You probably learned at an early age about each of the body’s 5 senses that allow us to see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. And while these senses grant us the unique opportunity to connect with our surroundings, they can also enrich our experiences, offer an element of protection, or work together as a synergistic unit to make the whole stronger than the individual part. Some may even claim a 6th sense that allows them the ability to know or understand something without the use of the body’s original five; a type of intuitive knowledge or perception within ourselves.
On the cusp of heading North to kick start those senses, and fulfill a lifelong dream of a picture that had been rattling around inside my head, I finished the preparation necessary to pull the trigger and hit the road. (Click here to read Part#1) After packing gear, I set to work on putting my food together. It took a bit longer than I would have liked, but I stayed relaxed and followed the course I had prepared ahead of time on my packing list. I made it to bed by midnight.
With my senses on high alert, I woke at 5:00, put the dry bags of camping equipment into the old Jeep, and then worked on securing my new canoe onto the roof rack. I said goodbye to my wife Cindy, who was up by then getting ready for work, and pulled away from the house by 6:30. I filled up with gas at a nearby station and drove into the darkness. It would be an early morning where I could watch the eastern sky glow pink and the sun peek forth while traveling up through Wisconsin on Interstate#39 to Madison, US Highway#151 through Fond du Lac, OshKosh, and Appleton, to Interstate#41 around Green Bay and into the state of Michigan.
Once into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula I began to grow hungry. There was only one thing on my mind at that point - Michigan’s “Yooper Soul Food” as it’s lovingly called; better known as pasties. Yooper is slang for someone from the U.P. - Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The pasty arrived in America along with immigrants from Great Britain; specifically the Cornish people from the county of Cornwall on England’s southwest corner. Many of these people settled in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula where copper and iron mining was prevalent. The pasty was a perfect food to have during a hard work day, with its flaky crust pocket filled with beef, potatoes, rutabaga, and onion. Some people eat pasties with ketchup, and I’ve been known to dip it in it. Some apparently use gravy, which is a sure fire way to show you’re a tourist. But when bought fresh and warm, I simply like peeling back the foil wrapper, watching the steam waft into the air, and delving into a mouthful of goodness. A well made pasty is hearty, sticks to your ribs, and delicious! The smell and taste are a step back into history for Michigan and myself growing up as a lad. For that reason it’s a sensory overload worth every single bite!
After stopping by Dobber’s in Escanaba, I drove over to nearby Gladstone and parked next to the beach and harbor to eat the pasty while looking out over Little Bay de Noc. The wind was crazy and rocked my Jeep. White caps out in the middle channel raced each other south to warmer climates. I could feel a little apprehension rising inside my chest about paddling in it later that afternoon. Before getting back on the road, I stopped by a little IGA grocery store to pick up a can of stew that I realized I had forgotten to pick up for one of my camp meals.
Typically when my wife and I visit our daughter and son-in-law in Waco, Texas, we love to go to a favorite food truck-now turned restaurant-named Yaki. The smoked salmon with coleslaw and rice makes my mouth water just thinking about it! When I went through the U.P. this summer on the way to camp with my cousins, I picked up some smoked whitefish. After setting up our sites, we made our version of that Yaki meal. It turned out great and I meant to duplicate that my first night canoeing and camping. Although still content from the pasty, I could almost smell and taste the evening’s smoked fish meal.
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| NATIONAL FOREST RANGER STATION |
After a quick stop at the Hiawatha National Forest Ranger Station in Rapid River, I headed further east along U.S. Highway#2 in search of a little shop selling smoked fish. That venture, while noble, took literally way too long. In my mind I could see pasty and smoked fish shops every few miles along Highway#2. Over the years I’ve traveled that route hundreds of times and have stopped by many of them. But do you think I could find one? The wind was still howling, it was now overcast while starting to drizzle, and I had already passed by two different roads heading North to where I needed to go. I was beginning to drive way out of my way! As a last ditch effort I stopped at “Foxy’s Den Convenience Store” near Garden Corners, who then suggested I try “Woody’s Outpost” in Thompson another 11 miles away, before the dinner idea of smoked fish and rice fluttered away like leaves in the wind. It was then that I simply turned and headed up country road #149. Apparently most family run fish shops are further along the north side of Lake Michigan between Manistique and St. Ignace.
When the road I was on ended in a “T” at Indian Lake, there in front of me was a sign for smoked fish; a mere four miles to the right. I sat there while the windshield wipers kept beat with my heart rate. The temperature was plummeting, I had lost a good hour driving around, and here was this temptation to make things right again. I turned and headed northeast, trying to simply enjoy the journey. When I turned into the driveway for the Jensen Fishery, I could see it didn’t look promising. A sign said something to the effect that they were open on Thursdays and Fridays, but upon peaking in the window, it looked like they were closed for the season. I attempted to call the numbers provided to see if the owner lived in the house next door. Maybe they’d pick up the phone, laugh at my predicament, and offer to run over and pull something out of the refrigerator to resurrect my evening - all before sending me on my way with a smile and word of encouragement. Nobody answered.
At that point I was about a mile or two from Manistique on the northshore of Lake Michigan and just off the same Highway#2 that I had turned from 45 minutes beforehand. I quickly thought, “What the heck… Let’s see if there’s a downtown market!” No such luck; it apparently was just not meant to happen.
I called out, “Rhines, quit screwing around. It’ll be dark in 3 hours!” Adding mentally, “And I still need to drive to the trailhead, unpack, load up, paddle, and set up camp!” Nervous energy began to settle in. In retrospect, it was a good thing I had picked up that can of stew back in Gladstone. Tonight’s dinner was going to be fast and without any of the fanfare often associated with open fire cooking.
I did enjoy driving the dirt roads leading up to the Indian River near the small town of Steuben and into the Hiawatha National Forest. The man at Foxy’s had told me the town was pronounced a bit differently than the way I had spoken it to him. He said that if I mentioned the town of Steuben in the way that I had, the locals would immediately know I wasn’t from around those parts. I had given him a knowing smile and nod. Having grown up near Gaylord, Michigan, just south of the Straits of Mackinac, and now on the northern stateline of Illinois, I knew full well when out-of-towners slaughter a location’s pronunciation. Once upon a time in Michigan we had referred to people who were obviously outsiders as, “Fudgies”. It was a term of endearment for tourists who bought the homemade fudge that was famous for that area, but who also drove the economy and allowed the small towns and villages to survive and flourish.
Traveling dirt roads that afternoon reminded me of the Pigeon River State Forest where I grew up in Northern Lower Michigan; a kaleidoscoped tunnel amid autumn’s spectacular colors. Once at the Wilderness trailhead, I scouted out the portage from the parking lot down to Big Island Lake. I then proceeded to put on all the clothes that I had to build layers. It was cold, especially with the 20 plus mile an hour winds.
Two other vehicles were in the lot. One was a truck from Michigan, and the other was a minivan from Wisconsin. I unloaded the canoe, removed the Thule brackets, and then organized my bags. It took two trips to carry everything to the lakeside, and I could see that I was about to learn firsthand how to do what I had been reading about for years in books and most recently observing on videos.
After having watched the YouTuber, “Woodsy” launching from this same exact shore, in addition to studying the map I had picked up this summer, I knew I had to paddle through a long section of lily pads to reach the open water. The lake supposedly had pike and muskie in it, but due to time limitations, I would have to try fishing on a later day. I had brought along my large landing net for that very reason!
I smiled to myself as I paddled my new Nova Craft Canoe for the first time outside of the practice pond at Rutabaga Paddlesports where I’d bought it. It felt good in the water. I paddled using my kayak paddle, for seemingly more control. When I hit the open water beyond the lily pads, however, the situation got real very quickly.
While I’ve grown up paddling canoes and eventually kayaks, I was having a difficult time controlling where I wanted to go, and found myself surfing small whitecaps. I felt a tinge of stress as I faced the unknown factors of my camp destination, the duration of the rain, the fast approaching night, and the temperatures dipping down to 30 degrees. I coached myself through the situation saying, “If Woodsy was able to do this with the wind she endured in her first video, I can do this too…just relax, think, and take your time!” Once I convinced myself that there was no real rush, I quartered the wind and waves to the other side of the lake and then angled my way to the island. Unfortunately I could see a canoe already up on the shore at that designated site. I knew from the map that a second site was located at the far end; down near the large trumpeter swans cruising the shoreline. I made my way towards that site and found it to be open!
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| FINDING A SITE SUNLIGHT IN THE RAIN |
Feelings of relief and accomplishment flooded over me in addition to heavier rain. I looked around and made mental notes about the series of steps I would need to take to be most efficient and take action. The rest of the evening was spent unpacking, setting up my camp, lashing down my canoe in the prevailing winds (that were racing down the length of the lake and directly into my site), choosing a tree to hang my food up away from animals, and building a fire to heat up my stew. I documented the process with a couple of pictures as I worked. Eventually the rain stopped as the sun set and the temperature bottomed out. I washed my dishes lakeside, using my headlamp to find appropriate footing while balancing on a downed tree.
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| SUNSET AFTER THE RAIN THE COLD SETTLES IN |
When I crawled into my tent a few minutes before 8:00 I was curious how the night would go. The mantra of, “So many firsts” rang in my head; my first time using the tent, sleeping mat, and cold weather sleeping bag. Would I be warm enough?
The relentless wind lulled me to sleep fairly quickly, and although I stirred about every 3 hours, I was able to drift back to sleep each time. I felt somewhat protected, tucked away between a lakeshore berm and a hill rising up into the woods.
When I woke with the first rays of sunshine, I stayed hunkered and warm within my down bag and began reading the first article from my newly acquired (Fall Edition) of the Boundary Waters Journal. At that moment I heard the distinct whirring of what could only be a drone, and thought, “Are you kidding me?” Here I was hoping to camp and escape for a few days, but apparently I’d stepped headlong into the jagged jaws of a “Big Brother” trap; someone spying on my where-a-bouts. Without actually seeing it from inside my tent, I heard the drone traveling along the shoreline past my site. What I wanted to do was to go out and throw something at it, knock it out of the sky, and smash it. What I actually did was lay there until it moved off and I could relax enough to finish my article.
After changing out of my sleepwear, dressing back into my layers of clothes, and tidying my tent gear, I stepped out into the sunshine and cold. As I walked the frosty leaf covered trail along the shore, I suddenly heard someone talking. Looking out into the lake, a young man was paddling just beyond the lily pads while fishing and talking rather loudly to himself. I surmised that this was the same person who had flown the drone; presumably to scope out where to fish that morning. Who he was talking to and what he was saying remained a mystery.
On a side note, about a month after my trip a newly released video popped up on YouTube entitled, “3 Days Alone in Remote Michigan Wilderness!!” I was curious where this was recorded so I clicked on it. From the leaf color in the thumbnail picture I could see that it was set in the fall. In a weird twist, I realized that not only did this person camp in the same wilderness area I had been in, but he was the one who had been camped on the island, flew the drone, and fished out in front of my site that first morning. I couldn’t help myself and decided to comment on his post. I mentioned that I had also come into the area on the same windy day that he had, in addition to the fact that I didn’t really appreciate the drone. He graciously responded, saying that he hadn’t realized I was tucked back in that camp site and apologized. He replied by saying that when he had learned drones weren’t allowed in the area he immediately stopped using it while camped there. Of course it suddenly all made sense as to why he had been talking to himself out in the canoe as he had been in the middle of recording his video. I also found out that some of his louder outbursts were the result of accidentally snagging his extra pole on a backcast and flinging it out into the lake. It’s the kind of thing that’s pretty darn funny in retrospect, because if you’ve fished for very long at all, you’ve probably done something similar. You may also know the pain he was experiencing as you try to contemplate how such a feat is even possible! Fortunately he was able to snag the lost pole, and reel it up off the bottom of the lake using a large muskie lure to retrieve it. It ended up being a success story on all accounts! I appreciated his honest explanation within our typed dialogue and said that I’d give him a shout out; wishing him luck on his video channel (BassBros) in addition to hoping he’d achieve his goal of catching a muskie. If anything, it once again proved that we live in an interesting, wild, and small world!
After walking the shoreline and peeking at the short portage into Mid Lake, a sudden “6th Sense Revelation” came upon me. I wanted to paddle and portage so I could set up a different camp on another lake. Staying at this site, while a great location, would have been like the million other times I’ve camped. I had a desire to track further into what for me was uncharted territory. Plus, although the wind was picking up, the clear blue skies motivated me to get packing. Speaking of which, the pit toilet that was available a short distance from each site, was an outhouse without the house. It literally was a stool in the woods, which was pretty cool; especially with low temperatures and a breeze! You couldn't beat the view as sunlight filtered through the yellow leaves, popping with vibrantly contrasting colors. It felt as if you were sitting upon a golden throne!
I returned to camp and quickly made a fire to heat some water. I lowered my food bag that had been suspended a little ways from my tent and took out the little bags and containers of oatmeal, granola, brown sugar, raisins, and the fresh fruit of strawberries and blueberries. It was a great warm meal to start the day. I then repacked my tent and equipment into the dry bags. The gear I carried over to the portage. I simply paddled my canoe.
After having been in the shade of my campsite, the warmth of the sun over Mid Lake was a welcome friend. The lake was also calm of wind; itself a pleasant surprise. As I loaded my gear and checked the map, a couple came paddling into the portage. In talking with them, I learned that they had come up from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, had already been camping for over a week, and planned to stay two more nights; coming out on Friday the same as I planned to do. While they were camped on Mid Lake’s only site, they were heading out to the trailhead to check on their vehicle and grab some more food from their cooler. We talked about the lakes and some of the sites that they knew about. Although he hadn’t been to it, the gentleman said that he had heard that there was a nice site up on a hilltop bluff several more lakes away. It was nice to briefly talk to some people who knew the area firsthand and had plenty of experience paddling together in various places, including the B.W.C.A. in Minnesota.
And now, in my mind, everyone was accounted for that had been parked in the trailhead parking lot; the young man on the first lake’s island, and then the couple I had just met on lake number two. Everything else was free of people and left me with the rest of the wilderness area; nothing but fresh air and sunshine as the saying goes. That was thrilling, exhilarating, and only slightly terrifying. Being miles (or at least several lakes) away from the nearest human meant I needed to remain both vigilant and on my A-game. Mistakes can happen, even with best laid plans, but being aware of my surroundings and thinking through various situations was vitally important. As I paddled out into Mid Lake I thought about the fact that this is where my “Spidey Senses” (or 6th sense) needed to be fully employed to stay safe while enjoying the experience.
I fished along the bank to the north end of the lake and to the short portage into Town Line Lake. I got out and peaked at that lake, but opted against entering it since I couldn’t portage anywhere beyond it. I decided that while the sun was out, and I had ample time, I would head southeast through the different lakes to the site on the lakeside hill mentioned by the couple from Fond du Lac.
The body of Mid Lake was long and narrow, but easily paddled. In lieu of the kayak paddle I used the canoe paddle that had been gifted to me upon my retirement by the staff from Upham Woods Outdoor Learning Center near Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin. Each year we had taken our 5th grade students on a 3 day-2 night school trip to that environmental camp; creating wonderful experiences with our classes and nature. The paddle they gave me was a thank you for my efforts over the years in arranging that trip. Using the paddle allowed me to practice my J-stoke to keep the canoe aligned without switching sides with the paddle.
The portage from Mid Lake into Coattail Lake was fairly short, but the trail climbed straight up and over a high ridge before plummeting down to the water’s edge. I carried my gear over first and then followed that trek with another trip carrying my canoe; a double portage. The lake, like the others I had seen, had a beaver lodge along its shoreline. I paddled to the far end to scout where there was a small outlet named Delias Run. I found that it trickled through a dam of sticks eventually making its way towards little Center Lake. Doubling back to the nearby portage, I unloaded my dry bags.
The portage into McInnes Lake was much longer but it felt good to fully dive into carrying my gear. The smells of autumn were strong with decaying leaves, fresh needles, and the scent of lake water drifting up over the ridge. The shoreline at the entry point was comprised of deep, silty, muck so I threw some nearby logs and branches into it that allowed me to balance on them, load the canoe, and inch my way out into open water over the drop-off.
I paddled towards a point that extended into the lake from the starboard side of the shore. The lake was rimmed by a high steep ridge, so the site itself was only accessed by scrambling up a cascading series of steps. The view from the turret-towered cliff allowed me to see both ends of the lake.
After setting up my tent and organizing the camp, I decided to go out and fish for an hour or so before coming back to cook dinner and settle in for the night. Despite my best efforts, and using an array of classic lures, I wasn’t able to hook into anything. It was starting to get colder and the wind was an issue again. I tried the lightweight grappling hook anchor I had gotten from my Dad, but the lake dropped off so quickly and deeply that the wind, which was more in control than I was, blew me helter-skelter. Unless I positioned myself within arm’s reach of the bank, I didn’t have enough cordage attached to the anchor to reach bottom and if it did touch, the wind dragged it along as if I was purposely dredging the lake.
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| THE SHORELINE LOOKED LIKE MY SIGNATURE PINE TREE & WATER LOGO |
While fishing I was under the watchful eye of a bald eagle. Using my camera, and a lot of patience, I captured a series of great pictures of the giant bird. Taking such unique pictures, with its stark white head in sharp contrast to the background colors of the northwoods, eased the pain of not hooking into any fish.
Arranging the straight grained white pine that had been split and left as a gift by the last camper, I made a fire and cooked up a brat with a stir fry of squash and tomatoes on the new aluminum skillet. I wanted to sit and enjoy the fire, but darkness was again catching me by surprise and I still needed to clean up the dishes and put things away before bed.
Thank heavens the rising moon was nearly full and presented itself in spectacular form as I prepared to enter my tent. The wind had died down somewhat, and with clear skies, I would have a gigantic night light throughout the evening. After inflating my sleeping pad, I looked over the map and then burrowed down into my sleeping bag to read the second article in my Boundary Waters Journal. I was elated about what I had accomplished throughout the day, but even more, I was excited about the fact that once I awoke I would have the entire day to hang out around base camp. It promised to be a sensory overload that would continue giving me the chance to explore and soak in all the experiences that Big Island Lake Wilderness had to offer!
See you along The Way…
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