2 September 2007 Day Fourteen
Daisy Farm
Daisy Farm was buzzing with activity last night. Smoke was spotted in the afternoon on the south shore of Lake Richie. The location is a backwoods area virtually inaccessible to hikers. Presumably the fire was started by lightening from a rainless storm two nights ago. Park rules suggest that a fire started naturally should burn, replenishing areas of browse for moose and returning overgrown underbrush to a more natural and balanced state. Nevertheless, the Park Director has returned by seaplane from his Labor Day weekend trip to Houghton and called for the fire to be extinguished. With no significant rain in months, the island is a tinderbox.
Candy and Rolf Peterson paddled across the harbor to present their regular Wednesday evening lecture on the island moose and wolf dynamics. As we sat on the dock waiting for the lecture to begin, evacuated campers from every campsite between Daisy Farm and Chippewa arrived on Park Service boats. With the campers disgorged, the boats returned down harbor, carrying Rangers and all available shovels, pulaskis, pumps and water hoses to work on the fire through the night.
Long after dark, Tracy and Derek from St. Paul stood with me at the intersection of the Rock Harbor and Mount Ojibway trails. A young Chinese man and woman walked up and asked us: “Where is the Rock Harbor trail?”
The directions were easy enough; we were standing on the trail. But something about their manner gave me pause. “Where are you headed?” “Three-Mile Campground.” Three-mile is 4.2 miles along a rocky, poorly-marked path. All sunlight had vanished from the sky and the moon would not rise for hours yet.
“I don’t think it would be wise to try to walk that trail in the dark. Let’s find the Ranger. Perhaps you can stay in his cabin until morning.” We walked the narrow trail, but found neither the cabin nor the Ranger, who was five miles down the Island working on the fire. The three of us returned to my shelter by the light of their single torch and my headlamp on the trail.
With oriental politeness, my new friend, Guofu, expressed concern about sharing my water and food. I insisted; being well-equipped for guests. From my own full water bags I fill their long-empty 10-ounce grocery store bottle. Guofu drained the bottle and I filled it again. Eager for my own missed dinner and delighted to have company, I put water to boil for Mandarine Orange tea and layed out crackers, cheese, summer sausage, wasabi peas, walnuts and dried apricots on a purple bandana. Guofu handed his pocket knife to the woman, suggesting that she help me cut the meat. From their own plastic grocery bag, they provided deliciously moist, home-made pork jerky and my favorite butter cookies with tiny crystals of sugar sprinkled across the top.
They stayed in my shelter until sometime in the early morning. The sky was beginning to brighten, but the land was still dark when they left by flashlight. I encouraged them to wait for a bit more light, but they were concerned about two friends waiting for them at the Three-Mile campsite. I imagine the friends’ night was more uncomfortable than ours, wondering about the fate of my companions. No doubt a happy reunion is happening about now.
1 comment:
This is such a good long post. I like that you saw the Petersons and I'm jealous that you met the husband though Candy was more than cool enough for me. And of course I'm so very proud of your generosity.
PS Do you know why Isle Royal never burns? Because thimbleberry leaves are inflamable--I learned that last time in the portapotty stalls.
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