Porcupine Mountains Series: Some Final Thoughts

As far as mountains go, the Porkies are not very big.  They are nothing like the Rockies, or the Tetons, or K2, Denali, and Everest.  But they are older than all of those other mountains; in fact, they are the oldest mountains in North America, and the second oldest in the world.  The Porcupine Mountains also have a rich history, and many other distinguishing characteristics.

Despite my excitement to explore the mountains upon my arrival, I first stopped at the Visitors Center.  The Michigan Department of Natural Resources has an excellent reputation for providing information and helpful tips for visiting any of the state parks, and I found this center to be particularly helpful in understanding what I had gotten myself into this time.  Mounted boards told the story of the Porkies, and I greedily read each one, absorbing as much information as I could to enhance my hiking.

Over a billion - yes, I said billion - years ago, far below the surface of the earth, the crust began to shift and pull apart, or "rift".  The bedrock of the Porcupine Mountains belongs to the Keweenawan Supergroup, a thick sequence of volcanic and sedimentary rock deposited throughout the rifts.  As the mid-continental drift was developing across Michigan, and as far south as Kansas, volcanic eruptions continued over millions of years.  Some 40 million years after the first rift rocks were deposited, shifting tectonic plates uplifted areas along the rift, forming the Porcupine Mountains.  In the past several million years, the mountains have been eroded flat, and pushed up again, several times!

In other places in the world, these rift rocks lie buried, but in the Lake Superior region, they are exposed.  Over 40,000 years ago, glacial movement carved out the Great Lakes, and deposited sediment to the area to give birth to the shape, flora and fauna of the Porcupine Mountains.

This is all fascinating scientific information, almost incomprehensible, but it's not what I thought about while hiking.

Google Images

Even though the Porcupine Mountains are very old, they are easier to access than other mountain ranges.  You don't need any fancy equipment, or permits to climb.  You won't have to fix any lines, or belay, or hang from a cliff in a tent at night.  You don't even need a particularly adventurous spirit.  If you can walk, you can hike the Porkies.  It helps to
be a somewhat active person, but even if you are not, you can see some of the grandeur by walking.  But if you want to experience all that the mountains are, its best to hike and immerse yourself in the environment.

P.J. Hoffmaster, Google Images

I am very fortunate to be able to do this, and to live in a State that recognized the importance of preserving these mountains for all of us to enjoy.  People like P.J. Hoffmaster, Raymond Torrey, W.C. Edens, Governors Harry Kelly and George Romney, and the fine people of Michigan's DNR were responsible for acknowledging and

Governor George Romney
Google Images

protecting the natural and historical significance of the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park.  But I wasn't really thinking about them either, as I continued to hike up and up the Escarpment Trail, until I became a solitary figure standing at the top.

I climbed a mountain.  I didn't need picks and ropes, or a partner to climb with.  I had a day-pack on my back with water, granola bars, and a basic first aid kit.  I had a small camera and a knife in my pocket.  My dog climbed with me.  After a half day of hiking, I stood on top of a mountain, and looked out over Lake of the Clouds, and realized I was standing on rock that formed over a billion years ago.  But I wasn't really thinking about science and rifts and volcanos and glaciers.  I was wondering about the other explanation for the birth of the world; I was thinking about God.

In the Bible, the book of Genesis has God creating the world in 6 days.  We know that's not true, at least not in the way we understand time.  So I asked my favorite Priest, Fr. Geoff Rose, about science and creation.  He explained that those who wrote Genesis were not trying to give an historical and scientific explanation of earth, they were sharing their experience of God.  For Fr. Rose personally, he sees the "four billion years of the universe as proof of how awesome and intricate creation is, and how patient God is with creation".

I often hear people say standing among the mountains reminds them of how insignificant their lives are; they lose themselves to nature, allowing it to lessen their petty worries and let the vastness and complicated balance of nature bring them peace.  When I stood at the top of the mountain, I understood that, to science, I am insignificant.  I am a tiny, tiny speck in the world, unseen and unknown.  But to God, I am huge.  I matter.  I can make a difference.  Like the mountains, I can teach, and bring balance, and be beautiful.  I can be grounded flat and rise up again.  I can turn my worries over to my faith, and be like the mountain, strong, living, giving, and balanced.


That's what I thought about on the mountain.  I didn't feel small; I felt empowered and inspired to go home and do more.  Love more.  Be more.  God created me, and placed His faith in me to do what I can to make the world a little bit better.   I will try, and sometimes fail, to live up to God's promise for me, knowing that He will be patient with me, His creation.

I had the distinct thought that I was lying in the hands of God.  Later that day, when I returned to the tin can, I came upon a centuries-old tree stump that Lake Superior had carried to shore from some distant place.  It looked like a hand, turned up, waiting to cradle me, and I smiled.  I had gotten a wink and a nod from the Big Guy, and I knew that I was where I was supposed to be.









I climbed a mountain.  I will climb many more, always knowing that when I stand on top and look out over the vastness, I am not a tiny speck.  I am significant.  I am huge!

The Porcupine Mountains Series Part 1: Hallowed Hollow Ground

I like trees.  This is a bit of an ongoing argument at my house, because Scuba likes to cut down trees.  I understand his concern with things like pine needles and leaves clogging eaves troughs, and roots
infringing on the driveway.  However, I always point out the trees were here first, so I win.

If I could get Scuba to take a day-long hike through the Porcupine Mountains, I might be able to change his way of thinking.  A long time ago, before settlers arrived in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota, those lands contained 81 million acres of undisturbed, closed-canopy forest.  About half of this land consisted of forests of sugar maple, eastern hemlock, yellow birch, American basswood, northern red oak, and eastern white pine.  Today, less than 0.2% of these hardwood-hemlock forests survive as virgin (never been logged) forests.  The largest of these virgin forests is in the Porcupine Mountains, with 35,000 acres of relatively undisturbed hardwoods and hemlocks.*

I only saw a fraction of that while hiking the Porkies, but it is really something to see.

It's not that portions of the Porcupine Wilderness has never been logged.  In the late 1800's, tracts of land were purchased to log the white pine and cedar stands.  Sadly, remnants of the logging era still remain today, where century-old pine stumps can be seen all along the Lake Superior shoreline.*  But the difficulties of logging in this wilderness area pushed the logging barons to other places by the early 1900's.  As technology advanced, some logging activity took place until the early 1940's.  The last logging operations in the Porcupine Mountains occurred in 1953-1954, after a wind storm left a blowdown of centuries-old trees between the mouth of the Big Carp River and Summit Peak.  After the storm, park officials contracted with Connor Lumber and Land Company to salvage the timber in exchange for land the park wanted.  When the salvage of the timber was complete in 1954, the Michigan Conservation Commission declared the Porcupine Mountains a Nature Reserve, thereby protecting the remaining virgin stands from further logging.*

Darkness in Daylight

My favorite tree is the Hemlock.  When hiking on Government Peak trail to the top of a
mountain is halted by a majestic 400 year old tree, I can't just walk around it.  I must take a moment to study its solidity, its gnarled roots visible below my feet, yet stretching deep into the mountain rock for stability.  Standing under its branches, I am awed by the darkness at the height of day, the mighty Hemlock blocking the warmth of the sun, yet radiating its own heat down on the earth.  I am humbled by its strength, inspired by its endurance, and joyful at its beauty.

As I hiked, I noticed from time to time my footsteps made a hollow sound, like I was walking on a drum, and I wondered about it.
Later, a visit with Bob Wild of the DNR shed some light on this phenomenon.  The mountains are a result of millions of years of volcanic eruptions and tetonic plates moving around, and have a strong foundation of rock.  The Hemlocks traveled through pollination and took root in the glacial deposits and rock, but the roots necessarily grow down through the earth.  In various places, especially where the virgin Hemlocks stand, the root formations under the rock have created pockets of air, or hollow places.  At first I found this unsettling, but Bob explained that the roots serve to strengthen the framework under the ground.  He pointed out that the "hollow" ground on which I walked felt very hard and solid.  As my time progressed in the mountains, I came to think of these areas as walking on hallowed, hollow ground.  Bob liked my description.

Those same roots, exposed above the crust of the mountain, act like fingers, reaching out to claw and grab.  It is entirely possible that a lone hiker could find herself having some difficulty navigating the Hemlock roots, which brings up the age old question; if a hiker stumbles and trips her way up (and occasionally, back down) a trail, but no one is there to see it, did it really happen?  So I found myself being quick and light of foot, following in the steps of my American Indian ancestors with speed and agility on my hike.  That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

The entire 7.3 mile hike up Government Trail was made worth it by the rest stop I took at Trap Falls.  Stumbling…um, I mean, gracefully stepping, into a designated backcountry campsite, complete with a bear pole, and finding a rustic outpost of the most delightful design, was a much welcome respite from the hike.  Many others who had traveled this way before me had created an outdoor home complete with chairs, tables, fire pit, and the soothing sound of Trap Falls cascading into the Carp River.

Rooney ran down the steep bank to drink from the cool, clear water, while I sat on a log and drank my bottled water.  I looked up, at the mighty Hemlocks.  I looked over, at the bear pole where countless hikers have hung their food.  I looked around, at the natural impression in the mountain that gives a small but flat place to set up camp.  I looked down, at the water flowing over and around ancient rocks, and I thought "God is good, and Michigan's DNR is awesome."

I stayed longer than I should have, but found it difficult to leave this magical speck of earth.  As I climbed up the steep bank back to the trail, a Hemlock branch was there to give me a hand up.  In gratitude, I saluted the tree, and envied its post.  To be a sentinel over this beautiful mountain, and this very spot where people seek shelter, is a duty that can only be given by God.

Eastern Hemlock can be found throughout the park.  They can live 500 years or more, and reach 100 feet in height.


Arriving here from the eastern Allegheny forests 3,000 years ago, their thick canopy of needles provides not just shade from the sun, but shelter in the winter, attracting deer in the snowy months.  Hemlock stands become deer yards during the winter, where the deer feed on buds and needles.  The tannins in the needles and bark of the Hemlocks also creates the reddish-brown color of the streams and rivers in the park through runoff.*  All through my hike up to Government Peak, I marveled at the Hemlocks, seeing the effects of them everywhere I looked.  They are a living, dynamic presence which urged me to keep going, even as I tired.

Root growing over Rock

I found a sense of inspiration in the woods.  The Hemlock will not be daunted, giving me the idea that the next time someone challenges me to a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, I want to be a Tree!

Throughout my hikes up the mountains, I forged ahead, I reached the top, and I came back down.  I followed the rules, carrying out my empty water bottles and granola bar wrappers.  Because God has given us this amazing place, but the DNR, hikers, and nature lovers are bestowed with the responsibility of keeping it amazing, I was careful not to disturb the balance or leave anything but footprints, and possibly a little bit of flesh and blood from my leg, but that's a story for another time.  I hope that someday, my husband will walk the mountains with me, and see what I've seen, and never cut down another healthy tree again.  Then again, he usually cuts them down when I'm not home, so if I'm not there to see the tree fall, did he really fell the tree?  That's his story, and he's sticking to it.

*All of the historical and environmental information in this post comes from The Last Porcupine Mountains Companion, Fifth Edition, by Michael Rafferty and Robert Sprague, published by Nequaker Natural History Associates, 2012.   I strongly recommend reading this book prior to a visit to the Porcupine Mountains.  It will not only give you helpful tips for exploring the park, but will also enhance your understanding of what you will experience here.

In the Back of My Mind…

I have an idea.  Whenever I utter these words out loud, my family groans and says, "Good God, what now?"  They know when I get an idea, it will become an obsession, and it will cost them.

There was the time I got this idea that I could be a professional photographer.

 Which I was, for a while.  Let's not forget the idea I had to take every photo I've ever captured, organize them, and make beautiful memory albums.  One year and several hundred dollars later, I completed the first of one memory album.  I once had the idea that if I joined the Junior Welfare League, I could learn how to fit in where I live, be part of a community.  I was eventually kicked out of Junior League.  They weren't ready for me.

But as I've grown older, I've gotten smarter, and these days, my ideas are better.  They are born of my true passions, so naturally my ideas are more possible.

How about when I got the idea to buy a simple camper at a cheap price to have a place to sleep, off the ground?  Actually, that idea turned out great, at least for me.  Even though my husband, Scuba,  has put a considerable amount of time and money into the tin can over the last 14 years, he knows it's been worth it.  I may have
completely renovated the trailer, but it still feels simple.  My family feels better about me going to the ends of the earth (or the U.P.) knowing at night I am locked inside with heat, water, and a bathroom.

But one of my better ideas was born when I was a child, and rekindled when I read Joseph Heywood's "Woods Cop" Series, about a Conservation Officer in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.  Even though his stories are fiction, the place is very real.  I found myself drawn to the U.P. again, wanting to see and

Courtesy josephheywood.com

feel and experience this wilderness and be a part of it.  So I got this idea to travel there as often as possible with the tin can, live in the wilderness for brief periods, and write about it.  I can't say it has brought me any success, but it sure has brought me a lot of joy and peace.

Most of my ideas cost money I don't have, and involve me being away from home.  Ice climbing (which was awesome), kayaking, hiking, camping, taking pictures, and writing are all things that make me a better, stronger person.

This latest idea came to me during my most recent trip.  After years of dreaming and planning, I finally made it to the Porcupine Mountains, though all my planning did not prepare me for the awesome beauty and wild nature.  I spent my days hiking with Rooney, climbing mountains, splashing through streams, and seeing the most beautiful and complex ecosystem that has survived for over a million years, untouched by human intervention.  It is a wild and free place, and gave my soul wings.  I wanted to stand at the top of the Escarpment Trail and scream "I am here!" but found the silence too overwhelming to disturb.

I have many stories to tell, which I will over the next few months.  In the meantime, this idea is growing in my mind, and I've already begun researching ways to make it happen.

On my way into the Porcupine Mountains State Park, I made a quick stop at the Visitors Center.  My eyes immediately went to the shelves of books, and I bought two; a companion guide, and "The Porcupine Wilderness Journals", by Christopher, Stacey, and James Fralish  (Copyright The Stacis Group, LTD 2001).  In each of the rustic cabins available in the park for hikers, there is a journal.  Guests are invited to write of their experience in the cabin.  The Fralish family compiled a collection of excerpts from these journals, which I eagerly looked forward to reading each night by the fire.

Some of the stories were about small groups of women who endured challenges and struggles during their time in a cabin, but bonded and grew together from the experience.  I thought it would be amazing to hike here (all of the cabins have to be reached by hiking) with some female friends, but quickly remembered I don't have any friends who would be crazy enough to do it.  As I read more and more, it occurred to me that my favorite entries were from solitary hikers who came in the winter months to find absolute peace and quiet.

Hmmmm…three nights in a rustic cabin, with no water and no electricity?  Hiking in extreme weather with a heavy pack, and possibly pulling a sled, just to get to an isolated cabin that is cold and empty?  Having to find and chop firewood just to get warm?  Seeking a fresh water source for hydration and cooking?  Going outside at 3:00am to pee?  Sounds heavenly!

Courtesy porkies.org
Dan's Cabin

The journal stories do not romanticize the cabins in any way.  They speak honestly of how difficult it is to get there, especially in winter, and how much hard work is involved once you have arrived.  Previous inhabitants wrote of the eerie silence at night, the total darkness, and the utter sense of being all alone.  There are tales of raging blizzards and deep cold.  But in all of the stories, there was an underlying sense of complete contentment.

I want to experience this hardship, and this contentment.  So the idea has been born, to go it alone in the winter to a remote cabin with no utilities or comforts of home.  Cell phone signals are nonexistent.  Computers and TV's have no place in the Porkies.  I've got the snow shoes and pack.  I just need a sled, water purification tablets, and canine booties for Rooney.  Oh, and waterproof matches.  And candles.  And courage.  But first, I need the courage to actually tell my husband about my idea.

I know what all the arguments will be.  He will urge me to go in the summer, when there are plenty of other hikers about.  But there are also plenty of snakes about in the summer.  He will worry about blizzards which would prevent me from getting out.  I am not known for being particularly graceful, so what if I fall and get hurt on the hike in?  These are all valid concerns, only because Scuba has never seen me in my own element, he has never watched me live alone in the wilderness, and he has no comprehension of how capable I am.  Not just capable, but I love a lifestyle of having to fend for myself while living off the land.  I will promise him to take every precaution possible.  But if it were going to be easy, why would I do it?  I want the challenge, and the misery of the cold, and the sense of accomplishment when night falls and my cabin is warm, my belly is full, and the quiet is absolute.

Trust me, it will happen.  I may not be able to convince my family this year, but eventually I will, because my idea is already becoming an obsession, and most often, my family gives consent just to shut me up.

Some people do not write stories in the journals; they draw pictures or pen a poem.  But one of my favorite entries comes from the Section 17 Cabin Journal, May 1974:

I came not to conquer and

subdue the earth

But to let the earth conquer

and subdue me

Wilderness Studies Club

When the time comes, I will be ready to be conquered and subdued.  See, I have this idea…