Trip to Upper Peninsula, Michigan, Day 3

Chapel Falls

There is no set time on Monday, July 11 for getting up. It is so nice to just relax. Amazingly, the constant road traffic ceases during the night and all is quiet. We arise around 7 a.m. after a fairly comfortable night. Our first task is making breakfast. The plan is to have pancakes made over the tiny camp stove. We now have fuel to put in it but realize it will be a challenge to pour fuel from a 12×6 can into a ½” diameter hole without pouring most of it on the ground. Dave fashions a makeshift funnel out of tin foil. Even with our fabricated tool, we spill a good portion into the fire pit before we get the stove full. But the next challenge, in spite of the stove working for us last evening, is that it will not hold pressure. The only “oil” we have is butter so Dave tries lubricating the plunger with our “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.” But in spite of pumping and pumping, it will not maintain a seal. As a last resort, he is forced to build a fire with wood in the cooking grill to crispy burn our pancakes. They are rubbery on the outside and not quite done on the inside. It turns out to be a very meager sad breakfast.

A search of the hardware store later that morning for 3-in-1 oil for the stove plunger yields, “We haven’t been able to get that for over six months.” What is this shortage of strange and random things here lately? We resort to 10W30 car oil which I carry around in my trunk. Dave is able to light the stove one more time after returning to the campground but then it again refuses to hold any pressure. Time to hold a memorial service for this 20 + year old piece of camping equipment.

Our next item on the itinerary today is to drive to three separate falls around Munising. The Munising Falls is right in town just a short distance off H58 so our plan is to stop there first. I need to spy Washington Ave and have Dave follow it to the hospital and the parking lot should be right across from the hospital. I do catch a glimpse of Washington Ave but the sign runs parallel with the road we are on, so I assume that H58 switched over to Washington Ave there. But we drive and drive with no sign of a hospital or Munising Falls. After many miles have passed, I realize we are almost to Chapel Falls which was to be our last stop of the day. Oh well, might as well start backwards.

Chapel Falls are a 1.4-mile hike in along a wide, well kept, obviously well-traveled trail. The path slowly winds through the heavily tree populated forest. The breeze is cool on this cloudy day making for a pleasant walk. Here there are no steps to the base of the falls but a viewing area above which allows a visual through the trees. Just a little further upstream, a bridge crosses over the rocky river above the cascading water.

Yesterday, I had said that I was surprised at the lack of people at these sites. Today is a different story. The crowds have appeared and the peaceful stride through the forest alone is gone. Dave is starting to limp on the way back due to his knee, but we take it slow on this easy path.

We decide to see if we can find a picnic table for a lunch of chicken salad on sandwiches and chips before we tackle the next falls. We drive down the road to Miner’s Falls and beach thinking that certainly there will be a table somewhere near the beach. There is not a table to be found. I had seen a spot in passing where there were five huge rocks marking the boundary to a parking area. That, I decide will be our picnic banquet spot. One large rock becomes our table for the spread. Soon we are revived and ready to attempt the walk to Miner’s Falls.

The parking lot to the falls area is jammed with cars and people but we are able to secure an unmarked spot for ourselves. We set off down the slightly sloping path. Our pace is slow, and we sidestep frequently to allow others to pass. It is soon evident that a “herd” is following us. They seem to be young college students together in a group accompanied by a priest in robes. They laugh and talk, and one plays a boombox loudly. It is almost impossible to get any pictures at the falls that are devoid of humans. We rest on a bench waiting for all the students to come back up the 77 steps from the viewing platform. But they never come back. Eventually, I leave Dave on the bench and walk down the steps to the viewing platform. That’s weird, I think, the students have all vanished. There is no trail, but they have descended by sliding 50 feet further down the side of the cliff to the base of the falls. I can tell Dave is exhausted by the time we get back to the parking lot, but we decide to make the one last stop at Munising Falls anyway as it is just a short walk.

The parking lot to Munising Falls is packed and overflowing when we arrive and there also seems to be a charge to visit here. Too many people and needing to pay finalizes our decision to head back to the campground and the yurt. We never do make a trip to this fall.

Flowers by bathroom

Once we are relaxing back at the yurt, I decide to look up the ferry schedule from Muskegon to Milwaukee for our return trip on Sunday, July 17. Our plan is to drive to Traverse City on Saturday to visit a friend from my younger Mennonite days and then take the ferry on Sunday morning to get back to Wisconsin. I have brought along my computer for such a purpose, and we do have WiFi access here. The ferry website now offers a place to book a spot. When I booked this trip in February, the ferry wasn’t even running and therefore, I didn’t make any reservations. I thought we could just drive up at 10 a.m. on Sunday and get a birth. But now, when I click on “Reserve a Ticket,” the only choice I am offered is 11 p. m. Sunday night. That won’t work at all. I suspect that the other times are all booked but I call the phone number listed just in case.

“Do you have a vehicle,” the answering lady enquires.

“Yes.”

“We have no more room for vehicles, but you can buy a ticket.”

Well, that’s not a help if we have to leave our car behind. Dave and I are in a panic. Now what do we do? And how many hours does it take to drive around Lake Michigan. Google and MapQuest both say the shortest way home from Traverse City, MI is south around Lake Michigan through Chicago. Who wants to drive through Chicago? Not us. And even then, it is a 10-hour drive home. Going north around that end of Lake Michigan does not seem to be much different. After an hour of analyzing every angle, we decide we will have to leave early around 5 a.m. on Sunday taking the northern route with the hopes we will be home in 12 hours.

I then text my friend to make sure she is still expecting us on Saturday.

“Oh, I have to work until 8 p.m. on Saturday evening,” she says, “But you guys are welcome to hang out here if you like or visit some of Traverse City.”

Well, that is a frickin bummer! Why do we want to drive to Traverse City with the just discovered travel issue if the person we want to see isn’t going to be home anyway? I am totally frustrated and disappointed. I thought we had this planned months ago. I wonder if we could go down there on Friday.

“Do you work on Friday?” I question.

“I work Thursday thru Saturday,” is the response. “Would it work if I would meet you in Petoskey on Wednesday? We could at least get to visit for a bit.

That might actually work, I think. We will need to figure out something different for Saturday night but that solves our problem of how to get around Lake Michigan for the drive home.

After all this brain racking, it is time for supper before our sunset cruise along the Pictured Rocks National shoreline tonight. Our little cooking stove continues to be uncooperative, so we finally resort to asking again to boil a cup of water in the campground office microwave in order to rehydrate our dehydrated meal. One cup of boiling water is all we need. These Mountain House dehydrated food packets are actually working quite well in our situation, and they are even pretty tasty.

The sun has peeked out and is shining brightly by the time we park in Munising and take our spot in the growing queue for the boat ride at 8 p.m. Maybe there will be a nice sunset after all. We have brought our coats as the air contains a chill. Two busloads of Amish people soon unload and join the waiting throng. Shortly before 7:45, the boat steams toward the dock and ties up. It is a triple decker with just enough room to accommodate the passenger count of 300 tonight, the captain informs us. Dave and I choose the upper open deck in the chairs along the rail hoping to get some good pictures.

As we start across the bay, the wind blasts our faces and insists we put our jackets on. Brrr… It is going to be chilly on the water. Our journey is to take us 15 miles out into Lake Superior along the shoreline and back, a two-hour trip. We see a couple of waterfalls, Spray Falls and Bridal Falls. Much of the cliff line along the shore is covered with colored rocks from the minerals contained in the water as it runs into the lake. It makes them look like someone has reached down and painted them with a huge paintbrush. Also, evident are sandstone arches that have developed over time. At one point, as a unique treat, the captain pulls the boat up into a rock encircled bay that is just big enough to accommodate his boat. All too soon, it is time to head back. The sunset we were hoping to see is soon obscured by clouds. In the distance, the sky grows dark and angry. A few flashes of lightning streak across the sky. Just as we are about to return into the harbor bay, a bright full moon peeks out and throws its reflection for a few minutes on the calm surface of the lake. Then it is gone.

Wilderness Adventure Day 1 – The Yurt

The Yurt

I arise at 6:30 a.m. to start the day. We are headed off today for a vacation of camping in a yurt by Hooker Lake in far northern Minnesota. The yurt is located right on the edge of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) so our hope is to also make a day trip by canoe into the BWCA. My hubby loves the solitude of the wilderness.

“Moo, moo” is the sound that reaches my ears as I exit the house. “Why, little one, are you standing in that pasture all by yourself?” I question the wayward bovine out loud. I sigh! I am in my pajamas, and this is how the day begins. I scan the fence line but do not see any wire on the ground – just a calf stuck on the wrong side. I shuffle out into the pasture, drop down the fence opening and shoo the wayward animal back to the others. I call to Claire, the dog, to get her to continue on with me to the barn to feed the cattle but she just sits on the sidewalk and gazes after me. Oh well, she will have to do her business at the kennel.

A ping and a plunk echoes through the air as we pull away from the garage, on time, no less. What was that? I step out to investigate. The tennis ball that dangles from a cord and descends when the garage door opens has caught on the bike rack on the back of the car. It has been catapulted across the garage as the cord popped with the tension. This is not the first time this has happened, but all is well otherwise and we are off.

Our drive to Grand Marias up Hwy 52, then I35, and State 61 goes without incident. We arrive around 3 p.m. We turn north on the Gunflint Trail and wind our way 28 miles until we arrive at Lime Grade Drive, a narrow gravel road through the forest. After a couple of miles, the GPS tells us to turn right on Little Ollie Drive. I thought we were already on it. After wandering onward for a few more miles down this shale path, we arrive at Little Ollie Bed & Breakfast tucked back in a pine and birch forest. It reminds me of the enchanted forest with trails coursing through the yard. We approach an enclosed porch that seems unoccupied, and our knock goes unanswered. Since silence is the only response we receive, the front door of the Bed & Breakfast seems like it might be a better choice. At least it has a doorbell. I push the button a couple of times before I hear a soft sound of footsteps.

A slightly bowed elderly lady pushes open the door, “If you had come around to the back it would have been so much easier,” she says.

There wasn’t any sign directing customers to the back and I would never have guessed that I was supposed to go down the hill and around the back of the house but OK. She leads us through the first level of the house and slowly down the basement stairs into the company office.

“I have no help this year,” she shares, “and I can’t afford to hire anyone with Covid shutting us down last year. We have no money, and my husband had a stroke recently. But you don’t need to know all that,” she finishes.

What a bummer! I am perplexed. Why is this elderly woman trying to run a Boundary Waters Canoe outfitting company in this situation especially when the internet advertising seems to indicate a host of services available? It just seems rather sad. It is a good thing we didn’t plan on hiring a guide to accompany us on our adventure into the Boundary Waters. Oh well! Our primary goal is to rent her yurt in the woods by Hooker Lake and we were hoping, maybe, to have her haul a canoe for us – not guide or supply us for a BWCA venture.

After we settle our bill, discuss weather, and plans, we climb back into our Subaru and head out to the yurt. A yurt is a round canvas structure much like a tent but large enough to stand up in and move around comfortably. It was often used as a primary residence by nomads in Mongolia, Russia, and Turkey.

“I don’t know if you can drive to the yurt,” she informs us. “It’s really rocky and muddy since we had lots of rain.”

The path to the yurt

Hmmm… I really don’t want to walk in and out a ½ mile every time we want to leave.

“I will take you and your things with the pickup, and you can see what you think,” she continues.

We follow the diminutive lady who can hardly see over the steering wheel in her pickup with our car as we turn down a beaten path. It doesn’t look so bad to me – a little rough, a few rocks to dodge – that’s all. Finally, she pulls over at a bend in the path.

“I think we should stop here and see what you think.” As she and I stroll along the barren wheel track path with foot high grass growing in the middle, she points out the mud puddles, the rocks and the rough terrain. It only looks like a normal farm field drive to me, but we agree to ride in with her to test it out. She seems so worried for us. The old battered pickup bounces over the obstacles and we are jerked this way and that. Soon through the trees, we spy a small wood shack that is identified as the sauna. Just a little farther in tucked into the birch and pines is the yurt. And to the southwest just visible in the distance is Hooker Lake.

Our guide gives Dave some instructions on firing the woodstove for heat, lighting the gas cooking stove, and the use of the water and then she roars away in her pickup that has seen better days. I am getting the very distinct feeling that she is not really prepared for us to be using the facilities.

“I’m going to walk out and get the car,” I holler to hubby. My walk provides a chance to survey the rocky route up close. I am pretty confident that I can traverse this with limited difficulty. My car has a smaller wheelbase than her truck allowing for sneaking between some of the rocks that she has been bouncing over. I think I maybe have some better springs and shocks as well as the road is not nearly as rough in my vehicle and soon, I am back at the yurt. That was a piece of cake!

One wall of yurt

Our temporary home has two sets of bunk beds and a futon with a bunk over it along one circular side. There is a table and chairs in the middle of the structure. The wood cast iron stove, the gas cook stove, and a stainless-steel cart for holding water containers and dishes lines the other ½ circular side. The center top sports a clear dome through which the sky is visible, and the lighting always seems to give the impression that the light is on.

Soon, it is time for supper. The menu is brats and mashed potatoes rehydrated from dry flakes. Neither one of us is into making a fire outside tonight so we decide to heat things on the stove. Dave turns on the gas to the burner marked RF and holds a match over the circle. Several matches burn themselves out or try to burn his fingers without the burner lighting. All of a sudden, there is a huge whoosh and a ball of flame shoots up. Both of us jump back startled.

“Are you OK? The back burner just lit,” I repeat several times to Dave.

“It couldn’t have,” he keeps reiterating.

Finally, he decides to test my theory and turns the handle marked RF but holds the match over the back burner. It lights instantly. He does the reverse with the RR and the front burner lights. Well, that’s a wee bit of a safety hazard.

The wind dies down to a perfect calm by 9 p.m. A loon’s call echoes in the distance. In the stillness, we read by the light of the lantern.

Looking towards Hooker Lake