Porcupine Mountains 2021, Day 6: Little Carp to Greenstone Falls

 All backpacking posts - Last time: Everyone loves the Little Carp cabin's tilt-a-potty!

Cold morning meets hot tea

Thursday May 27, 2021: After tossing, turning, and burrowing deeper into the sleeping bag all night, I managed to string together a few hours of sleep. Sarah and I woke to a cold, gray morning outside the Little Carp cabin. We put on as many layers as we could find (including, in her case, wrapping herself in my quilt!) and made multiple rounds of hot tea with our oatmeal. We later learned that it had dropped to 34 overnight, and the puny fire in the cabin's wood stove barely lasted an hour.

The day didn't feel much warmer than the night and it looked like rain, so we piled on layers and rain gear before saying goodbye to the Little Carp cabin. In the end, we did enjoy the Little Carp cabin and its private setting -- despite the number of interruptions from nearby campers.

Little Carp River cabin on a gray day

Today, we would hike the Little Carp River trail into the park's interior, ending at Greenstone Falls cabin -- another new cabin for us. The Little Carp River trail started just across the Little Carp bridge. We waved at the still-spawning fish as we crossed.

At the trail intersection, we found a sign: 6.5 miles to Greenstone Falls cabin. Great! ... except that the Little Carp River trail is also part of the North Country Trail, which has its own set of maps that put the mileage closer to 5 miles. Mileage signs are often like this in the Porkies: As best I can tell, the signmakers just make their best guess and stick with that.

The Little Carp River trail is a contender for the most beautiful trail in a park where all of the trails run through nonstop beauty. The trail runs all the way from Lake Superior to Mirror Lake, the heart of the park's interior highlands. We planned to hike nearly all of it in the next two days, starting with the big hill right in front of us. We climbed it... and then quickly came right back down to river level. 

Traders "falls"

Shortly afterwards, we followed a sign for a short spur to Traders falls, one of the few waterfalls marked with a sign in all of the Porkies. I have no idea why this tiny collection of river rocks got a name, much less a sign. The whole river looks like Traders falls, and many larger waterfalls go unnamed and unsigned.

For the first few miles of the Little Carp River, the trail is right next to the river, with constant amazing views. I tried to capture many of them, but really... you have to see them in person. The trail crosses the river several times with no bridges to be found, but the river is almost always shallow, rocky, and easy to ford.

Sarah at the first Little Carp crossing.

On of my favorite parts of the river is the "Tree Alley", a long straight stretch deeply shaded by overhanging hemlocks. Tree Alley ends with a beautiful waterfall -- surely one of Trapper's or Explorer's falls, but I honestly have no idea because unlike Trader's falls, it has no sign.

Along this stretch, we started to meet some more hikers. First came several solo hikers who seemed excited just to be in the Porkies. Next, we met a couple of hikers sitting in a campsite, looking unhappy as they peeled off their socks. They warned us about the upcoming unbridged river crossing, which must have caught them by surprise.

After crossing the river (again, I waded right in without changing my trail-running shoes), we paused for lunch. The day had hardly warmed up at all -- it was in the 40's at most -- and rain occasionally spritzed down on us.

A real waterfall!

The trail soon cut away from the river and ran through a broad open forest. We met a group of 5 guys, looking for all the world like a cross between lumberjacks and college students. We guessed, from long experience, that they were students at Michigan Tech (where both Sarah and I attended college). The flannel and beards were a dead giveaway.

A nice feature of the Little Carp River trail is that how slowly but steadily it gains elevation. There aren't too many steep segments of the Little Carp, but most of them happen at this point, as you climb over knobs of bedrock leading up to the interior highlands. The trail runs high above the river, which is still visible and audible far below. Near the top of one of these knobs, we passed the turnoff to the mysterious Cross trail -- the only major trail in the park that I've never touched. After that, we quickly found the Greenstone Falls cabin. In the end, the hike felt closer to 5 miles than 6.5, but we didn't verify the distance with a GPS.

Greenstone Falls cabin was another new cabin for us. It's named for the waterfall that's just a few hundred yards farther up the trail. The cabin is so close to the river that you can always hear rushing water inside, even with the windows closed. The trail runs through the cabin's front yard, squeezed between the cabin and the river.  The cabin's fire pit is across the trail from the cabin itself, and almost in the river during high water. If you are a social sort of person, you could do worse than renting this cabin and sitting on its front steps and chatting with the passersby all day.

In the Tree Alley

We are not very sociable people, or at least, that's not why we go backpacking. We must be in good company, because this was the first Porkies cabin I've ever rented that has shutters. The cabin's huge banks of windows -- very similar to those on Little Carp cabin -- can be entirely covered by thick, solid wooden shutters that latch solidly and keep out prying eyes. The cabin is within a mile of a popular trailhead, and even as we unlocked the cabin, several groups came hiking in from that direction, walking just feet from the cabin.

We opened up the cabin, including the shutters, and took a look around. The first thing I noticed wasn't  a sight, but a smell... a whole range of them. Some of the smell came from the mingling scents of literally dozens of candles sitting on windowsills, counters, and the table. We've seen candles left in other cabins, but this felt like we had walked into someone's personal shrine. That wasn't all though, as I caught a whiff of a distinctly urine-ish smell near the counter. Maybe that's what all the candles were about. We quickly opened the windows to air out the cabin, despite the cold air outside.

The smells and candles were part of an overall odd feeling I got from the cabin. The cabin's ceiling and some walls were made from some sort of varnished chipboard, rather than the paneling found in other cabins. The bunks were built in to the back wall (again, much like the Little Carp cabin). Most cabins have small "shelves" built in to the walls next to each bunk, to store items like glasses or a headlamp. The lower bunks here had no shelves at all, and the upper bunk's shelves were so high up that we'd have had to stand up on the mattresses to reach them.

Greenstone Falls interior. Notice the oddly textured roof.

On the positive side, especially on this cold day, the cabin was well stocked with firewood. A big pile of freshly split wood sat directly underneath the wood stove. In the log book, the previous renters said that they had put it there to help it dry.

Inspired, and knowing that we were going to burn a lot of wood to heat the cabin tonight, we headed out to cut even more wood and managed to haul in another big load of wood. I quickly started a fire in the stove, hell-bent on building a better fire than I'd done last night. To help, I carefully followed the instructions in the Last Porcupine Mountains Companion, an invaluable book that the Friends of the Porkies have provided in each cabin (although a few seem to have walked away over the years). The book, plus the excellent dry firewood already stocked in the cabin, helped me start a roaring fire that pushed the chill away as evening started to creep in.

Greenstone Falls

When the fire was old enough to be left alone, we went to check out our surroundings. The river near the cabin is (as always) practically made of waterfalls, including the picturesque Greenstone Falls.

A few hundred yards down the trail, we found another composting outhouse in the style of the one at Mirror Lake. We took turns availing ourselves of its nearly smell-free interior. While waiting, I spent a little while enjoying the view from the Section 17 bridge. This bridge leads across the river to the other cabin in this area, Section 17 cabin. We had stayed there on a previous trip, in much wetter conditions. Section 17 is much more isolated, smaller, and cozier. In many ways, it's similar to the Mirror Lake 2-bunk. Having stayed in both Greenstone Falls and Section 17 now, I will definitely choose Section 17 in the future.

Forest beyond a bank of windows at Greenstone Falls Cabin

As I was coming back from the bridge, I met another pair of backpackers trudging up the trail. They looked like a father and son, and they hiked quietly with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. They were the only hikers I'd seen who were coming from Lake Superior, the same direction we had come today. It was getting quite dim, so I greeted them and asked how they were doing. The father said, briefly, "It's too darn cold and windy at the lake, so we're going home." It must have been quite a decision that led them to be hiking out after 9 pm.

Back in the cabin, we played some solitaire, read our books, and curled up for the night. The fire kept the cabin toasty warm despite another freezing night outside, and we slept easily.

Next time: The magical bridge of Lily Pond - All backpacking posts 

Day 6's route is shown in red.

Miles hiked: 6 (I guess? We'll go with that.)

Total miles: 28.2

Notable animals: Only humans today, but lots of them.

Porcupine Mountains 2021, Day 5: Rest day at Little Carp

 All backpacking posts - Last time: Pinkerton, or The most beautiful trail of them all.

Little Carp River Cabin hiding in the trees

Wednesday May 26, 2021: Wednesday's goal was nothing more -- nor less -- than relaxation and rest at the Little Carp cabin. In line with that, I have no clue when Sarah and I woke up, but it was well after the sun rose. We finally got out of bed around 10:30 and continued our lazy morning with oatmeal and quiet contemplation of our tea.

Things had cooled down considerably overnight, with more rounds of rain and wind. The day was dry but breezy, so we bundled up for our late-morning run to the leaning-outhouse-of-Little Carp.

Oh yeah, did I mention the outhouse? It looks for all the world like it's about to sink into its own pit, and comes with a couple of boards propping it up:

Careful where you sit.

Not long afterward, we saw our first "lost" hikers of the day. A couple walked right past the big bank of cabin windows, where I was standing and looking out. They also must have walked right past the "Cabin users only" sign at the start of our spur trail. They eyeballed the outhouse, with its large and clear "Cabin occupants use only" sign. They looked back at the cabin. They decided to go for it. We stayed inside and didn't bother them.

If I sound a bit skeptical, it's because of the sheer number of signs they had to ignore to end up where they wanted. I can understand the desire to use an outhouse instead of digging a cathole, but in that case -- own it, rather than trying to sneak around!

Steps down to the bridge

After breakfast, with no specific plan in mind, we walked down the huge bank of steps to the Little Carp river bridge. We chatted with a family of four (plus a very active dog) who were hanging out and fishing. They were enjoying easy fishing with the spawning fish, but had no more idea than we did about what they could be. "Uh, carp, I guess?" one said, referring to the river's name.

As several guide books point out, the Big and Little Carp river were not named for fish -- they seem to have been named for Carp Lake (renamed Lake of the Clouds in the early 1900's, for tourism purposes). That name survives in the name of one of the townships covering the park, Carp Lake Township. But the lake in turn was named after a shortening of the French word for the Escarpment that towers above the lake. In short, the "Carp" rivers don't seem to have anything to do with fish.

The family packed up and continued on what looked like a day hike, and we wandered up along the river, checking out several waterfalls and the pools below them. Above the 3rd waterfall, we found some good flat rocks and spent a long, beautiful afternoon soaking up sun next to the babbling river.

Pink Lady's Slipper

We briefly got motivated to check out the Little Carp River trail, our route for tomorrow. The trail ran up a big hill almost immediately, and we decided that we didn't want to see the trail that badly. We did find a grove of Pink Lady's Slippers sunning themselves along the side of the trail, so that made the (minimal) effort worth it. We settled back down by the river, reading, sunning, and cheering on spawning fish.

Eventually, even we couldn't come up with an excuse to linger any longer, so we headed back up the steps towards our cabin. At the cabin trail's intersection, we passed a familiar looking couple... the outhouse bandits from earlier! They were probably planning to use the tilted outhouse again until they saw us walking down the trail.

Little Carp River from the bridge, looking towards the mouth

Our next step was to take showers. We had filled up the solar shower and set it out in the morning, but the filtered sunlight and cool air temperatures didn't do much to warm it up. After 5 days on the trail, we decided that "not teeth-chattering cold" was good enough.

The solar shower hangs from a tree branch, using a long length of nylon rope -- much like you would hang a bear bag. We found a likely branch on the Hobbit Hemlock (the magnificent hemlock near the river bluff). I tied a rock to the rope and managed to get it over the branch with just one, or maybe two dozen throws. The shower turned out to work amazingly well here, and both Sarah and I enjoyed the rinse. It was definitely better than submerging ourselves in near-freezing Lake Superior waters.

The only downside was that we had somehow managed to set up the shower directly above an animal dropping of unusual size -- probably from a fox, by its shape. That required some careful stepping as we rinsed off, because I was most certainly not going to manage another dozen or more rock throws just to move the shower.

After spending what felt like all day relaxing and showering, there was still a ton of daylight left. This far north, and this close to the summer solstice, we had over 16 hours of usable light. We spent late afternoon walking along the Lake Superior shore, enjoying the cobble beach, searching for agates (still no success), and reading on the giant driftwood tree. I took a long walk along the beach until I was out of sight of everyone and everything, enjoying the feeling of even deeper solitude.

Narrow cobble beach

Dinner time arrived eventually. As we climbed the river bluff and headed back to the cabin, we ran into yet another couple who had wandered past the "Cabin users only" sign and were eyeballing the outhouse. I decided to play happy-and-dumb with them, always a fun tactic. "Hi! Can I help you find the trail?" "Oh, we thought this was..." "Oh, I see. You must have missed the sign. This trail is just for cabin renters. Where are you headed?" A bit flustered, the two halves of the couple came to different conclusions. She said "the lake" as he said "Carp Big River" (yes, in that order). Taking that as my cue, I gave them turn-by-turn directions to get headed towards the Big Carp, in the process learning that they were very confused about which direction they were facing. I continued to stand happily in the middle of the trail with a huge smile on my face (while mentally daring them to tell me what they really wanted), and they finally turned around and headed back.

Back in the cabin, we prepared one of our favorite freeze-dried meals: chicken and dumplings! We save the best meals for easy days. When we've hiked a dozen miles uphill, it doesn't matter what dinner is -- we'll eat it! But on a quiet rest day like this one, it's nice to have a meal that you actually like.

After dinner, we climbed back down the river bluff to sit and read on our favorite driftwood log. In case you haven't gathered it, we found it absolutely worth the effort to be at our favoritest place, near the lake. This time there were a few groups at the tent sites across the river, also out on the beach to watch the sunset. We were all disappointed as the sun set behind some dense clouds -- they looked like rain headed our way -- so we packed up, turned on head lamps, and climbed the hill one last time.

Another view of the river, since I didn't take any more photos!

We did the usual nighttime chores: taking medicines, brushing teeth, going to the angled outhouse. Sarah returned breathless from her outhouse visit (and not because of the smell): "Quick, go look at the sunset! The sky is glowing!" Sarah proclaimed that she didn't have another hill climb in her, but I ran out to look at the sky from the Tolkein Tree. Sure enough, the entire sky was aflame with a bright orange glow. I quickly scuttled down the bluff to the beach. There, I could see that the sun had come out into a tiny gap between the rain clouds and the true horizon and was lighting up all of the clouds into a magnificent sunset of molten orange metal, fading to rich red and then a deep purple.

In my haste to run down the hill, I'd left my phone behind in the cabin, and so I have only memories of the sunset. Lesson learned: Never give up on a sunset!

Finally back in the cabin for good, we switched our bedding. Sarah and been eying my camping quilt and wanted to give it a try, while I was interested in her Big Agnes sleeping bag -- the style has no insulation on the back, instead including a sleeve for an air mattress. Her bag is also semi-rectangular, leaving more room than a mummy bag (which have always made me feel too constrained).

Cabin windows

With the promise of a cold night ahead of us, I started a fire in the wood stove, something that I had done many times before (including almost every night on this trip). This time, a combination of wet wood and too much ash in the firebox gave me endless trouble. I could  barely get the fire to stay lit, much less grow. I tended the fire until midnight, at which point I thought I had it going well enough to keep us warm for a while.

The night was indeed frigid -- 34 degrees, we learned later -- and Sarah and I both had trouble keeping warm as the fire died down. We added layers and curled up, trying to get to sleep in the cold, drafty cabin.

Next time: Onward, upward, inward to Greenstone Falls! - All backpacking posts

No new hikes today, so here's what we've done already:
Pink to Green to Yellow to Blue!

Miles hiked: Basically 0, unless you count a whole lot of up-and-down-the-bluff

Total miles: 22.2

Notable animals: Thousands more fish

Porcupine Mountains 2021, Day 4: Speakers to Little Carp

 All backpacking posts -  Last time: Speakers cabin awaits us at the end of an exhausting day like a glowing beacon. Also fish.

Speakers Creek in the morning sun.

Tuesday May 25, 2021: The cold breeze overnight gave way to a clear and warm morning, with the promise of a hot and muggy day. My heart was light this morning, knowing that we had figured out a way to avoid the misery that is the Lake Superior trail.

Our endpoint for the day was the Little Carp River cabin, a brand new cabin for us. Our original plan was to backtrack on the Lake Superior trail, but after yesterday's exhausting bushwhack-mud slog-tree climb, we had found a better plan: Walk down Speakers trail to the South Boundary Road, walk the road for a couple of miles, and then hike in to our cabin on the Pinkerton Creek trail.

After a pleasant breakfast (oatmeal and tea, like always), we packed up at a leisurely pace and enjoyed watching birds flying circles in the sky over Lake Superior. We finally left around 11 am.

Note the trail running along the side of the bridge.

Our walk out was uneventful. The short stretch of the Lake Superior trail we had to walk today wasn't bad, and the only event of note was when we scared up two turkey vultures near Tiebel Creek. We turned on to Speakers trail, an old two-track that is extremely easy to hike, and reached the trailhead in no time flat.

We stopped for a quick water break, and to take advantage of another benefit of changing our route: throwing away trash! Every trail head has a bear-proof trash can, and I took the opportunity to ditch the weight of three days worth of freeze-dried food bags, used tea bags, and other such cruft.

We ate a quick snack while leaning against a small swing gate that blocks cars from the two-track trail. As we leaned back, the gate suddenly swung open, and we both fell over backwards onto our backs! It hadn't been latched, much less locked.

Oh boy, a road walk!

Uninjured but slightly embarrassed, we packed up and continued on to the road walk segment of today's hike. Road walks are never fun, although the margins of South Boundary Road turned out to be filled with beautiful forget-me-nots, with monarch butterflies flitting between them.

There wasn't much traffic, but what traffic there was covered a surprising range: Besides the expected cars, trucks, trailers, and RVs, there was a garbage truck and even a fully loaded double-trailer logging truck. South Boundary Road is a wiggly, hilly, and narrow road, but it's also the quickest way between a few (very remote) points.

Selfie with bugs and Pinkerton Creek sign

The Pinkerton trailhead is located about 1.8 miles down South Boundary Road from Speakers trailhead. When we arrived at the trailhead, we took off our packs, sat down on a log just inside the woods, and got out meat sticks and rice cakes. The bugs were thicker than we'd yet seen, so we ate lunch by shoving bits of food up under our head nets.

I also discovered that I'd reached the inevitable point in the trip where I started to daydream about a rich, greasy hamburger. This inspired some food-daydreaming between us. Sarah's lunchtime meat stick inspired her own craving -- for a Lunchable, of all things!

After we had thoroughly discussed our cravings, we strapped on our packs and headed down the Pinkerton trail, a direct access route to the mouths of the Little and Big Carp Rivers. It is a very popular trail for people looking to stay at the campsites and cabins between the two Carps, but it was brand new territory for us -- one of the few remaining trails in the park that we had never hiked.

Sarah on the Pinkerton Creek trail.

The Pinkerton trail is a dream. It is by far the best maintained trail I've hiked the Porkies. The trail climbed over only mild rolling hills, with puncheon bridges over every area that looked even slightly muddy, and many that were wholly dry. There was a bridge over every stream, no matter how small. The worst hazard was an occasional tree root.

The trail wound through lovely woodlands and soon started following a small seasonal creek. After about a mile, we came to the most scenic spot on a very scenic trail: The Pinkerton Creek bridge. Pinkerton Creek was just as broad and red-bedded as it had been yesterday, when we waded across it on the Lake Superior Trail. Here, it is spanned by a lovely wooden bridge. A bench, in dappled sunlight, sits on a small rise overlooking the bridge. We spent half an hour resting and enjoying the sights and sounds, and not another soul interrupted us the whole time. Why rush when you're surrounded by such beauty?

Pinkerton Creek bridge

The trail, continuing to be awesome and well-maintained, eventually came to the brink of the Little Carp River's deep gorge. Another bench was perfectly situated to look out over the river and forest beyond. The trail made a sharp turn to follow along the edge of the gorge, under the dense shade of towering hemlocks (some of them clinging, as if by magic, to the incredibly steep sides of the gorge).

Pinkerton Creek trail and river bluff

We soon came to the intersection with the Lake Superior trail -- we had been here just a day ago, unaware of the pain about to follow! Just a short jog ahead, we found the turn-off to the Little Carp River cabin, just feet away from the stairs leading down to the Little Carp bridge.

Why did the trail sign have barbed wire? Don't ask me!

The Little Carp River cabin was a new one for us. It had felt a bit like a gamble when we decided to take our rest day here. Little Carp is one of the older cabins in the park, and is located high above the Little Carp River on a bluff. The bluff and its distance from main trails makes it feel much more isolated than some other cabins. There is a partial view of the river, but essentially no view of the lake. Nonetheless, it is very popular with fishermen and deer hunters.

The interior was surprising in a few ways. First, the bunk beds were actually built in to the back wall, rather than being free-standing (and therefore movable). The cabin was a bit larger than other 4-bunk cabins but had only a table, two small benches, and one chair. This left a lot of space, making the cabin feel rather empty. The floor was old, creaky, and in need of a paint job. On the upside, the cabin had tons of windows on three walls with big banks of them facing east and west. If only there were a view, but at least we had a breeze on this hot day!

Sarah found the cabin's log book and sat under a truly Tolkeinesque hemlock at the point of land where the river bluff and lake bluff met. The log gave us the usual warnings of mice, plus some curious stories of first-time campers attempting to haul a wheeled cooler down the Pinkerton trail. It's a nice trail, but not that nice!

Sarah under the huge hemlock

Taking care of camp chores required a bit more effort at the Little Carp cabin. Together we carefully climbed down the steep, steep trail leading down the bluff to the river. There was a small strip of land between the bluff and beach, and an even narrower strip next to the river.

We brought our gravity filter, folding bucket, and water bottles, on the theory that we didn't want to climb down the bluff any more than necessary. As it turns out, we would be climbing up and down that bluff with great regularity for the next few days, but what did we know?

It felt fantastic to stand in the river to scoop up water into the "dirty bag", and Sarah took the chance to wade out into the lake as well. We spent a while exploring the beach and sitting on a huge driftwood tree before climbing back up the steep bluff with our freshly gravity-filtered water.

Little Carp River, looking upstream from near its mouth.

After dropping off the water, we climbed right back down again to do some laundry. The weather was predicted to change for the colder overnight, so we wanted to give our clothes every moment of hot, sunny day that we could.

As we sat on the beach, plunging our clothing into the folding bucket and wringing them out, the day suddenly turned from bright, sunny, and hot to cold, cloudy, and breezy. We raced through a final wash, grabbed clothes that were drying in the sun, hauled ourselves up the hill, strung up clotheslines, and hung up clothes just in time for a rainstorm to drench them. Well, at least they got another rinse!

During the rain, we ate dinner (freeze-dried beef stew -- wholly adequate but nothing special), read more of the cabin log, and set up our bunks. Once the rain had passed, we set out for the Little Carp bridge, which was quite close to the cabin. Once again, we spent a lovely half hour watching fish try to jump up waterfalls.

View through the roots of a giant driftwood tree

As sunset approached, we grabbed headlamps and headed down the river bluff for a third time. We sat again on the huge driftwood tree, enjoying the views of the lake, cobble beach, and forested points of land disappearing into the distance. Even though there were (in theory) campsites directly across the river mouth, we couldn't see nor hear any campers. It felt like we had a private beach all to ourselves.

The sunset ended up as a dud (the sun fell behind a bank of clouds at just the wrong time). But we didn't mind -- we were on vacation in the most beautiful place in the world!

We carefully made our way up the bluff one last time, crawled into bed, and slept hard and well.

Next time: A rest day in paradise - All backpacking posts

Day 4's route is marked in blue

Miles hiked: 5.4 (1.8 of them roadwalk)

Total miles: 22.2

Notable animals: Two turkey buzzards (in a hemlock tree)

Porcupine Mountains 2021, Day 3: Big Carp to Speakers

 All backpacking posts - Last time: A downhill mud slog to the Big Carp mouse house

Lake Superior at the mouth of the Big Carp

Monday May 24, 2021: We slept well despite yesterday's mouse drama. The morning was chilly, so we took hot tea with us out to the beach and searched for agates. We had no luck, but we did get to watch the female mergansers playing in the waterfalls again.

We were packed and ready to go by 11 am. Today, we planned to hike the Lake Superior Trail west for an overnight at our favorite cabin, Speakers, to be followed by an equally quick return to the heart of the park on the next day.

We crossed the river on the new bridge, perhaps a quarter mile upstream from the river mouth. The new bridge was similar to many other permanent bridges in the park: Two or three large tree trunks stretched horizontally between high platforms on each bank. They were topped with planks, with some thick ropes for railings. The steps leading up to the bridge platforms were so big that they were hard to climb with a full backpack.

The new Big Carp Bridge

West of Big Carp, the Lake Superior trail runs through a grassy and fern-y area just a few dozen yards from the lake. It was flat, easy, and barely muddy. We gawked at a series of campsites along the shore. They all had elaborate driftwood structures that had been built up over the years: barriers to protect fire pits and tent pads from the frigid Lake Superior breeze.

Lake Superior Trail between Big and Little Carp rivers

In just over a mile, we came to the bridge over the Little Carp River. Even though we had barely been on the trail for half an hour, we had to stop and enjoy a snack at this scenic spot.

Leaving our bags near the bridge, we got out some rice cake sandwiches, climbed down a few rocks, and sat right next to the pool below a waterfall. It was a spectacular place: The Lake Superior trail crosses the river at a narrow gap, where the river rushes down a series of waterfalls between high walls of rock and towering hemlocks cling to the steep banks. We enjoyed our rice cakes while listening to the rush of the water, smelling the fresh scent of the trees, and viewing the gorgeous scenery.

Bridge over the Little Carp River

As we were packing up to leave, Sarah pointed at the waterfall pool and said "look!" just as a fish, flapping its tail like mad, tried to swim up the waterfall. Looking closely, we suddenly noticed hundreds of fish hanging out just below the surface. There were so many that their fins stuck out of the water as they jockeyed for position in the prime feeding areas. Every few seconds, one or two would make a run up the waterfall, and inevitably get flung back by the rushing water.

Neither of us have the tiniest bit of knowledge about fish. As far as we were concerned, we were extras in a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough. Our lazy stop suddenly became an exciting diversion. We hopped up and down the rocks, looking for fish in upstream pools (they were there! some had made it, somehow!) and downstream (thousands!). We cheered on the fish as they powered up the waterfalls. We must have hit things at exactly the right week (if not day) to have this amazing experience.

Here, fishy fishy fish...

We could have easily passed a whole day dallying beside the river -- indeed, we made a note to do exactly that when we passed back through -- but eventually we had to pack up and continue on.

Across the river, the Lake Superior Trail swung inland through an open conifer forest. We crossed a ravine on an awkwardly tilted bridge, and crossed back down to lake level for another lovely, fern-filled walk. So far, none of yesterday's warnings about the Lake Superior Trail had come true. We figured that the people warning us about the mud must have come down the east end of the trail, which we knew from experience was more of a stream than a trail.

Pinkerton Creek (not shown: hundreds of fish)

We soon climbed up the lakeside bluff again, then followed some switchbacks down into the exceedingly fetching valley of Pinkerton Creek. I walked right across this wide, shallow, reddish colored creek in my running shoes, enjoying the pleasantly cool water tickling my toes. Sarah followed shortly, after changing into her sandals. We both stopped in the middle and watched more of the mystery fish swimming upstream The day had heated up somewhat, and the sun shining directly down on us as we stood in the stream felt pleasant after yesterday's cold wetness.

Across the creek, the trail out of the creek's valley had been severely washed out by a recent rainfall, leaving it more like a small ravine with a wet bottom. We struggled up, relying on our hiking poles for support. This marked the beginning of a significant change in the trail.

First came the mud. It wasn't quite as bad as yesterday, but still bad enough to require our attention.

Then came the blowdowns. Trees have no love for trails, and fallen trees are part of life in the wilderness, but this looked like a serious wind storm had come though. Many required a large detour, often through high grass and mud. I recognized some of these fallen trees from the last time I had hiked this trail, in 2015! Was this trail unmaintained? Little did we suspect how bad it would be.

Sarah crossing yet another stream

Finally, there were the stream crossings. Never very large streams, but always unbridged, and usually found in combination with another hazard: Slippery muddy banks, or an inconveniently fallen tree.

None of these were terrible alone, but in combination they demanded our full attention, tested our endurance, and slowed us down to less than 1 mile per hour. Our packs weighed heavily on us, our legs started to burn, and our backs ached. The trail itself was "flat" (except for the stream crossings), but in the end, it was an unexpectedly exhausting stretch. We were left to complete a hot, stagnant, buggy, muddy, tree-filled, stream-crossed slog.

Starflower

The day continued to warm and the breeze died as we walked farther from the lake (the Lake Superior  Trail is rarely, y'know, actually near Lake Superior). The trail took us through one of the few sections of the Porkies that had been logged extensively, leading to dense brush, heat, and even a few bugs!

The worst part was knowing that we would have to do this all again tomorrow. We were on a spur through to the narrow west end of the park. The only east-west trail is the Lake Superior Trail, and so we would have to return back to the core of the park tomorrow on this same stretch of trail. Mid way through this stretch, Sarah asked if there was any other option for tomorrow's hike, even a longer route, but as I explained above -- there really wasn't.

Bunchberry flower

After several hours, we finally came to the intersection with Speakers Trail. That put us less than half a mile away from our goal for the night, Speakers Cabin. Resting (and snacking) again with our packs off, I pulled out our trail map and took a close look. There was another way -- if we were willing to walk along the South Boundary Road for a few miles. I started to warm up to any plan that would avoid this miserable stretch of trail.

As we snacked and mapped, several people walked by carrying an array of curious items: a cooking grill, a long pole that might have been for spear-fishing, large fluffy pillows. We briefly chatted with them and learned that they were heading to the campsites along Lake Superior that are a very short hike from the Speakers Trail parking area. Close enough, in fact, to return to your car for your forgotten pillows.

We finally suited back up and finished the last half mile of our hike, which was slightly muddy and crossed several streams, but was nowhere near as bad as the last few miles. As I reached Speakers Creek, I heard the whoosh of massive wings as a bald eagle took off from its perch in a tree directly above me, and swooped down along the creek and out to the lake.

Speakers Cabin, from the lakeshore bluff

Speakers Cabin is a little slice of heaven, and one of our favorite Porkies cabins. It is isolated, small, and cozy, with beautiful views north and west over Lake Superior. We dropped our packs and relaxed on the driftwood benches around the cabin's fire pit, enjoying the spectacular views and fresh breeze.

After this pleasant break, we got started with camp chores. "Chores" is too strong of a word: Backpacking and camping come with a variety of required daily activities that I find pleasantly focusing. I started by billy-goating down the bluff to the lakeshore to grab some water for filtering (from the stream's mouth, rather than the lake -- the lakeshore was churned up from wave action). I also filled up our brand new "solar shower" -- essentially a black waterproof bag with a nozzle that, in theory, would absorb heat from the sun and produce warm water for a shower. As I messed around at the creek, I noticed that there were no fish spawning in it -- the only large creek all day that didn't have fish.

Sarah meanwhile had hung a clothesline and started drying our clothes from the past few wet days. Together, we collected driftwood and other down wood and (tried to) cut it up to resupply the cabin's firewood supply. The recent rains made the wood wet and hard to cut, but luckily there was enough wood for one night's fire already in the cabin. We left many other branches out to dry in the sun.

With wood, clothes, shoes, and much else all sitting out in the sun, a sudden rain squall crossed the lake and chased us inside, grabbing clothes and shoes as we did. It cleared up just as quickly, bringing cooler air and a brisk breeze behind it.

Speakers Creek after the rain

Dinner was Mountain House freeze-dried Lasagna, paired with a can of Lake Superior-chilled hard apple cider. It was made even more delicious by the knowledge that its weight was now gone from my pack. As we ate, we watched a variety of birds, large and small, wheeling in circles above the lake. The eagle reappeared, along with a juvenile that it might have been teaching how to hunt. Seagulls, mergansers, a falcon, and who knows what else seemed to be enjoying the fresh air.

With the sun back out (but a cold wind blowing), Sarah gave the solar shower a try. Verdict: lukewarm, but better than nothing.

The sunset was lovely, the kind that is only made better by clouds in just the right places.

Sunset over Lake Superior

Thoroughly chilled by shower and wind, we headed back into the cabin and started a fire in the wood stove. As we warmed by the stove, we talked through the possibilities for tomorrow's hike. We agreed that anything was better than repeating today's exhausting slog. Looking over the trail map in more detail, I started to get excited by the road walk option. Besides avoiding a miserable stretch of trail, walking along the road would also let us hike the Pinkerton Creek trail, one of the few Porkies trails we had never taken (and, apparently, a beautiful one even by Porkies standards). We ended with an agreement to revisit the plan tomorrow morning.

We spent the rest of the evening playing cards, reading, and huddling near the fire. As we went to bed, a light rain started to fall, but I was excited by the possibility of hiking a new trail the next day, rain or shine.

Next time: Let's not and say we did - All backpacking posts

Day 3's hike is in yellow.

Miles hiked: 5.5

Total miles: 16.8

Notable animals: Eagles, many other birds, and SO MANY FISH!!!

Porcupine Mountains 2021, Day 2: Mirror Lake to Big Carp

 All backpacking posts - Last time: Hiking and canoeing to Mirror Lake

Mirror Lake, not living up to its name

Sunday May 23, 2021: We awoke as a passing wind gust shook water off of the trees and onto the Mirror Lake 2 bunk's metal roof like a cascade of marbles. The temperature in the cabin had plummeted from sweltering to frigid during the course of the night, and I wrapped my quilt around me as I prepared our usual breakfast of hot tea and instant oatmeal.

A bit out of practice, we took our time cleaning up the cabin and packing our gear. With some huffing and puffing, we were able to get my mattress back up onto the top bunk. After sweeping the floors and leaving a quick note in the log book, we slung on our backpacks and headed out into the world.

The world was cold, wet, breezy, and misty. Mirror lake was fogged in, with choppy water in place of the mirror-like calm we had seen yesterday. We wore full rain gear, partly to keep off wet foliage and rain falling from trees, and partly to give us an extra layer against the cold and wind.

After a quarter mile hike past the Palace-Potty, we started down Correction Line trail. Correction Line is a popular connector trail between Lake Superior and the interior highlands around Mirror Lake. Last time we were here in 2014, we had climbed the trail uphill on a sweltering day. Exhausted and a bit dehydrated, I barely remembered anything from the end of that hike. Today, with the weather as different as it could be, we were instead starting at the beautiful highland end of the trail and descending down to Lake Superior.

Cliffs and outcrops line the upper Correction Line trail.

From my last visit, I had vague memories of towering cliffs and equally towering trees, but that didn't prepare me for the beauty of the south end of Correction Line. The trail begins at Mirror Lake with a short but steep climb, after which it follows a deep cut in the hills, winding around giant outcrops covered in ancient trees. The mist and fog made the setting look like something straight out of Lord of the Rings.

The deep and Tolkienesque cut opened up into a bright green valley filled with spring plants and life. A small creek burbled through the valley.

Picturesque mountain stream

This wasn't the last transition, as we soon came to a steep downhill. This was the edge of the valley of the Big Carp River, still many miles away and far below us. We could see towering evergreens disappearing into the ethereal mist below us. Our hiking poles came in handy as we descended on slick rocks, roots, and mud. We crossed several bubbling streams, wandered through fields of young ferns, strode below massive and ancient hemlocks, and briefly spotted a deer watching us, before it turned tail and ran.

Once the steep downhill was done, the mud began. Somehow, I had forgotten that the westernmost mile of the Correction Line trail was a river flood plain filled with unending mud holes. I rediscovered this quickly. This was the first place where my trail-running shoes really showed their worth. I did try to find stepping stones or convenient logs, but if they didn't exist -- I walked through anyhow! The water squished between my toes, but then... it dried out, or at least got much less squishy.

Correction Line hillside

Still, the mud bogging exhausted us. It takes physical and mental effort to make it through a mud hole without slipping and ending up like a turtle on your back, pack submerged in dank water. Our progress slowed, and slowed some more. Our trekking poles were essential to keeping our balance, but then they tired out our arms. The only upside was that the cool weather kept bugs down to a bare, lazy minimum.

We eventually reached the intersection of Correction Line and Big Carp River trails, at an uninspiring spot in the woods. We rested our legs on a fallen tree trunk while eating our usual backpacking lunch: rice cake peanut butter sandwiches, a meat stick, and a side of gorp.

Another couple soon came up the Big Carp River trail and rested with us for a while. Making trail chit-chat, we learned that they'd had nothing but mud and bugs on their trip so far and were trying to decide between staying the course to Mirror Lake, and leaving to get back to their car. One piece of news they gave us: While the Big Carp trail still had much mud to share with us, it was "nowhere as bad as the Lake Superior trail". That was our path for the next two days... uh oh!

We let them know about the slog ahead on the Correction Line, and wished them luck as we all put on our packs and headed our respective ways. We met another couple shortly afterwards, who gave us the same bad news: As bad as Correction Line was, it was "nowhere as bad as the Lake Superior trail". Uh oh, again!

Crossing the Big Carp, one of many times

After yet another mile of low-lying mud slogs, the Big Carp River trail brought us to the river itself. This was an unbridged river crossing, the first of many we would ford over the next week. Here again, I walked straight into the river without pausing. The river, like at most Porkies river crossings, only came up to the middle of my calves at its deepest. Sarah paused to change into sandals, and then proceeded to walk across... and back... and across again, enjoying the cool water and the deep-cleaning provided by the river. The third time across, she stopped in the middle and tried to scrub her muddy pants -- while wearing them!

We paused on the far side, enjoying another snack. We usually spread out "lunch" along the trail, giving us frequent energy and excuses to take breaks. As we ate, another couple came along and crossed the river. They choose to high-wire walk across fallen trees instead of wading through the river. 

After the crossing, the Big Carp River trail climbs steeply up the river bluff, and then enjoys a bit of dry ground. I was lulled into thinking that the mud was done, but then the trail dropped us right into the middle of a swamp.

This wasn't a mud hole -- it was a true swamp, with lots of deep standing water. The water and blown-down trees had obliterated the trail. Even volunteer trails weren't clear. We had to pick our way around carefully, stepping on fallen branches, tree roots, and tufts of grass growing on small hummocks. Thoroughly wiped out, we stumbled up a small hill and found ourselves on the far side of the swamp.

Since I was fully committed to not sinking up to my knees in muck, you instead get this photo from our 2014 visit to this same dismal swamp:

Which way does the trail go?

After that, the trail was dry, flat, easy, and slow. The slowness wasn't because of difficult terrain, but because the mud -- plus heavy packs -- had worn us out. We slowly wound through a large area of deciduous trees, which soon gave way to ancient stands of towering Hemlocks. The trail followed the very edge of the river bluff, giving us vertigo-inducing views down to the Big Carp. About three miles after the river crossing, we crawled up one last big uphill, then found a sign: Lake Superior trail -- straight downhill.

The rutted, water-worn trail led us 100 feet straight down to the river. Just down a short spur, we found our cabin for the night: the Big Carp 6 Bunk, seated right where the Big Carp meets Lake Superior. 

The mouth of the Big Carp, and especially the Big Carp 6 Bunk cabin, is one of my favorite places in the world. It's a beautiful, remote, rugged place where water meets land.

There was one big change: For many years, the Lake Superior trail crossed the Big Carp on a bridge right in front of the 6 Bunk cabin. That bridge repeatedly washed out in spring floods, so a few years ago the park re-built the bridge much farther upstream. This left the 6 Bunk alone on a spur that nobody else needs to follow. I was amazing how much more isolated the cabin felt. Perfect!

Big Carp 6-bunk, showing the river (left) and Lake Superior.

The cabin is, nonetheless, one of the most popular in the park. We unlocked the cabin and immediately discovered stuff, left all over the place: A foam sleeping pad on a bed; socks hanging from the clothes line; a mysterious trash bag filled with something large but very light; unburned foil in the wood stove; food of every variety in the cabinets. It felt like walking into someone else's messy home.

Every cabin has a log book, where renters can leave their stories, ponder the deeper meaning of the beauty of their surroundings, and record Cribbage scores. They are also great sources of advice and local information about the cabin. The log book told us that the Big Carp 6 has a severe mouse problem, which was no surprise at all after seeing the mess left by previous renters. The log book's advice was clear: Put food in the cupboards, because they are the one place mice can't reach. We moved dishes out of the cupboard and carefully stashed all of our smellables on the shelves.

The day had never warmed up above the mid 40's, and the cool lake breeze made things feel even cooler.  So, the next order of business was to start a fire in the wood stove and hang our damp clothes on a clothesline above the stove. I placed my damp shoes below it, hoping to speed their drying.

Wood stoves don't heat quickly, especially in a larger cabin like the Big Carp 6, so we set out to explore around the cabin (and keep moving and generating heat!). Several pairs of Common Mergansers paddled around in the river mouth as we walked along Lake Superior's cobble beach. The Big Carp river is practically made of waterfalls and rapids, right up to its mouth, and the Mergansers seemed to enjoy playing in the waterfalls as if they were water slides. We spent some time searching for agates along the beach (a new interest, born of a webinar we had both watched during the pandemic). Alas, we had no luck, and I switched to collecting driftwood to resupply the cabin's firewood stash.

Walking through a hazy green forest along Correction Line.

Back in the much warmer cabin, we had dinner. Backpacker's Pantry Pad Thai was by far the most involved freeze-dried meal we had ever eaten -- it came with separate packages of peanuts, lime flavoring, and Sriracha sauce. It was also one of the best freeze-dried meals we've had, and definitely makes it on the list for future trips.

With daylight fading, we entertained ourselves by playing some solitaire (with the many packs of cards left by previous occupants -- some of them were even complete decks!) and reading more of the cabin's log book. One log detailed the saga of "Darryl the Lost Hiker", a day hiker who somehow got lost and arrived at the cabin after dark, begging for help. Something was a bit off about the fellow, who had packed many emergency flares, but no map and no water, and spent most of his time spouting conspiracy theories. The cabin occupants somehow managed to get enough cell service to call for a rescue. Rangers arrived at the river mouth in a boat, and when last seen, Darryl was setting off his flares just to make sure they saw him.

The rest of this post is provided with editorial approval by my lovely wife, Sarah. You'll see why shortly.

We also found a log from some friends who had visited the cabin last year. They caught 7 (!) mice before their bait ran out.

With those stories fresh in our minds, we curled up in our respective bunks and spent some time reading. Out of the corner of my ear, I heard a rustling sound coming from another bunk. Sarah looked over and screeched: "It's a mouse!" I had left my (empty) pack sitting on an unused bunk, with its trash bag dry-liner inside. As I watched, a cute whiskery face popped out and scurried right into the wood bin.

This is when I learned -- you'd think I would have known this after 9 years of marriage -- that Sarah has never lived in a house with mice problems, and therefore was extremely uncomfortable with this wee bold critter. Having grown up in a 100 year old farmhouse myself, I was more annoyed at the creature's boldness than anything else. It was clearly used to living high on the hog of messy cabin renters.

I got out of my cozy bed and hung my pack on one of the many wall pegs. I collected a few other items of gear and sealed them inside the bag. Then, naively assuming that I had defeated the mouse, I crawled back into bed.

Former site of the Big Carp bridge

The cabin was nearly dark when I heard the telltale sound of tiny mice feet scampering around again. I shined my headlamp around the cabin and caught the reflective eyes of a furry little food bandit, staring at me from the countertop. The mouse continued to patter around, supremely unconcerned about me or my light. It climbed into and out of every pot and pan that we had cleared out of the cupboards when hiding our food.

I got up to try to chase the mouse out, and it skittered into the wood pile, then around under the beds -- our beds -- and up onto the table. This did not have a calming effect on Sarah. We had safely stashed away everything of any value to the mouse, but that didn't stop it from investigating every surface in the cabin.

The cabin log book included stories of people waking up to find mice crawling on their sleeping bags, although I strongly suspect they had been eating in bed -- or even kept food on them -- something that we practiced backcountry campers never do. Sarah now accelerated to full freakout mode. I helped her move to a top bunk, which I convinced her would be impossible for the mouse to reach. I also gave her a sleeping pill that we had packed in our first aid kit.

I watched the mouse make another trip along the counter, doing its best to reach the cabinets where all of our food was stashed. It couldn't reach, no matter how hard it tried. Then the cheeky little bugger skittered over to our hiking poles, which leaned against the counter, and slid right down one like an old-fashioned fireman.

With no desire to set a mouse trap and certain that our food was safe, the best plan was just to let the cute little beggar satisfy its curiosity and leave on its own. I turned off my headlamp, attempted some calming words for Sarah, and snuggled in to bed. Eventually the pitter-patter of the little feet ceased, and we all managed to get some sleep.

Next time: Revenge of the Lake Superior Trail - All backpacking posts

Day 2's hike in green.

Miles hiked: 7.3

Total miles: 11.3

Notable animals: One deer, many mergansers, one very tame mouse