Isle Royale

I didn’t wonder off for thousands of miles across land on foot to find myself, I’ve heard of so many doing this, because they found others did? I don’t know if it was because I’m not that stupid, that brave, maybe I’m not that lost, on a time crunch. I demanded a journey of self discovery to meet my schedule? In reality it just wasn’t my journey, not my path to follow. Do I want to someday? Not likely. It’s too many others. I know the experience would be all mine but I create my path I rarely chose others. I have avoided reading books and watching movies of lost souls who hiked these grand trails in search of themselves or a purpose of life. I needed to find mine my own way. I know reading some of their stories would be too painful, I would relate to closely, I was still too stuck in my own pain to see the end of something less painful. Or is it a beginning? Or both. Honestly I have started to read a couple. Too clouded to even make sense of their story, I skimmed to the end and avoided the middle of once.I couldn’t bare to read how someone once felt what I still do. I wanted a happy ending and right now. Also I would like to point out that I do not think any of them stupid, but I’m sure others thought so.

I actually remember thinking when I first planned to go to Isle Royale that I would fail. Not at the hike but at getting anything from it. That there was no way it would work. But I was desperate. I felt so lost and so abandoned I couldn’t get out of bed let alone raise children alone.

What I learned was eye opening. No, soul opening.

I burst out laughing on the ferry ride. Getting everyone’s attention I couldn’t stop laughing at this plan. A military Sargent and his girlfriend from Minnesota who met online and were taking their first adventure, this same couple said they watched me pull into the gas station by the ferry station and drive over a curb as if it wasn’t an obstacle. grandparents with two grandkids whose parents were both scientists. And a little boy who’s mom worked on the island and he was going to spend the weekend. And Ben, the captain.

I told the young couple my plan. I do not know there names. I should but then I couldn’t store many other things. I remember the captains name because he kept saying it, like he was reminding himself. My plan was to walk the Greenstone Trail from one end to the other. I had no details of the in between. They seemed to think it sounded crazy yet exciting unlike what they planned to just spend some time on the other end I would walk to at the cabins. The Sargent grilled me about my supply. He seemed concerned my small frame wouldn’t hold all the water and food and heavy gear I packed. He was correct. I kept wondering the ferry. Asking captain Ben questions. I was anticipating the island appearing before my eyes. I was so anxious I wanted to swim. Lake Superior is super cold.

I laughed again. I left my kids and life and was now in the middle of Lake Superior to walk across an entire isolated island to look for missing pieces with a backpack full of everything Im afraid of. Spoiler alert. That didn’t happen. I spent zero time looking for pieces of myself. I spent all my time surviving. This is the place I found I was never lost. I was not going to bend over and just go ”oh hère I am ” and pick me up and put me back.

I spent time talking to myself, singing, yelling, listening, crying slipping in the mud. Crawling. Giving up. Then not giving up. Eating my unbearably heavy packed backpack to lessen my load, setting up a worthless tent in the rain, walking in the rain, crying in the rain, eating in the rain, cursing at the rain. Peeing in the rain. Pooping in the rain. Not sleeping in the rain. I should call this things to do in the rain. It rained for almost my entire trip.

I actually now love rain. It helps me appreciate a well packed pack to protect my gear to keep it dry so I’m dry at the end of the day. I appreciate the sun and dry rocks, I love the sound and can’t sleep unless I play a recording I made one night of rain on the tent. I make my own play lists of sounds to fall asleep to block neighbors baby and interstate noise.

When I got off the ferry the Sargent handed my backpack to me. Then helped me put it on. They were not getting off here. The ferry was leaving me and taking everyone else to the other end. He looked so worried. He looked like he wanted to go with me. Should I have been worried too?

I began to walk. This was not so bad. I can walk, I’ve been doing it since I knew that’s what my legs could do. Then it had been 10 minutes and I came up to a man also packed. He had spent the night there and was planning to do what I was doing. Crap. I didn’t want company. I didn’t come here to bond and create long lasting friendships built from a common bond and interest. He tells me his path. I’m relieved it was the harder Minong trail way. He even said that “you know, the harder path.” I nodded. Annoyed. Mine was going to be hard enough. I didn’t need added extra hard by people who determine what is and isn’t hard. I was also jealous. I’ll do that path someday. The harder one. As soon as I create a bond with myself. He turned left. I went right. He saluted and said “see you at Rock Harbor.” I thought, what’s that? I wasn’t even sure of the name of the harbor I was ending at. My goal wasn’t an end, it was a beginning.

That whole day I walked. I was irritated beyond belief of the weight of the pack. All of my water. For as many days as I was planning I had it all in there in little plastic platypuses. And two water bottles. I was too afraid to not. Why would I carry so much water? I’m on an island, surrounded by, water. I had days worth of socks. Changes of clothes. Pounds of nuts and beef jerky. Both of which I don’t like. I was tired after 2 hours. I dropped myself and took off my pack and laid down right in the middle of the Greenstone Trial. And slept. I hadn’t slept. I tried to in the parking lot at a casino near the ferry bay because it seemed safe to be somewhere where there were lots of cameras. But I didn’t want to miss my ferry. The next morning I woke after a couple of hours. I had driven 13 hours without a break other than gas, once even peeing in a bowl so I didn’t have to maneuver off the road. I dumped cookies I had made out of the bowl to pee.

I woke on the trial to confusion. It was raining. It had been sunny and now it was pouring. This is what they call unpredictable weather patterns. I quickly packed myself back up and started walking again. I stopped once to get my water bottle, it was gone. I couldn’t go back to where I assumed it was it had been hours. I went to get my map. Also not there. Then I recalled the last place I saw it. In my car, on my seat, miles across a lake on mainland. I’m furious for leaving the water bottle and challenging my water supply and also littering. I walked and walked in the rain. I gave up on being dry. There couldn’t possibly be rain gear to ever stay dry for this long. Before I had left my neighbor stuffed giant trash bags in my hand and said “just in case”. I packed them. Not my map, but 5 industrial sized garbage bags. They saved me or kept me somewhat dry. I covered myself, my bag. My sleeping bag and too many clothes after putting on as many as I could just to not carry them. I didn’t want them wet and adding wet weight. I cupped my hands and drank rain water. Not sure if this was safe I was too worried about having none.

The first night I tried to set up in the rain. I did but my dads tent from hundreds of years ago wasn’t water proof at all. I laid out my trash, wrapping up in a tent, slept on them all waking in a puddle. My sleeping bag was made of lead, it was that really old Coleman brand that was plaid inside and stuffed with what feels like heavy metal when carrying. I wanted to leave it behind so bad. The next “morning” I just kept walking. Eating nuts that felt like concrete in my stomach to lessen the weight. Why did I pack so many nuts? Can someone die from not enough? What about too many? My stove didn’t work. It was too old and I didn’t even check it before I left. I had no matches. No lights. I had tuna packets and a jar of peanut better and tortilla shells. This is not good if you put it all together. A tuna peanut butter burrito is a far stretch of the imagination to a Chinese dish I once had with peanuts in it. I wished for mayonnaise. Or jelly. Or Chinese food. Or to be anywhere but there.

I walked the next day through till night stopping once under a fire tower to dry. At this spot my cell phone was trying to bounce off of a Canadian tower. It never did. There is no cell phone service on the island until the end where you can connect to WiFi. I kept hoping it would connect. I wanted rescued. At this spot I found I was just going to have to be the one to do this. Save me. I took off all of my clothes and hung them there. Then laid down to rest with none. I crossed paths with no one. Ever. I went this way to end where there were showers and food and shelter. That next day after a little rest I gave up. I surrendered to where I was and what it was. It became fun. My collarbones and hips were rubbed raw. I had almost drank none of my water. I just gave in. I started to see things, hear things. Think through some things. I told someone once I cried and let it wash off me onto the land and imagined it being carried away down the hills and through the forest, some absorbed by the trees and plants, some carried all the way to the Lake Superior. It holds all my sorrow now. That’s why it’s so big and dark.

I had no idea how far I had gone or how far I had left. The trail started to change. I had passed Daisy Farms where a Girl Scout group was in all of the shelters. I think that was about 10 miles to the Rock Harbor. It was rockier. Did this mean I’m close to Rock Harbor? Is that why it’s named this. The rocks were slippery. A new challenge.

Then what happened next? It stopped raining. Like that. Not slowly. Just it was and then it wasn’t. Within minutes the sun was powering through the clouds. I squinted. Just now. Remembering this. Maybe I did then too but probably I cried. I stopped and took my boots off. My too new boots that I didn’t break in. My heels had rubbed raw. I had plastic bags and handkerchiefs and lambs ear leaves wrapped around them. I put on my sandals. Wrapped my ankles in dry handkerchiefs and strapped on my river sandals. I had not once used any socks of the 5 socks I packed. I laid clothes out to dry on warming rocks and hung in trees. Then I just sat. With myself.

Once I was back on the trail I felt safe to drink water. Water I had collected with leaves and dribbled into my water bottle afraid I would run out of water. Even though my pack still contained my water I had packed. Undrunk and just kind of walking across the island with me for no reason. Then I crossed paths with someone. An older lady and man. I asked if I was close to Rock Harbor? They said yes. about 6 miles. They were day hiking from there to Daisy Farms. I was almost to 3 mile they said. No clue what that meant then. It was so beautiful out. The trail is a lot of planks over bogs on the Greenstone to protect the land and now it was a lot of rocky cliffs and views of the Lake.

Once I got to Rock Harbor I found a shelter to sleep in I dumped my stuff off and went to find the bathrooms. I could barely walk.

The next morning I was walking up and the Sargent I had met was coming my way. He greeted me with a hug. He said he had been so worried about me. That him and his girlfriend had sat in their cabin looking at the map wondering at each point I might be at. Worried about the rain and the land. I was jealous he had had a map. He told me to come back and eat breakfast with them. To tell them everything. He just kept shaking his head in disbelief. I caught myself doing it to myself.

I sat and ate with them. I thought I was starving but I was just kind of picking at it. I drank my coffee and it burned my stomach. They asked questions. I tried to answer. I then found I had turned and headed to daisy Farms when I should have gone straight. Continuing on the Greenstone to end at what I saw on his map he showed me was Monument Rock. I never even realized I would have had to actually walk past Rock Harbor by a little to get to the end and then back track. I never actually mapped my trip. Just dreamed it up and went. It didn’t change the miles so much as my goal. I still walked the entire length I just did it my own way.

I wasn’t supposed to be done yet they said. That based on my plan which I didn’t even have they said I should still be a day maybe even two from finishing. I had to think back. Did I? Had it just been the two nights? I slept last night in the shelter. What day was it? It felt like 4? I was so unsure of this. I had to think back. Did I just keep walking that second night? I’m sure they were right. They asked if I had my map. I wrinkled my nose and said, um no. I left it in my car. He had asked me about everything down to socks and couldn’t believe I hadn’t remembered a map. I said in my defense my trail was just a single path across an island with very little actually mapping needed. I just had to follow it. I couldn’t count down my miles or add them, check for coming danger in changes of elevation. I wouldn’t have been able to anyway, it rained for 36 hours. I wouldn’t have wanted to know any of those things. Maybe a map is for those who get lost? If I never leave the path shouldn’t I not get lost?

So now I had to stay at the end of the island and wait for my scheduled ferry ride back in three days. I didn’t want to stay here for any more days. Maybe I could walk back to the other end and get on then?

The Sargent was able to convince the captain to take me back if there was room the next day. At one point the grandparents with grandkids offered to stay an extra day to let me go back in their place. I slept in a tent spot that night but would have to sleep in a different spot the next if I had to stay. They had rules about more than one night in a spot. Once when I returned to my site I scared off a fox. He had been eating my backpack. Trying to get to my food. It just got through a little mesh pocket. My book was safe. I had packed a library book to read in the ferry. Not realizing this meant also carrying it for 50 some miles already read in my pack. Note to self. No books.

I was able to go back that next day. Before I left I tossed my sleeping bag in the dumpster. Dumped out cups and cups of water I didn’t drink. Lightened my pack. I was already slightly less afraid of myself. I weighed just a little less. I never saw the man who took the harder path. I’ve wandered if he ever made it. What did he find? Was it harder? What would he have been comparing it to to be called harder? Next year, I’m doing the harder way. Which ended up being easier.

I admire those who walk as far as they do. I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. I prefer mine, now that they fit.