Bushwhacking Fool

Isle Royale Trip: Playing Leapfrog on the Minong Ridge Trail

bushwhackingfool — Fri, 18 May 2012 17:27:39 +0000

Paper birch forest along Minong Ridge Trail

Hiking along the Minong Ridge Trail has been a pleasant stroll through attractive forests thus far. So, there is absolutely no reason to contemplate my last opportunity to bail out on the trail at the intersection with the Hatchet Lake Trail.

After a fifteen minute break at the Hatchett Lake intersection, I continue hiking through the same aspen/paper birch forest. The sky begins to darken though, while before it was merely overcast. Is there more rain in store for me today? The weather forecast from this morning was not optimistic, and meteorologists are never wrong. Right?

The wind picks up some, as I continue hiking through the aspen/paper birch forest. The combination of the white and grey mature tree trunks as far as the eye can see, mixed with the light green foliage of the many saplings in the understory, makes this a very pretty stretch of trail. A red-eyed vireo flutters above my head in the young aspen trees, enjoying the ample supply of insects attracted to structurally diverse forest.

View Day Four, Part Two in a larger map

Section Stats:
Date: September 1, 2011
Length: 5.0 miles (6.4 total daily miles; 31.1 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Moderate (frequent ups and downs)

The trail starts to gradually ascend as I continue to admire the beauty of the forest around me. Finally, the trail climbs back to the ridge that bares its name. An extensive wetland lies at the bottom of the ridge off to the north. Many of the aspen and birch trees give way to red pines along the ridge line, apparently due to the shallow and poor soils.

While passing under a cluster of red pines, a few of cones seem to fall from the sky, just missing my head. Above, a mischievous red squirrel jumps for limb to limb, chewing off cones and dropping them down on me. Did it hear about what I did to that squirrel back at McCargoe Cove two days? Perhaps via the Pine Cone Internet? It chatters loudly when I pick up a few of the cones and throw them into the surrounding forest. That will teach it!

As I stop for a drink of water and a quick snack, the family of four from Todd Harbor pasts me quickly. I note the red squirrel does NOT knock cones on their heads. So maybe there is something to this crazy Pine Cone Internet idea of mine after all.

The family consists of the two parents and two children, one boy and one girl. The kids appear to be pre-teens but it is hard to tell under all the equipment. It has been a long time since I saw kids out backpacking. In my typical haunts in the Adirondacks seeing one is as uncommon as seeing a black bear, or a moose for that matter. National Parks probably attract more families than a dispersed state park like the Adirondacks. Or perhaps it is due to most of my trips being off-trail bushwhacks. Probably a little of both.

Not wanting to play leapfrog with the family too soon, I dilly-dally a little before hitting the trail again. Once back on the trail, it continues to climb, now back into an almost entirely paper birch forest. In a muddy section, I notice a couple of moose prints. Unfortunately, they are not very fresh, but I am overjoyed nonetheless, as they are the closest I have come to seeing moose thus far on my trip.

Red pines along Minong Ridge Trail

Red pine trees return to the forest, although still mixed in with the plentiful paper birch. Through the trees to the north is an extensive wetland, although I only catch glimpses of it through the forest canopy. According to the map, the trail follows along this wetland for a good distance, but it always remains upslope from it.

Lying in the middle of the trail is a dead deer mouse. Other than the fur looking a little unkempt (death will do that to one’s personal hygiene), there are no obvious signs of what led it to its current predicament. I find it surprising that a dead mouse would remain on the trail for any length of time. Could another hiker have step on it?

The trail drops closer to the wetland, and I am able to actually see some muddy, open water. I stop and scan the area with my binoculars, but I see no evidence of moose. Foiled again! If I do not get to see at least one moose on this trip then I am going to be pissed.

The trail winds through the forest again, but now it has become a paper birch monoculture again. The trail ascends to a narrow ridge, where both sides fall off sharply into a closed canopy of an aspen and paper birch forest. Some red pines remain mixed in with the other two deciduous species though.

Dead mouse on Minong Ridge Trail

Two young men approach me hiking in the opposite direction. One is limping, using a hiking pole under his arm like a crutch. Exchanging hellos, I let them go by and restrain myself from asking any obvious questions (“Are you hurt?”). Cringing at the prospect of getting injured so far from any facilities, I move on, wondering whether I should have carried my personal locator beacon on this trip.

As I approach the top of a deep ravine, I see the family from Todd Harbor slowly descending. It appears the mother has bad knees, as she hobbles along near the top of the deep descent. Credit goes to people who continue to hike knowing they are likely to experience a good deal of pain in the process.

Several years ago, while hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, a friend of mine came down with painful knees, forcing us to abandon a trip before it reached its half-way point. The pain must have been excruciating, as he groaned with each step as we descended from a mountain range. Although it was obviously very painful for him, it was no day in the park listening to the groans either.

Wetland along Minong Ridge Trail

Forest along Minong Ridge Trail

After the family climbs the other side of the deep ravine and disappears down the trail, I slowly amble my way down into the steep ravine. A small stream flows at the bottom and a wet area, covered in alder shrubs is present to the south. Apparently, the wetland feds the stream as it flows to the more extensive, grassy wetland on the north side of the trail.

The climb up from the bottom of the ravine is long and steep, with it culminating at the top of the ridge again. Through the trees, the wetland to the north is still visible, with its brownish open water and plentiful grassy vegetation.

Paper birch forest along Minong Ridge Trail

Aspen forest along Minong Ridge Trail

The forest becomes much more diverse now, with some spruce and eastern white pine mixing in with the aspen and paper birch. The understory remains dense and foreboding; once again making me thankful I did not plan a bushwhacking adventure on the island prior to visiting. Forest understory like this is rarely seen in my old stomping grounds of the Adirondacks. Outside of blowdowns, that is.

The Minong Ridge starts paralleling another one to the northwest. This other ridge looks slightly higher, and more rocky and open. I cannot help but imagine what it would be like to hike along that ridge. It appears the grass is always greener, even when there is not any grass to be found.

Mixed forest along Minong Ridge Trail

The trail descends off the ridge, and goes through a series of wetter areas as it grows closer to a stream but never crosses it. The wetter areas are devoid of most ground vegetation as they are forested in dense northern white cedar. In reality, they are not all that wet right now either, just damp and musty. Obviously, the dry summer has had its toll on even these wet areas.

Many roots and corduroy lie in the trail, giving this stretch a very typical Adirondack feel. Most of the corduroy is caked in hard mud now, not serving much of a purpose, other than to trip up unsuspecting hikers.

The family has taken a break to have lunch as I pass by in one of the cedar dominated areas. They seem to be working on a whole spread with plates and everything. Plates? In the backcountry? I cannot remember the last time I carried an actual plate. Usually, I just use my lap or the packaging the food came in.

When I pass, I cannot help but think I am the lead frog now.

The trail climbs an incline part-way, yet parallels the stream down below. Some very large eastern white pines are scattered within the forest here, giving this area a very wild air to it. Although paper birch continues to dominate the canopy, many young cedars in the understory lie in wait for the chance to take control. Even an occasional young spruce is waits patiently for its chance too.

Large white pine along Minong Ridge Trail

The trail continues to weave in and out of different forest types. Mixed forest with paper birch and spruce, followed by a monoculture of paper birch, but occasionally dipping to a lower area dominated by young northern white cedars.

Finally the trail drops down off the ridge and crosses an open stream. The area is thick with shrubbery and herbaceous vegetation, but no trees grown nearby. The stream crossing is on what appears to have once been a bridge made out of very long logs. A single log remains intact, but the others are in different stages of decomposition and disrepair. This is the first stream crossing what I am used to within the Adirondacks, outside of the heavily visited High Peak Wilderness where bridges predominate.

After crossing the stream on the log bridge, the trail climbs sharply over a high ridge. The steep ascent is followed by an even steeper descent through mostly mixed forest. At the top of the ridge are many juniper bushes and much bare ground. Fortunately, the descent is short and after crossing a small stream, ends at the intersection with the Little Todd Campground spur trail.

In the mud just near the small stream crossing is another moose print. This one appears much more recent than the one earlier in the day. The hoof print is long forgotten when I arrive at the intersection signpost, since propped up against the sign is a moose antler. It does not appear to be recent by any means, but it remains the closest thing to seeing a real moose thus far on my trip.

Stream crossing on Minong Ridge Trail

Moose print along Minong Ridge Trail

Moose antler at Little Todd intersection

Near the intersection, a large boulder stands next to a broad rock shelf. The rock shelf nearly forms steps up to the top of the boulder. I am unable to resist the temptation to climb to the top, even though I could be leapfrogged by the family once again. The top of the rock allows me to catch a glimpse of the open rocky ridge that is in my future during tomorrow’s hike. The tomorrow’s stretch of trail is the shortest segment of my entire trip, but supposedly one of the toughest due to the frequent ups and downs on the rough and rocky ridge.

After climbing down from the boulder and retrieving my backpack, I start down the short spur trail to the Little Todd campground. The trail crosses rolling terrain on its way to Little Todd, through paper birch forest, followed by aspen, and finally through a swamp of herbaceous vegetation, before finally arriving at the campground. The sky is mostly clear now, with a stiff breeze coming off Lake Superior. It is perfect weather to dry off my equipment from the day before.

With two of the four campsites taken already, I have only the remaining to choose from. At least, I get the chance to choose. Such is the benefit of being the lead frog, I suppose.

Wetland on way to Little Todd

Little Todd Campground map

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Isle Royale Trip: Last Chance to Bail on the Minong Ridge Trail

bushwhackingfool — Wed, 16 May 2012 19:53:44 +0000

Minong Ridge Trail

Today is the last possible opportunity to bail out on completing the Minong Ridge Trail. After reaching the Hatchet Lake Trail, which should be early this morning, there are no other opportunities to exit the Minong Ridge Trail. After this the only choices are to hike all the way to the end at Windigo, or turn back. Not that turning back allows for an escape from the backcountry, since it is a several days hike back to Rock Harbor regardless of the route taken.

Not that I have any intentions for turning back now. Not unless I sprain an ankle, or lose a leg. Unfortunately, this is not an unlikely scenario, given the continuous ups and downs along the Minong Ridge Trail.

The early morning at Todd Harbor is not unlike that of most the other mornings on Isle Royale. Except this time the many chattering red squirrels and the urgent need to relieve myself are accompanied by the indiscriminate notes of an unidentified thrush near my tarp. In other words, it is the start of another wonderful day on Isle Royale.

The foliage remains saturated from the rain yesterday, which inspires me to check the forecast for some hopefully good weather news. Damn! My little Optimus radio I bought at Radio Shack many years ago no longer works! It must have broken in transit since it worked fine during my bushwhacking trip to Oven Lake in the Adirondacks back in July.

Section Stats:
Date: September 1, 2011
Length: 1.4 miles (1.4 total daily miles; 26.1 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy, but damp

Panic quickly subsides, since a quick battery change brings the little radio back to life. This gets the old mental juices flowing, even at this early hour, so I check some of my other electronic devices. Back-up flashlight? Dead too. Garmin eTrex Legend HCx? Not dead, but pretty close. Same with my Sony PCM-10 recorder. Could the drive to Copper Harbor have drained the batteries?

View Day Four, Part One in a larger map

Luckily, my extra supply of batteries is enough to get everything going again. With some of the devices a mere switch of batteries between them gives my toys new life. Hopefully, they sell batteries at the store at Windigo when I get there in a couple days. Otherwise, I will have to get used to the idea that I carried these battery-operated devices for no other reason but to strengthen my back.

My Optimus radio predicts rainy conditions today. This is disheartening. It would be just like my luck to plan a backpacking trip on the island during the two wettest weeks in the driest summers on record. I refuse to be daunted though, and so I don my rain gear and head on out, ready for whatever might come. Today, mu plan is to hike to Little Todd Campground, one of the lighter days of my trip, and no rain is going to keep me from getting there.

After finishing my many chores and packing up my backpack, nature calls and I make a run to the toilet. Upon finishing my business, I emerge to find the campground largely abandoned. Only the family that arrived late yesterday afternoon remains, the other two groups (i.e. the younger couple and the two older men in the shelter) have hit the trail before 9 AM. Hurray, the race to Little Todd is on! And for once, I will not be starting in last place.

A dreary Todd Harbor

Overcast hangs over Todd Harbor, much like when I arrived the previous afternoon. I take a last short trip down to the shoreline in hopes of taking a few photographs with better lighting than the previous day’s. Unfortunately, the dark clouds are less than cooperative, except for a few instances when some hazy sunhine breaks through. Regardless of the less than perfect conditions, a few photographs are taken, but I do not bother to take out the tripod.

As I am putting my camera away in its weather resistant case on my hipbelt, I catch a glimpse of a blur flying to the tippy-top of a tall conifer along the shore. Before I can struggle my compact binocular out of its carrying case on my hipbelt, the sharp-shinned hawk flies away, returns to its perch, and then flies away for good. A stern talk with my binoculars follows.

Despite the later start, I am not overly concerned. Today is one of the shorter days on my trip by distance, with less than 7 miles to cover before the end of the day. My swiftness on the trail should allow me to make up the time if absolutely necessary.

Todd Harbor

Taking one last look around Todd Harbor, I spin around and head down the trail toward Little Todd.

The trail initially climbs through a mostly spruce forest before leveling off and entering an aspen/paper birch forest. There are many snags scattered about the forest, with a few downed aspens here and there. The snags and their downed compatriots suggest a severe wind event in the recent past. This should be good news to the Isle Royale woodpecker community.

Multiple large mixed flocks of birds are encountered along the trail, or maybe it is just the same flock over and over again. White-throated sparrows dominate, but there are also American redstarts, mourning warblers, black-capped chickadee and other warbler species. I curse my atrophied birding skills for failing to allow me to identify many of the species. Apparently, there is much fall warbler plumage research in my future.

American redstart

One female American redstart (or perhaps it is an immature), shows a considerable amount of curiosity in me. It buzzes around, flashing its yellow markings on its wings and tail over and over again. It is so insistent that I am able to get my camera out and take multiple pictures of it. It is still in the same aspen sapling when I finally pull away and return to hiking down the trail.

The trail continues over rolling terrain through alternating aspen and paper birch dominated forests. The forest canopy is largely sparse, due to a combination of wind damage and natural spacing. This is one of my favorite sections of the trail, as the forest is very attractive and the bird flocks are frequent.

Minong Ridge Trail

While climbing over a small hill, I stop and remove my rain gear. Between the North Face Venture jacket and the Golite Tumalo Pertex rain pants, sweat is starting to soak into my clothes underneath. I hang my rain gear inside out on my hiking poles to allow them to dry in the breeze, while I eat a snack and drink some water.

The trail continues downhill through a stunning paper birch forest, until it finally crosses what once was probably a flowing stream on a bridge. A grassy clearing appears on my right, followed by a slight climb.

Within a short period, the Hatchet Lake Trail appears on the left. This is the last chance to exit the Minong Ridge Trail, as there are no other side trails until its southern terminus at Windigo. Before me now is a three day commitment to the Minong, for better or worse. Hopefully, for the better.

Wind damage along Minong Ridge Trail

Minong Ridge Trail

Not being able to pass up the opportunity for a short rest in an attractive forest setting, I stop again for a brief rest. The sudden appearance of another large mixed flock of birds is reason enough for extending my rest for longer than initially planned. Quickly, I remove my Leica compact binoculars from their carrying case and begin scanning the trees canopy.

Black-capped chickadee, common yellowthroat (a female), Magnolia warbler, white-throated sparrow and American redstart are just a few of the species identified. In addition, two ovenbirds chase each other through the young trees canopy, almost resulting in me losing my hat. During all the activity, a common raven flies overhead, squawking in apparent discontent.

Minong Ridge/Hatchet Lake Trails signpost

As the birds depart in their search for food, I return all my equipment to its proper place and head down the Minong Ridge Trail toward Little Todd. With my last opportunity to abort behind me, I am now wholly committed to completing my trek to Windigo, where, hopefully, there will be a resupply box arriving for me soon after I arrive. Otherwise, it is going to be one heck of a hungry trip back to Rock Harbor during the second half of my first Isle Royale adventure.

Minong Ridge/Hatchet Lake Trails intersection

Aside: The Race is on Isle Royale

bushwhackingfool — Mon, 14 May 2012 19:36:28 +0000

Greenstone Ridge Trail

The race is on. Or at least, on Isle Royale, that is.

Backpacking on Isle Royale is like playing a giant game of musical chairs. Each morning an exodus occurs from the campgrounds, as hikers spread out in a quest to cover as much trail as possible in the shortest amount of time. All in an attempt to get their choice of campsite before the music stops and the campgrounds fill up.

Unfortunately, much is sacrificed at this altar of expediency. Mornings, a perfect time to reflect and appreciate nature, are hurried so as to get on the trail early. Breakfast and lunch are short and convenient above all else. Hiking becomes almost a forced march, as getting from point A to point B is more important than taking some time to enjoy a view or take a detour to an off-trail lake. All is forsaken so as to arrive at one’s destination early enough to secure a choice campsite. Or, better yet, a comfortable shelter.

Getting a campsite is an imperative unfortunately, especially since the campgrounds are not very close together. Not getting a campsite in the late afternoon may require doubling up with someone else, or even worse, hiking many miles to the next campground. And the next campground could be at least 10 miles away.

Fortunately for me, my trip to Isle Royale last summer was during the off-season. Between what I observed, and conversations had with to long-time visitors, it could have been much worse. Apparently, this racing mindset is more pronounced during the on-season of July and August, when the number of visitors to the island skyrockets.

At first, I bought into this hectic lifestyle, at least in spirit. In reality, my propensity for enjoying a relaxed early morning (I was on vacation, after all), and general slowness and inefficiency kept me from embracing this cultural phenomenon completely. The enjoyment of such activities as the morning bird chorus (as withdrawn as it may be in early September) and a wholesome and hearty breakfast were enough to slow down my departure time well after most others departed the campgrounds.

In addition, once on the trail my lackadaisical hiking philosophy, which values experiences over schedule, took over, and rarely did I ever pass an individual or group, except for those encumbered by injury or inability. My nearly irresistible urge to identify every bird encountered and the need to take short detours to explore interesting natural and historical sites did not help either.

After some time on the island, I abandoned all pretenses of maintaining this racing island culture. Instead of embracing it and trying to hurry through my Isle Royale adventure, I slowed down even more, and savored every moment. Let others race to the campground and take shelters or the better campsites.

Little Todd Campsite

If I failed to get a shelter, that is why I carry my tarp. If doubling up at a campground is my fate, then so be it (it happened only once at North Lake Desor). If I get stuck with some mediocre campsite, it is only for a single night (I usually got to choose between multiple sites). Plus, during the course of my backpacking career, most of my backcountry adventures involved bushwhacking, which has required erecting my campsite in some of the most God-awful places imaginable.

Visiting Isle Royale requires embracing this racing philosophy (which may be unavoidable during the busy season), or actively opposing it, and hiking to the beat of one’s own drummer. Adhere to the hurried culture get up early morning every morning followed by racing down the trail at a hurried pace, possibly missing some wonderful experiences, or give up entirely on the dream of having a shelter or campsite to yourself every single night.

If the former sounds appealing then just remember to wear some lightweight trail running shoes. You will need them. Oh, and plenty of moleskins or other blister treatments. You will most certainly need them too.

Isle Royale Trip: Exploring a Wet Todd Harbor

bushwhackingfool — Sun, 13 May 2012 01:34:27 +0000

Todd Harbor shoreline

By the time I arrive at Todd Harbor Campground the light rain is a full-on rain. Not a down pour, by any means, just a steady rain. Even suiting up in my North Face rain jacket and Golite Tumalo Pertex rain pants earlier did not do their magic to hold off the rain. So now I am given no choice but put up my tarp in the rain.

Maybe it is the rain and the dark clouds, but I am less than impressed by Todd Harbor, especially given the lauds attributed to it from Jim DuFresne’s book. Perhaps it is more attractive without a low hanging fog obscuring much of the view out into Lake Superior, along with some nearby shoreline.

The dock is on the opposite side of the harbor, closer to the group campsites. The trail to the dock goes through some tall herbaceous vegetation just off the water’s shore, now most certainly soaked. A rocky shoreline curves around to the dock, giving a much drier option than taking the trail, when, and if, I choose to explore the opposite shoreline later.

Section Stats:
Date: August 31, 2011
Length: 0.8 miles (0.8 total daily miles; 24.7 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy, but wet

The forest along shore is open, with many of the campsites surrounded by grass and other vegetation. The majority are wet now, with the dirty and dusty sites becoming muddier by the moment. One of the nicer campsites is along the water and under a few large spruces. Unfortunately, it is taken by a younger couple, who sit at their picnic table wrapped in colorful rain gear.

When I walk toward the shelter I can hear talking coming from within so I keep searching for a suitable campsite beyond. Many of the campsites seem small and open to the falling rain drops. Finally, the last one (coincidently numbered #1) shows promise with a short trail to the shoreline for water access and partial canopy for sheltering from the rain. Unfortunately, it is located only a stone’s throw from the main trail. Well, nothing is perfect, especially when trying to get out of the rain quickly.

View Day Three, Part Three in a larger map

Without delay, I attempt to put up my tarp as quickly as possible even though the rain tappers off to a slight drizzle. Red squirrels scold me continuously as I scurry to secure my tarp, difficult in even the ideal circumstances. Or perhaps the squirrels are simply berating each other, or the falling rain.

After finishing with the tarp, I start filtering water and setting up camp as well as can be in the rain. Although the rain tappers off some, it never completely ceases. The wet instigates me to being my dinner early, while the rain is ebbing, just in case it returns later. The sky remains dark and overcast, and during my preparations it starts raining again. Taking shelter under the forest canopy along the water access trail, I am able to avoid the bulk of the light rain falling while preparing and quickly ingesting my dinner.

For the first time since my Isle Royale trip began, the mosquitoes are atrocious. They especially seem virulent when the rain tappers off, apparently the recent moisture has rejuvenated them. They are literally out for blood now. And it is mine! Fortunately, they never attain the intensity of my trip to Oven Lake in the Adirondacks earlier in the summer.

Tarp at Todd Harbor campsite #1

Todd Harbor campsite #1

Many of the large-leaved raspberries, so prevalent on the island, surround the perimeter of my campsite. The large, red and succulent berries beg to be eaten, and I cannot refuse even though I just finished my dinner. I grab a wet berry off a nearby plant at the edge of my campsite and pop it in my mouth. Ever see the movie Big, where Tom Hanks spits out caviar at a party? I expect that is what my face looks like as I expel the nasty berry and try to rid my mouth of the acrid taste. Maybe they are not edible, after all.

The area around my campsite is alive with birds. A common raven calls off in the distance, its harsh croaking sounding as if it caught a cold from the wet weather. American robin, black-capped chickadee, golden-crowned kinglet, white-throated sparrow and red-breasted nuthatch calls frequently ring out over the light falling rain.

When I wander down by the shoreline, I observe several other bird species associated with open water. A spotted sandpiper dashes between the rocks, obviously in search of invertebrates for dinner. A belted kingfisher flies overheard, cackling constantly and loudly. Some mergansers swim along the opposite side of the harbor. I think they were red-breasted mergansers, but the distance and encroaching dusk make it difficult to be sure.

Todd Harbor

Todd Harbor shoreline

Tim, the male half of the couple at the other campsite when I arrived, stops in and asks if he can take a look at the campsite. Luckily, he arrives after my less than dignified incident with the raspberry. While chatting, I remember him from back at McCargoe Cove the night before, looking for something to relieve sunburn on his foot.

After checking out my campsite, Tim heads off along the trail between my campsite and the shoreline. Upon his return some time later, he yells over to tell me that the trail leads to an old mine shaft and a nice cliff overlooking the harbor. Interesting, and after a quick glance at my map it appears to be fairly close.

After finishing up with my cleaning and getting my campsite ready for the night, I head off down to the trail leading to the Haytown Mine. The trail stays in the surrounding wet coniferous forest as it winds its way toward the mine to the southwest. Finally, the trail leads to a split-rail fence surrounding an old mine pit. The pit is not very impressive, as vegetation from numerous shrubs obscures the opening.

Haytown Mine Trail

Located on the far side of the mine, the trail appears to continue, although it remains more obscure and grown over than before. Following the trail, I continue downhill as it winds through overgrown vegetation, wetting my pants as I push through.

The sound of running water rises above the constant sound of the rain drops dripping from the canopy as I proceed along the trail. Finally, the trail leads to a small, attractive waterfall, the water flowing over dark rock before winding through the forest on its way to Lake Superior.

The trail continues along the stream but appears even fainter than before, so I decide to head back before the darkening sky opens up with a deluge.

Back at the mine site, I follow another trail down to a bluff rising above Todd Harbor. The steep climb down is well worth the steep descent along a rocky and eroding herd path. The views are quite impressive; although I cannot stop thinking that it would be even more outstanding under a clear sky with a setting sun. Pickett Bay, Florence Bay and Todd Harbor are visible to varying degrees, with many different islands visible below the dark and threatening clouds.

Haytown Mine

Waterfall near Haytown Mine

Instead of returning to my campsite, I head down to the shoreline as I originally intended before the Haytown Mine trail distracted me. The temptation to skip stones overwhelms me, and I begin gathering adequately flat stones. What about the outdoors inspires me to engage in pursuits typically reserved for young boys, I do not know. Perhaps it is the loss of electricity, television or the Internet.

After enjoying the sport of stone skipping, I skip myself on over to check out the dock on the opposite shore. The rocky shoreline appears drier than using the trail, although it does require leaping over a small stream. Luckily, I do not slip on the slick rocks while making the jump and I arrive at the dock without getting any wetter than is absolutely necessary.

The dock is a large one given the smaller size of the Todd Harbor campground. Many small fish dart in the water around the dock, perhaps in search of a handout. Unfortunately, I have nothing to give them although I attempt to throw them an occasional swatted mosquito. On a couple occasions, when the mosquito struggles on the lake’s surface, the fish come to the surface and gobble them up. Not as effective as DEET, but a lot more fun.

View from bluff near Haytown Mine

Lake Superior at bottom of bluff near Haytown Mine

Small island off Haytown Mine bluff

Leaving the dock, I head uphill along the trail toward the group campsites. From my readings (primarily from Isle Royale National Park: Foot Trails & Water Routes by Jim DuFresne), I understand the group camping sites are just larger versions of the individual sites but until now I have not investigated any of them.

The trail proceeds uphill and to the west until reaching the first of the group camping sites. This site is indeed large, with at least half a dozen large, flat areas suitable for tents. The whole campsite is nestled under a mature coniferous forest, providing much more shelter than the individual sites across the way. It is easy to imagine these sites overrun with groups, like the Boy Scouts, during the height of the busy season on Isle Royale. I am glad I came later in the season, and missed the crowds.

The forest ends on a low cliff overlooking some outstanding views west. At least, I imagine them to be outstanding when the sky is not as dark as it is now. As I move along the edge of the forest toward the north, there are additional views out into Lake Superior. Wilson and Taylor Islands are prominently visible, much like they were at the bluff near Haytown Mine.

View near Todd Harbor group campsites

View near Todd Harbor group campsite

After admiring the view for a while, I circle back toward the group campsite where I started. When heading back toward the dock, I meet two older gentlemen, whom I recognize from Daisy Farm a couple days before. We chat about the island, trail and other typically backpacking issues before they head off to investigate the group campsite I just left behind.

When a side trail branches off toward the toilet, I take it since it continues past toward another group campsite. As I pass the toilet, the stench gives me an incentive to quicken my pace; obviously a group used one of these sites recently. I am thankful I am spending my evening on the other side of the bay tonight.

The second site is smaller, and more exposed to the elements, just like the majority of the individual sites. A snowshoe hare sits in the middle of the campsite, feasting on the exotic ground vegetation, apparently left behind by careless backpackers. In two casual leaps, the hare vanishes into the surrounding vegetation, and I head back down to the dock on my way back to my campsite for the night.

Before heading back to my campsite, I follow another subtle trail that leaves the shoreline near the dock and heads for a large log at the forest/wetland interface. The numerous pieces of soiled toilet paper surrounding the log and the buzzing flies should have warned me of what to expect. Apparently, some lazy bastards who cannot even make the short uphill trek to the toilet are defecating behind the large log. They must believe one large log deserves another. Disgusted, I swiftly move away back toward my campsite, this time trying the official trail instead of hugging the rocky shoreline.

Todd Harbor shoreline

The trail through dense herbaceous vegetation is slippery planking. The long stemmed plants attempt to thoroughly drench my already damp pants, but I do my best to hold them at bay. Baby steps are appropriate here, and thus it takes my much longer to return to the other side than when I came over along the rocky shoreline.

Before heading off to my tarp for the night, I return to the shoreline near my campsite. A family that arrived earlier and took an adjacent campsite to mine were investigating the dock, much like I did earlier. Their voices carry over the water, as the voices of younger children often do.

After skipping a few more inky-black rocks, I return to my campsite, shake the rain off my tarp and crawl underneath to spend my third Isle Royale night, warm and dry in my single pound Highlite sleeping bag. Another awesome, yet wet, day on the Minong Ridge Trail on Isle Royale completed with another one on the way tomorrow.

Isle Royale Trip: Hiking the Minong Ridge to Todd Harbor

bushwhackingfool — Thu, 10 May 2012 02:53:24 +0000

View from Minong Ridge Trail

What is the chance of returning to the Minong Ridge Trail at a point with a dazzling view of the Canadian shoreline across Lake Superior?

Obviously, the odds are pretty good. That is exactly where I arrive after bushwhacking up from the Minong Mine site. The upslope climb leaves me a little winded, so a short rest is in order, complete with a snack and pleasant drink of nutty flavored water from McCargoe Cove.

Admiring the fine views of Canada beyond a stretch of Lake Superior lengthens my rest beyond its appropriateness given the effort to regain the Minong Ridge Trail. Without even realizing, my Olympus camera and Leica compact binoculars make an appearance, allowing me to enjoy the views in the future, as well as the present.

Section Stats:
Date: August 31, 2011
Length: 5.5 miles (7.1 total daily miles; 23.9 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Moderate (open, rocky ridges; many ups and downs

The view is slightly obscured by the amount of moisture in the air. It is not raining, but it sure feels like it might start at almost any moment. The sky is overcast and dark gray, nothing like the clear skies during much of the previous two days on Isle Royale.

Finally, the threatening sky and the late morning hour (it is almost 10:30 AM) encourage me to secure my camera and binoculars, pick up my backpack and head down the trail toward Todd Harbor Campground. I pledge to myself not to stop for a lengthy period of time until it is time for devouring my lunch.

The trail remains fairly open as it crosses the ridge. Patches of knee-high brown grasses and lichen-covered bare rock lie in juxtaposition along the top of the ridgeline. The trail winds through the grass patches either over bare rock or along paths of mud, with cairns frequently indicating the direction to follow.

View Day Three, Part Two in a larger map

Just below the ridge lies a forest of mixed Jack and white pines; frequently the pines encroach on the trail at some places. Many snags stand along the trail, while others lie on the ground, slowly decomposing on the rock outcroppings.

Ancient lichen grows on nearly every square inch of rock outcropping. Some lichen patches grow tall (several inches is pretty tall for lichen) and fragile, while others appear as prostrate blankets wrapped over the rock. The lichen’s subtle colors and unique textures mask their life’s work at breaking down rock and creating soil, setting the groundwork for flowering plants to take hold.

At places where the trail runs across the rocks, the lichen is worn away, leaving a path of exposed and smooth, gray rock. The multitude of hiking boots striking the rock has produced a different type of rock decomposition, with the surface being smooth and glossy where not soiled with mud and dirt.

The trail refuses to stick to the open ridge topes. Frequently, it drops down off the exposed rock to either enter the forest or continue along the forest/ridge border. While walking along the forest border, the ridge dominates off to the north, taunting me with possible views not totally obscured by rock and brown grasses.

Open rock along Minong Ridge Trail

Lichen along the Minong Ridge

The trail continues the relentless up and down for which the Minong Ridge Trail is well-known. On the ups, the forest typically breaks open to scattered rock and grass surrounded by forest. On the downs, the trail reenters mixed forest, with dense herbaceous cover owning every inch of ground. The trail winds like a ribbon of dirt through the surrounding forest, bordered by thick large–leaved plants on both sides.

On one of the many descents from open rock, I encounter my first hiker for the day, another solo hiker going in the opposite direction. Instead of just exchanging the usual nod and hello, he stops and we chat for a while about the conditions of the trail. I inquire about the number of hikers he has seen on the trail, with hopes I may still be able to gain access to the single shelter at Todd Harbor. He reveals he passed a single hiker around 9:30, and a couple just a short ways in front of me.

Forested portion of Minong Ridge Trail

Then before parting, and to my dismay, he adds that Todd Harbor Campground was full the previous night. The chance of getting the single shelter at Todd Harbor seems to be close to zero now. Especially, if any of last night’s campers stay over for another night.

The rocky open ridge crests are hard on my feet, despite the lighter Garmont hiking shoes I am wearing, so much so that sometimes I wish I wore my Asolo TPS 520 GTX bushwhacking boots. Perhaps the stiffer boots would protect my feet better, although they would be severe overkill on the dry trails, especially given their greater weight. It is probably better to save the Asolo hiking boots for Adirondack bushwhacks.

Despite the causing me sore feet, the ridges provide ample views to the north. The views are a gift granted by the impenetrable rock, providing a barrier for any trees taking root. Views of Canada and Lake Superior abound beyond the tree tops of the northern forest of Isle Royale as long as the trail maintain along the ridge tops.

After about thirty minutes of hiking, Otter Lake comes into view off to my right within the trees. It lies well below me, giving me an outstanding idea of the height of the Minong Ridge. The trail dips down again and I lose sight of the lake several times before regaining an exceptional view of lake nearly straight below me.

My pledge to keep going until lunch totally forgotten, I stop and pull out both my compact binoculars and Olympus digital SLR camera for some play time. From my vantage point along the open ridge, I spot two very small points appearing below me on Otter Lake’s surface. Using my binoculars, the two spots turn out to be two common loons swimming about on the calm water below.

Minong Ridge Trail

During my break, I hear several birds in the area. The day has been largely quiet thus far, so I welcome the birds vocalizing more than usual. With the year’s nesting season largely over, it is always a treat to hear these calls before the forests turn quiet for the winter months. A yellow-rumped warbler sings from the surrounding conifers, while a black-capped chickadee, northern flicker, hairy woodpecker and blue jay let their presence be known vocally. Even a red squirrel chimes in for some acknowledgment.

I leave my binoculars out, dangling around my neck, while I secure my camera within its Lowepro mini camera bag on my hipbelt, before returning to the trail. The trail before me looks open enough that I am sure there remain more views of the lake below.

Otter Lake

My assumption becomes reality when at one point down the trail Otter Lake swallows up much of the view to the north. Only a ribbon of trees appear to separate the smaller lake from its much larger cousin, Lake Superior, off in the distance. A glimpse of Canada is still available despite the gray skies and increasing humidity. Occasional glimpses of Beaver Lake, located just north of Otter, also come into view along the open trail.

When I reach the western end of Otter Lake, I stop briefly and look down into the forest immediately off the ridge to the north. Originally, I thought I might bushwhack down to Otter Lake’s western shore, just for a little adventure and to live up to my moniker. The route down does not appear too steep, but the surrounding forest is quite thick. I scan the dark gray sky, then stare down slope toward Otter Lake’s western shore, and finally glance at my watch. The ritual is repeated several times in quick succession before I finally decide to stick to the trail. Arriving at Todd Harbor at a reasonable hour in the afternoon is the deciding factor, but the imminent chance of rain did not help either.

Otter Lake from Minong Ridge

Otter Lake from Minong Ridge Trail

Shortly after leaving the open ridge and the beautiful views behind, the trail descends into dense mixed forest. The contrast between the open ridge and the dense forest is striking; making it seem impossible that I am still traveling on the same ridge as before. As I continue to descend, the forest becomes even more coniferous. Regardless of the forest type, the herbaceous ground cover dominates, with very little forest floor exposed.

When I finally reach a small stream crossing, with northern white cedars lining its banks, I decide to stop for lunch despite the high risk of mosquitoes. Fortunately, large swarms of mosquitoes never materialize, allowing me to enjoy lunch. During my lunch, winter wrens, blue jays and spring peepers serenade me, obviously to aid in my digestion. How blessed am I with such delightfully sounding companions?

Minong Ridge Trail

A few rain drops instigate some reconnaissance of the trail ahead. For some reason, I imagine Todd Harbor Campground to be only a short distance ahead. After hiking totally unencumbered for five minutes, I turn back before something decides to help itself to the contents of my backpack. It appears it is just wishful thinking that my destination is near.

With my backpack back where it belongs (i.e. on my back), I continue along the trail at a good pace, making my way toward Todd Harbor Campground. The trail continues over rolling terrain, through a diversity of different forest types, never suggesting that Lake Superior is just a short distance off to the north.

The first forest type is dominated by aspen/paper birch, which has been highly impacted by a recent storm, with many broken off snags remaining throughout. Over a hillside, and the forest is now thick spruce/fir, the cloud-covered sun almost completely blocked by the dense canopy. Climbing over the next hump, and the forest becomes an even denser northern white cedar forest. Soon, the trail winds through an almost completely paper birch stand, the tall white, peeling stems appearing to go on forever.

The shear forest diversity makes this one of my favorite stretches of trail on Isle Royale thus far. I imagine the diversity of birds during the spring migration along this stretch of trail. The birding along here may be reason alone for a return trip to this area during the spring despite the threat of swarms of black flies. Can the black flies on Isle Royale be worse than those in the Adirondacks? That is hard to imagine.

Forest surrounding Minong Ridge Trail

The trail widens as it finally travels through another spruce/white cedar forest. The large trees stand so close together they form a dense canopy. The dark conditions fill me with dread, and the thoughts of a sudden downpour fill my thoughts. Where did I stuff my rain gear, anyways? Hopefully near the top of my backpack. Maybe putting them on now can forestall the chance of any rain.

Just when I start to forget the trail is located along a steep ridge, the island provides a stark reminder. Off to the north is a steep drop off, with the conifers giving way to almost 100% paper birch trees further downslope. On the opposite side of the trail lies a very gradual slope, with a continuation of the spruce/cedar forest surrounding the trail. For once, the forest floor is largely devoid of the typically dense herbaceous vegetation. With the canopy so dense, perhaps the lack of light is the reason for the lack of herbaceous vegetation.

Storm-damaged forest

The forest opens up, and passes a small wetland to the north, the steep ridge appearing to vanish behind me. A quick scan of the wetland produces not a single moose. Instead of lingering, I continue on as Todd Harbor seems so close I can almost taste it. I smell the barn now, and nothing short of an interesting wildlife experience is going to slow me down from reaching Todd Harbor.

While traveling along through another aspen dominated hillside, I hear what I think is an explosion. I stop and look around; waiting for a follow up, but nothing materializes. Could it have been a tree falling to the forest floor? Or perhaps thunder? Or an overly amorous moose? I will never know, but it did manage to slow me down momentarily.

The occasional rain drop falling since lunch becomes more frequent, with a light rain slowly soaking me with its thin drops. I slip on my rain jacket quickly, and pull down my hat more securely in an attempt to fight off the rain. It is a futile attempt, since the warm temperatures and my steady pace begin to saturate me from the inside now.

Minong Ridge Trail through conifer stand

A tall man passes me on the trail, his head down with a laser-beam focus on the ground. I exchange greetings to him as he flies by, a similarly appearing daughter in tow behind him. It is interesting how focused the threat of rain makes hikers, especially ones so far from any apparent shelters. I pity their long hike to McCargoe Cove if they get caught in a downpour up on the exposed Minong Ridge.

They are long gone before I think to inquire about whether they heard the explosion too.

The forest diversity previously observed along the trail before continues. Open paper birch and aspen forests abound, as do mixed forests with the aforementioned species and some spruce/fir mixed in for good measure. The rolling terrain, with its different forest types makes the going interesting despite the continued light rain.

When the trail reenters a dense young spruce/fir forest stand, I notice red blazes on the larger trees, an unnecessary attempt to mark the location of the trail. The deep rut running through the trees makes all other markings unnecessary, although this may not have always been so.

Red squirrel along Minong Ridge Trail

Farther down the trail, at a broken aspen stump, a red squirrel sits perching on the end of broken branch, chewing on a spruce cone. I find it impossible to control myself, and out emerges my best red squirrel scolding call. The little squirrel becomes so excitable it appears it cannot contain itself, yet it never drops its precious spruce cone. The squirrel stares at me intently, apparently unable to figure me out. Then the little thing proceeds to spin around repeatedly on the edge of the branch, before returning to regard me intently. Finally, I feel sorry for the squirrel and proceed upon my hike, and the poor thing scurries off into the underbrush scolding me the entire time.

The trail returns to descend through a young balsam fir stand before arriving at a small stream crossing. The dark stream, although small, is flowing freely, unlike many of the streams I observed since being on Isle Royale. A few logs allow for crossing, but they are largely unnecessary, since I can almost step across the stream.

With much joy, I soon arrive at a vertical sign indicating a distance of 6.6 miles to McCargoe Cove. But what is more important is what it does not say; I made it to Todd Harbor and not a moment too soon too. The light rain is now a steady rainfall, and it is time to make a shelter and get out of it for a while.

Now if I can only find a descent campsite so I can get out of the rain.

Stream crossing near Todd Harbor

Todd Harbor

The Case of the Disappearing Golite Pinnacle Backpack

bushwhackingfool — Mon, 07 May 2012 12:00:46 +0000

Golite Pinnacle

What happened to the Golite Pinnacle backpack?

Recently, I noticed the Golite Pinnacle is increasingly unavailable from camping gear retailers. Campmor? No longer available. Amazon? Out of stock. Campsaver? Not any more. EMS. Was never there to begin with.

It has even vanished from the Golite website.

As readers of the Bushwhacking Fool well know, the Golite Pinnacle has been my workhorse backpack for many years. I love it so much that I rarely fail to promote it. It is the perfect bushwhacking backpack, with its sleek design, rugged materials and elegant simplicity.

Now, this is not enough of a mystery for the eminent detective Sherlock Holmes, or the Dark Knight, for that matter. I did do a cursory search of the Interwebs for a clue to mystery of the vanishing Pinnacles though. Unfortunately, I found nothing.

Is a new version coming soon? Has it been discontinued? Inquiring minds need to know.

Finally, I found an answer in the form of a measly forum posting. The Pinnacle has been repackaged and renamed. Now it is the largest of the Jam series of backcountry ultralite backpacks manufactured by Golite.

Nice job of publicizing this, Golite. Or maybe I am just totally clueless. I will leave this to greater minds. Like Mr. Holmes, or the Batman.

The Pinnacle is called the Jam 70L now. Other than the name change, it appears much remains the same.

Unfortunately, when I skipped on over to the Golite website, they have a temporarily out of stock notice for the Jam 70L. The same was true for the few other websites where it was once offered. Even Amazon had never heard of it.

What is up with Golite anyways? They must know it is really hard to promote an awesome product when it no longer exists or it is so hard to find.

Anyone with any information about the disappearance of the Golite Pinnacle, now called the Jam 70L, please let me know. Although if you do not hurry, I will be calling Mr. Holmes, or the Batman.

Gear Review: Golite Tumalo Pertex 2.5-Layer Storm Pant

Isle Royale Trip: Exploring the Minong Mine

bushwhackingfool — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 17:36:16 +0000

Second pit at Minong Mine

The night at McCargoe Cove, Isle Royale is anything but a quiet one.

At some point in the night, a light rain falls. Light in the sense than it is not enough to soak the dry ground, but just enough to dampen the foliage and the seats of the picnic table. Unfortunately, it is hard enough to sound like a deluge on my tautly tied tarp.

In addition to the rain, several great horned owls engage in a hoot competition during the early morning hours. At one point they make enough of a racket to pull me out of light sleep. Between the owls and the rain, it is a wonder that anyone got any sleep around the tenting sites at McCargoe Cove that night.

Section Stats:
Date: August 31, 2011
Length: 1.6 miles (1.6 total daily miles; 18.4 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy

The red squirrels start chattering before dawn too. After the incident from the previous day, I find it difficult to fall back to sleep while they are chattering away. I keep picturing them closing in on my tarp, so as to prevent any chance of my escape. Who knows what hideous forms of torture they would be planning for my assault on their kin the previous afternoon.

My usual sense of urgency emerges, but I am successful in putting off acting on it until just before 7 AM. Then suddenly, I can wait no longer. I quickly un-entangle myself from my sleeping bag, and exit my tarp in an urgent need to find a place to pee. Thankfully, the red squirrels are quiet now, and I fail to see any in the area while I am vulnerable relieving myself.

View Day Three, Part One in a larger map

The post-urination elation sends me back into my sleeping bag with the wishful thinking of grabbing a little more time in slumber time. However, thoughts of the day ahead keep me from getting even a few moments of sleep. Instead, I pack away as much as possible while still under the tarp. The packing proves to more difficult than usual as the large bag full of food keeps getting in my way.

Forcing down a quick breakfast of cold cereal, I finish packing and hike down to the dock by 8:30 AM. I hope to get a few photographs of McCargoe Cove before starting the Minong Ridge Trail. Unfortunately, the sky over the cove is overcast, the vegetation wet and overall the day is starting out gray and dreary. The weather provides for some dark photographs, as well as a downbeat beginning to my hike.

Rock outcrop at McCargoe Cove

McCargoe Cove dock at dawn

The Minong Ridge Trail starts off uphill, past shelter #6. The forest consists of straight aspens, with a rather open canopy. After reaching the top of the incline, the trail levels out some and the forest transitions to a more coniferous nature with spruces and white pines mixed together.

After a short while, a side trail appears on my right with a sign indicating the Minong Mine is just a short distance away. Despite the threatening sky, I decide to do a little exploring of the mines before heading on down the trail toward Todd Harbor Campground, my final destination of the day.

Beginning of the Minong Ridge Trail

Coniferous forest surrounding Minong Ridge Trail

The trail descends for about a tenth of a mile before arriving at the first pit. This pit is nearly vertical, with a small entrance. There is no evidence anyone ventures down into this shaft, despite its shallow depth. A wooden fence surrounds the pit, preventing the overly curious from stumbling down into it. There appears to be a horizontal tunnel at the bottom, but it is hard to be certain due to the poor lighting.

Following the trail further down slope reveals another pit. This pit is less vertical than the first one, and has a much larger entrance. No fence exists to impede the curious, and a well-worn yet steep path leads down into the shadows.

Unable to pass up the temptation, I drop my pack, listen for marauding red squirrels (I hear none) and then descend into the waiting pit. The roots along the path into the mine shaft are slick with the rain from the night before, but a young balsam fir growing near the entrance gives me some extra support before entering within the dark opening.

First vertical pit at Minong Mine

Fence around vertical pit at Minong Mine

As I stoop down and enter the man-made cave, I find myself immediately at an intersection with horizontal shafts going to my right and left. I can see light in the distance to my left indicating the shaft leads back to the first pit I encountered. The shaft to the right traverses an equal distance before opening back into a coniferous forest. On the floor of the shaft are two parallel metal railings, perhaps for a mining cart used many years ago.

Except for the light penetrating via the first pit opening, the left shaft looks dark, with a puddle of water present between my position and the vertical shaft opening. The shaft to the right looks drier and less claustrophobic, so I decide to use it to venture back into the forest.

Bending down, I step over the two railings, walking more like a crab than a man as I proceed through the shaft. No more than a few seconds pass before I am back out into the forest I left behind just moments before. The shaft opens into a narrow channel with steep rock walls on both sides. Balsam fir and paper birch trees grow scattered about within the channel, while some shrubs grow along the ground in several different places. Was the channel once a shaft that collapsed? Or was it the main entrance where rock debris was removed by rail cart?

Second shaft interior at Minong Mine

Shaft's lower entrance at Minong Mine

I walk to the end of the channel to find a narrow foot path leading both down and up slope. Uphill lies my backpack where I left it at the top of the second pit entrance, while downhill the trail continues on through the forest.

An interpretive sign stands nearby, illustrating the history of the Minong Mine. The sign includes a map indicating buildings, roads and even railroad tracks were once present in the vicinity. Now only the scattered debris remains. As I peruse the surroundings, I marvel at the swiftness in which nature reclaims her own after man is out of the picture.

After retrieving my backpack, I follow the footpath down to some rock debris piles, where rocks poor in useful minerals were deposited after being removed from the mine pits. There are many large piles of rock debris, some with scattered trees or shrubs, but many bare of any vegetation. The reddish rocks stand in stark contrast to the deep greens of the surrounding coniferous forest. Subtle paths can be seen running over and around these piles, evidence of many people choosing to explore the area.

Rock debris pile at Minong Mine

Rock debris at Minong Mine

Dropping my pack again, I carefully placing it on one of the more prominent piles. I make sure to leave my backpack out in the open, where mischievous red squirrels are less likely to venture beyond the cover of the surrounding forest.

The rocks are sharp, and hard on the bottom of my feet, even through the rubber soles of my hiking boots. When not on the paths, where the sharp rocks are worn down with the passing of many boots, the walking is brutal on my ankles, especially since I am wearing my lighter boots with less ankle support.

From one prominent pile, it is possible to view a wetland off to the northeast. A dam on the far side appears to be holding the water back. Judging by the trees growing in the middle of the open water, the pond is fairly shallow. A plethora of grassy vegetation lies around much of the border of the open water.

A single, very long rock pile juts out into the middle the pond. Although not as high as the many large conical piles, the location within the open water must provide some outstanding views. The temptation of these views outweighs any possible loss of time getting to Todd Harbor Campground, so I decide to make my way over to check it out. I say my final good-bye to the even slight chance of getting the single shelter at Todd Harbor now.

Rock debris peninsula at Minong Mine

Rock peninsula at Minong Mine

The trail leads around and over the many rock piles towards the rock peninsula. When I move out onto the peninsula, I notice a hooded merganser swimming around in the open water. As the merganser moves off to the opposite side of the pond, I spot a beaver swimming around in the water. Unlike the typical beavers found in my normal stomping grounds of the Adirondacks, this one does not slap its tail even once in the water. This is practically unprecedented in my experience with beavers. Obviously, the beavers on Isle Royale are friendlier than those found in northern New York.

Old moose droppings lay littered about on the rock peninsula. Even moose come out on these fascinating rock piles, perhaps as they exit the cool and enticing waters of this small pond. Even odder, there are numerous small, shallow depressions on the thin rock peninsula. They appear to be recently dug, given the stains on the rocks and lack of vegetation. What are these depressions? And who, or what, could have made them?

Upon returning to my backpack, I notice there are additional trails, with cairns, leading off the rock piles and to the west into the forest. I retrieve my backpack and head off to explore these other trails.

Pond at Minong Mine

Water-filled pit at Minong Mine

Off into the coniferous forest, I find debris left over from the mining operation of many years ago. Much of it is scraps of old, rusted metal, including old rails, oil drums, cans and even a metal wheel. In addition, there are even the remains of a log building. I wonder what other debris may lie in the denser vegetation where no sensible person would venture.

Another pit is present at the edge of the dense forest, this one full of dark and murky water. A green ring of semi-dried algae indicates this pool once was much larger than it is today. Obviously, the dry conditions impact even deep, murky pools as well as muddy trails.

Finally, the multiple trails peter out and I find myself with the choice of backtracking to the rock piles or just bushwhacking uphill back to the Minong Ridge Trail from my present condition. The way back is on a nice, open footpath, while the bushwhack out is a steep ascent up the eastern side of the ridge through mature coniferous forest.

What kind of bushwhacking fool would I be if I did not choose the later?

Metal debris at Minong Mine

More metal debris at Minong Mine

Locating a subtle trail up the hillside, I start my ascent to almost immediately lose track of what apparently is a herd path. I abandon all pretense of following this path, and just head upslope through the coniferous forest. The going is pretty difficult at first, as the slope is steep and there are many downed logs to either negotiate around or climb over.

When the forest gives way to an open, rocky ridge, I know I am getting close to the trail. And low and behold, the trail is at the very top of the open ridge. Luckily, one of the rock cairns that mark “The Minong” is located right near where I arrive, though given the trail’s location it is unlikely to have been missed.

After a brief break to enjoy a nice view of Canada, I begin hiking down the Minong Ridge along the trail on my way toward Todd Harbor Campground.

View from Minong Ridge Trail

Isle Royale Trip: Bullseye at McCargoe Cove

bushwhackingfool — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 18:13:44 +0000

McCargoe Cove

The expansive views of Lake Superior and Canada’s shoreline are behind me on the Greenstone Ridge, and there is little chance of them returning until tomorrow from the Minong Ridge. Instead, the Chickenbone Lake’s east end and a variety of small wetlands wait between the Greenstone Ridge/East Chickenbone Trails intersection.

From the intersection, I depart the Greenstone Ridge Trail and continue along the East Chickenbone Trail toward McCargoe Cove. I take a last look back at the Greenstone Ridge with some sadness as I would not return to the ridge, or the trail bearing its name, until the second half of my trip while on my return journey to Rock Harbor.

Section Stats:
Date: August 30, 2011
Length: 2.5 miles (8.6 total daily miles; 16.8 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy

The East Chickenbone Trail continues its descent through a wide open area full of ferns, low shrubs and a scattering of young spruce trees. When reaching a flat, open area, I pass the intersection with the East Chickenbone Campground spur trails. These trails lead to either the individual sites (off to my left), or the group sites (to my right).

The area, with its wide open area and lack of much forest canopy, is a rather inhospitable camping environment, so I decide to modify my original itinerary, and not stay here on my return trip. Either I will stay at West Chickenbone, or make some other arrangements.

It is only my second day on Isle Royale, and I am already making changes to my itinerary. What other future changes might be in store for me?

After leaving the campground intersection, the trail descends rapidly through very dense, young tree and shrubs until arriving at another spur trail off to left. A small sign indicates water access, so I decide to take the spur trail down to the lake shore to check out Chickenbone Lake. With a name like that, how could I pass on such an opportunity?

View Day Two, Part Three in a larger map

The spur trail continues to descend through dense young forest. And descend, and descend some more.

As time goes by, I wonder whether I made a mistake coming down to the lake shoreline. I have plenty of water still, and it is only a couple of meandering miles over rolling terrain until arriving at McCargoe Cove. Unfortunately, my stubborn nature compels me farther downslope rather than turn back and admit defeat. Eventually, the trail must lead to the water’s shore, but deep down I know I will regret it all on the climb back up to the main trail.

Finally upon arriving at the lake’s shoreline, I find Chickenbone Lake to be….water. The lake has a shape like a wishbone, with my current location near the end of the larger, and eastern most of the two arms. The other arm is much thinner, gradually becoming a stream feeding into McCargoe Cove.

I take some time to explore the shoreline, which has a vague trail along it, all the while dreading the arduous climb back to the main trail. Some quality time with my camera and a snack follow, but finally procrastination ends, and I begin the long slog uphill back to the East Chickenbone Trail.

Chickenbone Lake

The climb is as difficult as I imagined, but luckily not as long. Why does the trip back always seem shorter than the initial hike along a specific trail?

Within a few minutes, I am back on the main trail and heading northwest toward McCargoe Cove. The main trail continues its downward journey, before turning near the lake’s northeastern edge, making its way along the wet perimeter of the lake. The wetter areas around the lake are crossed on planking before the trail heads off to the northwest, leaving the lake behind.

The trail meanders northwest over undulating topography frequently skirting wet areas on planking. These wet areas appear as ponds on the map, but are now just marshy areas choked with vegetation. Obviously, this year’s dry conditions are changing the landscape. Between these wet areas, the trail traverses through scrub, as well as some dense softwood forests.

Soon after crossing a small stream on a bridge, I arrive at an intersection with the Indian Portage Trail. With great relief, I notice the sign indicating there is just a half mile remaining to McCargoe Cove. The trail now stays uphill from Chickenbone Creek, the caked and cracked mud illustrating the lack of rain during the past summer.

Wetland along East Chickenbone Lake

Bridge over Chickenbone Creek

Finally the trail passes the campsite sign, indicating the position of the shelters as well as the location of the tenting sites. The shelters are situated uphill, scattered about within the open forest of the hillside. The tenting sites are located way upslope from the shore, apparently due to the lack of level ground.

I continue along the main trail, which leads out onto a rocky outcropping at the shore of the cove. A single large dock juts out from the sloping rock into the water. A single fire-ring lies within the top of the outcropping, two picnic tables are nearby, completely empty when I arrive.

McCargoe Cove

Many empty kayaks lay scattered about on the outcropping, suggesting a busy campground with little opportunity of obtaining a shelter. I spend many minutes searching the hillside for the 6 shelters, returning to the campsite map several times to reorient myself. In my confusion, I am certain I visit some of the shelters two or three times, unfortunately they remain occupied no matter how many times I visit them.

Not being able to find an empty shelter, I head uphill along the trail where the individual tenting sites are apparently located. I continue to climb for several minutes, before finally arriving at the individual sites. Number one is taken, and number two is fairly small so after checking for a bloody nose and other signs of elevation sickness, I choose number three due to its three spacious and interconnected tiers.

My campsite is quite large, with at least two different tenting locations, each able to fit at least two smaller tents. The tenting area farthest uphill is surrounded by nearly impenetrable young balsam firs, and that is where I decide to locate my tarp for the night.

McCargoe Cove dock

A central cleared area contains a nice picnic table, where I drop my backpack and sit down for a well-earned snack. While drinking the last of my water, a ranger walks up the trail and heads right for me. He brusquely asks to see my permit, and questions me about my plans. After a brief conversation, he moves on, checking the other occupied campsite. Does this indicate a fairly militant management style on Isle Royale? [Editor’s note: This turns out not to be the case as at no other time for the remainder of my trip am I asked to produce my permit]

After polishing off the last of my water, it is time to gather some more and start filtering. I fish through my backpack, pulling out my filter and all my food. Instead of lugging all my stuff down and up the hillside, I decide to trudge down and get enough water to fill all my water bottles. Unfortunately, this requires carrying all my food too, since the red squirrels already chirping away near my campsite are announcing their intention of going through my backpack to get it otherwise.

As the plastic bags of food start to accumulate on the picnic table, I wish I brought my day pack with me on this trip to carry it all the way down to the shoreline. Instead, I rely on my big black bear bag. That is, a black, Silnet stuff sack I typically use to hang my food so bears (and other critters) cannot get at it during the night. It certainly is not a bag specific only to black bears.

Picnic table at campsite 3

Carrying this big stuff sack full of 5+ days of food down to the water is difficult enough, but climbing back with the stuff sack, an overflowing 3 liter Platypus Big Zip (with the zip closure broken long ago) and a collapsible bowl full of water is nearly impossible. Luckily, I get back to my campsite without spilling too much of the water, but for a while the wet pant leg makes it appear as if I have an incontinence problem.

While my inline water filter does its magic without any more effort on my part, I set up my tarp. I chose the upper level of the three tiers available in the campsite, since it is under the densest tree canopy, providing shelter from direct sunshine and any possible rain showers. The ground is completely devoid of any moisture; a constant cloud of dust follows me wherever I go. By the time I spread my tarp on the ground, it is completely covered in dirt, and my pants are not very far behind.

The tarp requires at least two good-sized sticks to act as poles. Finding such sized sticks proves to be difficult given that most of the mature trees in the area are conifers or aspens, both of which produce inadequate branches for my purposes.

Tarp at campsite 3

As I continue my search in the surrounding forest, I notice some movement on top of my backpack on the picnic table. I rush over to the picnic table and rescue my food from the hungry clutches of an Isle Royale red squirrel. As the red squirrel scurries away, it leaves a few scattered presents on the picnic table for me to clean off. The little pest chatters at me from within the safety of the forest underbrush, which I respond with a few choice words and a small rock or two.

This squirrel (or at least I assume it is the same squirrel), returns repeatedly during the afternoon. It even tries to get into the insect netting of my tarp, which unfortunately has no zipper or other means of closing it off from curious forestland creatures.

Finally, I take to throwing small rocks at the beast whenever it moves out into the open, and a few times when it just chatters at me from the forest interior. Do not judge me, it was a long day of hiking, and I am tiring of chasing the little vermin away when there are so many campsite chores yet to be done.

When the larger pebbles become scarce, I switch to even smaller one, since they are much more common at the campsite. I lob several pebbles at the little bugger every time it gets too close to the perimeter of the campsite, but it refuses to give up its quest for an easy (and highly calorie rich) dinner. At one point, I see the squirrel sitting at the end of a log in the forest, chattering its displeasure. Casually, I launch one of the pebbles in its general direction, not even aiming this time.

McCargoe Cove at dusk

Direct hit! The pebble smacks into the squirrel, knocking it right off the log. Feeling guilty, I get up to check on the animal, just in time to see it shaking off the indignity of the rock strike. The little would-be bandit soon disappears into the forest, and I fail to hear a single chatter out of it for at least 30 minutes.

Later, after I finish dinner, I walk down to the dock in hope that I might see a moose. There are a lot of people scattered about the dock, talking amongst themselves. I start scoping them out, trying to determine which individuals are possible competitors for the few available campsites along the Minong Ridge Trail. McCargoe Cove position as Minong Ridge Trail’s northern terminus makes it a common starting point for hikers traveling south along “Michigan’s toughest trail”.

The majority of the people on the dock turn out to be the owners of the kayaks. A feeling of relief washes over me; there is little chance they are hiking the Minong Ridge Trail.

Emergent vegetation at McCargoe Cove

At one point they ask me to take a picture of all of them on the dock. Several of them jokingly keep telling me to take a few steps back, which would result in me backing off the edge of the dock. This stops when I jokingly (kind of) respond with a threat to drop their camera in the cold water.

Members of the same group assure me of a moose sighting here along McCargoe Cove. I stay out on the dock until about 9 PM, but no moose ever make an appearance. Finally, I make the long journey up to my campsite before it gets too dark, asking the few remaining individuals to give me a shout out if any moose show up. As if I will be able to hear them in the next time zone of my campsite.

I find no red squirrels in my sleeping bag, or worse, sitting on the top of all my shredded equipment. I guess, there is still time for that later on this trip, just like seeing that moose.

Isle Royale Trip: Occasional Views along the Greenstone Ridge Trail

bushwhackingfool — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 20:08:55 +0000

Sargent Lake from Greenstone Ridge Trail

The Greenstone Ridge inspired expansive views of Isle Royale, surrounded by the rough waters of Lake Superior. These romantic visions were reinforced based on the surroundings along the Daisy Farm Trail as I approach the intersection with the trail bearing its name.

What I got when I arrive is trees. Not a mature forest, mind you, but enough to make a closed canopy, which provides some relief from the increasingly hot sun. Although welcome, this relief is not the breathtaking views I anticipated. Hopefully, the views are yet to come along the trail, otherwise I may not feel this trail lives up to all the hype.

Section Stats:
Date: August 30, 2011
Length: 4.2 miles (6.1 total daily miles; 14.3 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy

The Greenstone Ridge is the highest and longest ridge on Isle Royale, traversing the entire island. It is named after chlorastrolite, a stone commonly called greenstone on the island. The ridge runs along the center of the island, acting as the island’s spine, both geographically and as a means of traversing the island. The trail that shares the ridge’s name runs along the ridge from Windigo to Lookout Louise, at the northeast end. This is the most popular trail on the island; consequently it can be very busy during the height of the backpacking season.

The high amount of traffic is apparent based on the amount of bare and compressed ground at the intersection with the Daisy Farm Trail. It appears most people share my idea of stopping for a brief rest after climbing all the way up to the Greenstone Ridge from Daisy Farm Campground via the Daisy Farm Trail. Luckily, the majority of my elevation gain for the day is behind me. This is a good thing, a very good thing since my backpack is still heavy at this early stage of the first half of my trip.

View Day Two, Part Two in a larger map

My route now lies along the Greenstone Ridge Trail for the next four miles, until departing along the first intersection with the East Chickenbone Trail toward McCargoe Cove for the night. The map indicates there should be no great climbs or descents until approaching Chickenbone Lake, just rolling elevation changes, and hopefully, plenty of unobstructed and expansive views of Isle Royale.

And I am sure, plenty of trees.

I put an end to my brief rest at the intersection; retrieving my Pinnacle backpack and starting off southwest along the well-trammeled trail. The forest cover, which sheltered me from the sun’s increasingly stronger rays, quickly gives way to a viewpoint, allowing views to both the north and the south. Although some tree tops obscure the view occasionally, it is quite spectacular, especially to the north. The views are enhanced by the perfectly clear sky, with only a slight breeze moving through the tree canopy. The outstanding views are enhanced by both my compact binoculars and the zoom lens on my camera. At least the sky is clear, the sun is shining and there is a slight breeze.

Sargent Lake

A portion of Sargent Lake can be seen off to the west. This large lake sits between my current location and my ultimate destination for the day. Unfortunately, the trail never gets closer than where I am standing now. Visiting this lake might be an idea for a bushwhacking adventure in the future, should I ever return to the island.

The Canadian shoreline is viewable here too. Large ridges are visible, rising above Lake Superior’s shoreline, sometimes appearing as buttes. Although the haze somewhat obscures the view, buildings and other man-made structures are visible along the Canadian shoreline. And that is without the use of my binoculars.

Canada from Greenstone Ridge Trail

A series of open ridges visible to the west from the viewpoint brings the topography of the map to life. There is a clear unobstructed view of one in particular, its gray rock covered with a patchwork of low, green conifer shrubs. At first, I wonder if this could be the Minong Ridge, before realizing that ridge starts at McCargoe Cove, still many miles to the southwest. That ridge will just have to wait until tomorrow.

The view eastward is less impressive, with only slivers of two different lakes visible through the faraway tree canopy. I assume the two lakes are Angleworm Lake and Lake Benson, but I do not take the time to verify my guesses with the use of compass and map. Many more views of Angleworm should be possible later, as the trail follows along the thin and narrow lake for its entire length. Unfortunately, the lake is at the base of the ridge, and I would rather concentrate on getting to McCargoe Cove at this point.

Unnamed Ridge from Greenstone Ridge Trail

It takes considerable effort, but I finally pull myself away from the view, and return to the trail. Immediately, the trail enters a mixed forest with considerable amount of spruce and quaking aspen. The trees are scattered enough to allow a considerable sunlight to penetrate, luckily the breeze keeps it cool and comfortable despite the heavy load on my back. The abundance of paper birch snags suggests a catastrophic storm event in the not too distant past. A dusty cloud of dirt follows me as I hike down the trail through the scattered trees, quickly blown apart by the breeze.

The open nature of the forest canopy allows for a considerable amount of understory and ground cover. It is a rare sight to see any bare ground here, unless it is a rocky outcropping, since the herbaceous vegetation dominates every inch of space in between the scattered shrubs and trees.

Forest along Greenstone Ridge Trail

There is a great diversity of tree sizes along the Greenstone Ridge. From the tall, slender aspens with only a tuft of leaves at their apex, to the plentiful young pyramidal spruces regenerating in the understory, this type of diversity is all but absent from most of upstate New York’s forests.

The dense understory, complete with shrubs, Rubus bushes, tall bracken ferns and other vegetation would make bushwhacking here a very challenging endeavor indeed. Just taking a bearing would be a continuous task, given the difficulty seeing more than a short distance through the forest. After seeing the density of the vegetation so far on Isle Royale, I think I made the right decision not to undertake anything but a trivial amount of bushwhacking on this trip.

Sparse aspen canopy

After descending to the south of Lake Wagejo, the trail began to regain its lost elevation as it climbs atop another ridgeline. The yodel of the common loon penetrating through the dense forest startles me; its presence being incongruous within the dense coniferous forest. Obviously, the wind is carrying the sound from either Lake Wagejo or Angleworm Lake, both of which are located not far off the trail.

The ascent to the top of the next ridge reveals a different forest entirely. Here scrubby red oaks, eastern white pine and northern white cedar mix together, forming an odd association. Many large juniper shrubs lie scattered about; their blue berries abundantly present at the end of many of the shrubs’ twigs.

Three guys pass me on the trail, going in the opposite direction. I exchange the usual trail pleasantries, especially since these are the first people I have seen since leaving Daisy Farm Campground earlier this morning. All three young men are decked out in the newest adventure gear, appearing as models that just walked off the page of some outdoor retailer’s catalog. I wonder if they are enjoying having one of the most heavily used trails on the island nearly all to themselves today as much as I am.

Moose scat

I almost step in what initially appears to be a pile of horse scat at the side of the trail. It is obviously moose scat, although it appears greener and lacking the pellet shape I am use to seeing. Is this what moose scat appears like after a steady diet of succulent aquatic vegetation? Unfortunately, I am no scatologist.

Young saplings appear less common on this current ridge. Occasionally, there are meadow-like areas with scattered pines providing the only shade along the trail. There is much bare rock scattered around as well. The open areas allow for more views off to the south and east. Unfortunately, Lake Superior lies out of sight and only a brief slice of Angleworm Lake can be seen within the tree tops.

With noon come and gone, I decide to stop under the shade of a clump of spruce and white pine trees immediately after a brief view of Angleworm Lake to the south. My light tuna on whole wheat round bread with a smattering of soy mayo is practically inhaled, since I ate almost nothing since breakfast this morning. While recovering from my hurried lunch, the wind picks up and it cools down enough that I actually feel a chill. Whether the chill is due to drop in temperature, or the wind and my stationary manner, I did not know. Perhaps it is just due to the blood rushing to my stomach to digest all the food that appeared there so abruptly.

Greenstone Ridge Trail

Soon after finishing my lunch, I return to the trail as there is still several more miles to McCargoe Cove. Almost immediately upon hiking the trail, a red squirrel scampers up a large tree within arm’s length. The little thing is very curious, especially when I begin mimicking the typical call of its species. It watches me right side up, then it watches me upside down, as it shows off its climbing skills. Either way it cannot seem to figure me out. Finally, I return to hiking and the little squirrel disappears above me as it climbs up the tree trunk.

Upside down red squirrel

Right side up red squirrel

After lunch, the Greenstone Ridge Trail alternates between semi-open ridge, semi-open aspen forest and a closed mixed forest canopy. The semi-open ridge continues to contain a scattering of scrubby red oaks and white pines, providing a welcome break from the sunshine occasionally. The variety of habitats keeps things interesting as I pick up my pace during the afternoon hours.

The trail arrives at a rock overhang where there are extensive views to the north. Pie Island in Ontario is visible from across Lake Superior, even through the slight haze. Parts of Chickenbone Lake are also visible; I will soon become more intimately familiar with this large lake when I descend down near its shore on the way to MacCargoe Cove. These views to the west and north are a welcome sight, as views in these directions were obscured for most of the way along this portion of the Greenstone Trail.

Canada from Greenstone Ridge

Isle Royale view from Greenstone Ridge Trail

Soon after leaving the rock overhang, the trail takes a sharp, ninety-degree turn and descends steeply off the ridge to the north. After crossing a bog on some planking at the base of the ridge, the trail arrives at the intersection with the East Chickenbone Trail.

The Greenstone Ridge is soon to be a thing of the past for me. Although I may catch glimpses of it while hiking the Minong Trail (starting tomorrow), my boots will not touch “The Greenstone” until my return trip from the other end of the island. For today, there are just a couple more miles of meandering trail between me and my final location for that night at McCargoe Cove. And it is not even three in the afternoon.

Greenstone Ridge Trail

Area around intersection with East Chickenbone Trail

Isle Royale Trip: Darkness, Diversity and some Wetlands along the Daisy Farm Trail

bushwhackingfool — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 16:44:38 +0000

Bog along Daisy Farm Trail

Darkness greets me as I wake on my first morning on Isle Royale. Darkness, and an intense urge to pee.

A quick glance at my watch indicates 6:30 AM. This surprises me, as I expect it to be lighter by this time in the morning. The lack of light is not due to a thick forest canopy either, as shelter #5 is located near the edge of the open meadow at Daisy Farm Campground.

Nature’s calling puts an end to my early morning pondering. I untangle myself from my sleeping bag, dress quickly and swiftly exit the shelter, taking great care not to let the spring-loaded door slam shut and wake the entire campground.

Section Stats:
Date: August 30, 2011
Length: 1.9 miles (1.9 total miles)
Difficulty: Moderate (due to climbing)

After taking the time to satisfy the urge that woke me, I shamble down to the dock on my still slumbering legs. The eastern sky is glowing crimson, the sun just starting to rise beyond the horizon. Finally the reason for the early morning darkness dawns on me, the island is much further west than my usual stomping grounds in New York, so therefore the sun rises later.

The brightening eastern sky reminds me of the old saying “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor takes warning.” If true, this bodes ill for the day weather-wise. Good thing I am no sailor. And I rarely heed such old sayings, anyways.

When I return to my shelter (map point IR-004), breakfast and packing are on the top of my agenda. Getting on the trail early is a necessity on Isle Royale, since the campground capacity is limited. More importantly, shelters are in very limited supply, although there are several at McCargoe Cove, my final destination for the day.

Unfortunately, red squirrels interrupt my breakfast numerous times to beg for their livelihood. A particular small red squirrel even climbs up the shelter’s screen, hanging there in frustration due to my stingy ways. Once again I fail to seize an opportunity when it presents itself; the little squirrel jumps off before I am able to extract my camera from its bag.

View Day Two, Part One in a larger map

In addition to the visiting squirrels, I am serenaded by several different birds during breakfast. The staccato call of a pileated woodpecker rings throughout the entire area, disturbing the tranquil early morning. By the time the woodpecker finally stops its call, a common loon yodels from Rock Harbor, perhaps in response. How can anyone sleep through all this racket?

After finishing breakfast and packing up my Pinnacle backpack, I hike down to the dock for a last look at Rock Harbor. Numerous small boats are present along the dock now, apparently Daisy Farm is a popular early morning destination for the boating sect.

Finally I start my day’s hike around 8:45 AM, not as early as I would like, but what the heck, this IS my vacation after all. If I cannot take my time getting going in the morning during my vacation then when can I? At this point, there is probably little chance of getting a shelter at McCargoe Cove, but that is why my tarp is at the bottom of my backpack.

The day’s hike begins on the Daisy Farm Trail, as it gradually climbs towards the Greenstone Ridge. The Greenstone Ridge is the highest of the ridges making up Isle Royale, running practically the entire 45 mile length of the island. The Greenstone Ridge Trail runs along the ridge for most of the islands length, and is one of the most popular trails on the island. My plans include only hiking a 4 mile stretch to the southwest today, although I will be using it extensively upon my return trip during the second half of my trip.

Rock Harbor shoreline at Daisy Farm

View toward Moskey Basin

The trail immediately climbs along the southern side of Benson Creek, and away from Rock Harbor and the Daisy Farm Campground. This is the same Benson Creek whose dried-out remains ran behind shelter 5 where I stayed last night. Along the ascending trail, the stream bed is chock-full of vegetation and shrubbery.

Willows along the stream are alight with the morning sunshine, revealing numerous small birds, flirting from branch to branch in search of their morning meal. Cursing my atrophied fall warbler identification skills, I swing my Leica compact binoculars to and fro, in a desperate attempt to identify each one’s species. Luckily, black-capped chickadees, brown creepers and red-breasted nuthatches are mixed in with the more challenging warblers, thus making me feel less of an inept birder.

Forest along Daisy Farm Trail

The forest on the opposite side of the trail from the stream has a sparse canopy, revealing much open, blue sky. The trees are mostly aspen with a few spruce mixed in for good measure. The open canopy allows for much understory trees, the species mix approximately the same as the larger trees overtopping them. An occasional area of open rock is the only ground not covered with herbaceous vegetation, and most of the rock has a layer of a variety of lichen covering it.

I briefly left the trail and enter the woods to perform some personal hygiene (i.e. to brush my teeth). Evidence of careless teeth-brushing was rampant around my campsite back at Daisy Farm Campground, practically leaving a circle of white around the campsite’s perimeter. Brushing off the trail and away from the campground is my way of trying to reduce my own impact in a highly used area.

Soon after returning to the trail, I arrive at an intersection (map point IR-005), where the Rock Harbor Trail continues southwest, while the Daisy Farm Trail meanders west toward the Greenstone Ridge. I continue straight ahead, leaving the Rock Harbor Trail behind.

Bridge across Benson Creek

After the intersection, the trail immediately crosses Benson Creek on a plank bridge, and then begins to climb steadily. The trail quickly becomes a well-worn, dirt-filled path climbing uphill through the forest. Occasionally, the trail leaves the open forest and enters a dark, dense, coniferous forest, only to exit back into a sparse aspen forest soon afterwards.

Open areas appear frequently along the trail in the sparse aspen forest, covered with some combination of low shrubs, high grasses, open rock, or ornate and delicate lichens. These areas stand in stark contrast with the surrounding forest of spruce, aspen and birch trees.

A harsh call rings overhead, surprising me. Looking overhead, I catch a glimpse of a hawk before it vanishes back into the forest. My initial thoughts are an accipiter (e.g. a Cooper’s or sharp-shinned hawk) but after some reflection, I thought its form is closer to a falcon. Could it have been a peregrine falcon? Or maybe, a merlin. Apparently, my hawk identification skills are just as lacking as my fall warbler ones.

Rock outcroppings along Daisy Farm Trail

Shortly after the trail levels off from its climb, it leads to a narrow wooden boardwalk winding through a spruce forest. Brown creepers are common through here, climbing their way up the trunk of a black spruce before flying down to the bottom of another tree to start the climb all over again.

Shortly the boardwalk through the forest gives way to an expansive open bog. Low shrubs and herbaceous vegetation dominate, with black spruce standing along the border, with an occasional tamarack mixed in. The dense shrubbery consists mostly of bog laurel and Labrador tea, apparently just as common on Isle Royale bogs as it is in Adirondack ones. A few flowering pitcher plants can be seen from the boardwalk, their crimson flowers towering above the low shrubs.

Many dead spruce snags stand to the southwest, surrounded by taller shrubs, suggesting a pool of open water. Off to the northeast a short distance lays Lake Ojibway, out of sight due to the black spruce trees present in that direction.

Boardwalk along Daisy Farm Trail

The extensive open, azure sky over the bog fills me with a feeling of exposure and vulnerability. These feelings add to the difficulty of staying on the boardwalk, and more than once I nearly walk off the edge while viewing the scenery surrounding me. After a few near-misses, my pace slows, with the hope that moving carefully across the boardwalk reduces the risk of my landing knee-deep among the shrubby vegetation.

I nearly lose my balance when a large hawk flies through the bog at about chest level, right across the boardwalk. Before there is a chance to access my compact binoculars, the hawk is long gone. Given the size, shape and speed, a Cooper’s Hawk is the most likely species.

The blue, cloudless sky with a nice steady breeze makes the boardwalk a pleasant portion of the trail. Under other circumstances the bog could have been a disaster, with a wet and slippery boardwalk and a plague of biting flies. Luckily, the weather is ideal today. At least, so far.

The boardwalk ends at the foot of a steep ridge, requiring a short climb to the ridge’s top while my legs are still a little shaky from the increased effort required to cross the narrow planks through the bog. The ridge top is largely open, and when I turn around I can still see the boardwalk crossing the bog way down below.

Boardwalk through bog on Daisy Farm Trail

Looking back on bog on Daisy Farm Trail

After cresting the ridge, the trail soon skirts around the edge of an algae-filled pond (map point IR-006) with a border dominated with grasses, sedges and other herbaceous vegetation. Although the open water is far from extensive, the anticipation of seeing a moose grows within me and I ready my binoculars by removing them from their case as a precaution.

The trail heads right along the wetland’s edge, the knee-high vegetation obscuring it most of the way. Much of the vegetation remains shaded by the surrounding trees, the dew fresh enough to wet my hiking pants below the knee.

Soon the trail climbs up along the opposite bank of the wetland to drier ground, revealing a view of the much larger pond on the opposite side of a large rock outcropping. Numerous stumps stick up from the murky water, suggesting its shallow depth and its history of beaver activity.

Pond along Daisy Farm Trail

The pond appears to be ideal habitat for a wildlife sighting. So I stand scanning the pond with my binoculars, convinced a moose MUST be near the ponds shoreline. Unfortunately, all I find are more stumps.

The trail climbs the ridge along the pond’s northern shoreline, soon entering a closed canopy hardwood forest. The forest is dense, with medium-sized sugar maples and paper birches overtopping their progeny forming an almost impenetrable tangle in the understory. It is difficult to find a square foot of open forest floor the vegetation is so dense. The trail is obviously wetter under normal conditions as a series of boardwalks wind their way through the forest in this section.

Views from Greenstone Ridge on Daisy Farm Trail

View from Greenstone Ridge on Daisy Farm Trail

Soon the slope levels off and the forest is replaced with open rock and sparse, knee-high grass. The grass is mostly brown, evidence of the lack of any recent precipitation. Large, scattered aspens line the open areas, and occasionally a cairn marks the trail location.

Within a short distance the trail renters a hardwood forest at its terminus with the Greenstone Ridge Trail (map point IR-007) . An extensive rest break is a necessity now that the majority of my climbing for the day is behind me. From here there is a 4-mile stretch along the Greenstone Ridge to the southwest toward East Chickenbone Trail, which I plan on taking to McCargoe Cove for the night.

Daisy Farm/Greenstone Ridge Trails' intersection