Palisade Head, MN - September 21, 2008

Before leaving Grand Marais, Kathy wanted to pay one last visit to “World’s Best Donuts”, the little red store just off Wisconsin Street. One activity one can participate in at “World’s Best”, other than eating donuts is to sign up as a “registered donut eater.” If you sign up, and remember your number when you come back the next year, they give you a free donut.

Then we drove home. We only made one more stop before leaving the North Shore—a nostalgic stop at Palisade Head—one of my favorite fally-down spots. This time we were there with no dog and no kids. So I only had to keep track of Kathy.

-At Palisade Head_

Thunder Bay, Canada - Amethyst and Solitude

Kathy ran. I slept. Then Marie served us a big hearty breakfast of fresh fruit, oatmeal, and cheese omelets.

During breakfast, Marie helpfully listed possible activities for the day. We knew that we would barely get a taste of the Canadian north shore, since we had reservations in Grand Marais that night. I did want to visit an amethyst mine and had downloaded information on a couple nearby mines from the internet. Marie suggested that the mines that had websites were too commercial and that we should visit a mine nearby that a friend of hers owned. She also suggested a visit to nearby Sleeping Giant Provincial Park, a huge park that filled Sibley Peninsula, a peninsula extending into the lake that formed one side of the bay. From a distance, the topography suggests a prone human form, hence the name.

Getting to the Blue Point Amethyst Mine required a long drive down a dirt track with potholes and protruding rocks—well worth the price of admission in itself. The couple in the trailer-towing car ahead of us were not enamored, however, and were discussing it between themselves at great length and in colorful language when we arrived. “Arrived” in this case, refers to arriving at a clearing containing a shack devoid of any sort of human presence. The shack shared the clearing with a decrepit school bus, an ancient cement mixer and various other pieces of mechanical detritus. Blue Amethyst was definitely not commercial. A hand-lettered sign directed us down another path with the words “mine path.” I was only slightly worried that it was a warning sign and that the path contained land mines. The owner eventually appeared. I secretly hoped for somebody leading a mule and looking and sounding like Gabby Hayes. In fact, he was in a truck and looked and sounded like a Minnesotan—not surprising, since he was from Silver Bay. We paid him the requisite twenty buck in exchange for a couple of gallon ice cream buckets. The mine was “open pit”—a ten-foot deep hole in the ground about the size of a football field. It was not hard finding the vein of amethyst. We spent the next couple of hours, not looking for amethyst, but rather finding the best specimens to fill our buckets.

Amethyst

We only had a couple hours to spend sightseeing in Sleeping Giant Park. Considering the size of the park, that meant we mostly just had time to drive through it. The park supposedly contains great vistas, waterfalls, beaver dams and lodges, scenic overlooks, and unique plant life. Unfortunately, we pretty much saw woods through the car window.

At the very tip of the peninsula we found a small cluster of houses, one lone store with a sign proclaiming “Store”, and lots of solitude.  This is what remains of a small town named Silver Islet that supported a silver mine on a small island of the same name located just off the peninsula. Silver was discovered on the island in 1868. At that time, the island was only 150 square feet in size and was only a couple of feet above the water level. Silver Islet Mining Company was formed in 1870 to extract the silver, which was so rich it was practically pure. The company built wooden breakwaters and increased the island’s size by a factor of ten. In 1878, they were considering shutting down operations since most of the purest ore had been removed. Then they discovered a second vein. By 1883, most of the highest quality silver had been taken out of that vein as well. The mine’s deathblow came that year when a coal shipment didn’t show up in time. The mine, by that time, was almost a thousand feet deep and pumps were needed to keep the mine dry. Without coal, the pumps shut down and the mine gradually flooded. In the 16 years it was in operation, 3.25 million dollars worth of silver had been extracted from the mine.

Today, the public is not allowed on Silver Islet, and all that remains of the mining operation are the buildings scattered around the tip of the peninsula. The store is open as a store and the remaining houses are used as summer cabins. All of the structures rely on wind and solar for electricity since there is no power on that part of the peninsula.

We were running out of time since we had a long drive to reach our lodging for the evening, back in Grand Marais. So we headed south toward Grand Marais, stopping only once, at the beach at Kadunce River where we picked up a few rocks and took some pictures.

We arrived at the Aspen Lodge in Grand Marais at dinnertime, checked in, and ate dinner at the Gunflint Tavern. We ate there based on our previous good experience and were not disappointed this time. I had tomato Romano soup and chicken mole with a nice fresh salsa, good rice, and black beans. The hotel was a step down after staying at B&B’s but the room was pleasant and we could hear the waves lapping on the shore all night.

Grand Marais, MN - September 19, 2008

Another morning and still on vacation! Breakfast at the Inn this morning was smoked salmon in scrambled eggs. A little cream cheese in the eggs made them creamy and wonderful. Also, there were strawberry smoothies and asparagus. We checked out and drove to Grand Marais. Kathy found a quilt shop. I looked for coffee—couldn’t find good coffee, so had to settle for fudge instead. We went to the little bookstore by the shore, Drury Lane, and browsed. I picked up “Grass Roots: The Universe of Home,” the last book written by the late great prairie kid, Paul Gruchow. I’m looking forward to reading it someday when I catch up with life

We had lunch at the Angry Trout, a nifty restaurant that sits on a jetty extending into the bay in Grand Marais. There’s additional outdoor seating on docks that are on two sides of the jetty. It’s a great location for a restaurant and a great restaurant. One of the restaurant’s claims to fame is the bathroom. Since the entire restaurant sits over the lake, plumbing a bathroom within the restaurant was an issue. So the bathroom is located in a small building on the shore. It is unique in that way, and in the fact that it’s a unisex bathroom. Finally, it is unique in that it has a really cool tiled mural covering the walls and floor. The problem is actually getting into the bathroom. Since there’s only one serving the restaurant, there was a line. I suspect that many of the people standing in line didn’t need to use the facilities, but were there to scope out the tiles. I was amused that one of the servers wore a t-shirt with a message printed on the back that said, “Through the front door. It’s the little building with the green door.” I assume she got tired of telling customers where the bathroom was, and this way could just turn around.

Also cool & worth noting: The Angry Trout tries to buy locally—produce, locally caught fish, and hand-harvested wild rice. They also advocate sustainability—they are powered by their own windmill.

After lunch, we got back into the car & headed north. We stopped at Judge Magney State Park and walked a mile and a half to the High Falls Cauldron. Actually Kathy walked. I gimped. My knee was still being problematic. On level terrain, it wasn’t too bad, but going up or down was painful and the mile and a half was pretty much down, except when it was up. And going back it was generally up, excluding the down places. The foliage was very green though, with undertones of red and orange where fall had tinged the leaves. And the water rushed, roared, and created a mist around the cauldron. My knee survived.

Getting back from the walk, we realized that it was late and we had a long distance yet to drive to reach our next B&B by check-in time. In addition, I had more or less forgotten that the time would change when we crossed the border into Canada. Getting through the border check slowed us down a little, and then, once we were across, we realized that we still had to drive quite a distance past Thunder Bay before we would get to the El Dorado Beach Bed and Breakfast. Once we were into Canada and beyond Thunder Bay, we discovered that the character of the Canadian north shore was quite different from the Minnesota side. The lakeshore had collections of summer homes in spots, but beyond the lakeshore, even on the highway, gas stations, restaurants, or any kind of retail establishment were rare. Gone were the kitschy little souvenir stands, and the plethora of other stores catering to tourists that line Highway 61. We drove for nearly a half-hour beyond Thunder Bay before we finally found the turn-off that took us down to El Dorado Beach.

We arrived well beyond check-in time. The El Dorado Beach B&B was not eye-catching. It was a house. The setting, however, is wonderful. The hostess, Marie Harding, also happens to be the El Dorado Beach mayor. Our spacious room faced the lake, but unfortunately, since we were there mostly at night, and just for one night, we didn’t get to appreciate the view.

It was well past the dinner hour and quite dark when we ventured out for dinner. Marie had suggested we go to a truck stop that we had passed a few kilometers back on the highway, so we ventured back there It was good, I suppose, for local color, but the food was forgettable. We took an incredibly circuitous route back to the B&B from the truck stop, drove down lots of tiny winding roads along the lake, and turned around at a lot of dead ends so Kathy could develop a running route for the next morning. When we finally got back to El Dorado, we went right to bed so Kathy could get up early to run.

Minnesota North Shore of Lake Superior

Our Baptism River Inn breakfast was good. Are B&B breakfasts ever bad? This particular morning the menu included French toast with orange cream. We left after breakfast with plans for a day of hiking. We first had to stop at a little quilt shop Kathy had noticed in Illgen City in a little ramshackle building—one of the few structures contained within this “town.” Kathy perused fabric while I waited in the car. Eventually, she seemed sated, and we drove to Tettagouche State Park for a hike. Our hiking route took us over some moderately rough terrain through mixed hardwood and pine forests and along a couple of lakes. We revisited the Baptism River High Falls and then hiked to Nipisiquit Lake, followed the north side and west of the lake & then cut down to Mic Mac Lake. We followed the shoreline of Mic Mac to the Tettagouche Camp & then hooked up with the Superior Trail and went through some hilly terrain back to where we started. It was starting to get dark by the time we got back to the car. The whole hike was probably seven or eight miles and took us the whole afternoon. I was worried beforehand how my foot would hold up and in fact the foot did OK, but my knee gave out and was sore for the rest of the trip. I’m not sure what the knee thing is about— I had issues with it in Miami in January when we walked around a lot. I probably just need to use it more frequently to build up some resiliency - too much sitting at a desk!

Getting Started on Tettegouche Hike

After our hike, we drove back to Baptism River Inn for a rest. It was getting dark and we were tired, but since it was my only opportunity, I took a short walk down to the river behind the B&B to take a few pictures and also took a picture of their unique sauna.

Then we drove down to Beaver Bay for dinner at the Northern Lights. I always enjoy eating there. We ate in the open area in the back and it was a little chilly, but I warmed myself with some spicy wings washed down with a South Shore Red Lager. I followed this with soup and the salad bar. Kathy had the hunter’s pie; elk meat and vegetables in a rich gravy over mashed potatoes, covered with a layer of Monterey Jack and baked. It looked good, and I would have sampled it, but I was having problems handling all of my own food.

Then it was back to the inn for another night. After the hike and the big meal, our sleep was sound. Were there wolves again? We will never know.

Baptism River Inn

Even though we got a late start, we still stopped, as required by tradition, at the Lester River information booth on the north side of Duluth to get the first look at the lake and skip a few rocks. We ate a late lunch at Rustic Inn, which had been recommended by one of Kathy’s co-workers and we found the service friendly, the surroundings unpretentious, and the food good. I enjoyed the vegetable beef soup a lot and I told the server so. She shrugged and said the chef put chili powder in it. I also ordered a walleye poorboy, which came in focochia rather than a bun. I bought a blue cup with the Rustic Inn logo as a souvenir. It was all good and I would like to go back.

We stopped at Split Rock Lighthouse and got our first look since the recent remodeling. I didn’t have a vivid memory of what it was like before, but mostly noticed that the visitor’s center didn’t have the worn look that is so typical of state park visitor’s centers. We watched the requisite historical movie, toured the lighthouse and other buildings, and walked down the path that goes steeply down to the site of the old dock on the lake. I took the same picturesque photos that most other tourists get.

After Split Rock, we drove on to the Baptism River Inn where we were going to spend the next two nights. We turned off Highway 61 at Illgen City, one of those little towns that exist on maps, but in reality hardly fit in the category of “town.” We drove away from the lake on Highway 1 for a few miles and finally turned onto a winding gravel drive that took us through the woods across a small wooden bridge built over a rushing stream and finally to the large log house that was the inn. The inn has three guest rooms and a suite, a guest parlor with a fireplace, and an atmosphere of relaxation and solitude. We found dinner at a little bar/restaurant down the road that had the baseball game on a large screen TV—one of those adequate, forgettable meals. Then we went back to the inn, opened the windows to let in the cool, fall air and the night sounds, like the mournful far-away howling of wolves. It is possible that the wolves were really dogs, but howling dogs wouldn’t be in keeping with the north woods experience that we were seeking.

Baptism River Inn