Thursday,
June 27, 2013
The
morning camp take-down was easy. By now, Natalie and I could do it in our
sleep. I can literally start taking town the tent while she is in packing
sleeping bags. (To date, I have not
actually rolled up the tent with her in it and stuffed it in the trunk.) It
would have been nice to check out the Visitors Center but the rain that had let
up in the early morning hours had returned with a vengeance.
Grumbling
stomachs suggested the need for chow. With the town of Wawa around the corner
(I’m not making up that name, by the way) only one restaurant seemed worth a
stop. With a Viking theme, I immediately started crying about my boots. (Not really.)
We settled in as the out-of-towners. This observation was re-enforced by
the fact that almost everyone in the place (at least 40 people) was hugging and
no one hugged us. I have never seen such
a thing. It was really kind of
weird.
After
crossing into Lake Superior Provincial Park, the South Old Woman River Trail is
one for the books. Requiring rock
hopping to cross streams, careful foot placement over gnarled and exposed tree
roots, this trail was simply awesome. Waterfalls. Flowers. Birds (more of the same). Sadly, the mosquitoes were the densest they
had been on the entire trip. With the
trail one mile in length, we never stopped. To do so would have been death by
blood-letting.
After
checking in at the new and awesome interpretive center, we were encouraged to
consider camping along the lake shore. Breezes would keep the bugs down and the
first sight on the new day would be the lake. You can’t really beat that.
Further encouraged
by park staff, we took a short drive back north to the Agawa Rock
Pictographs. Long before the days of
fancy paints or Photoshop, stories were told on these rocks by painting images
with red ocher. Sadly, they are less durable that petroglyphs which were are
carved into the rock.
The above
image, as an example, shows what might be a sturgeon (left), giant
prehistoric-like fish that still roams the great lakes. The pictograph on the right suggests a
snake. But they don’t have horns or
legs, so, in the end, these graphics are open to interpretation. We may never know what they all mean or what
they represent. That includes their age.
No one knows for certain their age.
Estimates range from 150-500 years old.
One thing
is for certain – you just might poop yourself trying to see them.
The trail
from the parking lot is a delight. Down steps carved in ancient stone and
walking between giant rocks walls, you almost feel like Indiana Jones. What a
neat trail. It’s easy going, too, compared to the Old Woman Trail.
The final
100 feet is just silly as the photo below might show.
Ignore the
arrow for now. Note the ropes that are anchored to stone. In the foreground, just
out of view, is a life ring (like you would see at a dock or on a ship). There
is also a giant pole. 15 feet long,
maybe? Notice the slant of the rocks. Notice the chilled waters of Lake
Superior to the right. The slant of rock
tapers off to a edge which is maybe 3 or 4 feet off the water. The ropes
actually dangle in the drink.
People
have died here trying to view these images.
They have. Really. The sometimes
slippery slope combined with the occasional wave of the lake has taken people
to their death. The clumsy, ill prepared
or the just stupid never made it back to their car.
A
now-and-then proud member of the Club (clumsy, ill-prepared and stupid), I
proceeded with caution. Natalie never
set foot on the rock. She was only able
to see the first two images (the sturgeon/snake due marked by the red arrow). I made it this far….
Michipeshu
may be the most famous rock art painting in Canada. Viewed by Indian culture as
a feline with horns, he roams the lakes. Travelers would give him, the Great
Cat, special offerings (tobacco, for example) for safe passage. Fisherman would
do the same, hoping for a productive day.
(In this image, I am leaning with my left shoulder against the rock. My
right hand has the camera and I am stretching out my arm to take the photo
without looking.)
As I was little
uneasy, I was prepared to give Michipeshu an unintentional offering of my own,
if you know what I mean. No longer comfortable with the situation, I did an
about-face and returned to the rocks were Natalie was waiting. There were easily 10 more petroglyphs that I
never saw.
I suspect
if I was a roofer, a fellow who spent a lot of time on ladders, or a member of
the Falling Flying Wallendas, the walk would have been easy. But I’m not, so it
wasn’t. I managed. I saw enough.
Returning
to camp, Natalie and I had a quick meal (spaghetti again, but under more cool
circumstances). Sadly, for me, I had reached the end of my rope. The non-stop swatting and buzzing had taken
its toll and I officially turned into a monster of my own. Okay, maybe not a monster, but a supreme
grump.
I need to
defend myself here. Imagine having a
conversation with any random idiot.
Let’s say that they make a statement that is annoying. For example, “Michelle Bachman would be a
good President”. Okay, you sluff it off.
No big deal, right? But you continue to
hear it. Non-stop. Your’re trying to
find that bird but you hear it: “Michelle Bachman would be a good
President”. Every now and then, during
this aggravating time, an invisible person pokes you with a tiny needle. You hear it again: “Michelle Bachman would be
a good President”. Every now and then,
something flies behind your glasses and makes you stop dead in your
tracks. You hear it again. And
again. You itch. You get welts. Eventually, the inane little comment, when
compounded by physical interactions, becomes too much to deal with. Mentally, I checked out. The only thing that
kept me there was the lakeshore. If we were on one of the other loops in the
woods, surrounded by hoards of six-legged biters, I would have shot myself got
a hotel.
All my
complaining aside, I managed what I think are two okay pictures. One is the view from as seen from behind the
tent.
This one
is the sunset over Lake Superior.
Despite my grump-itude, I am grateful for the opportunity to take it.
The
evenings sleep was about as good as it could get. The cool breeze coming right
in the tent door was perfect. After
confirming the handsome bald guy did not leave the tent door open, we slept
like babies.
