Apostle Islands Journey
With a full tank of gas and a Campanoe in tow we started the long haul to the islands on a sunny Thursday morning. Dad and I had lots to talk about with my first year of college ending so the drive went quickly with two four-hour shifts. It was a flat drive until we were well onto the Bayfield peninsula. As we traced the wildly curving road through the hills of the last several miles of the journey our anticipation grew with every passing glimpse of the lake through the trees. The trend of cars having kayaks strapped to them grew and grew until we were surrounded in the parking lot for the symposium.
After stretching our legs and walking down to feel the chilly water of Lake Superior we went inside for a presentation followed by wine and cheese. We conversed with a couple Campanoe owners and the woman in charge of the event. We had volunteered to serve as a safety boat for the kayakers in several events.
With a few hours of light left we slid the Campanoe into the water from park headquarters and loaded up for the night. We motored out around the southern tip of Madeline Island, the largest and only inhabited island. The warm sun combated the icy breeze off the lake so we were warm in light fleece sweaters. The water was so clear that it was hard to tell whether it was five or fifty feet deep. I laid on the deck with my face off the bow watching the bottom and gliding my hands on the water as dad steered us up the back of the island towards Big Bay, a state park with camp sites. We noticed very quickly that the sun was slipping under the trees and we were soon left with only the cold air coming off the lake. We lasted about ten more minutes before pulling out warmer clothes. In another ten minuets we were getting a more than a little anxious to put up the tent and start the space heater.
We rounded the last hump that formed the bay Big Bay and were beginning to wonder if the journey for the night had been worth the trip when we noticed a narrow inlet at the back of the bay. It was only a few feet deep and a low walking bridge hung five or six feet over it. We parked the Campanoe and climbed up a steep path to use the campsite bathrooms. From this vantage we suddenly understood the reason for putting a state park in such a precarious place. Past the bridge was a huge majestic opening of soft swamp with a large center of glassy water. A light mist hung just over the water, and there were several sun-bleached dead trees standing in the grass around the waters edge. These things along with a perfect stillness gave the place a surreal, out of place quality in the otherwise rugged scenery. We easily slid the Campanoe through the shallow water and ducked under the bridge. The only thing other than a Campanoe that could have accessed this channel was canoe or kayak. A sign read “No motors beyond this point”, so we paddled our way in to find a place to park for the night. As I paddled, my hand brushed the water and I was shocked to feel how warm the water was from the sun during the day. We paddled by an abandoned rowboat that was half sunk, and as weathered as the ghostly trees. We spent the night playing chess and sipping rum and fell asleep early on the cots.
After washing up in the warm water we spent the larger part of the day helping out at the symposium and walking around the park headquarters. We decided to head up to see the lighthouse on Sand Island. We said goodbye to the people we med and made the short drive to Little Sand Bay Visitor’s Center on the northernmost tip of the Peninsula and put in the Campanoe at a landing there. We motored out this day again with dying light so we dressed warmly.
We eventually came to a nice bay on the northeastern side that had tons of driftwood and easy access to the lighthouse path so we beached the Campanoe. We easily built up a gigantic pile of the smooth dry wood that we thought would burn for at least until morning and spent rest of the evening skipping rocks and checking out the cliffs and forest. When the fire had settled a bit and we had a good pile of coals we warmed up a delicious meal that my mom had made for us and cooked potatoes and inions with butter wrapped in tinfoil. The waves picked up a bit so we pulled the Campanoe up onto the Beach to sleep.
The next morning we walked a mile or so out to the tip of the island on a surprisingly well kept path through the bright green woods. The trees had obviously escaped the logging of the previous decades as they were some of the largest I had ever seen.
We met the lighthouse keeper coming the opposite way on the path and he said his grandson would show us around. We spent about a half an hour looking around the lighthouse and the kid took us up the tower and gave us a tour of the old building and showed us some of the stuff that had washed up in the years his grandpa had been there.
Just about when we were ready to head back to the mainland the sun disappeared behind a heavy fog in a matter of minutes. We pushed off anyway and kept close to the island so we wouldn’t get lost. When we reached the south tip the shore was cloaked all but for a faint darkness on the horizon. It was only a mile and a half so we went for it ending up about three hundred yards west of the landing. But we got there eventually and pulled out the boat, gave the Lake a Final Goodbye and started the long journey home.
