Forest of October
Dear reader: What you are about to read is my account of my 2003 vacation. This year's vacation was at the same time very similar to and very different from last year's vacation (read my "Road Trip!" essay). Similar in that I went back up to the North Woods. Different in that this year I went all out, which I will explain later. This essay will not read so much as a day-by-day, site-by-site log of my vacation as was the case with last year's essay. No, that would be even more tedious to read than "Road Trip!," again which I will explain later. Instead, this essay will be more general as far as some of my thoughts, observations, etc. with only a few specifics noted in various areas.
About four months ago, a gentleman by the name of Nate from Iron Mountain, MI, read my "Road Trip!" essay and E-mailed me. He suggested I visit the Porcupine Mountains in the western Upper Peninsula of Michigan ("the U.P."), and from the way he described it, I decided at the time that that was where I was going to spend my next vacation. This year, however, wasn't going to be like last year where I'd drive around to see what I could see and spend my nights in hotel rooms. This year I decided to go all out, to do something I had never done before. I was going to backpack through the Porcupine Mountains.
I did some research on the Internet on the Porkies and ordered Jim DuFresne's exceptional book on the subject. I also requested and got area information from tourism boards, chambers of commerce, etc., but much of it was too "touristy" for my use. After several trips to REI to get properly outfitted, I was on my way to become one with Mother Nature in the Porcupine Mountains.
Due in part to some circumstances beyond my control and to a smaller extent to some less-than-perfect planning on my behalf, neither of which I will go into here, my first actual day in the Porkies was Monday, October 6, 2003. Actually, it was not so much due to insufficient planning as it was due to following last year's "no-plan" philosophy which this year just didn't quite happen to work out as hoped, but the other circumstances stand as written. That first day and the days that followed mainly consisted of two significant ingredients: hiking and camping. This is why this essay will not read like last year's, as it would sound very much like this: I hiked, I saw something cool, I stopped to look at it for a while, maybe I took a picture, I hiked some more, I saw something else cool, I stopped to look at it for a while, maybe I took a picture, I hiked some more, I saw... You get the point. Actually, I didn't even take all that many pictures because the pictures can never do justice to the entire experience. A picture is such a small representation of only one sense, but there is so much more than that--the sounds of the wind, the smells of the forest, the feelings of aching shoulders, the overall grand panoramic views, etc. Pictures are almost a letdown to me. I wish I had something better to bring back and/or show. The vast expanses of sheer untouched-by-man beauty have a tough time fitting into a 4"x6" image. Aside from that, with a trekking pole in each hand, the camera had to stay in the pack for the most part, and it's a production to take off or put on a backpack.
I pounded out quite a few miles my first day, and the second day started at the same pace. Unfortunately, it took me a day and a half to realize, "Hey, wait a minute. I'm on vacation; I'm not at work. This isn't a race; I don't need to do this quickly." I consciously slowed my pace (a pace that would be retained for much of the remainder of the trip) and enjoyed the forest much more. Even so, by the end of the second day, I couldn't wait to come upon the backcountry campsite where I was planning to spend the night--the previously traveled fast pace left my arms and shoulders just burning from pushing myself forward with my trekking poles (a problem that was not repeated).
The third day was probably one of the best; at least for extensive alpine-like vistas it certainly was. First off, I didn't see anybody from the time I got up until late in the afternoon (which I'll explain in a moment). No campers. No hikers. Nobody. Sadly, the next couple sentences will mean little to those who haven't been to the Porkies, but I feel it necessary to write them anyway. The majority of my day was spent on the Big Carp River Trail, which largely follows the ridge of the Big Carp River escarpment. Incredible! Unbelievable! The views are just flat-out amazing. In fact, I simply marked one of the spots as 'Wow' in my GPS. I felt like I had the world to myself. No signs of civilization or other people at all--no roads, no buildings, no engines, no power lines, no cell phone towers, nothing. Just me and the Nature that surrounded me. The autumn colors in the afternoon sun were simply spectacular.
I spent quite a bit of time at various spots in this area looking out over the vast stretches of October-hued trees that stood far below my muddied boots. But I had to move on. I continued to follow the trail to the east, and I came to my first human contact of the day. I hit the Lake of the Clouds overlook, one of the tourist sections of the park, complete with paved paths, a nearly completed boardwalk, senior citizens, fences, and warning signs. Lake of the Clouds is probably the single biggest draw of the park; I didn't spend much time there.
My fourth day in the park began with a bit of a left knee injury, something I was somewhat but not overly concerned about (I could deal with it). The day's hike wasn't terribly difficult, and I made good time, so I set up camp early, once more on the shore of Lake Superior. This day also became laundry day, or rather, "rinse off my clothes in the lake in hopes of eliminating some of the stink" day. I personally took a dip in the water as well, which was actually my second venture into the pond. Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like skinny-dipping in Lake Superior in October.
The end of my fifth day brought me to another somewhat tourist-heavy part of the park, so I quickly made my way to where I would be spending the night. I headed to the second highest point in the park the following day, Government Peak. Much of the hike went very steeply uphill, and I must say I was somewhat disappointed by the view from the top--it was very limited. I set up camp at the base of Government Peak on the shore of a beaver pond. This tidbit of information really has nothing to do with anything other than it was a beaver pond, and it was kind of cool.
The night at the base of Government Peak (a Saturday night) brought the first and only bad weather I experienced on my trip. A cold front moved through and brought some serious rain and wind. It rained pretty steadily for about six or seven hours, and there were sustained winds of 30 MPH with gusts to 40+ MPH. Granted, being amongst the trees helped cut down on the wind a bit, but it was still very windy. One night of bad weather was good, though, in that it gave me that experience (my gear and I stayed quite dry by the way). I'm glad that it was only one night, however. It's very loud in a tent with rain and wet leaves slapping into it at over 30 MPH.
The storm brought much cooler temperatures. Until that point, the highs were in the upper 70s and even lower 80s--somewhat unusual for the North Woods for October. It was too warm; I wish it could have been just a bit cooler. 70s and 80s are actually warmer than I like and warmer than what I was hoping for and expecting. Heck, it had snowed up there a week or two before my vacation. And not just flurries--like four to six inches or something like that. So I was prepared for cooler weather (and I like it much better as well). It finally came Saturday night. I even used the little hood of my sleeping bag to stay a little warmer during the night. It's amazing how warm and comfortable a sleeping bag can keep you. I may as well have been in my own bed. I actually had to poke my head back out of the hood when I started to sweat.
After Saturday night's nasty rain and wind, Sunday turned out to be an absolutely beautiful day. There's no other simpler way to put it. Only in the North Woods can a sky be so blue--the most pure, cloud-free, sun-drenched, impossibly deep blue sky one can ever witness. This is perhaps no more striking than when viewed from beneath or through the bright yellow frame of an autumn-painted maple, aspen, or birch tree. In some areas, the trees are so thick that the sunlight turns yellow and bathes everything below the canopy in an inviting golden light. Such was the weather on Sunday that I set up camp early again. I wanted to enjoy the afternoon. I wanted to write. I wanted to help my equipment finish drying out from last night's soaking.
I awoke the following morning to find that something had snacked upon my PackTowl during the night. Apparently with the cooler temperatures it must be time to start building nests (more on this later), and what better material to use than my PackTowl. After hiking the Escarpment Trail--which could nearly be considered a continuation of the Big Carp River Trail in that it follows the same ridgeline but to the east of Lake of the Clouds--and experiencing numerous outstanding views once again, I set up camp early. You may have noticed, kind reader, that the last few days I set up camp early. There are a couple reasons for this. First, I was nursing a still-sore-but-slowly-recovering left knee. Second, and more importantly, I was really taking my time and enjoying the twilight of my vacation. I was in no rush as tonight was to be my last night in the Porkies. Third, the weather was just too awesome to describe. So my trip was basically over. The final night I camped at a site near my truck so that I could get up and go right away the next morning because I wanted to stop by a couple tourist spots at the edge of the park before heading home, and I wanted to get home early enough to do what needs to be done immediately upon returning from more than a week of backpacking. The following paragraph was written quite literally in the middle of the night during my last night in the park.
I didn't sleep too well my final night in the park. Apparently I had worn out my welcome, and the animals were going to let me know it. I spent a lot of my night on Critter Patrol. In part I'm guessing due to the suddenly much cooler temperatures, various rodents were taking a much greater evening interest in my tent and backpack, including one bold mouse(?)--I'll call him Ed--who felt it necessary to climb around in the space between the actual tent body and the rainfly and then stand upright on my backpack to look at me. As usual, there was no food in my tent or in my pack; that was all tucked away safely in a stuff sack high atop a bear pole. The little critters were followed shortly by bigger critters hunting them. At one point I actually heard, no more than eight inches from my ear, the sniffing of one of these hunters (fox maybe?) trying to find and make dinner out of Ed and his buddies. It was then that I decided two things. One, I didn't want chew holes in my pack, clothing, straps, etc. à la the PackTowl Incident of last night. Second, I didn't want any still bigger critters to show up (like a bear) to continue up the food chain. Regardless of how much sleep I'd lose (hey, vacation's just about over--I need to start getting back into work sleep-deprivation mode), I'd stay half-awake to rustle around and hopefully keep some of these rodents away. That is why, dear reader, I am writing this by the light of one of my many trusty Maglight flashlights at 12:15 AM on October 14 while tucked away snugly in my sleeping bag and listening to who-knows-what crawl around in the leaves outside.
That largely concludes the daily log, if you will, of my trip to the Porcupine Mountains. What I would like to finish up with are some random comments, observations, thoughts, etc. on my experiences. First off, nothing that I could ever write could ever adequately describe how awesome this place is and how much I enjoyed my time there. I have never experienced such pure wilderness on such a grand scale. It was very quiet, and the solitude was extraordinary. There were very few people, and there is nothing but Nature when you get to the heart of the park. There are no roads; there are no cars; there are rarely airplanes flying overhead. There are no signs of civilization--visual, auditory, or otherwise. Nothing but the wind, the water, the little critters scampering about, the silence of the ancient trees, and the heartbeat of the Earth. Have you ever heard a leaf fall? I have. Such was the solitude and silence I was able to experience and enjoy on this trip. My final evening in the park was the only night where there was either no breeze or where I wasn't camped out next to a sonorous body of water (running river, wave-filled Great Lake, etc.). It was actually quiet enough, when the critters settled down, to listen to the leaves fall from the trees. One-by-one their journeys began silently enough as their grips on their branches were relaxed. Then, typically, as they hit other leaves on the way down, there were two or three very soft almost wood-on-wood-like "cracks." Then there were brief moments of silence as the maze through other leaves and branches was complete and the tumbling leaves freefell through the air before scraping to a halt on the forest floor with their cousins.
And as the golden hues of Indian summer fluttered to the beckoning earth to be replaced by the bare browns of late autumn and the inevitability of a long winter, the very active squirrels and chipmunks rustled through the leaves having their little evening vocal conniptions, as if yelling at me to stop trespassing and get out of their home. Indeed, the only animals I saw were typical small woodland creatures--chipmunks, squirrels, various birds, snakes, etc. I saw nothing larger than deer, and aside from the already mentioned incidents, my encounters with the locals were uneventful. Though bears do inhabit the park, I didn't see any, and I'm not sure if I should consider this a good or a bad thing. I tend to believe it's a good thing because I didn't necessarily want to deal with that issue. There were, however, a lot of Asian beetles (those ladybug-looking things), especially along the Superior shoreline. Those things bite, too. Other insects were very few. There were some, particularly around marshy areas since it was 80°, but overall there were basically none. This is one of many reasons why the timing for this trip was very good. Last year's experience certainly entered into this year's planning.
"Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park." The official name explicitly indicates wilderness, and that's certainly what the area is. Once inside the park's rugged interior, there is nothing but. The trails are fairly well marked but are not always easy to follow, nor are the trails "improved." Most are no more than a well-trodden foot- to a foot-and-a-half-wide packed dirt footpath (excellent!). There are numerous rocks, roots, and other obstacles that line the trails to pose a trip or ankle-twist hazard. Add in the visibility difficulties resulting from fallen leaves and this risk becomes even greater.
There are a lot of fallen trees in the park. The topsoil is very thin and sandy in some areas, so tree roots are very shallow. The trees themselves are very old, very tall, and very top-heavy, so they fall over every once in a while. Just when you get a good rhythm going, there's another tree lying across the trail that needs to be clambered over or crawled under, not necessarily an easy feat when wearing a 60-pound pack. This difficult terrain and the general topography of the park make trekking poles nearly an absolute necessity. They certainly help, and I can't say enough about them. They help push you uphill, they help control you downhill, they test water depth, they help when fording rivers, they help you keep your balance. Very useful items.
There are no modern "conveniences" or "comforts of home" in the backcountry of the Porkies. There is no electricity, no indoor plumbing or running water (other than rivers and streams of course), no communication, and no help for miles. When I mention camping, I'm talking about hardcore camping. I'm talking pack everything in and pack everything out. I'm talking no showers and no roads for miles. I'm talking no toilets--dig a hole, crap in it, use half-ply biodegradable toilet paper, and bury it all. Let me tell you, nothing will wake you up quicker than, and there's nothing more invigorating than, a 40° breeze blowing through your buttcheeks in the morning.
Aside from at all of the trailheads at the park's exterior, there are no trash cans (like I said, pack everything in and pack everything out...including garbage). Even so, there is virtually no trash present in the backcountry. To start with, there are few people that go into these areas. Those that do do this regularly and care about and respect the environment. There are no weekend warriors, nobody in a 30-foot RV just stopping by. They want to be out there. They like to be out there. They enjoy the wildness of it. There is no fast food. Where everything needs to be packed in (and out), efficient, minimalist packaging is key. There may be a tiny corner piece of a wrapper somewhere, but that's about it. I found only one, and I picked it up. It's very rare to find anything more due to two philosophies. One, leave no trace. Two, pack out all trash even if it's not yours. Hell, I spent 15 minutes picking up shreds of my PackTowl the other day so no one else's wilderness experience would be tainted.
As I mentioned earlier, this trip was my first time doing something like this, especially on such a large scale. Even so, I may not have done this before, but I sure looked like I knew what I was doing. I was well-prepared, organized, and I had sufficient gear and supplies. I did learn a few things though. I learned that it is possible to carry string cheese in a pack for about a week in 80° weather without refrigeration without it spoiling. True, it gets kind of gooey, but it does not get moldy, and it stays edible. I also learned that it's almost easier to go uphill than to go downhill whilst wearing a fully loaded backpack. I confirmed or discovered some of man's greatest inventions as well. Those are: Carabiners (just ridiculously useful and versatile), Camelbak hydration systems (forget water bottles!), trekking poles (a necessity), compression straps (tight hold, instant release), stuff sacks (organization!), and SmartWool socks (down with cotton!).
I have mentioned in several areas that the timing for my trip was excellent. After last year's timing success, I largely planned this year's excursion to coincide with similar dates. There were few people and few bugs. There were really very few vocal critters except for some areas, and this kind of surprised me. The weather was remarkable as there were almost no clouds in the sky on any given day. It was, however, as I've already mentioned, almost too warm for my liking. The area received about six inches of snow a couple weeks before my trip, so I was hoping for and prepared for typical October weather--not snow necessarily but 40°-50° highs instead of the actual 70°-80° highs (although the thick forest does still stay cooler than that). The colors were great, though honestly an earlier start of a few days would not have been bad as the last days of my trip particularly had me rustling through the orange ground of late autumn, especially given the one night of storms.
There were very brief moments when I did miss one aspect of modern, "civilized" life. I truly only missed one thing at times--tunes. I guess that's how important metal is to me. I must admit that it was nice to get in my truck for the ride back home and hear Agalloch and Opeth. Though the solitude was magnificent, it wouldn't have been bad to have had a companion at certain times either. There are a lot of great places to have really wild outdoor forest sex. I had no TV or even electricity. These I didn't miss at all, especially TV. For the first time since probably around 1980, I went to bed regularly at about 7:00 PM and woke up whenever I woke up. No alarm clock! This I was most definitely glad to be without.
Once again I must thank Nate for informing me of this park. This trip was mostly a learning experience, an exploratory trip to get a feel for the park, etc. In total, I spent nine days and eight nights in the park. I logged about 1000 miles on my truck. I put about 50-55 miles on my hiking boots, all while hauling around a 50- to 60-pound backpack. I'm already planning on going back next year but with some topos, as Nate further recommended, so that I can go off-trailing. For now, though, I'm left with the task of trying to figure out where to put all of my newly acquired camping gear in an already cramped one-bedroom apartment.
That, gentle reader, was my first excursion to the Porcupine Mountains, and it was excellent. Though I was no where near the mental state that I was in before last year's vacation, I was still looking forward to the time off anew this year. Once again I derived great pleasure from my break, and I think I may have enjoyed this unique first-time experience even more than last year's vacation. For more than a week my life was so much simpler than usual. Everything I needed, everything I was concerned with, was strapped to my back. It cleared my mind and cleansed my spirit. There was nothing to remind me of my place of work--no clothing, no paperwork, no trucks on the road. Yes, this trip was a lot of work, but it didn't seem like it, and it was much better than the "civilized" work that I do on a daily basis, to which once more--perhaps even stronger than last year--I don't want to return. Such is the double-edged sword of vacation. Getting away from my job and everything else is awesome; coming back is usually a train wreck.
Taking this vacation may very well be the most kick-ass single thing I have ever done in my life to this point. Sans E-mail and cell phone, I had very little contact with other people. My only communication was through this essay, an essay which charged me with the task of expressing why and how this trip was so cool and why anybody in their right mind would voluntarily lug around a 60-pound backpack for more than a week for 50+ miles through the wilderness in the middle of nowhere. Not only that, but actually enjoy it and want to do it again. I needed to portray what I was feeling. The romance. The poetry. For this reason (among unmentioned others), a cursory "Yeah, it was cool" coverage of my adventures would have been unacceptable to me. Although, had I ignored these reasons and accepted the cursory treatment, I certainly could have made this essay much simpler and shorter. Yes, I took pictures, but they can never compare to the spectacular, breath-taking, awe-inspiring, grand splendor of reality that is first-hand experience. Of course, there were the more lighthearted parts (the skinny-dipping, the buttcheek joke, the PackTowl Incident, Critter Patrol, etc.), but how many people have written about listening to a falling leaf? Solitude can do that. Being alone is very good for just thinking, I mean really thinking. Dealing with the supposed "difficulties" or "inconveniences" of attaining such solitude were so inconsequential and so unspeakably worthwhile that even with the prospect of a long, hot shower at the end of my six-hour drive home, I was already missing the park soon after I was on the road.
Originally written:
(See below)
Put online:
November 9, 2003
Discussion:
This essay was written as follows: October 9, 2003, while sitting on driftwood (actually a drifttree) on the Lake Superior shoreline listening to the waves crash in and watching the sun set [first two paragraphs]; October 12, 2003, while sitting on a log in my camp just north of Trap Falls listening to the Upper Carp River babbling away behind me [third and fourth paragraphs]; October 13, 2003, while in my camp near the Lake of the Clouds with the lake just barely visible through the gently swaying trees [the "I pounded out quite a..." paragraph through the "My fourth day in the..." paragraph]; October 14, 2003, while on Critter Patrol as mentioned [the "Critter Patrol" paragraph and the section about hearing a leaf fall]; October 17, 2003, while at home [the "The end of my fifth..." paragraph through the "And as the golden hues..." paragraph, excluding those sections written on October 14, 2003]; October 18, 2003, while at home [the ""Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park..."" paragraph through the "As I mentioned earlier, this..." paragraph]; October 20, 2003, while at home [the "I have mentioned in several..." paragraph through the end]. Notes were at least kept every day of the trip, and from those this essay was created. Upon revision on November 8, 2003, portions of several E-mail communications with a privileged rough-draft reader were incorporated into this essay. Special thanks to Opeth, from whom I stole--obviously without permission--the title of this essay (it's the same title as a song from their "Orchid" album).
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