Driving across the UP through the wee hours of the morning proved relaxing. A series of rest areas or road side parks provided plenty of opportunities to rest and catch a snooze. The rest areas all feature log cabins kept warmy and cozy inside, although no benches inside offered a stretch out and snooze. The road side parks featured awesome views of rocky rivers or overlooks of Lake Superior.
The sun arising over the choppy, whitecapped waters of Superior reminded me of a Sheryl Budnik painting auctioned for far too little money at the Theater Bar Thursday night, my last big night in Grand Haven for a while. At the edge of an ever present cliff, I watched morning grow in intensity through the clouds as the wind whistled in my ears.
How can a cliff be ever present? The freeway follows the edge of Lake Superior, and the freeway hugs the edge of this endless cliff. Parts of the cliff go by the name of The Pictured Rocks. One doesn't want to fall asleep at the wheel because the plunge is tremendous. It has to happen once a week, a car veering right and plunging into Lake Superior.
Every creek had a roadside park, or so it seemed to me. Every roadside park with a creek seemed to have a waterfall, and at Tioga Creek, posts directed visitors to the falls. I thought it rude to refuse. I followed the path along the creek, and I began to wonder if I was going to get lost in the woods. I navigated a tangle of roots and rocks and thought of turning back. After making it over all that without stumbling, I heard the rushing water and encountered a pool, edged with what had to be wild rice, harvested stalks slender in the cold water.
The falls had a drop of ten feet among the boulders of iron ore, and it took a bit of doing to get out on the big boulders where the water rushed through in freshets. I was staggered to discover why the boulders weren't covered with water. Beavers had built a dam above the falls! So I staggered along the bank over rocks and roots and puddles, balancing myself with the help of saplings. I was surprised I hadn't turn an ankle, startled a bear or come face to face with a pissed off beaver. The pond gathered waters for a hundred feet behind the dam, and I scanned for swimming beavers, hugely disappointed. I had startled a beaver on the Muskegon River this summer, and the beaver submerged rapidly by smacking its paddle tail on the surface. I understand there's no sushi as delicious as broiled badger tail, and I'm glad my Tioga Creek beavers couldn't read my mind.
It took a bit of doing to get back to the trail, walking through a forested slope where every step echoed through the soil, the ground made up on rotted fallen trunks and accumulated pine needles. I returned to my car fully awake, my brain full of oxygen, glad to be amazed by this wild land.Driving across the UP through the wee hours of the morning proved relaxing. A series of rest areas or road side parks provided plenty of opportunities to rest and catch a snooze. The rest areas all feature log cabins kept warmy and cozy inside, although no benches inside offered a stretch out and snooze. The road side parks featured awesome views of rocky rivers or overlooks of Lake Superior.
The sun arising over the choppy, whitecapped waters of Superior reminded me of a Sheryl Budnik painting auctioned for far too little money at the Theater Bar Thursday night, my last big night in Grand Haven for a while. At the edge of an ever present cliff, I watched morning grow in intensity through the clouds as the wind whistled in my ears.
How can a cliff be ever present? The freeway follows the edge of Lake Superior, and the freeway hugs the edge of this endless cliff. Parts of the cliff go by the name of The Pictured Rocks. One doesn't want to fall asleep at the wheel because the plunge is tremendous. It has to happen once a week, a car veering right and plunging into Lake Superior.
Every creek had a roadside park, or so it seemed to me. Every roadside park with a creek seemed to have a waterfall, and at Tioga Creek, posts directed visitors to the falls. I thought it rude to refuse. I followed the path along the creek, and I began to wonder if I was going to get lost in the woods. I navigated a tangle of roots and rocks and thought of turning back. After making it over all that without stumbling, I heard the rushing water and encountered a pool, edged with what had to be wild rice, harvested stalks slender in the cold water.
The falls had a drop of ten feet among the boulders of iron ore, and it took a bit of doing to get out on the big boulders where the water rushed through in freshets. I was staggered to discover why the boulders weren't covered with water. Beavers had built a dam above the falls! So I staggered along the bank over rocks and roots and puddles, balancing myself with the help of saplings. I was surprised I hadn't turn an ankle, startled a bear or come face to face with a pissed off beaver. The pond gathered waters for a hundred feet behind the dam, and I scanned for swimming beavers, hugely disappointed. I had startled a beaver on the Muskegon River this summer, and the beaver submerged rapidly by smacking its paddle tail on the surface. I understand there's no sushi as delicious as broiled badger tail, and I'm glad my Tioga Creek beavers couldn't read my mind.
It took a bit of doing to get back to the trail, walking through a forested slope where every step echoed through the soil, the ground made up on rotted fallen trunks and accumulated pine needles. I returned to my car fully awake, my brain full of oxygen, glad to be amazed by this wild land.
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