I spent all of Saturday afternoon in a kayak, out in Lake Superior ice, seal hunting. Well, no seals were speared, but it was a splendid ride in surreal territory. I've read that Eskimos have a wide vocabulary for the many types of ice, and I'm sure we saw at least half of them, some too bizarre to either explain or understand.
I had a nice chance to take a few more winter photos. Maybe too nice. I hiked out to Big Carp River on Sunday night, along with a contingent of friends who were going to do some archaeological exploring of logging camps near Lafayette Landing.
Needless to say, archaeological pursuits were put on hold Monday, with a snowy trip to Shining Cloud Falls done instead. We saw several, many large, snow-laden trees fall near us along the trail and into the Falls.
Tuesday we hoped for major melting by the time we reached the logging site from our cabin, but no luck. At least a foot of snow persisted on the ground there, hiding almost all historical evidence. We cooked soup on the Superior shore and pondered the geology of the exposed rock formations there on the trip back.
None of us were prepared for the brutality of the walk back to our cars Wednesday morning. It was a humbling experience to negotiate the foot-deep snow, treacherous stream crossings, slippery boardwalks and MUD. Thank God that our cars weren't plowed in. It would have been nearly impossible to shovel out after a hike like that.
And yes, if you caught it on CNN, the Porkies actually did get 36 inches of snow, but localized near Summit Peak. Actual measurements were done by Park staff rescuing hapless tourists there. Anyway, even though I didn't see the three foot snow, tonight I am still tired from the trip we did walk through. Another Porkies adventure!
Today I went with Bob Sprague to photograph a partridge (properly, ruffed grouse) on her nest; something remarkable he had found last weekend. Actually, he found two nests within 40 feet of each other. When we visited the site today, one nest had been ravaged by a predator, but the other was hidden better, and mom was still on the nest. We made several tentative approaches, trying to get photographs without flushing the bird from her nest, each time getting closer. Finally, both of us were able to get within eight feet of the bird, and get photographs.
Even at that enchanted moment, I wasn't satisfied. I felt that I had gotten photos that were adequate to record the scene, but hadn't elevated the moment to "art". So I went back again with a vague notion that reframing the scene might help. It turned out to be as simple as changing the format from horizontal to vertical, and, voilé, it all clicked.
I got a composition that nearly filled the frame with the bird, with the surrounding clutter of decaying wood and dark rocks. All seems a camouflaged blur, except for two black eyes and a beak.
Thirty six exposures for one grouse, and worth it. I commented to Sprague that it has been twenty years since I have last seen a partridge on a nest. Sprague answered that he had never seen a partridge on a nest until now.
It is easy for us to project human feelings into animal behavior, and despite biologists' input, I'm not so sure we shouldn't. This poor bird likely endured a major anxiety over us tramping so close and lingering with our cameras clicking. Perhaps all ended well over the incident; she stayed on her nest until we left, for the moment ensuring her progeny's well being until the next, more real threat. I think Sprague and I wish her well with the hatch for letting us observe her reproductive duties at close hand.
cliffs
that fall straight into the river, or else climb fifty feet up
the bank and back down again to see the next fifty feet of river
up or down stream. Jim Gallie and I casually engaged in such
an exploration, going down to the river somewhere downstream
from Nokomis Falls, then found ourselves looking back at the
top of a climb in surprised disbelief that we did it without
ropes. After four or five of these difficult climbs, we were
totally exhausted and realized we hadn't seen much of the Gorge
at all, nor Nokomis Falls. It was a good reason to visit again.
The next weekend my niece Sara, her friend
from Manitowoc, Keith, and I returned. This time we started where
Jim and I left off, walking the very top of the bank listening
for waterfalls below before making a descent. We're pretty sure
we found Nokomis Falls, despite my GPS navigator 
indicating
that we were still downstream from the Falls as shown on the USGS
map. I figure that marginal satellite reception in such a deep
hole likely is responsible for the discrepancy. We took a long
time to frolic around the Falls, enjoying a cool August day with
sunshine and big puffy clouds. I found severall Brook Lobelias,
Lobelia kalmii, growing in moist sunny places
in the rock (pictured). I hadn't seen these in the Western U.P.
until then. Other notable species unique to the Presque Isle are
Green Coneflower, Rudbeckia laciniata, and Sneezeweed,
Helenium autumnale. On the ride back we found a frog (specie
unknown) napping on a Boneset, Eupatorium perfoliatum leaf.
Pictured here is the last downstream portion of "The Gorge". People have kayaked and canoed here in high water. I'm impressed: I know those boulders would be hidden underneath the high water, but I can just imagine the crazy, confused currents they would cause.
One more trip to confirm that Nokomis Falls had indeed been reached found Sara, Jim and I traveling further upstream yet. We found several more rapids, and more cliffs- one, a fifty foot tall finger of rock poking conspicuously above the Gorge. At the bottom of this finger of rock is an island dividing the river, with small falls on each side. Across the river is another small creek joining the Presque Isle with a twenty-foot slide down a cliff, straight into the river.
Another noteworthy confluence of waters is where Copper Creek joins the Presque Isle. A wide open vista of a turn in the Presque Isle is visible from a splendid little campsite located there. Copper Creek takes one last two-foot tumble before emptying into the Presque Isle.
The margins of the Gorge are populated by mature trees that escaped the logger's axe because of their inaccessibitlty. Huge white pines and maples stand out from the banks and floodplain here. In this area we have found numerous mounds of hemlock bark likely piled after harvest at the turn of the century, but never shipped to market.
The Presque Isle River, throughout its length, is beautiful, wild and unique in the Midwest. I am on a committee to evaluate its viability as a wild and scenic river. In the small chance that the government restores funding to this activity, my experiences on the Presque Isle compel me to argue totally for "Wild and Scenic" status.
