Porcupine Mountains 2021, Day 1: Summit Peak to Mirror Lake

 All backpacking posts - Last time: Intro, planning, and a lot of gear updates

Mirror Lake, living up to its name

Saturday May 22, 2021: After a quick breakfast and goodbyes with Sarah's parents, we set out for the Porkies. The weather was hot and humid, but the miles passed easily under clear skies.

As we drove through Baraga, Sarah noticed an old-fashioned drive-in restaurant along the side of the road. We immediately decided it would be our first meal on our return trip. From long experience we knew we would be ravenous for a greasy burger (or, to be fair, anything that wasn't freeze-dried).

Soon the hunch-backed profile of the Porcupine Mountains came into view -- the very shape that gave the mountains their names. We arrived at the Visitor's Center around 2 pm, where a helpful ranger and her very new intern got me my keys and permits. When I asked how the trails were looking, the ranger answered "Oh, there's mud, but it's nowhere near as bad as it could be. The bugs, on the other hand...". Oh boy.

Elegant hemlocks hiding untold swarms of mosquitoes

Our starting point, Summit Peak, was half way around the park on the South Boundary Road. Just before the Lost Creek Outpost campground, I saw a scruffy-looking backpacker trying to hitch a ride. Two cars ahead of us both slowed for a moment, then drove on. I slowed and glanced at Sarah -- we had been incredibly careful in the year of COVID, and picking up a random dude on the road was never high on our list. On the other hand, a backpacker stuck in the wrong place was a major problem. I pulled over.

Thus we met Rick, a backpacker from downstate Michigan who was visiting his brother's favorite place for the first time -- to spread the brother's ashes. The heat and bugs had built beyond Rick's tolerance in the last few days, and together they drove Rick to make a run for civilization. Unfortunately, he had ditched at about the farthest point of his hike, and so he was trying to hitchhike back to his truck.

We rearranged things carefully, rolled down all the windows, and invited Rick and his pack into our car. Rick was a talkative and funny guy, and we enjoyed learning about him and his trip as we zipped along the boundary road. At the Little Carp River road, we made sure he had keys for his truck, and then headed out towards our final goal: Summit Peak.

Summit peak road was long and winding as we climbed up to Michigan's third highest point. We started by walking the well-tended boardwalk up to the Summit Peak observation tower. Just before we left, I thought about Rick and grabbed our head nets. We took 5 steps before putting them on. The mosquitoes practically threw themselves at us. Passing hikers looked at our nets with undisguised longing.

Summit Peak selfie featuring the UP's latest fashion craze: bug nets

Summit Peak itself isn't that inspiring. We climbed the tower, surveyed the green bumpy bits, squinted and imagined we might actually be able to see Lake Superior, and enjoyed the breeze that kept bugs off of us. Then we climbed back down, got in the car, and drove to the South Mirror Lake trailhead.

We parked next to a large-ish trailer -- the kind you'd expect someone to store their power tools in. I double-checked the last few packing items, such as putting the car keys into an extremely secure case that will never escape my backpack no matter what. Then we hitched up our packs and headed down the trail. Our adventure began!

The South Mirror Lake trail starts out as a two-track road that rangers use in the off season. It also starts by climbing a shoulder of Summit Peak, which means a half-mile of long slow uphill. After that point, it narrows into a regular single-track hiking trail. The heat, humidity, and bugs were an unpleasant combination as we climbed that first hill. There may have been a brief bout of tears, but we got through it.

Mirror Lake Truck Trail

As we progressed, the mud seemed worse that I'd expected. Some of the mud bogs looked just like the ones you'd find on two-tracks in the Keweenaw backcountry. In many places, I could see clear tire tracks We slowly realized that the trail had actually been expanded into a two-track road for its entire length, all the way to Mirror Lake. Trucks had been hauling up and down it for a while, tearing up the trail and making some truly stupendous mud bogs. In a few places, the "road" briefly separated from the trail and took a less rocky route through a newly cleared cut.

This disconcerting situation took away from our enjoyment of the gorgeous old growth forest and rugged wilderness all around us, but in the end the wilderness won. When we reached the bridge that crosses the Little Carp River's outlet at Mirror Lake, we might have been hot, sweaty, muddy, and buggy, but we were also feeling the joy of being in a remote and beautiful place.

Bridge over flat, very untroubled water

Across the bridge, we quickly found a spur that led us to our cabin for the night, nestled in a small hollow in the hills. The Mirror Lake 2-Bunk, aka the "Love Shack", is well named: Several newlyweds had honeymooned here already this year and left breathless stories in the cabin's log book.

The 2-bunk is a tiny cabin, originally a small single-room ranger cabin. It was expanded with a tiny second room that holds a table and wood stove. The single bunk bed's top bunk is so close to the ceiling that many logs recorded scores: "Head 0, Ceiling 3" read one. Others recommended taking the rock-hard mattress down and laying it on the floor.

Mirror Lake 2-bunk. The fire pit is, strangely, behind this photo -- nowhere near the bench.

Before we settled in, we managed some camp chores. The log book recommended getting water not from the lake (which, despite its mirror-like surface, provides water that is mucky and hard to filter) but from Trail Creek, which enters at the north end of the lake. "It's a long hike, but worth it!" one log promised.

The creek was probably 1/3 of a mile from our cabin. We passed another cabin, the Mirror Lake 4-Bunk, which was surrounded by yellow tape. Its yard was filled with cut wood and sawhorses. The cabin was getting a thorough remodel, both inside and out, which probably explains why the trail was expanded into a rough road.

Next on our tour, we passed the Palace-Potty, a "cold composting" outhouse -- basically an outhouse built on stilts above a screened-in above-ground "pit" where all of the... waste... goes. Sounds disgusting? It's not -- something about this open-air process makes the entire thing smell-free and way better than any pit toilet. I left Sarah to enjoy its pleasures and continued on to Trail Creek.

Along the way, I passed by the Mirror Lake 8-Bunk, the oldest cabin in the park and a popular hunting lodge. In its front yard was a tiny human -- 3 or 4 years old at most -- wearing a tiny bug net, and carefully pounding a rock against a tree stump. There were no larger humans in sight. The tiny human greeted me and asked what I was doing. "Going to get water," I answered. "That's great! During the day, we get water at the creek, but at night we get water from the lake," came the tiny answer, which then continued into some detail about the mechanics of gathering water. I thanked my tiny guide and continued along to the creek, which was just a few steps past the cabin. It lived up to its promise of easy water, and was quite picturesque to boot.

Trail Creek, picturesque and convenient water source

Back at the 2-bunk, we performed another cabin ritual: Stashing all of our food in pots and pans with tight-fitting lids. Porkies cabins are notorious mice-holes, and we didn't want to give any furry bandits a chance to steal our food. The log book confirmed that the 2-bunk was host to a whole family of mice.

With chores handled, we took advantage of one of the perks of cabin life: It comes with a canoe! With a beautiful and calm day like this, we weren't going to let the chance to tool around Mirror Lake pass us by (unlike our previous stay at the 2-bunk, where we had been too exhausted to do anything but nap). 

There's an eagle waaaaaaay up ahead on one of those trees

Sarah and I are far from expert canoeists, but this was also not quite our first canoe rodeo. We managed to launch the canoe with a minimum of trouble and no tipping over (victory!). As we coasted along the west end of the lake, a bald eagle flew over us and perched atop a tall pine at the other end of the lake. We slowly turned and paddled our way over towards its perch, where it sat supremely unconcerned about us. We sat silently watching the majestic scavenger, until the wind started to push us back in to shore. We slowly rotated again and, after a few more maneuvers, made it back "home" safely.

With that excitement behind us, we settled in for dinner (freeze-dried Beef Stroganoff, meh) and some reading time. The air remained hot and humid long into the evening, which stretched on quite late, this far north and this close to the Summer Solstice.

Two-bunk window with drying socks

I climbed up into the top bunk and tried to read, but pretty soon I had to start keeping score for myself -- and the ceiling had a big head start. Plus, the air was even hotter up near the ceiling. After trying a few different positions, I gave up and followed the log book's advice: I hauled the rock-hard mattress down to the floor and laid out there.

The light slowly faded as we lay reading in the sweltering cabin. Suddenly, a bucket of ball bearings fell onto the cabin's metal roof! Or at least, that's what it sounded like. It was rain, accompanied by thunder and lightening and a howling wind. The temperature dropped precipitously as a dramatic thunderstorm rolled in, bringing cooler weather along with it. We turned in and tried to sleep as the storm continued to drop ball-bearing-buckets of rain on our roof all night.

Next time: It's all downhill from here! - All backpacking posts

View from the 2-bunk's front yard.

Miles hiked: 3 trail + 1 (two trips to the potty-palace)

Total miles: 4

Notable animals: Bald eagle and a tiny human

Day 1's hike in pink (not shown: day hikes to the potty-palace)

Porcupine Mountains 2021: Intro, Planning, and Travel

This is the first of 9 (!) blog posts about our 2021 Porcupine Mountains trip.

There is a complete list of episodes at the bottom of this post, or see the full adventure index.

Lily Pond

Two years without a backpacking trip! I never imagined that my 2019 solo trip to Isle Royale would be my last backpacking trip for nearly two years. We had planned a 2020 backpacking trip with friends, but it was one of (many) plans canceled due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

So, we spent most of 2020 and half of 2021 teaching online from home -- me in the corner of our spare bedroom, Sarah at a desk right in our living room. It was 15 months of unending work, constantly changing rules, and no meaningful break anywhere.

We did try to do several car-camping trips on weekends, although weather cut every single trip short. I spent more days huddled in a tent during a thunderstorm in summer 2020 than in the rest of my life combined.

Late in 2020, when the first faint glimmers of light began to twinkle at the end of the tunnel, we had enough hope to plan a backpacking trip for May 2021. By May, the School Year-and-a-Half From Hell had finally ended, we were both fully vaccinated, and we were ready to go on our first backpacking trip in 2 years.

Little Carp cabin, hiding in the trees

The plan was our most ambitious trip yet: 8 days of backpacking in the Porcupine Mountains, 60,000 of my favorite acres on earth. As usual, we hiked between rustic cabins rather than tent camping. These rustic cabins, often former ranger stations, are pretty primitive: A wood stove, some rock-hard bunks, and an assortment of too-friendly mice are all they guarantee. But the promise of four walls and a roof over our heads at the end of a long day makes them worth it.

We took it pretty slow: We only hiked about 35 miles over those 8 days, with a rest day in the middle. An unexpected benefit of the pandemic -- one of very, very few benefits -- was that we were in fantastic hiking shape. Nearly every day, we walked. A lot. Like, a lot. Working from home, Sarah and I could take a short walk together in the morning before school. We could eat lunch together (unheard of during regular school days!), and walk then too. We could walk in the evenings -- and all of those walks were very, very good for our stress while conditioning us to walking multiple miles per day.

Sarah hiking the Correction Line trail near Mirror Lake

We didn't cover much new ground in the Porkies, although we did stay at a few new cabins. Some of them became instant favorites. As you'll see, I didn't even focus on photography, as I usually do. Our main desire was to completely disconnect from the world and come back with a fresh start. I said it before, and I'll say it again:

There is a rhythm to backpacking. I enjoy the way my mind is forced to focus on the daily necessities of filtering water, hiking to the next stop, setting up camp, making food, sleeping, taking down camp, and repeating -- all within the confines of sunrise and sunset. The necessities silence any worries -- any concern about emails or projects or class prep or grading -- and let me enjoy the trip. I love this rhythm and the way it forces me to live in the moment of the trip, enjoy what I have, and not let my brain spin on other things.

By these measures, the trip succeeded wildly. It was just what we needed, and it provided an excellent "restart" for us.

The bridge over the Little Carp River at Mirror Lake

Gear updates: This part is for the gearheads, and also for new backpackers who might be interested in my reasoning for using some non-standard gear. If those don't describe you, skip right ahead to the next section.

During my long, long backpacking gap, I updated my last few pieces of gear that still remained from my "cheap is top priority" days. But with all that time to think and research, I made a few unusual choices for my gear updates.

The biggest change was my backpack. Back in late 2019, I was looking for ways to cut down my weight. After literally weighing every single thing I normally pack, the answer stuck out like a sore thumb: The pack itself was by far my heaviest item. I was still using a fancy Osprey pack that I had purchased quickly after my old one was stolen from a campsite (that's a separate story that I'll write down some time). I replaced it with a Superior Wilderness Designs Rugged Long Haul 50 pack. This upgrade, costing about the same as my old Osprey, saved over 2 pounds that I wouldn't have to carry.

Then, of course, I didn't get to use the pack for a year and a half!

I'll say more about the pack in the stories that follow, but in short: It's simple, streamlined, lightweight, and very well designed. It does everything I want it to, without extra frills. It's just as comfortable as my old pack, too!

Lake Superior near the mouth of the Little Carp River

Another big change: I ditched my old mummy-shaped sleeping bag and replaced it with an Enlightened Equipment Revelation down quilt. I first learned about camping quilts on Isle Royale in 2019, and boy was I envious of people who had them. A camping quilt is pretty much a tailored, lightweight version of what you put on your bed in the winter. The idea is that you'll have an insulated sleeping pad anyhow, so there's no need for insulation underneath you (in fact, compressed insulation -- like you would be laying on in a sleeping bag -- hardly insulates at all!). A quilt just lays over you, insulating the parts that aren't on the pad. This saved me a lot of weight:1.5 lbs! An even bigger deal for me: Quilts are so much more comfortable than mummy bags for side sleepers and people who toss and turn, both of which describe me to a T. Beyond that, I (or just as often, Sarah) could easily wrap a quilt around me whenever I was chilly. Needless to say, I'm sold.

My 3rd big weight saving measure was the hardest one to decide on: I left my Big Heavy DSLR at home and used my phone's camera instead. During my 2019 Isle Royale trip, I spent some time talking with other photographers about the value of hauling heavy photo equipment into the backcountry. We concluded that it boiled down to one question: Is the trip about photography? If it is, I should be spending a lot of time dedicated to learning the place and discovering how it wants to be photographed. If not, just bring a phone with a decent camera and use it instead. I hemmed and hawed about this, but in the end, it was clear that this trip would be better spent seeing things with my wife, rather than looking through a viewfinder. So, I left behind my 3 pounds of camera gear and brought a (good quality and waterproof) phone instead. While the phone isn't as flexible and can't do some things that my Huge Camera can do, the results are still quite nice.

My last gear change was a very different type: I didn't wear boots. No boots? What?! Yep, I ditched the big clompers and wore lightweight trail-running shoes instead. They are sort of like anti-boots: No ankle support (my ankles are just fine), and totally not waterproof. They're made from lightweight, highly breathable materials that dry out super fast. They worked great for me, but required a significant change in my mindset. This let me pull some stunts that you'll see later -- like wading straight across unbridged river crossings without even pausing.

Pink Lady's Slipper

Friday May 21, 2021: After all of our regular walks and special practice hikes with packs, after packing and unpacking and repacking everything and checking and double-checking our packing lists -- we were finally ready to go. We left bright and early, took our time, and arrived at Sarah's parents' house in Newberry without anything especially interesting happening.

The weather, even this far north, was hot and humid. This sticky weather had been building all week, just in time for our trip. I had been tracking the long-range weather forecasts, and it looked like the weather near the Porkies would cool down over the course of the week and become rainy and cold. Just a normal spring in the Upper Peninsula!

Then again, backpacking isn't about having perfect weather, perfect trails, perfect anything. Part of the fun is dealing with whatever challenges the universe decides to throw at you. With that attitude, we knew we could handle anything.

We slept well, relaxed and ready for a vacation.

Next time: The trail road to Mirror Lake

Complete list of blog posts in this series:

• Day 1: Summit Peak to Mirror Lake
• Day 2: Mirror Lake to Big Carp
• Day 3: Big Carp to Speakers
• Day 4: Speakers to Little Carp
• Day 5: Rest day at Little Carp
• Day 6: Little Carp to Greenstone Falls
• Day 7: Greenstone Falls to Lily Pond
• Day 8: Lily Pond to Summit Peak

How I use my phone as a GPS for hiking and backpacking

Update 1 (May 2021): I added information for newer phones and Android 11.

Update 2 (December 2023): Recent Android updates have removed Locus's ability to turn off the GPS. While the other advice still helps save battery life (especially recording track points at long intervals), GPS auto-off is no longer available.

For the last few years, I've used my Android phone as a GPS on backpacking trips. With the right (cheap) app and a few key settings, I can record tracks and use as little as 1% battery life per hour in GPS mode.

There are many ways to do this, but this post describes one that works for me. Here are the general principles:

1. Avoid turning the screen on. Screen time uses up your battery no matter what.
2. Avoid keeping a GPS lock. The app I recommend only checks the GPS periodically.
3. Turn off cell and wifi scanning. Scanning for signals -- especially if they are weak or non-existent -- eats a lot of battery life.

The steps below show how to do this for one particular app and phone combo. You can use these ideas to generalize to any Android phone.

Phone and app requirements

Phone: The method I describe here requires an Android phone (the app I describe isn't available for iPhones).

The most important feature of a phone, for GPS purposes, is good battery life. How do you know how good a phone's battery life is? The simplest way to tell is to look up the battery's capacity in milliamp-hours, usually abbreviated mAh. A bigger number means more juice to run your phone, and so longer battery life.

My Google Pixel 5 has a 3800 mAh battery -- fairly decent for a high-end phone. My older, super-cheap Samsung had a 3300 mAh battery. The longest-lasting Android phones (at this time) have 5000 mAh batteries! In general, you should read reviews and avoid anything below about 3000 mAh.

Other features are generally not important, and in fact the big flashy flagship models can be bad choices due to high battery use and giant screens. Here are some suggestions anyhow. Big screens use more energy, so smaller screens are better. A 5-inch screen is great if you can find it, but almost everything is 6 inches. This is another reason I use a Pixel 5: It's not a giant tablet-sized phone.

The specific version of Android that you're running really doesn't matter (especially because you'll be disabling some of the fancier features in a later step anyhow). My old phone ran the almost-antique Android 6.0.1, while my new one runs the cutting-edge Android 11. They both work just fine.

App: I use Locus Map Pro (v. 3.51 currently), which is by far the best GPS app I've found. It has amazing features, customizability, and battery life conservation. Here are some specific reasons why I love Locus:

• Power conservation: Maintaining a GPS lock can really drain your battery, and Locus has some really nice settings to help save battery life.
• Offline maps: Locus lets you download maps for offline use, which lets you turn off your phone's radio entirely, saving a ton of battery life.
• Great customizability: Besides everything above, Locus lets you set up the app in exactly the way you want, and even save and reload different groups of presets for different activities.

Setting up Locus

Out of the box, Locus Map Pro eats your batteries as much as any other GPS app. You'll need to change some settings in Locus Map Pro before it really starts to shine. Here are the most important ones:

1. Set up GPS auto-off

Important: This no longer works as of Android 13. I'm keeping this section here for reference, but due to the Android changes this setting has disappeared from Locus. Steps 2 and 3 still work.

How: Start at the "Hamburger menu" --> Settings --> GPS & sensors --> GPS auto-off. Set these options:

• Tap the switch to enable the GPS auto-off setting.
• GPS update interval: 60 seconds or more. I use 90 seconds.
• Min. accuracy: 300 feet or more.
• Max. search time: 60 seconds or less.
• Keep enabled when screen is on: See below for a discussion.

What it does: GPS auto-off keeps the GPS turned off most of the time. Specifically, Locus only turns the GPS on once every 90 seconds (or however many seconds you set in the "GPS update interval" option). The GPS gets a lock, reports your position to Locus, and then goes inactive again for 90 more seconds. This is much better than the default setting, where your GPS is kept on constantly.

The key setting here is "GPS update interval". The larger you can make this interval, the better. The trade-off is that Locus can't record your position more than once per update interval, so longer intervals will make for jagged, less smooth tracks. This is fine for most backpacking uses, since you only move around 100-200 feet per minute (about 1.5 - 2.5 miles per hour). I find that 90 seconds is a nice compromise.

"Min. accuracy" is a sort of failsafe: If the GPS can't get a good lock, it also turns off. Similarly, "Max. search time" is the amount of time the GPS is allowed to search for a lock before it gives up.

"Keep enabled when screen is on" is a setting that you'll need to decide on your own. The name is a bit misleading.

• If you check "Keep enabled", then GPS auto-off stays enabled when the screen is on. That is, the GPS will only turn on to get your location once per 90 seconds.
• If you uncheck "Keep enabled", then when you're actively using Locus (in particular, when the screen is turned on), then the GPS maintains a lock. This can be handy because it guarantees that you see your current, accurate location when you're looking at the screen -- and the energy-saving auto-off feature keeps working when the screen is off and the phone is in your pocket. The downside here is that if you turn the screen on frequently, the GPS will be on more often, and Locus will eat up your battery that much faster.

2. Set up better track recording settings

These settings are available for Locus Pro users only. It's less important than the GPS auto-off settings above. (But as of Android 13, with GPS auto-off being removed, these are the best ways to save battery life.)

How: Start at the "Hamburger menu" --> Track recording. Tap the pencil (edit) button to the right of this menu. Choose "Add new profile", choose "Hiking", and scroll down to the Parameters section. Set these values:

• Distance interval: At least 200 feet.
• Time interval: 60 seconds.

What it does: This is another place where you stop Locus's tendency to check the GPS too often. Every time Locus tries to record a point on a track that you're recording, it also tries to check the GPS. The "GPS auto-off" settings above stop the GPS check from happening. By setting this distance and time interval, you stop Locus from even waking up to try to check the GPS. This has much less of an effect, but it still helps.

In addition, if you let the GPS maintain a lock when the screen is on (see "Keep enabled when screen is on", above), then the Time interval in your track recording settings will still limit how often a point gets recorded. So, you could make these intervals much shorter if you want really smooth track recording when you're actively watching the screen (such as for off-trail navigation).

3. Other GPS settings to double-check

Here are some settings in the GPS & sensors menu that you can leave at their defaults for best battery life. Here is what those should be:

• Disable when app is hidden: On.
• GPS ON for track recording: Off. This is a poorly named setting. If you were to turn this on, the GPS would maintain a lock even if you have paused track recording, which wastes energy for no purpose.

Setting up your phone for GPS use

The phone also needs to be set up just right to get optimal GPS usage. I have to go through this process every time I want to use the phone as a GPS, and undo each of these settings when I want to go back to normal phone usage.

1. Put the phone in Airplane Mode

How: Generally, swipe down from the top and tap an airplane symbol (but this can vary a bit between Android versions).

What it does: This turns off your phone's cellular and wifi radios, which will save a lot of energy. If you're hiking in the backcountry, you probably won't have reliable cell nor wifi service. Your phone would spend a lot of energy searching for signals. By going into airplane mode, you stop the phone from even trying to search. If you need cell service for a minute, just exit airplane mode temporarily.

2. Turn off power saving features

This is counterintuitive, but necessary to let Locus do its thing.

How: There are two key things to do:

• Turn off power saving mode. On my phone, I do this by swiping down from the top and tapping "Battery Saver", if necessary choosing "Off" (rather than "Mid" or "Max").
• Exempt Locus from battery monitoring. This can be a bit of an ordeal to figure out. On my phone (with Android 11), here's how I do this:
• Swipe down from the top and tap the gear icon to enter the settings app.
• Choose "Apps & Notifications", then "App Info".
• Scroll to find Locus Map Pro and select it.
• Under "Advanced", tap "Battery".
• Tap "Battery Optimization" and then choose "All Apps" near the top.
• Find Locus Map Pro and choose it.
• Select "Don't optimize" in the pop-up and save the setting.

What these do: Modern phones are really smart about power saving. In particular, they will put apps to sleep if they don't look like they are doing much (like, say, sitting in the background recording your track). They will also kill apps that are using too much power (like, say, accessing the GPS). Locus can fall into either of these categories, and the two items above stop the two problems I just listed from happening.

3. Possibly turn off the screen lock

If your track recording seems to just switch off entirely -- you're recording no points at all -- turning off your screen lock might fix it. This also seems to vary between devices. If your screen turns off and locks, the system will disable GPS access, even if you've followed all of the steps above. The solution is to stop the screen from locking.

Another way to achieve this is to enable Google Smart Lock, and let it keep the phone unlocked when it's being carried. This isn't 100% reliable, but it can make things a bit easier on you.

Now you're ready to record a low-battery track

Here's what I do when I'm hiking and want to record a track: First, make sure you've done everything listed above.

In Locus, tap the Hamburger Menu --> Track recording. Make sure your custom "Hiking" mode is selected, then tap the green "Play" (start recording) button.

Put the phone away and don't look at it again! Every time you turn on the screen for any reason, you'll use a bit more battery power.

For me, this uses up around 1% of my battery life per hour. I can stay lower than that if I rarely look at the track, don't record new points, and otherwise avoid things that turn the screen on. I can end up around 2% per hour if I use GPS features like recording points, review past points, or (gasp!) use the phone for more typical phone purposes. On a recent trip with great GPS conditions (clear skies, little tree cover), I still had 100% battery life after 2.5 hours and 6 miles of hiking!

Isle Royale 2019, Day 5: Three Mile to Rock Harbor, the Stoll Trail, and home

Last time: Daisy Farm to Three Mile to A Night Out With Friends

The sun tries to peak out over the Three Mile dock

Friday, May 31, 2019: Friday morning dawned cold, cloudy, and rainy, or at least I assume it did. I slept in rather than getting up with the birds. The noise of diesel generators at Mott Island, the park's headquarters, traveled across the water and kept me up half of the night.

When I finally got up, the skies were covered with thick gray clouds, and there were occasional spritzes of rain. My trip was ending the way it started, after a spectacular run of good weather in the middle.

Shelter #3 at Three Mile Campground

After a slow breakfast and a slower packing up, I shouldered my backpack for the last time and slouched my way to Rock Harbor via the Mt. Franklin and Tobin Harbor trails. My favorite stretch of the Mt. Franklin trail looked completely different in the misty and gray morning, but still just as enchanting.

Nonetheless, being out on the trail put a bit of a zip in my step. At the intersection with the Tobin Harbor trail, I caught up with (and passed) Doug and Steve, and shortly after that, Allie and Brian. Nicky, the most serious hiker of us all, was way ahead of everyone and was hanging out in the Visitor's Center when I arrived in Rock Harbor. Everyone else from Three Mile slowly rolled in behind me.

Tobin Harbor trail

The rest of the Ohio gang was already there, having done a death march yesterday in order to party at Rock Harbor last night. They had bought out most of the beer at the Rock Harbor Trading Post and were still smoking cigars.

Another familiar but more welcome face was Mark from Grand Rapids. Steve had met Mark at McCargo and introduced us. We started with the usual round of "so, where do you live? Grand Rapids? Oh, me too..." before deja-vu set in, and we soon realized that we had had this conversation already, 4 days ago on the Daisy Farm dock.

Once everyone was present and accounted for, Doug and Steve convinced us to line up for a group photo. A kind and extremely patient bystander took photos with all of our cameras (except for Brian's monster camera, which you can still see in the photo below):

Mark, Nicky, me, Doug, Steve, Allie, Brian

With the whole Three Mile crew reunited, we decided to use our last few hours on the island to hike together on the Stoll trail out to Scoville Point. This is a popular day hike out of Rock Harbor, and as with almost everything on this trip, I had done it before. But, everything felt new and fresh in the cool spring weather, and who was I to turn down time with trail friends?

Certain non-me participants stuffed bags of chips, chocolate, and even beers from the Trading Post into their pockets. After much finding of bathrooms, stopping to find forgotten items, to-and-fro-ing, near misses, and hiking back and forth across Snug Harbor, we finally headed out on the Stoll trail.

Very soon it became clear that Steve, Nicky, and I were the fast walkers in the group, and we quickly outpaced Doug, Allie, Brian, and Mark. Our conversation ranged across future backpacking trips, the history of copper mining, and photography (a shared interest of all three). We laughed about Steve's almost comical ability to lose his gloves -- purchased at the last minute when he realized the island's cold weather would be a problem -- which he kept stuffing into a pocket, only to drop them again. The rest of us kept finding them along the trail behind him.

Me, bundled up against the weather, on the cliffs along the Stoll Trail. Photo by Nicky.

The hike was pleasant despite the gray day, stiff wind, and occasional rain. We spent a lovely half hour at a rocky outcrop bordering a lagoon of Lake Superior. We billy-goated our way up to the top of the cliffs, took photos, and jumped around the lake's rocky shoreline. The lichen-covered rocks formed an almost alien landscape, yet a familiar one: They are the mirror image of the Keweenaw's north shore, a place that my heart still aches for when I remember my time living there.

Eventually the rest of the group caught up with us and pushed us onward, picking up Steve's gloves (again) as they fell out of his pocket. We made a beeline for the end of the point while Doug peeled off, bound and determined to find an eagle's nest and a beaver cave (?!) that he had heard about along the trail. He promised to meet up with us on the way back.

When the rest of us made the end of the point, Steve revealed a treat that he had brought from the camp store: A Moon Pie. We partook of the gooey layers of cake and cream while standing in the most beautiful place in the world.

And just like that, I realized that it was time to leave. We had about an hour until the Queen was scheduled to leave -- just enough time to half-walk, half-run back back to Rock Harbor. This was completely unlike me -- I'm everywhere half an hour early, and there's no way I wanted to miss my only way off of the island. We paused just long enough to pick up Steve's gloves again from the middle of the trail. Doug, off on his beaver-and-eagle hunt, was nowhere to be found. We conferred briefly, decided that Doug knew when and where the boat was leaving, and that he would find his own way there.

Artist in residence (Dassler) cabin from the very end of Scoville Point

So we raced on to the dock, pausing for goodbye hugs from Nicky (the lucky one who still had several days on the island). We picked up our packs, handed them up to the crewman storing them on the Queen's upper deck, and then waited anxiously for Doug, who still hadn't appeared.

Finally, just before the last few hikers boarded and Captain Ben was about to get annoyed with us, Doug popped out from the woods. He had gotten a bit too engrossed in his search for the eagle -- found! and beaver -- not found! -- and literally made it in to the boat at the last possible minute. As he boarded, we told him that we had searched for him but couldn't find him. He replied: "Didn't you find my gloves? I went off trail to look for the beaver, and I left them on the trail so you'd know where I was waiting." Steve sheepishly turned over "his" gloves, which we had so thoughtfully picked up but not properly recognized.

The Queen was much emptier than on the trip over. I noticed that the bros -- looking tired and sullen -- had made it on the boat.

I spent the trip chatting with Doug, Steve, Mark, Allie, and Brian. It was a gray but pleasant ride. We gradually all fell into quiet and melancholy as we pondered the experiences we'd had over the past week and faced the prospect of returning to civilization.

Eventually cell phones started to ding!, signaling the approach of civilization. The boat entered Copper Harbor; the Harbor Haus waitstaff danced for us; we cheered; then we docked and disembarked.

Proof that I rode the Queen.

Before we departed, Doug, Steve, Mark and I made plans to meet at the Michigan House in Calumet. We met there and had the best burgers, beer, and chocolate pie in the world. Admittedly, any real food would have been the best in the world at that point, but the Michigan House's Gipp Burger really is one of the best burgers I've ever hard. Peer pressure and strength in numbers made it possible for us to enjoy dinner before any of us had a chance to change our filthy hiking clothes or shower off a week's accumulated cruft.

We departed with promises to keep in touch and wishes for safe travels. I headed to the Super 8 in Houghton and took the traditional two showers in a row, then immediately fell asleep and didn't wake up for 10 hours.

The next morning, I had a quiet breakfast at Suomi in Houghton -- their Pannukakku is still the best -- and headed south. The trip back home was melancholy and uneventful, as always. I was already planning my next trip.

Colonel Meat Stick says: I'll be back! (Photo by Steve.)

Afterward: Every trip to the island has its own character. My first trip was a death march where I nonetheless fell in love with the island. My second trip was a beautiful stroll through the woods, rounded out with relaxation and blueberries. This trip was completely different. I didn't see many new places or trails, but I did meet new people, got to know them, and felt like I was really part of a trail community.

I backpack for solitude, time for introspection, and quiet, and I usually don't go much beyond saying "hi" to anyone I meet on the trail. This trip showed that, sometimes, it's worth changing things up. Thanks to everyone (whether you're reading this or not!) for making this a trip to remember.

And of course, I'll be back! On this trip, I made sure to invite every newbie I met back to the island, partly because I knew it would likely happen anyway once they fell in love with the island, and partly to invite them into part of the wonderful community that I found on the island. I encourage you to do this too.

... Oh, and just for Jake: Yeah, I guess I like trekking poles. Kinda.

Miles hiked: 3.7 + 4 (dayhike)
Total miles: 36.6

Complete list of each post in this series:

• Introduction and Travel
• Day 1: Rock Harbor to Daisy Farm
• Day 2: Daisy Farm to Moskey Basin
• Day 3: Moskey Basin to Daisy Farm and the Mt. Ojibway Loop
• Day 4: Daisy Farm to Three Mile
• Day 5: Three Mile to Rock Harbor, the Stoll Trail, and home

 Or, check out this list of all of my backpacking blog posts.

My final route. Friday's trails are in purple.

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!!

Next time: The Case of the Missing Doug, or, how to make the most of your last day 

Day 4's hike is in orange