Pictured Rocks, Day 3: Trout Point

As I sit on the same rocky shoreline early the next morning, the sun still low behind the island, a flotilla of red-breasted mergansers paddles past, chattering amongst themselves as they search the water's edge for bits of breakfast. Soon James and I enjoy our own morning meal, break camp, and hit the water in good conditions. We take our time backtracking south again along the east shore of Grand Island, exploring a few large sea caves, their walls 'painted' like those of the Pictured Rocks on the mainland. A south wind kicks up, blowing about ten knots, but the waves do not build.

As most of the highly sought mineral deposits in the region lay along the southern shore of Superior, the early ships that carried them sailed along this coast. Though the shortest route to eastern markets, this passage often subjected these 'coasters' to the notorious northerly winds that sometimes screamed across the lake's surface, and offered few safe harbors between the long stretches of treacherous, rocky shore. Munising's large bay, additionally protected by the hulk of Grand Island at its mouth, was a refuge of safety for any laker captain eager to pull his ship from the teeth of a Superior storm.

Unfortunately, many such respites were sought under the worst of conditions; high winds and tall waves, fog obscuring landmarks, perhaps a bilge filling with water. Add to this the local hazards like hidden reefs and sheer cliffs, and one can see why there have been over five hundred major losses on Lake Superior, many of them here. We paddle around the south end of Wick Point and into Murray Bay. There are a handful of shipwrecks in this shallow harbor, including that of the two-masted schooner, the Bermuda, the ship that sank twice. In October of 1870, she left Marquette loaded with nearly 500 tons of ore, but was soon overtaken at Grand Marais by strong gales and began taking on water. The captain limped her back to Munising Bay where he tied her up to several trees on the shore. But her holds continued to fill with water and she finally sank below the waves, pulling several large trees with her and drowning three crewmen.

An inauspicious thirteen years later, a certain Capt. Higgins used his wrecking tug to hoist the Bermuda up off the lake bottom and tow her here into Murray Bay, intending to restore or salvage her. But the rigging slipped and she once again went down, where she still slumbers today in about 25 feet of water, sometimes visible from the surface. Though we glide over the submerged timbers and steam boilers of several other wrecks, we cannot see the Bermuda under the overcast skies.

While a tawny coyote patrols the shore, we make camp at a site on Muskrat Point, and James soon has a pot of rice and veggies boiling on the stove. I return from the beach to find him shooing away a persistent predator; a campsite chipmunk dashes out from various hiding places to snatch bits of our food supplies and to burrow into PFD pockets for the trail mix stashed there.

As I lean on the low log bench to grab a photo of our diminutive intruder, the rotten wood gives way and dumps the hissing stove to the ground, along with the nearly-ready pot of food. As we both stare at our much-anticipated dinner slowly oozing into the pine needles and forest duff, I can hear my hungry brother's teeth grinding.

"Sorry ..." I mutter, and after helping me to thoroughly clean up the sodden mess, he goes away to tinker with his tent guylines while I start a new pot of pasta. Afterwards, over our belated meal, he is easily placated with a bottle of Newcastle.

Unlike the previous campsites, there is no bear pole here so we spend an inordinate amount of time chucking rocks and rope at one another over various tree limbs, as we try to rig a decent bear bag to discourage midnight visits from the local bruins. But what about the buttery aroma of Garlic-Herb-and-Broccoli Rice now permeating the very soil of our campsite, mere feet from where our heads will soon lie?

The NOAA weather radio predicts high winds for our return to the mainland tomorrow, so we hit the sack early to get a timely start in the morning. But we each sleep with one ear cocked tonight ...

Daily Distance: 6 miles

For additional photos from this kayak trip, please visit the COMPANION PHOTO GALLERY >>