Superior Hiking Trail Revisited

“Due to the fact that I had gained back 5 of the 15 lbs I lost on my SHT thru hike, I kicked myself in the butt and headed north to do some fall color section hiking on the SHT. This is an interesting time of year on the North Shore of Lake Superior because all the LL Beaners from the Twin Cities head up to look at the fall colors. Many of these folks do not go into the woods at any other time and bring their city ideas and expectations with them. I decided early on that this trip could go either way; success or failure was going to depend on my attitude. I decided to have fun. On this short journey of 30 plus miles over 2.5 days I took the north to south route rather than the south to north direction employed during my thru hike. I mention this because it meant I had to read the hiking guide backwards which fit nicely into my dyslexic (who knows?) tendencies. It seems I have spent much of my life fighting my way upstream, never realizing that it was in preparation for the hordes of nature loving city dwellers that were soon to flow down stream at me.

The first day was pretty unremarkable. A little cool and overcast, but temperature wise exactly the kind of day that this cool weather Yankee likes to hike in. The first section was Oberg Mountain to Britton Peak, a distance of 5.7 miles if you don't take the numerous spur trails to various overlooks (which I did). Most of this hike is rolling hills with lots of birch, maple and aspen (locally known as Poplar...or "Popple" as it's pronounced by some); in other areas there were stands of spruce, balsam and cedar. I jumped a couple of whitetail deer (figuratively speaking, I don't want to give Bearmagnet anymore mental pictures than he already has), and have found this to be an unusual experience because the clank of my hiking poles generally runs game off long before I arrive. I hiked the spur trail around Leveaux Mountain a couple of times just because I was temporarily energized and then settled into my plan of reaching the Springdale Creek Campsite.

I lost my $7.95 Walmart watch somewhere and, therefore, have no idea what time I reached the campsite. Maybe an hour before dark. The campsite was set snuggly into a stand of birch just above Springdale Creek. At this point I was the first camper and quickly selected the only piece of level ground for my tarptent (God bless you Henry)and quickly set about the short work of setting up camp. Dinner was the standard Lipton Rice whatever followed by coffee and an energy bar for dessert. One of my primary reasons for these little trips is to check out different gear items for my AT thru hike. I had purchased an Esbit stove in spite of the incredibly bad comments I've read on TT...just had to check it out for myself. Boy do they SUCK! Harder to light than denatured alcohol, stink way bad, completely blacken the kettle (a good case for the pot calling the kettle black if I ever saw one), and takes an incredibly long time to boil. And did I say they SUCK? I had to wonder how the company can sell enough to keep making them since they SUCK so much and then, slowly, it dawned on me. It is exactly because of dopes like me who do not listen to the generously offered advice of their camping and hiking superiors. Oh, well, another day another Esbit.
After I read the daily paper (I live so far in the woods that they won't deliver a paper to me, so when I get the chance I grab one and devour it) I decided to turn in a little early and rest up for the next days longer hike. I'll tell you some more in a little bit, but right now I got to go to the bathroom.”

“I've used an Esbit successfully many times, even managing a boil of 2 cups of water in under 4 minutes. But the stink and black pot thing are the big drawbacks.”

“Okay, I'm back...made some coffee too. Well, shortly after dark while I rested in that nether world between sleep and fuzzily awake, I heard what only can be described as a "gang" come limping up the trail. Contrary to my fervently whispered prayers and futile attempts at bargaining with God, they turned right at the camp site spur and marched right into my life. Soon I heard a woman's voice inquire hesitantly, "Is it okay if we camp here"? Before I replied I wondered to myself why is it always a woman that asks that question? The answers are several (1) a man wouldn't ask, he'd just barge in (2) a woman's voice is better bait and (3) I forgot. However, being a solo hiker it is necessary to have developed a little screening criteria in order to be safe in the woods. I gruffly asked "What are your trail names"?. The voice replied "What's a trail name"? I then hollered out "Are any of you now, or have you ever been affiliated with Trailtalk, Backpacker.com, or Rodale Press"? "No", came the answer, "I don't think so". Believing these answers to be sincere and honest and knowing, therefore,that the statistical odds of my being safe from homocidal maniacs, perverts and people who would drink my whiskey were now in my favor, I granted them permission to camp.

Gotta get some coffe now, back in a sec.”

“Better safe than sorry, Snake Eyes! lol...”

“For some time I cozily lay in my little REI sub kilo sleeping bag (a successful trial run) and used my new Petzl Tikka Plus (another successful trial) to, once again, read the Duluth Tribune. As I scanned the paper, attempting to read it while lying on my back and holding it directly overhead without it dropping on my face, I could overhear the muted voices of more than several campers as they quietly converted the campsite into a suburb. Soon a couple more arrived, college kids, one with a deep booming voice. They did not ask my permission (I was proud of them) and merely started to set up their camp as if this was America and they were...Americans. The campfire soon sprang to life and conversation became antimated as the young folk enlivened the more middle aged and subdued earlier group and the conversation swung to rock climbing, running marathons and smoking weed. From the bits & pieces of overheard conversation I surmised that the early group was from a little south of the Twin Cities and were Norwegian Lutherans. A more dour group one could scarcely hope for. I just had to get up and join in.”

“I put on my shirt, hiking shorts and camp mocs, the remaining hair on my otherwise bald head was sticking out sideways, I had 2 days of white beard stubble and a day of trail grime. I looked like someone who had just escaped from rehab, and with this I stepped proudly into the campfire light and joined my comrades, some of the most preppy looking campers I've ever seen. Logos were in abundance. The light permitted me to see the outline of three absolutely huge tents in the background. I was stunned and asked the elder of the group who the ring master was since I've never seen tents of this size without a circus being around somewhere. My unappreciated humor fell on deaf ears and was summarily dismissed. Chastened I sat near the fire with my head bowed as they talked of the wonders of nature, God's work, and the absolute privilege of serving the Lord. I was very close to being converted, but the Devil remained by my side until the last of them turned in for the evening.”

“LOL!!!
good stuff.. keep it coming!”

“S.E., that's when you go up to the guy with the smallest tent there and ask him how much it weighs. Then you tell him how much the TarpTent weighs and watch the reaction.”

“After a time I slunk off to my tarptent spending the night tossing and turning as the lutheran God of the Norwegians wrestled with an Irish Catholic Devil for what seemed to be my very soul. But peace comes to us in strange ways and something happened during that night and I early awoke a changed and better man. I was up before the Norske's, fouling our camping nest with my esbit stove as I made coffee and munched my breakfast of raw pop tarts. A woman emerged from one of the cavernous tents and greeted me in a hushed tone. We conversed gently as she bustled about making breakfast, extracting from various packs huge pots & kettles, several stoves of incredible size and weight, and plates, saucers, knives, forks and spoons. She poured mineral water from a five gallon plastic container into a large pot and started the water to boil for oatmeal. She asked questions of me and of my equipment (no, not that equipment, damned the luck) and I told her of my 20 oz tarptent (Mr. Bitpusher) and my 25 pound pack weight. Unfortunately just when I was getting ready to mention the size of that other equipment the flap to another tent was flung open and the Elder of the group emerged already looking wide awake, clean and preppy. I just felt so inadequate.”

“Damn, the paterfamilias!”

“LOL....GREAT trip report...LOL...”

“humorous...thanks. have you ever tried the trail near wawa,ontario”

“Thanks for the great TR Snake Eyes! Is there more?! If not, make some up would you? You've got me smiling despite a three year old with tummy bug this morning.”

“Yes, there's more but the blood/coffee level in my system has to be just right in order to properly report the events EXACTLY as they happened, without deviating from the truth even a little bit.”

“Okay, let's give it a try.

The Elder strode purposefully to his luggage...I mean backpack, and took from it a thick foam cushion and went down to the stream to perform his morning personal hygiene ritual, kneeling on it so he wouldn't muddy his knees (this I am not making up). At about the same time, not being over concerned with chronology here, an even elder Elder emerged from a different tent (one can scarcely label these magnificent edifices as tents, but what am I to do? I lack the language). It was as if someone had rolled the stone from the tomb and he was Jesus Christ. I believe I did detect a definite and perceptible aura, a glow, or a subdued shimmer to his presence. He too removed a thick foam pad from his Samsonite (note the continued Bibical reference) and another large box as well. Next the Holy Man placed the pad on the log bench, reached into the box and pulled out all manner of Dr. Scholl's first aid treatments for the blisters he had so righteously acquired by packing that very same box. In the meantime the small flame from my Esbit stove managed to set the bench on fire. He looked at me with a contempt that the clean and saved reserve exclusively for the unwashed heathen. I tried to look appropriately dour, but could not stifle my giggle. It went over like a fart in church. Finishing his self treatment, he arose from his throne, picked up his foam pad and joined his fellow disciple by the bank of the Jordan. Realizing if I hung around much longer I was likely in for an involuntary baptism, I hurriedly broke camp. Crossing the bridge over the Jordan...I mean Springdale Creek, I couldn't resist a parting shot at the 2 disciples, asking them if they would mind turning Lake Superior into wine before they walked across it as I would likely generate a powerful thirst with the day's hike ahead and didn't want their infected blisters to contaminate it. Saying thus, I strode whistling into the forest feeling better than I have in months.”

“Funny stuff, SE. I've got to remember your screening process for would-be neighbors.”

“Snake Eyes... you are too funny.... ever think of writing a book? LOL!!!”

“Bitpusher - I think the Esbit would have performed better with a wind screen, but it is still no match for the pepsi. Right now I'm searching the web for a stove that will smell like incense, thus increasing my chances of experiencing a spiritual awakening the next trip out.

Mtpack - I don't know where Wawa Ontario is.

Pinkbubelz - I've been hearing that write a book stuff all my life. I'm not against the monetary reward, but evidently I'd rather be a smart a$$.”

“Yah, the only thing I don't like about alcohol stoves is having to carry liquid fuel. I've made and tested several, and actually used one on the trail once. They work quite well, and leave no residue.”

“Oh, and using a windscreen with an Esbit definitely helps. If you don't have one, stacking rocks around the stove and pot will work.”

“I never stack rocks around my pot. It seems to work better to just cup my hands around it and inhale like a mutha.”

“For me day 2 began as I left the company of the Chosen, wandering south toward Britton Peak, thru Temperance River State Park with the intention of camping at the South Cross River campsite, a distance of 9.1 miles. Truly it was a beautiful day, the sun shone warmly on my back equally as much as I imagine it does on God's preferred children. The Aspen and Birch were positively brilliant with golden yellows; the maple leaves burned red, etching themselves into the memory of my few remaining post 60's brain cells. It was one of those perfect days when the sun warms you like a mothering blanket and the lake breeze caresses you just enough to evaporate the perspiration before you even know it's there. You don't think of the weight of your pack, sore feet or ex-wives, but just float along in perfect rhythm with the unfolding day. Everything in my life and led me to that moment and prepared me to appreciate its' simple perfection.

As I came close to Britton Peak I began to meet fellow sojourners on the trail. They were beautifully garbed in their fall hiking apparel and we greeted each other as fellow travellers as we passed in the early golden afternoon. At one point a gentle lady stopped a moment to chat with me, whispering a warning that there was some "mud" on the trail up ahead, as if the maintenance crew had failed in their assigned task of keeping the trail clean and tidy. Leaning forward I conspiratorially confided that there were rumors of wild animals actually defecating on similar trails in Wisconsin. I did this not so much out of a desire to offend her sensibilities, but in the spirit of protecting my home state from her and those of similar bent. Visibly shaken she scurried off down the trail and I jauntily whistled my way on toward Carlton Peak, another couple miles distant.”

“SE-- you know.. if you just keep copies of these posts in a journal, you'd have something interesting for others to see-- put it this way, there are a lot of REALLY BAD writers out there, if you keep photos as well, that would be a real plus...

AND... being a smart @$$ doesn't hurt either!”

“Thanks for giving me a grin, SE, amidst all the onerous tasks that keep demanding my attention.”

“and I was just about to post a "Where the hell's Pekka"?thread. Glad you're ok.”

“I couldn't resist a parting shot at the 2 disciples, asking them if they would mind turning Lake Superior into wine before they walked across it as I would likely generate a powerful thirst with the day's hike ahead and didn't want their infected blisters to contaminate it. Saying thus, I strode whistling into the forest feeling better than I have in months."
Snake Eyes
09:53:46 AM
09/28/04

OMG...you actually said that to them?????

OMG...this is great stuff....LOL.hahah”

“I'm enjoying it, Snake Eyes.”

“Divinity, only some of it really happened the way I said. A few things popped into my head and made me laugh while I was hiking and I'm trying to remember some of it and fill in the blanks with my imagination. It's not far from true, though.”

“Alive, but very preoccupied these days with certain obligations. Thanks for the thought.”

“Snake Eyes can tell you some dandy fish stories!”

“hilarious trip report! you should definitely write a book.”

“Thanks, jmitch. I've been dodging making a commitment to this sort of thing all my life. I've always just wanted to keep it a fun thing. Maybe I'll get more into it during my '05 AT thru hike. There's got to be some funny stories in that experience, true or almost so.”

“Tears are running from my eyes!
Oh My God!”

“I began to feel even more buoyant as I approached the spur trail to Carlton Peak because I had not encountered any more human beings save a couple of mid-30's women who were clearly from Illinois. They emerged from the trees dressed in a diaphonous mosquito netting from their broad brimmed hats to their ankles, lending to them a sheer negligee quality that spoke of promise, but ultimately descending to disappointment as they drew within range of closer eyeball liberty. Dressed in matching navy blue outfits, top and bottom; soft quad muscles beginning to hang over their knee caps, I shook my head wondering if I could actually ever get drunk enough... Both were well encrusted with makeup, lipstick and huge dangling earrings challenged their stretching lobes. I imagined them to be twin Mary Magdalenes, perhaps on their way to meet up with the two Disciples. To save or be saved, who knows?

Thankfully I saw no one until well after reaching the spur trail to Carlton Peak. Along the way I had spent time mentally composing my entry into the trail
register and so I was able to jot my quick note to those who would follow and, rather than climb to the top, chose a bald outcropping about 20 feet over the junction of the main trail and the spur trail, from which I could see Lake Superior and all the people who would come and go below me.

For a time I stretched out on the warm rock, enjoying the sun and the gentle breeze and then sat up to nibble at a granola bar. Below me, since it was now midmorning, the trail began to busy as some folks chose the spur trail and began to climb the peak, others scurried toward Oberg Mountain, and some stopped to read earlier comments in the trail register and record their own (I remember one entry as "sex on a mountain top just doesn't work"...it was written by a woman). I began to chuckle as I could judge by a variety of responses that my entry was being noted with some concern, some saw it as humerous and others looked around with a little trepidation. One couple even did an about face and hurried down the trail from whence they came.

The entry read something like "Hi Folks, This is Ted Tofte from the Ted Tofte Rod & Gun Club. I just want to advise all you locals that this is the weekend to join us for our annual cookout and free opportunity to sight in your rifles. It is your last opportunity to make certain your weapon shoots straight prior to the annual Illinois Tourist hunting season that begins on Friday 1 October. For you folks from the Twin Cities with a body mass index of beyond 35%, please make certain to not be in the woods this coming weekend. You could be mistaken for someone from Illinois. Honest mistakes have been made in the past."”

“I've wanted to get back north to the SHT ever since returning from the AT, but haven't been able to because of some problems with my house requiring my daily attention. My neighbors just offered to help me out so I get get up there and walk in the woods for a couple of weeks. Not sure when I'm going yet but it will be in the next several days. Yippee!”

“Awesome. I'm hoping to do Gooseberry to Magney last week of Sept. first of Oct.”