Sunset over the far eastern edge of Isle Royale.
Story and Photos by ELLEN CREAGER • FREE PRESS TRAVEL WRITER • July 26, 2009
Freep.com
ISLE ROYALE — A short hike, they called it. Just 4.2 miles to Scoville Point and back to the lodge.
Now it’s three hours later, and I’m still hiking. The way is strewn with rocks and boulders, giant roots and planks across the boggy spots. The trail hugs ancient lava ridges that drop off to icy blue water. I’ve seen two loons. Stopped dozens of times to look at wildflowers. Seen only two other hikers. Am I going the right way? Who knows? I spot moose droppings on the path. Listen hard. Hear nothing except the whisper of a breeze through the greenery.
Earlier today, the captain of the Queen IV ferry boat, Don Kilpela, told me he encountered a moose and her calf right on this path. He didn’t move. She didn’t move. Then he sang four songs to her, including “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
“She stood there listening to me for 10 minutes,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I wasn’t afraid.”
Now, as I brush through the narrow path headed back to what I hope is civilization, such as it is, I find myself thinking, can you really sing to a moose? If you saw a moose, what should you sing? Does a moose prefer pop or rock? Or just Judy Garland?
It takes a boat ride
If you’ve ever thought of coming to Isle Royale, you may be picturing backpacks, hiking boots and prowling wolves — and automatically counted yourself out.
You’re not alone. Just 14,038 people last year visited Isle Royale, Michigan’s only national park. More than 80% of nights on the island are spent on backcountry camping. The rest are spent at the island’s only lodge. Almost no one comes just for the day.
Why? Logistics. You can’t drive to Isle Royale because it’s 56 miles north of Copper Harbor in the middle of Lake Superior. The choppy ferry ride takes 3 1/2 to 6 hours, depending on whether you leave from Copper Harbor or Houghton.
And when you arrive, it’s 210 square miles of wild.
Yes, there are rustic campsites. One lodge. A few docks. A lighthouse. A handful of summer homes remaining from before the island became a national park in 1940. Some trails. But that’s about it. Isle Royale has no roads.
Famed for its classic, ongoing predator-prey study that has tracked moose and wolf populations for 51 years, Isle Royale is arguably the sexiest science project ever.
But if and when you do finally get here, you realize two things.
One, you don’t have to be a hard-core backpacker to enjoy Isle Royale.
Two, Isle Royale couldn’t care less whether you come.
It’s not here to impress you. You are here to impress it.
‘Nice and wild’
There are many myths about Isle Royale (see sidebar). But myth is part of its mystique. Is it actually in Canada? Is it really the least-visited national park? Will you be eaten by wolves? Is the only hotel on the island closing?
I add my own possible myth to the list — this dubious idea of singing to a moose. One authority on this subject, I imagine, would be Rolf Peterson, the Michigan Tech research professor specializing in the wolf-moose study. He lives on Isle Royale in the summer and a few weeks in the winter, but, who am I kidding? He’s not exactly hanging around waiting for tourists’ dumb questions.
I have better luck talking to backpackers. I meet a friend, John Bassier, a biology teacher at Ferndale High School, who has brought more than 300 students here in his 40 years as a teacher. Backcountry camping on Isle Royale, Bassier says, teaches self-reliance, tolerance for discomfort and cooperation. I meet up with him as he finishes a 6-day hike on the Minong Trail with two Ferndale police officer friends. They’re weary, glad to shed their 35-40 pound packs and feeling great.
“It was nice and wild,” says Detective Bill Wilson.
“A couple nights we could see a gazillion stars,” says Bassier.
“At night we heard wolves calling,” says Capt. Tim Collins.
They also encountered a moose and her calf, foxes, eagles, ospreys and snakes. And very few people.
Not a camper? Try the lodge
If you aren’t into camping, you can stay, as I did, at the Rock Harbor Lodge. Don’t think hotel. Think dorm. The 60-room facility has no phones, cell phone service, Internet, TV or radio. Every room looks directly onto Lake Superior. Think of it as a retreat, a cloister without the prayers.
So far this year, lodge business is down, continuing a depressing trend from last year, says Kim Alexander, the lodge’s general manager.
“It’s not a shock we’re not setting any records,” he says. He admits lodge prices — which run $250 a night — are out of reach of some visitors in this economy.
“People say for $250 a night they could stay at the Ritz-Carlton,” he says. “But the Ritz-Carlton is not being charged 18 cents a gallon for water. We also pay the National Parks Service $250,000 a season for electricity. It’s a concern.”
To cut costs for customers, the lodge dropped its lodging-meal plans this spring and now books rooms on their own, letting people eat a la carte at the restaurant or grill.
Another advantage of staying at the lodge is the M.V. Sandy tour boat, which can take visitors places they can’t hike or don’t have time to hike. I take an evening cruise that goes clear around to the north side of Isle Royale to watch the sunset. The next day, I cruise to Edisen Fishery and the 1844-era Isle Royale lighthouse.
Lighthouse Isle Royale
That’s when luck steps in. It happens that the Edisen Fishery is next door to the wolf study headquarters. And it happens that the Petersons are home.
Moose masters
A narrow path leads to a small cottage with red shutters in the woods. Out steps Candy Peterson. Then her husband, Rolf. They spend six months a year here, from spring to fall. They even raised their children here.
Surrounding the small cottage, officially called Bangsund Cabin, are tables full of moose remains. Moose bones. Moose antlers. Moose skulls. Moose parts, all tagged, labeled as to where found, when the animal died and under what circumstances (rutting, arthritis, other moose mishaps).
Rolf Peterson is wearing a blue cable knit sweater with a tiny hole in one elbow. He and Candy are grandparents, but they look very young. Isle Royale may be the fountain of youth.
To the surprise of the seven boat tourists, the Petersons stop to chat. They invite us into the cabin. They patiently answer the most basic and naive questions about moose and wolves and their own unconventional lives here. Moose swam or crossed on ice to Isle Royale in the early 1900s, followed by wolves in 1948-49. For the last 50 years, scientists have tracked the balance of wolf and moose populations, which have fluctuated depending on weather, the health of the animals and the success of their habitat.
Finally, I work up the nerve to ask my question.
“The captain of the Queen told me he sang to a moose,” I say. “Is that a good idea?”
“Oh, Don,” Peterson says. He must have heard this story before, probably a million times. But he plays along. Because moose have poor eyesight but good hearing and can be unpredictable, talking to a moose if you unexpectedly encounter one tells the moose you are not a predator.
“Moose don’t like surprises. For some reason, when you talk to them, it works,” he says. “High pitches are more comforting than low pitches.”
Ah. Not a myth. Sing to the moose.
No moose, no wolves, no Tigers
Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to hike Isle Royale to learn it well. I day-hike down to Suzy’s Cave and Three Mile (a 6-mile loop). I attend park ranger talks about the geology of the island and spend a morning with an artist in residence trying to draw wildflowers. I meet a man hiking back from two weeks on the trails. His first question — how are the Tigers doing?
I don’t know, I say. Nobody does.
No, I don’t see a moose. Or a wolf. But as I walk, I hum. You know, just in case anyone — or anything — is listening.
Rock Harbor Isle Royale
