Norwich Bluff
Even in this predominantly gray, sodden and somber season, beauty and adventure can be found if you can motivate past November's ennui and get outdoors. Our Silver City explorer's consortium had had enough of channel-surfing and other indoor pursuits. Last Saturday we committed to an exploration of Norwich Bluff's eastern escarpments and vistas.
Jim, Scott, Sara, Cosmo the Dog, and I wisely decided to approach Norwich Bluff by 4WD from the north, taking the old fire tower road off of USFS Road #200. This approach got us to the top of the hill at the outset, saving us from a big climb that is necessary from other access points. The drive up gave us a clear idea of how rugged and large Norwich Bluff is. Starting our hike at the fire tower's foundation, we passed a mine shaft left from 1850's mining activity at Norwich. Coursing down a draw in the hill, we then cut across it on an old earthen dam associated with that activity. This is the path of the North Country Trail. We proceeded tentatively in the crusty snow up the first steep climb to the first eastern overlook. At the top of this 300 foot cliff we found the visibility limited, but the light fog lent depth to the scene, emphasizing the distance from our vantage point to the adjacent bluffs and outward to the vast expanse of the Matchwood Plains. We tried to imagine what the view of the Plains would have been like a century ago, before logging activities felled the vast forest of huge white pines. My partners took turns standing at nauseating precipices to help me get great photos that illustrate the drama of this spectacular scene.
From this point we left the North Country Trail in order to explore and enjoy every possible overlook on Norwich Bluff. This was a difficult but rewarding endeavor. The next rock outcrop, and one more after that, were reached by descending 100 foot cuts in the hill, then ascending back the same distance to the next overlook. The steep traverses were made more difficult by slippery snow cover and wet rocks. It was all we could do to hang on to rocks, trees, dry ground, anything to keep from tumbling down altogether into the crevices. While we paused for a snack at one of the overlooks, we were entertained by Cosmo in hot pursuit of a snowshoe hare - zig! zag! under a rock and gone. Dog sniffing into a hole, frustrated.
Tired from our trek over hill and valley, we reached a third overlook only to find one more yet to the east: tempting with it's pine cover and exposed rock. Given our exhaustion and the long return walk ahead, we prudently decided to head back now, leaving this last overlook for a later exploration. As we rejoined and traveled the North Country Trail back to our vehicle, we were enticed by several more views of exposed rocks on a bluff across Whiskey Hollow Creek, and another escarpment to the north on Norwich Bluff.
The satisfaction of a different view and perspective at each overlook on Norwich Bluff, and the exercise involved in reaching each one made all of us feel renewed and alive, challenged for next summer's exploration of our area's myriad wonders.
December 7, 1997
With time on our hands on a December afternoon, and not enough snow on the ground to ski, our explorers club ventured along a stretch of the Lake Superior shore west of Union Bay in the Porcupine Mountains. I call this area "The Rocks" because of its rugged sandstone shore. Over eons, this formation has heaved and broken, in some areas making cliffs that fall over forty feet into the Lake. Standing on these austere cliffs and looking out over the Lake, with dense cedar forest at my back, I recall the maps of old that warn "Here Lie Dragons". I feel I am truly standing at land's end, scanning uncharted and dangerous waters. It's a favorite place for me to witness and photograph Lake Superior's fury in fall storms.
The mood was more
serene on our Sunday hike. Calm water stretched toward a clearing
sky. My twenty-something friends couldn't resist climbing down
the cliffs for a look at the Lake. I made it half way down myself,
and Cosmo the Dog said, "no thanks, I'll wait on top".
We were impressed by the massive shards of rock that have tumbled
from the cliffs to the waters edge. What really caught our fascination
on this trip were the intricate and strange ice formations filling
depressions in the rock. Each told a story of filling with water
in a storm, freezing, draining and freezing again. Some of the
frozen puddles had multiple layers of needle-like crystals, some
looked like frost on steroids. And one puddle had eyes! Pictured
above is the top ice of an empty puddle. Water seeping out must
have dripped from a few favored points on that surface and froze
in the process, leaving stubby icicles that looked like eyes when
viewed from above.
I am intrigued by the way life clings to this harsh shore, especially the twisted cedars with clawed roots anchored inside faults in the rock. Given the austere environment, they are small and probably very old. What stories they could tell. This photo shows Sara framed by the trunks of two of these gnarled sentinels.
Even though snowfall had been light, temperatures had been cold enough to freeze the lake's surface solid. We scrambled down the Escarpment and on to the lake's surface for a hike of wonderful proportions. We hadn't gone far before my compadrés were frightened by a phenomenon that ice fishermen welcome, the grinding and thunder of ice fracturing as it builds. When one fracture occurred beneath our feet, Sara clung to me and Jim, and Cosmo booked it quickly to shore, being the incredibly intelligent animal he is.
Throughout the walk we had excellent views of the Escarpment from a perspective we don't often see. I was impressed with how colorful those cliffs are, and the enormity of the tallus piles at their base. An eagle floated over the cliffs and our heads, perhaps thinking the better of trying to pluck away Cosmo. We paused at the trailside cabin on the shore before the making the ascent back to the car along the icy trail. Outings like this make winters here survivable.
I took a "mental health day" away from the studio, on a trip with rangers Jim Richardson and Tom Colgrove to Mirror Lake, accompanying them on one of their trips to make preparations for the season's repairs on the cabins. When I thawed from the snowmobile ride, I spent the rest of the afternoon skiing Mirror Lake, photographing the hoar frost on the trees, and enjoying the winter solitude of this special place.
No profound thoughts or insights, no poetry or lyricism; just a leisurely afternoon in the cold, and a couple of images to share. Below is a detail of hemlock boughs laden with frost.
