Pictured Rocks, 1.

After a terrible night’s sleep, I awoke to remember that I forgot to our trail permit in my car, parked an hour’s drive from here.  Using my best persuasive skills, the park ranger issued me another campsite permit.  As a victory celebration, Tyler and I hit the Holiday gas station for provisions, because if you have ever been to Munising before, you’ll know that’s about the best 8am option you can possibly come by.

He grabbed a Coke, me a coffee.  Of course, it tasted like gas station coffee but by the time I loaded it with flavored creamer and syrup, it was pretty great!  Caffeine, work your magic!

 Ladyslipper

The trail meandered through mixed hardwood forests with lush fields of triliums dancing beneath them.  A gusty breeze swayed their tops.  Sunlight streamed down through the gaps in the trees, a cascade of glittery light falling on the flowers below.  Suddenly, the forest I had seen all my life was changed—adapting to my adult perspective on life.  It was still a playground for adventure, but no more tree climbing and forts.  But it is funny how just as I am convinced that I’m not the same child anymore, I realize that not much has changed after all.  I’m often my seven year old self:  I still run and play and love to explore outside, still my biggest and most treasured plaything.  I occasionally eat enough ice cream to make my tummy hurt.  Even my hair is beginning to blonde itself like it used to back then (no, no, no, don’t tell me it is a sign I’m going gray!  Can’t be true!)

 Munising Bay and part of Grand Island

Our first encounter with the sandstone cliffs that are the Pictured Rocks was at mile 4.  We snuck quick and cautious peeks over the edge of the 100 ft. cliff.  I remembered getting a message from Tyler’s sister the day before:  “Don’t push him over any cliffs no matter how annoying he gets!!” she instructed. 

Occasionally cliff views appeared until we descended through a pine forest.  The soil grew sandy and all the ground plants changed.  It was like entering an entirely different forest.  Then the sandy beach appeared.  The water sparkled blue with hints of orange sandstone just below the surface.  Down the trail a little, we stopped for a white sand beach.  The sand was much finer than the Pacific Ocean beaches, it seemed almost powdery on the Lake Superior shoreline rather than grainy sand.

As we passed into double digit mileage, Morning Chatter Tyler disappeared.  We walked along quietly, occasionally stopping for snacks and photos.  The marathon had leveled our energy levels so I was pretty wrecked right alongside him.

I repeated what my dad had said about no food on the trail and we joked about how were bummed there wasn’t a trail-side McDonald’s.  He said he’d settle for a vending machine with cold drinks.  I asked for our camp, Mosquito Camp, to be 1. Free of mosquitoes; 2. Serve cold beers; and 3. Someone willing to rub my feet.  No such luck on all fronts, although a bear locker enabled us to leave the bulky bear can at home.  I guess I’ll take what I can get.

Before taking an evening walk to explore and get water, we stopped at the bear locker to grab a snack.  Two 20-something girls were staring at us nearby.  They both looked vaguely familiar.  Then one of the girls wrinkled her face into a question mark and said, “Karen?”.  OH. MY. GOODNESS.  Things snapped into focus in my memory. “Cora?!” I replied.  Four hundred miles from her home and over a thousand from mine and here we were in a six tent site campground on a remote corner of roadlessness.  I came across someone I knew!  They were a couple of Matt’s closest childhood friends and the women that sang at our wedding five years ago.  How crazy.

I fell asleep early and hard from the exhaustion.  Those are the best kind of sleeps.