Keweenaw Peninsula Vacation
I think rather than do the somewhat boring day-by-day account (which is now fading from recall anyway), I will do a least favorite memory collection, and a favorite memory collection. And try to select the most representative pics from our McLain State Park trip the week of July 17th.
Let's start with the least favorite:
---The heat while setting up camp. Sweat running down our backs within minutes of getting out of the truck. Yes, it can get into the upper 80's and 90's in the Upper Peninsula.
---The family/troupe of two mothers and 8 or 9 (I honestly lost count when we were passing their campsite in the truck various times during the week)children who casually traipsed through our site WHILE WE WERE SETTING UP. Tim: 'Can you please not walk through our site?' 'But there's no good path to the beach,' whined the stroller-pushing woman. Sorry honey, this road is now closed. And yes, there was a perfectly good cut-through trail only one site to the east. As well as others located throughout the campground. I took to calling them the Viking Horde, because each and every one of the kids was some shade of honey to white blonde. We recalled nephew Evan's 'I've never seen so many blonde kids in one place before!' comment of 5 years before, on our last camping trip to McClain State Park. When you're this close to Minnesota and Wisconsin (and all those Scandinavian settlers' descendants), it's only natural. Every day they'd arrive shortly after noon to use the trail down to the beach to swim. Then they'd go back to their own site, presumably for dinner. Then in the early evening, the little bikes would pile up by the side of the road again, and they'd all swim/scream/sunbathe again until it was time to call it a night. Which means if we hadn't asked them to not walk through an occupied campsite (duh??!), we'd have had them through at least 4 times a day. Next time we reserve at this campground, it will definitely be at the far end of the campground where shortcutters aren't a problem.
---The stench of pit toilets, and the loooong walk to the plumbed facilities.
---The incessant 'anklebiters'. Not the kids, the flies that are not the least bit deterred by insect repellants. Quick-dry nylon pants were the surest way to keep them off my legs. Hot and sweaty, but effective.
---Watching our water gush from the side of the camper all over the pavement after forgetting, as we seem to do each year, that the hot water heater valve is still in its winterized open position the first time we run the hot water.
---The sleep deprivation after a night of wind blowing straight off Lake Superior and flapping every piece of canvas and rattling every metal grommet on the camper. Camping near this lake is an experience in extremes. It's not like a gentle zephyr that gradually builds. No, it's like someone flips a switch on an industrial wind machine and lets it go full blast for about 12 hours or so.
---Finding only green, hard thimbleberries on the Peninsula. Which was not a really big surprise. Everything in Michigan is a week or two behind because of the persistent winter and cold spring. So my canning supplies sat in the camper, taking up space all week. I had thought it would be so great to pick enough thimbleberries to make jam right at the campsite, and then share it with everyone. We found maybe 5 all week that were edible. When ripe, they're a raspberry red. And the taste is a floral strawberry-rhubarb.
---People (including one of the Viking Horde mothers) standing in the road in front of our site to use their cell phones. Several times a day. Apparently this was this was not only the most convenient route to the beach, it was also the one place where the spotty phone service could be captured to make those all-important calls while on vacation. Tim could get intermittent service at the campsite, I could get nothing unless we went to Calumet to the north, or Houghton-Hancock to the south. We were using it for checking the weather radars, mostly. Maybe a tiny bit of Facebooking.
Enough of the bad. The good:
---Knowing that when you wake up, the most intense work you will have to do ALL day is meal prep or some hiking or kayaking.
---Happy Hour beginning whenever. Even before noon.
---The thunderstorms. I love them at home, but on the shores of Lake Superior, they are entirely different animals. For one thing, you can see them when they're unbelievably far away. You can see the entire structure. And the thunder is deeper and more bellowing. Wednesday morning we were nudged out of sleep at 0330 by distant rumbling. We put on some clothes and walked down the road along the bluff and sat on an Andirondack chair for two, observing lightning made coppery-pink by the distance. We later checked the radar on Tim's phone, and they were probably 40 miles away over the water. It took them another 4 hours or so to arrive. Then they dumped rain for several hours. Oh, damn. Too bad. Confined inside the camper all morning with a big-ass novel (the first in the 'Game of Thrones' series). Then that evening, another one rolled in while we were walking to the bathroom building to take showers. We watched the wall/shelf cloud blowing toward us from the lake, thinking holy crap, we're about to get pummeled. We could hear the wind roaring through the trees from in the showers. We found our screen tent half torn down when we returned to our site.
---The bald eagle that decided to rest in the top of a tall white pine on the neighboring campsite for nearly 2 hours Wednesday morning. Fellow campers were looking up at some unknown point in the sky, and the woman next campsite over showed me what they were all fixated on. We zoomed in with our cameras to try to capture pics of it against the storm-roiled sky. Later when it was preening itself, a feather fell free and spiraled to the ground, like the opening and ending scenes of 'Forrest Gump'. Tim retrieved it from the grassy brush. I took it to be a good omen for the upcoming bro-to-bro kidney transplant surgery, a talisman from the Almighty. Only later did we learn we are technically not supposed to be in posession of such at item. Only Native Americans can use feathers and parts from these birds, and even then with a permit from the government. I was foolishly nervous for about a day, and then I came to this conclusion: after the way our government has performed for the last few years (especially the last few months: SERIOUSLY. I mean, really? They would presume to regulate something this trivial? They can soundly and thoroughly kiss our hardworking, taxpaying conservative asses.
---Kayaking. In our OWN kayaks. No more renting, thanks to an early summer clearance sale at Costco. So Tim had to drive to Toledo to get them, but gas is cheaper the instant you drive out of the Mitten, and the floor sample was marked down another 30 bucks, so it worked itself out.
---Did I mention kayaking? On Lake Superior? And in the boat channel that divides Houghton and Hancock, under the lift bridge? What a pure delight it is to use those upper body muscles (and abdominals, too) to power oneself across the water. And do it faster than dear hubby, I might add. Or just sit still on the water, feeling the rocking waves.
---The baked delights at the Jampot run by the Society of St. John in Eagle River. Those talented monks are turning out the same decadent muffins, cupcakes, bars, jams, etc. they were the last time we visited in 2006. The chocolate cupcake with mocha frosting was the same coffee-laced creamy, cakey explosion of goodness. The peanut butter bar was the same dense, butter-moist ('Cow oil', said the bearded elderly brother with a smile) peanut buttery rectangle, studded with milk chocolate chips and striped with a thick band of raspberry jam across the top. On the second visit of the week, I complimented the thickness of the frosting on the cupcakes and how it so neatly came free of the plastic wrap (a great thing for bake sales, in my opinion). While watching the same elder monk use an ICE CREAM DISHER to place huge mounds of the stuff on top of cupcakes. He and the brother ringing us up on the cash register agreed that the cream cheese frostings were a bit stickier, but yes, they made their frostings quite thick.
---The food we made at the campsite. I'm not sure if most other campers devote the amount of time and energy we do toward our daily meals. But they probably don't eat as well, either. Our favorite new camping food is breakfast pizza. It starts with homemade whole wheat pizza dough, portioned out for a 14-inch pizza and frozen ahead of time. It thaws in the cooler and is ready whenever. I spread it out onto a perforated Cuisinart pizza pan (a piece of parchment helps keep it from squeezing through the holes, and aids in flipping). Let it rise a little. Grill it until it becomes solid, then flip. Spread with full-fat cream cheese (only 1/2 to 2/3 of the package, though---too much, and the pizza is actually too rich. But the light stuff gets curdly). Then top with 6 to 8 scrambled eggs, green onions, dried tomatoes, bits of whatever meat you have on hand, multiple cheeses, and whatever else you like. Put the cover on the grill until the cheese gets all melty and oozy. Pour some more coffee, slice, and start your day off right.
---Shopping. Just wandering aimlessly through northwoodsy tourist trap/T-shirt shops. Finding a few treasures amid all the junk. Not looking at what time it is, worrying about how I ought to be getting to bed, and not thinking about how few hours of sleep I'm going to get if I don't hurry up.
---Attracting hummingbirds to our campsite. For years we've decorated our camper awning with a couple strings of kitschy (but cute) red plastic camp-lantern lights. They contain lightbulbs that look like a flickering gaslight at night. However, during the day, they fool the hummingbirds. Apparently many years of humans hanging up contraptions filled with sugar water have conditioned them as a species to investigate anything red, plastic and dangling. After many camping trips watching them buzz from one light to the next and getting frustrated at finding nothing to drink, I finally got the idea to buy a cheap feeder and pack some frozen sugar syrup in the cooler. We hung up a filled feeder in a maple tree. They found it the first day and visited regularly all week.
---The hikes we took. Hunters Point near Copper Harbor, Estivant Pines, and especially to the top of Lookout Mountain/Mt. Baldy. A long but gentle climb brings you to a rocky bluff overlooking a great portion of the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula. Copper Harbor, miles of forest and the vast blue of Lake Superior and even a few freighters spread out at your feet. We picked wild blueberries, saddened that we hadn't thought to bring some kind of container other than our mouths.
Let's start with the least favorite:
---The heat while setting up camp. Sweat running down our backs within minutes of getting out of the truck. Yes, it can get into the upper 80's and 90's in the Upper Peninsula.
---The family/troupe of two mothers and 8 or 9 (I honestly lost count when we were passing their campsite in the truck various times during the week)children who casually traipsed through our site WHILE WE WERE SETTING UP. Tim: 'Can you please not walk through our site?' 'But there's no good path to the beach,' whined the stroller-pushing woman. Sorry honey, this road is now closed. And yes, there was a perfectly good cut-through trail only one site to the east. As well as others located throughout the campground. I took to calling them the Viking Horde, because each and every one of the kids was some shade of honey to white blonde. We recalled nephew Evan's 'I've never seen so many blonde kids in one place before!' comment of 5 years before, on our last camping trip to McClain State Park. When you're this close to Minnesota and Wisconsin (and all those Scandinavian settlers' descendants), it's only natural. Every day they'd arrive shortly after noon to use the trail down to the beach to swim. Then they'd go back to their own site, presumably for dinner. Then in the early evening, the little bikes would pile up by the side of the road again, and they'd all swim/scream/sunbathe again until it was time to call it a night. Which means if we hadn't asked them to not walk through an occupied campsite (duh??!), we'd have had them through at least 4 times a day. Next time we reserve at this campground, it will definitely be at the far end of the campground where shortcutters aren't a problem.
---The stench of pit toilets, and the loooong walk to the plumbed facilities.
---The incessant 'anklebiters'. Not the kids, the flies that are not the least bit deterred by insect repellants. Quick-dry nylon pants were the surest way to keep them off my legs. Hot and sweaty, but effective.
---Watching our water gush from the side of the camper all over the pavement after forgetting, as we seem to do each year, that the hot water heater valve is still in its winterized open position the first time we run the hot water.
---The sleep deprivation after a night of wind blowing straight off Lake Superior and flapping every piece of canvas and rattling every metal grommet on the camper. Camping near this lake is an experience in extremes. It's not like a gentle zephyr that gradually builds. No, it's like someone flips a switch on an industrial wind machine and lets it go full blast for about 12 hours or so.
---Finding only green, hard thimbleberries on the Peninsula. Which was not a really big surprise. Everything in Michigan is a week or two behind because of the persistent winter and cold spring. So my canning supplies sat in the camper, taking up space all week. I had thought it would be so great to pick enough thimbleberries to make jam right at the campsite, and then share it with everyone. We found maybe 5 all week that were edible. When ripe, they're a raspberry red. And the taste is a floral strawberry-rhubarb.
---People (including one of the Viking Horde mothers) standing in the road in front of our site to use their cell phones. Several times a day. Apparently this was this was not only the most convenient route to the beach, it was also the one place where the spotty phone service could be captured to make those all-important calls while on vacation. Tim could get intermittent service at the campsite, I could get nothing unless we went to Calumet to the north, or Houghton-Hancock to the south. We were using it for checking the weather radars, mostly. Maybe a tiny bit of Facebooking.
Enough of the bad. The good:
---Knowing that when you wake up, the most intense work you will have to do ALL day is meal prep or some hiking or kayaking.
---Happy Hour beginning whenever. Even before noon.
---The thunderstorms. I love them at home, but on the shores of Lake Superior, they are entirely different animals. For one thing, you can see them when they're unbelievably far away. You can see the entire structure. And the thunder is deeper and more bellowing. Wednesday morning we were nudged out of sleep at 0330 by distant rumbling. We put on some clothes and walked down the road along the bluff and sat on an Andirondack chair for two, observing lightning made coppery-pink by the distance. We later checked the radar on Tim's phone, and they were probably 40 miles away over the water. It took them another 4 hours or so to arrive. Then they dumped rain for several hours. Oh, damn. Too bad. Confined inside the camper all morning with a big-ass novel (the first in the 'Game of Thrones' series). Then that evening, another one rolled in while we were walking to the bathroom building to take showers. We watched the wall/shelf cloud blowing toward us from the lake, thinking holy crap, we're about to get pummeled. We could hear the wind roaring through the trees from in the showers. We found our screen tent half torn down when we returned to our site.
---The bald eagle that decided to rest in the top of a tall white pine on the neighboring campsite for nearly 2 hours Wednesday morning. Fellow campers were looking up at some unknown point in the sky, and the woman next campsite over showed me what they were all fixated on. We zoomed in with our cameras to try to capture pics of it against the storm-roiled sky. Later when it was preening itself, a feather fell free and spiraled to the ground, like the opening and ending scenes of 'Forrest Gump'. Tim retrieved it from the grassy brush. I took it to be a good omen for the upcoming bro-to-bro kidney transplant surgery, a talisman from the Almighty. Only later did we learn we are technically not supposed to be in posession of such at item. Only Native Americans can use feathers and parts from these birds, and even then with a permit from the government. I was foolishly nervous for about a day, and then I came to this conclusion: after the way our government has performed for the last few years (especially the last few months: SERIOUSLY. I mean, really? They would presume to regulate something this trivial? They can soundly and thoroughly kiss our hardworking, taxpaying conservative asses.
---Kayaking. In our OWN kayaks. No more renting, thanks to an early summer clearance sale at Costco. So Tim had to drive to Toledo to get them, but gas is cheaper the instant you drive out of the Mitten, and the floor sample was marked down another 30 bucks, so it worked itself out.
---Did I mention kayaking? On Lake Superior? And in the boat channel that divides Houghton and Hancock, under the lift bridge? What a pure delight it is to use those upper body muscles (and abdominals, too) to power oneself across the water. And do it faster than dear hubby, I might add. Or just sit still on the water, feeling the rocking waves.
---The baked delights at the Jampot run by the Society of St. John in Eagle River. Those talented monks are turning out the same decadent muffins, cupcakes, bars, jams, etc. they were the last time we visited in 2006. The chocolate cupcake with mocha frosting was the same coffee-laced creamy, cakey explosion of goodness. The peanut butter bar was the same dense, butter-moist ('Cow oil', said the bearded elderly brother with a smile) peanut buttery rectangle, studded with milk chocolate chips and striped with a thick band of raspberry jam across the top. On the second visit of the week, I complimented the thickness of the frosting on the cupcakes and how it so neatly came free of the plastic wrap (a great thing for bake sales, in my opinion). While watching the same elder monk use an ICE CREAM DISHER to place huge mounds of the stuff on top of cupcakes. He and the brother ringing us up on the cash register agreed that the cream cheese frostings were a bit stickier, but yes, they made their frostings quite thick.
---The food we made at the campsite. I'm not sure if most other campers devote the amount of time and energy we do toward our daily meals. But they probably don't eat as well, either. Our favorite new camping food is breakfast pizza. It starts with homemade whole wheat pizza dough, portioned out for a 14-inch pizza and frozen ahead of time. It thaws in the cooler and is ready whenever. I spread it out onto a perforated Cuisinart pizza pan (a piece of parchment helps keep it from squeezing through the holes, and aids in flipping). Let it rise a little. Grill it until it becomes solid, then flip. Spread with full-fat cream cheese (only 1/2 to 2/3 of the package, though---too much, and the pizza is actually too rich. But the light stuff gets curdly). Then top with 6 to 8 scrambled eggs, green onions, dried tomatoes, bits of whatever meat you have on hand, multiple cheeses, and whatever else you like. Put the cover on the grill until the cheese gets all melty and oozy. Pour some more coffee, slice, and start your day off right.
---Shopping. Just wandering aimlessly through northwoodsy tourist trap/T-shirt shops. Finding a few treasures amid all the junk. Not looking at what time it is, worrying about how I ought to be getting to bed, and not thinking about how few hours of sleep I'm going to get if I don't hurry up.
---Attracting hummingbirds to our campsite. For years we've decorated our camper awning with a couple strings of kitschy (but cute) red plastic camp-lantern lights. They contain lightbulbs that look like a flickering gaslight at night. However, during the day, they fool the hummingbirds. Apparently many years of humans hanging up contraptions filled with sugar water have conditioned them as a species to investigate anything red, plastic and dangling. After many camping trips watching them buzz from one light to the next and getting frustrated at finding nothing to drink, I finally got the idea to buy a cheap feeder and pack some frozen sugar syrup in the cooler. We hung up a filled feeder in a maple tree. They found it the first day and visited regularly all week.
---The hikes we took. Hunters Point near Copper Harbor, Estivant Pines, and especially to the top of Lookout Mountain/Mt. Baldy. A long but gentle climb brings you to a rocky bluff overlooking a great portion of the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula. Copper Harbor, miles of forest and the vast blue of Lake Superior and even a few freighters spread out at your feet. We picked wild blueberries, saddened that we hadn't thought to bring some kind of container other than our mouths.
