The Climb

Planning an adventure always leads to expectations about what the time will bring.  As I prepared to begin my journey to Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore for the Michigan Ice Fest, I had months' worth of fantasies about how the weekend would unfold.  Based on my research, I pictured myself exerting great amounts of physical and mental strength as I climbed a 60m tower over Lake Superior, or possibly hanging by my fingers and gathering the strength to avoid plummeting to my death.

Courtesy Google Images

Neither of those expectations were the least bit realistic.

I also imagined that after climbing all day, I would retire to my motel room to organize my thoughts, jot down some notes, and maybe even write a little bit.  I had brought some simple food along, and pictured myself thawing out after a cold day with a cup of Lipton's Noodle Soup, munching on trail mix, and drinking coffee while I sat in front of my computer.  This, too, proved to be a wrong assumption.

Being a part of the Michigan Ice Fest was nothing like I expected, it was so much better!  Walking over to the Ice Fest headquarters at Sydney's in Munising, Michigan on that cold and clear Saturday morning, I found myself thinking about the climb ahead, and also being excited for the people I would meet and the stories I would hear.

www.michiganicefest.com

The day started splendidly when I arrived and found the process of renting my climbing gear and learning how to use it simple and efficient.  For someone with OCD, I could really appreciate the outstanding organizational skills of the event organizers and the ease with which climbers were prepared for their day.  Once I had my gear and had adjusted my crampons (those metal spikey thingys you put on the sole of your boot) I joined my Intro to Ice Climbing Class for Women and checked out the white board listing our instructors for the day.  Ben Erdmann was on the list.  The same Ben Erdmann who had given a slideshow on Thursday evening and lives in my dream home in Alaska.  I cannot begin to tell you how excited I was to learn that I would be climbing with the guy who happily lives in a tiny cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere.  It's like we're connected, even if Ben doesn't realize it.




I met the women in my class, and we all boarded the shuttle to the drop-off point.  There were 15 women packed into the van, which took me back to my college days of seeing how many people can fit in a VW Beetle, but no Ben Erdmann.  Where was Ben?  Was he not coming?

On the shuttle ride, I sat nearly on top of a young French woman named Jen who is a graduate student at Purdue.  Already I was hearing a story worth telling.  Jen loves her home country of France and plans to return there to live, but is studying for an advanced degree in Aeronautical Engineering.  Just to be polite, I asked her in which motel she was staying, and she said she'd been sleeping in her car for two nights.  What?  It's been, like, really cold at night!

Evi Nott and Maddie
www.michiganicefest.com

Throughout the day, I also met the other winner of the Sue Nott scholarship, a 17 year old girl named Maddie.  Just like her co-recipient, Rachael, Maddie proclaimed herself to not be a winter person, but adventure wins out over discomfort every time for Maddie.  She talked about her friends and being so ready to go off to college, like any typical teenager, but I knew she was not typical, so I asked her the same question.  She had said none of her friends do the things she does outside, so I asked what makes her different.  Giving the response I was getting used to hearing, she said "I don't know".  I pressed her on the subject, listening while she spoke of pushing herself mentally, tolerating harsh conditions, and reaching goals.  Maddie likes ice climbing because in that moment, nothing else matters.  Her friends think she's crazy.  Yeah, I get that.

I grew tired of trying to explain my question to people, so once we had hiked up the steep hill (I was beginning to really hate that hill) and reached the Opening Curtain, I approached a group of four women and simply asked "Why are you here?"

Gina, Tina, Suzie, and Renee are a fun loving group of gals, but their story is amazing.  Two of these women were diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in their 40's.  Both women were told by their doctors to give up, take to their beds.  They refused to accept that prescription, and became inspired by a motivational speaker named Lori Schneider, who climbed the Seven Summits after her own diagnosis of MS.  Lori has taken these four women, two with MS and the other two as their caretakers, on adventures beyond anything they've ever experienced.  They have climbed Kilimanjaro!  The Michigan Ice Fest was one more opportunity they seek to push themselves and laugh in the face of challenge.

They do it well.  They never stop laughing and smiling and cheering each other on.  "The Girls" were not just inspiring, but brought much enthusiasm, support and joy to our little group.  I loved them.  Later, when I found them throwing back shots of whiskey at Sydney's, I loved them even more!

Zoe and The Girls

I was still wondering where Ben Erdmann was when our other instructor, Zoe Hart, gathered us around for some tips on climbing.  Zoe is a very energetic and commanding person whose passion is contagious and whose sense of humor is almost painful in its honesty.  As she was explaining the "poop and thrust" method of climbing for women (you had to be there), Ben Erdmann appeared out of nowhere, like a mythical figure of God-like proportions.  Maybe I was the only one who thought that, but he does, after all, live in my dream home in Alaska.

I was anxious to climb.  So were the others, because when Zoe called out "Who wants to go?" several women beat me to it.  I ended up climbing with Ben as my partner.  First he showed me how to configure the double figure-eight knot in my rope, then I learned the verbal signals between climbing partners.

I asked, "Belay on?" to which Ben replied "Belay on."

I said, "Climbing" and Ben said "Climb on".  As I approached the ice, I turned back to him and said "Just like that?  I've never done anything like this before!"  He assured me I could do it, and I assured him I wasn't so sure.   I was arguing with Ben.  I told myself to shut…up

Ben Erdmann and Me!

This was the moment.  I was determined to make it to the top.  I was also scared out of my mind.  I did not believe I could do this.  But Ben Erdmann believed I could, and Zoe Hart, and Jen, and The Girls.  With much encouragement, including Ben telling me I'm a natural at climbing (I bet he says that to all the girls), I found my rhythm and kept going.  Suddenly, I knew the answer to my own question, though I'm not sure I can explain it.  Like everyone else I had asked, I have difficulty putting it into words.   While I was climbing, everything else fell away.  There were no thoughts of bills to pay, schedules to keep, dogs to feed, dinners to prepare.  There was no hurt over losing my job, or feelings of failure, or questions about who I am.  For 30 minutes, I was an ice climber who heard and felt the frozen wall, listening to its voice telling me when to go on and when to rest.  I was part of something big.  It wasn't that I felt small compared to the ice, I just felt like I was part of it.  An incredible peace washed over me and WHAM!  I fell.  Ben had my back; it wasn't until he had stopped my fall on belay that I remembered to call out, feebly, "Falling…"  Ben told me to get right back on the ice, so I did.  I was done arguing with Ben.  I focused on the simplicity of climbing.  Toe, toe, heels down, push.  Wrist flick, stick, pull up.  Over and over and over until I reached the top, surprised at its sudden appearance, and disappointed that the climb was over.

Zoe Hart

I looked down at my climbing partner and called "Take" so Ben would belay me back down.  When my feet touched the ground, I was overcome with emotion.  Zoe Hart walked up to me and said "So?  What do you think?"  Unable to say anything of what I was experiencing at that moment without bursting into tears,  I looked Zoe in the eye and said "I…am…AMAZING!"  She loved it, and was so excited to see a newcomer experience what she herself has felt so many times that she made my words our battle cry for the rest of the day.  Every time a woman finished a climb, we would all hear her call out how amazing she is.

My expectations for the climb were all wrong.  I came here with something to prove.  I wanted to show myself and everyone else that I will not be defeated; that I can and will do something hard and face adversity and climb a mountain and come out on top.  But that's not what the climb was about at all.

Jen and The Girls

Every person on that hill has faced a challenge.  We each have our own story, but we all had to climb on and reach the top.  But it was less about me than it was about the community of strangers who stood beneath me, watching me squeeze my butt cheeks (thanks for the tip, Zoe, it really helped) and believing I could do it.  Because of them, I believed I could do it too; and I did.

Climbing the ice was empowering and humbling at the same time.  I felt strong for having done it, yet I also stood in the shadow of nature's power knowing that I could never match it.  I knew that no matter what was going on in my life, this was something no one could take away.  I did it.  I can do so much more than I thought.  Even though I am almost 50 years old, I found a place where I belong.

I wasn't done yet either.  I climbed again, I hiked with Jen to the next ice formation and took pictures of other climbers.  I introduced Jen to Zoe, who is from New Jersey but married her French climbing partner and lives in France.  She and Jen chatted away in French and it sounded beautiful.  I also whispered to Zoe that Jen had been sleeping in her car.  The funny thing is, we've all done it, when we were young.  But once you become a mom, the thought of a young woman sleeping alone in her car when the temperature is below zero is horrifying; Zoe took Jen in that night and gave her a bed.  Zoe is awesome.

Grimpez sur, Jen!

I did not want the day to end.  I had climbed with a group of amazing women, and Ben Erdmann, who got quite an education that day.  I met Evi Nott, the incredible mom of Sue Nott.  I watched Evi climb, not believing it had been 10 years since she had done this.  But my toes, with their distinct lack of feeling, were telling me it was time to leave the climb.  I may have limped away and left the climb, but the climb will not leave me.  Something inside of me has changed.  Sure, I went home the next day and it was right back to laundry and cleaning and errands; it will be quite some time before I can go on another adventure.  But this feeling remains.  I went, I saw, I felt, I learned, I did, and I was embraced.  I'm one of those crazy people now that does that sort of thing, and I love it!

Be sure to check my next post for the inspiring stories of Zoe Hart and Will Gadd, and to read about an incredible woman, Evi Nott.  My day of climbing may have come to an end, but I did not retire to my room for microwave soup.  My Michigan Ice Fest experience was far from over!

Game On

I used to hate Winter.  Living where I do, that was a bad thing.  As soon as the temperatures dropped below 50 I began preparing for my winter hibernation.  Once we were firmly in the 30's and the snow was starting to fly, I was done with everything for the next five months.  I stayed home.  I ate junk food.  I gained weight.  I was tired all the time, and had no interest in anything.

Then a few years ago, a friend who grew weary of listening to me complain about Winter suggested I get out in it.  She encouraged me to take a walk each day, and as I became accustomed to the weather, she challenged me to embrace the cold outdoors.

I really didn't want to, but I'm a competitive person, so once she told me how great she was at finding ways to be outdoors during the Winter, it was game on.  If she could do it, so could I.

I began by becoming the rink maid.  My husband had built an ice hockey rink - a rather elaborate affair - in our woods, but I rarely ventured down there when my son and his teammates were playing hockey.  I learned how to resurface the ice, and made it my habit to carry the water hose across our property, down a steep hill, hook it up to the water pump, connect the manual Zamboni, and drag it back and forth, back and forth, over the entire rink.  I did this at 9:00 pm, 10:00 pm, 11:00 pm, and sometimes even later.

The Rink at Night

We had the best ice that year, and for several years after.  My work produced a thick glassy surface on which the boys loved to skate.  I was the Rink Maid, and it didn't kill me.

Backyard Ski Jump

Then I added to my game by becoming the official backyard photographer on Snow Days.  All the kids came to our house to snowmobile, build jumps to ski and board off, skate, and play in the snow.  I stayed outside all day, and into the night,  capturing these youthful images for my kids to forever remember.

The following year, I made a vow to add a walk in the woods daily.  We have a neighbor who owns several acres of woods with two ponds, he allows the people who live in the area to walk the paths he keeps clear.  On one of my walks, I discovered a fireplace and majestic chimney, standing alone among the trees.  There was once a cabin that went with the chimney, but it had burned down.  I was captivated with the chimney, and walked down there frequently to sit on its hearth and watch the creatures in the woods.  I still do that.

Chimney in the Woods

My Snowy Backyard

 



As much as I hated to admit it, I found that my friend was right.  The more I made myself go outside during Winter, the more I came to enjoy the special surprises of this cold season.  Walking on the ice at midnight brings an unworldly kind of silence and peace.  If the temperature drops below zero, the ice cracks and pops, and the echoes of it can be heard all the way up to our house.  When it snows, I can hear each flake hitting the ground in the woods.  The air feels cleaner, colors are sharper, and I feel good.

Drummond Island Ledges

Last year, I planned to take my game to a whole new level.  I researched a trip to Drummond Island, in Lake Huron.  The possibilities were endless!  Fossil ledges accessible only by snowshoeing, a snowmobile trail across frozen Lake Huron to Canada, the icy tundra of the rare Alvar region on the island all beckoned me to challenge myself and fully experience Winter.  The unusually warm Winter of 2012 put a damper on my plans, but I went to Drummond Island anyway.  While the weather was mild and there was little snow, it still ended up being a wonderful trip because of the people and places there.  I fell in love with the island, and plan to return.

Drummond Island Alvar Region

But this year, I am going a step further in the game.  Next week, I will travel north to the shores of Lake Superior, where I will join a group of strangers to climb the icy cliffs of the Pictured Rocks.  The last several days at home we have been hit with an arctic blast of cold air, and I have forced myself to go outside each day to acclimate my body to the frigid temperatures.  The weather prediction for up north is cold, which is good, because I really don't want to trust my life to a giant icicle when it is 40 degrees outside.  I am so excited to push myself physically on this challenging quest, embrace Winter, and meet other people whose sanity is as questionable as mine.

Courtesy Google Images

As for my friend who got me started on this with a dare, I am grateful to Donna for pushing me to be a Winter person; however,  I'm pretty sure she has never been ice climbing.  Game on, indeed.

"It Wasn't My Line"

I came across An Inspirational Video by Sebastien Montaz-Rosset the other day, called "Revelation: A Visual Poem"  In a rare moment of quiet in my home, I was able to sit back and really take it in, the words and images which are so inspiring.  My favorite line came early in the clip, "I towed the line, it wasn't my line".

It wasn't my line.

Ah, how many times have I felt that way?  How many times have you?  As a wife and mother, I have always felt that my family is perfect just the way it is.  We each have our separate personalities which I have made a point to glorify.  I have spent my entire adult life supporting and promoting the dreams of my husband and my children because, without even being conscious of this desire, it is very much my desire to help them become who they are; not someone else's idea of who they are.

Somewhere in all of that, though, I got lost.  There are only so many hours in a day, and most moms devote so much of their time to the family (as it should be) that little time is left for anything else.  At times, I think to myself, rather selfishly, "Who will I be, when the kids are grown up?"

Once I get over myself and think rationally again, it occurs to me that the choices I have made were mine.  I do not regret them.  Now that the kids are growing older and need less of me, I am faced with the question of who I will be when they go away.  I will always be their mom.  I just won't always devote all of my time to their needs because they will be doing what I have raised them to do; making their own choices and being responsible for their own lives.

What will be my line?

Gathering strength from the deep philosophical views on Pinterest, I've been thinking about my future.

I just like this one!

Yada, yada, yada.  Where does my heart lead me?  What is fun for me?  What do I dream about with passion?  Whatever the question, the answer is always the same.  I must be in my beloved woods.  How do I turn my walks in the woods into a career?  Therein lies the problem.  But then I receive inspiration from a random video, and with it comes the hope that someday, a long time from now, I can tow my own line.

When I envision who I will be, it falls under the category of part-time semi-adventurer.

It most certainly will not include yoga on a tightrope between mountain peaks.  It won't include running through the woods; I walk briskly, at best.  It won't include mountain climbing or off-road cycling or jumping off a cliff with a parachute.  But I think that maybe, just maybe, the line I tow might include inspiration.  Possibly, I can experience the outdoors with less adventure and inspire others to do the same.  I don't know if I can make a career out of it, but according to Pinterest, I can.

I spend what amounts to too much time, according to my family, alone in the woods.  From my perspective, I don't go there often enough.  We're working on finding that balance.  In the meantime, I take what I can get with the family's support, using each experience as a lesson for the future.

People have asked me why I want to leave my family to go off alone in the middle of nowhere.  My answer is simple.  From time to time, I briefly leave my family, but my family never leaves me.

Last February when I was walking Drummond Island alone, at the sight of a massive 14pt Buck I instinctively pointed it out to my son, only to remember he wasn't at my side.  Hiking the woods near the Two Hearted River by myself, I exclaimed over a pretty wildflower that my little Bean would love, had she been walking with me.  Out in the middle of nowhere, I think of all the things I want to tell my daughter who is soon to leave for college.  I walk alone, but I feel my kids and my husband in my heart, I silently speak to them, and I take lots of pictures to share with them later.

I travel alone because it is only in solitude that I can open myself up to being nothing.  I don't need to be in a role in the wilderness.  I belong to no one but God.  It is this time alone, a time of being nothing, that allows me to come home and be everything my family needs.  I go alone and empty myself so I can come home and be filled up again by the people I love most.  Put that on Pinterest!

I don't know yet what my line is.  I'm okay with it.  There is time yet for me, the right time is just ahead.  And the woods will be there waiting for me, while the mountains call to the real adventurers.  For now, I will focus on my family, taking a few days here and there to self impose a time-out while I live in a tin can, push myself to my physical unpotential, search for my elusive wolf, and walk alone in the woods.  The time alone is my line reconnecting me to the rest of my heart.  If I walk that line very carefully, keep it delicately balanced between home and the wilderness, it will never break.  

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.