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888-BIG LAKE
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Full Circle
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Over five months beginning in April, Kate Crowley and
Mike Link are walking as closely as possible to Lake Superior by trail,
beach or road - and sometimes water.
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We already had scouted our Wisconsin section, thanks to friends who boated us up the shore to the Brule River. But that was a calm day before rain and snow. Our preview was really just a tease.
Yet even with less than perfect weather, a large crowd of family, friends and well-wishers gathered the morning we started at Canal Park in Duluth to share poems and music and to offer tobacco to the energy of this Great Lake.
Then we strode off, feeling like modern-day Pied Pipers leading a line of young and old down the boardwalk and across the Aerial Lift Bridge. Soon family and friends left us and we suddenly faced the reality of the two of us and one Big Lake.
With our goal to stick as closely to the shore as possible, we knew we would be walking a lot of beaches. This day, though, waves slowed us and forced us into the soft sand. We crossed the windblown channel between Minnesota Point and Wisconsin Point with the help of Dick Glattly and his boat, plus an angel in blue - our new friend from Facebook, Dan Mettner, who appeared on the pier above and pulled us close enough to climb into Wisconsin. A hardcore backpacker, Dan joined us for the afternoon.
Wisconsin Point was wave-washed and the air raw as we moved down this wild and beautiful strip of land. With gulls as our companions, we made our way to Dutchman’s Creek and had to bushwhack up to the road, then follow it to Camp Amnicon. A blister on Kate’s heel and a gull with a fishing lure through its foot and bill gave us more excitement than we wanted. We administered first aid to Kate’s foot and snagged the gull from the turbulent waves to perform rescue surgery with Dan’s Leatherman.
The next day, the Lake stayed equally windy and wild. The upcoming narrow shore would be washed over constantly, and we could not walk it. Instead we walked on the road in the wind and rain.
For five days we walked under cloudy skies and along the beaches as frequently as possible. Each time we walked beside the Lake, it lifted our spirits as high as the gulls soaring overhead. Kate couldn’t decide whether to look up or down; there was treasure both places. She collects sea glass, and on one particular beach stooped down at least 25 times to fill one pocket.
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At our feet, we found the fascinating tracks of coyote, otter, bear, wolf and eagle. Yes, eagle. We had never before seen these large raptor tracks in sand. The talons made deep impressions, just like the claws of the wolf tracks.
Our toughest shoreline was between the Amnicon and Brule rivers and had thick, gooey, red clay banks to the edge of the beach. Too many times, Kate claims, she had to climb a bank to skirt a rock ledge or waves, then bushwhack through thick shrubby alder. On one climb, her right foot and trekking pole began to sink, causing her to twist, fall and slide on her backside toward the water.
“It was almost a pleasant trip,” recalls Kate, “but the whole time I was thinking about the mud that was going to now be a part of my being for the rest of the day. This clay is as thick as a potter’s, only rust red in color. It was a low point for me, even though the sun was shining and, to his credit, Mike did not laugh. (I think I might have if our roles had been reversed).”
Crossing streams - and there are many - took ingenuity. At first, Mike took off his boots and Kate donned ecofriendly plastic garbage bags over footwear. At one deep stream, Kate crossed on a log while Mike sloshed through in his boots. Soon, with her boots filled by near-shore waves, Kate gave up the pretense of dry feet and directly traversed stream mouths when crossing logs were not available.
Farther on, the water turned a dull orange-red from all the clay washing into the lake. Erosion seemed to claim much of Wisconsin’s shoreline; building anything close to the edge seems folly.
Most beaches on this stretch appeared relatively clean, other than Wisconsin Point near the canal. They seemed nearly untouched, wild and pure … except for one thing - balloons. Inflated and deflated balloons of every color and type stuck in the sand, stuck under driftwood trees, stuck in branches above the beach. Will we find this as often on other shores, or did the prevailing winds bring all of them across from Minnesota and Canada to dump them in Wisconsin?
We spent our days walking mostly in remote areas, so we didn’t usually meet local folks until the walking was done. But at the end of the days, we did meet many interested and interesting people - all generous, kind and curious about our adventure. We carry wonderful snapshots of them in our memories.
Our first night on the trail, Alana Butler and Simon Gretton, co-directors of Camp Amnicon, showed us to the beautiful little hermitage cabin, where we fell asleep to classical music on a portable CD player. The next morning, they fed us a gourmet veggie frittata, making it hard to pull away and walk down the road in the rain.
In Cornucopia, Barb and Dennis Edwards, owners of Siskiwit Bay Coffee provided our support person, Amanda Hakala, with cups of coffee as she feverishly uploaded data and photos to our website and Facebook page.
Jim and Sally Lynch, caretakers of the Wilderness Inquiry cabin near Little Sand Bay where we stayed four nights, treated us to cream cheese made from local sheep’s milk and a delicious rhubarb cake, plus gave advice about the best routes along the shore. Jim admitted that he once moved away from Lake Superior - all the way to Ironwood, Michigan (really just 10 miles from shore) - and that was too far. “I would be working hard and doing graveyard shift and living in Ironwood in winter, and I’d last about two weeks until I had to drive down to Black River Harbor and make sure that Lake Superior was still there. … The Lake holds me.”
Jessy Lemler and her dog, Finnegan, met us while she was jogging down Highway 13 north of Cornucopia one cloudy morning. She invited us to tea in her cozy home, built of recovered materials by her artist husband, Bill. A student at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, she hopes to find work in the area of conservation, but hates the thought of leaving the beauty and remoteness of their country home.
We now carry messages, too, as we travel.
Marvin Defoe, the vice chairman of the Red Cliff Band of Lake Superior Chippewa, explained how his people have been good caretakers of the basin for centuries and how combining science with the knowledge of oral traditions could solve problems facing the Lake today. “Technology and humanity have to be brought together to begin dealing with these issues.”
He also looks forward to the coming together of all 153 Chippewa (or Ojibway) bands around Lake Superior - a message we can bring to those communities. “We are in one canoe,” he says. “What’s at stake here are those kids that are not yet born. … Our ancestors thought the same way.”
After a wonderful two-night stay at the Rittenhouse Inn in Bayfield (it’s not all “roughing it” for us), Bridget Weber joined our walk to Washburn. Like many who live along the shore, this Bayfield resident works more than one job to live in her dream location.
If those people whom we encountered in Wisconsin are a sample of what lies ahead, our journey will be rich beyond compare.
This first Lake Superior state we crossed brought a mix of fun, frustration, exhilaration and a good deal of exhaustion at the end of each day. Anytime we walked more than 12 miles, our legs and feet began to complain. For Kate, the end of most days evokes thoughts of a hot tub rather than a hot meal. (Mike, on the other hand, ends the day hungry!)
Just nine days out, before our first extended break, the Lake served up gale force winds that beat against our left side as we walked through Ashland. It reminded us of that first day out, only this time temperatures in the low 30s compounded the impact of the driving rain. Around 3 p.m., the rain took on a white tinge.
It was a great relief to get to our car and to warm up with a cup of coffee from the Black Cat Coffee shop in town.
The main portion of our Wisconsin journey thus ended in a May snowstorm.
What, we wondered, would Michigan bring?
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