August 2008 - East Coast, West Coast, Don't Matter

Wouldn't it be cool to be one of the few people who could say they walked around Hog Island? My eldest son had a slightly different take on the goal. No, he said, why would you want to be known as one of the few people who were that stupid? Yeah, well, hindsight is always 20-20.

Mike Weede dropped us on the southern tip of Hog Island, Michigan, on a still July morning. Two years ago we had walked up the west coast of Hog Island to Fisherman's Bay from Grape Island peninsula. Grape Island had been a grueling pile of sharp rocks with water snakes, but the west coast of the island had been more friendly.

I recall reading somewhere that Hog Island had no source of water but Lake Michigan. This may have seemed true when lake levels were higher, but it isn't now. The east side has water running into wetlands along the coast. Perhaps there are springs too close to the coast to be noticed when the lake levels were higher. The discovery of all this water made finding our way up the coast trickier and more perilous than anticipated. Wading in the shallow lake waters was safe for a time until the sand gave way to black muck that sucked two of us down to our thighs. I had to be pulled out by my eldest son, who at age 16 is now taller than me and quite strong. I learned on our previous visit to the island that the key to getting rescued by him was to carry the backpack with the food. The boy didn't let me down this time, either.

Getting ashore taught us our second lesson. Sometimes walking across the wetland is safe, but my youngest son soon found out that anywhere there is no vegetation is likely to be saturated ground that will suck you down just like off shore. Quicksand is simply no fun when you're walking alone on an uninhabited island. Now what kind of father would return his family to an uninhabited island where he knows there are large snakes and quicksand? Mea culpa.

Then we discovered lesson number three: tiny purple flowers. These flowers grew in swaths where the wetland ended and dry ground began. Wherever they were, there was a trail of sand and rocks that was an immense blessing. When they disappeared, the choice was often between long, low ridges of loose rocks or the edge of the wetland. The forested middle of the island is almost entirely an impenetrable wall of trees and foliage.

Walking south of Tim's Island was fairly easy after the quicksand dramas were behind us and purple flowers stretched ahead. Further north the purple flowers became more scarce and the dry ground was infested with poison oak, some of it dense and up to five feet tall. Most of it was green, not the dreaded dark red, but rubbing against even green plants with sweaty bodies and wet legs for a fair distance was unwise, limiting our choices to less favorable terrain. To add to the fun, finally out came the mosquitos.

We were warned that the mosquitos were fierce this year and brought head nets in case the warnings proved true. We had encountered hungry swarms on Beaver Island earlier in the week. But we were blessed by a slight breeze that protected us until we reached the northern end. We were swarmed for perhaps a half hour, but not so bad that we broke out the nets.

As the clouds darkened I turned to my eldest son and said, "Could be worse." My wife shouted, "Don't say it!" but he did anyway, "Could be raining." And immediately it did. Luckily, it was what our family calls Michigan rain. When we lived in Michigan, we learned that if you stayed inside during Michigan rain you might be a permanent recluse for months. It was soft, cool, light rain that cleared the hot summer air. Mercifully it sent the mosquitos away. It lasted just long enough to cool us off, then it ended. A blessing for the weary.

Curiously we did not suffer the even more onerous curse of biting black flies. Perhaps they don't have sufficient warm blooded mammals to bleed. Having walked the circumference of Hog Island, I can say I never saw a deer track anywhere. We did see what appeared to be coyote tracks on the two welcome stretches of sand beach towards the north end.

The north coast was dry and the flowers were beautiful. The Upper Peninsula shoal lighthouse was visible in the distance and nearby was a recently wrecked sailboat. One reason few people venture near this island is that the waters are treacherous and have claimed many boats. The pesky poison oak continually forced us up and down the edge of the island and back on to loose rocks. This was not a walk in the park. Hog Island exacted from us our last ounce of energy weaving back and forth over loose stones around a maze of poison oak for our final miles.

Finally Fisherman's Bay appeared – with one more wetland between us and the sand beach. Actually, cursed swamp was the consensus at the time. Having walked so steadily all day on less than ideal ground, our feet ached. We tested the bay and found it acceptable. Which is where Captain Mike Weede found us, marching slowly in hip deep water in the northern edge of the bay towards the beach. Mercifully, Mike ferried us to the beach for a swim and celebration.

Lessons learned? When you go somewhere no one else you know has been, take along experienced, hardy companions. Don't expect to catch a break hiking the east coast of Hog Island. Looking for a predictable day of exploration on an uninhabited island with no trails? East coast, west coast – don't matter. Tread lightly. Follow the purple flowers. It's Michigan, so don't curse the rain.