Isle Royale 2019, Day 4: Daisy Farm to Three Mile via the Greenstone

Last time: The Daisy Farm loop with MOOSE!

Shelter #4 at Daisy Farm

Thursday May 30, 2019: My early bedtime on Wednesday meant that I was up and at 'em nice and early on Thursday. The morning was cool but sunny. (Are you tired of hearing that yet? Every day except Monday had been perfectly clear and just the right temperature.) I had a quick breakfast and headed out as early as possible, eager to enjoy the trails during my last full day on the island.

My plan for the day was to go to Three Mile campground via the longer and more scenic Greenstone ridge route. The direct route is a flat 4 mile trek along Rock Harbor, which I had already covered on my first day. I didn't want to repeat that segment of trail -- I wanted to be up on the ridge, enjoy the views, and take my time. Plus, I was last on these trails on my very first trip to the island. On that trip, I felt like the Greenstone and Mt. Franklin trails were ridiculously hot and difficult. I wanted to see them with a (slightly) more experienced eye.

Looking up towards Mt. Ojibway's fire tower

The Mt. Ojibway trail was beautiful in the golden morning light. I had a well-rested zip in my step as I climbed the Greenstone ridge, keeping my eye out for moose (none) and lovely sights (tons). I climbed the tower again (why? because it's there!) and then turned east to continue along the Greenstone. The morning light lent the views a special magic. That, and the absolute silence of the trail, made this some of my favorite hiking of the trip. There were views both north and south, made possible by the lack of leaves on bushes and trees.

View from the Greenstone ridge

The beautiful scenery reminded me of my first trip to the island. On that first trip, in August, this same trail had felt incredibly hot and hard. I nearly ran out of water, and by the time I had completed a short segment of the Greenstone, my legs were crying out in pain. This time I was better prepared, and flew along.

Lost in my thoughts, I unconsciously picked up speed, marched around a brushy corner, and nearly ran into a moose happily munching on brush right next to the trail. The moose calmly stepped into denser brush and kept eating. A couple passing in the opposite direction stopped as I waved them a warning and we watched the moose silently for a while, standing just a few feet away. As we passed, they warned/enlightened me about a similar situation up ahead. Sure enough, another moose upped my count to 5.

A somewhat scruffy moose on the Greenstone

After a few more miles of beautiful ridge-top trail, I arrived at Mt. Franklin. On my first trip, the Lovely Sarah and I climbed out of Lane Cove, turned along the Greenstone towards Mt. Franklin, and stopped to have lunch at a nice open grassy area with mild views of Canada. Everyone said that we had to stop and see Mt. Franklin, but we didn't see what the big deal was about. Well rested and fed, we discovered the real Mt. Franklin and its spectacular views just a few yards down the trail -- but we'd eaten and rested and it was full of other people at the time, so we didn't stop.

Today, I had Mt. Franklin all to myself, so I sat back and ate up every bit of its vast views and deep solitude. I also ate up a well-earned meat stick and some gorp. The "mountain" (only by Michigan standards) is a clear area on the rocky and steep north side of the Greenstone ridge. It has a panoramic view over the Five Finger region at the northeast end of the island, and distant views of Thunder Bay's Sleeping Giant and other interesting bumps on the Canadian shore.

View From Mt. Franklin north over Lane Cove, with Canadian bumps on the horizon. Click to enlarge.

When my snacks were done, I set about some photography. I twisted myself into knots trying to get a selfie with my Big Fancy Camera, and totally failed. A snowshoe hare watched me impassively, but I could sense that it was laughing silently at me. Eventually, Dave and Lindsay of Chicago arrived to save the day. They had just hiked up from Lane Cove and enthusiastically helped me out in exchange for taking a photo of them. Dave in particular was inordinately excited to meet another "Trail Dave". I didn't have the heart to tell him how many people I've met with my exact same name.

Pseudo-selfie at Mt. Franklin

Thoroughly rested and photographed, I left Mt. Franklin to Dave and Lindsay and headed towards the Mt. Franklin trail junction. The trail down to Three Mile was as beautiful and varied as ever. There were more hikers here than I'd met on any trail so far this trip. One group included a 70+ year old woman who was trucking it right up the Greenstone, excited about the views ahead. I also ran into Nicky (who I'd first met at Moskey Basin) and discovered that we'd had essentially the same itinerary since leaving Moskey, even including the Mt. Ojibway loop yesterday. She had taken the direct route from Daisy Farm to Three Mile, and was now on a "day hike" from Three Mile to Lane Cove and back, for a daily total of something like 13 miles.

The trail runs through this photo -- can you see it?

I strolled the Mt. Franklin trail down to Three Mile at a slow pace, soaking up the gorgeous views and extremely varied terrain. The trail passes through open rocky ridges and over dense swamps. A particularly fetching beaver pond between ridges caught my eye for a while, as did the long boardwalk and stream at the end of Tobin Harbor.

Boardwalk over the Tobin Harbor swamp

The half-mile stretch of the Mt. Franklin trail between Tobin Harbor and Rock Harbor may be my favorite trail on the island. The rocky trail winds through cool, dark evergreen forests. The trees cast a mottled, filtered light onto the trail. The woods are filled with rocky cliffs as you climb over the ridge that eventually forms Scoville Point. Of course, I found it impossible to take a good photo of all of this.

I was especially taken by an open glade on a ridge just before the final descent into Three Mile. The ridge was sunny and warm and perfectly still. I could hear birds warbling, bees buzzing, and trees swishing. I closed my eyes and enjoyed a moment of pure, quiet bliss. After so many cold nights, this felt like summer.

Stream along the Mt. Franklin trail, heading towards Tobin Harbor

Three Mile was a new campground for me -- I've passed through, but never actually camped here. The campground hugs the Lake Superior shore for a surprisingly long stretch of shoreline. I arrived at the first site, Shelter #12, which was unoccupied. I was afraid that the campground might be filling up with others who, like me, were leaving on the Queen tomorrow, so I immediately hung my permit on the shelter door and dropped my bag. As soon as I did so, I noticed the couple who was already occupying Shelter #11, immediately adjacent. They looked a bit off-put by my sudden presence. I couldn't blame them -- I was basically moving into their front yard.

I said a slightly abashed "hi" and took a quick tour through the rest of the campground. I was completely wrong: Despite my scenic tour of the Greenstone and afternoon arrival, only one other site was taken. I had my choice of any number of other shelters. I went back, picked up my back and permit, and moved along towards the unoccupied end of the campground.

I almost took Shelter #4, but noticed at the last minute that there were square nail heads (?!) sticking out of the floor, just waiting to puncture my tent's floor and delicate sleeping pad. I suppose that says something about the age of the shelters, which seemed older and more venerable here. Instead, I set up in Shelter #3 after careful consideration of the fact that a cool lake breeze was blowing directly into most of the other shelters. Unlike Shelters 11 and 12, the lower numbered shelters are separated by stands of evergreens and have quite a bit of privacy.

I had just started to get settled in when I was joined by two rangers doing repairs to shelters. They caulked up some holes in the shelter and installed a whole new seat on the picnic table. One of them had had hip surgery a few months ago and was still walking with a cane -- all over Isle Royale! I don't know how she did it, but her good humor and stories of ranger life kept me entertained. I shared my spicy meat sticks in thanks for their work (and, honestly, to reduce tomorrow's pack weight a bit).

Shortly afterwards, I heard an odd twitter from above my head. I looked up to see this fluffy beastie looking back at me:

At first I thought I was looking at a baby falcon. But no, this was just a fluffy, inquisitive, and enormously cute bird called a Gray Jay (or Canada Jay), which is not found in other parts of Michigan. Their method of survival appears to be begging for food in such cute ways that hikers can't ignore them. Two of the Jays hopped around my table and kept me company with their chirps from the nearby bushes.

I also met my site's resident squirrel, which was at least as inquisitive as the Jay, and more willing to climb right up on the (newly repaired) picnic table with me. I tossed a pebble at it, trying to scare it away -- instead, it ran over to sniff at the pebble, in hopes that it was food.

Once I was all set up, I grabbed my Kindle and headed down to the dock. I sat in the wonderfully warm sun, reading and soaking my sore feet. A couple from Chicago -- names unknown -- were laying in the sun at the end of the dock and declared, repeatedly and loudly, that I was absolutely crazy for soaking my feet in the freezing water. I tried to convince them that the water was bathtub warm and that they should jump right in, but to no avail. The wake from a passing boat splashed frigid lake water right onto the dock -- and them! -- somewhat undermining my credibility.

I enjoyed watching the comings-and-goings of people at the dock. A ranger boat arrived and dropped off four people, who walked a few feet inland, separated, and sat down in four slightly different locations. Soon another boat arrived, and the first group came back together to greet the new arrivals. They all seemed to be national park employees or interns. Soon they were all standing around some brush near the end of the dock, examining it intently. Shortly thereafter, they separated, some by water and others on foot. I never did learn what they were up to.

Not long afterwards, another couple arrived to filter water and relax. I recognized them from the Queen: They had been the ones sitting uncomfortably with the four unprepared college students on the Queen. I soon learned that Brian and Allie from Chicago were totally unconnected with the "bros" (their nickname for the students) and they were quite delightful company. Brian was carrying a massive camera setup that made my back hurt sympathetically -- a huge Canon plus a cannon-sized and shaped lens that must have weighed 4 pounds on its own. (I later learned that this was just one of the lenses he'd brought.) He repeatedly swung this enormous camera around like it was made of styrofoam, capturing birds, flowers, distant views, and everything else in sight. Brian's 7+ pound camera setup made me feel quite happy with my mere 3 pounds of camera gear.

Sand Hill crane on the sunny ridge

Throughout all of this, the wonderfully warm sun had gradually disappeared under a thick layer of clouds, and the cold lake breeze had picked up. This caught me unaware, and soon I realized that I was chilled to the bone.

I left the dock and tried all of the usual ways to warm up. Hot tea and a few additional layers did nothing. Even after I crawled into my sleeping bag (in the middle of the afternoon!), I was still shivering. So I did the only thing guaranteed to warm me up: I put on my boots and started hiking. As soon as I got inland, the lake breeze stopped and I was even a bit too warm. I explored the peaceful glade (and made it somewhat less peaceful by accidentally stirring up a Sandhill crane). I hiked vigorously back through the breezy campground, headed east, and climbed around some of the ridges above the Rock Harbor trail. The rocky ridges held heat and blocked the breeze, and scrambling over them helped me pass a warm and pleasant hour.

Blueberry flowers in the peaceful glade

Thoroughly warmed, I returned to the campground. On the way in, I passed a familiar-looking college student sitting on a ridge, listening to his mp3 player with unfocused eyes and a slack jaw. Sure enough, the bros had made it in to camp and managed to set up their tent in the lowest, coldest, most exposed campsite in the entirety of Three Mile. Nonetheless, I counted all four of them still alive, if not necessarily happy.

Down at the dock, I discovered that Doug and Steve (who I had met on the Queen on the way over) had also made it into camp and were chatting with Nicky, lately returned from her huge "day hike" up to Lane Cove and back. Seeing these three cheered me up much more than pondering how cold the bros would be tonight.

Rocky ridges and "steps" just outside of Three Mile campground

Doug and Steve had quite a story to tell. After I left them at Rock Harbor on our arrival day, they had spent the evening with "the old college roommate" (and all of the associated beer and cigars). Their huge group packed up even more beer and somehow made it to McCargoe cove with 50 lb packs, where they made vigorous use of the beer, cigars, and the communal fire pit. They also met, at various times, Nicky, Brian, and Allie, all of whom were traveling through McCargoe at that time.

After a sleepless night due to the loud partying, Doug and Steve split off from the (still sleeping) main group, took a 14 mile "day hike" along the Minong Ridge Trail to Todd Harbor and back (what is with these crazy-long dayhikes?), and decided to dirty camp up on Pine Mountain rather than spend another sleepless night in McCargoe. Steve spoke in awe of how they saw both the sunset and sunrise from the top of the high cliff. Today, they headed off on their own again and made it all the way to Three Mile, planning to head in to Rock Harbor tomorrow to catch the Queen back to the mainland.

It was clear that, despite the difficulties, they had thoroughly fallen in love with the island.

A citadel of rock rising about Three Mile campground

After dinner (Chili Mac... eh, it was warm), the whole crew assembled at Doug and Steve's shelter (#4, with the nail heads -- yes, I warned them), including Nicky, Allie, Brian, and myself. We spent a wonderful evening drinking apple cider (from a mix); trying out each others' camp chairs, or in my case, trying everyone else's since this seemed to be a standard item that I'd missed out on; talking gear; being amazed at Nicky's hand-assembled "Thanksgiving dinner" freeze dried meal; and having a grand time.

Doug, Steve, Brian, Allie, and I were all heading back to Copper Harbor on the Queen tomorrow. Nicky was near the end of her trip, but had a few days left and had yet to decide what to do with them. As often happens near the end of a trip to Isle Royale, everyone was thinking about their next trip. I was already dreaming of an end-to-end hike along the Greenstone (or maybe Minong?) ridge. All of my non-Michigander hiking friends had been suitably impressed by the beauty of up north Michigan, and as the only Michigander in the group, I fielded a lot of questions about where else to go. I did my best to sell the backpackers on my favorite Michigan state park, the Porcupine Mountains. I suspect I did a decent job of it.

We stayed up until well after dark, at which point the cold lake breeze was starting to chill even the hardiest of us. We headed to our separate shelters with promises to come back together in Rock Harbor the next day. As I walked back to my shelter long after sunset, I thought about the amazing trail community that had come together, spontaneously, over my four days on the island. It was a warm and, frankly, surprising feeling.

I fell asleep in the cold night feeling quite happy indeed.

Miles hiked: 6.7 + 1 (trying-to-get-warm-dayhike)
Total miles: 28.9

Wildlife seen: One Sandhill crane, one snowshoe hare, and two moose!!

Day 4's hike is in orange

Isle Royale 2019, Day 3: Moskey Basin to Daisy Farm, and the Mt. Ojibway Loop

Last time: A sociable day at Moskey Basin

Sunrise over Moskey Basin

Wednesday May 29, 2019: My brain knew when to wake me up, even if I didn't want to. It was a chilly night and I'd gotten to sleep after midnight. Nonetheless, I woke up out of a dead sleep at 2 am and had my breath taken away by the Milky Way hanging above a perfectly calm lake. I woke again at 5:30 am to see the pre-dawn glow lighting up the edge of the still placid basin.

Then I rolled over and went to sleep for another hour. I hadn't gotten to sleep until after midnight, you know!

Shelter #7 in the morning. Notice the patches, presumably from crazy squirrels.

When I woke up for real, the sun had risen and the trees ringing the basin reflected in the still water. A pair of ducks quietly chatted with each other, making vees in the water as they hunted for breakfast. It was a perfect morning in my favorite place on the island. I had originally planned another entire day here, and I argued back and forth with myself about my plans. But, since I had decided not to bushwhack to Mt. Saginaw today, I decided to leave for Daisy Farm where I would have more options for dayhikes.

Even taking my time with a nice hot breakfast and packing up, I was on the trail by 8:30 am. I attempted to say goodbye to everyone I'd met, and completely failed since I was apparently the first one to even be awake.

Boardwalk just outside of Moskey, with nary a moose in sight.

I crossed the swamp just outside the campground and I continued my trend of not seeing any moose at all, even in this very moosey area. The morning was cool and clear, with the promise of warming up to a pleasant 60 degrees again.

About 20 minutes outside of Moskey, I stopped at a stream that crosses the trail. Just upstream there is a mini-waterfall that I've always wanted to explore. Now that I looked and listened, I thought I could hear some more waterfalls downstream (and downhill) too. I took the time (which I'd never done on my previous 3 crossings) to lay down my pack and bushwhack up and down the stream, to see what I could see.

One of the mini-waterfalls...

The stream is absolutely made of waterfalls as it travels from a swamp down to the lakeshore. I spent a lovely half hour scrambling over the rocks and contorting myself to get just the right angle with my camera. I also managed to cramp up my left foot somehow, which dogged me all the rest of the way to Daisy Farm.

... and another

Back on the trail, I had an inspiration. I put one trekking pole away and kept the other one in my left hand. I held my camera in my right hand. I got some of the benefit from the trekking pole, and had the camera ready for whenever I wanted it. It wasn't exactly the best of both worlds, but it was good enough, and I ended up using this arrangement for the rest of the trip.

The hike back to Daisy Farm was beautiful but slow, as I limped my way along the ridges. I met a few groups heading towards Moskey, but nobody passed me heading towards Daisy Farm. I finally arrived at Daisy Farm around noon. It was again mostly empty, and this time I was lucky: I snagged the much-coveted (by me) shelter #4, with its grassy front yard.

In the shelter behind mine, I recognized the group of college-aged guys who had given off such a "unprepared, don't care" vibe on the boat. They were still working on waking up, loudly, and I considered moving to a new shelter until I was convinced that they were actually leaving. After some very desultory packing, they slouched out onto the trail well after 1 pm. None of them looked happy, but I counted all four of them alive and apparently functioning.

After all of the usual camp chores and camp naps and foot-soaking in 32.5 degree Lake Superior, my foot felt good enough to do some dayhiking. I'd left Moskey a day early because I had better day hike opportunities at Daisy Farm, and I had lucked into yet another spectacular day with clear skies and perfect temperatures -- so I made the most of it.

Hepatica was the most common wildflower along the trails.

Today's dayhike was the Mt. Ojibway loop, clockwise. The Mt. Ojibway loop is a collection of trails that make a rough 5 mile triangle, with two sides going up (and down) the Greenstone from Daisy Farm, and the 3rd side running along the ridge, leading up to Mt. Ojibway and its fire tower. I started up the western side of the triangle, which I had never hiked before. This (relatively) easy trail passes through several lovely swamps as it gently ascends the Greenstone Ridge. The views back to the south from high up along the ridge were fantastic, as were the wildflowers clustered along the streams and trail. The huge swamps I passed looked like perfect moose habitat... but they contained exactly no moose.

Boardwalk across a filling-in swamp.

The Greenstone always inspires me. I spent years hiking in the "Cliffs" back on the Keweenaw -- which are also part of the Greenstone lava flow, a perfect mirror image of its twin on Isle Royale. The open, rocky hillsides reminded me of those wonderful hikes. There is a smell in the air -- a mix of heat, mineral, and dry grass -- that represents the ridge for me. The Greenstone Ridge trail itself started out brushy, but eventually opened up to views both north and south (aided by the nearly leafless trees). I spent time enjoying rocky overlooks, scenic bends in the trail, and interesting flowers.

Alternating bands of aspens and evergreens cover ridges and valleys, north from the Greenstone

I reached the fire tower and spent an exceedingly long rest break enjoying the views from there -- much more time than the last time I was there. I peeked into an abandoned outhouse just down-slope from the tower, perhaps left over from the days when the tower was actually staffed. In general, I took my time, stopped to enjoy everything I noticed, and took full advantage of my "bonus" day. Here are some views from the trail:

Along the Greenstone Ridge trail, looking west

Looking east from the Mt. Ojibway fire tower

Sleeping Giant, Thunder Bay, from the fire tower

Looking down the Mt. Ojibway trail, towards Daisy Farm, from the fire tower

Eventually, I had no more excuses to lollygag around, so I packed up and headed back towards Daisy Farm again. I was happily traipsing along the open, rocky hillside on the steeper eastern side of the triangle when I nearly ran into two -- or maybe three -- moose munching in the scrubby growth just off the trail. I froze, but they paid me no attention, and I slowly skirted around them. A bit lower, I passed a calf hidden in some scrub who was a bit more skittish. My first three moose of the trip, all up on the Greenstone!

Moose hiding in the trees

Something had often bothered me about boardwalks on the island: Why are some of the longer boardwalks built so high -- easily 2 or 3 feet -- above the water? Shortly after my mooseling encounter, I came to what was formerly a swamp, and now was a very deep and recently dammed beaver pond. A long boardwalk stretched across it. This boardwalk used to be high and dry just like so many others, but now it was on the wrong side of the freshly minted beaver dam.

The bridge's boards were just barely above water level -- if that. It looked like some of the boards might be floating on the water, and not nailed down at all! I tentatively set foot on each board, watching ripples form in the water on each side as my weight pushed it down. Somehow, it was more nerve-wracking to walk across with the boards right at water level, rather than hovering 2 or 3 feet above the water -- not that it would have made much difference if I fell! The boards were solid, however, and I made it across with at most wet soles, one careful step at a time.

"Floating" boardwalk in a beaver pond. The beaver dam is on the right.

Strangely, at this particular dam, the beaver lodge itself was directly next to dry land near one end of the boardwalk, rather than in the middle of the pond. All that work, for not much protection!

Throughout the trip, I saw many more cases where beavers had blocked a swamp and filled it right up to the level of the walkway. The Isle Royale trail crews know what they're doing.

Along all of the island's trails, I had noticed some, uh, extreme beaver activity. Isle Royale has had a beaver boom in the last few years, because there haven't been enough wolves to keep them in check. That will likely change as the new wolves introduced this past winter start to spread out and look for easy, water-dwelling snacks. But for now, beavers are chewing down giant trees that they couldn't possibly use, like this one:

Optimistic beavers were here

The rest of the trail was lovely, winding through open glades, brushy swamps, and dark balsam forests. The trail was also much easier than the last time I had taken the Mt. Ojibway trail down the ridge into Daisy Farm (when I was hot, somewhat dehydrated, and exhausted from my first ever hike on the Greenstone). I enjoyed every bit of the hike, even Ransom Hill, which was now a pleasant and anticipated waypoint before re-entering Daisy Farm, rather than an unexpected and disheartening final obstacle.

Back at camp, I ate dinner and then spent some more time enjoying the sunny day by reading on the dock. As I sat, a park boat pulled up and dropped off an impeccably dressed ranger with a small backpack. I hadn't seen anyone this neat and tidy since the cover of my last REI catalog, and certainly not out here in the backcountry.

An older couple from Houston (whose names I never got) were enjoying the sun as well and asked the ranger some simple questions about the campground and ranger talks, to which he knew exactly none of the answers. It turned out that he was the new ranger-in-residence for Daisy Farm, and this was his first ever visit to Isle Royale. He would be learning -- a lot! -- on the job. (The next day, at 3 Mile, we all watched the free show as he drove a boat in circles and learned how to use the sirens -- "Teaching the new guy how to drive a boat" another ranger told me.) If you meet the Daisy Farm ranger this summer, go easy on him.

I was able to answer a few of the couple's questions and got to know them. They were retired teachers from Houston, who spent their time traveling around the US and camping at interesting places. This was their very first backpacking trip, and also their first trip to Isle Royale. What a combination!

That brought me to 9 pm, at which point my wonderful day of hiking and climbing the Greenstone suddenly caught up with me. I could barely keep my eyes open as I sat on the still-sunny dock. I headed back to my shelter and turned into a pumpkin before it was even dark.

Miles hiked: 3.9 + 5.1 (dayhike)
Total miles: 21.2

Wildlife seen: Snowshoe hares, white-throated Sparrows, 3 moose!

Next time: The hard way to get from Daisy Farm to Three Mile

Day 3's hike is in light blue

Isle Royale 2019, Day 2: Daisy Farm to Moskey Basin, and a bushwhack

Last time: On the rocky and somewhat swampy road to Daisy Farm

Hepatica

Tuesday May 28, 2019: I slept fitfully through the cold night. When I slept, I had weirdly vivid yet boring dreams. I woke up shortly after dawn with a dream stuck in my mind that was the academic equivalent of someone telling me in great detail that I needed to change the font and spacing in a report. I rolled over and slept for another hour. So much for getting an early start.

When I finally got up, I found a clear, sunny, and cold morning. I made hot tea and hot oatmeal, but nothing kept away the chill. I briskly packed up camp and prepared for the only thing guaranteed to warm me up: Hiking a few miles with 30 pounds of equipment on my back.

I headed up the lovely, rocky, and slanted trail towards Moskey Basin. This trail had more wildflowers than I'd seen so far, but there were still remarkably few things blooming. The island seemed to be in early, early spring -- nearly 2 months behind where we were down at my home in Grand Rapids. I found Hepatica (at the top of this post), Marsh Marigold, wild strawberries, a few Purple Flag Irises, and this one that I didn't recognize at all, which grew in great abundance from cracks in the rock:

Mystery wildflower

The trail to Moskey is indeed slanted, since it runs along the downhill side of one of Isle Royale's many angled ridges. One foot is always higher than the other, which can make for a tiring hike even at the best of times.

As I hiked, the day warmed up into an absolute stunner. It was 60 degrees, clear, and wonderfully sunny. At some points, when I was on the exposed ridge tops, I even started to feel a bit warm.

A typical segment of the trail to Moskey -- your right leg is always higher

I took my time and enjoyed the views. Since the trees were just barely starting to leaf out, I could see over Moskey Basin itself, and to the distant hills behind it. I took many side trips, investigating a beaver pond, a small waterfall, and all of the wildflowers I could find.

My camera caused all sorts of troubles on this trip. I was committed to keeping it out of my pack, so that I could take photos of the beautiful wildflowers on the beautiful trail in the beautiful weather. I tried hanging the camera around by neck while I used my trekking poles, which resulted in the camera painfully smashing into my stomach every step. I wedged the camera behind a pack strap, then around the back of my pack entirely, none of which worked very well.

Another slanted segment of Moskey trail

I arrived at Moskey Basin Campground by mid-morning, somewhat surprised at how easy the hike had been. I immediately headed all the way to the end of the campground, noticing only one occupied shelter along the way, and hung my permit on my favorite shelter -- #7, so hands off!

As soon as I set my pack down, I heard a "hello" from the trail, and soon I was chatting with Nicky from Connecticut. She had arrived moments before me and was scouting out the various shelters. As we talked, I learned that Nicky was a solo first-time visitor to the island, in the middle of an 8 day end-to-end hike (of which I was immediately envious). She had come to Moskey by way of Windigo and the Minong Ridge trail, one of Isle Royale's legendary trails. Nicky is also the only person I've ever met who was over-prepared for Isle Royale, since she hikes the White Mountains regularly. She had found the Minong "pretty easy". I shook my head in amazement.

Nicky headed out to continue choosing her ideal shelter, and I sat down at the picnic table to eat a lunch of rice cakes-and-peanut butter with a side of meat stick. As I did, I heard a sudden scrambling from the shelter and turned to see a squirrel climbing all over the screened-in front wall. The squirrel froze (high up on the wall), chattered at me, and then continued as if it were simply a normal day of shelter-climbing (I suppose it probably was). I had met a squirrel doing this exact same thing last time I stayed at shelter #7 -- are they teaching each other?

I enjoyed a nice long session of reading and relaxing in my shelter's shady front yard. Shelter #7 is my favorite for many reasons. It faces directly down the basin, which lets you catch the sunrise from inside the shelter. The "front yard" is shaded by tall evergreens, but still open enough to allow a view. Plus, there's a handy spit of rock poking out into the bay that lets you get water easily.

Some time later, Nicky called me down to shelter #2, where she had settled and discovered that the rocky front yard seemed to be a magnet for waterfowl. A collection of geese with goslings in tow was just paddling off, while a horde of mysterious duck-shaped birds settled in for naps right in front of her picnic table. I grabbed my Serious Camera and got down to some Semi-Serious wildlife photography, while we chatted and laughed about the bizarre birds (which I later realized were good old Red-Breasted Mergansers). Every minute or two, one of them would start a sort of call-and-response of silly sounds and periscope neck stretches between the males and females.

Look at this dapper fellow

Merganser pair

Nicky had also managed to record audio of wolves yipping and howling at McCargoe Cove the previous night, which I was able to hear and enjoy thanks to her phone recording.

As we sat talking, we heard a "Hullo!" from shelter #1, and thus Woody from Wisconsin entered our lives. He was another solo first-timer, Real Ultimate Outdoorsman, and the Truest Yooper I've ever met. He was a jack of all trades who had traveled to (almost) all of the lower 48 states and was on Isle Royale essentially on a whim. He was hiking east to west with a fearsomely heavy pack on his back, including a hatchet (he was constantly looking for things to "fix" with it), a solar shower, and a solar panel for recharging various electronics. His attitude toward life is summarized by his future plans: "Maybe I'll go out to Big Bend next, hike around there until I'm out of money, and then see if they need any help in the oil fields." That, and "or maybe I'll ride into Rock Harbor on a moose!"

Marsh marigold

While I enjoyed the company immensely, I soon excused myself and headed out on a dayhike. Early on in planning my trip, I had seen a photo taken from the small, rocky point of land that juts out into the Basin just south of the campground. There is no trail to that point, and I thought it might be fun to bushwhack out there. Once I started looking at maps, I noticed more points of land to explore, hidden inland lakes to see, and a "mountain" -- Mt. Saginaw, nearly 900 feet above sea level -- with some bald highlands that might just reveal views in all directions. I quickly become obsessed with the idea of bushwhacking around Moskey Basin and up to Mt. Saginaw, to see what I could see and visit what others definitely couldn't visit.

I'm an experienced Copper Country bushwhacker, but I've never cross-country hiked on the island. So to test my plan, I decided to bushwhack to the first short point of land south from the campground -- the one that started my obsession. This would let me see how fast I could hike overland. If it went well, then I would spend tomorrow, all day, getting to Mt. Saginaw and back. This short bushwhack -- 1/2 mile each way -- is what I was going to attempt next. I explained the plan briefly to Nicky and Woody so that somebody knew where I'd gone, and headed out with Woody's encouragement ringing in my ears: "Go man! You're a tank!"

One of the open bedrock glades

Well, on that short dayhike, I learned a few lessons: First, while spring is a nice time to bushwhack in deciduous areas due to the lack of underbrush, it's a terrible time to bushwhack through swampy areas. My first obstacle to overcome was a swamp right behind shelter #8. At this time of year, the swamp was less a swamp and more a stagnant pond so full of water it almost stopped me, until I found an old beaver dam to walk across, followed by another careful heel-toe walk along several fallen trees. I finally made it to higher ground, which was filled with dense and prickly evergreens, although they were more navigable than the swamp.

The point itself was a patchwork of lichen-covered rocky glades that forcibly reminded me of days bushwhacking in the Copper Country, and dense balsam stands where I could barely maneuver between trees. I made it out to the far end of the point and got some photos looking back at the campground.

Looking back at Moskey Basin campground

My main objective was complete: It wasn't easy, but I had succeeded in bushwhacking out to the point. I decided to see if I could push on past the next big obstacle: The bigger swamp between me and the next point of land around the basin. Isle Royale is made from many parallel rocky ridges. The low areas between them usually fill in with swamps. I could see a massive wall of rock across the lake, and a huge swamp between it and me. The lake wasn't crossable and the shoreline was too dense to get through -- I had to go through the swamp, and that swamp is what finally stopped me. Beavers had absolutely gone to town in it. There were at least 6 beaver dams lined up along the swamp, getting newer as I walked away from the lake. Only the newest was active, and the old ones were sketchy looking at best. I couldn't see the far side of any of the dams and my tenuous attempts to walk across a few of them nearly filled my boots with water. In the distance, I could hear a constant "glug... glug... WHOOSH" that was probably a moose feeding in the pond. I'm not a fool -- or at least not that much of a fool -- so I turned around and headed back. Final tally: 1 mile, 2 hours.

One of the better options for crossing a beaver dam

If you take a look on the topo map below and compare the location of this tiny little point of land to the location of Mt. Saginaw, you'll get a sense of just which icy spheroid would have to pass through which netherworld before I had a chance of making it to Mt. Saginaw tomorrow.

Topo map of Moskey Basin: The red line is my 1 hour bushwhack (if I had gone in a direct line, which of course I couldn't do). Mt. Saginaw is on the far right.

Back at my shelter, as I de-twigged my hair and attempted to clean the mud out of my boots, I thought through my plans. I suddenly had a whole extra day in my trip. I spread out my map and came to some decisions: Instead of staying in Moskey another full day, I would start heading back to Daisy Farm and Three Mile, doing dayhikes and taking my time along the way. It was a hard decision -- because I was giving up on a big and exciting thing that I'd planned to do. But on the other hand, it was an easy decision -- there was just no way I could do the bushwhack unless I planned to camp cross-country, which requires a special permit (and I wasn't prepared for anyhow).

I felt much better after making that decision. Instead of bushwhacking slowly and painfully across the island, I spent the afternoon chatting pleasantly with Nicky and Woody on the rocky spur next to the dock.

For dinner, I enjoyed Mountain House Lasagna, a known winner -- deliberately chosen to make up for last night's Black Barf Chili. As I ate, I heard a commotion from shelter #8, and suddenly a beautiful, healthy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed red fox ran straight through my yard, eyeballing me and my food while not even breaking its stride. I yelled at it too, and heard it patter along down the trail, probably headed for the next site. It was the first camp fox I'd ever seen despite constant talk of them on the island. I didn't even have a chance to grab a photo!

After dinner, I took a walk to look for moose in the swampy inlet just outside of the campground (and also to get away from the busy campground -- every shelter and some tent sites had filled up during the afternoon). I found no moose, but I did find two fresh wolf prints. This was the closest I've gotten to a wolf on the island.

The closest I've been to a wolf on Isle Royale

On my way back, I got diverted to photograph the incredibly cute goslings that had congregated at Nicky's wildlife-attracting shelter. The parents were strangely unconcerned about me belly-crawling  around them with my big camera in tow.

The one in the background seems to be saying "Hey, what's HE doing?"

Next door, I met yet another solo backpacker: Sid, from downstate Michigan (although I sadly forgot where exactly). Sid was the only other returning Isle Royale visitor that I met on the trip, and we immediately bonded over Copper Country history and had an exceptionally detailed discussion about the location of some good places to look for silver and gold in the western UP.

Pile o' goslings eating some particularly lovely filth.

I finished up the evening hanging out with Sid and Nicky at Sid's shelter, chatting about hiking, and watching the stars come out. We stayed up way too late but got to see a spectacularly clear sky. Twilight seemed to last forever, and when I looked it up later, I discovered that twilight is indeed 20 - 30 minutes longer than it is in Grand Rapids (this has something to do with being that much farther north). It was nearly midnight when we finally gave up and stumbled back to our respective shelters by headlamp-light.

Before going to bed, I hastily set up my camera on its tiny little tripod, all in the dark, and set it to take a series of photos which I later stacked together to show the motion of the stars. I've taken many star trail photos, and the one bit of advice that I always give is: Pick your composition and set up your camera while it's still light out. I failed on that account, due to my pleasantly social evening. While my hasty composition wasn't the greatest, I do love the way the stars show off the trees that frame my shelter's view of Moskey Basin.

Stars over Moskey Basin

It was another cold night. At 2 am, I woke up, looked out of the shelter, and saw the Milky Way hanging high above a placid Moskey Basin. I was groggy and cold, so instead of taking a photo, I snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Miles hiked: 3.9 + 1 (dayhike)
Total miles: 12.2

Wildlife seen: A dozen Red Breasted Mergansers, 4 geese with a swarm of goslings, one beaver, a very happy camp fox, one crazy squirrel, and a wolf (track).

Next time: The Return of the Daisy Farm

Day 2's trails are in pink

Isle Royale 2019, Day 1: Rock Harbor to Daisy Farm

Last time: Intro, travel, and sleeping in the shack

A gray day over Rock Harbor

Monday May 27, 2019: I woke long before my alarm and peeked out the window. The early morning outside was cold, windy, and spritzing rain.

I got up, took my last shower of the week, and checked and double-checked my packing list. With no excuse to wait any longer, I drove all of 2 blocks to the Isle Royale Queen's parking lot where Captain John -- one of the three Kilpela brothers who run the Queen -- directed parking. The lot was more full than I expected, but hardly as overflowing as it usually is in August.

I pulled out my pack, suited up, and then had to wait for the Queen's office to open before I could check in. The dock slowly filled up with travelers, solo and in groups. A surprising number had rolling luggage, considering that the lodge wouldn't open for another week. I hoped they were staying in rental cabins.

I hid from the wind around the side of the office and discovered a family of 4 doing the same. The father turned out to be extremely talkative and was soon gnawing my ear off about his long-ago hiking trips. This was their first outing as a family, and they were heading to the island for a day trip -- 4 hours at most on the island, barely time to see anything! Nonetheless, with two small kids and the lodge not yet open, it seemed better than nothing.

Soon, Captain John corralled us into a line and got us boarded smoothly. I ended up near the end of the line. By the time I made it onto the boat, the main cabin was nearly full -- surprising for an early spring trip. I ended up sharing a 4-person seat with Doug and Steve from Cow-lumbus Ohio (their term, not mine, but who am I to argue?). They were first-timers to the island, and also extremely pleasant seat-mates to spend the ride chatting with. They were on this trip along with a large group that included Doug's college roommate. I could tell Doug was nervous by the number of times he mentioned that he "hadn't seen him (the roommate) in 28 years...". Meanwhile, the large roommate-including group had managed to dig out the cigars (!) that they had packed and were smoking them vigorously out on the stern. The mix of cigar smoke and diesel fumes must have been invigorating, because I heard some loud whoops coming from that direction.

Talk turned to alternate itineraries for Doug and Steve, and we spent a long while poring over a trail map. As the only one of us who had been to the island before, I gave my thoughts on some of the best parts of the island and a few beautiful off-trail spots that are worth finding.

Fences at the Siskiwit Mine, because I didn't take many photos on the boat

As we chatted, I looked across the aisle and saw four college-age guys sitting in various states of disarray. One, in flip-flops, lolled while listening to music. Another ate a huge cinnamon roll and looked green around the gills. They all carried a certain air of not being prepared, and also not particularly caring about not being prepared. I made a mental note to watch out for them, in case I came across one of them lost in the middle of a campground. Sitting with them were an uncomfortable looking couple that I couldn't quite place -- too young to be parents. Perhaps leaders of a camp group? Total strangers? I wasn't sure.

The trip was amazingly smooth despite the wind and rain. As we entered Rock Harbor, the rain decreased to a bare spritz, and so we braved the cold bow to enjoy the views. As we docked, I shared with Doug and Steve my usual advice on how to get started quickly: At the dock, there will be a big circle that forms around the ranger during orientation. Hang out on the side closet to the visitor's center, near the back of the circle, so that you can zip over to the registration line quickly. They took my advice, and after Ranger Molly's efficient and thorough orientation, we all ended up near the front of the registration lines. That's when I realized that I had left my photo ID (necessary to use a National Park Annual Pass) stashed in my backpack. So out of the line I went, found my ID, and got back into the end of the slowest registration line I have ever experienced. Strike 1!

Meanwhile, the big group was cleaning out the Trading Post's beer supply, breaking out more cigars, and preparing to party in Rock Harbor campground.

I finally got registered and looked for the bathrooms, which turned out to be closed. Strike 2! After walking all the way across the harbor to find the last working toilets for 5 days, I headed out on the trail, and made it all of 100 yards towards the Rock Harbor trail when I found that I couldn't get any water out of my water reservoir. Strike 3! At this point, I was pretty sure I was being punished for telling Doug and Steve how to avoid the line. As I sat next to the trail with my bag half disassembled, Steve walked up from the campground and proclaimed me to be a "scholar and gentleman" -- due to my advice, he had been able to snag one of the last shelters. At least somebody was having a good day on my behalf!

I finally fixed my water hose and set out for real. I have never taken the Rock Harbor trail up to Three Mile campground before -- we've always taken the easier Tobin Harbor trail instead -- so this was a new experience. None of it is particularly tough, but the sheer variety is amazing. It's almost like the island is trying to give a complete overview of trail types to all of the newbies rushing out of Rock Harbor.

Occasionally it's a flat, easy single-track through the woods (When you see this, you know the trail is planning something -- it's just trying to lull you into complacency):

Then there's your standard rocks-and-roots trail:

Or a puncheon bridge across a swampy area (with, of course, a mix of rocks, roots, and bedrock for fun):

Sometimes it's cairn-finding across a big swath of bedrock:

Or a little bit of rock climbing:

Or rock "stepping":

Can you find the trail in this photo? (Click to enlarge it)

This is one of my favorite bits. The trail runs along a narrow ledge of rock that's almost at lake level. It's (at most) one person wide. When the lake is rough, you'll be getting your boots wet here:

One lane road

Not far down the trail, I came across a fellow who was readjusting his heavy-looking pack. On the ground next to him was a medium-sized Igloo cooler. Remembering advice that a ranger once gave me, I greeted him and asked how he was doing. "Great! It's so beautiful! Just adjusting a few things." I wished him luck and continued onward, pondering that cooler, what might be in it, and how long he would be carrying it.

I stopped at Three Mile campground (conveniently located... 3 miles from Rock Harbor) to change gear. I had been using my trekking poles and getting a good boost out of them, but I wanted to have my Serious Camera out -- a DSLR and lens that added 2.5 pounds to my pack -- so I needed to free up a hand. Away went the trekking poles and out came the camera, a trade that I would make many times over the course of my trip.

One goal of this trip was to take time to explore side trips large and small that I'd never done before. So when I saw the sign not too far beyond Three Mile that said "DANGER: Open mine pits in this area", I took that as an invitation to step off trail. This was the Siskiwit Mine, one of Isle Royale's old copper mines. It's highly tamed as Copper Country mines go: All of the shafts are surrounded by wooden fencing and nothing really interesting is left -- although several of the shafts still had snow in them. There were a few rock foundations just down the trail, and a small rock pile along the lakeshore. It scratched a small itch, and I continued on feeling happy. It reminded me of a good bit of general backpacking advice: Don't forget to look up from your feet, think beyond your goal for the day, and enjoy where you are right now.

Snow in a Siskiwit Mine shaft

The trail had been perfectly nice, if varied, up until the mine, after which it started to get muddy... and muddier... and even muddier. There were a few bogs that gave me flashbacks to our June backpacking trip in the Porcupine Mountains, where sometimes we couldn't even see the other sides of the bogs. This time at least, there were no mosquitoes trying to pick me up and carry me away -- in fact, I hadn't met a single bug yet. I did have to put the camera away so that I could rely on my hiking poles for support and, sometimes, use them to feel for submerged obstacles. After the umpteenth mud bog, I was getting a bit tired and stopped at a nice rocky outcrop for a quick rest and a gorp snack. After that lovely break, I got up, walked all of 10 minutes, and arrived at Daisy Farm.

You might have heard bad things about Daisy Farm: It's big, it's noisy, it's ugly, nobody goes there on purpose -- they just pass through on their way to somewhere better. I'm here to argue otherwise. Ever since Sarah and I first stopped there, Daisy Farm has been one of my favorite campgrounds on the island. It's not the place to find solitude and silence, but it is always easy to find a spot even in the busiest season, it's comfortable, and it has a beautiful setting. Today, however, it felt spookily empty.  The only shelter that was taken was the one I've always wanted, but never managed to snag: shelter #4, which faces a wide open grassy field filled with Black-eyed Susans in August. I looked long and hard at the shelters that were right next to the lake (and, with no brush grown up yet, they had a spectacular view), but a healthy offshore breeze chilled me as I stood in front of them and promised that I would be cold all night if I slept there. I ended up in the far back of the campground at shelter #19, well protected from the breeze.

Tent in shelter #19, to conserve heat and protect from wind.

My first priority was to filter water. I took the "dirty" bag from my gravity filter down to the dock, swiped it through the lake water, and just about froze my hand off. (This is the only downside I've ever found from using a gravity filter instead of a traditional hand pump.) While I was dancing around to warm up, I chatted with Mark, a fisherman casting from the end of the dock. He too was a solo hiker and a first timer on the island. The introductions went as things often do for Michiganders: "So, where are you from?" "Grand Rapids" "Me too!" "Oh, right, so I'm actually from...". It seems that everyone from southern Michigan claims to be from Grand Rapids, Lansing, or Detroit to save time and effort when talking to people who won't know where Jenison or Sunfield or Monroe are anyhow.

After my camp chores were done, I headed back out on the trails. We were less than a month away from the Solstice, so sunset wasn't until well after 9:30. I intended to use every minute of the wonderfully long days while I was on the island.

I started with another of the little side trips that I wanted to complete on this visit. Daisy Farm was once the town of Ransom, which supported the Ransom Mine. This 1840's-era copper mine was located on Ransom hill, which backs up behind the campground (and forms that one last obstacle that has many a hiker groaning in agony as they attempt to reach Daisy Farm). I had read claims that there were ruins to be found, and my Copper Country Exploring itch needed more some scratching. I hiked slowly up and down the Mt. Ojibway trail on Ransom hill, staring intently into the woods and occasionally popping off-trail to investigate likely-looking piles of rock. There were a few suspicious looking depressions and perhaps a trench, but mostly what I found were moose trails and beautiful lichen-covered rock outcrops. I tried going overland from one of the individual campsites, and found an outcrop that might have had a small adit (horizontal mine opening) blasted into it -- or maybe it was just perfectly normal frost cracking at the base of a cliff. While I didn't find any real mine ruins, there are worse ways to spend an evening than wandering through beautiful and silent woods with all of my senses focused on the present.

A lovely outcrop, and maybe an old mine

It turns out that staring at suspicious looking rocks can work up my appetite, so I headed back to my shelter. Dinner was Alpine Aire Black Bart chili, and the less I say about that, the better. As I "ate", a puffed-up White-throated Sparrow entertained me, hopping around my campsite and probably hoping for a handout.

My friend the sparrow

After dinner there was still plenty of light in the sky. I wandered around the campground somewhat aimlessly and ended up discovering Shelter #1, which is off on its own side trail separate from the other shelters. I made a mental note to stay there in the future. Behind the shelter, I followed a trail on towards the ranger's cabin, which was unoccupied. I kept following the trail and found the ranger's personal outhouse, with a sign tacked on it: "This trail does NOT go to Moskey Basin. Turn around and go back!" That immediately brought up the question: Where does this trail go? So, I followed it. The trail continued past the outhouse and into an open meadow, which contained some strange cement footings. Later, I learned that these are likely remnants of the CCC Camp Rock Harbor where hardy souls lived and worked year round -- including winters! -- in the 1930's.

Eh, I've seen better.

One of my favorite rhythms in camping is waking with the sunrise and going to bed with sunset. After a totally adequate sunset from the Daisy Farm dock, I snuggled up in my tent, set up inside the shelter to protect against wind and hold in extra heat. The night was near freezing, but that's nothing that a shelter, tent, 10 degree sleeping bag, winter-rated sleeping pad, 3 layers of clothes, and a Nalgene filled with hot water couldn't help with.

Miles hiked: 7.3
Total miles: 7.3

Wildlife seen: Squirrels, sparrows, and gray jays, but no moose.

Next time: Wildlife and Wisconsinites

Trail map. Today's route is in green.