National Register of Historic Places

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On a Bartram Adventure Tour

April 24, 2019 By Sandra Friend 2 Comments

Taking my morning walk down to the St. Johns River at sunrise, I was delighted to see the river swaddled in a light fog, the anchored boats mere shadows, the mist a screen capturing the rays of the rising light. I had driven through the South Historical District of Palatka hundreds of times in my life, but this visit was a first, to experience the city on foot and by bike. When the invite came in, we looked at ourselves and said “Palatka?”

We’d stayed along the edge of town before – and even camped nearby – to hike public lands that cradle the city in a gentle arc that reaches from just north of the Fort Gates Ferry and Salt Springs up around to Etoniah Creek State Forest, connected by the Florida Trail. I’d walked the pathways of Ravine Gardens as a child, and dozens of times more as an adult. But downtown Palatka never called to me to linger, despite its colorful murals and historic buildings. I’d stop for lunch or to peek into an antique shop, and continue on.

It was during our research for our recent edition of Explorer’s Guide North Florida & The Panhandle that we stopped to see what had changed in Palatka and discovered some major surprises. First, a total rebuild of the waterfront park along the St. Johns River. Second, a new hotel sprouted, with a river view. But what made us park the car and go explore was the National Recreational Trail sign we saw in front of a new building along the riverfront drive, the St. Johns River Center. Inside, we discovered a environmental education center devoted to interpreting the river. It was mainly geared to kids, but as we talked to the docent there was a dawning realization that Palatka was on to something bigger than itself. They’d discovered Bartram’s Travels.

Bartram’s Travels

For naturalists interested in what Florida – and the rest of the Southeast – looked like before the Europeans descended on the New World in hordes, Bartram’s Travels is one of those must-reads. Although the English of that time is very different than today, it’s worth wading through the language to get to the meat of the book: descriptions of what William Bartram saw as he journeyed by horseback and canoe in 1773 and 1774. Particularly here in Florida.

The wild western shoreline of the St. Johns River in Welaka

What was never clear to me – until we spent a week with folks who live and breathe the Bartram story – is that there were two Bartrams, both naturalists and writers. John Bartram, royal botanist to King George in Colonial times, headed up the first expedition to Florida. His mission was to search for and send back new plant species to England. He took his son William along, who did illustrations to accompany his father’s accounts of Florida. John’s account of the journey was published in Britain in 1766.

William returned on his own in 1773, just before the American Revolution. It’s his story that’s sat on my shelf for more than 30 years, the one you’re more likely to find in a bookstore, filled with detailed descriptions of his journey and what he encountered along the way. Among the thousands of tidbits in Travels, he offers one of the first-known descriptions of a gopher tortoise, as well as accounts of meeting with the native peoples of that era. William also recounts numerous encounters with alligators along the St. Johns River, describing not just their behavior – “I have seen an alligator take up out of the water several great fish at a time, and just squeeze them betwixt his jaws” – but also alligators coming after him and his boat.

Bartram alligators — William Bartram drew quite a few illustrations of alligators

When you read through both journals carefully, you can easily identify the locations both Bartrams visited in Florida. In the 1970s, metal historic markers began to appear at parks in Florida to commemorate the William Bartram Trail, placed by the Florida Federation of Garden Clubs. I recall the first ones I saw being at Paynes Prairie and Manatee Springs. So I filed away in my mind that there was a Bartram Trail, of sorts, but it would take some work to figure out how to follow it.

Bartram by Bike

Bundled up on a very chilly December morning, we assembled with a handpicked group in the backyard of the Bartram Inn. We didn’t know this Palatka B&B existed until we stayed in Stony Brook, Long Island, at a bicycle-themed B&B and the owner told us about it. That very evening, in a total coincidence, we received an invite from Linda Crider, the proprietor of the Bartram Inn, to join her for a “shakedown” tour of the Bartram Trail. After our visit to the St. Johns River Center, we were certainly curious. So when we learned that Linda and her colleagues planned to show us how to follow the Bartram National Recreation Trail, we were in, paying a nominal fee to participate.

Riding with us were two old friends, Robert Seidler and Laura Hallam, and a new-to-us cast of characters. We’d met them all the night before, sitting around the living room of the inn while listening to a scholarly discussion of Bartram’s Travels. Among the new-to-us revelations – but certainly not to locals, who’d been putting on a living history event called the Bartram Frolic for quite a few years – was that there was a Bartram Trail in Putnam Committee. Led by Sam Carr, this core group of Bartram enthusiasts included retired scientists, professors, and parks and recreation experts. It was through their efforts the National Recreation Trail came about. They’d been to the oldest surviving botanical garden in North America, John Bartram’s Garden in Philadelphia. They’d visited the British Museum to collect copies of William Bartram’s original illustrations. And most importantly, they’d done the on-the-ground work to find each significant site in the Bartrams’ two books and document it. The result is a signposted trail along the Bartrams’ route through Putnam County.

Our first day’s exploration would be by bike. With tour leader Bob Stevens guiding the way, we headed along the riverfront to downtown. The new Palatka Riverwalk starts in front of the St. Johns River Center, and it was here, at the base of the highway bridge, that Ken Mahaffey showed us the first of numerous National Recreation Trail markers we’d see throughout the county. This one, Marker 4, called attention to Palatka itself, where the Bartrams encountered a Seminole village having a festival – the reason for today’s Bartram Frolic.

Bartram Trail Site 4 Palatka — Ken Mahaffey explains the importance of Bartram Trail Site 4

Returning back along the waterfront of Palatka Riverfront Park, we stopped to admire a newly built playground with a very natural feel, and an iconic sculpture of a largemouth bass tucked under a trio of lily pads. Dedicated in 2014, it was created by local artist Doug Hays, depicting William Bartram’s description of the “trout” he saw along this part of the river.

Bartram's Bass sculpture in Riverfront Park, Palatka — Bartram’s Bass sculpture in Riverfront Park, Palatka

After another stop to peek at an old riverboat awaiting restoration, we navigated the brick streets of old Palatka to Ravine Gardens, built in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. The loop road around this state park has been closed to cars because of a landslide, but that doesn’t stop visitors on foot (or bikes) from following the ravine rim. After stopping at a spring and at that Bartram Trail marker I first noticed as a kid, we made our way south through a residential district and on canopied backroads to a kiosk to commemorate Spalding’s Lower Store. It was an important trading post along the St. Johns during the Bartram’s time.

Biking to Spaulding's Lower Store — Biking to Spaulding’s Lower Store

On the return ride, we stopped at the historic Peniel Baptist Church, established in 1871. We’d ridden past several churches, but this one held special meaning for Palatka’s history. It was here that the Reverend Billy Graham began his life of service. After being baptized in a nearby lake, he was ordained here as a minister in 1939. Now I understood why one of the murals downtown featured Billy Graham.

After nearly 25 miles by bike, it was time to refuel and recharge. John rode, and I walked, down to Angel’s Diner, the oldest diner in Florida. The weather had warmed up to a perfect temperature for our group to swarm the picnic tables and enjoy a hot lunch.

Angel's Diner in Palatka — Lunch at Angel’s Diner in Palatka

The remainder of the afternoon was ours to enjoy relaxing and exploring on our own. In the early evening, we gathered together over wine and cheese to meet our guides for the next day, with a program on Bartram’s botanizing: “Puc Puggy & the Franklinia.” It was then time to ramble downtown for another meal.

Bartram Hikes

Walking along a wild shoreline at John’s Landing in Welaka State Forest, I was grateful that it had finally been opened up to hikers. Mud Spring was my first-ever hike in Welaka State Forest. When I walked the rest of the trails for 50 Hikes in North Florida, I was a little disappointed that they followed forest roads and only touched the river twice.

That’s no longer the case. Thanks to efforts led by volunteer Mike Stallings, the new William Bartram St. Johns River Loop leads you right along the riverfront between Orange Point and John’s Landing. But before we made it to this beauty spot, we spent the morning roaming the grounds of the historic Palatka Water Works, home to the Water Works Environmental Education Center. Volunteer Shann Purinton showed us around the facility, which was built in 1886 to provide drinking water for the city of Palatka, as well as water for firefighting in the wake of a fire that destroyed downtown.

Dick Franz, who enjoyed a career as a scientist at the Florida Museum of Natural History, led us along the Puc Puggy Trail, an interpretive walk in the woods based on Bartram’s Travels. A highlight of the short hike was seeing the large gopher tortoise enclosure for rescued tortoises, set atop a sandhill habitat.

From there, we made a brief stop at Rollestown, where the Bartrams made several visits. As was true with many other Bartram sites, the actual archaeological site is on private land, in this case a power plant. It did not occur to the state of Florida a century or more ago to set these special places aside. The historic marker sits in a small wayside park along US 17.

Bartram Trail Rollestown — Site of Rollestown along US 17 near San Mateo

After our hike at Welaka State Forest, Sam had a treat for us. We visited Mount Royal, a notable historic site. One of Florida’s larger burial mounds, it sat in the middle of a large village that the Bartrams visited in 1765. It sits just outside the edge of Welaka State Forest, surrounded by a subdivision. An 1894 archaeological expedition discovered copper tools, beads, and pottery. A later dig uncovered the remains of a Spanish mission circa 1587.

Atop the mound, Sam read a passage from Bartram. Beneath the ancient moss-draped oaks, atop this ancient burial site, it felt like a prayer.

Bartram by Water (and Land)

On our first stop in Welaka, we paused to visit a kiosk pointing out the many springs that the Bartrams visited along this shoreline of the river. Having only known of Mud Spring, I had no idea that the St. Johns had so many in such a compact area! And that’s why the last full day of touring was devoted to them.

St Johns River paddling — Paddling the Bartram Trail on the St Johns River

Dean Campbell led the group out on the water, following the Bartram Trail markers up and down the river between Welaka and Satsuma. During his years as a scientist for the St. Johns River Water Management District, Dean used John Bartram’s journal to help him research sites as a part of his work. Thanks to his in-depth knowledge of both explorers’ stops along the river, he developed the overall map of locations that you’ll see inside the St. Johns River Center.

Dean arranged a special visit for our tour group to privately-owned Satsuma Spring

Being the paddler of our duo, John headed out on the water with Dean and the group, and wrote a nice recap of his adventure visiting the springs. I decided to dig more deeply into Bartram’s travels on land around Welaka. My first stop was Ravine Gardens, to hike the loop again and count the springs. I hadn’t done the full loop in more than a decade. I found two bubblers and the more notable sulfur spring we’d stopped at on the bike ride, all feeding Whitewater Branch, which in turn fed the Palatka Water Works for nearly 70 years.

Next stop was Murphy Creek Conservation Area in Satsuma. I’d hoped to find a way on their trail system to be able to see Murphy Island – which John Bartram described as “a high shelly bluff, where thousands of orange-trees surrounded us, with red cedars and live-oaks” – from the land side. No luck. The trail was a simple loop, optimized for equestrians.

I headed on to the Beecher Run Nature Trail at Welaka Fish Hatchery, which I’d visited more than 15 years before with my parents after our one and only ride together across the river on the Fort Gates Ferry. I had only a dim memory of the trail, and didn’t know it had anything to do with Bartram’s Travels. As the spring is not far from Mount Royal, it’s thought the Bartrams followed the run up to its source. A trail marker is affixed to the observation tower at the trailhead.

Walking the short loop, I was delighted to see the age of the pine trees, and the fact that you could walk out to a small bluff to look out over the spring-fed ponds of the fish hatchery. Established in the 1920s, this federal hatchery diverted the spring water for its use. While you can’t walk to the spring, the run that flows past the bench at the overlook is crystal clear. As I stood there watching the wading birds in the ponds, a pair of bald eagles circled overhead.

Just up the road at 40 Acre Park, I was delighted by the bird life and the quiet. This small city park has recreational facilities, but the hidden gem is the old ponds that the hatchery abandoned decades ago. They’ve become rectangles of swamp, with worn paths between them. As I walked down the causeway, two sandhill cranes looked up, curious.

Trails Connect

We tend to pack as much research as we can into our trips. So during our “unscheduled” time, John and I slipped away with Robert and Laura for a ride on the newest portion of the Palatka-Lake Butler Trail. This paved extension from Carraway into the edge of Palatka, ending not far from St. Johns Water Management District headquarters, meant a radical change at Rice Creek. I’d hiked over the beautiful old railroad trestle there more than once, as it was part of the Florida Trail. We found it replaced by a long-span bridge that a truck could drive across, with a new causeway supporting it. Remembering the beauty of the creek crossing, I wasn’t fond of the “progress” to make the bike trail happen. The trail had officially opened the weekend before we arrived.

Another trail, heading in the opposite direction from Palatka to St. Augustine, was close to completion and we’d expected to ride it as a group before we all departed the next morning. Nasty weather that morning made our plans change. Mike Adams, who assumes the persona of William Bartram at special events, invited us out to his riverfront plantation instead. In full Bartram regalia, he led us on a hike out to the St. Johns River.

We stepped out onto a boardwalk and surveyed the sweeping view. Progress, it seems, has left the St. Johns River alone for much of its length. While cypress logging and the building of towns, farms, and bridges have changed the landscape forever from what the Bartrams saw and documented, there are still long stretches of the river that are wild. The Bartram National Recreation Trail lets you experience the river through the eyes of William and John, our earliest explorers who left a trail for us to follow.

Take the Tour

If you’d like to join a Bartram Adventure Tour, plan ahead! The Spring Tour kicks off later this week. Except for breakfasts and a lunch or two, dining is on your own, but lodging and guides are included. Bring your own bikes (as we did) and/or kayaks, or the tour leaders can arrange a rental for you. Tour leaders take the group by van to the more far-flung locations like Welaka and Mount Royal.

You can create your own tour at your own pace by following the directions provided on the Bartram Trail in Putnam County website. Make the Bartram Inn your base camp for a comfortable stay in a historic home, with rates starting at $90. Since Palatka is right along the Amtrak route, it’s possible to arrive here and enjoy a tour without needing a car. From the inn, you can walk or ride a few blocks to restaurants and shops.

Learn More

See Rock City!

September 6, 2018 By Sandra Friend 6 Comments

Ever since being a kid traveling with my family through North Carolina and Tennessee, I remember the red and black barns and the birdhouses that proclaimed “See Rock City.”

Rock City birdhouse — Larger than life birdhouse photo op

That’s it. Not where, not why, and certainly not with a URL back in the day. If you wanted to find out what it meant, you’d ask an innkeeper. I remember at Sun Plaza in Silver Springs in the 1960s, they had both stamp machines and a rotating mileage chart to attractions of interest. Rock City was among them.

Rock City stamp machines — These vintage stamp machines were straight out of my childhood

It took more than 50 years for me to finally see Rock City after seeing those first ads for it. The timing was right: blue skies, light traffic, and a stay the night before just an hour up the highway. It was along our route. So we climbed the winding road up Lookout Mountain.

I’m sure that Rock City has changed a lot since the 1960s. Starbucks. Multiple parking lots with friendly fellows waving us to a parking space. A sea of people. I began to have some regrets. I’m not fond of crowds. Perhaps a Labor Day visit wasn’t wise. Especially with a surcharge on the ticket because it was a “music weekend.” That wasn’t why we’d come.

A few minutes in, once past the gauntlet of shops and fudge and snack bars, I was more at ease once we started down the Enchanted Trail. It brought together three of my favorite things: geology, botany, and hiking.

Rock City is laid out along a trail, but it’s far from linear. It dives deep into clefts in the earth through what I’ve known all my life as rock mazes, eroded pinnacles of rock along the edges of ridges.

It’s preserved, ironically, because of a developer. Garnet Carter created a club called Fairyland atop Lookout Mountain in 1926, followed by cottages and a subdivision. His wife, Frieda, designed homes and a gas station. She was fond of the fairy tales of her German heritage, and imported storybook character statues for the community; if you drive through it you’ll see street names like Peter Pan Rd and Red Riding Hood Trail.

Rock City Starbucks — We think this former gas station was one of Frieda’s designs. It’s now a Starbucks outside the entrance gate

Frieda wanted a rock garden in their backyard. She figured out a pathway by stretching string between the massive rocks and through the crevices, ending up at Lovers Leap. This is pretty much the route that the Enchanted Trail follows today.

Rock City High Falls — The ultimate destinations at Rock City are Lovers Leap and High Falls, which cascades off of it

The Carters opened their rock garden to the public on May 21, 1932. An attraction was born. It was well off the beaten path, however, so that’s where the barns came into play. Garnet hired a sign painter to travel around and offer to paint barns for free as long as they had the red and black See Rock City added. It worked! The farthest flung barns were in Texas and Michigan.

Rock City Enchanted Trail — Following a family down the Enchanted Trail

The Enchanted Trail is enchanting. It clambers in, out, and over the rock mazes, with stairs here and bridges there. You always feel that you’re moving along in three dimensions as there is usually something going on above and below.

Rock City photo op — We suspect the many photo op stops were there long before selfie sticks were invented

Trees and plants had interpretive tags, adding an arboretum aspect. The trail had low walls along it, befitting how the stonemasons first figured it out. In some spots, you’d look over and into deep crevices, where voices filtered from below.

Rock City Needles Eye — John climbs out of the Needle’s Eye

The maze-like quality extended into a “choose your own path.” No wonder they handed us a map at the ticket booth. We took a side trail that led us to the ADA accessible trail called Legacy Lane, and ended up out at Lovers Leap, realizing by the flow of people that we’d come the wrong way and skipped a bunch of the main route. Whoops!

Hanging out over the edge of Lookout Mountain, you can easily see downtown Chattanooga off to the north. Georgia is below and south.

“See Seven States” is the tagline they use, borrowed from Civil War correspondence. On a clear day like today, it was still a stretch to think that the far horizon held Kentucky, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia. Alabama is on the other side of Lookout Mountain so I wasn’t sure how to see it, either.

See 7 States — Chalk it up to active imaginations and marketing. As we used to joke on the Appalachian Trail, “I can see Georgia from here!” And Chattanooga

We eventually backtracked – passing Prospector’s Point twice – and found the Enchanted Trail again, but not without catching a preview of the bridges to come.

Rock City Lovers Leap — Interpretive signs provide history and background

You can choose from a rock-solid stone arch bridge or a long span suspension bridge to make your way out to Lovers Leap. Both have their own high points, so to say.

Meandering between the rocks, with deep cracks in the earth on both sides, I was delighted that the original low stone walls along the footpath are still in place. Rock City trusts that you’ll keep a close watch on the kids and stay on the path. Again, we could hear voices down below, in the deep crevices.

At the bridges, I chose the suspension span. I can be terrified of heights – actually, as comedian Steven Wright would say, “I’m not afraid of heights, I’m afraid of depths” – while John took the stone bridge. I didn’t look down, but I was not happy with the kids in front of me intentionally making the bridge bounce and sway. I should have known that would happen.

Rock City Swing-A-Long Bridge — I left a lot of space in front of me on the Swing-A-Long Bridge

After another circuit past Lovers Leap and the 7 States Flag Court, we began the descent into a deep slender crevice called Fat Man’s Squeeze.

Fat Mans Squeeze Rock City — Those stairs!

We’d already threaded the Eye of the Needle, but this was much tighter. I found walking sideways along the wall helped.

After a dip through a cavern, the trail emerged in the rock forest and made its way out to the edge of the cliff, a level below Lovers Leap. This afforded a view of High Falls and a different perspective on the valley below.

Rock City Observation Point — The requisite selfie from the lower level

Linking the two big overlooks – Fairy Glen and Observation Point – the clever Rainbow Tunnel made use of natural light filtered through colored glass.

Rock City Rainbow Tunnel — John in the Rainbow Tunnel

More geologic features, like the 1000-ton Balanced Rock and the Stone Witch, were linked by a series of caverns (rock shelters, really) and rock gardens.

Rock City balanced rock — Contemplating being under a balanced rock

With the emphasis on winding through the rock mazes, I wasn’t expecting caverns. So our descent into Fairyland Caverns came as somewhat of a surprise.

It seems that Frieda Carter was quite fond of gnomes in addition to fairy tales. Add 1940s vintage sculptures by commissioned artist Jessie Sanders, fluorescent paints, and black lights, and this underground walk through Frieda’s version of Fairyland was a bit trippy.

The faux stalactites gave away that this wasn’t really a cavern, but another deep spot in the rock maze, with walls and portals added for effect. Still, it was fascinating to pause at the many vignettes.

Mother Goose Village, the largest room, led us around a rectangle dominated by a castle and the illustrative statuary. We both caught a few nursery rhymes that we’d never heard of before.

Mother Goose Village Rock City — Mary, Mary is all aglow

After that dose of retro in Day-Glo, it was jarring to pop up into the main gift shop and the entrance plaza full of people.

I’d planned to pick up one of their iconic birdhouses or birdhouse Christmas ornaments, but was sorely disappointed to discover they were made in China. Given the region’s deep well of artists and crafters and the fact that Rock City is still under the care of Garnet and Frieda’s descendants, along with its legacy of barn-painting promotions, I’d expected some “Made in Tennessee” or “Made in Georgia” handcrafted promotional items. No luck.

Rock City gnome shop — John found his tribe in the Gnome Shop

If we lived nearby, I’d want an annual pass to explore the crevices, overlooks, and gardens in more detail. I would have walked through again, even. But our afternoon plans were set, so it was time to say goodbye to Rock City.

Learn more about Rock City. It’s open year-round, although the road to the top of Lookout Mountain can be daunting in less-than-ideal weather. They host a variety of special events year-round.

Circling Mackinac Island

August 31, 2018 By Sandra Friend Leave a Comment

Call it the 185, or the 8.2. Or better yet, Michigan’s most scenic state highway. You may have heard: it’s a cyclist’s dream. Mostly flat, great views, and only a mile of congestion.

Most importantly, there isn’t a single car on M-185. Never was, never will be. Welcome to the time warp that is Mackinac Island. Here, dodging road apples is an important skill. Dodging cars, not so much. Thank goodness.

This is my fourth trip to this fabled island in the Mackinac Straits, the busy waters between Lake Huron and Lake Michigan. Because I lived in Horse Country, aka Ocala, my previous visits were focused on the horses. Not this time.

Mackinac Island carriage — We saw plenty of horses and carriages, but never used one on this trip

Marrying a lifelong cyclist meant a bit of compromise. If he’d hike, I’d bike. I never was much of a cyclist and still have a lot to learn.

The one thing I insist on is not riding with traffic. Drivers are too distracted these days, and I’ve lost friends who were run over by motorists. So our focus this trip has been dedicated bike paths.

M-185 Mackinac Island — M-185 is the ultimate in paved bike paths

Circling Mackinac Island on the M-185 is the ultimate easygoing bike ride. You spend most of your ride inside Mackinac Island State Park, which protects 80% of the island. Forests and beaches are your constant companions.

I learned quite a few things on our circuit of the island, all of them worth a heads-up to you if you’re planning to ride it too. While many of these apply to any bike trip, some are strictly a Mackinac thing.

Watch out for newbies. I consider myself a relatively inexperienced rider but here, anyone can and will rent a bike, even those who haven’t ridden one before. We found families stopped in the middle of the road, blocking the lane, and some riders misjudging how much space they had for passing. John has a rule of thumb of leaving at least a bicycle length between you and the next rider, so you have time to react. Leave as much room as you can.

Riding M-185 — We learned that carriages go pretty slow

Pay attention. To everything. Kids dart into the road. Dogs run in front of you. Big wagons pulled by horses pull out in front of you. I was cut off after signaling a turn. A young lady who couldn’t have been ten almost hit me head-on because she was in the wrong lane, looking down at her phone while pedaling. John yelled at her just as I was about to. When we checked in at Mission Point Resort, Shaquira at the front desk showed us her scars from a bad bike accident and said she’s reluctant to ride now. Understandable.

Sandra and John — Helmet-clad at Devils Kitchen

BYOH. Most riders here had no helmets. We brought our bikes over on the ferry, so we‘d worn ours. Other folks who cycle regularly had theirs on too. It’s just smart cycling, especially where pavement, trees, and rocks are part of the landscape.

Riding Main Street Mackinac — It can get chaotic on Main Street at times

Beware of the ferry docks. We came over on the Star Line, and our crew explicitly told passengers that the road is for riding and the sidewalks are for walking. Yet at the very next dock we passed, people poured out across the road and ignored us coming. I kept saying “ding ding” as I don’t have a bell, but I had to slow down and weave between them. I almost fell over. Pro tip: take Market Street instead of Main Street through downtown.

Market Street Mackinac — Riding down Market Street

Avoid the horse poop. They do a great job of sweeping it up on Main Street, but the rental carriages go further out along M-185 and, um, drop their loads where no one cleans it up. Same throughout the state park. Steer clear.

Road apples Mackinac — Road apples. Everywhere.

Take it easy. It isn’t a race. You could ride the M-185 in an hour or less, but why?

John on a rock — John takes a lakeside break

We stopped and talked with people, watched the world go by, and exchanged photo opportunities like in the good old days before selfies.

Us at Mackinac — Yes, random strangers will take your photo if you ask

It was truly an enjoyable ride. It didn’t hurt that the sun was shining although the air was crisp. We stopped at the halfway point, British Landing, and grabbed a light lunch from the Cannonball Drive Inn after visiting the Nature Center.

Along the route, there are nature trails to explore – three I’d never seen before – and many miles of shoreline to enjoy.

Nature trail on Mackinac — One of three interpretive trails along the loop

On my first rocky beach, I spotted one agate. Then another. I found more agates along this ride than I had this past month, without even trying hard.

Lake Huron beach — A perfect agate hunting spot

There are also geological features worth stopping for. I’d seen Dwightwood Spring and Arch Rock on hikes before, but other fascinating features like Chimney Rock and Devil’s Kitchen were new to me.

100 Things to do on Mackinac Island — We found Kath’s book at Mission Point Resort

As we learned from our friend Kath’s book on Mackinac Island, we sent away for bike licenses in advance. Every bike on the island must have one – no cars, remember, so bikes are transportation – so the rental bikes were obvious from their hangtags. You can get them from the ferryboat operators for an extra fee if you’re bringing your own bike.

Carrying luggage on bike — John carried our luggage on his bike

Being backpackers – and John having bikepacking experience – we packed small to come across on the Star Line Ferry from St. Ignace. John knew just how to balance our luggage bag for the brief ride to Mission Point.

Unstrapping luggage from the bike — Unstrapping the luggage

Once here, we unstrapped our luggage and bike bags and headed in. It felt weird to be parking bikes in a big parking area but that’s how we’re rolling on Mackinac Island!

Mackinac fudge — Adding fudge to our bike bag

Of course, I insisted John partake in the obligatory fudge purchase because, this is Mackinac. But we did it his way: by bike.

A Day in Paradise

August 29, 2018 By Sandra Friend 4 Comments

Dusk settled in as the road ahead of us curved to open up a panorama of mazy marshes along the rim of Lake Superior. “This is the perfect habitat for moose,” I said.

We crossed the mouth of the Tahquamenon River and sure enough, a road sign warned us of moose along the next two miles. A stately pair of sandhill cranes, a little different in coloration than the ones we know at home, stood along the marsh edge. But no moose.

Paradise, Michigan, is genuinely off the beaten path. It touts itself as the “wild blueberry capital of Michigan,” but we’d missed the festival held just a few days before. Fortunately, we’d found plenty of late season blueberries while hiking. And raspberries.

Paradise is mainly known for what it’s near: Tahquamenon Falls and Whitefish Point. We settled in to our waterfront room under stormy skies, where I watched a whitefish-shaped cloud blowing smoke rings over the bay as dark descended.

I’d hoped for a dark sky filled with stars, but no luck. The storm clouds broke open into a light show in the wee hours as lightning arced over the St. Mary’s River.

Our morning skies hung leaden, but this is Paradise. We weren’t going to let that keep us inside. I was a bit intimidated reading that Tahquamenon Falls State Park sees upwards of a half million visitors a year, but I wanted John to see its beauty.

Upper Taquamenon Falls — John’s first glimpse of the falls

The Upper Falls occupied us for a couple of hours. In the context of waterfalls we’ve seen in Iceland, they are small but mighty. In the United States, they’re huge. East of the Mississippi, they are second only to Niagara in water volume.

The North Country Trail runs right through the park, so it was a delight to hike yet another segment. A fee shuttle service lets you walk the 4.8-mile footpath one way between the park’s two developed recreation areas. Plenty of people took advantage of it.

I’d been here twice before over the past three decades. The infrastructure – particularly the boardwalks and staircases – all seemed new and quite capable of handling massive volumes of people.

Stair climbing at Upper Taquamenon Falls — Upper Taquamenon Falls stair climbing

Fortunately, we didn’t encounter crowds. There is a lull up here just before Labor Day Weekend, so there were no throngs to wait for at the viewing platforms.

We also walked right in at Camp 33, the famed brewery and restaurant at what was once one of the Civilian Conservation Corps camps. The extensive menu had plenty of options, including a tasty mix of three types of sautéed mushrooms.

When we emerged from lunch, the skies had turned blue. Time to see the Lower Falls!

Lower Taquamenon Falls — Visitors at the main overlook

Not a single showy spot like the Upper Falls, they are more of a series of rock ledges over which the river pours. Boardwalks follow them upstream until you reach the soggy footpath of the North Country Trail again.

For those wanting a bit of adventure, the park rents rowboats so you can power yourself over to the base of the falls and to an island from which to see the falls even better.

Rowboats Taquamenon Falls — Rowboat heads for the island at Lower Taquamenon Falls

We had another destination in mind, however, so we passed on the rowboats. Like many folks who day trip up here from Newberry or St. Ignace, we were also headed to Whitefish Point, the end of the road beyond Paradise.

Dominating land’s end is the lighthouse and Coast Guard station, part of a larger complex that is now the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum. As the important turn out of the vastness of Lake Superior into the more sheltered waters of Whitefish Bay, Whitefish Point is an important navigation point for ships coming and going through the Soo Locks.

Inside the Lightkeeper’s quarters at Whitefish Point — Inside the lightkeeper’s quarters

Historically, it’s also been a graveyard of sunken ships. While any map of Great Lakes shipwrecks is astounding in terms of how many vessels have been lost, Whitefish Point has 30 vessels at depths achievable by experienced diver, all part of Whitefish Point Underwater Preserve.

Artifacts from the Samuel Mather, which sank in 1891

While the museum interprets these wrecks – along with Coast Guard lifesaving and lighthouse keeping at the point – its strongest focus is memorializing the Edmund Fitzgerald. It sank in our lifetimes – November 10, 1975 – and was the largest ore freighter of its kind. On rough seas, it simply vanished.

Gordon Lightfoot’s song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” has alternately brought on goosebumps or tears since I first heard it while in high school, so it was interesting to hear a docent at the museum say “he wrote it so those men would not be forgotten.” The museum similarly honors their memories through exhibits, memorials, and a short movie.

Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum — The museum exhibits maritime history and artifacts from shipwrecks

No one knows exactly why or how this fully-loaded freighter sunk with all 29 crew on board. While a US Navy jet was able to locate the ship several days later, broken in two, in 530 feet of water, It took numerous dives in the 1980s and 1990s with manned submersibles to examine the wreck.

The centerpiece of the museum is the ship’s bell from the Edmund Fitzgerald. Using a rebreather deep sea dive suit that John remarked was built very much like a space suit, Joseph MacInnis used underwater welding equipment to remove the bell. It was replaced with a replica engraved with the names of the lost crew. The process, and the opportunity for families of the crew to be involved, are documented in the movie shown at the museum. Tissues are provided.

While a heart-wrenching story, the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald led to massive overhauls in Great Lakes shipping regulations and practices, especially where it came to crew safety. Navigation charts were modernized and weather predictions made a priority. There has not been a wreck of this magnitude since.

While at Whitefish Point, we also visited the surrounding Seney Wildlife Refuge, where easy trails lead out to bird observation areas. These dunes are a flyover spot for raptors in the spring. Audubon has a small nature center and gift shop here, with charted bird sightings.

One of several nature trails at Whitefish Point

The beaches of Whitefish Point also attract a lot of agate hunters, no matter the weather. It’s something about the shape of the point that catches a large collection of colorful wave-tumbled rocks and minerals.

A day in Paradise wouldn’t be complete without dinner, and so we were directed right out of our hotel door and across the parking lot to The Inn, where what would be more appropriate than whitefish for dinner? It was some of the best so far on this trip.

Whitefish at The Inn, Paradise — Whitefish at The Inn

Iron Ore Odyssey

August 22, 2018 By Sandra Friend Leave a Comment

Reading up on the Iron Ore Heritage Trail, we knew it stretched 47 miles from the Lake Superior waterfront in Marquette through a series of small mining towns to the west. Once we picked up a map and saw the profile, I said “it’s all uphill!”

Of course, it isn’t. Trains ran on this grade. But the westbound stretch from Marquette to the Michigan Iron Industry Museum looked daunting. So when Carol Fulsher, the Administrator of the trail, suggested riding west from the museum to Ishpaming through the richest portion of the trail’s historic sites, I was all for it.

Now John could have easily ridden there from the Cedar Motor Inn, where we were staying. The desk manager showed us how the trail crossing was only a half mile away, but it required riding down the bike lane of US 41 to get to the connector road. I know better than to try that. As we drove that route, we saw a couple with panniers on, heading north. John looked on wistfully.

The entrance to the museum should have been a clue. It was entirely uphill. Which meant, of course, riding the brakes to the bottom, where a half-mile connector led to the Iron Ore Heritage Trail. Pavement yielded to cinders, and the hills began. For me, they were a challenge, since I’m still learning how to shift properly.

We stopped at a crossing of the Carp River, which weaves through the same terrain as the bike path.

While the path eventually became pavement, there was another steep stretch beyond a railroad crossing.

Here, the trail had left the old rail bed and wound through the woods. I ran out of gears and had to push the bike up the last little bit.

We met people walking, and a father and young son on an ATV, using the paralleling OHV trail. Carol told us a heartwarming story about an elderly man who would walk the 16 miles from Marquette to Ishpeming when the trail was first created, in order to visit his wife. He couldn’t drive any more, and she was in assisted living. “When I realized he had nowhere to sit, I made getting benches along the trail a priority!” she said. He would ride public transit back to his home.

Carol orchestrates the volunteer effort that goes into maintaining and improving this trail, which means everything from trail cleanups to metalworkers and artists developing signage and interpretive information. The trail spans 12 counties, most of which financially contribute to its maintenance through a sliver of property tax funds and ORV funds.

At the top of that very steep hill, we’d entered the mining district, obvious from the piles of tailings everywhere. Having grown up in a mining region, I was familiar with the terrain. Like my hometown, iron mining was the reason for the landscape looking like it did. “The ground is rusting!” said John.

Around the bend, we came to a memorial for the first terrible mining accident in Michigan history: January 7, 1902 at the Negaunee Mine, a cave-in at the bottom of the shaft. “Without warning, thousands of tons of ore came down,” said the sole survivor. 51 died, entombed beyond the reach of rescuers. That spelled the end of the “unluckiest mine” in the Lake Superior District. The only bright spot was the timing, as the tragedy could have been far worse had not 150 men been on the surface at lunch.

We also passed the location of the old Pioneer Furnace, the first commercial charcoal blast furnace in the Lake Superior region, which smelted the iron ore coming from the much earlier Jackson Mine, which we would encounter soon.

Reaching Negaunee, John was tempted to peel off and ride through town to photograph the architecture. But Carol said there would be much more of interest ahead, and we could return for lunch. So we spent some time roaming through Jackson Park, reading the interpretive displays and looking at artifacts.

I was intrigued that the old mine pits were all along this next segment of trail, but fenced off. As a kid I was scolded time and again for wandering into the woods on my own as our area was riddled with mine pits and shafts. I learned to stick to beaten paths.

Just outside Negaunee, beaten paths followed along the edges of these fences. Mountain bike trails! These were created by the Range Area Mountain Bike Association, or RAMBA. They led to interesting places and circled the big pits.

And that’s what got me into trouble. If I’d behaved myself all would have gone smoothly. After all, I’d seen the sign at Lakenenland the day before.

But I tried to ride the narrow plank at the Ramba Skills Course. And failed. This was my second spill this trip while attempting to go off-road. Except this time, the bicycle seat was in my hand when I hit the ground. I tried to put it back on and couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t broken, just slipped off of whatever held it in place.

John came over. “That’s not supposed to come off,” he said. He tried slipping it back on too, but there was no give to do so. Since it was past lunchtime, i suggested they ride back to the car while I walked the bike back to Negaunee, and they could meet me there.

Pushing a bike — Pushing my bike back towards Negaunee

By walking – my tried and true method of seeing the world – I noticed so much more than I did on the bike. The rich undergrowth beneath the birches. Especially when I spotted ripe raspberries.

The rusty bike hung in a tree above a crazy hill on the Epic Trail piece of the Rusty Bike Trail.

RAMBA Rusty Bike Trail — The Rusty Bike Trail

The rocks and minerals thoughtfully arranged atop fence posts.

The many interpretive panels about mining history.

My favorite: realizing, after I’d seen a half dozen of the ore cart shaped signs for the vast network of Ramba mountain bike trails between Negaunee and Ishpeming, that the shape of the ore piled in the cart differed on each one, as it was a contour map of the ride. Now that’s clever.

When I reached Jackson Mine Park, I could see there was more beyond the artifacts in the parking area, and a gazebo where I could wait. So I called John and arranged for them to meet me there.

I’m glad I did. Carol had pointed it out to us on the ride out and said it was a must. It is. It was somewhere between Negaunee and here in 1844 that surveyor William Austin Burt realized his team’s compasses were going bonkers. He and his survey crew found the reason: iron ore, of which some types like magnetite have strong magnetic fields.

As we learned later in the day while watching the “Iron Spirits” film at the Michigan Iron Industry Museum, Jackson Mine was the first place iron ore was extracted in the region. The name came from a partnership of downstate investors from Jackson, Michigan.

Bond from Jackson Mine — A share of the Jackson Mine

Walking into the mine itself felt like a homecoming. It’s a big pit surrounded by the ore body, beautiful banded hematite and jasper.

Owned by the city, it’s cared for by civic clubs. A boardwalk curves around above the deep water-filled pit, leading to a gated adit. In the film we watched later, we saw this very spot we stood on, bustling with the extraction of ore.

Birches grew up the steep slopes, where boulders of ore perched precariously. It is a bowl of beauty and a conundrum, for it was ground zero for the iron ore production of the Great Lakes. The ripple effect of this one spot – from the evolution of Great Lakes freighters to the locations of steel mills in neighboring states to the use of steel in buildings, automobiles, and everyday life – is simply astounding.

Awed and more than a bit hungry, we continued into Negaunee, where Carol led us to the Midtown Bakery & Cafe for a satisfying meal.

Midtown Cafe Negaunee — Lunch at the Midtown Cafe

We dropped her off at her car and headed on to tour the Michigan Iron Industry Museum, a must for making sense of all of the pieces of the iron mining puzzle along this route.

Perched on the rim of a cliff above the Carp River, the museum sits above where the Jackson Forge smelted iron ore into workable blooms that could be hammered into bars of iron. Looking at this wooded glade, it was as dissonant as envisioning the Jackson Mine in full production.

Carp River valley — Carp River below the museum

What both locales say with their beauty: nature will erase the ravages of man upon the soil of the earth.

We left with enough time to see about a new bike seat, and in this bike-friendly town, found one, Quick Stop, within sight of where I’d tried the local sausage, cudighi – a spicy Italian dish pronounced koo-dee-gee – at Vango’s the night before.

Quick Stop Marquette — Buying a new bike seat at Quick Stop

I learned a lot of lessons on today’s ride, from how immigrants brought in to work the mines shaped this region, from nature’s reclamation of mining landscapes, and how and where not to take my bike. As I told John, I do need to subscribe to his philosophy: Cowards Live Longer.

Two Parks, Two Stories

August 18, 2018 By Sandra Friend Leave a Comment

When a local author tells you to point your car south to experience a fascinating chapter of regional history, you listen. Especially when they’re in your back seat. And so we arrived at Fayette Historic State Park, near the tip of Garden Peninsula, with an idea we’d be introduced to something very interesting.

Kath Usatilo 100 Things Upper Peninsula Michigan — Kath Usitalo signing copies of her UP book at Fayette Historic State Park

We’d already made the requisite pilgrimage to Kitch-iti-kipi, Michigan’s Big Spring, located in Palms Book State Park. There isn’t a lot to the park, but what you’ll see is spectacular.

Kitch-iti-kipi is 200 feet across, 45 feet deep, 45 degrees Fahrenheit year round, and amazingly clear. The spring basin is formed by numerous bubblers and vents at the bottom.

While you can peer into it from the edges, a hand-cranked raft on a permanent cable lets you float over it and peer down to the bottom through a center opening in the raft, like a glass bottomed boat with no bottom. Accordingly, people drop things through it, like the glasses and iPhone the ranger pointed out among the trout resting below.

Kitch-iti-kipi raft — A busy day on the raft at Kitch-iti-kipi

Purchased in 1926 from Palms Book Land Company, the spring basin was cleaned up and improved by the Civilian Conservation Corps, who also built the original raft. While a ranger guided it across on our visit, much of the time you simply do it yourself.

Fayette, Michigan historic site — View across Fayette from the Overlook Trail

When Kath also suggested Fayette Historic State Park, we had plenty of time to continue on down to it. This historic village is down near the tip of the Garden Peninsula that arcs into Lake Michigan west of Manistique, perhaps 30 minutes from Kitch-iti-kipi.

We expected a ghost town – that is, ruins. When similar towns in Florida tapped out a resource, they crumbled. But this ghost town is a well-preserved record of a late 1800s industrial town along the Great Lakes.

Iron was smelted along the scenic shoreline of Snail Shell Harbor, a spot of breathtaking beauty with ancient cedars clinging to its cliffs. From the setting, it’s hard to believe that such an industry was the primary purpose of this compact coastal community.

A blast furnace dominates the waterfront, along with the pilings of the old docks beneath the clear shimmering water. Starting after the Civil War in 1867, residents manufactured charcoal pig iron.

They lived in grand homes, in humble cottages, and in simple cabins. There was a market, a butcher, a barber, and blacksmith.

A hotel dominated the middle of town. It offered a two-story outhouse, something we’re still puzzled about as to how that worked.

Limestone was quarried from the cliffs to use in the kilns. The charcoal kilns looked like giant brick volcanoes.

The smelting operation shuttered in 1891, once the market for pig iron took a dive. While the hotel remained for a couple of decades, most residents left to seek new employment.

Obtained in 1959 by Michigan DNR from a land swap with Mead Paper Company, the town and its many structures – some restored, some very rough, and others having only foundations remaining – became a state park. More than twenty buildings are well preserved and interpreted. The site has been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1970.

What did we learn by visiting two Michigan State Parks in one day? Plenty. It certainly helped to have Kath guiding us to Fayette, as we would not have guessed how detailed and interesting it was otherwise. Another great tip? Buy a parks pass. At $32 for a non resident pass, it will serve us well in the rest of our travels in Michigan.

Visit Kitch-iti-kipi at Palms Book State Park

Visit Fayette Historic State Park

Grab a copy of Kath Usitalo’s book