If you want the vacation gods to smile down on you, don’t invite me along. It has been literal years since I went on a trip and didn’t see any rain. This discouraged me for a long time, but at this point the only thing I can do is laugh. And laugh we did, all throughout our long weekend trip to Isle Royale National Park.
If you have never heard of Isle Royale, you aren’t alone. It is the least visited of the U.S National Parks but remarkably the most RE-visited, which I still can’t source or believe, but they proudly state it. It is only accessible via boat or seaplane. It is home to loads of moose and about 30 wolves at the moment. Many of its campgrounds feature first-come, first-serve backpacking shelters that make for a convenient and unique wilderness experience.
Those are the basics, as well as about all that you can surmise from the park website. There wasn’t much to go on, which is why for the last couple years it has been an adventure I’ve been trying to line up.
Finally, it was on the docket. I even convinced a handful of friends to join. A rather casual, beginner-friendly, three-day backpacking trip was the aim. Mosquitos and the potential for rain were the looming bugaboos, but getting our hands on a shelter would render those issues moot, and we could day hike from there. The best laid plans…
For Madison-area folk, the journey begins with a 6+ hour drive through the Northwoods and a quick stay at one of many cozy lodging options in Copper Harbor before catching the 8 am ferry. There are other transportation options. This one seemed the most obvious. It’s now debatable whether that was the right choice.
Our crossing were unremarkable, but it’s where I did start to get a foreboding sense of our distance from the normal grid of civilization. If something were to go wrong, there would be no simple solution. The ferry was hit with a light squall on our way in, but it looked worse than it felt upon disembarking. Though we had six miles to hike that afternoon (full pack), it was a small price to pay for the reward of relaxation to come.
Trail descriptions were one thing hard to come by in preparation. Or maybe I simply didn’t try because CalTopo said we’d only be gaining 200 ft over those six miles (a number I’m now a shade skeptical of). Shortly after our walk began, a coast guard/ranger/official-looking fella heading the other way snidely suggested we backtrack to another trail and save ourselves a couple miles of slick rock. My only consolation is that I wasn’t the only one who dismissed his words as unnecessarily worrisome. We could handle a little wet hiking.
Turns out, he knew what he was talking about. Go figure.
Still, the pooling rain and polished stone wasn’t TOO treacherous on day one. But it was slow going and forced an early stop at an inviting shelter. We played it safe in what proved to be the absolute right call.
Let’s take a moment to acknowledge my compatriots on this trip. Vacationing with anyone can be a scary proposition. Putting yourself in small, uncomfortable quarters in a challenging environment is asking for trouble. But it was maybe the only area where we didn’t find any.
I’ve always found morale to be rather uncontrollable while traveling, especially in adverse conditions. I’ve been down, and things can easily snowball from there. I, as de facto expedition leader, am also not the “rah rah” pick-you-up type. I don’t know how. My motivation comes from within. When the hiking is harder, wetter, and buggier than anticipated, one could not be blamed for getting discouraged. I feel incredibly fortunate that each member of our group staved that off, perhaps due to the constant nonsensical banter.
When we had to make a decision, we did so communally. Nobody forced their trip ideals on anyone else. And goddamn did those shelters make it a lot less trying than it could have been…
…simple but functional. They are what made the mosquitoes and precipitation tolerable, though naturally it hadn’t rained for a month until we arrived.
Now look, the island had been experiencing drought conditions for some time, so from an ecological perspective I am happy for the rain that they got. But I could do without it ALWAYS coming on my watch.
Day two was much of the same. Puddle jumping for even longer. Bug nets required. But every time we reached a spot high and dry, overlooking the harbor, it was abundantly clear why we were there. It was unforgiving, wild adventure. Nothing monumental, which I am too often in search of. Simple resetting.
Another shelter became home, but with more time left in the day, I decided an uphill exploration inland was in order, the goal being to recon the first part of an alternative return loop that would add a few miles but hopefully provide more enjoyable trail conditions. Nikayla tagged along, we found precisely what we were looking for, and even mixed in some flowy downhill running on the way back to camp.
The challenge came with the expectations. Our planned itinerary was six miles on day one, optional day hikes for the next two, and six miles back on departure day. Less time with a full pack, more flexibility. Reasons out of our control now made it three miles on day one, four on day two, and nine (drier) on day three, all fully loaded, paying off with a lazy day waiting for the ferry. Again, I commend my friends.
Distance isn’t everything, and those nine miles, a few of them along the island’s backbone ridge, were far more pleasant than the seven prior. The sun and breeze found us and provided a welcome reprieve. A marshy moose in the distance served a precursor to the mom and calves we would encounter at camp that night.
Once we got back down to lake level, I charged ahead to secure a shelter but instead found a message telling us that the day’s ferry had been cancelled and ours, on the following day, would subsequently be delayed to evening.
Poise is what we needed to summon with this surprise news. Nature finally noted that we could use a pick-me-up. After setting up camp, on our way to real dinner at the lodge, we found ourselves agog at mama moose and her suckling young, wandering through the campground on nobody’s schedule. This was it - the moment that made it. Dinner was underwhelming after that.
The next day was lazy, as we wanted. Just a little longer. The good weather finally found us, perfect for hours of relaxing. The harbor was a bustling place, with two ferry arrivals in one day. I’m not in love with the way they handled it, but they were doing their best.
If it feels like I’ve emphasized the negative over the positive, I do apologize. The magic of Isle Royale is difficult to put into words. It is wild simplicity. Disconnection. And sharing that with people you love. The views are nothing to sneeze at, but I’m not one to fawn over conifers and icy water.
In fact, amidst all of the difficulties that did arise, I’ve thought of a few things that worked out perfectly. It’s harder and more important to count your blessing than your curses. Temps, for one. This early in the season and that far north, I had read that temperatures could still be quite chilly. Though it had been warmer the weeks prior, our visit was perfect in this regard because it allowed us to wear full, mosquito-fighting coverage without overheating. On top of that, having the warm, sunny day at the end while we hung by the lodge and its lack of bugs was ideal.
The shelters were also a Godsend. Being able to snag those on the rainy days saved our hides, and the weather had calmed by the final night when we missed out on the shelters and had to tent it instead. They might be the coolest thing about the island, honestly. A rare find in the U.S. and so key against the elements.
I absolutely recommend looking into an Isle Royale trip for beginning backpackers who want to get into the wilderness but not face extreme adversity. Our trip went about as unplanned as it could, and we were still never pushed to the brink.
I may end up part of that revisitation statistic. Destinations are usually a little better the second time, when you know what to expect.
Look at you potentially becoming part of the "made up" most revisited statistic! Maybe that's how it happens, slowly, one mosquito bite at a time, thinking about all the trails and potential shelters (and the anxious feeling of not knowing if you'll get one) that you'll get to come across. You forgot to mention Quixx! Other than that, an enjoyable read :)