Western end of Chickenbone Lake

Although my left groin still aches, it held up pretty well during the day’s hike along the Greenstone Ridge Trail. I may just make it back to Rock Harbor in two days after all. I do not tarry long, as I will return tomorrow, but not to hike the Greenstone Ridge, at least not for another day. Tomorrow is an Indian Portage Trail Day, complete with several lakes, and finally Moskey Basin, a location I heard nothing but praise for since being on Isle Royale.

Enough revelry about tomorrow, for tonight it is down to West Chickenbone Lake campground just a fraction of a mile to the north.

I proceed to descend rapidly down to Chickenbone Lake along the northern portion of Indian Portage Trail. The surrounding area is thick with young spruces and balsam firs, regenerating after the same windstorm that probably decimated the forest along the Greenstone Ridge Trail just a short ways back. Scattered within the young conifers are a plentiful number of aspen snags, suggesting the nature of the forest prior to the storm event.

Chickenbone Lake is an oddly shaped lake, appearing like a wishbone pointing southwest. The two legs of the furcula (or are they arms?) are not of equal size, the southern one is wider and of uniform width, while the more northern one tappers at the far end, where its outlet flows a short distance to McCargoe Cove. The western campground is located near the apex of the two main water bodies, while the eastern one is located at the far end of the southern leg.

Section Stats:
Date: September 9, 2011
Length: 0.2 miles (7.7 total daily miles; 101.0 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy

When a side trail offers the opportunity to head down to the lake’s shoreline, I take advantage of it. Scanning the lake with my binoculars, I observe a female hooded merganser swimming about on the lake’s surface. I take several pictures before returning to the main trail to search for a camping site for the night.

The group sites are on the eastern side of the trail, within the regenerating aspens, and exposed to full sun. I would rather set up my tarp under some canopy, and preferably closer to the lake. Moving down the trail to the west, which eventually loops around the end of the lake continuing on to McCargoe Cove, I examine the individual sites arranged off the trail. Only the first and last sites are on the same side of the trail as the lake, the rest are on the opposite side within the same situation as the group sites.

Two men occupy site number six, so I continue on to the first site, located the farthest west along the trail. Campsite #1 has a semi-unobstructed view of the lake, with some scattered conifers providing much shade. Unfortunately, there is also a massive spruce tree hung-up in another standing tree, and leaning right over the main tent site. A widowmaker in the waiting, if I have ever seen one.

Using my knowledge of physics and falling trees, both rusty from years of non-use, I attempt to figure out the most probable location of the inevitable conclusion of the snags descent to the earth – I avoid putting my tarp there. I make a mental note to notify the National Park Service when I finally get to Rock Harbor in a couple days.

Chickenbone Lake

Satisfied that I will be safe for a single night, I leisurely set up camp, erecting the tarp, filtering a plentiful amount of water, writing up some notes and watching two resident red squirrels chasing each other around my campsite. It is better than the typical TV show! And there is no cable required!

After dinner, I take a short hike to facilitate my digestion, as if I did not get enough walking today. Heading west, the trail almost immediately enters a wet area a short distance from my campsite, continuing via planking through the swampy area. The planking leads to a wooden bridge over a deep and murky inlet stream, but quickly ends at dry ground, apparently on the other side of the lake.

According to my map, the trail continues along the northern leg of the lake, eventually rendezvousing with McCargoe Cove. With only Crocs on my trail-weary feet, I turn around and head back to my campsite, taking time around the stream to look and listen for any moose.

When I return to my campsite, I hear voices from further down the trail toward the other campsites. Unfortunately, West Chickenbone Campground is not going to be as quiet as Hatchet Lake was the previous night. A middle-aged man walks by my campsite soon after I return from my hike, obviously out for a post-dinner walk, just as I was mere minutes before.

Campsite 1 at West Chickebone Lake

After securing everything for the night, I sit near the shore of the lake, taking pictures and observing the scant activity upon its surface. A pair of wood ducks swims within a mass of aquatic vegetation down along the shore to the west.

While watching the ducks, I notice that much of the aquatic grass-like vegetation has a bright green band at the water line, with it appearing darker near its tip. Is this due to very low water levels in the lake? With all the evidence of excessive dryness on the island, it would not surprise me if this were the case.

For the first time on the island, I hear the familiar sound of a beaver’s tail slapping on the water’s surface, displaying its contempt for the presence of humans near its home. The splashing stays to the east, near the other campsites up the trail. The beaver must think it made its point, since it never makes it down near my campsite, although I do spot it swimming around out in the open water, far from shore.

As the daylight wanes, the activity around my campsite increases. A common loon calls off to the east, while a flock of Canada geese fly over, honking the entire time. While sitting on a board placed on two rocks in the middle of the campsite, a little deer mouse franticly runs around, apparently collecting the crumbs from my dinner. It shows little fear as long as I stay still, it scurries away into the surrounding vegetation whenever I move my feet, only to return soon afterwards in search for more food.

Aquatic vegetation on Chickenbone Lake

As the sun sinks below the horizon to the west, a chewing sound lures me back down toward the lake’s shore. I creep down trying to make as little noise as possible, not easily done while wearing Crocs with sores all over my feet. The sound is coming from west of my campsite, down near where the stream enters the lake. Then I see the source of the sound, among the aquatic vegetation stands a moose. It walks slowly through the vegetation, occasionally sticking its snout into the water and pulling out the succulent vegetation, chewing it methodically as it goes.

The lack of light makes taking any pictures at this distance pointless, so I just keep watching the moose, as it goes about its business. The hordes of screaming mosquitoes make it difficult to watch but I continue as long as possible, enjoying the experience, potentially my last on Isle Royale. The swampy area down the trail apparently is an ideal breeding location for these mosquitoes, as the moose is probably finding that out just as I am.

As I continue to watch the moose, a very large bird flies twenty feet over my head and into a nearby tree without making a single sound. By moving around the shoreline, I finally get a good look at the bird as it perches near the treetop. It is a great horned owl, and a very impressive individual at that. Luckily, the view with my compact binoculars is pretty descent, even in the poor light, and the owl stays there for quite a while before flying off further inland.

Chickenbone Lake

The moose is still eating its way across the western tip of the lake after the owl finally departs. The darkness is near complete now and actually seeing the moose is increasingly difficult, although the sound of its chewing is still clearly audible.

The mosquitoes force me to retreat to my tarp. As I approach my shelter, I nearly trip over the deer mouse scurrying along the ground under my feet. In the darkness, the little creature is more of a subtle blur, as it zips around on the bare ground in search of more food. Why did the owl not hear or see this mouse earlier? Hopefully, the mouse will not join me under the tarp, regardless of whether it is to rob me of my dwindling food supply or to avoid a hunting owl.

As I slip into my sleeping bag for the night, my left groin begins to ache again. It seems fitting to end the day as it began, with my poor groin bothering me. Only two more nights on Isle Royale, groin, only two more nights, and then you can rest all winter long.

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