Wolfgang
September 25th, 2005, 05:40 PM
The Keweenaw (pronounced KEE-w-naw.....sometimes spelled Keweenau, along
with various other permutations) peninsula is the largest geographical
feature in Lake Superior, jutting up some 65 miles to the northeast from the
south shore. Technically, I suppose, the Portage river, which runs between
Houghton and Hancock and roughly bisects the peninsula, makes the upper half
an island. Thus, the unnamed (as far as I know) 281.89 acre island in
Schlatter lake near the extreme northeastern end is probably the world's
largest island in a lake on an island in a lake. Hm....... :)
Anyway, arriving at Baraga, we decided that the nearly 5 square mile expanse
of L'Anse bay didn't look all that inviting on a hot, sunny and very windy
day. Having toured the Keweenaw a couple of times myself, I suggested to
John that it was worth the time to make the drive all the way up to the
northern terminus of U.S. 41 in the eastern suburbs of Copper Harbor. John
frequently takes his time to carefully consider a question and his answer
before offering the latter to the former. As he pondered, I whisked us up
the road in a roiling cloud of dust, clattering van contents and squealing
tires before he completed the process, thus rendering the whole issue moot.
Our first stop was at a roadside park along the shore just a few miles up
the road. Someone had (wisely) put up a chain link fence at the edge of
the "beach" which had risen by what I estimate to be at least 80 feet in
this short span. Even with the fence there it's kind of spooky.....trees,
shrubs, grass, picnic tables...then nothing; a sheer vertical drop to God
knows what below. Couldn't get close enough to see over the edge.
Shouldn't want to. Wouldn't be the first to die of doing what one
shouldn't. :(
Next stop was on the shore of Portage lake near Chassell for lunch. John
had brought some brats (short for bratwurst.....for those benighted souls to
whom they are unfamiliar as a result of living in underdeveloped parts of
the nation) all the way from Dayton (to Milwaukee!!.....how's that coals and
Newcastle thingy go? :). We were carrying a small propane grill, a
ready made salad with John's secret firehouse dressing (or maybe that was
the next day, over on the Presque Isle......oh well, whatever) chips,
olives, and all the requisite condiments. No sooner was the grill set up
than a forty foot sailboat came racing up the channel. As we were soon to
discover, this boat was the winner of a race that had just taken place (was
STILL taking place, as the losers didn't arrive till nearly half an hour
later) out on the big lake. One has to assume that winning a race implies
both a good boat and a good skipper. This one may have good out on the
open water but he needs practice near the dock. They came in on engine
power but with the jib still up. The crew were struggling to lower the sail
as the boat approached the dock. A gust of wind caught the now loose sail,
nearly knocking two of the crew into the water, and the captain, his
attention divided between the mayhem on deck, a rapidly approaching dock,
and a boat that wouldn't respond properly to the helm because of the half
lowered sail, was forced to pull away and make a second shot at it, by which
time things had sorted themselves out pretty well. Out of pity, I offered
to catch and make fast the bow line in an effort to forestall some hapless
fool falling between the fenders and the dock in an effort to jump ashore.
They (and we) were soon joined by several other boats as we cooked, swilled
beer, and stared stupidly. They looked splendid in their regatta regalia.
We were scruffy, and probably already smelled bad. Nevertheless, the
natives turned out to be friendly and we chatted briefly with a few as we
ate and drank, and they prepared to do the same. They even let us use their
garbage can for our refuse. Finishing our lunch, we paused long enough to
take pictures of the sailboats and the few traditional great lakes
commercial fishing boats (operated, so we were told, by a local Indian
tribe) tied up behind them, and then continued north.
The Keweenaw is commonly referred to in the rest of the U.P. as "Copper
Country". Rich deposits of copper, as well as significant amounts of other
precious metals, are scattered throughout the western U.P. but are
especially prevalent in the Keweenaw and the concentration seems to be
greatest smack in the middle at the twin cities of Houghton and Hancock.
Houghton, the home of Northern Michigan University, is a thriving metropolis
(well, by U.P. standards, anyway) with a vibrant downtown of multistory
brownstones....incidentally, the same brownstone of which so many buildings
in New York, Philadelphia and other points east were constructed, and which
is still quarried a bit further west near Ashland and Bayfield, Wi......or
so I've been told. Hancock, a much smaller town, is separated from Houghton
by the Portage river and connected to it via a huge vertical lift (meaning
that both ends of the center span rise simultaneously, thus allowing greater
strength for the passage of ore-filled railroad cars) bridge. On the north
side of Hancock one finds the remains of a now defunct copper mine which is
open for tours. Copper mining in this region is unusual in that the copper
exists as the pure (more or less) metal in veins shot through the
surrounding bedrock rather than as a mineral ore in combination with other
elements. As a result, the native peoples have been mining it for millennia
without the need to learn smelting, and their is strong evidence of their
trading scattered through much of North America. In modern times the metal
was separated from the surrounding rock by enormous steam operated stamping
mills....essentially giant hammers that crushed the rock. Then it was
simply a matter of picking out the solid copper. These days, there is only
one copper mine still operating in the U.P. There is still plenty of
copper, but the availability of very cheap copper from South America has
made U.P. mining unprofitable. The exception, White Pine, remains in
operation only because enough silver is also extracted to tip the balance
into profitability.....or so I've been told.
Somewhere in the deep woods along the last 45 miles of road leading to
Copper Harbor (the northernmost town in Michigan) stands a peculiar sign.
Well over thirty feet tall and very narrow, it looks like nothing so much as
a giant thermometer, an effect enhanced by the wide vertical red stripe
running up its center and the fact that it is ruled off in feet from ground
level. It is, in fact, a sort of snow gauge or, more accurately, a boast of
sorts. According to the accompanying text, the record snowfall for a season
here is just a bit over 390 inches......thirty-two and a half feet!
Copper Harbor is actually less a town than a loose collection of a general
store, a restaurant or two, and a couple of other businesses catering to
tourists. Its sheer isolation, the presence of a state park next door, the
picturesque harbor, a ferry to Isle Royale, and gorgeous autumn colors all
conspire to assure that it gets its fair share of tourists throughout the
brief summer and fall. Since the advent of snowmobiles, the abundance of
snow ensures that traffic continues even through the long winters. This is
where the pavement ends, but there are thousands of acres of near wilderness
beyond, to the east and south for those with a sense of adventure.....and a
vehicle with good ground clearance. Just outside of town on the west, a
steep road heads up Brockway mountain, whose peak rises some 700 feet above
the Lake Superior shore. The first scenic overlook turnout just a mile or
so out of town offers a lovely view of the town, the adjacent harbor, and
good bit of the lake beyond. The road to the summit offers a mini-course
in plant community succession. At the bottom, there is a mix of various
hardwoods and conifers which quickly gives way to a near monoculture of
stunted oaks. The winter winds coming off the lake are harsh. Only the
very tough survive near the top.....and even they don't fare very well.
On a good day, the view from up here is magnificent. To the east lie lake
Fannie Hooe and a couple of others nestled in the forest, with a couple of
tall peaks beyond. To the west is the lake Superior shoreline receding to
the horizon. To the south is a series of ranges, still immense corrugations
that must have been stupendous before being ground down by a two mile thick
ice sheet (this frozen tectonic plate was so massive that it depressed the
Earth's crust to such a degree that the south shore of Lake Superior is
still recovering....that is, rising.....by about half an inch per year in a
process known as "isostatic rebound") ten or twelve thousand years ago.
This wasn't the best day......a bit hazy. But we did get to see one of the
giant ore ships (up to one thousand feet long, they are nowhere near as
common a sight as they were a few decades ago, but are still being built in
the shipyards in Sturgeon Bay, Wi.) that ply these waters.
Back down the mountain, we drove back down along the northwest shore of the
peninsula on Michigan hwy. 26. The towns of Eagle Harbor and Eagle River
punctuate a wild shoreline that looks just as it must have in pre-Columbian
times. Even on such a sunny and warm day as this there is a desolate
grandeur to this shore that makes it easy to forget.....if only
briefly.....all the bizarre and complicated **** that we have heaped upon
ourselves over the past few centuries and continue to wallow in day to day
as if we actually like it.
Continued back more or less the way we came and ended up back at camp in the
dark.
Wolfgang
who is beginning to wonder what the hell all this has got to do with
fishing. :(
with various other permutations) peninsula is the largest geographical
feature in Lake Superior, jutting up some 65 miles to the northeast from the
south shore. Technically, I suppose, the Portage river, which runs between
Houghton and Hancock and roughly bisects the peninsula, makes the upper half
an island. Thus, the unnamed (as far as I know) 281.89 acre island in
Schlatter lake near the extreme northeastern end is probably the world's
largest island in a lake on an island in a lake. Hm....... :)
Anyway, arriving at Baraga, we decided that the nearly 5 square mile expanse
of L'Anse bay didn't look all that inviting on a hot, sunny and very windy
day. Having toured the Keweenaw a couple of times myself, I suggested to
John that it was worth the time to make the drive all the way up to the
northern terminus of U.S. 41 in the eastern suburbs of Copper Harbor. John
frequently takes his time to carefully consider a question and his answer
before offering the latter to the former. As he pondered, I whisked us up
the road in a roiling cloud of dust, clattering van contents and squealing
tires before he completed the process, thus rendering the whole issue moot.
Our first stop was at a roadside park along the shore just a few miles up
the road. Someone had (wisely) put up a chain link fence at the edge of
the "beach" which had risen by what I estimate to be at least 80 feet in
this short span. Even with the fence there it's kind of spooky.....trees,
shrubs, grass, picnic tables...then nothing; a sheer vertical drop to God
knows what below. Couldn't get close enough to see over the edge.
Shouldn't want to. Wouldn't be the first to die of doing what one
shouldn't. :(
Next stop was on the shore of Portage lake near Chassell for lunch. John
had brought some brats (short for bratwurst.....for those benighted souls to
whom they are unfamiliar as a result of living in underdeveloped parts of
the nation) all the way from Dayton (to Milwaukee!!.....how's that coals and
Newcastle thingy go? :). We were carrying a small propane grill, a
ready made salad with John's secret firehouse dressing (or maybe that was
the next day, over on the Presque Isle......oh well, whatever) chips,
olives, and all the requisite condiments. No sooner was the grill set up
than a forty foot sailboat came racing up the channel. As we were soon to
discover, this boat was the winner of a race that had just taken place (was
STILL taking place, as the losers didn't arrive till nearly half an hour
later) out on the big lake. One has to assume that winning a race implies
both a good boat and a good skipper. This one may have good out on the
open water but he needs practice near the dock. They came in on engine
power but with the jib still up. The crew were struggling to lower the sail
as the boat approached the dock. A gust of wind caught the now loose sail,
nearly knocking two of the crew into the water, and the captain, his
attention divided between the mayhem on deck, a rapidly approaching dock,
and a boat that wouldn't respond properly to the helm because of the half
lowered sail, was forced to pull away and make a second shot at it, by which
time things had sorted themselves out pretty well. Out of pity, I offered
to catch and make fast the bow line in an effort to forestall some hapless
fool falling between the fenders and the dock in an effort to jump ashore.
They (and we) were soon joined by several other boats as we cooked, swilled
beer, and stared stupidly. They looked splendid in their regatta regalia.
We were scruffy, and probably already smelled bad. Nevertheless, the
natives turned out to be friendly and we chatted briefly with a few as we
ate and drank, and they prepared to do the same. They even let us use their
garbage can for our refuse. Finishing our lunch, we paused long enough to
take pictures of the sailboats and the few traditional great lakes
commercial fishing boats (operated, so we were told, by a local Indian
tribe) tied up behind them, and then continued north.
The Keweenaw is commonly referred to in the rest of the U.P. as "Copper
Country". Rich deposits of copper, as well as significant amounts of other
precious metals, are scattered throughout the western U.P. but are
especially prevalent in the Keweenaw and the concentration seems to be
greatest smack in the middle at the twin cities of Houghton and Hancock.
Houghton, the home of Northern Michigan University, is a thriving metropolis
(well, by U.P. standards, anyway) with a vibrant downtown of multistory
brownstones....incidentally, the same brownstone of which so many buildings
in New York, Philadelphia and other points east were constructed, and which
is still quarried a bit further west near Ashland and Bayfield, Wi......or
so I've been told. Hancock, a much smaller town, is separated from Houghton
by the Portage river and connected to it via a huge vertical lift (meaning
that both ends of the center span rise simultaneously, thus allowing greater
strength for the passage of ore-filled railroad cars) bridge. On the north
side of Hancock one finds the remains of a now defunct copper mine which is
open for tours. Copper mining in this region is unusual in that the copper
exists as the pure (more or less) metal in veins shot through the
surrounding bedrock rather than as a mineral ore in combination with other
elements. As a result, the native peoples have been mining it for millennia
without the need to learn smelting, and their is strong evidence of their
trading scattered through much of North America. In modern times the metal
was separated from the surrounding rock by enormous steam operated stamping
mills....essentially giant hammers that crushed the rock. Then it was
simply a matter of picking out the solid copper. These days, there is only
one copper mine still operating in the U.P. There is still plenty of
copper, but the availability of very cheap copper from South America has
made U.P. mining unprofitable. The exception, White Pine, remains in
operation only because enough silver is also extracted to tip the balance
into profitability.....or so I've been told.
Somewhere in the deep woods along the last 45 miles of road leading to
Copper Harbor (the northernmost town in Michigan) stands a peculiar sign.
Well over thirty feet tall and very narrow, it looks like nothing so much as
a giant thermometer, an effect enhanced by the wide vertical red stripe
running up its center and the fact that it is ruled off in feet from ground
level. It is, in fact, a sort of snow gauge or, more accurately, a boast of
sorts. According to the accompanying text, the record snowfall for a season
here is just a bit over 390 inches......thirty-two and a half feet!
Copper Harbor is actually less a town than a loose collection of a general
store, a restaurant or two, and a couple of other businesses catering to
tourists. Its sheer isolation, the presence of a state park next door, the
picturesque harbor, a ferry to Isle Royale, and gorgeous autumn colors all
conspire to assure that it gets its fair share of tourists throughout the
brief summer and fall. Since the advent of snowmobiles, the abundance of
snow ensures that traffic continues even through the long winters. This is
where the pavement ends, but there are thousands of acres of near wilderness
beyond, to the east and south for those with a sense of adventure.....and a
vehicle with good ground clearance. Just outside of town on the west, a
steep road heads up Brockway mountain, whose peak rises some 700 feet above
the Lake Superior shore. The first scenic overlook turnout just a mile or
so out of town offers a lovely view of the town, the adjacent harbor, and
good bit of the lake beyond. The road to the summit offers a mini-course
in plant community succession. At the bottom, there is a mix of various
hardwoods and conifers which quickly gives way to a near monoculture of
stunted oaks. The winter winds coming off the lake are harsh. Only the
very tough survive near the top.....and even they don't fare very well.
On a good day, the view from up here is magnificent. To the east lie lake
Fannie Hooe and a couple of others nestled in the forest, with a couple of
tall peaks beyond. To the west is the lake Superior shoreline receding to
the horizon. To the south is a series of ranges, still immense corrugations
that must have been stupendous before being ground down by a two mile thick
ice sheet (this frozen tectonic plate was so massive that it depressed the
Earth's crust to such a degree that the south shore of Lake Superior is
still recovering....that is, rising.....by about half an inch per year in a
process known as "isostatic rebound") ten or twelve thousand years ago.
This wasn't the best day......a bit hazy. But we did get to see one of the
giant ore ships (up to one thousand feet long, they are nowhere near as
common a sight as they were a few decades ago, but are still being built in
the shipyards in Sturgeon Bay, Wi.) that ply these waters.
Back down the mountain, we drove back down along the northwest shore of the
peninsula on Michigan hwy. 26. The towns of Eagle Harbor and Eagle River
punctuate a wild shoreline that looks just as it must have in pre-Columbian
times. Even on such a sunny and warm day as this there is a desolate
grandeur to this shore that makes it easy to forget.....if only
briefly.....all the bizarre and complicated **** that we have heaped upon
ourselves over the past few centuries and continue to wallow in day to day
as if we actually like it.
Continued back more or less the way we came and ended up back at camp in the
dark.
Wolfgang
who is beginning to wonder what the hell all this has got to do with
fishing. :(