What is the chance of returning to the Minong Ridge Trail at a point with a dazzling view of the Canadian shoreline across Lake Superior?

Obviously, the odds are pretty good. That is exactly where I arrive after bushwhacking up from the Minong Mine site. The upslope climb leaves me a little winded, so a short rest is in order, complete with a snack and pleasant drink of nutty flavored water from McCargoe Cove.

Admiring the fine views of Canada beyond a stretch of Lake Superior lengthens my rest beyond its appropriateness given the effort to regain the Minong Ridge Trail. Without even realizing, my Olympus camera and Leica compact binoculars make an appearance, allowing me to enjoy the views in the future, as well as the present.

Section Stats:
Date: August 31, 2011
Length: 5.5 miles (7.1 total daily miles; 23.9 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Moderate (open, rocky ridges; many ups and downs

The view is slightly obscured by the amount of moisture in the air. It is not raining, but it sure feels like it might start at almost any moment. The sky is overcast and dark gray, nothing like the clear skies during much of the previous two days on Isle Royale.

Finally, the threatening sky and the late morning hour (it is almost 10:30 AM) encourage me to secure my camera and binoculars, pick up my backpack and head down the trail toward Todd Harbor Campground. I pledge to myself not to stop for a lengthy period of time until it is time for devouring my lunch.

The trail remains fairly open as it crosses the ridge. Patches of knee-high brown grasses and lichen-covered bare rock lie in juxtaposition along the top of the ridgeline. The trail winds through the grass patches either over bare rock or along paths of mud, with cairns frequently indicating the direction to follow.

Just below the ridge lies a forest of mixed Jack and white pines; frequently the pines encroach on the trail at some places. Many snags stand along the trail, while others lie on the ground, slowly decomposing on the rock outcroppings.

Ancient lichen grows on nearly every square inch of rock outcropping. Some lichen patches grow tall (several inches is pretty tall for lichen) and fragile, while others appear as prostrate blankets wrapped over the rock. The lichen’s subtle colors and unique textures mask their life’s work at breaking down rock and creating soil, setting the groundwork for flowering plants to take hold.

At places where the trail runs across the rocks, the lichen is worn away, leaving a path of exposed and smooth, gray rock. The multitude of hiking boots striking the rock has produced a different type of rock decomposition, with the surface being smooth and glossy where not soiled with mud and dirt.

The trail refuses to stick to the open ridge topes. Frequently, it drops down off the exposed rock to either enter the forest or continue along the forest/ridge border. While walking along the forest border, the ridge dominates off to the north, taunting me with possible views not totally obscured by rock and brown grasses.

The trail continues the relentless up and down for which the Minong Ridge Trail is well-known. On the ups, the forest typically breaks open to scattered rock and grass surrounded by forest. On the downs, the trail reenters mixed forest, with dense herbaceous cover owning every inch of ground. The trail winds like a ribbon of dirt through the surrounding forest, bordered by thick large–leaved plants on both sides.

On one of the many descents from open rock, I encounter my first hiker for the day, another solo hiker going in the opposite direction. Instead of just exchanging the usual nod and hello, he stops and we chat for a while about the conditions of the trail. I inquire about the number of hikers he has seen on the trail, with hopes I may still be able to gain access to the single shelter at Todd Harbor. He reveals he passed a single hiker around 9:30, and a couple just a short ways in front of me.

Then before parting, and to my dismay, he adds that Todd Harbor Campground was full the previous night. The chance of getting the single shelter at Todd Harbor seems to be close to zero now. Especially, if any of last night’s campers stay over for another night.

The rocky open ridge crests are hard on my feet, despite the lighter Garmont hiking shoes I am wearing, so much so that sometimes I wish I wore my Asolo TPS 520 GTX bushwhacking boots. Perhaps the stiffer boots would protect my feet better, although they would be severe overkill on the dry trails, especially given their greater weight. It is probably better to save the Asolo hiking boots for Adirondack bushwhacks.

Despite the causing me sore feet, the ridges provide ample views to the north. The views are a gift granted by the impenetrable rock, providing a barrier for any trees taking root. Views of Canada and Lake Superior abound beyond the tree tops of the northern forest of Isle Royale as long as the trail maintain along the ridge tops.

After about thirty minutes of hiking, Otter Lake comes into view off to my right within the trees. It lies well below me, giving me an outstanding idea of the height of the Minong Ridge. The trail dips down again and I lose sight of the lake several times before regaining an exceptional view of lake nearly straight below me.

My pledge to keep going until lunch totally forgotten, I stop and pull out both my compact binoculars and Olympus digital SLR camera for some play time. From my vantage point along the open ridge, I spot two very small points appearing below me on Otter Lake’s surface. Using my binoculars, the two spots turn out to be two common loons swimming about on the calm water below.

During my break, I hear several birds in the area. The day has been largely quiet thus far, so I welcome the birds vocalizing more than usual. With the year’s nesting season largely over, it is always a treat to hear these calls before the forests turn quiet for the winter months. A yellow-rumped warbler sings from the surrounding conifers, while a black-capped chickadee, northern flicker, hairy woodpecker and blue jay let their presence be known vocally. Even a red squirrel chimes in for some acknowledgment.

I leave my binoculars out, dangling around my neck, while I secure my camera within its Lowepro mini camera bag on my hipbelt, before returning to the trail. The trail before me looks open enough that I am sure there remain more views of the lake below.

My assumption becomes reality when at one point down the trail Otter Lake swallows up much of the view to the north. Only a ribbon of trees appear to separate the smaller lake from its much larger cousin, Lake Superior, off in the distance. A glimpse of Canada is still available despite the gray skies and increasing humidity. Occasional glimpses of Beaver Lake, located just north of Otter, also come into view along the open trail.

When I reach the western end of Otter Lake, I stop briefly and look down into the forest immediately off the ridge to the north. Originally, I thought I might bushwhack down to Otter Lake’s western shore, just for a little adventure and to live up to my moniker. The route down does not appear too steep, but the surrounding forest is quite thick. I scan the dark gray sky, then stare down slope toward Otter Lake’s western shore, and finally glance at my watch. The ritual is repeated several times in quick succession before I finally decide to stick to the trail. Arriving at Todd Harbor at a reasonable hour in the afternoon is the deciding factor, but the imminent chance of rain did not help either.

Shortly after leaving the open ridge and the beautiful views behind, the trail descends into dense mixed forest. The contrast between the open ridge and the dense forest is striking; making it seem impossible that I am still traveling on the same ridge as before. As I continue to descend, the forest becomes even more coniferous. Regardless of the forest type, the herbaceous ground cover dominates, with very little forest floor exposed.

When I finally reach a small stream crossing, with northern white cedars lining its banks, I decide to stop for lunch despite the high risk of mosquitoes. Fortunately, large swarms of mosquitoes never materialize, allowing me to enjoy lunch. During my lunch, winter wrens, blue jays and spring peepers serenade me, obviously to aid in my digestion. How blessed am I with such delightfully sounding companions?

A few rain drops instigate some reconnaissance of the trail ahead. For some reason, I imagine Todd Harbor Campground to be only a short distance ahead. After hiking totally unencumbered for five minutes, I turn back before something decides to help itself to the contents of my backpack. It appears it is just wishful thinking that my destination is near.

With my backpack back where it belongs (i.e. on my back), I continue along the trail at a good pace, making my way toward Todd Harbor Campground. The trail continues over rolling terrain, through a diversity of different forest types, never suggesting that Lake Superior is just a short distance off to the north.

The first forest type is dominated by aspen/paper birch, which has been highly impacted by a recent storm, with many broken off snags remaining throughout. Over a hillside, and the forest is now thick spruce/fir, the cloud-covered sun almost completely blocked by the dense canopy. Climbing over the next hump, and the forest becomes an even denser northern white cedar forest. Soon, the trail winds through an almost completely paper birch stand, the tall white, peeling stems appearing to go on forever.

The shear forest diversity makes this one of my favorite stretches of trail on Isle Royale thus far. I imagine the diversity of birds during the spring migration along this stretch of trail. The birding along here may be reason alone for a return trip to this area during the spring despite the threat of swarms of black flies. Can the black flies on Isle Royale be worse than those in the Adirondacks? That is hard to imagine.

The trail widens as it finally travels through another spruce/white cedar forest. The large trees stand so close together they form a dense canopy. The dark conditions fill me with dread, and the thoughts of a sudden downpour fill my thoughts. Where did I stuff my rain gear, anyways? Hopefully near the top of my backpack. Maybe putting them on now can forestall the chance of any rain.

Just when I start to forget the trail is located along a steep ridge, the island provides a stark reminder. Off to the north is a steep drop off, with the conifers giving way to almost 100% paper birch trees further downslope. On the opposite side of the trail lies a very gradual slope, with a continuation of the spruce/cedar forest surrounding the trail. For once, the forest floor is largely devoid of the typically dense herbaceous vegetation. With the canopy so dense, perhaps the lack of light is the reason for the lack of herbaceous vegetation.

The forest opens up, and passes a small wetland to the north, the steep ridge appearing to vanish behind me. A quick scan of the wetland produces not a single moose. Instead of lingering, I continue on as Todd Harbor seems so close I can almost taste it. I smell the barn now, and nothing short of an interesting wildlife experience is going to slow me down from reaching Todd Harbor.

While traveling along through another aspen dominated hillside, I hear what I think is an explosion. I stop and look around; waiting for a follow up, but nothing materializes. Could it have been a tree falling to the forest floor? Or perhaps thunder? Or an overly amorous moose? I will never know, but it did manage to slow me down momentarily.

The occasional rain drop falling since lunch becomes more frequent, with a light rain slowly soaking me with its thin drops. I slip on my rain jacket quickly, and pull down my hat more securely in an attempt to fight off the rain. It is a futile attempt, since the warm temperatures and my steady pace begin to saturate me from the inside now.

A tall man passes me on the trail, his head down with a laser-beam focus on the ground. I exchange greetings to him as he flies by, a similarly appearing daughter in tow behind him. It is interesting how focused the threat of rain makes hikers, especially ones so far from any apparent shelters. I pity their long hike to McCargoe Cove if they get caught in a downpour up on the exposed Minong Ridge.

They are long gone before I think to inquire about whether they heard the explosion too.

The forest diversity previously observed along the trail before continues. Open paper birch and aspen forests abound, as do mixed forests with the aforementioned species and some spruce/fir mixed in for good measure. The rolling terrain, with its different forest types makes the going interesting despite the continued light rain.

When the trail reenters a dense young spruce/fir forest stand, I notice red blazes on the larger trees, an unnecessary attempt to mark the location of the trail. The deep rut running through the trees makes all other markings unnecessary, although this may not have always been so.

Farther down the trail, at a broken aspen stump, a red squirrel sits perching on the end of broken branch, chewing on a spruce cone. I find it impossible to control myself, and out emerges my best red squirrel scolding call. The little squirrel becomes so excitable it appears it cannot contain itself, yet it never drops its precious spruce cone. The squirrel stares at me intently, apparently unable to figure me out. Then the little thing proceeds to spin around repeatedly on the edge of the branch, before returning to regard me intently. Finally, I feel sorry for the squirrel and proceed upon my hike, and the poor thing scurries off into the underbrush scolding me the entire time.

The trail returns to descend through a young balsam fir stand before arriving at a small stream crossing. The dark stream, although small, is flowing freely, unlike many of the streams I observed since being on Isle Royale. A few logs allow for crossing, but they are largely unnecessary, since I can almost step across the stream.

With much joy, I soon arrive at a vertical sign indicating a distance of 6.6 miles to McCargoe Cove. But what is more important is what it does not say; I made it to Todd Harbor and not a moment too soon too. The light rain is now a steady rainfall, and it is time to make a shelter and get out of it for a while.

Now if I can only find a descent campsite so I can get out of the rain.

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