![]() The book, Geology of Isle Royale, blames it all on the glaciers, the last of which left here about 10,000 years ago. ![]() The Ojibwe people and the geologists both have an explanation. “Jack,” I said, “you can take your choice. “What in the world did Mother Nature have in mind,” he wondered aloud, “when she made this obstacle course?” Scoutmaster Jack pursed his lips and glanced around at the serious faces regarding the map. “Hiking Isle Royale,” he observed, “is a whole lot more up and down than horizontal travel.” “Here is the swamp-before-last,” one said. This obviously was new information to the group, and several kneeled down to study the details so clearly displayed. The gold, green and brown hues of the geologic relief map of the island brought gasps of amazement. I dug out another large chart (on a boat a map is a chart) and spread it out. With a chuckle, one of the older scouts spoke up, “Everything, except the ravines.” The whole group assented with weary laughs. “It shows the trails, the campsites, everything …” “We got this map,” he said, burrowing in his pocket. The whole idea of the adventure had been born in the winter comfort of a troop meeting, and the reality of the undertaking had now firmly set in.Īs steaming cups of hot soup were passed around, I asked Jack about the decision to hike the island. In no way, he admitted, did his work prepare him for the rigors of hiking Isle Royale. Scoutmaster Jack turned out to be an automotive service manager in real life. In no time the whole group was aboard, greetings being exchanged between the consumption of packages of cookies. A gift from Bob Lang, one of our regular boating companions, we carry it on Skipper Sam II for two reasons: boiling spaghetti for seemingly starved Canadians encountered on the Ontario north shore or for heating gallons of bouillon soup for Michigan’s Isle Royale hikers. I dug out our big kettle, filled it and began heating some water. Skipper Sam II often anchored in remote spots along the Ontario shore. ![]() He nodded, leaped back on the dock and ran up the hill. “Better go get your friends,” I advised him, “or your life won’t be worth a plugged nickel when they find out what you’ve been doing to those cookies.” His eyes grew even bigger when I handed him a plate of cookies, which began disappearing like ice cubes on a summer sidewalk. “I’m Billy,” he announced, “and I’m from Fort Wayne, Indiana, and I’m hiking Isle Royale with my scout troop, and we’re wet and cold and tired, but we’re DOING IT!” ![]() He was torn between greeting us and making sure the gang on the hill fully realized his accomplishment. “Why not come aboard and look it over?” I suggested, stepping back quickly as he leaped into the cabin. I assured him that all boats leak, but we did have a few rainfree areas. With a trace of a smile he mustered up his courage, looking me squarely in the eye. The cold rain continued to fall, dripping off his hat unnoticed. The rest of his troop stood part way up the hill at Isle Royale’s McCargoe Cove campsite, silently watching his diplomatic effort at establishing contact with the boat lying alongside the dock. He collapsed on the dock in sort of a spiral fashion, emerging from this odd performance with a bounce – sans pack frame. His slumping shoulders gamely bore the dripping frame and pack the bedroll lashed atop the pack reached above his head. His somewhat bedraggled scout kerchief had obviously seen duty wiping sweat and probably an errant nose. He was a little fellow – cold, wet and extremely tired. Jim Marshall piloting the boat up Merritt’s Lane, right, at the northeast end of Isle Royale. In this start of our 40th year, we are honoring Jim and his contributions to the magazine and to the region by republishing this column, which also is in his book Lake Superior Journal: Jim Marshall’s Views from the Bridge. I have a bit of first-hand knowledge of JR, as he was known to his friends, and his stories he was my father-in-law, so I was privy to years of stories too numerous to count.When JR passed on in 2006, we decided to keep “Lake Superior Journal” alive with others telling their stories of the Big Lake. In his multi-award-winning Lake Superior Magazine column, “Lake Superior Journal,” he brought it all to life. ![]() On his trips on Skipper Sam and Skipper Sam II, he encountered thousands of people, all of whom contributed to his knowledge of the Lake. He had done it all – prospector, scuba diver, shipwreck salvager, boat captain, airplane pilot, explorer, researcher. Marshall, former owner of this magazine, to be the consummate Lake Superior authority. Jim Marshall at the helm of Skipper Sam II, left, and piloting the boat up Merritt’s Lane, right, at the northeast end of Isle Royale. ![]()
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