as distant to Jay and Chris as the moon.

The Quincy Mine Shaft house and the Brick Hoist House which powered the cables that raised and lowered the tram cars.

The clean, quiet but under populated town of Calumet is a much different place than in its prosperous heyday. The 19^th century architecture remains and for the most part is in beautiful repair, but about ¼ of the buildings are unoccupied and its appearance is not unlike a ghost town where an occasional car is driven by or a solitary resident is seen walking their dog or a small group of children are seen playing in the spray of a fire hose as the firemen empty the truck’s water tanks into a lot occupied by a now boarded up elementary school.

The roads and parking spaces were sparsely populated.

The historic Calumet Theater.

Despite its sparse population the residents, shop owners and attraction volunteers love their town and are proud of their establishments. Chris and Jay ate in a couple of restaurants where the food was excellent and the buildings retained the charm of 19^th century décor with patterned tile floors and high embossed, tin ceilings. One held a 30 foot long, walnut bar complete with a mural on the curved ceiling above depicting an 1800s dance scene.

A beautiful bar with mural painted above and patterned tile floor.

The Upper Peninsula Memorial Firefighters Museum, housed in the old fire station, was a rare treat. The volunteer in attendance grew up in the town and he and his wife return to the area in the summer and donate their time; he at the fire house and she at the Keweenaw Heritage Center at St. Anne’s Church. The station contained the most diverse variety of fire trucks Chris and Jay had ever seen. There was an 1857 Pumper, which was little more than a horse drawn, 10 foot long platform on wheels that held a pipe, and a pump which was driven by men raising and lowering two long, wooden rods on opposite sides of the platform. Nearby was a horse drawn sled with a cargo bed behind the driver’s seat which looked like it would have been used to transport hoses, buckets, ladders and other equipment needed to douse a fire. Along the back wall were hose reels which consisted of two, six foot diameter wheels connected by a drum onto which the fire hose was spooled. It was pulled by man or beast via a long shaft which extended forward of the wheels. The whole contraption was painted, of course, red. Chris got the biggest kick out of the hearse that was in the collection. The docent told her that it was used to transport the hoses (probably before they got those fancy two-wheeled things). The upper level held displays of water nozzles used over the years, framed news accounts of substantial fires in the community and photos of former firemen. But the highlight of the day was a round, canvas catch ring used to rescue people when they jumped from upper story windows of burning buildings. It brought back memories of old Charlie Chaplin movies and smiles to Chris and Jay’s faces.

The 1857 pumper.

The hearse amongst other fire trucks.

Jay with the Catch Ring.

The Land of the Yoopers

So far, the summer weather above the 45^th parallel had been spectacular. Brilliant blue skies softened by scattered pillows of billowing, crystalline clouds and temperatures in the 70s had made the outdoor activities so far nearly perfect. On a similarly wonderful, early July day, Chris and Jay drove from Bayfield, WI to Hancock, on the Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan. The 150 mile drive and time in the truck was a little long for their preference but frequent stops to stretch their legs, have lunch and gather a bag full of brochures, pamphlets and booklets from a Michigan Visitor Center broke up the several hour drive. They skirted the Lake Superior shore, following it south then east, along highways lined with thick masses of white, yellow, purple and orange wildflowers, their blossoms nodding this way and that in the gentle breeze. Jay grew more and more excited as he began to recognize landmarks and towns that he frequently drove through over 40 years before as a young enlisted man in the Coast Guard. His story of why he was there follows.

“In the summer of 1964, Jay returned from a year-long assignment at the Coast Guard LORAN (Long Range Aids to Navigation) Station at Port Clarence, Alaska located between Nome and Point Barrow. Since it was considered to be just about the very worst duty station in the entire Coast Guard (Jay agreed) he was given his first choice of new assignments. At this point you must remember Jay was only 21 and by definition “young and dumb”. Did he request Hawaii or some warm and sunny place on the mainland? No! He wanted to be near his parents, who lived in Greenville, Ohio so he asked for a shore station near them in Michigan. Now Jay was never considered a stellar student and Geography was definitely not his best subject in school. When asking for the Michigan station he didn’t know that Hancock was in the Upper Peninsula. In fact, he thought that part of the world was Canada and was totally surprised when he learned of his error. His wife at the time, Jo, did not speak to him for quite some time. However, the die was cast so off they went to live in the Keweenaw Peninsula, the most northern part of Michigan. That year it started snowing in September – Jay had really had his fill of the white stuff in Alaska and shoveling snow three times a day so he could get the car out of the garage and go to work was not fun – until he discovered skiing!!! All of you who know Jay very well know that he firmly believes there are only four things that are really worth doing and they all start with the letter “S”; skiing, sailing, scuba diving and s___. Jay’s 18 months in that part of the world was some of the most memorable times he spent in his Coast Guard career. Naturally, when he and Chris were thinking of a cool place to spend the summer and photograph, the shore of Lake Superior sounded like a good plan. As you can tell from the last few blogs it was and Hancock didn’t disappoint.”

As Chris and Jay entered the areas familiar to him, they detoured to the Indianhead and Powderhorn ski areas where he first learned to ski and which made life in such a cold, snowy land tolerable. Other than a few new buildings and some new chairlifts, not much had changed. The wildflower laden meadows of the ski slopes looked like colorful ribbons cascading down the mountains amidst thick, dark green timbers. All was silent except for the signs, suspended from weathered metal rods, creaking their resistance against the persistent, mountain-top winds. The buildings seemed abandoned but, they were just locked against vandals’ mischievous deeds until the winter storms blew in and energized the slopes with throngs of snow-lovers.

Further north they passed through Hancock where Jay’s electronics shop had been located in a battered garage the Coast Guard had rented before the construction of a new facility at the Station on the west side of the peninsula. He recognized a restaurant/bar that he and Jo had frequented. But, after more than 40 years, there wasn’t much else that was familiar. (since his home was in Laurium a 10 mile drive north.)

The McLain State Park where they were to stay for the next two weeks was about 10 miles outside of Hancock and the campground area was situated on a low bluff overlooking Lake Superior (and a perfect view of the sunset.) Below the bluff was a clean, sandy beach that stretched for miles around a shallow cove and frequently spaced along the grassy top edge were well-kept, painted, one-piece, wooden seating units consisting of a central tabletop flanked by two Adirondack style chairs. They were popular assets and one had to stake their claim early in the evening to have a front row seat at sunset (which, due to their location at the western edge of the Central time zone, didn’t occur until nearly 10 p.m.)

The view of Lake Superior from the campground seats.

This was the first Michigan State Park Chris and Jay had stayed in and they discovered that only electric hookups were provided at the campsite. There was a drive-through area where they filled Sonny’s 66 gallon water tank and hoped it would last the two weeks of their stay. Thus, much to their dismay, they were relegated to using the campground showers and water used in the camper for flushing, cooking, and washing dishes was kept to a bare minimum – think dribble. Thankfully the showers were spacious, clean, usually vacant and never ran out of hot water. Ahhh, the simple things in life that afford such pleasure.

After settling into their campsite, Jay was curious about the location of the Coast Guard Station where he had served. A trip to the park office and a conversation with one of the young men in attendance revealed that, although no longer in service, it was within walking distance; just west of the park’s property line on the canal. Several hours of daylight were left so Chris and Jay set off down a wooded trail to find it. The trail left the woods and opened onto a view of the canal. They passed a fenced enclosure which protected a tall, communications tower, which Jay suspected was currently used by the Coast Guard. They continued through another wooded area where they startled a peacefully grazing doe who made a terrific racket as she bounded out of sight. Then they saw it - just ahead in a clearing: The unmistakable, simple, white buildings with red roofs of a mid-20^th century Coast Guard Shore Station. The windows were covered with plywood and overspray from a recent paint job splayed onto the red shingles in a broad, right angle where the windows rose above the roof. Jay was beside himself as he strode through the knee-high grasses and wildflowers to the buildings. He located the electronics shop where he worked while Chris took some snapshots of the area. They descended the still sturdy, metal staircase at the back of the boathouse and walked its length to the water. Aside from a hole in one of the large, work-bay doors, presumably from vandals, the buildings and grounds overall were in very good condition. Jay told Chris some stories of his time there; who he liked, who he didn’t and why. It was evident that even after serving over 24 years, 16 of which he flew helicopters, his time in the Coast Guard was very dear to him and his career too short.

The abandoned Coast Guard Station at dusk.

Jay in front of the Electronic Repair Shop where he used to work.

Although some may think that Jay and Chris are on perpetual vacation this is not the case. Bills need to be paid, groceries and other necessities need to be bought, the RV requires cleaning and countless other duties that one would normally do at home need attention. The first day at a new location is usually spent catching up on e-mails, finances and miscellaneous paperwork which is what they did. Their reward was to garner a lake-side chair, relax and enjoy the entertainment of fellow campers on the beach while basking in the warmth of the setting sun.

Jay pointed out a big splash several hundred feet offshore and remarked that it had to have been caused by a huge fish. A short time later Chris noticed another splash. They began to think it a strange phenomenon and sought an alternative cause. It was then that they noticed several boys, estimated ages from 10 to 18, with golf clubs and a large sack of balls below them on the beach. Three of the older boys were lined up at the water’s edge and were hitting the golf balls into the lake – causing a great splash of water where the ball landed! One boy was quite good and he was hitting balls the farthest making the biggest splash that Jay had first noticed. The balls other boys hit fell short in quality, sometimes skipping across the water like a flat rock or just barely becoming airborne for a few feet before plunging to the bottom. When they were out of balls they all piled into a 12’, flat-bottomed, aluminum boat and, standing upright, paddled out to gather them. The water was crystal clear and once a sighting was made one or more of them would jump overboard to retrieve the ball. This was done repeatedly by the younger boys while the taller, older boys would wade, chest-deep, through the area using their feet to feel for the balls, then dive down to pick them up. All-in-all, it was quite an unusual form of evening entertainment.

Some of the boys retrieving the balls.

It was probably a good thing that the days were so long as it gave Chris an opportunity to see the sights and to photograph the sunsets at the McLain State Park beach. A little south of the sandy campground beach was a point of land where the sand turned to smooth, rounded, softball sized rocks. Further into the water, larger rocks of various sizes and shapes showed themselves and made interesting foreground elements for Chris’ photos. Cloud formations permitting, she spent several nights at the point capturing sunsets using a variety of techniques to create different effects. Now the hard part – editing them down to the best ones to keep and market.

A sunset at the mouth of the canal near the park.

A Cornucopia of Delights

Most of the waterfalls and sea caves Chris was interested in photographing were in the area of Cornucopia, a very small town on the north side of the peninsula from Bayfield. Small doesn’t begin to describe the size of this town. It is more like a village. The “main road” has a large, multi-function, grocery, hardware, snack, gift shop store on one side, and on the other, a fairly nice restaurant/bar called Fish Lipps, a coffee/gift shop, a salon and a post office whose sign boasts that it is Wisconsin’s northern most.

The main street of Cornucopia.

A claim to fame.

After a quick visit to the local beach Chris and Jay went into “town” to see if anyone could give them directions to the Lost Creek Waterfall they’d seen in the Bayfield County guide book. The nice lady at the register said to go to the end of the street and turn left and it would be on the right and there was a sign. There was no sign. After four trips up and down the road, halfway to Bayfield and back, and information from more “locals” who told us to go down a road that did have a sign, but it wasn’t the one to the falls, Chris got a hunch and suggested they turn down, are you ready for this, Trail Drive. Half a mile down the road and Bingo, there was the “sign”!!!

Late afternoon was approaching so they quickly donned their hiking boots, loaded the backpacks, grabbed the camera gear and trekked a mile into the forest, carpeted heavily with thigh-high (in Chris’ case, waist high) fern, to the aptly named Lost Falls. Jay is such a wonderful companion as he patiently lets Chris do her thing while he reads his favorite magazines to pass the time; in this case, hours. By the time Chris had exhausted all the views she wanted to capture of the waterfall, she noticed how gray the light seemed. Jay doesn’t wear a watch and when she looked at hers, realized it was an hour before sunset and they were a mile into deep woods with no cell signal and no flashlights, they beat a hasty retreat to the truck. As it turns out the area is at such a high latitude that as much as 30 minutes after dark there is still adequate light to see but they wanted to avoid encountering any large critters that tend to wander about in deep woods at dusk. They were never so happy to see Big Red at the end of a day.

The Lost Falls.

A special treat awaited them on their drive out of the woods. A speckled fawn stood in the middle of the road staring at them. As Jay slowed the truck to a stop, on legs that seemed not entirely in its control, the fawn began to gleefully prance toward us. Jay and Chris were a little confused, but in awe of this precious creature, and grinning from ear to ear waited to see what it would do. It suddenly stopped, confused that we were not Mama, and cocked its head toward the woods. There she was - just to the right of us, Mama had doubled back to guide her errant offspring into the safety of the undergrowth. The little thing then bounded off the road and disappeared. This was not the first time that Chris and Jay had encountered doe and fawn in the area but they’d never had one approach them. Chris fumbled for the camera but the moment was past.

It so happened it was Chris’ birthday and Jay was determined to take her out to dinner. By this time it was after 9 p.m. and the decision had to be made to go back to Fish Lipps, and take their chances at what type of fare they would find in such an establishment, or head back to Bayfield. It would be close to 10 p.m. by the time they would arrive in Bayfield and they decided the chance that anything would be open was slim to none. Chris figured Jay had an ulterior motive since his preference is to have a decent meal for dinner, which is difficult when many nights of the week they are out in the boonies photographing until dark; and since Chris prepares vegan meals, this was an opportunity for him to score some meat. So, Fish Lipps it was.

The restaurant was more of a dark, wood paneled sports bar and they were the only customers. A slim, cheery 20-something waitress attended them and with great trepidation they ordered from the surprisingly diverse menu. Chris actually found a (mostly) vegan meal of rice, corn and beans which turned out to have a yummy sour cream based sauce and Jay’s reaction to his black bean burger (he didn’t opt for meat?) was “Holy fruitloops, this is good!”. Content with the day’s photo accomplishments and tummies full of yummies, through the finally dark night they headed home.

The next afternoon they decided to hike to the major attraction of Cornucopia, the 50+ foot high cliffs of sand caves that span the coastline for miles. Getting to them requires a mile long hike into the woods, from a little known road (whose whereabouts a local gave them correct information on how to reach) and traversing small ravines at surprisingly frequent intervals. Laden with camera gear, snacks, water, Jay’s reading material to pass the time, jackets, (they remembered flashlights), and covered in mosquito repellant they set out in the mid-afternoon to catch the best late day light on the cliffs. Finding good vistas from which to photograph them was difficult as the “points of land” where one would normally perch and look back on them were more like small pimples. They persevered, pressed on, found better views and Chris got to work photographing, continuing through the evening to capture the setting sun. This time it was well after the sun set before they packed up and began the trek back to Red.

A small section of the miles of shoreline dotted with caves.

The hike out was worth it to have captured this sunset.

Remember Cornucopia is not what one would call an even moderately populated town and the next closest was on the Indian Reservation of Red Cliff over 20 miles away. Homes on the entire peninsula were sparsely sprinkled with acres of fields and woodlands separating them. Wildlife abounds in the area. With the gray evening light gradually dimming at every step and flashlight in hand, all Chris could think about was crossing paths with an unsuspecting bear, or a doe who felt that her fawn was being threatened or an angry she-wolf or a teeed off badger, who was surprised by their presence. What if one of them slipped and sprained an ankle? What ifs ran through her head and she continued to quicken the pace, pausing periodically for Jay, puffing along behind, to catch his breath. The mile-long hike finally ended in a safe arrival at Red. On the drive home, Jay shared her concerns and agreed that they didn’t want to do that again. There was no use in tempting fate and from now on sunset photos would be taken in areas that were a short, safe distance from the truck.

After the day’s experience, they felt that viewing the cliffs from the water was admittedly the best way to see them. The next day they arranged to rent a canoe in Bayfield and drop it in the water at a beach access area close to the cliffs. The canoe was unlike anything they’d used before. It was a heavy, unwieldy, red, molded plastic behemoth made by Mad River. Chris and Jay had never had trouble lifting any other canoes or kayaks over their heads and walking substantial distances with them to put them in and out of the water. They did a lot more dragging than lifting of this contraption as they descended a several story high staircase from the parking lot to the beach.

The forecast was for mild winds but by the time they arrived at the drop in location it had, shall we say, freshened? Chris talked with a man returning from a morning kayak and he said it was pretty rough. But Chris and Jay felt they were experienced enough boaters to handle what appeared to be 1 to 2 foot waves and decided to take the plunge. After stroking through the small breakers at the beach, they turned toward the cliffs and, with the wind off the quarter stern, giving them a slight push, it wasn’t too bad a paddle. The weight of the boat and chine construction of the hull probably worked to their advantage in keeping them upright since the seas now showed signs of white caps as they pressed to their mile distant goal. Once there, they stayed well offshore to prevent being battered against the sandstone bluffs with the seas flexing around them in a myriad of directions as the waves ricocheted off the cliff walls and intermingled with the incoming swells.

Although the waves don’t look too big here,

note that only the upper body of the kayaker on the right is visible.

After capturing a handful of photos from the point-and-shoot and Chris experiencing an uncomfortable stirring in her stomach, they’d had enough, reversed course and headed back. With the wind against them, and having freshened to a greater degree, this proved to be more difficult than the trip out. Both Jay and Chris are fairly fit for their ages and steady, measured strokes finally got them back to the beach with enough energy left over to drag the beast back up the stairs and strap it into the truck for the ride home.

Due to the rough weather, the trip to the cliffs had taken much less time than planned so, they decided to end the day on a more relaxed note and headed for Siskiwit Falls. The day of the Lost Falls adventure, they learned of this fall which was just outside of town. They had been told that the water was very shallow and the stream walkable for a good distance from the road access area. With feet clad in water-resistant sandals and shaded by overhanging trees, they ambled downstream through ankle high water that flowed over a streambed of solid sandstone. The water slipped over slabs that stepped downward like rice paddies descending a steep hill. Laughing and marveling at the experience, Jay and Chris picked their way through the tiers down several foot high cascading falls to the next level which led to more falls, which led to more falls. It became their new, favorite way to explore streams and their sandals would now live in the truck ready for their next water adventure.

A section of the cool, inviting Siskiwit River.

Chris’ expression says it all.

Siskiwit Falls was a wonderfully fun, relaxing way to end our stay in the Bayfield area. The next day, Friday, July 9^th, we left this peaceful countryside and continued our summer tour east to the Keweenaw Peninsula and Hancock, MI where Jay lived early in his Coast Guard career.

Bayfield, WI – Who Would Think…

The Buffalo House Campground in Duluth was admittedly the second worst one Chris and Jay had the “pleasure” of visiting, behind of course, Tallahassee. The Buffalo House was actually a rustic restaurant/bar and the campground lay behind it. The sites were narrow, shallow and grassy so that when a 16,000 pound trailer backs into one that has been rained on for a day and a half the wheels sink several inches into the mud making leveling the rig a bit of a challenge. Chris was thankful that she would be gone most of the time they were there and Jay planned on catching up on paperwork and computer tasks. On the bright side, there was little in the area to distract them from their self-imposed duties.

Fortunately they only spent one day there after Chris’ return. Jay had kept himself holed up in the RV not only due to all of the tasks he had to complete but also because it rained almost the entire time Chris was gone. They happily moved on to the quaint, seaside town of Bayfield, WI, the gateway to the Apostle Islands, and a popular vacation destination for residents of the larger cities within a day’s driving distance. Chris had no idea what the town was like when she made the reservations. To her it was just a convenient location further along the lake coastline where they could spend the 4^th of July weekend and she felt lucky to have gotten a campsite on such a busy weekend. But, you guessed it, once there she wished she’d booked more time as there were sooooo many interesting, fun places to visit!!

The area is home to the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore which includes 21 islands and 12 miles of mainland shoreline. The area is mainly sandstone and the shores are dotted with sea caves carved from the eons of Lake Superior wave action. There were waterfalls, artesian wells, a plethora of local farms growing seasonal fruits where you could pick your own or purchase already picked, kayaking and boutiques packed with adorable and unusual gift items. All of this in a town with a population of just over 600. Who would know it was such a little treasure!?

The berry farm also had acres of flower gardens and orchards.

Walking the downtown streets and fondling the merchandise only entertains for so long but it was a mandatory first-day-in-town activity. Chris and Jay visited one of the local berry farms to stock up on raspberries for breakfast then went into town where they found a beautiful necklace and earring set for their daughter-in-law’s upcoming birthday gift and absolutely had to stop by the local ice cream parlor for two scoops of decadent ice cream each. Chris had a scrumptious caramel, toffee, chocolate concoction and Jay experimented with Superman, a multi-colored ice cream of red, blue and yellow, the colors of Superman’s suit, emblem and cape! What fun!

A Sculpture outside the store where Chris bought the earrings.

A fun figure and abundant flowers outside a local shop.

They explored a nearby trail that wound its way through the base of a shady, wooded gorge. As peaceful as it was that beautiful, sunny, summer day, a nearby sign told of the devastation the town suffered in the early 1900s when two different flash floods ripped through it and plunged through town, destroying everything in its path. A huge concrete and earthen dam now stands at the mouth of the gorge with a chute to direct the water toward the lake in protection of the surrounding homes and businesses.

Lush fern and canopy of trees line the path through the gorge.

Considering the size of the town Chris and Jay didn’t expect much of a fireworks display but were pleasantly surprised! They arrived at the waterfront park about 1/2hour before they thought the fireworks would begin at about 9 p.m. It was still fairly light and a number of people were milling around, most with ice cream cones in hand, (from you know where)and beginning to settle into empty spaces and wait for the show to begin; and wait, and wait. A week after the longest day of the year, that far north and at the eastern boundary of the Central Time Zone it didn’t get dark enough for the fireworks until after 10 p.m.! As a reward for the long delay they got to see two shows; one across the channel from the town of La Pointe on Madeline Island which began first, then the one in Bayfield. Although not on the scale of Washington, D.C. or other larger towns, the fireworks were imaginative and colorful, and fun enough to draw oooohhhs, aaaaahhhhhs and wows from the crowd.

The Harbor view before the fireworks.

A gorgeous sunset precedes the fireworks show.

The remainder of the week was spent exploring the nearby area for photo ops and they found a cornucopia of opportunities in a town of the same name.