On the Stoll Memorial Trail, Isle Royale NP

Isle Royale continued:

Thursday dawned as clear and bright as the first two days on the island, and after breakfast Liz and I took a short boat trip to Minong Island to do some painting at the Stack cottage. What an amazing place that was (but for some reason I did not get any pictures!). The house sits on the very tip of the island (see map below) and has amazing views of the end of Tobin Harbor and the great expanse of Lake Superior beyond. It is a castle compared to the other dwellings on the island--huge living room, three sizable bedrooms and a great big kitchen. The whole place is full of big windows, with a whole wall of them on the east side, and a covered porch off the kitchen. It would be an amazing place for the Artist-in-Residence, except for two things--it's on an island, so one could easily be cut off for days in bad weather, and there are no pit toilets, due to the thinness of the soil on Minong. That means chemical toilets only, which require more care, and I suppose they don't trust folks to take care of them properly.

Map showing Dassler and Stack dwellings and the Stoll Trail.

Liz and I worked on one of the two outhouses behind the cottage. Before we arrived the roofs had been removed, and while we scraped and painted the exterior on one outhouse, a few of the guys were busy replacing the roof on the second outhouse. The interior was empty, its floor having rotted out some time ago, but there was still a roll of tissue hanging inside, under this really cute folk art fish. We did not touch the interior.

Outhouse artwork at Stack cottage.

Friday, our third full day on the island, was our day off. Mary and I had decided to take a hike into Rock Harbor, maybe take showers, get some lunch, and do a little shopping at the gift store. It was another glorious day, and we were on the trail by 9 am.

Black duck in the cove near Dassler--another new bird!

Zack and Liz decided to spend their day off hiking from Daisy Farm, where they were dropped off, up to Mt. Franklin and back to Dassler, a jaunt of about 12 miles. That seemed much too ambitious for me, although I would undertake a similar hike later on.

Zack, Liz, John and Allen in our skiff.  Just look at that beautifully calm water! 

The views from the Stoll Memorial Trail, which runs from Rock Harbor to Scoville Point along the south side of the peninsula, were just stunning. Every view of the water and landscape was magical.

Dassler sleeping cabin from Scoville Point. The main cabin is hidden in the trees on the end of the point.

Up on Scoville Point

Stoll Memorial Trail. It amazes me that trees can grow in such a harsh climate in such thin soil.

We stopped a lot to watch birds and examine flowers. It took us over two hours to hike the two miles to Rock Harbor!

Calypso orchids. June is orchid season and I saw quite a few on the island.

Stoll Memorial Trail--yes, that's a trial that zigs to the right a bit.

Mary and I stopped here for a snack.

The whole hike was pure eye candy. I wanted to melt into the scenery.

We did finally make it to Rock Harbor, and had a wonderful lunch at the cafe. I devoured a veggie burger. I don't think there's anything better than a burger when you're really hungry. We were both shocked to discover that tokens for the showers were six bucks, so we decided to wash our hair in a bucket back at camp, even though we'd dragged towels and clean clothes with us.  I picked up a few T-shirts at the gift shop and had another ice cream sandwich before we started back.

Rock Harbor with the Isle Royale Queen IV at the docks. That boat sails from Copper Harbor, at the tip of the Keewenaw. It is therefore a shorter boat ride as it eliminates the hour the Ranger III spends in the canal, but it's also a longer drive to get there, and a smaller boat to take across Superior. Bigger is better, if you ask me!

We found John and Allen sitting on the patio outside the restaurant, enjoying their own ice cream, and we joked about how long it took Mary and I to hike two miles. As if to prove our point, not 20 feet down the path, and still within sight of them, I spotted this crossbill perched on the top of a spruce. Of course I had to stop and take pictures, and I could hear them laughing.

Female Red crossbill, another first! You can just see the hook at the end of her bill.

We had a close encounter with a Kestrel on the return hike. We were just entering a clearing when this bird flew towards us across the open space, and went to land in a tree near the trail. It appeared to spot us at the last moment and veered off, landing in a snag perhaps 30 feet off the trail. I thought at first it had a stick in its talons, but it turned out to be a black snake, whose head the bird had apparently already bitten off. He watched us watch him for a while, then he flew off.

Male Kestrel with a black snake, on the Stoll Memorial Trail.

Then finally, near the end of our hike, I was able to get a decent shot of a Yellow-rumped warbler. These little guys where everywhere, but I did not have very good equipment with me so getting a good shot was not easy. I had lent my small travel binoculars to Mary since I had my camera, and she was really getting into watching the birds the time we reached Scoville Point. She stood for some time admiring this bird, and declared that I just might have made a birder out of her!

The ubiquitous Yellow-rumped warbler.

Back at the cabin everyone was taking bets as to when Liz and Zack would make it back. It was after 8:00 before they staggered into the cabin, so I estimate they spent nine or ten hours on the trail. Of course, we'd taken seven hours to go four miles (although we were in Rock Harbor for over an hour). I cooked my last meal of the trip, a big pot of black bean chili. Mary made cornbread and fixed a salad, and we had quite a feast.

Next: Weekend weather delays

Let's Write a Blog!

Florida 2013

It's been so long since I've posted that it feels a bit like I've never done it before! I do apologize for the delay though. I had over 2000 images to sort through, most of which were garbage but with some goodies mixed in.  The bad part is you still have to sort through the crap to get to the gems.

As I mentioned before these trips to Florida are primarily to visit with my grandma, who turned 90 last year. My secondary motive is to get shots of birds to draw. While I have always tried to mix in a healthy dose of outdoor activities I now have another reason to head south in the winter--birding!

The drive down with my mother was uneventful. We passed through the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina after dark, winding up and then down I-40 in a long trail of semi trucks. Sunday afternoon we drove through the bottom-lands of eastern Georgia, where the Altamaha River fans out before it reaches the sea--a place I hope to visit in the future. We arrived at Andree's with enough time to unload and settle in before dark.

Not much happened Monday. I washed the van, which was slick with road salt from the drive down. At a rest area outside Asheville I had noticed the heat shield for the catalytic converter had come loose and was hanging dangerously close to the pavement. It was dangling from the back and I was worried we would catch it on something and rip the exhaust apart so I had to get that fixed. We made it down to the beach in the afternoon, at very low tide, and I found small whelk or conch, in pretty good condition, buried just past a short drop off at the low tide line. My mom commandeered it as a souvenir.

Tuesday I had hoped to go down the coast to Archie Carr NWR, but my mom wasn't feeling well so we stuck close to home. Rotary Park is about a mile from my grandma's and has a 1/4 mile boardwalk through a nice little slice of Florida forest, so we went there instead. We saw a number of songbirds, like this pretty little yellow-rumped warbler.

Later along the trail we came across a hermit thrush.

It was very accommodating and landed on a dead branch above the boardwalk so I could get some better photos.

We saw more than birds on our short walk. This Southeastern five-lined skink sat warily on the boardwalk.

My mom talked to the woman running the small nature center at the park after we finished our walk and the woman said a lot of people are afraid of these little critters, possibly because they think they're snakes. Really?? The damn thing has legs!! You know what people do to things they're afraid of. Sigh....

Ignorance is bliss--unless you're a five-lined skink....


Next: Some pretty awesome osprey photos.

Trapper's Lake, Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

Pictured Rocks continued:


The hike from the Beaver Creek campground to Trapper's Lake was about two miles. We were really hoping for wind off the small lake as the stable flies were voracious. What a relief when I caught up to the girls parked at an empty site along the banks of Trapper's Lake and discovered that there were only a few of the nasty biting flies. As hoped a 15 to 20 mile an hour wind was belting across the lake and the flies were seeking shelter elsewhere.

Trapper's Lake campground

We sat down--what a joy to be able to sit and not be attacked!--and ate a lunch of very soft cheddar cheese with crackers, apples and gorp. We had ideas about dipping our toes in the water until Lisa talked to the only other people around, a group of young men who had been fishing for perch. They'd had five or six on a stringer only to discover later that a snapper had come along and eaten them all. I'll keep my toes in my boots, thank you very much.

Trapper's Lake

We came across this green frog hanging out along the shore. He let me get quite close yet seemed unconcerned.

Green frog

Lori found this dragonfly larvae casing. Yeesh. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up!

Dragonfly larvae

Since I had dragged my camera and big lens all the way out to the back country I was determined to get a few shots of something, so I left the campground after a while and picked up the trail. I could hear birds twittering in the trees so I stood still and waited for one to appear.

After a few minutes I saw something flutter across the path. I turned to look and saw this Yellow-rumped warbler working the undersides of the bracken fern. He was gathering food for his little ones and was not interested in sitting still for a portrait. I was happy to get any shots at all he was so quick.

Yellow-rumped warbler

When the warbler left I moved down the path a bit and found this chickadee in a fir. Such a cheerful little bird, they always make me smile.

Black-capped Chickadee

The chickadee led me straight to this Brown creeper, nearly completely camouflaged against this dying birch. Everyone was very busy and didn't stay long for photographs.

Brown creeper

We stayed at Trapper's for several hours, enjoying the solitude and absence of flies. Before we left I decided to check out the rest of the campground. The lake has a bit of an L shape to it, and the campground nestles into the crook of the L, so a few of the sites had views of the water on two sides. I walked over to a short trail that led down to the lake to have a look. I heard a soft honking from nearby on my left, so I peered through the trees and finally spotted this Common merganser resting on a log. She watched me carefully but stood her ground while I took some photos, then I left her in peace.

Common merganser

 
I am usually so busy taking pics of birds and scenery that I often forget to take any of my companions. But I caught the girls just as we were heading back out on the trail for this cute portrait.

Bear Girls Lisa and Lori

The hike back was pretty pleasant, except for the heat. While we hadn't brought quite enough water for the day out, staying hydrated was not the issue--staying cool was. We made several side trips down to the water to soak our bandannas and to rest. The winds had picked up throughout the afternoon, and by the time we reached Beaver Lake there were pretty impressive whitecaps pounding the sandbar.

Beaver Lake with white caps

We made it back to camp without incident. We didn't see any wildlife other than the birds and frog, although that is not surprising. We did see bear and moose scat, so at least we knew they were around. By the time we got back to camp we were exhausted, hot and sticky, so we went down to the mouth of Beaver Creek for a swim. The flies were bad there as the wind was off-shore but we went in with our clothes on (sans undies) and kept ourselves as submerged as possible. The water where the creek meets Superior was a mix of warm and cold, and the creek current was swift and very refreshing. It was one of the best swimming holes I've ever been in and it was a wonderful way to end a long, hot day.

Of Turtles and Warblers

Pictured Rocks cont:


I finally dragged myself away from the Chestnut-sided warbler, who looked like he might sit in his cedar all day, singing. There was more to see, after all, and the girls were getting antsy.

The path crossed another boardwalk and Karin spotted this scat on the railing. Lori later identified it as from a five-lined skink, a small lizard that lives in Michigan. I am not certain after looking into it farther. It lacks the white tip that accompanies most bird and reptile scat. It is full of insect casings, which the skink eats, but I am just not sure. It's kind of pretty, nonetheless.

Mystery poo.

A beaver lodge sat perched across the far shore, but we did not see any beaver.

Beaver lodge.

We came to a bridge that crossed a creek and were startled by a rather large snapping turtle who came zipping through the water right towards us as we stood on the bridge. He was going so fast I couldn't get him in focus.

Then, as he reached the bridge, he stopped dead and started at us.

And stared.

And stared.

It was rather disconcerting, to be eyed like that by a creature that wants to snack on your toes. Lori stuck her shoe out over the deck of the bridge, which was only six inches or so above the water, and you could see the turtle's eyes flicker, just a hair.

He swam under the bridge to study us from the other side. It really was unsettling, to be studied so intently by another animal, especially one that can do you harm.  Did someone come out here and feed this monster? He seemed to me to be waiting for us to give him something, like a begging dog. He hung around for five minutes or more, watching. Yeesh.

Just past the bridge I heard twittering in the shrubbery. This time of year the only way you can find anything is to listen for it first, then watch where the sound is coming from. After a moment I saw movement and started shooting--always shoot first and ask questions later! You might not get a better look than your first, and if it is not a familiar bird, whatever pics you get may be the only chance you have to identify it.

Yellow-rumped warbler singing in the shrubbery.

Fortunately this little fella hung around, even posing for some nice portraits.

We eventually made our way back to the van, stopping briefly to check out the beach. Most of the swimmers and beachgoers had been chased off by the storm, although it never rained at the beach. But this was just a prelude to what was to come. We drove back to the motel and sat around outside our room, checking emails and snacking. Within a half hour it began to rain, and it rained and rained and thundered and hailed and then rained some more. We were all very glad we'd postponed our hike by a day!

Steam from the paper mill spreads out below the storm.

Next: We finally hit the trail!

Shingle Mill Pt. 2

 Continuation of the Pigeon River posts.

By the time I reached the Forest Area Headquarters (see map, arrow at bottom right) the fog had lifted.  The building was closed but I stopped and had a snack and looked at my map.  I needed to pee but decided I could wait until I got to the Pigeon River campground.

Just past the headquarters the trail meets back up with the river.  Much of this stretch is up on a high bluff, with nice views of the water below.

The I came upon this curiosity, a marker for someone named P. S. Lovejoy.  I looked him up when I got home.   

Turns out he was a conservationist, born in Illinois, who studied at U of M in Ann Arbor as one of its first forestry program students.  He worked for the Forest Service at Medicine Bow and Olympic National Forests before returning to U of M as an associate professor in the forestry department.  He was also the head of Michigan's Conservation Department and was instrumental in establishing our refuge system.  Aldo Leopold wrote his obituary, published in The Journal of Wildlife Management in 1942.  Lovejoy was apparently very fond of the Pigeon River area, a place he called "the Big Wild."

When I finally reached the campground I was pleased to find new toilet facilities with not one but four air fresheners perched along the handicap railing.  The campground was much more secluded than the Pigeon Bridge campground, where I was camping, and the sites themselves were bigger and much more private.  There were only two campers there and not a soul in site.

The campground road crossed over the river here and deposited me on its western bank.  I sat for a while and wrote in my journal, ate some lunch, and kept a close eye on the sky and its lowering clouds.

Past the campground the trail stays with the river for a little while, then starts climbing upwards again.  It was here I came to the fork in the road, and I paused to consider one last time which trail to take.  I felt good, having hiked not quite three miles, but knew that another seven would do me in.  It takes me a long time to get anywhere as I stop frequently to look at stuff, so a three mile hike often takes me 2 1/2 to three hours.  While I don't cover a lot of ground I am on my feet pretty much the whole time, so I get more tired walking three miles than folks who just push through it do.  I turned left and headed for number 12. (See arrow at left on map above.)

I had seen very few signs of animals on this trail, even though there's probably more wildlife here than just about anywhere else in the state.  I had seen four deer early in the hike, not a 1/4 mile from the trail head.  Some coyote tracks, deer tracks, and various birds were the only other things that I had seen.

But as I made my way to marker 12, I came across some scrapings on the trail.  I tried to distinguish foot prints in them but could not. 

I looked around and found this rotted log torn apart.

That's when I noticed the blueberries.  I had not seen any along the trail up to now.  Blueberries are, of course, one of the black bear's favorite foods. There were no berries this late in the year, but this told me I was certainly in bear country.  The scrapings and shredded logs could have been done by a skunk or coon, but I liked the idea that it was a bear.

Thanks to the fact that I spent a lot of time scanning the woods around me, looking for critters who might like to make lunch out of me, I noticed water off the trail a few hundred feet on my right.  I detoured to it and came to Ford Lake.  I found a comfy place to sit and got out my gorp and journal.

While I sat munching and writing, a flock of 20 to 30 Yellow-rumped warblers appeared on my right, seemingly from out of nowhere.  I watched, rapt, as the flock moved around and above me, peeping and gleaning insects from the trees.  I slowly brought my binoculars up and watched an adult male nab an inch-long caterpillar and proceed to devour it.  I one point I was literally surrounded by birds--above, behind and in front, to my right and left, even below me as I was sitting on the side of hill.  At one point a bird sat perched on a branch not five feet away, at eye level.  I have no way of knowing if they were aware of me, but the moment, which lasted maybe five minutes, left me breathless.  As they moved off down the shoreline the forest returned to silence, and I sat, grinning like a fool.

My view of Ford Lake from my resting spot

Next:  The final leg of the Shingle Mill Pathway.