21-22 August 2015

Too exhausted to journal on Friday!

We were the last to leave Desor on Friday morning, departing around 9 am. The three people catching the 5 pm plane from Windigo left before anyone
else was up. The father and son, camped next to us, left around 8. Two
groups of young people camped together at site 2 left about 15 minutes before
we did. Most people travel faster than we do so we guessed we would
have a pleasant 12.6 mile hike with the trails all to ourselves. We
figured we would get to Windigo by 6 pm. We had just enough trail
snacks left for the journey.

We started off at a good pace, passing through a jungle of baby maples
waiting for a tree to fall so they could grow taller. I glanced down
and spotted a multitool on the ground. It was large and heavy with a heavy wood handle. It was obviously important to someone. I put it in my pack.

We still had several Minong ridges to climb. The rocks
were much drier than on Thursday, but as we each discovered in turn,
there were still slick spots. We had our first lunch up on the ridge.
Back on the trail, we descended to a beaver pond which was not
mentioned in our trip description. O nobly led the way down the
obvious wide trail. We arrived at a spot that did not look like a
beaver dam, it was more a beaver meadow. There were some stable
hummocks of grass to step on and some very unstable submerged logs. I
heard a splash ahead of me, O had gone in about knee deep. I stopped
on a hummock to put on my water shoes
and zip off my pants legs. My boots and GPS were safely stowed on top
of my pack. I inched out onto the submerged log and slipped, landing
straddling the log.  At least I didn’t go in all the way!

Finally across, we stopped to pour water out of boots (O) and to get boots back on (me.) We followed footprints leading up a faint trail.
There was a dry ridge to our left. The number of boot prints was
reassuring. Many hikers had come this way. A short way up the trail
the boot prints became confused, heading in different directions. We
tried to backtrack, but the woods were very confusing. We were getting
a bit worried at this point. O got out the map and I got out the GPS.
We should be about half way to Windigo. We had coordinates from the
GPS, but the scale of the map is too small to properly determine our
location. I decided to bushwack up the ridge to see if I could find the
trail up there. I needed to stay within earshot of O. There was no
trail at the top, and I did not want to go further. I scrambled back
down. We discussed our options. We were both reluctant to go back
through the beaver meadow, but it was the obvious thing to do. We
found our way back to the faint trail and, this time, we both put on
our water shoes. We finally arrived at the last spot where we were
sure of the trail. There was only one other option there, a narrow
opening in the brush heading out slightly to our left. This time O
made the entire trek across the pond in water shoes and without pack
to make sure we were on the correct trail. He returned with news that
there was a good trail on the other side of the beaver dam. We proceeded across
together. We had lost at least an hour by losing the trail. Now we
were both concerned about getting to Windigo in daylight. No more
leisurely lunch stops on the ridges for us!

We carried on, sometimes the path was difficult to follow, especially picking up
the proper trail coming off the rocky ridges. In one of our searches
for the trail, we found a large patch of blueberry bushes. If we only
had more time we could have picked some for our breakfast of lemon
scones the next morning. We finally stopped to review the trip
description for the day. It says there are two beaver dams which come
after a long stretch of wooden planking. We hadn’t crossed any
planking, so the dam we crossed already was not even mentioned!

On we went. We arrived at the “long stretch of planking.” I had been
expecting it to be like the two plank wide low paths through the
marshes that we have portaged across in Algonquin. No such luck!
This planking was only one board wide and it was high (for me) above
the water, about 3 feet high high on widely spaced posts. I am afraid
of heights. For me, this stretch was terrifying, especially with a
heavy pack on. O began marching across ahead of me. There was no
other option but to go on. I could hear the clomping of his trekking
poles in the distance as I started across. After what seemed like
hours to me, I reminded myself that I had to breathe. I was taking
short steps, staring at the plank in front of my feet.  Occasionally
there were trees close enough for me to put out a hand for balance,
rest  and a few seconds of security, then on I went. The end of the
planking was not visible. It curved over the marshy water. This stretch
of planking seemed to go on forever. Finally, the clomping of O’s
poles stopped. At least I knew the end was near. (I hadn’t heard any
splashing or yells.)  The last stretch sloped slightly and looked
slippery to me, although it was not. My heart was thumping. Finally my
feet were on solid, if slightly muddy ground. That has to have been
the single most difficult stretch of trail I have ever hiked!

We headed back up over ridges and down into marshes. We found our way
across the two more beaver dams without difficulty. We arrived at a
lookout point on the ridge described as a popular day hike from
Windigo. We had 3 miles to go. Those were among the longest 3 miles
we have hiked, although the trail was finally more clear and
easy-going. We arrived at the Washington Creek campground minutes
before sunset. There was piped in potable water. We stopped there
first and refilled our water bottles – twice. This was the largest
camping area we have been in on the island. We followed the path
looking for the first empty tent site. We found one group of the
young people who had been camped at Desor with us. They were just
setting up their tent, so it was obvious they hadn’t been there long.
They generously offered to share their tent site if we could not find
an open one. We finally found campsite 4 uninhabited. Home for the
night!  We prepared our dinner of Spanish rice in the dark. It’s the
best I’ve ever made! We set up the tent and fell into bed.

So, today is Saturday, August 22 and the day we leave Isle Royale. As we
start preparing our breakfast of lemon poppy scones, we are greeted
by other hikers who had come across on the ferry with us. We compare
adventures. The recently retired physician whom we had met on board
wisely took the easier Greenstone trail from McCargo Cove, a good
decision since one of the company had bad knees and a history of
heart disease.

While our scones are baking, we wander over to the young peoples’ campsite
to ask if anyone had lost a multitool. No, but they point to a nearby
shelter and inform us that the group there had also been at Desor and
had lost many things along the trail. We go over to inquire about the
multitool. There are two young women there. They are overjoyed that
we have found it. Their companion (not there at the time) had been
“really bummed” that he had lost it. He had not realized that he
had a hole in his pocket. Another hiker had already returned his
driver’s license. The multitool had been a gift to him at age
thirteen. He had been carrying it on hiking trips ever since.

Happy we have reunited multitool and owner, we return to our scones. Another
camper comes over to report a moose in the marsh. We head over to
wach her eat for awhile. After breakfast we go to the Ranger office
where there are  exhibits about the island, moose, wolves, garter
snakes, local plants, etc. We tell the ranger about the confusing
trail. She unsympathetically (but with a smile) says it wouldn’t be a complete Minong Trail hiking
experience without getting at least a little lost!

The father and son from Desor see us at the office. Turns out they made
the same mistake we did, along with the two other groups of young
people. No wonder there were so many footprints!

We have an opportunity to hear two ranger talks while we are waiting to board
the ferry. The waves are choppy as we return. A bald eagle soars over
Isle Royale, bidding us adieu. The ferry pauses briefly at Rock of
Ages Lighthouse off Windigo harbor. Back at Grand Portage we head for
the Lodge and our eagerly anticipated showers and dinner.