Waterfalls, three of them, are what drew us to a hike along the Presque Isle River in Michigan’s Porcupine Mountains. For awhile we thought we’d get the unexpected benefit of seeing some extreme kayaking. Mostly we watched this guy evaluate the falls and then carry his kayak around them. I guess he decided that risking bodily injury for our entertainment wasn’t a good idea. Wus.
The Great Lakes are great for many reasons, but the word, in its original usage, simply meant large. And that they are. So large, in fact, that in many places the curvature of the earth hides the opposing shoreline from view; so large that the moon’s gravitational force causes measurable tides. Sitting on the beach, or bobbing in the water, you gaze at the horizon as if over the expanse of a vast ocean.
Some months ago we left the oceans behind with a heavy heart. Dry land can be awesome, but even the most boring towns are made more interesting if they’re on the water. Thankfully, this part of our voyage wound us East to West through the Great Lakes. I’d seen Lake Michigan from the shores of Chicago, but I still didn’t expect the beautiful blue and green water we encountered throughout much of the region. At times, when the light was right, blue water would mix with reddish sediment to cause purple striations close to shore.
We expected large, we found great.
There is no way to adequately describe the 200-foot sandstone cliffs–carved by time and the elements into natural caves and bridges, painted by seeping minerals, and framed by emerald green waters–that comprise Pictured Rocks Natural Lake Shore in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Photos don’t do it justice. The only way to fully appreciate these natural wonders is to explore them in a kayak, like we did with a tour provided by Paddling Michigan.
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I love Michigan, if for no other reason than it has the most interesting shape of any state: that of an upturned mitten. Every time I see it on a map I imagine that the wintery glove hides an extended middle finger. Florida may be the Sunshine State, but Michigan has more swagger, more attitude. Call it the F-U state.
The Upper Peninsula, or ‘U-P’ in the local vernacular, ruins the effect to some degree. It’s for that reason I don’t really consider it part of Michigan. Separated from the rest of the state by Lake Michigan on one side and Huron on the other, a skinny bridge provides the only physical link between the mitten and the U-P. Better, in my mind, to consider it part of Wisconsin.
But Michiganders are attached to the U-P, if only emotionally. They say it offers some pretty spectacular natural scenery. Wanting to judge for ourselves, we drive up the middle finger and directly into Wisconsin, um, I mean Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, for what we expect to be some great hiking and kayaking.
Shannon and I both despise rubberneckers. We hate the people who slow traffic to a crawl hoping to catch a glimpse of a fender bender or, fingers crossed, the jackpot of bodies strewn along the roadway. We similarly detest the beady little eyes that for some reason often drill into us when we arrive someplace new.
Maybe it reflects twenty years of city living, but we just don’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone else is doing. We don’t look. We don’t stare, because we don’t care. So it is with great shame that I confess how we were drawn in to watching reality TV of sorts. Read More…
Everywhere Once 