When Decisions Go To The Dogs

I've been reading several blogs, with lively commentary, regarding the definition of Adventure.  Some say adventure is doing things you've never done before, others say the purest form of adventure involves giving up a "normal" life to hike across New Zealand or kayak the Nile or some other such extreme endeavor.  True adventurists scoff at guided tours and companies that capitalize on the human spirit by promising adventure while doing all the hard stuff for you.

I don't fit neatly into any of those categories.  Most of my adventures come about accidentally, and almost all of them involve my friend Debbie, who is not an adventurer at all.

Every year in October, Debbie and I go camping together.  At this point I can't even remember how this tradition started, but in the beginning I tried to ignite a passion for outdoor adventure in Debbie.  She gave it the old college try, but our annual trip has evolved into a few days of Debbie reading by the campfire and me restlessly prowling around the campsite.  Debbie knows how to relax and unwind; I do not.

This year I told her we would be camping in Petosky, Michigan, because Petosky is synonymous with shopping, restaurants, and luxury hotels.  I figured if she equated camping with Petosky, she would be more likely to enjoy the experience.  But camping is camping, and the Petosky State Park is a world away from the posh downtown area.  Throw in four straight days of torrential rain, and we had ourselves a true outdoor camping experience.  Sorry, Debbie.

By the third day, I was very restless, wanting to explore and hike and find myself immersed in nature.  Debbie and I had walked 25 feet away from our campsite to look for Petosky Stones on the beach.  But I found that foray into nature boring, so I left Debbie to go walk the dogs.


Because dogs are domesticated animals, they generally are not as adaptable as wild animals.  In other words, dogs are creatures of habit, and my big dog, Rooney, was having difficulty in this new environment with his digestive system.  To put it bluntly, he hadn't pooped.  In three days.  I was a little concerned.

Normally, when I take Rooney camping (which I do often), on our first morning in a new place I will walk Rooney until he picks a spot he likes to take care of business.  Every day for the remainder of the trip Rooney will go to that one spot each morning for his daily constitutional.  Even though there was a nice wide trail right behind our Petosky campsite, a 2 mile jaunt with plenty of weeds and underbrush, Rooney hadn't taken advantage of this perfect spot.  So after fifteen minutes of staring at the waters of Lake Michigan looking for that one special stone, I announced to Debbie that I was going to walk the dogs down the trail again, in the hopes that Rooney would find relief there.  I said to Debbie,

"I will be back in about 15 minutes."  Famous last words for someone who has a tendency to get lost in the woods.

As I walked the dogs down the familiar trail, Rooney pulled off on a side trail.  I thought maybe I should let him take the lead to find his spot where he was comfortable.  I left the decision of the direction of our hike to Rooney, thinking that we were in Petosky State Park; we couldn't possibly get lost.

We crossed the road that leads into the campground.  On the other side, the Yellow trail began and Rooney pulled ahead.  Had it not been such a pretty trail, perhaps I would have paid closer attention to the trail markings.  But at the first juncture I simply followed Rooney, and it wasn't until much later that I realized the yellow marker was in the shape of a diamond.  A DIAMOND.  For you non-hikers out there, that means the highest level of difficulty.

We climbed a very steep hill.  We went down another steep hill.  Then we plodded up a steeper hill, with the rain turning the loose soil to mud and the wet trees I had to use to pull myself up the hill were slippery to grasp.  I won't tell you that I slid back down a few times on my knees, because in my mind that didn't happen.  The dogs and I labored up and struggled down.  Finally, we reached a high ridge and I thought the trail had to be almost back to the campground.  But then, in a break through the trees, I saw something that made my heart drop into my stomach.

Earlier in the day, Debbie had wanted to visit a French antiques shop in Petosky.  We drove 2 miles down the State Park road, and another 5 miles on the highway to get to this shop.  Across the street was a four-story brick building that had been converted into a pub.  From the top of the ridge I was now standing on, I was looking down on the roof of the four-story pub.  I was 7 miles from my campsite!

I hadn't planned on this hike.  I had no water, no food, and no cell phone (not that it would have worked in the deep woods anyway).  I didn't even have a camera to capture the amazing beauty around me.  I debated about whether to turn back and re-trace my steps, or keep going.  Because the demon hills I was traversing were on a more direct route to the campground than the road, I decided to keep going ahead thinking it would be the shorter way to go.  We forged on, down and up, sideways, upside down once, looking for any sign of the end of this trail from hell.  After a particularly slippery slide down one ridge, I looked up to see a trail marker pointing to the easy yellow trail, and the campground.  I almost wept with relief.

We still had another mile to go to connect back to the original trail.  As the dogs and I plodded down the wide flat trail, thirsty and tired and soaking wet, I was anxious to get back and let Debbie know we were ok.  She must be worried sick!  I had no idea what time it was, or how long we had been gone, but it was much longer than the fifteen minutes I had told her.  I hoped she hadn't informed the ranger we were missing.  Oh geez, what if they were out searching for us?  Debbie must be frantic!

We literally ran the last 1/4 mile, I was so worried.  As we burst into the campsite, Debbie looked up from her chair and the book she was reading, cozy with a blanket, sitting by the fire that was still burning despite the rain because I had set an awning up over it, a glass of wine at her side, and she said,

"Oh.  Did you go out again?  I thought you were napping."

What?  We were missing for three hours and she didn't even know?  She thought I was napping?

With a certain amount of indignation, I told Debbie what had happened.  I also pointed out that if I were ever to get lost for real I guess I couldn't count on her to raise the calvary.  I sat in my chair to pout, drinking a gallon of water, when Rooney stood up, walked a few steps from the fire, and pooped in the campsite.  He found his spot.

It was a mini adventure, but an adventure nonetheless.  The terrain was difficult, I wasn't sure where I was, and no one else knew where I was either.  After consulting the trail map later, I discovered that I had only hiked about 3 miles total, not the 14 miles that it felt like, but with the level of difficulty I had a pretty good hike.  I saw beautiful scenery deep in the woods, and it was all good.

I don't seek adventure.  It usually finds me when I am least prepared for it.  Spending as much time as I do outdoors, it is bound to happen.  When I leave decisions to the dogs, it is a given that an adventure awaits.  But I like it that way.  Sometimes when I plan an adventure, it falls short of the vision I had in my mind, but when adventure happens accidentally, I have a story to tell and fond memories to keep.  Maybe that's the true spirit of adventure, just going out and seeing what happens.

The dogs were exhausted that night and slept deeply, as did I.  As for Debbie, she suffered a restless night of tossing and turning, feeling deep guilt over my struggles while she sat cozy by the fire, not noticing I was missing.  At least that's the way the story goes when I tell it.

The Top 10 Things I've Learned About Camping

Since I started tent camping 25 years ago, and added camping in the tin can 10 years later, I've learned a lot about exploring outside and camping.  Some of these lessons will help readers who are new to camping or getting outside, and experienced adventurers will most likely be able to identify.  At least I hope they will, otherwise I am the most incompetent outdoor adventurer ever!  (Which actually might be true).

1.  Never leave your Mackinac Island Fudge on the picnic table overnight.

Chip discovers 5-Star Dining

Rocky

This one is more important than you'd think.  Leaving fudge, or any other food, out overnight is an open call to all the creatures of the woods.  I only needed to spend one night in a tent listening to Rocky the Raccoon munching on my fudge, then rolling on his back with indigestion to learn the perils of leaving food out.  This same rule holds true for coolers.  Raccoons, bear, chipmunks, and other wild animals are rather industrious.  Put your food in the car or camper, folks, and this includes the dog's food.  Lets keep wild animals wild, and not habituated to people; that's when animals become dangerous.

2.  Never stake your tent at the bottom of a hill.

It was all fun and games until it rained

A newbie mistake, I was scouting out a campsite on a windy day, and discovered the hill behind me blocked the wind, making it easier to set up and keep the tent warmer.  But guess what windy days usually lead to?  Rainy nights.  All that water running down the hill has to go somewhere, and most likely it will all go into your tent.  If I wanted a houseboat, I would have bought a houseboat.  Put your tent in an open, high, flat area, away from trees and hills.

3.  Always carry a walking stick while hiking.

I visited Drummond Island once for a week, snowshoeing and hiking during a mild winter.  I fell in love with the island and its people, so while there I bought a hand-made walking stick from a local merchant, more for sentimental value than anything else.  However, that stick has been a lifesaver on a few occasions.  A clumsy hiker like me finds it very handy to complete my hike even after I've sprained my ankle or twisted my knee.  It also works as a snake beater.

4.  Never trust someone who says "Trust me".

"Is this CO 412? or  CO 423?  Didn't we already pass that fern?"

My friend Debbie will tell you that all of my reassurances that I know what I am doing are of little comfort when you've been lost for eleven hours on two-track after two-track that all look exactly alike.  The experienced outdoor people recognize that in the wilderness, things change but look the same.  Never assume you know where you are going or what lies ahead.  Be prepared, and rely on your own skills to get out of a perilous situation, even if the only skill you have is to carry an emergency beacon so trained rescue personnel can find you.  Been there, done that.

5.  Always look up.  TRUST ME.

"HELLO!"

I can't stress this enough; educate yourself about wildlife and their habits prior to exploring the wilderness.  When it comes to the elusive black bear, especially in Michigan, they are likely to avoid human contact if you follow the rules, therefore you likely will never see one.  However, when hiking, kayaking, climbing, or just sitting by the campfire, don't forget to look up.  Do NOT carry fruit and berries in your backpack, unless in sealed containers.  You might end up with a close encounter you are not prepared for.  Learn how to avoid wildlife.  A bear might look cute and friendly, but he would tear you apart for an apple.

6.  Always unplug your electrical cord before driving away.

Is that a raccoon hanging out of that camper?

This may seem like a no-brainer, but for a camper new to RVing and in a hurry to leave, you'd be surprised how many things you can forget to do before you pull out.  The good news is, you will only make that mistake once.  Seriously, you wouldn't believe how much damage can occur when you drive off with your electrical cord still plugged in and locked to your camper.  Always remember, all those people waving at you on the highway are not being friendly; they are trying to tell you something.  Check windows, doors, steps, hook-ups, and awnings before you leave.  The same goes for tent campers.  Those straps are called tie-downs.  Make sure the kayak on top of your car is, in fact, tied down.

7.  The macho men in the campground are there for a reason.

No carbon monoxide poisoning for me!

I used to get offended by the men who would rush to my aid every time I backed my trailer into a site, but I have gotten over it.  Those same men have, at times, kept me from hitting a tree, changed a tire on my tin can, fixed my propane leak, and found the tiny fuse that fell out of my battery.  Macho men in campgrounds are wonderful.

8.  Always follow the rules.

How many times have I been hiking a trail and seen something very
intriguing off the trail?  Yet every trail head has a sign posted, "Please Stay on the Trail."  This is a good idea for many reasons, but the most important reason is the environment.  Michigan's DNR and DEQ have worked very hard to preserve the delicate balance of nature for all of us to enjoy.  You might think one person walking off trail would be no big deal, yet you'd be wrong.  Follow all posted rules in the woods, wilderness, and waters.  They really are for your protection, and the protection of the beauty all around you.

9.  Always keep your dog on a short leash.

I used to have a furry tail.

There is a narrow, dirt trail that follows a high ridge line along the Big Sable River at Ludington State Park.  When camping there, I walk my Newfoundland, Rooney, every morning along this trail, with the river running below a steep embankment.  I always keep him on a retractable leash and let the leash out 12 feet or so while he runs and does his thing.  After several days of walking that trail, one morning without warning Rooney took off down the steep hill for the river.  After I ended up wrapped around a tree about halfway down, still clinging to Rooney's leash, a macho man once again came to my rescue, pulling me and my dog back up to the trail.  Even if you have a well-behaved dog, the leash rule is important, because someone else might not have a well behaved dog (like me), and there are wild animals out there.  Keep your furry friend close by your side, unless you are sitting by the campfire.  Rooney has caught his tail on fire 3 times while sitting at my side.  It took us awhile, but lesson learned.

10.  Carry duct tape.

Even camping in a well-populated campground can bring unexpected challenges.  Be prepared for just about everything you can imagine going wrong, and a few things you haven't thought of yet, though eventually you will.  Weather, drunk campers, animals, equipment failure, and an aging, forgetful mind can lead to all kinds of potential disasters.  When the disasters come, make sure you've brought your sense of humor and an extra bottle of water along, but most importantly, always carry duct tape.  A fresh bottle of water and a full roll of duct tape can solve 99% of your problems while camping and enjoying the outdoors.  Hole in your boot?  Duct tape.  Sudden downpour?  Secure a natural shelter with duct tape.  Broken fishing pole?  Duct tape.  Leaky tent?  Duct tape.  Loose wire on your camper?  You know what to do.

I am sure as time goes on, I will discover many more tips for surviving outside.  But these are the top things I've learned so far.  Do you have anything to add?  I would love to hear your stories and advice!

Happy Spring everybody, and Go Outside!

Can I Have A Moment, Please?

Lake Superior at Crisp Point

Sometimes, I just need a moment.  Maybe I need that moment to take a deep breath before I say something I shouldn't, or a moment to have a hissy fit wile I rant and rage and let out my frustration.  Most times, though, I need a moment to just be silent.  This usually involves sitting on a high bluff at the edge of the woods overlooking Lake Superior, which is where I plan to someday build my stone cottage and live out my days sitting on my bluff overlooking Lake Superior. And chopping firewood.

A couple of years ago, when I was going through a rough time, I started this blog as a catharsis of sorts, where I shared my moments of peace found while traveling in a vintage Airstream.  My tin can let me go places I had dreamed of my whole life.  I enjoyed sharing my stories so much, that I want to do more.  But life still intervenes and keeps me from traveling often enough to write about it full time.  I spent a considerable amount of time this summer thinking about how I could develop my blog when I only travel a few times a year.  I also spent a considerable amount of time this summer not writing, because the two dogs, two cats, husband, kids, and all their friends were a constant energy in the house that prevented me from writing.

I may have spent the first month of summer feeling frustrated and wishing more than anything that I could have just one hour to write, except I had nothing but my frustration to write about, and who wants to read that?  I may have let that feeling go on, except that I really enjoy being a positive person more than a negative one.  My good friend, Debbie, who shares so many of my adventures, reminded me, "it is what it is".  It was summer, and everyone was home.  I gave up trying to write (which also goes against my nature)  and started looking for the positive.  I found it.

Gotcha, Suzy!

In each day, somewhere in the chaos and noise and demands, I had a moment.  Suzy the Cat began a habit of climbing up the ladder to my daughter's bunk bed and stealing her stuffed frog animal.  I would find that frog in the oddest places, pick it up and return it to the bed, only to find it again in a new place the next day.  It became a game with me and my daughters.
Where would Suzy put the frog today?

There was a moment each morning, when my youngest daughter, The Wise One, would walk into the kitchen while I was having my second pot of coffee and sleepily murmur, "Good morning, Mom" followed by a hug.  It's always good to start your day with a fond greeting and a warm hug.  We would then proceed to place our bets for what item my older daughter, Birdie, would announce she needed to get from Target that day.  Birdie went to Target almost every day.  It's a disease, as is spending her paycheck before she gets another one.  We're working on that.

The couch is NOT for you, Rooney!

I had other moments, as well.  I rarely left the house this summer.  Why would I, when Birdie would be going to Target anyway and could pick up what I needed?  But a few times we met up with friends for an evening, giving me moments of laughter and companionship.  I watched my son, Fun Boy, growing into a fine young man this summer, who worked hard at his job all day and cheerfully helped out around the house.  I had many moments with Rooney the Newfoundland, but those are best left
unmentioned in my efforts to remain positive.  I settled in this summer, and while I admit I still had day after day of being frustrated with no peace, no time, and no privacy, I embraced that moment each day when my heart would warm with delight over my family and friends.

The Tin Can at Muskallonge Lake

This new-found emphasis on finding the good each day, taking the moments that were given to me and holding them, gave me some ideas on the direction my blog might take once school started and I had time again to write.  I have stories from a few trips I took this summer, but I need more.  Perhaps, instead of only writing periodically about my adventures in the tin can, I could fill my time with sharing the moments I find each and every day that give me peace beyond of the tin can.

Stop spinning, Rooney!

I already had one of those moments this morning.  In preparing for my upcoming escape to the mountains, I have been brushing Rooney's thick and unruly fur every morning, trying to loosen as much hair as possible before we go so my tin can doesn't accumulate an entirely new floor covering.  Rooney is pretty tolerant of being groomed, usually standing still until I tell him he can go.  However, this morning, I wanted to focus on his enormous tail, and he didn't like that so much.  I had to hold him by the collar with one hand and try to brush his tail with the other, while he kept spinning away from me.  He would spin, I would follow, he would spin again, I would follow again.  Long before I even made a dent in the massive amounts of hair on his tail, I became dizzy until I finally fell down and gave up.  See?  I told you moments with Rooney detract from my personal goal of being positive.  But at least these days, my house is quieter and I am finding time to think, write, and dream.

My son has returned to the University and is contemplating changing his major during his 3rd year.  I'm sure several moments will result from that.  The Wise One has entered Middle School and taken up running, following in the footsteps of her older sister.  Cross Country Meets are a great place for peaceful moments.  Birdie has moved to the big city to begin her Freshman year of nursing school, and gave me a really nice moment last week.  She called home and asked me if I had ever taken a Philosophy course in college.  I told her not only had I taken several, I taught Philosophy for many years at the college level.  She was surprised and duly impressed.  It's not often I can impress my children.  It was a really good moment.

Starting today, I plan to write often about my moments, good and bad, at home and in the tin can.  My goal is to connect with readers on a most basic level.  There are good days and bad days, ups and downs, and within each day is a moment to remember.  Sharing my moments with you will hopefully touch you so that you know you are not alone.  We can all love those peaceful moments together, and learn to laugh at ourselves during those not-so-peaceful moments.  Never forget, Rooney will be laughing at all of us during every moment.  He's good at that.

Have a spectacular day, and thanks for reading my blog!  

New Places, New Faces, Same Story…Awesome!

I am one of those annoying people who watched a movie a few years ago, jumped on the bandwagon, and wrote my own Bucket List.  It's a long one, with the top two lines reading "Alaska in the Tin Can",  and "Write A Story".  Further down the list is "Camp One Night in Each of Michigan's State Park Campgrounds".  To that end, I spent last weekend at Port Crescent State Park, at the tip of the thumb in Michigan, along the Great Lakes Bay Region.  I've never before gone east to camp in my great state, so I was apprehensive, mostly about the reported snake population that thrives in the reedy, marshy waters of Lake Huron's shoreline.

The day I left home was my favorite kind of summer day; hot, windy, sunny, but with storms threatening in the evening hours.  The iPod was on shuffle, the tin can was clean and packed, and Rooney was in the back seat looking out the window, with what I swear was a smile on his face.  Newfies are known for their solemn faces, but Rooney looked so happy.  Google Maps re-routed me away from the construction zone on M-25 to take me on a delightful, meandering voyage through farmland and wind turbine fields.  Stretched out in front of me were no less than 100 wind turbines, possibly more.  The majestic towers spun lazily in the breeze, waving to me and sending me along my way.  It was rather awesome.

I came upon a roadside rest stop, and discovered the first site of a natural disaster responded to by the Red Cross.  I then continued along M-25 to catch glimpses of Lake Huron, and storm clouds building in the sky far away over the cold water.  When I pulled into Port Crescent State Park, I knew I still had plenty of time to set up camp before the storms, yet I felt rushed to complete my camp so I could watch the storm approach while sitting on the beach.

The tin can was ready to be inhabited with 20 minutes to spare.  I walked Rooney while we could still stay dry, then settled into my camp chair under the awning and felt the wind shift as electricity filled the air.  I could actually smell the rain coming, and with the first distant rumble of thunder, I felt my surroundings change as the storm came upon me.

It was a lovely storm; not dangerous from where I was sitting, just a brilliant display of light and sound reminding me of how powerless we are to stop nature, and how lucky we are to experience it.

The storms came and went all weekend, but it didn't stop Rooney and me from exploring the park and meeting other campers.  I have always
found that each state park in Michigan attracts a certain "type" of camper, and at Port Crescent I found the best kind of people.  Every camper I met didn't care what the weather was doing, they had come to enjoy the peace of camping along the shoreline of a Great Lake, get outside to walk slowly and take in their surroundings, and share their stories over a fire.  They were a friendly bunch who respected each other's privacy.  And, of course, they all fell in love with Rooney.

Speaking of Rooney, he once again has a brown tail, instead of his usual black and white.  He really must learn not to back up to the bonfire.  While I appreciate torch light, the smell of burnt hair that still lingers in the tin can is unpleasant, at best, and downright sickening when a rainy day turns the odor to wet, burnt hair.  As with the other times, his hair is so thick he never even knew he was on fire until I tackled him to the ground at beat him with a blanket.  I assure you, his expression quickly reverted to the Newfie "sad look".



All in all, Port Crescent gave me exactly what I needed for this trip.  Sunny days, stormy nights, and wonderful campground hosts who were knowledgable about the area and gave good suggestions for things to do.  The campground is quite secluded, miles from the nearest town of Port Austin, and make sure you fill your gas tank in Caseville before you arrive.  Though the black flies were biting, and there are no trails within the campground, and dogs can't go anywhere near the beach without a DNR officer appearing out of nowhere, the campground was clean and my site was on the beach.  The sunsets were stunning, the driftwood was spectacular, and the staff, hosts, and campers were a friendly group, making my stay rather enjoyable.  For a quiet weekend, I would return there to regain peace and perspective in a busy life.  As a side note, I am most pleased to report that I didn't see a single snake.  They must not have known I was coming.

You've Got Four Wheel Drive, Right? - Part 2

There are times when I choose to get lost in the wilderness.  I can always find my way out eventually.  On this day, however, with Debbie as my partner in crime, I did not choose to get lost.  It just happened.  I only worried about being lost because I just had to make it back to the Two Hearted River to fulfill my childhood dream, and because Debbie was dreaming of a glass of wine waiting for her at the Tahquamenon Falls Brewery while we were driving aimlessly with no food or water.  Or cell phone reception.

Traveling to the U.P. means going back to the time before cell phones and iPads and easy access to the internet, with all its wonderful GPS maps and navigation apps.  Time spent in the U.P. requires that you  be willing to break off all communication from loved ones, friends, and emergency personnel.  Debbie was a little uncomfortable with that.  But as we left the Crisp Point Lighthouse I had a picture in my head of where we needed to go to experience the river of my dreams.  The picture looked something like this:

Please note that nowhere on this map is an indication of, well, anything, but still, I knew where I had to go.  What I hadn't factored into the directions was the Duck Lake Fire, a forest fire that had burned for two weeks back in May and destroyed, in places, all trees and vegetation.  It also apparently destroyed road signs.  We drove back out on 412, but because I didn't know exactly where we were going, I turned left onto 500, going back the way I came, because I had originally planned on taking 414.  Turning right on 414, I told Debbie we just had to follow signs for the Two Hearted River.  Eventually, after passing several unmarked two tracks and dirt lanes, we saw a sign at the junction of 414 and 410.  Wait…we weren't supposed to be this far west.  Hmmmm…

I turned around, deciding to go back to 500 and take 412 to the west.  It took us about an hour to drive back, but once we were on 412 again, I saw a road heading north, unmarked of course, but knew I had to go north and I figured this was 423.

Courtesy of StockPhotoPro, Google Images

It wasn't.  About 100 feet down, we saw a sign that read "Impassable Road".  It didn't look impassable. It just looked like a wide, sandy road, and we've got four-wheel drive, right?  Off we went.

You can guess where this story is going.  The road became impassable.  Not only that, it got pretty difficult to find a spot big enough to turn around.  This wasn't a road, it wasn't 423, it was a logging lane for loggers clearing the land after the Duck Lake Fire.  Keep in mind, we hadn't seen a single logger all day, but supposedly this was the road they would use.  Maybe the monster logging trucks could get through, but we did not want to risk it.

Heading back out to 412, Debbie spotted a woman walking down the road.  We hadn't seen another vehicle, person, or building in the last 90 minutes, so we got pretty excited.  I rolled up to her, leaned out the window, and said "Excuse me?"

The woman turned to us, but did not approach the car, so I called out, asking if she knew where the Two Hearted River is.  She said,

"Yep".

Perhaps living a solitary life in the U.P. teaches one to say less and feel more.  So I asked if she could give us directions.  Her reply,

"You're going the wrong way".

We went back and forth like this for a few minutes, until finally she said we had to turn around and go back to the Impassable Road.  She asked,

"You've got four-wheel drive, right?"  She felt confident that we could make it through.  I then asked her if she lived there full time, and didn't she just love it?

"No."

"No?"

"It's hard work to live here."

Then she walked away.  We turned around, made one more pass at the Impassable Road, got scared, turned around again, and went back to 412.  The woman was gone.

By now we were pretty comfortable with 500 and 414, so we drove back that way.  We encountered a truck with a bear hunter and his son, but they glared at us so we didn't ask them for directions.  At one point, we were going south on 414, past the junction with 410, and we saw a sign pointing to a campground, so we went to explore.  We never found a campground, but in the middle of nowhere, along another uninhabited lake, we found a phone booth.  No, the phone didn't work.  Going northeast again on 414, we came upon another unmarked intersection to the north, and two guys in an open-top red jeep were stopped.  I called out to them,

"Do you know where the Two Hearted River is?"

The driver laughed and said they had just come from that direction, all we had to do was turn here and we would see it just up the road.  Ah, so this must be 423.  The sign had burned down.

We ended up back on the same Impassable Road, but from the other side.  How did this happen?

I could go on with this story, but you are probably getting bored at this point.  Suffice it to say, from the time we left Crisp Point, in the next four hours we passed Culhane Lake 4 times, we drove portions of the Impassable Road 5 times, we passed the boarded up Gas Station at the junction of 414 and 410 twice, and we were losing daylight.  We were tired, hungry, thirsty, and had no idea where we were or where the Two Hearted River was.

My disappointment was mounting.  As we were driving west on 410, hoping that the road to the river was just ahead, we came to a stop sign, and a paved road.  Looking right, I saw a sign advertising Gas and Groceries, 4 miles north.  I said to Debbie,

"This is this the first paved road we've seen in hours.  It has to go somewhere, right?"  By now, it was 5:10pm.  I fully expected that the gas/grocery store ahead had either closed for the day at 5:00pm, or was closed permanently, but we headed that way anyway.  I cannot adequately express to you our jubilation when we crested a rise in the road and saw trucks, store lights, and an "Open" sign.

I needed coffee.  I had a caffeine-deprivation headache, and I needed the warmth and comfort of my ole friend, Java Joe.  If you're assuming that the gas/grocery store had no coffee, you are correct.  But it did have water, and Pepsi, and an ample supply of nutritionally deficient food.  I settled on BBQ chips, while Debbie stocked up on chocolate.  With water and Pepsi and food in our arms, we approached the check-out counter where a rather attractive middle-aged woman was waiting for us.  I asked her if she knew how to get to the Two Hearted River.  Raising an eyebrow, she said,

"Why would you want to go there?"  I explained to her that I had been waiting 37 years to see it again, and the next question she asked was "You've got four-wheel drive, right?"

"See that sign right up the road?  The red one?"  I nodded.  "That's Rabbit Patch Road.  It's not really a road, but you should be able to get through it.  Take that until it ends, turn left on 423, which isn't marked, and keep going until you hit the river.  You can't miss it."  Obviously, she didn't know us.

Courtesy Google Images

Back in the car, we ripped open bottles and packages, devouring sustenance.  Rooney was whining in the back seat, and even though my judgement was questionable in light of the effect butter toffee peanuts had on him, I handed him a bunch of BBQ chips.

 Once I'd had a few guzzles of Pepsi and could feel the caffeine coursing through my veins, I sat back and looked at Debbie.  We were exhausted, it was getting late in the afternoon, and we weren't sure if Rabbit Patch Road was something we wanted to try.  I said,

"Well, what do you think?  If we go south on this paved road, it runs into M-123, which takes us to the campground.  We could be there in 45 minutes."

She pondered a moment, but decided this was my decision to make.

"I'll be back here in the Spring.  I can wait to see the Two Hearted River."  The decision made, we buckled up and headed south on 407.

About 500 feet down the road, we approached the red sign, the one for Rabbit Patch Road.  Suddenly, I just couldn't keep going, I had to see my river.  I whipped the steering wheel left and careened onto Rabbit Patch.  Stopping the car, I said to Debbie,

"I have to try.  I need to see the Two Hearted River".

Courtesy Google Images

God bless Debbie, she popped a Rolo in her mouth and said, "Okay".

The Yukon was still in four wheel drive.  We looked ahead, seeing that Rabbit Patch Road was not really a road.  I wouldn't even call it a two-track.  It looked more like a wide hiking trail.  Debbie and I looked at each other, Rooney groaned in the back seat, I said "Ready?" and we rolled forward.

But again, I've gone on too long, so you'll just have to wait until my next post to find out if I saw my river.  I promise, next time I will bring our story to it's dramatic and stunning conclusion. And hey, thanks for reading!

You've Got Four Wheel Drive, Right? - Part 1

Two women set out on an adventure.  It was supposed to be a three hour tour, but like the Captain and Gilligan, things didn't quite turn out that way.  We got hopelessly lost in the wilderness of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, where friendly strangers who give helpful directions are few and far between.  We did, however, encounter a few strangers who gave bad directions.  They were lost, too.

But being lost in the wilderness isn't always a bad thing, if you are prepared.  We were not.

As we gathered ourselves that morning, we discussed the plan.  Debbie was really nervous about retracing my earlier steps to Clark Lake, but I was being stubborn because I so wanted her to experience it.  I promised her a quick ten minute hike, since I now knew I could drive to the parking area instead of walk to it, take in the beauty of an uninhabited lake, walk ten minutes back to the car and she would be done.  I compromised on the rest of the plan, promising that we would drive more and hike less, and she could stay in the Yukon any time I set out to explore.

I gave us an hour in the plan to see Clark Lake, then we would drive another 30 minutes or so, according to my map, to the Two Hearted River.  This was a very personal quest for me; when I was a young child, my parents took me there, but due to a series of mishaps we only spent a few minutes at the river and I have always dreamed of going back.  Debbie planned to stay in the car for this part, so I gave myself an hour to explore the river, then another 30 minutes back to civilization in the form of a brewery at the Upper Tahquamenon Falls.  I said to Debbie,

"Trust me.  Three hours from now you'll be sipping wine and surrounded by people".

This isn't my idea of exploring the wilderness, but I was so happy that Debbie had agreed to join me, I was willing to alter my adventure to give her some peace of mind.  I wanted her to enjoy it, pushing a little bit outside of her comfort zone without ruining her recent appreciation for camping.

I put a couple of bottles of water in my Yukon, a blanket, my hiking stick, and my gun.  Debbie came out of the tin can wearing designer boots (at least the heel was flat), a ski jacket beautifully accessorized with a silk scarf, and carrying a telescopic pole in one hand, a can of pepper spray in the other.  Huh.
I once again reassured her that we would not see any snakes or bear, or moose, or mountain lions.  Trust me.

Rooney jumped in the back of the Yukon and we set out.  The road to the Clark Lake trail head was only two miles away, but the two-track to the trail was not in very good shape, so it was slow going.  Once we parked, Debbie did not want to get out of the car.  She was a bit dismayed by the fact that we really were in the middle of nowhere, and far removed from civilization.  She admitted to being really scared, but took a few deep breaths and got out of the car.  It wasn't until we had been on the trail for a few minutes that I realized just how frightened she was.  I started regretting my decision to push her, but in the spirit of adventure Debbie forged on.

She kept up a constant stream of noise, holding her pepper spray out in front of her.  She called out to the bear, "Yoo hoo, bear, we're coming!"  She whistled.  She talked.  Loudly.  Finally I begged her to just take in the incredible quiet and beauty around us, but she was incapable, so I joined her by singing patriotic songs at the top of my lungs.  There we were, hiking up a stunning trail in the wilderness, me with my gun at the ready, Debbie calling out and pointing pepper spray in every direction, pointy pole poised in front of her, singing "God Bless America".  Rooney looked back at us like we were crazy.  Maybe we were, but Debbie was out there, putting one foot in front of the other, and I was about to show my friend a place of untouched natural beauty and calm.

Prepper Debbie!

As soon as we came within sight of Clark Lake, Debbie fell silent.  Our surroundings made her fear fall away and her exhilaration return.  Clark Lake is that beautiful!  We sat on the ground at the top of a steep bank overlooking the lake.  There was total silence, broken only by a quick wind.  Even Rooney stopped panting and simply stared at the water.  This is what I wanted Debbie to experience, to feel.  I wanted her to breathe in her surroundings and feel the touch of God on her shoulder.

I think Debbie was a little less scared on the hike back.  Rooney's escapade of stealing the bowl of butter toffee peanuts came back to haunt him several times on that walk.  We never found out if a bear shits in the woods, but Rooney definitely does.  Debbie was visibly relieved to see the car, but she was quieter as we walked, and I hope that she was feeling a bit of what I feel when hiking in the wilderness.

Me, Rooney, and Clark Lake

It wasn't until we drank some water and were safely driving back out the two track that I confessed my dirty little secret to her.  When I had hiked out here a couple of days ago, I saw a snake.  So much for trusting the firewood guy.  Or me.

Rooney tangled around a tree

We were headed to the River!  I was so excited to see it again!  I turned onto a dirt road, County Road 500.  Having studied Google Maps for hours, I knew right where to go.  As we drove north, we passed a turnoff for Culhane Lake.  It looked intriguing.  We turned around and went back to take pictures, encountering three men who were scouting out fishing places.  Chatting with them, I mentioned where we were going, and they remarked that they didn't know where the Two Hearted River is, but assumed we were heading to Crisp Point to see the lighthouse.  Since Debbie has never seen a lighthouse, I asked them how far away it is.  They said it was just seven miles up the road, saying,

"You've got four-wheel drive, right?"

We altered our plan a bit and followed signs for Crisp Point.

Crisp Point was one of four original Lake Superior Life Saving Stations.  Fifteen acres of land with a quarter mile of Lake Superior frontage were purchased in 1903 for $30, and the light became operational in 1904.  Since then, the severe weather conditions of Lake Superior have decreased the acreage through erosion to less than 3 acres today.  The tower stands 58' in height, and the station included a service building attached to the tower, a two family brick keepers house, a fog signal building, a boat house, oil house, and barn.  Over the years, all buildings have been so vandalized that in 1965 the Coast Guard destroyed all buildings except the lighthouse tower and the attached service building.  Storms and erosion have also taken a toll on the structures.  In 1993, the light was decommissioned, but since then the Luce County Historical Society has taken over the lease and raised funds to restore the service building, build the visitor center, construct boardwalks, and bring in large boulders and vegetation to slow down the effects of erosion.  Today, it stands as a reminder to days gone by, and is wonderfully restored for visitors to enjoy.

The dirt county road 414 to Crisp Point was treacherous as soon as we left 500, but well marked with signs telling us how many miles we had to go.  About a mile in, I had to stop and engage four wheel drive, then we blundered onward.  Those seven miles took about 45 harrowing minutes to drive, but worth every second of panic when the wheels spun and  the car slid around hairpin turns.  All of a sudden the road ended and we were staring at a concrete building with a parking lot.  I said to Debbie,

"Oh, thank God, there's a bathroom!"

We parked, and as I approached the bathroom I burst out laughing at the sign on the door.

Debbie and I went into the Visitors Center, where there is information about the Lighthouse and sweatshirts and other trinkets.  We each bought a Crisp Point sweatshirt to always remember our adventure by, then Debbie asked the keeper about wildlife.  He took us outside and showed us the tracks of a very large bear that had walked through that morning, with her cub.  Debbie's eyes got very big at the sight of them, and she asked the keeper about coyote (yup) and foxes (yup) and moose (plenty) and mountain lions.  The keeper replied, "We have cougars.  Those are mountain lions".

"Trust me?  TRUST me?" she said to me.  I'm pretty sure Debbie will never trust me again.

Debbie and the Bear Track

The Keeper's Camper

Crisp Point Lighthouse is immaculately cared for by a procession of keepers who have the privilege of guarding over it for a 5 day stretch.  This keeper had his motorhome parked by the shop, he told us he was only able to get it there because the road is in such good shape at the moment.  That was the road in good shape?  I wouldn't be able to drive it if it was in bad shape.  We walked out to the lighthouse, climbed to the top, and snapped pictures of the breathtaking view.

Boardwalk to Lighthouse

Back at the car, I let Rooney out and asked the keeper if he could walk on the beach.  Normally, that's not allowed, but there were so few people around, he said it would be okay.  Of course, he was unaware of Rooney's digestive problem, and I forgot about it.  Rooney and I joined Debbie on the shore of Lake Superior, I unsnapped his leash, and he had the time of his life!  Running head down into the waves, diving, swimming, running out onto the beach, up to the woods, and back again.  He acted like a puppy, and I loved being able to allow Rooney to have his own adventure!  As we walked, he ran down the beach when suddenly I saw him stop, back up, and squat.  I yelled "Nooooooooo!" but it was too late.  Marking the spot with a piece of driftwood, I later had to walk back with a plastic bag.  Damn butter toffee peanuts.

Rooney Enjoying the Beach!

Walking back to the parking lot, we encountered an older couple who called out "Hey!  It's Rooney!"  Wondering how my dog got to be so famous, I then recognized the couple from the campground.  They couldn't remember my name, but they knew my dog's.  Whatever.

We spent two hours at Crisp Point, and even though we were way off schedule, it was worth it, because the beauty and the peace we experienced walking on the beach rejuvenated us for the rest of the day.  Debbie got to climb to the top of her first Lighthouse, we took our shoes off and let the frigid waters of Lake Superior numb our feet, and Debbie didn't make any noise walking on the beach.  It was blissful.

As we were leaving, I asked the keeper if he knew how to get to the Two Hearted River from Crisp Point.  He had never heard of it (apparently he doesn't read Hemingway either) but I thought if we retraced our route back to 500, I would be able to get us there.

Rooney was passed out in the backseat, the sun was warming our faces, and this unpredicted gorgeous day in October was just about perfect.  Our water bottles were empty, we were getting hungry and didn't have any food, but we would still make it to the brewery by 2:00pm, I assured Debbie, and with my four wheel drive engaged, we left Crisp Point for the Two Hearted River.   Only 30 minutes, and I would make another dream come true!

That 30 minutes turned into 6 hours, but that's a story for another day.