Rock Harbor Sign

As I walk down one of the few paved roads on Isle Royale, the Ranger’s Station at Rock Harbor comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Just like at Daisy Farm earlier in the morning, the feeling of familiarity overcomes me, as if I am returning home after a long trip, despite having only been at Rock Harbor for an hour or so when first arriving on the Island.

The Rock Harbor Ranger Station is much smaller than the one at Windigo, and an order of magnitude less attractive. An open but roofed walk way separates the small Visitors Center from the small store. On the other side of the walkway is the dock, where tomorrow the Royale Queen IV ferry will take me back to the mainland for a night, before setting off on my journey all the way back to Syracuse.

The Visitors Center, with its assorted souvenirs, remains closed, since it is after five in the afternoon upon my arrival. A sign on the store indicates its closure for the rest of the season. It optimistically reads, “See you in 2012!”

Before continuing on to the campground, I check the weather forecast for tomorrow afternoon on a whiteboard in the window of the Visitors Center. There is a 30% chance of thunderstorms, with 3-5 feet waves on Lake Superior. Oh wonderful, looks like I can expect a trip back that is even rougher than my boat ride to the Island 2 weeks ago. The weather Monday and Tuesday is going to be even worse, with 4-7 feet waves.

Section Stats:
Date: September 11, 2011
Length: 1.7 miles (14.7 total daily miles; 122.0 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy

If the ferry does not run tomorrow because of rough waters then I might just be stuck here for several days. With such little food left, I will have little choice but resort to stealing other’s food. Unfortunately, if the ferry is not running then the pickings will be slim, given that all the hikers will probably be have little food stores left. I am envisioning many skinny and desperate hikers stealing each other’s toothpaste just for the few calories it provides. Or the entire campground storming the ranger’s cabins for their presumably plentiful food stocks.

Leaving further dwelling about my dwindling food supply for another time, I head for the campground to look for a campsite for the night. With it so late in the afternoon, there may be little chance of getting a shelter for my last night on Isle Royale now. There is a plentiful supply of shelters here, so I am hoping there might be at least one shelter left.

A quick stop at the restrooms and showers verifies what I already knew; closed for the season too. It is too bad, since I could really use a nice shower. The ferry’s passengers probably will not appreciate my stench tomorrow, but then again, they might not be able to smell me over themselves. At least, that is what I am counting on.

The campground is a short walk down the gravel Rock Harbor Trail, the same path I started my entire Isle Royale adventure. The trail bisects the entire campground, with shelters arrayed on both sides. Those shelters on the open waterside are facing away from the trail, making determining the occupancy difficult. The ones on the opposite side of the trail lie uphill within a somewhat windthrown-impacted conifer forest. Farther down the trail, after all the shelters, a trail leads off into the forest to the tenting sites, arranged in a series of loops.

Rock Harbor Vistors Center, store and dock

I walk from each shelter on the Rock Harbor side, looking for an unoccupied one. These shelters are very close to one another, in stark contrast to those on the other side of the trail. It is easy enough to tell the occupation of some, with the loud discussions and other shenanigans, but with others I must peek my head around to view a permit attached to the door handle.

The only one unoccupied is very close to another shelter full of rowdy campers. I decide to seek a quieter shelter, since I had enough of their ilk last night, and after today’s long hike, I am going to need to hit the sack early, especially if I want to do the Stoll Trail tomorrow morning before leaving in the mid-afternoon. That is, if my very sore feet allow me to make this very last hike.

I look at the shelters on the opposite side of the trail with renewed interest now. They are mostly unoccupied, and I almost take the one behind the rowdy group’s shelter but then decide to head to the next shelter down the trail. This shelter is located at the top of a hill, an arduous short climb, in which my sore and painful feet protest profusely.

An advantage of the shelter at the top of the hill is the view of the trail as it bisects the campground. This way I get to see all the coming and goings of everyone staying at Rock Harbor, as it should be. Plus, a water tap is located halfway up the hillside, making getting water just a short walk. This advantage is enough to talk my sore feet into occupying the shelter for a single night.

View from Rock Harbor shelter #7

After unpacking and taking stock of the remainder of my food supply, I decide to take a walk around the place before eating dinner. Since I snacked all the way down from Mount Franklin, there is no urgency for eating an early meal, and this way I avoid getting hungry again before bedtime. Plus, I want to soak my sore feet in Rock Harbor, and back at the marina is an ideal place to do so.

With my binoculars and camera in tow, and my comfortable Crocs on my feet, I climb down to the trail and walk the short distance back toward the more civilized part of Rock Harbor. Few people are wandering about; perhaps they are lamenting their last night on Isle Royale too. Most likely, after a full day of hiking they are resting comfortably, having enough sense to stop walking, unlike yours truly.

Walking past the Visitors Center, I slowly make my way over the paved trail toward the lodge, taking in the pleasant early evening sights of Rock Harbor. The civilized part of the Island sits within Snug Harbor, a small claw-shaped indentation along Rock Harbor proper. The main dock, with its adjacent Visitor Center/store, lies on the north side of the harbor, with the lodge, including the restaurants and other buildings scattered about beyond the far eastern shoreline. Between the two, arranged in a row are the many smaller docks of the marina.

Rock Harbor Marina

As I make my way toward the lodge, I pass several paths leading to such places as an amphitheater, an auditorium and a maintenance area. A strange looking bird, bobbing its head around as it walks around the shoreline near the marina’s many docks. It has streaked under parts, two white wing bars and brownish to olive above. I am thinking it is a American pipit, but what I would give to have my Peterson’s field guide right now.

A number of buildings make up the Rock Harbor Lodge. Unfortunately, I spent just a short time around them on my initial visit to Rock Harbor, when I used the satellite phone to call home. Now, they appear mostly vacant, with signs on almost every door announcing their closure for the season. My hope that the restaurant remains open, despite all the evidence to the contrary, is quickly dashed when I notice the signs on the door. While walking by the many large windows looking at out at the harbor, I notice a man leering at me from within, holding what appear to be a bottle of cold beer. You do not have to flaunt it, I think while walking away, controlling my salivating mouth as best as I can.

Rock Harbor Lodge

The thought of the restaurant spurs my appetite, so I start back toward the marina for a foot soaking before returning to my shelter to see what I can scrounge up for dinner. I walk down one of the many floating docks, sit down at the end, take off my Crocs and place my burning feet in the cool waters of Lake Superior.

I manage to resist it the temptation of jumping in for a complete bath, since becoming completely wet at this late hour is a recipe for a chill that may very well persist throughout the entire night. Instead, I just enjoy the cold sensation on my sore, beat-up feet.

While peering into the water, I notice a sweet pair of sunglasses lying on the bottom. Apparently, some jackass dropped them into the water and never realized it. The excitement of this unanticipated discovery overtakes me, even though I know, in the back of my mind, I will have to drop them off at the Visitor’s Center tomorrow.

When I pull the sunglasses out of the water, I notice they are the exact same brand as my own; in fact, they are the same color too. With the weight of ten tons, the revelation suddenly hits me and instinctively, I raise my hand to the top of my hat where my Smith sunglasses were just a short time ago. Of course, they are no longer there, as I am now just holding them in my hand. Just another “duh” moment on Isle Royale at the end of a long day.

Rock Harbor Marina

Embarrassed, I wipe off my feet and start back toward my shelter for some overdue dinner. While watching a female common merganser out in the harbor just beyond the marina’s docks, the sound of rustling in the shrubbery adjacent to the trail captures my attention. Thanking it is probably another red squirrel, I do my best impression of their call and surprisingly one bounds out from the vegetation and out onto a bare, flat rock at the side of the trail.

Its curiosity is palpable, as we face off with one another. It never responds by chattering back, but continues to look me up and down, apparently confused with why such a strange creature is chattering at it. Or maybe it is the Island’s version of a highwayman, and it expects me to give it a handout before continuing. Finally, the squirrel returns to gathering fresh cedar cones, most likely for the coming winter.

As I pass the Visitors Center and head up the hill toward the campground, a pileated woodpecker flies low across the trail and onto a tree on the opposite side, calling constantly. I slow my pace as not to startle it as I draw closer. After several tree changes, the large woodpecker lands on the ground in the forest near one of the Ranger’s cabins.

Red squirrel highwayman

As I get closer, I watch through my binoculars as the woodpecker consumes one red berry after the other from the herbaceous cover. It is hard to tell from this distance, but I think they are sarsaprillia berries, which I have never seen anything eat before. As the woodpecker consumes its unlikely dinner, it repeatedly calls loudly, the staccato cry ringing throughout the surrounding forest. The calls are so loud that the curtains covering the window in the nearby building separate, revealing a person peering out curiously, apparently wondering what is making all the racket. Either that, or they are wondering what this strange man is doing looking in their window with a pair of binoculars. I prefer to think the former.

The woodpecker keeps up this activity for a while before it finally flies off and onto an electrical power line pole. There it sits for a lengthy period, slowly working its way up the pole, enabling me to get a number of decent photographs of it before it finally flies off, vanishing into the forest from whence it originally came.

When I arrive back at my shelter, I go through my remaining provisions, finding that there is enough food to get me at least through until tomorrow. If the weather keeps me stranded on the island for an extra day or two then I am going to be in serious trouble.

Pileated woodpecker

After dinner, I take a walk through the tenting site loops to see how much overflow from the shelters there exists. Since some shelters remain unoccupied, I do not expect to see too many people tenting it. It takes me a while to get through the several loops, especially with my limping along in my Crocs, but not a single site is taken. From their condition, it appears these sites get plenty of use earlier on in the season.

I head back toward the lodge to hike the short trail to America Dock, located at the very tip of the peninsula that creates Snug Harbor. America Dock is a doc k of the America steamship, which carried passengers and freight to the Island for 26 seasons from 1902 to 1928. In 1928, it sunk after hitting a reef in North Gap along the western end of Washington Harbor, where it remains to this day. Its dock at Snug Harbor remains to this day, with one of its lifeboats on display.

After passing the lodge, and entering the forest along the peninsula, three gray jays fly across the trail into the limbs of a nearby conifer tree at the edge of the harbor. Just like the gray jay I observed earlier in the day near Mount Franklin, these three stay about eye level and show absolutely no sense of fear or apprehensiveness with regards to my presence. The dim light makes it impossible to photograph the birds without a tripod unfortunately, despite my attempts to the contrary.

America dock

From the encounter with the jays, I continue down the meandering trail along the edge of the water. A spur trail from the main trail leads to monument in the middle of the forest. The low light makes it difficult to read the writing; even my headlamp fails to help given that it is still too light for LED lights to provide the necessary enough for reading. I plan to return tomorrow to watch the ferry come in from the America dock, so I can check the monument again then.

A short distance farther along, the main trail ends at the America Dock. The Dock is a large rectangular wooden platform surrounded by water just ten feet or so away from the shore; a wooden bridge traverses the gap between the shore and the dock. On the large wooden docks sits several wooden benches and one of the remaining lifeboats of the ill-fated America ferry.

The view across Snug Harbor toward the large dock adjacent to the Visitor’s Center is outstanding; making the America dock an ideal place to view the Royal Queen IV ferry coming in tomorrow afternoon. It is now imperative for me to return from my Scoville Point hike well before the Royale Queen’s arrival, so I can take a few photographs of its approach to the dock.

Rock Harbor dock from America dock

On my return trip back to my shelter for the night, the gray jays are still hanging around the lodge, perhaps trying to figure out where all the people, and by association their free meals, disappeared to now. Soon after passing the grays jays, a red squirrel scolds me with some seriously odd vocalizations right near where I encountered one earlier near the marina. Could be it be a sign of affection or derision?

By the time I return to shelter 7 for the night, the sun has sunk below the horizon and a luminous full moon has taken its place in the sky. The view of the moon through the trees from the front of my shelter is mesmerizing, inspiring me to set up camera on the tripod and take a few photographs, despite the eager mosquitoes buzzing around my head. Obviously, this insect horde is more enamored with my blood than the lunar spectacle in the sky.

The mosquito activity does not go unnoticed, as several bats fly repeatedly around the shelter, consuming insects at a rapid pace, despite the windy conditions. The warm temperatures, especially for mid-September, ensure a plentiful source of insects for these flying mammals. With the full moon and the bat activity, all that is needed is a howl of a wolf or two to make it a perfect triumvirate of horror troupes for the evening.

Full moon over Rock Harbor

The long day, with its arduous hike, has taken its physical toll, and it becomes increasingly difficult to keep my eyes from involuntary closing. I abandon my moon fascination, and within minutes I lay comfortably in my warm sleeping bag, letting the days effort drive me into my last Isle Royale slumber of the trip.

And what an enjoyable trip it has been.

Affiliate Disclaimer: Some links within this blog post may send you to a retailer website. If you chose to purchase any product on that site at that time, this author receives a small commission. These commissions provide compensation for the author’s time and effort necessary to provide the content at the Bushwhacking Fool.