Peace and Mosquitoes

At the end of the school year, it is difficult to quiet the mind and learn to focus on fewer things at a time. To ease the transition, we left the bicycles at home and ventured into Michigan's Upper Peninsula for a few days of quiet; camping, reading, and sightseeing with limited electronics. (They are kind of handy when directions are needed.)

The cabins were clean and warm

Our campground's website advertised 440 acres of walking trails, bike rentals, and a heated in-ground swimming pool, among other amenities. It turns out no one had any knowledge of walking trails on the site, there were no bike rentals, the swimming pool had not yet been filled, and they failed to mention what they had most abundantly: mosquitoes. We did have a clean, warm cabin, though.  After regular showers in bug repellant, we were mostly able to fend off the blood sucking pests and settle down next to a fire each evening to read our books. It was refreshing to concentrate on one book, one set of ideas, for hours at a time. We discussed going to sit by the empty pool to read in the sun at one point, in hopes of escaping mosquitoes. I wondered if the gate to the pool might be locked, but then I remembered that as a former participant in the Warrior Dash, I had the necessary skills to jump the fence. Before we could carry out our plan, they started filling the pool.

There was still plenty of beauty to enjoy. Delicate ash moths fluttered from the campfire, alighted on our coats and knees and books, and disintegrated upon contact. Small drops of sap rained down on us from the maple trees, which sheltered us from the occasional showers of actual rain. When we were quiet for long enough, focused on our books, a bold ground squirrel repeatedly invaded camp and retreated, probably hoping we might drop something to eat.  The thunderous music of water rushing into a swimming pool blended with the incessant hum of mosquitoes played for us night and day...  Okay, maybe that wasn't great.

A visitor on David's breakfast plate.

A trip to Grand Island did nothing to save us from the mosquitoes. We caught the ferry (a.k.a. pontoon boat) across the bay to the island and had just enough time (three hours) to hike and explore before making it back to the ferry dock for the return trip at 3:00. Had we not made it back in time, it would have been us, armed only with some trail mix, some chips, and a couple granola bars, battling the elements of a dark, at times swampy, forest, possible bear encounters, and billions of mosquitoes over night. Before heading to the island, there was plenty of literature available to read to prepare for bear encounters. Its casual tone had me excited about the possibility of seeing a bear. "If one is observant, one may see a bear..." Even the parts about avoiding a "negative bear encounter" were encouraging, making me wonder if it was a good idea to boost visitors' confidence about their odds of survival in the described situations. I have no idea how many bears we may have missed, but millions of mosquitoes tormented us throughout the 6.7 mile trek around part of the island. There were no warnings or survival advice about these. Fun fact: black bears can run up to 30 mph, but I believe mosquitoes are faster. 

When waves crash into the center of this, it sounds like thunder, so they say.

Our other major excursion was a boat tour of the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. We had the option of taking a sea kayaking tour for this, but it was too chilly for us non-Yoopers to attempt. Even though on the day of our tour it got up to 70 degrees on shore, and people were wearing t-shirts and sweating a little (don't judge - you don't know how cold their winters are!), it was a good 20 degrees cooler on Lake Superior. Once we passed the protective barrier of Grand Island, and the wind picked up, even our sweatshirts didn't seem to be enough to keep us warm. I learned that no one lives on Grand Island year-round, the area receives 250 -280 inches of snow every year, and the bay between Munising and Grand Island freezes over with 4 to 7 feet of ice in the winter. It is a harsh place inhabited by people who are much tougher than I am. Even so, small, determined trees grow from the cliffs of Pictured rocks, hanging on for life even in the face of violent, relentless Lake Superior winter winds, reminding me that even in harsh places, fragile things can exist and thrive. 

Waterfall down Pictured Rocks

A tree clings to life like this for 60 years

Instead of visiting Marquette today to rent bicycles and ride some trails, we came home a day early. Riding in 50 degree weather in the rain is not our idea of fun.

As we drove back home though the U.P. today, we came upon a group of 8 - 10 bicycle riders, shoulders hunched over their handlebars in a cold, driving rain. I couldn't help but feel for them, knowing what they were going through. All that wishing for relief from bone-chilling saturation. Ultimately, I knew they would be okay.  While it's true this can be a harsh place at times, we aren't as fragile as we sometimes imagine ourselves to be.  Still, as I write this, I hope they are some place warm and dry tonight, feeling tough for having ridden through the storm. That could have been us today. That could be us in a couple of weeks.