The Porcupine Mountains Series Part 3: We All Need Something To Hang On To

burberry.com

Boots.  Tall, rubber, waterproof boots.  That was what I needed.

About three years ago, I saw a picture of my beautiful and very fashionable niece wearing a pair of Burberry boots at a tailgate party.  I was fascinated with her boots.  They looked so…safe.

muckboots.com

Then last summer my nephew, who had been pouring concrete, dropped by my house wearing tall rubber Muck boots.  I kept staring at his feet, thinking they looked so safe.

Do you ever get an idea in your head that has no basis for credibility but you believe it anyway?  You believe it because you have to?  This is what happened to me with the tall rubber boots.  I got this idea in my head that if I wore tall rubber boots, the snakes couldn't get me.  I came to believe that if I wore those boots while hiking, the appearance of a reptile with no legs would not throw me into a complete panic, because my boots would protect me.  Snakes can't suddenly cross over your foot and climb up your pant leg when you're wearing tall rubber boots.  They can't strike at you through thick rubber.  The boots would keep me safe.  I believed it, I needed that thought to hold onto, and I knew I would never experience a completely peaceful hike without those boots.

But the boots are not cheap, and since I am always stockpiling my money for gas to take my trips to the U.P. of Michigan, boots were not in the budget.  At least, not until my compassionate husband surprised me with a pair of Hunter boots, complete with fleece liners.  They…are…awesome, as is my husband.

Armed with my tall rubber boots, I headed into the Porcupine Mountains with confidence.

Since I spent my first day in the mountains not hiking while I dealt with a shredded tire on the tin can, I had ample opportunity to meet other hikers in the campground.  Asking each of them where they had hiked so far was always accompanied with an inquiry into the snake population out there on the trails.  The 4 Guys had hiked the entire 17 miles of the Lake Superior Trail in one day, and saw two snakes.  The hunter had just emerged from several days of backcountry camping; he saw lots of snakes.  When I asked the couple next to me if they saw any snakes on the Presque Isle trails, they casually replied "oh, just a few".

The freakishly warm weather in October was keeping the snakes of the Porkies active.  No worries; I had my boots.

The next morning, after the sudden storm of the night before, I walked Rooney early.  Wearing my Hunter boots, I headed up the drive through the campground to a field where Rooney could sniff all the bushes.  Along the way, there was a short stretch of road that had deep brush on either side, with tall grasses and wild flowers.  As I strolled through this wild alley, I saw something on the ground.  Upon

closer inspection, I realized it was a snake, which had come out of the weeds seeking the heat of the asphalt after the storm, only to be flattened by a late night arrival of an RV to the campground.  I'll be honest; my heart did that little skip-a-beat thing it does, but I stayed calm.  I had my boots to protect me in the unlikely event that the early morning sunshine would breathe life back into the flat snake.  I kept going, with even breaths and a new-found confidence.

However, stepping foot on the Presque Isle trail gave me pause.  I mean, these snakes would be alive.  I pulled myself up by my boot straps - quite literally - and hiked with confidence.  Over the next several days I hiked many miles on
many trails.  The only time I took my boots off was when I went to bed each night.  They were comfortable, kept my feet dry in muddy areas, and warm.  Most important, my boots removed my fear.  I didn't want to see a snake, but I didn't worry about it either.

Google Images

The funny thing is, I never saw a single snake, except for the dead one in the drive of the campground. I think I am the only hiker that was in the Porcupine Mountains that week who never came across a snake, which leads me to believe my boots have magical powers.  They don't just protect me from snakes, they scare them away!  Hey, we all need something to hang on to.


I love my Hunter boots, and I love my husband for getting them for me.  Next year, I might even hike the Cedar Swamps.  Okay, no I won't.  I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid!

Cedar Swamp, Porcupine Mountains
Courtesy of Google Images

A Conveniently Located Hanging Tree

People with a debilitating phobia learn to avoid certain situations, so you would think I knew better.  As much time as I spend outdoors, hiking in the wilderness and deep woods, I shy away from areas that present the perfect environment for snakes.  Tall grass, wet and marshy fields, and rivers are the prime places for me to skirt around.  I know this.  I do it all the time.  Except this time.

I had traveled a day ahead of my family to the village of Empire in the Sleeping Bear Dunes to set up camp for our annual Family Camping Trip.  It's always a great weekend, with camping much less an emphasis than a whirlwind tour of all the area tourists attractions.  My husband loves tourist attractions. We were exploring the entire Leelanau Peninsula this year, since we try to go someplace new every year.

I love the annual Family Camping Trip, but struggle with camping in my beloved northern Michigan and spending all my time with crowds, overpriced food, and busy streets.  I want to be in the woods!  Early morning of the day my family would arrive was the only time I would be able to wander alone in the woods.  I made a quick stop at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore Visitor's Center, in search of a Trail Map, to fulfill a promise I made to my daughter, Birdie, to scout out some running trails for her as she is training for her first half-marathon.  The Visitor Center is very well staffed, with many exhibits and plenty of informational brochures available.  I found a Trail Guide, and purchased it on the Honor System by dropping a couple of dollars in the "Friends of Sleeping Bear Dunes" box.  Another reason to love the wilds of Michigan.  Do you think a visit to any big city would include payments on an honor system?

Looking through the guide, I found a nearby trail system that would be easy for Birdie to access and drove a few miles to Esch Beach, within the National Lakeshore.  It wasn't particularly easy to find, and the old road that dead-ends at the beach is hilly with the asphalt washed-out on the edges.  Because it was still early, I walked through a small dune and came out on a completely deserted Lake Michigan beach, with dunes rising up behind me and the lake rushing toward me.  The sun was shining on dewey dune grass, making the dunes sparkle like diamonds.  I had found a very private stretch of beach and could not have been more delighted.

To my left, a small, crystal-clear creek emptied into the great lake.  According to my map, this was Otter Creek.  After walking the shoreline in solitude for about an hour, I returned to my car and found a sign located next to the vault toilet giving the history of the lost town of Aral.

It's a fascinating story.  According to Michigan's Lost Towns, Aral was a logging community in the late 1800's.  But perhaps its most intriguing story is not told on the official plaque at Esch Beach.  Behind the sign a very old, large tree lies on the ground, having toppled over a long time ago.  It's called The Hanging Tree.  On August 10, 1899, two Benzie County deputies were sent to Aral to place a lien on the stacked logs at the mill for unpaid taxes.  Mill Manager Charles Wright met the deputies on the road with a pistol and a rifle, and shot them dead.  The bodies were left where they fell and the mill continued operations as though nothing had happened.  As news of the double murder spread, the people of Aral became increasingly angry, and sent a telegram to Benzonia to inform the sheriff of the trouble.  As the sheriff dispatched a posse of twenty men to apprehend Wright, the mill manager shut down operations and disappeared into the woods.

Courtesy National Park Service

By the time the posse arrived, the angry mob was out for revenge.  Charles Wright had employed a man to act as interpreter for the Ottawa Indians, and Peter Lahala was thought to know the whereabouts of his boss.  The posse dropped a noose around Lahala's neck, and the Indian was hoisted in the air from the hanging tree.  The sheriff lowered him, asked where Wright was, and when Lahala couldn't answer, they hoisted him up again.  Before this grim justice could be fully carried out, Wright was dragged from the woods after being captured by a group of men, and Lahala was released.  Wright was sentenced to a life of hard labor at Jackson Prison.  One year later, his sentence was commuted by the Governor.

I find stories like these add so much more to my experience in a particular spot.  I drove my car about 50 feet up the road, and turned off at the trailhead.  A single-lane dirt two track led to several trailheads, so I kept driving to find the best trail for Birdie.  I knew she needed to run at least 12 miles, so I consulted the trail guide and started marking the different loops she could take.  As I drove further, I

Courtesy Google Images

saw Otter Lake on my right, and immediately thought I was in prime snake territory.  Going deeper into the woods, I stopped at Marker #4 and got out to walk, veering away from the marshy banks on the lake.  I walked a bit in my beloved woods, circled back to my car, and prepared to head back to the campground and wait for my family.  I had a clear idea of the route Birdie would run, and felt good that I was able to find it for her.

Driving out, I noticed many clumps of wildflowers growing right next to the dirt road.  With such a narrow lane, I figured I could lean out of my car window and cut some wildflowers for my vase at the campsite.  I was nervous, knowing that that proximity of the lake and the long wild grass and flowers were great hiding spots for reptiles, but I was able to cut several flowers without stepping outside of the car.  As I came upon the bridge over Otter Creek, I spotted the most unusual clump of flowers, right next to the corner of the bridge.  They were beautiful!  I told myself that I had enough flowers, I was pushing my luck, and I would actually have to step out of the car to cut these.  River, dense undergrowth, bridge, shade on a hot morning, all screamed at me to just keep driving.  I stopped.  The flowers really were breathtaking.  I leaned out the window and scanned the ground, particularly around the base of the flowers.  I took one of the cut flowers and threw it out the window, to see if anything moved on the ground.  The morning was quiet, I saw no movement, and decided I was safe.

Open the car door.  Grab the scissors.  Put one foot on the ground next to the bridge flowers.  Keep one foot in the car.  Lean over, grab the whole bunch of flowers, and make one quick cut.  That was my plan.  As I reached down to cut, a very large, very black snake reared up from the center of the bunch…ohshitohshitohshitgetinthecarouch!slammedmyfootinthedoorohshitohshitohshit!  I hit the gas with the car door still open, called my husband, who was still driving north with the kids, and saw my world turning black around the edges.  When my husband answered, he knew what had happened right away.  He's heard that wheezing and moaning before.  He said, "Are you in the car?  Pull over, pull over!"  He knew chances were good I was about to faint.

I actually handled it well this time, considering the size of the snake and the surprise attack it launched at me.  I kept driving, resisted blacking out, and my husband talked me through it.  I was pretty shaky for several hours, and experienced flashbacks, but I didn't faint, so that's progress.

Later that afternoon, after my husband arrived, I drove him out Esch Road to take him and my son to the deserted beach I had walked earlier.  No longer deserted, we couldn't even park, so we drove out and I instructed him to turn down the dirt road to the bridge so I could show him where "the incident" occurred and let him check out Birdie's running route.   As he slowly drove over the bridge, my son hung his head out the window and said, "Oh yeah, there's your snake, Mom".    GoGoGoGoGoGo!  We peeled out of there, spraying dirt and small rocks behind us, and went back to the safety of the campsite.

Later that night, Birdie arrived at the campground with her boyfriend.  After greeting them, I hugged my daughter and said "Guess what?  I found your running trail today!"  She smiled and replied,

"Oh, thanks, mom, but you didn't need to.  I plan to take a break from running this weekend."

This would be an ironic end to my story, wouldn't it? Sadly, I'm an idiot, and the story isn't finished yet.

On the last morning of the Annual Family Camping Trip, I once again arose very early, and decided to drive back to Otter Creek Bridge to get a picture for my blog.  No sane person with a snake phobia would have returned there, but again, I had a plan.  Turning onto the dirt two-track, I stopped the car immediately, left it running, and using a 300mm zoom digital camera lens, leaned out the window to snap a photo of the bridge, where "the incident" happened.  A wild rabbit hopped across the lane, and I shot a beautiful picture of the rabbit sitting right in the spot where the vicious snake attacked me.  Backing out of the dirt road, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Now, I would never again return to the Otter Creek Bridge.

I had my shot for the blog, my family headed home, and I went north to spend a few days in the U.P.
 While there, a huge storm blew in, and I spent a cozy evening in the tin can, with the rain beating down on the roof and the wind gently rocking the camper back and forth.  I passed the time by downloading all my pictures onto the computer, and when the photo of the rabbit at the bridge came up, I thought it was a really pretty picture.  The sun was hitting the rabbit's back, making its fur shine.  The colors were glorious, the picture was perfect.  Wait…what is that long black thing in the lower right corner of the screen?  A stick?  A root?  Zoom in…ohshitohshitohshitohshit!

Yup, you guessed it.  My attack snake was crossing the road in front of my car when I took the picture. I never saw it until I zoomed in on the frame, safe in the tin can staring at my computer.

The next time I decide to go to Otter Creek Bridge, would someone please erect the fallen Hanging Tree and threaten me with it?

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.

The End of The Story…But Not The Journey!

Even though this story is too long already, I will continue, because it's almost over, and I promised my readers I would finish it this time, so here we go…

After spending eleven hours in the wilderness, lost at times, and completely unprepared, we had finally returned to the old Airstream and settled in for the night.  However, when I turned the light off at midnight, I found that I couldn't sleep.  I could hear Debbie flipping and flopping in her bed, and I was suddenly wide awake.  Calling to the front of the tin can, I said,

"I'm wide awake."

Debbie replied,

"Bonfire?"

We jumped up, went outside, lit the torches again, stoked up the fire, and got our camp chairs out.  Rooney chose to stay in the camper, and I made hot chocolate which may or may not have had a little Peppermint Schnapps in it.  

Because we were now safely in familiar territory, we began recounting our day with a different spin on it.  Looking back, we found it to be rather hilarious.  I'm not sure if the memories we made that day were really that funny, or if the exhaustion had finally demented our minds, or if the alleged schnapps played a role, but we laughed hysterically for the next hour and a half.

During the course of this very long day, we hiked to Clark Lake, we saw Culhane Lake, we explored Crisp Point Lighthouse.  We saw bear tracks.  We walked the beach where my dog ran free.  We met an old and bitter woman, and saw a phone booth where no phone booth should be.  We searched for cell phone reception and forget about OnStar.  We never saw a snake, a bear, a moose, or a mountain lion, but we saw the effects of a recent forest fire, and walked on a bouncy bridge.  We breathed in the Two Hearted River.

It was a good day, the best kind of day, because very little went according to plan.  

We learned to throw away the plan, and let the wilderness take us down a new path.  Debbie learned to trust me again, and I learned to trust her, to trust that she is stronger than she believes.  When I finally went to bed for the second time that night, I slept deeply.  I no longer dreamt of the Two Hearted River, because it was now a living thing inside of me, the river became part of me.  I was so filled with its delicate balance that I became balanced.  It is the reason I came to the U.P. and the reason for my memorable adventure with Debbie and Rooney.  I will hold on to that memory forever!

So this is the end of the story, but…we still had a few more days to go, and trust me (you really can you know) I have new stories to tell!

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.

The Toll Booth Is On The Wrong Side!

Debbie is coming, Debbie is coming, Debbie is coming!  Today was the day my friend Debbie would join me for a few days, and I was so excited for her arrival!  Let me tell you a little bit about my friend.

Courtesy of Google Images

Back in the day, when Debbie and I were stalking members of Fleetwood Mac during their "Say You Will Tour" and beyond, we would take long road trips to follow the band to various states for concerts. While I drove (because I'm OCD and I have to be the driver) Debbie would pull magazines from a huge satchel, flip through the pages, and tear out any page that had something pretty on it.  This…drove…me…crazy.  One simply does not destroy a perfectly good magazine by ripping out pages.  She would then remove the mailing label and save the magazine carcass for recycling, filing away the ripped out pages.  Debbie has boxes and boxes full of files for "pretty things".  I was grotesquely fascinated with her obsession, like when you have to slow down to look at a car wreck.  With the advent of Pinterest, Debbie now has more boards than anyone I know, with a board for every color, every room of her house, every outside area, every accessory, even a board for different types of clothes.  She will pin one picture to umpteen different boards.  Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and I asked her why.  Why, in the name of all that is good on God's green earth, does she file away all these pictures?

Her answer is simple.  She likes pretty things.

Debbie takes the challenges she has faced in life and turns them into opportunities to grow, and she seeks the positive lesson in every situation.  She knows the world can be an ugly place, so she wants to make it pretty.  She is even dreaming of starting a website that connects people with pretty things, hence all the Pinterest boards and files full of ripped out pages.  She believes in beautiful things, and wants to share them.  I will only grudgingly admit that I admire her for it.

I like to simplify my world, remove all the clutter so I can clear my mind and my time to focus on things that matter.  Debbie likes to fill her world with beautiful colors, textures, fabrics, art, and music to fill her mind and heart with beauty.  I run away from the world; Debbie runs into it full-speed and embraces every moment filled with the good, the bad, and the ugly, because she has the amazing ability to find something good in everything.

Debbie is a beautiful, smart, strong, and joyful woman.

That being said, Debbie is also kind of a wimp, though I had no comprehension of the depth of her wimpiness  prior to this trip, and I've known her for 20 years. She claims she is not a camper, but I know she likes camping with me and Rooney.  Because she loves pretty things, which I really mean as a compliment, when Debbie comes, I glamp up the campsite.  For her, I'd do anything.

Having previously set up my glampsite, I woke early on Sunday to freshen things up and take care of a few necessities before she arrived.  I started inside the camper, kicking an unhappy Rooney outside and cleaning all the surfaces with organic orange cleaner (not so much because I'm an environmentalist, more because it smells really good) then vacuumed the significant amount of dog hair left by Rooney in the rugs and on Rooney's, oops! I mean, Debbie's bed.  Then I showered, started a fresh pot of coffee, and headed outside.



Rooney had been howling the entire time I was in the camper, because he gets very upset when he can't see me.  So I gave him a bone to chew and went to work cleaning the tables outside, adding water to the wildflowers in a vase, watering the mums, and sweeping the mats.  I filled the empty wine bottles with lamp oil, put the hurricane lamps on them, and took a final look to make sure everything was pretty and perfect, just like Debbie.

Courtesy Google Images

I then made five trips to the water pump with my 7-gallon water jug to use it to fill the tin can with water.  Of course, every time I walked away with the empty jug, Rooney howled until I returned to the campsite with a full jug.  I kept thinking there has to be a way to design a harness for Rooney to carry the jug on his back.  Then I could just walk him up to the pump, fill the jug, and let him carry it back.  Maybe next year I'll figure that out.

Courtesy Thetford.com

Then I had to perform the unpleasant task of dumping my black tank into an external tank, and hauling it up that steep hill in the campground to the dump station.  Last year, I invested in the Thetford top-of-the-line external dump tank, a spectacular device that makes this "crappy" chore much easier.  I love the swivel wheel in the front which makes it so easy to maneuver the tank away from the camper and over to the car, and the design which allows me to raise the handle on the tank and hook it over my vehicles hitch, without having to lift the tank.  I drove to the dump station pulling the Thetford tank behind, dumped, and after hosing down the tank, drove back.

Whew!  By now it was noon, and I only had a couple of hours before Debbie arrived, so I loaded Rooney in the car and drove to Paradise for firewood.  Filling the back of my car with loose wood, I inspected each piece for snakes before throwing it into my vehicle, and again the guy who sold me the wood said,

 "It's too cold for snakes, trust me."

I arrived back at camp with a good supply of firewood, stacked it all outside, then surveyed my surroundings.  Debbie would arrive any minute, and as I looked around at my clean glampsite, with the river running swiftly below us, the sun shining through the trees, and a fire crackling, I knew she would be happy here.

Okay, I don't actually stack my firewood like Gary Tallman of Montana, but his website has inspired me!

Filling a basket with butter toffee peanuts, I put it on the table by the fire, grabbed a book, and sat down to read and wait for my friend.  I didn't wait long, for five minutes later she pulled in!  Debbie is here, Debbie is here, Debbie is here!

Courtesy of Google Images

She didn't even unload anything from her car, instead Debbie went straight to her camp chair to unwind and enjoy the fire.  I asked about her trip up, just to be polite, and was shocked at her level of anxiety regarding this trip.  By the time she reached Clare, two hours south of the Mackinac Bridge, she was having panic attacks about driving over the bridge.  She had never driven over the Big Mac and was terrified.  She said she kept envisioning the conversation she would have with the toll booth attendant where she expressed her fears and the attendant kindly offered to drive her vehicle for her.  I thought, "Uh oh, she was in trouble".  She then rather indignantly told me that before she knew it, she was actually on the bridge, thinking, "where is the damn toll booth?!"  I had neglected to include, in my pages of instructions for Debbie, the fact that the toll booth is on the other side of the bridge, in the U.P.  Debbie proclaimed, 

"Well, the toll booth is on the wrong side!"  

Courtesy of Google Images

She made it over the bridge without plunging off the side by focusing on the taillights of the car in front of her.  Good call, Debbie.  Once she reached the other side, her relief at having crossed the bridge was so great that she stopped to buy a Diet Pepsi and celebrate.  Per my instructions, she knew that the rest of the trip would be unencumbered by McDonald's and Gas Stations at every corner, so after fueling her thirst and her gas tank in St. Ignace, she began the best part of the journey, driving up M-123 to Paradise.

Debbie enjoyed the rest of the drive, but as is normally the case, she was unable to take in much of the surroundings because she was busy following my pages and pages of directions.  She did comment that the only restaurant she saw on the way was called "The Bear Butt Bar and Grill".  At this point, Debbie was really wondering what I had gotten her into!  

Courtesy of Google Images

I told Debbie of my desire to retrace my hike to Clark Lake with her.  Because I had managed to post the picture of the bear from Oswald's Bear Ranch, with no explanation, Debbie had seen it and assumed, as I hoped she would, that I had seen the bear while hiking.  I began telling her a rather embellished story of my quest for the bear, when she interrupted me with objections to following in my footsteps.  When I got to the part about seeing the sign on the side of the road for Oswalds, she was visibly relieved, but still nervous about the next day's hike.

I had talked to so many locals, and DNR officers, about the bear, and repeated to Debbie what I had learned from them.

"We won't see a bear, Debbie.  Trust me."


Debbie reminded me that I had neglected to tell her the toll booth is on the wrong side, so trust was apparently becoming an issue for her.  She was far more nervous about our foray into the wilderness than I realized, and started expressing all her fears.

Debbie:  "What about mountain lions?  My husband said there are mountain lions here."

Courtesy of Google Images

Me: "Your husband is just trying to scare you.  There are no mountain lions here.  Trust me."

Debbie:  "What about snakes?"  (She shares my phobia)

Me:  "It's too cold for the snakes to come out.  Trust me."

Debbie:  "There are moose up here.  What if they charge us?"

Me:  "We would be lucky to see a moose, but we won't.  Trust me."

Courtesy of Google Images

Debbie:  "What if we get lost?  There are no cell phone signals here!  What if we bump into evil hunters?  What about foxes and coyotes?  And WOLVES?"

Me:  "Trust me, we will be fine."

Later, Debbie unloaded her car, and carried in a lot of food.  Why did she bring all this fancy food?  I have nuts and M&M's and soup, what more do we need?  But she brought fancy cheeses and crackers, pasta salads, veggie salads, scrambled egg casseroles, and wine.  Lots of wine.  I don't even drink wine.  When she stepped outside to get more things from her car, she called out that Rooney was eating the entire basket of butter toffee peanuts I had set out for us.  Uh oh.  This could be bad.

My Bed

Once we had her all settled in, I showed her how to make her bed.  Sleeping in the tin can is an almost holy experience for me.  My bed is in the back of the camper, and stays made up with my bedding all the time.  I have very nice bedding for the tin can, it is my one weakness for "fancy", and my bed is heavenly.  For Debbie, I have to put down the table and pull out the couch in the front of the camper to make her bed each night, but this year I left the sleeping bags at home and also made her bed with fancy bedding.  Once we were both comfortably resting in our beds, with Rooney giving Debbie dirty looks from the floor, she called out to me,

"I brought a wilderness survival guide.  I am going to read a few things to you."

Debbie's Bed

Oh boy.  For the next hour, Debbie read to me the safe and proper way to handle many situations.  We learned the following procedures:

1. How to Scare Away a Bear (You know, the bear we won't see?)
2. How to Avoid a Charging Bull (we substituted Moose for Bull, but I had a hard time picturing Debbie in black pants and shirt waving a red flag at a Moose)
3. How to Defend Against a Mountain Lion Attack (if a mountain lion jumps on our backs from a tree, I'd say this section was pretty useless)
4. How to Survive in Quicksand (Hmmmm….)

This isn't really the Mackinac Bridge, but you get the idea!
Courtesy of Google Images

5. How to Survive in a Car Plunging Off a Bridge (Remember the photo from my earlier post of a barge passing beneath the bridge?  Well, now if a barge is too tall and hits the Big Mac while one of us in driving over it, we will know what to do.   Scream.)
6. How to Survive a Jump or Fall from a Bridge (As if either one of us would be in the right frame of mind to remember to clench our butt cheeks as we hit the water.  Seriously, that's what the guide told us to do.)
7. How to Survive a Poisonous Snake Bite (Doesn't matter, we will both have died from a heart attack at this point)
8. How to Survive a Bullet Wound (Okay, so I do carry a gun, but I really don't plan to shoot Debbie with it.)

There were more, but you get the idea.  Debbie was scared.  Wimp.

Before we fell asleep, I commanded Rooney not to throw up half-digested butter toffee peanuts in my camper, and I revised my plan for tomorrow.  I promised Debbie I would drive us all the way to the parking area (I was pretty sure I could make it with four-wheel drive), and from there it would only be a quick ten-minute hike to Clark Lake.  I told her that the other places I wanted to explore could be driven to, instead of my usual hiking, and that she could stay in the Yukon anytime she felt uncomfortable getting out to explore.  I had a full tank of gas, we weren't going that far, and we wouldn't see any wild animals.

"Trust me."

Courtesy of Google Images