Isle Royale vs. The Blueberry Bandits
“All was well as we glided across the water to the mouth of the cove, and then all hell broke loose. The moment we were in Lake Superior proper, we were being tossed and turned and wobbled and we struggled to maintain control of the vessel in the howling waters.”
In July 2019, Jarob Ortiz, Jacob Seppi, and myself ventured across Isle Royale National Park via canoe and kayak. The following is a day to day recount of our fabled adventure. It features images, field drawings, and is based off of notes I took while on the isle. It’s a long one, so take your time, and if you would like, click the button below to listen to the playlist I listened to on the car ride up to the port while you read.
DAY1
“I see you’ve got yourselves an old dog and a seaworthy tub there!” the captain exclaimed as he loaded our 15 foot aluminum canoe and well, seaworthy tub of a kayak into his vessel. The morning was crisp and damp in Copper Harbor, Michigan. The sun struggled to wade through the clouds hung low over the horizon. We watched as our engorged camp bags were flung on board the Isle Royale Queen IV. Not too soon after, we flung ourselves on board. Seated in blue upholstered chairs in a cedar wood paneled cabin, we felt the ship jolt forward and we were off into the wild waters of the Superior.
We watched as the shores of Michigan disappeared behind us and soon we were completely engulfed in a freshwater sea. The sun rose and shone down upon the lapis waters of the Lake. It was a long ride, but the anticipation of adventure kept us occupied. Before we knew it, a hazy fog appeared on the horizon ahead. But it was no fog, it was our first premonition of the isle we’d call home for the next two weeks. As we reared closer and closer, the details of the landscape began to reveal themselves. Craggily rock formations peered out from the depths, coniferous trees colored the sliver of land green. A mysterious breeze blew from the core of the isle and called us in. Land ho.
We landed in Rock Harbor, ourselves and gear disembarked, and it was game on. I learned quickly that boats certainly move better on water. You’re probably thinking, “No duh,” but once you carry a giant metal canoe through the forest, you appreciate that common knowledge a lot more. It was a relatively short portage from the dock in Rock Harbor to where we would set sail in Tobin Harbor; the first of many. Jarob and I carried the canoe as a team, Jake lugged his tub on his back. After that reality check and a good sweat, we plunged our watercraft into the chilly Tobin Harbor waters and thus began our maiden voyage.
It started off fine, but soon we were presented with some serious foreshadowing of what was to come. We set out across Tobin, which being protected by the surrounding land masses provided us with calm waters to get our sea arms in check. But as we traversed eastward toward the end of the isle and near the big water, we realized what we were in for. A break in the archipelago exposing the inner bay to the great lake waters caused some major turbulence as we passed by a small bay. The winds and the currents coming from the lake tossed and turned the water we were trying to navigate. Our canoe creaked and wavered in the water and the reality of what we were doing set in. In hindsight, this was nothing. It was just the prologue to the forthcoming maritime horror story.
The goal for day one was to reach the Duncan Bay Narrows campground where we would spend our first night. This, however, involved circumnavigating the infamous Blake Point. The Northeastern most point of the isle has a reputation for its turbulent waters and dangerous underwater rock formations. Not to mention the whole time you are rounding it, you are in open Lake Superior waters. It was a crap shoot if we were going to be able to make it around there that day, let alone at all. Based on what we just passed through and what we could see going on out on the big lake, we figured we might have to stay at the campground just before the point, and assess the situation at a different juncture. Strangely enough, however, when we landed at Merritt Lane Campground, looking out towards Blake Point the waters looked calm as could be. Being that all the campsites were taken, we figured we’d press on.
Like most endeavors on this adventure, it started out just fine. We paddled out to the end of the isle staying far enough away that we wouldn’t hit any invisible rocks, and made the turn around the point. The turn itself was nerve wracking, but it wasn’t all that eventful. It was when we made it to the north side of the point that we would meet our match. Being completely unprotected from the great lake's mighty power, we were immediately berated with wind and waves coming directly out of the northwest. Our canoe heaved with the waves, up and down and up and down. The wind was so strong and the waves so vitriolic we nearly lost it all right then and there. The water near the rock formations on the northside of the ridge was so tempestuous we had to push further and further away from land into the distant depths. Being that far away from land in a canoe in a lake that has no mind to your life and safety is a fear that will forever live with me. But somehow we were able to reach some relatively calmer waters (big emphasis on relatively) and we were on course to the west.
It was a straight shot down the coast line from Blake Point to Duncan Narrows, but it was an absolute slog. The wind was relentless and so were the waves. Jarob and I in our clunky canoe would feel the brunt of every single wave we rolled over, meanwhile we’d look over and Jake was having the time of his life in his kayak, cutting through the water like nothing. I was in the front of the canoe, so I was getting absolutely pummeled by water and wind, whereas Jarob in the back was struggling to keep us on course and powering through this storm. Every time the wind would blow the bow one way or the other, I’d hear Jarob yell from behind, “OTHER SIDE OTHER SIDE!” and I would switch hands to paddle us out of a death spiral which would result in a wave swamping our canoe, sending us to the depths below.
The worst part of it all was we would paddle so incredibly hard for a solid fifteen minutes and I would look to the coast to see that we literally had not moved at all. The wind was counteracting any forward progress we’d make. At times I felt as if we were moving backwards, and we’d never make it all the way down this horrific and watery trudge. Finally, finally we reached the land we could see off in the distance. It wasn’t the campground, but it was land and that is all that mattered. Stepping off that canoe, I finally understood the stereotypical scene in a seafaring film where the sailors lost at sea finally reach land and kiss the ground. I didn’t quite do that, but I did damn near eat an entire jar of peanut butter. I think that is solely what powered me through the last mile down to Duncan Narrows Campground. That and the rapidly falling sun and the notion of sleep.
Somehow we ended up at the campground and got ourselves a nice timber shelter and set up for the night. How we got there is a blur. I think I was high on peanut butter and adrenaline. I remember talking to a stranger who also made their way to the same spot, and pulling a leech off my foot. After that, just the remarkable sensation of falling asleep after an absolutely ridiculous start to this trip. At some point in the night I was rudely awakened by our shelter door flying open and slamming shut in a bout of wind that came through with a storm in the night. But I just as quickly fell back asleep and ignored the rain and wind that rumbled outside.
DAY2
We woke up to a pale green glow. There were some residual clouds from the storm the night before. They hung low, and on the horizon out toward the end of the cove rested a layer of fog. The ground was wet and a cool, gentle breeze pushed across the bay. The water was still a little churned up from the storm and whether or not we would commence our journey was dependent on the weather. We thought it would be a wash, and we’d have to wait it out for most of the day. Jake pulled out his portable radio and started playing the only album preloaded onto it - Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti. After a few hours of mucking about the campground, the bay smoothened out as if polished by a great big hand. We pushed off from the shore around 11AM.
It was generally a casual paddle toward the end of the bay, with a few slow downs along the way to take a few casts with the fishing poles. In no time we reached the end of Duncan Bay and a trail off to the side signified where we’d be stopping to portage our watercraft to the adjacent bay. This was perhaps the simplest portage of the trip; just a quick, level walk through the woods to Five Fingered Bay. First went the packs, then the paddles, then the boats. We were pleasantly surprised to find that this bay was even calmer than Duncan and so we pressed on. As we rounded a small point, the sun came out from behind the clouds, painting this strange, remote, and quiet landscape in a warm, yellowish light. Off to our port side, we spotted a small cove which posed a good opportunity to take some pictures, do some fishing, and just take a break. We ended up spending way more time there than anticipated.
I climbed up onto the ridge while Jarob and Jake stripped down to their skimmies and stepped into the water to take some casts along a drop-off into the depths. After taking some photos, I joined my comrades in their pantsless endeavors and took a swim/bath in the frigid Superior waters. When the sun began to fade and the wind began to pick up, we knew it was time to leave. At the end of the bay we were in, there was another portage which would take us to Lane Cove which was one spot we had in mind to stay that night. It was an exceptionally easy stretch of water to reach the portage and soon enough we were on land, with our packs and boats on our back en route to the cove. First went the packs, then the paddles, then the boats.
Upon reaching Lane Cove, we were faced with three options:
Paddle down a quarter mile to the campground in the cove.
Paddle out all the way across the cove and bay to reach Belle Isle.
Press on and tackle another five full miles and reach Pickerel Cove
Suffice to say, we picked option three. We were feeling good, the weather was optimal, we had plenty of daylight, and we would be incredibly close to our final destination of McCargoe Cove. Five miles seemed pretty daunting at first, especially after everything else we did that day, but it actually went by remarkably fast, and without anything interesting to report. We reached Pickerel Cove Campground which was situated on top of a rock face overlooking the bay. It was an awesome site. There were lots of photos to be had and opportunities for some good fishing. We found a giant moose femur bone and an ancient bottle of whiskey. It certainly looked like a well loved site. The only downside was there were no shelters and we’d have to set up tents.
I was cool with it and so was Jarob but Jake was adamant about pressing on in hopes of securing a shelter on Birch Island, just at the mouth of McCargoe Cove. I did not enjoy the thought of paddling any more, but in hindsight I am incredibly thankful Jake pushed so hard to keep going based on what happened next. Jake left in his kayak first and Jarob and I decided to stick behind and do some exploring and rest a little longer before deciding if we wanted to join Jake or wait until the following morning. I was out taking some pictures on one of the overlooks when I heard Jarob yelling from behind me saying we had to leave NOW. A mess of nasty looking clouds was amassing on the horizon and things would get ugly if we stayed on that exposed rock face. We scrambled to get our gear back into the canoe and get the canoe back into the water.
The horizon looked like a literal hellscape, but oddly enough the water was preposterously calm. Too calm. There was a bizarre pink glow to the minute waves that gently rolled under the boat. We could see large schools of fish feeding off to the side. It was pure quiet aside from the soft slosh of water on the canoe and our paddles dipping into the lake. The scene was rather serene, yet we were filled with deep anxiety. The horizon was looking worse and worse and we could hear thunder rolling in the distance. I couldn’t help but think we were paddling straight to hell after abandoning paradise. But we made it to McCargoe cove and landed on Birch Island and met up with Jake. Every moment after we landed was a slow crescendo into madness.
The night grew dark quick and the storm drew nearer. Claps of thunder disturbed the peace and bolts of lightning made it look like day time, if only for a moment. Someone had already claimed the one shelter on the island, so we were forced to pitch our tents. Fortunately, the campsite was situated in a forest so we had some protection. The rains held off until we were clambering to get all our gear secure and under cover. Jarob had it the worst at first with a finicky tent to set up in the pouring rain. I had it the worst later on when it began to rain IN my tent. I had a feeling this tent would not bode well in the rain, but I never expected it to be that bad. It was not exaggerating when I said it was raining in my tent. Despite the rainfly and a fresh coat of water sealant, water poured in as if I had no tent at all. I struggled to get myself and my gear into strategic positions to avoid getting totally soaked and ruined, and used dirty laundry to soak up the pools that were forming next to me. I laid there in my raincoat and waited. Waited for the rain to stop. Waited for the time between lightning and thunder to elongate. Waited for the anxiety to subsite.
After an unknown length of time passed, the rumble in the night subsided, the lightning diminished to nothing more than a firefly, and the rain shifted to just drops of water falling off trees dancing in the wind. Their soft pitter patter on my tent was actually quite soothing, mostly because they no longer were making their way inside. I finally felt at ease and drifted off to sleep; the residual rolling of the canoe on waves still present in my head, rocking me to sleep.
DAY3
A sunny and divine morning was well welcomed. We emerged from our tents, one more soggy than the rest, to the delight of our neighbors who offered us their leftover breakfast. They probably felt bad being all cozied up in the shelter while hearing us curse to ourselves and grumble through the night. They gave us 5 eggs, 3 slices of bacon, a package of hash browns and some strange midwestern seasoning. Talk about a serious morale boost. That is what fueled us to make quick work of the final 2 miles to the end of McCargoe cove.
We set up camp in a shelter upon the hill overlooking the dock. It was already somewhat late in the day, but Jake and I set out on a short hike up to a point on the map labeled “Pine Mountain: Elevation 927ft.” We had no idea what it had to offer but we were going to find out. Jarob gave us a “Bon voyage!” before passing out in the shelter. It was an easy hike down a relatively flat trail, through patches of ferns and wild daisies. It didn’t get steep until the very end when we reached a post in the ground surrounded by moose antlers marking a split in the trail. One arrow pointing to the right and straight up a mountain signified “Todd Harbor and Pine Mountain.” Up we went.
Trees diminished and the soil gave way to rock. I didn’t really have high hopes for a good view at first, but as we got higher, the tree line began to break and I could see we were in for a treat. I was not prepared for the wonder and mystique that lay just beyond the ridge. I step out onto the precipice and am immediately thrust into a world of awe. The Great Lake stretched out before me reaching out to the sky, only to be blocked by the mountainous lands of Canada to the north. The late afternoon sun coated the earth and heavens in a goldenrod glow that filled my heart with love for Mother Nature. Small inland lakes and craggily rocks poked out from behind the conifers and islands floated around in the lake like boats.
It is near impossible for words to capture that view and that feeling. My only hope in sharing such an inspiring moment with those back home was with photographs, but I don’t think those are enough. It was too perfect. And it only got better. While I was taking said photos, I went to take a step back, but little specks of blue caught my eye right before I was about to crush them. Wild blueberries. And lots of them. Little sparkles like lapis lazuli dotted the landscape. If heaven exists this was damn near close.
Somehow we got the idea to rush back down the mountain and back up again to catch the sunset. We had about an hour to do it. We decided to go for it and maybe convince Jarob to join us. We scurried down the mountain in record time and arrived at the camp to find an empty shelter. Jarob must have been fishing. We hurried down to the water to see him way out in the cove on the kayak. We had no time to spare so we had to go back up without him, basically running up the mountain in a race against the falling sun.
We made it to the ridge just as the big orange ball was touching the far away mountain. Perfect timing. We watched as the sun pierced our eyes and vanished as the sky turned from orange to pink to purple to blue. And then it was dark.
Illuminated by only a circle of light from our flashlights in front of our feet we made the nerve wracking decent back down to camp. If we were going to have a run in with a moose, it would be now. Despite encountering some monstrous toads in the path, it was an uneventful traverse. We were greeted by Jarob and we exchanged good news. Good views and blueberries from Jake and Justin; good fishing in the cove from Jarob. We were in for a good stay in McCargoe, if the first evening was any indication of the days to come. It was not over yet, however! The cove had more to show its new guests. As the darkness took hold, a river of stars flowed out from the mouth of the cove and flew over our heads into the hills behind us. The Milky Way hung high overhead with satellites and shooting stars dancing together in the night.
I went to sleep with blueberry dreams of stars and far away places where the cosmos are at peace.
DAY4
A particularly lazy day. The morning was spent floating down McCargoe Cove, with fishing rods in hand. Only one fish was caught, and it was by me. A small Northern Pike which put up a good fight and utterly destroyed my lure. We drifted back to the dock and a good amount of the rest of the day was spent asleep. I guess the strife of the past few days caught up to us. I won’t complain about a mid afternoon nap nestled in a quiet cove. Jarob and I were, however, jolted awake by Jake running up and shouting, “THERE’S A MOOSE, THERE’S A MOOSE!”
I jumped out of my sleeping bag, as I had never seen a moose before, but Jarob wasn’t having any of it. I dizzily stumbled down to the water, barefoot and sleepy eyed to see what all the excitement was about. Jake was right, there was in fact a moose. A monstrous bull moose was walking through the water near the end of the cove. Yes, walking. In water that surely no human could stand in. To our astonishment, a second bull moose emerged from the bush and walked into the water. They both trudged to the other side where they stopped to feed; dipping their colossal head and antlers underwater and coming back up and chewing. I ran back to the shelter to grab my camera and to tell Jarob there were actually two moose, which got him out of his sleeping bag. We watched the moose until they effortlessly pushed their way back through the brush.
Wide awake, we made the trek back up Pine Mountain, this time with Jarob and proper receptacles for harvesting blueberries. It was overcast that day, but the ridge was just as mystical. I was satisfied with photos from yesterday, so my main agenda was to collect as many blueberries as possible. We all gathered an absurd amount of blueberries and from then on we became known as The Blueberry Bandits. Hounding berries and taking names all across the isle.
DAY5
Another lazy day living the life down in the cove. This was our last day before we planned on departing. (Emphasis on planned.) We figured we’d just hangout, bask in the sun, take a couple casts, and float around in the boats. After a solid few hours of bebopping around, we decided to head back to our new favorite spot. So we packed up our daypacks and headed up to the place where the sun shines bright and the blueberries grow wild. This time however, we took a detour and went down to check out the Minong Mine. Remnants of an industry past littered the area, as well as an alarming amount of moose shit. We spent some time reminiscing about a time none of us lived in before heading back up to the top of the ridge.
While the blueberries and sunshine are reason enough to visit that spot, we did have a purpose other than pleasure for going up there. It provided us with the perfect vantage point of the big lake to assess it’s mood. What we saw was not encouraging. White caps peered out over the horizon and we could tell Superior was not having a good day. The fact that we could see the white caps from that far away was wildly alarming. We made a plan to paddle out to Birch Island in the morning to see if the conditions improved and if we think we could make it safely out of the cove. That night I had a dream that I was swallowed by the sea.
DAY6
Waking up with the sun, we packed our bags and cleared out the shelter. Our boats were loaded and ready to go. We waved goodbye to McCargoe and pushed off into water that was unbelievably calm. A good sign we thought, but secretly knowing the conditions of the big lake could be completely different. And different they were. Once we moved down the cove a little bit we could see out to the lake and we could already see white caps. When we landed on Birch Island which provided us with a good view, it became more apparent that this was going to be sketchy. Rough waters and widow-maker rocks reflected in our eyes. Did we really want to do this? The reality was we really didn’t have much of a choice. We only needed to make it around Indian Point and then we would be safe in a calm bay. And so we paddled out into the weary water.
Right away Jarob and I realized this was a terrible idea. Waves clobbered the bow of our canoe and we were thrust into a situation neither of us felt comfortable in. But that was the nature of this trip so we pushed through it. It only got worse. As we neared the mouth of the cove the water got especially tumultuous and we were getting tossed every which way. It took all of our strength and mental agility to push through it. But then a particularly intense wave rolled under our boat. We were pushed into a 45 degree angle pointing upward as we tumbled over the wave. As we went over the crest. I looked down over the side of the canoe and I was airborne.
A crash of water drenched me as we plummeted down over the wave. Everything was soaked and I couldn’t see. But we were upright and still in the boat. A miracle, we thought, but we weren’t going to press our luck further. We signaled to Jake that this wasn’t happening and we all turned around and retreated to Birch Island. Jake insisted he could do it, which was true. His kayak was much better equipped for those waters. Our old dog couldn’t take it. We hatched a plan to wait it out on Birch Island and the adjacent cove. The hope was that as the day went on, the seas would calm. It had already improved from what we saw last night, and we remained hopeful that we would make it out of here later in the afternoon.
To the east of Birch Island was a cove in which a couple of park rangers tipped us off to as a prime fishing spot for Northern Pike. We floated out over there and sure enough, they were very right. Practically every cast we took resulted in a fish. Between the fruitful fishing and a lazy lunch on the island, we killed most of the day. Peering through a crack in the trees, we looked out toward the lake. It looked flat. No white caps, calm as could be. We had no idea how deceptive that was when we decided to push out and make a second attempt at rounding the point.
All was well as we glided across the water to the mouth of the cove, and then all hell broke loose. The moment we were in Lake Superior proper, we were being tossed and turned and wobbled and we struggled to maintain control of the vessel in the howling waters. We were in a wildly precarious spot. The waves were coming from the west and crashing into the rockface of the point and bouncing back, creating a conglomerate of rogue rollers coming in from every direction. At some points we were being thrust towards the rocks, other times we were being sucked out to sea. I don’t know which felt worse. Every wave that pulverized our canoe felt like it was going to be the one that would swamp us. It was a constant battle of forcing the boat left and right to avoid a wave hitting us directly on the side. Jarob was screaming out commands of which way to turn from behind as I attempted to follow and keep us pointed in the right direction. We had no idea what to do and we were on the brink of being swallowed by the will of the lake.
It came to a point where I think we both instinctively knew we needed to turn around and evacuate. A joint “ABORT ABORT” message went off in our heads. But how the hell were we supposed to turn around in this mess and not get flipped over? In a moment of pure luck and/or divine intervention, a wave from the west collided with a wave bouncing off a rock and created a sudden and minute pocket of calm water. Jarob saw it first and yelled, “TUUURRRNNN” to which I replied “WHICH WAY” and he called back, “LEFT!” In a split second we flung the canoe around in the pocket and we were now facing the west. At least we were turned away from the rocks and heading in the right direction to safety, but we were still in the thick of it, with waves again crashing into the front of our boat.
Bouncing and flopping in the wake, slowly but surely moving forward into the wind and then somehow managing to turn into McCargoe Cove, we were safe at last. At least for the moment we were. We paddled into a bay just to the south of Indian Point where we found shelter from the wind and waves and could assess our options. It was apparent that there was no way we were going to make it around the point that day, and we couldn’t spare the time to wait it out any longer. It came down to basically two options.
There was an abandoned portage trail in that bay that allowed you to bypass Indian Point entirely. We could in theory carry our boats down that trail and into the next bay over, and continue paddling from there. The problem was, we had to paddle across a huge stretch of open water on Lake Superior before we made it to the safety of Pickerel Cove.
We had learned the day prior that there was a ship that goes around the entire park and stops at various locations to drop off people and watercraft. One of those stops was McCargoe Cove and it would be there the next day. It would provide us with a quick ride all the way back to Rock Harbor, no paddling required. The issue was we had no idea if they would have room for us, nor if they would allow us to buy tickets on the spot.
It was a tough call, but Jarob and I knew what we needed to do without saying anything. We were mentally and physically exhausted from what just happened and the thought of taking on another risky expanse of water and then paddling back the 20+ miles sounded abhorrent. Jake, on the other hand, had other plans. With his trusty kayak, he surely could make it across to Pickerel Cove and make it back much faster than we could. In a move that went against all wilderness survival codes, we split up.
Jarob and I sat on the rocks and told Jake, “Godspeed!” and he paddled off alone. We watched as he bobbed and weaved in the wake, both of us thinking there is no way we would have made that. We watched as he faded into a faint speck on the horizon, blurred in the sun reflecting off the water. We saw the speck turn into the cove, and from then on it was all on Jake. All we could do was hope we found him in Rock Harbor when we got back.
As we rested our weary bones and jaded heads, I took some pictures until it was time for us to make our retreat all the way back down to McCargoe Campground. We figured it would be an easy and leisurely paddle back, but with our luck that day, that was no such case. The wind had shifted and was now blowing directly into the bay we had to paddle out of. We were battered yet again by aggressive waves, just to rub salt in our wounds. This time we were just pissed off and wanted to get the hell out of there. We powered through it and finally made it into the safety of the cove. After the stretch back to the campground, we pulled the canoe onto land and swore we’d never get into that thing again. Probably not another canoe ever even.
In the time that we were gone, someone had claimed the shelter we had the nights before. We picked a new one, set up a bare bones camp, ate a meager dinner, and went to sleep. Our chariot awaits at noon.
DAY7
A perfect morning to sleep in. Nothing to do but wait for the ship to come around and scoop our sorry asses up. We were told the Isle Royale Voyageur II would arrive some time between 12 and 1, so we packed up everything and schlepped it all down to the dock and waited. Jarob did a little fishing, I only had the energy to sit and stare down the cove, waiting to see the ship turn in. As it was nearing the time it was supposed to be there, we became nervous if it would actually show up or not and we’d be stranded out there. But soon enough we saw the big grey bow headed our way. There was still the question of if they would even take us, but seeing that ship coming towards us was the first sign of hope we felt over the past few days.
The ship docked and the captain and crew hopped off. Following them came a group of passengers, their packs, and kayaks. We explained our situation to the captain and he gladly agreed to take us back; but at a price. It was a reasonable fare, but in all honesty any price would have seemed reasonable at that point. And so our gear and god forsaken canoe were loaded up onto the ship and we set sail for civilization.
The most painful moment of this entire trip was when we left McCargoe Cove in that ship, and the water around Indian Point that nearly killed us, was as smooth as glass. This isle surely had it out for us, and was taunting us for taking the easy way out. It was disappointing to have to be carted back, but at the end of the day it was for our own safety, and the ride back was incredibly scenic. We didn’t have to work for it, either.
Two hours went by and we found ourselves docking in Rock Harbor. Of course, the first sight we see is Jake, shirtless, wearing sunglasses, and with a fishing pole in hand, waving at us from the dock. It was a comical sight, especially compared to the condition Jarob and I were in, but we were happy to see him back in one piece. We reconvened with our long lost travel buddy, he told us the tale of how he made it back, and we sat down and made a plan for the next couple days. We got back earlier than expected, so we had a couple days to kill in Rock Harbor. I was perfectly fine with this, lounging around, eating fresh food, drinking beer, and living the high life in the harbor.
We secured a shelter in the nearby campground and set up shop before heading over to the restaurant. After a much needed burger and beer, I felt like a new person. The food was probably mediocre at best but man did it feel like a five star restaurant. After dinner we headed down to Tobin Harbor to do some fishing where Jarob caught what he declares the fish of his lifetime. A trophy sized coaster brook trout on a fly rod.
We watched the sun pass out behind the ridge across the bay and we made our way back to our shelter where I had the most peaceful night of sleep in my life.
DAY8
The world was just as dark as it was when my eyes were closed. The sun was still sound asleep when I woke up. I decided late last night that I would get up early to go for a hike down to Scoville Point. Hopping along the rocky coastline just as the sun was stretching its rays across the lake, I lazily took photos and ate breakfast along the trail. By the time I reached the end of the point, the sun was high and it began to heat the air and illuminate the lush and verdant landscape. Coniferous trees wedged their way between crevasses and moss drowned the rock faces. Mysterious and mystical it was; an astounding display of a northern majesty.
I returned to camp just in time for an early lunch, and told Jake and Jarob of my adventure. They were intrigued, and I wanted to take more photos, so we decided to hike back out there in the afternoon. But first we had to relocate our camp to a primitive site and set up tents. The rule in Rock Harbor is you can only stay in a shelter for one night. Being that it was threatening to storm all day, we were not excited about this. We did, however, talk to a park ranger who told us that if by nightfall, there were open shelters, we could claim one. We set up our tents, hoping that by night and before the storms, we could move back to a shelter.
We then set out on the hike. Retracing my steps, I was presented with a different world than the one I witnessed in the partial dark. I got wildly distracted taking photos and before I knew it, the other two were way ahead of me. I packed up and hastily caught up with them. Based on the time, they decided to head back to secure a table at the restaurant in Rock Harbor. There was one photo just a little further down the point I wanted to take, and so again I was alone in this mysterious world. I took my photo and booked it back to where I joined Jake and Jarob in the restaurant, perfectly sweaty and ready to eat.
Post-dinner it was nearly dark, so we retreated to the campground in hopes of snagging a vacant shelter. We were in luck, a handful of spots were open, so we broke down our tents and laid our claim. Although it looked like it all afternoon, it never rained.
Jarob had an extra token for the showers, and he offered it up to us and I obliged. I walked down the darkened path and into the showers where I washed away 8 days worth of blood, sweat, mental anguish, and fear. It felt like a literal and figurative weight scrubbed off my body. But alas, that was short lived! By the time I got out of the shower, it was properly dark. I needed my flashlight to get back, and when I turned to go down the path to our camp, I was stopped dead in my tracks. Irradiated by the light of my flashlight, two monstrous, glowing eyes peered back at me from down the path. They were big and they were high up, indicating a gargantuan beast standing before me.
An immediate “nope” rang in my head and I turned back around to take shelter near the ranger station. Just then, not one, not two, but three bull moose all paraded out of the forest, surrounding me on all sides, and began eating the shrubs that surrounded the showers. Their vast antlers displayed in the sodium-vapor light, their mountainous bodies stood tall and proud. I was both amazed and terrified. A fourth moose appeared out of nowhere and walked right next to me. I have never felt so small. The creature towered over me, its hooves clanking on the pavement as he passed by, paying me no mind. As long as I didn’t bother them, they wouldn’t bother (trample) me. I let them do their thing, waiting probably about a half hour, before they continued on their journey through the night.
I hesitantly and hastily made my way back to our shelter, keeping my eyes out for any more glowing balls in the sky. I made it back and burst through the shelter doors and immediately released all my pent up fear to Jake and Jarob. They were wondering what was taking me so long; moose besiegement was not their first guess.
I went to sleep and tried my hardest not to let the beasts of the forest enter my dreams.
DAY9
The tour was over; we survived, even if just barely. My body was torn up and sore. I could see new muscles on my arms that formed from all the paddling. Our clothes were soiled and our gear well-worn. Waves, storms, and moose were no match. The Blueberry Bandits prevailed. All that was left to do was go home. I thought back to one of the shelters we stayed at in which someone carved into the side, “NEVER GO HOME.” I thought about that for a while. What if I didn’t leave? What if I made my home with the moose and the trees? Would I be happier? Would the world make more sense? Would I be better off in the wild?
The ship arrived on the dock and we hastily loaded our gear and ourselves on board. The captain jested that he was surprised our old dog and seaworthy tub stayed afloat. We laughed with him, “Just barely!” Just barely.
The ship jolted forward and we were off towards the safety of continental land.
Until next time.
