A week alone in the Porcupine Mountains

The author alone in the Porcupine Mountains. 

     We've all read the warnings in outdoors publications: "Don't go alone."  It's good advice, anything that can happen will, if you tempt fate enough.  But on occasion you need to ignore common sense and head out by yourself. There are rewards, but to receive them, you have to take responsibility for yourself.
     These days most of my lone trips are taken in my fishing kayak and are on fairly well-used recreational rivers or lakes. There's also the ultimate umbilical cord, a cell phone. I carry mine most of the time, even though I don't always have a connection.  It doesn't worry me, I wandered in Michigan for more than 30 years without one and I'm alive to tell my story.
     I yearn for the days when I wasn't connected. There was more of a sense of adventure, dangers to overcome and a sense of accomplishment when you finished a solo trip. I'm glad I had my basic training during the unconnected era. These days, people are prone to get into trouble because they think  a GPS and cell phone will get them out of anything. It makes them reckless. When you know it's just you, more thought is put into your actions.
     Over the years, I've taken two lone significant off the grid trips, and countless smaller ones. All have been rewarding, but the two long ones helped guide me through difficult times in my life and set the tone for things to come. Since I saw no one for a week on each trip, I've learned how to be alone in the woods and enjoy it. I also learned to move slowly, so as not to hurt myself. Those are lessons I used in my shorter ventures.      When you go into the woods alone, you never come back the same. It's like a temporary stint as a hermit. A favorite nature writers, Sig Olson wrote an  essay on hermits he'd met in northern Minnesota and Alaska and concluded that some are nuts, especially those who don't come out of the woods. It's important for those who come back to tell their stories so others can learn to be alone.  I'm trying to do that.
     My first long, solo trip laid the ground work for much of my life. It was a backpacking venture in the Porcupine Mountain Wilderness State Park in the mid 1970s. I was living in Bay City Michigan, and my wife had family obligations in Detroit for a week, so I headed north. I'd backpacked once before, nearly a decade previously on Isle Royale, but had a companion, plus there were lots of people on the island, and I expected the same in the Porkies.

Lake Superior in the Porcupine Mountains.

     Backpacking was experiencing a boom then, with lighter equipment, better camp stoves and freeze dried foods. I expected the park to be  well used in late August. It wasn't. I spent six days without seeing a soul and it tested me. The first shock was a warning from a park ranger to watch out for black bears, as a camper had been attacked by one a few weeks previous. The hiker was cooking in his tent, a dumb move, especially that year because the DNR had closed most UP dumps where the bears fed by ripping open plastic garbage bags. To bears a small tent with the smell of food on it looks just like a garbage bag.
     My first night was spent in a cabin, of which there are several in the park, and I safely slept without fear of them, but there were visitors -- mice. They ran through the place looking for scraps of food left by hikers. I used a flash light to keep them at bay, but didn't get a lot of sleep that night. Small feet make big noises when you're alone.
    I knew about the bear danger, and had tied bells to my boots to warn them I was coming, but I worried they weren't loud enough as I hiked the next day. When I entered brushy areas, I swore I could hear them, although I never saw one.
     The next night, I opted for my tent, no mice there. The camp site was in view of Lake Superior in an open area, so I could see if bears were around. I collected enough wood during a short walk to make a small camp fire, mostly for reassurance. It was in the 80s, and humid, with the look of rain.   I got a decent fire going, and retired to my tent hoping the blaze would keep interested bears away. The thunder started rolling over the lake and there were lightning strikes, but the fire reassured me I could dry out, if needed. A gust of wind hit, blowing  the logs out of the fire pit and they rolled in all directions, sparks flying, a scene from hell.
     It was only after I hiked out that I discovered a tornado had moved through the area. Without a cell phone or weather radio, I didn't know if I'd been in the middle of it. Perhaps that was good.
     As the week moved along, I got accustom to being alone, and spent time taking pictures with a heavy, old school, metal Nikromat camera.  The slides still have brilliant color.
     The experience was strong and confusing. Something powerful  happened to me, I knew it at the time, and for decades I was afraid to tell others for fear they'd think I was nuts. But in my 60s, those fears vanished. I've embraced my crazy side and don't care what others think. I know what happened to me, it was a Native American vision quest.  I realized that when I read Indian myths. Young Native Americans went into the woods alone, fasted for days and waited for spirits to visit them. Mine were  fire, storm and black bears. Powerful stuff to be inside your head. Those spirits told me not to be afraid when I was alone in the woods.
      That was about 40 years ago, and the spirits are still giving me good advice.
   

     For more information about seeing the Porcupine Mountains, check out my travel guide, www.barnesandnoble.com/w/explorers-guide-michigan-jeff-counts/1100203724?ean=9781581572018
   

Misty day at Lake of the Clouds

 
































   The Lake of the Clouds in the Porcupine Wilderness State Park in the western Upper Peninsula is shrouded in mist on a summer morning, in the photo at left. For those with hardy streak in them, they can rent a cabin on the lake from the park and walk into the site. It's an alternative to tent camping at the park.

For more information on the cabin and the park, go to www.michigandnr.com/parksandtrails/details.aspx?type=SPRK&id=426

Detroit's '67 riots led to discovery of fly fishing, Upper Peninsula

Fly fishermen ready for a float trip. 

      It’s ironic that the Detroit riots in July 1967 introduced me to tout fishing, Isle Royale and the Upper Peninsula.  Those things and places seemed a million miles away from the gritty, violent streets of Detroit, especially that summer.  It’s a lifetime away,  47 years to be exact, and I spent many of those years trying to run away from my Detroit heritage, and it wasn’t until I wrote a travel guide to Detroit and Ann Arbor that I re-embraced my gritty heritage.

             That summer, I was 19 and had finished my first year of college.  To help pay for it, I got what were then one of the plentiful factory jobs building box cars in a plant.  The work was hard, sweaty and dirty, but paid well.  The workforce was integrated, and I had plenty of African-American co-workers.  One developed into a friendship that was tested by the riots. He and I had the job of placing large sheets of steel on frames where a welding machine passed over them. It was hot, even during the afternoon shift, and I was filthy by the end of the night, covered with flux which was applied to the welds to cool and harden them.

             It wasn’t the kind of job to make a career out of for either of us.  He was an Air Force veteran, just returned from Southeast Asia where the Vietnam War was raging.  He had a wife to support, and me, well; I was working for beer money.  We got friendly and talked on our breaks about what we wanted to do with our lives.  I knew we probably would be friends outside of work, but he was friendly and I liked him.

        Then the riots came.  They were sparked by a Detroit police raid on an afterhours blind pig on 12^th Street where gambling was going on.  The street was the central business district for the black community.  Rocks and bottles were thrown and stores looted on a Sunday night.  At night I sat on the garage roof of my parents’ house in Detroit and watched the flames from the fires that had been started.

         When we reported for work on Monday, we were told there was a curfew and that we would be put on the day shift.  I lost track of my African-American friend, and wondered if he’d quit his job.  On the day shift, there was a surly black welder on our crew, which had a white foreman from the Deep South.  The welder would put his mask down, and fall asleep on the job.  On one occasion, the foreman kicked the welder in the legs and said: “Get to work, boy.”  The welder lifted up his mask and said:  “I’m going to move in next to you and have sex with your daughter.”  It summed up race relations to me that fatal summer.

                The riot dragged on, and as it did, I watched white workers placing orders with the black guys for deer rifles, TV set and other items.  In the mornings, the parking lot looked like a modern day big box store with guys transferring items from one car to another.  Race relations may have been bad, but greed is an equal opportunity employer.

           I hung in there for a few more weeks, working days.  But then it got too much for me.  Neighbors started to flee for the suburbs and others wanted to move Up North to a cabin to avoid what they thought would be a race war in the city.  My solution was to flee to the woods.  I’d heard about Isle Royale National Park in the middle of Lake Superior, so I recruited a cousin for my first backpacking trip.  We were hapless.  I used an old Boy Scout rucksack and brought canned food, not being aware of the fancy freeze dried stuff. 

       During that first year in college, I read a Hemingway story, “The Big Two-Hearted River” in which he sees large trout holding in the river near the Upper Peninsula town of Seney. On our drive, we passed through the town, and I had to stop.  I’d never caught a trout, and that mysterious image was burned in my immature 19 year old mind.  We stopped and wandered around until I found a river that turned out to be the Fox.  There under a railroad bridge were trout, occasionally moving their tails to stay in their spots.  I imaged Hemingway getting out of a train car at that bridge and seeing the same sight I saw.  Holding trout.  Had not he been trying to forget a war in the story?  I was, too, Vietnam and the riots in Detroit. 

       As a fly fisherman, I’ve been chasing those images for more than half a century, and plan to continue until I keel over in a river.  And I’ve got the Detroit riots to thank for all of those great times. 



Click here to see what the Detroit Free Press had to say about my Detroit & Ann Arbor Explorer's Guide. www.freep.com/article/20111218/COL32/112180552/Ron-Dzwonkowski-Detroit-explorer-gets-the-picture

For more information on the book, please go to www.barnesandnoble.com/w/explorers-guide-detroit-ann-arbor-jeff-counts/1103809957?ean=9781581578447

        

Finding a quiet spot in the Pictured Rocks

The Pictured Rocks in  the Upper Peninsula offer plenty to see. There are dunes and of course the pastel colored rocks along the shores of Lake Superior. But there are also quiet, little places where you can spend time collecting your thoughts. The Hurricane River near Lake Superior is one such spot. My guide book to Michigan can help you find such places throughout the state. 

To check out the book, go to www.amazon.com/Explorers-Guide-Michigan-Complete/dp/1581572018/ref=dp_ob_title_bk

For more information on the Pictured Rocks, go to www.nps.gov/piro/index.htm

Quiet waters in the Upper Peninsula

     One of my favorite mini vacations is wandering the Upper Peninsula with my sea kayak on top of my Jeep, looking for intriguing waters to paddle. I take the kayak because it allows me to explore the bays and inlets of Lake Superior with ease and safety, and also inland lakes. A favorite destination is Beaver Lake in the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore Park between Munising and Grand Marais. The access is at Beaver Lake Campgrounds. From there you can spend a day exploring the lake, or you can paddle to Lake Superior via Beaver Creek. You're going to have to get out of the canoe/kayak and pull the boat at some point, as the creek is shallow. For more information on this destination and others, check out my book, the Paddler's Guide to Michigan, The Countryman Press. 
  

That's when they had real winters in the U.P.

     The Farmer's Almanac is predicting a tougher than normal winter for the Great Lakes, colder, more snow. I just hope the giant railroad snow plow, left, isn't needed again. It sits in Calumet, unused for many years, a reminder of how brutal U.P. winters can get. For more information on the Almanac's prediction, go to www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2013/08/25/215489392/if-you-believe-the-farmers-almanac-get-a-good-coat?ft=1&f=1001

Mystery buildings near the tracks

      One of my favorite pursuits when traveling through small towns, especially in the U.P., is to get off the main road and find the old commercial buildings near the rail road tracks.
     I can often identify what they were used for, warehouses, railroad depots, but many times I can't. I just call them mystery buildings.
     The one, at left, is near the tracks in Newberry. Because of the town's lumber past, I suspect it could have been a mill or storage building for timber waiting to be shipped via rail.
   The photo, below, was taken in Marquette and looks like a similar building, but I suspect it could be mining related.
     If any readers can tell me what they are, I'd appreciate it.
   

Isle Royale moose

     Isle Royale Nation Park in Lake Superior is one of the best places in Michigan to see moose. The 50-mile long island has a rocky shoreline, and off it are other islands to which moose often swim to feed.
     There are no roads on the island, and it's mostly visited by backpackers and paddlers. Seeing the island via kayak is the best way to explore its coast line. But it's not a trip to be made alone. Groups often travel together.
     This week and next are the peak season, and trips there are often more pleasant in mid to late August, and even into early September. There are fewer people and bugs.
     One tip, don't bother the moose. I snapped the picture at left of a female who was eyeing me distrustfully. She had reason. Kids at the campground we were staying at had been bothering her and her calf, and shortly after the picture was taken, she and her young bolted and fled into Lake Superior. You don't want to get caught in front of a charging moose. For more information, go to www.nps.gov/isro/index.htm. A boat from Copper Harbor makes daily trips to the island and another from Houghton/Hancock makes regular trips. There's extensive information about visiting Isle Royale in my book, Michigan: An Explorer's Guide.

Old school resorts in the U.P.

Deer Park General store. 

The eastern Upper Peninsula is home to two older style resorts that bring back memories of childhood vacations from the past. Simple cabins and a beach nearby.  At night there were camp fires and marsh mellow roasts. Those pleasures have been lost in our era of electronic devices and non-stop entertainment.

     To recapture the past, check out Deer Park Lodge (906-658-3341; deerparklodge.typepad.com ), 29209 County Rd. 401, Newberry.  The one and two-bedroom cabins are on Muskallonge Lake and have the use of a shallow, sandy beach. Since it’s an inland lake, the waters are much warmer than those of nearby Lake Superior. The rooms are reminiscent of simple wooden cabins of the 1940s, and they’re furnished with basic cooking utensils. There are no television sets, and cell phone service can be sketchy, so a traveler can really get away.

     The lake is dominated by the Muskallonge State Park, and doesn’t get much traffic, apart from fishing boats. There are small motorboats available. Bringing a canoe or kayak would be a good idea, as the water is shallow, and day trips on the water would give the kids something extra to do.

     The owners, Mick and Monica Brown, are friendly and like to share local history with visitors. They have an anchor from the 1880s that was recovered from the lake and thought to come from a fishing boat. The couple also runs the Deer Park General Store near the cabins, which can pretty much fill the needs of guests. The nearest other stores are about 20 miles away in Newberry.

Cabins at Deer Park.

     There is plenty to see and do nearby. The agate beaches of Lake Superior are just north of the cabins along H 58. Agate hunting on U.P. beaches is a regular activity for Michigan residents. The rocks are hard and colorful. Many people polish them. Tahquamenon Falls State Park is about 43 miles away, making it a day trip. The falls are a top U.P. travel destination. The Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, another top attraction, is 54 miles via H 58, which runs along Lake Superior.

     Just about due south on Lake Michigan are the Hog Island Country Store & Cottages (906-477-9995; www.hogislandcottages.com), W8294 US 2, Naubinway. The focus is on the Lake Michigan shoreline, which is just a short walk. The one – three bedroom cabins date to the 1940s and are simple and clean. The kitchens are furnished with basic utensils and each has a fire pit. There are television sets, but who needs them. The beach is sandy and the water warm. By

modern

Hog Island Country Store. 

standards, the rooms are a bit cramped, but travelers are here to get outside.

     The hosts here are Tom and Sandy Jacobs and can be found on most days manning the Hog Island Country Store, where they sell homemade jams and jellies, smoked fish and pasties. There’s also coffee for those on the road.

     The town of Naubinway is about nine miles east of Hog Island. The town is home to an active fishing fleet, and there are several markets selling fresh fish. 

The copper strike of 1913

A hundred years ago this week copper miners in the Keweenaw Peninsula went on strike, seeking more money, an eight hour day and the end of the one man drill, which they considered dangerous. 
The state eventually ordered the National Guard in to keep peace, as 15,000 workers went on strike. The mine owners hired a detective agency to provide private security. But trouble came anyway.
Calumet was at the center of the troubles, and it looks like its been sealed in time capsule since 1913, with many fine 19th century buildings lining the downtown. 
My favorite stop to pay tribute to the miners is Shute's Bar, photo at left, which dates to 1890. It has recently been cleaned and re-opened after a several year hiatus.
When I go inside, I can imagine tough miners, many of whom didn't speak much English, standing at the bar, nursing a beer, if they could afford it, and talking about the strike. 
Old pictures of the miners show them wearing suits and carrying picket signs. The world was much more formal then. There were also some miners who were opposed to the strike backed by the Western Federation of Miners. The union brought in Mother Jones, a radical labor activist of the time. 
The first  violence came on Aug. 14, 1913 when two strikers trespassed on mine company property. Local deputies and men from the Waddell-Mahon Detective Agency were dispatched to fetch the miners, but when confronted in a boarding house, one refused to go, and the security officers started shooting. Two men with no connection to the strikers were killed.
The violence continued, but the most tragic event was to come. On Christmas Eve hundreds of miners and their wives and children were gathered at the Calumet Italian Hall for a party. Some one in the crowded yelled "fire" and the crowd ran for the door. In the chaos, 73 people were trampled, most found dead near the door. 
As with most labor disputes, the mining companies blamed the union and the union blamed the companies. But the truth was that nobody seemed to know who yelled "fire", and it has become an enduring mystery in the Keweenaw. 
The strike eventually ended in April 1914, with the miners winning shorter work days and pay hikes, but no reprieves from the one-man drill. The union wasn't recognized by the company.
After the strike, many of the miners lost their taste for working under ground, and followed the lure of auto jobs in Detroit where Henry Ford was paying $5 a day. 
Although the Italian Hall has been demolished, there are still plenty of historic buildings and sites in the copper country, many of which are in the Keweenaw National Historic Park run by the National Park Service. For more information, go to www.nps.gov/kewe/index.htm. 
For further reading, pick up a copy of Michigan author Joe Heywood's "Red Jacket" which uses the strike as a back ground for one of his woods cop mysteries. I won't spoil the ending, but he has a different take on who yelled "fire."
For many years there was a controversy over whether the doors of the Italian Hall opened outward or inward, and there was a theory that the door was jammed shut by men from the detective agency. 
This is explored in a non-fiction book, "Death's Door: The Truth Behind Michigan's Largest Mass Murder," by Steve Lehto, an attorney. 

                                                            Photo of the mine headquarters in Calumet. 

Unconnected at Hog Island

   If you've ever driven along U.S. 2 in the Upper Peninsula, you've probably seen this place located near Nubinway, on Lake Michigan. It's worth a stop. There's food, coffee, fudge and other items, but it's the history that's the draw. The building was once in the nearby backwoods town of Rexton, but was moved to its present location some time in the 1940s as tourism developed along U.S. 2. Once a house, its has been a store for many years. There are also about six rustic cabins with beach access. There's no Internet connection or fancy electronics in the cabins, and it would be a great place to take kids who have become way too dependent  on cell phones and other devices for entertainment. There's just the beach nearby.

Pine Stump Junction

Years ago while looking at a Michigan map, I found a place name, Pine Stump Junction in the Upper Peninsula's Luce County on County Road H 37. I wondered what was there, and I finally made it to the place during the 1970s while on a fly-fishing trip. The old northwoods tavern was the only building in the place, and inside it was basically a beer bar with pickled eggs and ham hocks sitting in jars behind the bar. Every few years I'd stop by to see if it was still there, and did so this summer. Looks like times haven't been kind to the Pine Stuff. It was Sunday morning, so I couldn't tell if it was open, but it looks like there's a bit of construction going on. In my travels through the U.P., it seems like other backwoods taverns are suffering the same fate, victims to the brewpub craze. I'm sorry to see them go, nothing went better with a pickled egg than canned beer. The place is at least still on the map.

Loon on lake in the Sylvania Wilderness Area

For years, I've been trying to get a good picture of a loon on a lake in the Upper Peninsula, and I finally did it the other night in the Sylvania Wilderness Area near Watersmeet. It was a matter of taking my time, and doing some soft paddling in my kayak, so as not to scare the bird. Loons are ground nesting birds and this time of year, a lone male loon in the lake means there is a female on a nest not too far away. The job of the male is to attract the attention of possible preditors to keep them away from the nest, so the mother isn't disturbed. Male loons will dive underwater to get away from you, and this one did seconds after the picture was taken. I feel lucky to have seen this one this close.

Calm day on Lake Superior

The weather has finally cleared in the Upper Peninsula and the winds have settled down, making it a good day for paddling on Lake Superior and elsewhere. Spent Monday in the Sylvania Wilderness Area near Watersmeet in the western U.P. paddling Clark Lake. The area is a great place for familes to canoe camp, gentle paddles, warm inland waters for swimming and fishing.