In the morning, after a walk down along the lake, I drove into Thunder Bay with a number of missions; K cups, an oil change, cigars, and the Sleeping Giant Brewery. And if there was time, a visit to Historic Ft. William. I figured doing those would quench my desire to “see” Thunder Bay. All missions were accomplished except Ft. William, which I’ll stop at on my way back into Minnesota tomorrow. It’s out on the south end of town on the road to Grand Portage. Sleeping Giant Brewery has an excellent English Pale Ale. I can’t find the words of pleasure ‘cause all throughout Ontario so far I haven’t found a single place that makes strong coffee or carries anything other than various versions what can only be called light beer. Yikes, what’s a coffee and beer snob to do?

Wednesday, September 14th

Sleeping Giant Park is on a peninsula that’s across the bay from the city of Thunder Bay. The park takes up most of the peninsula, which is full of little lakes. The exception is the little town of Silver Islet that terminates the only paved road. The rest of the roads are all dirt tracks that lead back to the little lakes and trailheads. I arrived in plenty of time to do some good exploring both by truck and bike.

The campground at Sleeping Giant is great and sits along the shore of Marie Louise Lake, the largest lake on the peninsula.

These guys were sunning in the afternoon and didn’t seem to mind my being close to them at all.

Silver Islet has its historical roots in silver mining but today is just a sleepy little cottage hamlet with a small craft marina and general store.

The store has been there since the mining days.

The “streets” are all little one laners and I suspect you have to be a local to know if you’re going the right way.  Many of them have signs that say, No Access from May 15 – September 15.  It’s a clear message that they don’t want tourists driving through their neighborhoods. Being there was only one day ‘til the deadline, I drove down the lane along the shore that was lake on one side and cottages on the other. No one chased me away. The cottages don’t look out on the vast lake because this area is full of islands, big and small. Beyond the islands is Isle Royale.

Silver Islet is a hidden treasure that’s hiding in plain sight. It’s just fortunate enough to be off the beaten path.

I wasn’t that far from my next destination and in no need to hurry to pack up the camper. I decided the night before that I would leave the campground at first light and head into Schreiber and then come back and pack up.

There were a number of things going on here. One, there was a fire trail I wanted to walk, leading down to a lake that looked like it would be a prime place to spot a moose. Two, I’m out of regular coffee and there isn’t a K cup within a hundred miles of me. Three, while driving through Schreiber yesterday I spotted a combination motel office, Pizza Hut, KFC, and Robins Doughnuts (coffee stop) with a wifi sign in the window. Hey, this is the boonies of Ontario, they have to multi-task. And four, I wanted to visit a bear trap. Yup, I’m not making that up either.

So back up to yesterday again. Right along the highway through Schreiber, in a vacant lot, is a food truck. Chapman’s Fish and Chips, owned and operated by a Native American named, you guessed it, Chappy. Right near his truck was what I recognized to be a live bear trap. I knew right away what it was because it’s similar to ones the DNR uses in Minnesota. Basically it’s a big section of steel culvert mounted on a small trailer with heavy rebar fixed to one end and a rebar sliding trap door on the other.  No need to be subtle.  Bears will climb up onto anything and into anything if they think food will be the result.  When a bear gets caught, they just hitch him up to a truck and haul him back deep into the woods.

Chappy is a hard working guy, taking orders to go on his cell phone, hand cutting all his fries with the skin on, and of course cooking fish with grandma’s secret batter recipe. I watched him through the door on the end of his truck as I ate. The fish and chips did not disappoint.

When I finished I wanted to pay him a compliment so I chatted him up from the stairs up to his doorway. I asked him about the trap and he laughed and showed me the dents and claw scratches on his truck. He said to come back tomorrow early and I’d probably see one in a very grumpy frame of mind.

Fast forward back to today. When I arrived at Robin’s Doughnuts/KFC/Pizza Hut/motel office, I looked down the highway towards Chappy’s and could see the trap was already gone. When I asked the woman working the counter about the trap she said, “Yeah, they went by with him about a half hour ago, but if you go down this road over there, right across, I heard they had another one down there. If he’s there you can’t miss it, it’s right in a vacant lot back in that neighborhood.” I’m pretty sure I found the vacant lot she was talking about, but that trap was already gone as well.

Back to camp to pack up.

Something new, a Provincial Park that actually has a town near it. And Schreiber turned out to offer a couple of interesting surprises. More on that.

Although the drive from Pancake Bay up to Rainbow Falls was a rainy one, it was a long breathtaking stretch passing through the heart of Lake Superior Provincial Park and skirting Pukaskwa National Park. Think of the North Shore on steroids without the towns. During this sojourn, I glimpsed a bull moose munching on some lily pads, their favorite treat, and had a big black bear cross the road in front of me so close I had to brake hard. Couple those with the scenery and you have a top ten day of travel, in spite of the rain, although it did clear late in the day.   Rainbow Falls Campground? Not so much. I ended up staying just one night.

Monday was windy and sunny. It even turned into a shorts and tee shirt day in the afternoon, but it was one of those fall days where when you’re in the sun you’re hot, and when you’re in the shade you’re chilled.

Early in the morning I did some exploring in my truck to the north of where I’m camped. Lake Superior Provincial Park is up there and although I’ll be heading that way when I move on, I know I won’t have a lot of time for stopping and the weather is supposed to turn back to rain again anyway. This part of the east side of the lake seems to be the area where the shoreline is transitioning from sand and pebble beaches to rocky and rugged.

Here is the requisite picture of the lake, but I’m not inclined to shoot the lake, or the many waterfalls I see, because everyone has seen pictures of Lake Superior and waterfalls. Don’t get me wrong, I love both, and this lake projects a power that has drawn me my whole life.

Back at camp I switched to the bike for a couple of hours. I have to say I find riding in remote areas both exhilarating and unnerving. You’re moving along at a decent clip and not making much noise. A tailor made situation for surprising a critter. I am hyper alert, even more than riding in traffic in the city. When I don’t see much of the road ahead I ring my bell. Yes, my bike has a little bell, doesn’t everyone’s?

I ended this fine day by plunking myself in my camp chair on the beach to soak up the last of the day’s sunshine. I passed the time watching the tapered end of a contrail disappear behind a jetliner so high it was just a spot. And I tried to decide which is more mesmerizing, waves or staring into a campfire. Oh, and why, no matter where you are on the shore of a lake, do the waves come toward the shore. I mean where on the lake do they decide to go in different directions?

I am well, (can’t you tell?) and hope you are too.

The decision to wait out the rainy day turned out to be a good one. I spent the inclement day in a couple of friendly spots, first the Café Rosetta in Calumet for some good coffee and excellent tomato basil soup. It also had a speedy wifi signal and I was able to catch up on my posting and photo work. When I tired of coffee I moved down to Houghton to test drive the Keweenaw Brewhouse. There I sampled a couple of their seasonal brews and was able to go on line and review some of the information on the Provincial Parks on my route.

Sunday dawned sunny and as I made my way east toward Sault Ste Marie the lake was on my left for a good portion of the morning. I also got a good look at a cow and calf moose but no pic.  I stopped along the shore and read the mass for that day. Some of my cradle Catholic friends would be quick to razz me good naturedly that that doesn’t “count”, but I’m confident God loved the intent.

For much of the day I had a recurring image in my head of a stairwell full people streaming down the stairs and firefighters going up. NYC cops, firefighters, and first responders should be beloved forever for their work that day. I welled up a number of times that day as I rolled along, and again now as I write about it.  What a day in our history.

The crossing at “The Soo” took awhile. They’re building a new customs checkpoint so the whole thing is a confused jumble of construction zone and temporary lanes and check booths. What I saw of Sault Ste Marie didn’t move me much, ‘ay.  Heading north you’re very quickly in the beauty of Ontario. This is Voyageur country and all the signs are in French and English. Oh yeah, and then there’s that kilometer and Canadian dollars thing.

Pancake Bay campground is very nice. The sites are all strung out for nearly a mile on or near the lake, and the bay is almost entirely sand beach. I even had a nice little creek running right next my site.

I know some of you might think pictures of my truck and camper are getting old. I like to have them for my own memories. But more importantly I take them for my daughter, because when I was taking my trip last winter, she told me she likes to be able to picture me in the spots I stay. So the rest of you will have to just get over it.

Well this post is feeling a little long so I think I’ll close it up. Love you all.

Technically speaking it’s not really a peninsula.  The land is split north to south by a large waterway connecting with the lake at both ends. It separates the twin towns of Houghton and Hancock, each perched on steep hills either side of the waterway, reminding me of smaller versions of Duluth. Houghton is the home of Michigan Tech University, feared rival of just about every Division 1 hockey team in America.

The peninsula is sporting the very first hints of fall color change and it’s dotted with small towns that are either harbor towns or towns historically tied to the copper mining and processing industry of years past. Many of the smaller roads are completely canopied and in some cases the trees are so close to the road they put reflectors on them for safer nighttime driving.

The Eagle River making it’s way to the lake. The beauty of the whole peninsula is undeniable.  It is, as you might expect, a thriving tourist area.

From what I’ve seen, the south shore of Lake Superior is quite different from the north shore in Minnesota. It’s almost completely lacking in the rugged rocky shores and ramparts of it’s opposite shore and boasts many more harbors and picturesque coves and inlets. There are scores of marinas big and small.

This is something you don’t see every day on your drive through the countryside. Even as heavily forested as it is here, I was glimpsing this stack from miles away. The picture can’t do justice to how immense this monolith is. This is the old site of the Mohawk Stamping Mill that sits on the edge of the town of Gay, which is named after a prominent mining official. Between this stack and the shoreline were remnants of massive foundations and footings with cutoff rebar that was five inches in diameter. The stamping mill, part of copper processing, was in operation from 1900 to 1932.

The town of Gay, which swelled to nearly two thousand at the mills height, followed the pattern of many mining towns, first booming and then slowly dissolving to almost nothing. In it’s peak years it had power, gas, and regular rail and mail service, which wasn’t all that common in remote areas back then. When the copper industry started to decline so did the town. Some residents stayed, supported by a large logging operation, that also eventually declined. The large, three story stone school, which even today is an impressive structure, is approaching it’s seventieth year of standing empty. The post office, established in 1902 finally closed in 1988. There is still a bar and of course someone had to name it The Gay Bar. Really people??

One of my highlights of the day was a stop at the Brickside Brewery in Copper Harbor. A couple of 40ish hippies own it, very engaging fellows who are living their entrepreneurial dreams. I didn’t sample the fish truck outside but it seemed to be quite the popular stop.

It was a great day of exploring with great weather. Life is good.

I had to write a post because I’ve been granted a reprieve from the weather.  Thanks God.  It’s supposed to be short lived but I’ll take what I can get.

By the time I arrived at my next camping stop the weather had changed to perfect for drying out.  Sunny, breezy, mid seventies.  I even got a chance for a fire. 🙂

The title of this post is a take off on a book I enjoyed called The Work of Wolves by Kent Meyers of Spearfish, SD. (Thanks for the tip Tim)

When I got back to camp after my excursion up to the Apostle Islands, having donned a pair of dry jammy bottoms and my fleece lined crocs, I sat out in my camp chair having a cigar. It was still raining lightly but not enough to penetrate the canopy. But only if you don’t count the occasional leaf giving up a large drop that would plop on my head or knee. I thought about a shower, which I generally do for about a day before actually taking one. I brush my teeth every few days whether they need it or not. Wait. What? Oh c’mon people, I’m kidding. Anyway, the shower got further and further away as I became entertained by the fall busyness of a red squirrel gathering food.  It all was happening right in front of and above me like I had a front row seat.

He would scamper up the tree, go way out on the branch ends with the leaf clusters, cling precariously to the branch as it bobbed and drooped under his weight, and pluck his prize. Then, with it secure in his rabid little mouth, he would scurry down the tree and off into the woods somewhere behind me. This process would repeat itself over and over, although occasionally he would make his way to more secure footing, chew and clean the little gem as if to assess it’s value, and then do the scurry part. Squirrels are very good at scurrying and scampering. He would take a different route each time back to his storage unit seemingly to keep me confused and prevent me from discovering and raiding his stash of stores.

This repetition was interrupted by one hair raising (if you’re a squirrel) attempt at thievery. Along the way in his work he had knocked five or six of his targets to the ground. They fell next to my truck in the little access drive to my campsite so they were easy to spot by pirates. Eventually another squirrel came sneaking down from the road with his eye on the easy pickins. The squirrel that had been doing all the work came tearing (squirrels also tear) down the tree, making a racket that belied such a little body. He chased the raider off, disappearing into the woods nose to tail. When he returned he had obviously decided it was too risky to leave them in the open and, one by one, carried them off to safe storage.

Eventually, cigar smoked, the rain chased me into my camper. Crawling into my sleeping bag for some reading felt exceptionally good after a long damp day.

As I’m finally finishing this post it’s Saturday morning and the rain is thundering on the roof of my camper. I was going to move on today into Ontario but decided to stay put one more day with the forecast giving me a better chance to pack up dry tomorrow morning.

I am well and hope you all are too.

The ferry crossing from Bayfield over to Madeline Island is only about 20 minutes or so. The skies were overcast and the water was choppy. In all directions the lake horizon was dotted with sails. It was a good 15 knot wind. Ok, here’s where you should smirk because I don’t really know from knots. It just sounded nice and nautical. Let’s just say it was windy.

La Pointe is not a very big place. It’s a ferry wharf and a few shops and restaurants. I’m sure it bustles in the summer time but I have to guess that there are a lot of browsers and souvy hunters that are let down. There is a great museum for history buffs and down the road a ways is a golf course and marina.

You gotta love a joint like this.  Complete with food truck.  Near as I could figure out, the name of the place was Power Ranger’s Headquarters.  You can’t make this stuff up. 🙂

The first white people, French Voyageurs, came to the island in about 1650. The Native People are Ojibwe. A few settlers gradually migrated to the island but the first missionaries didn’t come ‘til almost two hundred years later.

The weather was threatening but I came to the island determined to take a nice bike ride in a beautiful place. The road out to Big Bay State Park is nice and wide with bike lanes. The other couple of roads on the island are narrow with no shoulders. I lost count but I must have seen 30 white tails on my way out to the park. One young buck came crashing out and crossed the road right behind me. Scared the you know what out of me.

While I was riding around in the park it started to rain. The rain was light but looked like it was going to last for awhile. I waited some in a big wood shed but eventually just bit the bullet and set out on my return leg. On the way back I didn’t see a single deer. They apparently have the sense to not be out in the rain. By the time I got back to La Pointe I was soaked.

The ferry ride back to Bayfield was cold and very choppy on the water. This was mainly a vehicle ferry so inside shelter was limited and full so I just sought shelter out of the wind. The movement of the ferry was accentuated by the swaying of a big tour bus parked on the deck. (Yup, a tour bus). I caught myself wondering if there were some seniors on the tour bus needing the bathroom for motion sickness. I was thankful that the ride is fairly short and that I had a semi dry hoodie from my backpack to put on over my wet shirt. When I got back to my truck I had a dry shirt and vest to put and dry running shoes. I just had to live with my soaked sweat pants so it was serial itchy butt all the way back to camp.

My discomfort didn’t stop me from stopping at one of the first places I came to in Bayfield for a beer and something to eat. The place is called Gruenke’s, a bed and breakfast/bar and restaurant that was well worth the stop. Had some great tomato basil soup with tortellini and a BLT with a broiled whitefish filet added. Nummy.  The twin son and daughter of the owner were on duty, and because it wasn’t busy, my meal was laced with a wonderful conversation with them.  Everything felt better after that, the itchy butt notwithstanding.

If you haven’t ever, make the trip to Bayfield and Madeline Island. It’s a beautiful area and not a long drive from the Twin Cities. With all due respect to my friends who have school age kids, come in the fall after the summer crazies have left, and if a tour bus drives onto the ferry, take the next one. 🙂