Here I am sniffing out the next adventure.  Grab your hiking boots and join me if you like.  Oh, please bring some snacks with you just in case we get a little peckish!

I always love the Civic Center in Traverse City. Val calls it the Civic Center, but in actuality it is a park. There are ball fields, a skateboard park, a swimming pool, and a playground. All those things are good for humans, but the part I really love is the path that surrounds all those human things. Actually, it’s not the path - it’s the smells that I am crazy about. Lots of humans come to this place, and some bring their dogs. Today I am having a grand time sniffing along the path, when a human goes by with a gorgeous, and I mean gorgeous, Sheltie.

“Hello Dolly!”

“Bark, bark.”

“I love you too sweetheart. If I could get off this leash I would come over and give you a good sniffing.”

“Bark, bark.”

“Oh, baby. I’m pulling with all my might, but my human won’t let me get near you.”

“Bark, bark.”

“Don’t leave me beautiful. Wait for me. Val, what are you thinking! Don’t you see that gorgeous babe getting away from me?”

“Remington, quit pulling,” she says.

“Are you out of your mind? I’m trying to catch up with that sweet little thing up ahead.”

“Remington, we are going to sit right here until you calm down,” says Val.

“Calm down? Not in this millennium! Not with that beautiful girl dog up ahead. I can’t even see her anymore. I will have to be satisfied with her scent. Maybe if I pull on the leash hard enough we can catch up with her.”

Val is holding me back, and I am just as insistent to plunge ahead and find my girlfriend again. Sniff, sniff…there’s her smell. Wow! Sniff, sniff... Humans, with their diminished sense of smell do not have a clue what we experience when we go on a sniff. When we meet another animal that’s how we get to know them. Sniffing private parts seems rude to humans, but that’s our equivalent of shaking hands. There are times when I enjoy the sniff even better than an actual experience with another dog. It’s a good thing because that is all I will have today. My little Sheltie is gone, but the smell…ooh-la-la!

I do love the walks in the park, the fresh air, the sights, and most of all the smells. There is one thing about humans that I don’t get. When I leave a pile in the park, Val immediately scoops it into a plastic bag and throws it in a trash can. Poop is evidently a bad thing for humans because when I find a lovely smelling pile left by another dog who’s owner did not scoop it up, Val says, “Yucky, Rem,” and pulls me away. Yucky? Not at all. The poop smells tell me so much that humans just do not understand. This one is … either a poodle or a pug. Just take a whiff of this one…I’m calling it Labrador…it’s big and moist and smells of duck feathers. Heaven.

Note from Val: “Oh my gosh! Look at that woman in front of us. She sure has a swing on that back porch. Makes me wonder what I look like from the back. It would be impossible to get an honest critique of that from anyone. I already know the answer I will get to, “Do these pants make my butt look big?” If you tell the truth you’re in trouble, and if you lie…maybe I could rig a camera on a tripod on wheels, and pull it behind me. Never mind…I don’t think I really want to know.

Yours truly,

Remington Beagle

Agawa Rock

The pictographs at Agawa Rock are something to see, but a little difficult to get at.

They are located at the southern end of Lake Superior Provincial Park, Ontario, Canada.

 

 

 The path leading to the pictographs is steep and dangerous, but walking on the slippery rocks at the base of the pictographs is even more so. There are signs all along the trail warning that death can occur if you fall from the rocks. So the question is: how badly do you wish to view these paintings left 150 to 400 years ago by the Ojibwe?

 

 There is a chain to grasp for part of the way, and then there are just heavy ropes lower on the rock face to grab as you slide toward the water. There is also a ring to throw if someone goes in the water. We only got as far as the second pictograph because Dave said it was just too dangerous. If we come again, let’s try a kayak.

From Agawa Rock it’s only about an hour and a half to Sault Ste. Marie. As we near our final destination, Dave is like a rented horse nearing the barn - so it’s back home for us. But Dorothy was right…there’s no place like home.

Remington Beagle

Amethyst Mine to Marathon

The road to the amethyst mine is a long and twisty one. We are soon beyond the paved road and climbing to greater heights on gravel. The signs along the way assure us that there is RV parking at the mine site so we persevere.  The panorama opens as we near the mine site, and sure enough promised parking and turn around is available. The tour at the mine consists of: this is amethyst in quartz, this is the ditch we take it out of, and there is the tailings pile you may scour for your own gems. We did pick up a few treasures, but the best part for me was the two fox hanging around the place. I wanted to get at the darn things but Dave wouldn’t let me. I put up quite a fuss which is unusual for me, but after all I am a hound and they are fox. They stay near the mine because the ladies feed them. That’s a big reason why I stay with Dave and Val so I understand.

The next stop was supposed to be Ouimet Canyon, but after driving 8 kilometers we come to a sign that says we must unhook and leave our trailer for the next 3 kilometers. It’s cold and spitting rain so we take a pass, turn around and head on to our next stop. When we get to Terrace Bay the lighthouse we were looking forward to seeing  is a fake. It’s in the parking lot of a strip mall. There are not any places to camp nearby so we move on down the road, and find a really great place in Marathon. The sites are level and big. There is a pull-through available so we don’t even have to unhook the trailer from the truck.

Some people drive by with a big – probably a 40 ft. – trailer. The guy comes back around and tucks that baby in a spot that you wouldn’t believe to be big enough for that rig. Val says to Dave, “I bet he’s a truck driver.” Sure enough Dave starts up a conversation with the guy and he used to be an 18 wheel driver. Years of watching people back into spaces has given Val an eye for the skill it takes to do it with ease.

Although we are not running anywhere, we are enjoying our stay in Marathon, Ontario. The Canadians are so welcoming (bienvenue), and willing to take our crummy old American dollars at a zero exchange rate.

Malingering in Marathon,

Remington Beagle

Fort William at Thunder Bay, Ontario

We made it to the fort in time for the first tour of the day. A short walk on a nature trail took us to the spot where we met our tour guide. She was in period costume, and described the surroundings as if she was an Ojibwa Indian in the year 1815. She talked about her life in a wigwam. It is called a wigwam because it is made out of wig was (birch bark). The Ojibwa called the birch tree the tree of life because they used it for so many life sustaining things. The fort is on the banks of the Kaministiquia River. It is a short distance upstream from the site of the original fort. The fort was operated by the North West Company - a rival of the Hudson Bay Company. In the 1800’s traders brought furs from all over the northwest to rendezvous and trade at Fort William. Our guide took us to a replica building where the furs were bundled for shipment, and showed us hundreds of beautiful furs. There were wolf, fox, ermine, wolverine, and even red squirrel which was used to line ladies gloves.  They also have a small operating farm there and a large garden. It was the best historical fort and interpretive tour we have ever experienced.

After returning to camp at Kakabeka Falls Provincial Park, I took Val for a walk around the campground. The campground is wooded with aspen, birch, ash, and evergreens, and there is enough space between sites that you cannot see someone camped right next door. As we walked around the campgrounds there were no other humans around. There were trailers and tents, but no people. Some of the camps look as though no one has been around for a while. It was like some weird boreal plague had struck in the campground. Will we be next? It was just strange, and so we tried to think of other things such as the beauty of the area so we could shake the heebee jeebees and get back to camp.

Signs of life became visible to Dave and I some time later as he was walking with me without a leash. Park officials came driving by and gave Dave a warning that dogs must be on a leash. Busted! We went back to camp and leashed up. Who knows what happens to people who break the rules? Maybe they just disappear leaving their trailer – never to be seen again…

Nervous in the North,

Remington

Kakabeka Falls

We just hated to leave the Apostle Islands! So why did we? Beats me. We took the road from Sand Island to Cornucopia and then north on Wisconsin 13 to Minnesota. Superior, Wisconsin is on one side of the water and Duluth, Minnesota is on the other side. There are lots of bridges crossing the span, and it gets confusing, but our Garmin took us faithfully through the maze and deposited us on 61 north to our destination for the evening. We passed some interesting stuff, but it was raining and it obviously was not on Dave’s itinerary so we kept on going until we landed at Kakabeka Falls Provincial Park. We got the camp set up and decided to take a look at the falls. Just then the sun came out and it was beautiful all the while we were walking around and taking pictures of the falls. The Kakabeka Falls are way more than I ever expected. They are probably nearly as tall as Niagara, but not near as much water flows over them. The canyon that meanders from the base of the falls reveals tall rock cliffs on either side, and a little island complete with fir tree in the middle. Whereas Niagara is so commercialized, Kakabeka is surrounded by nature, with only a bridge over the falls, and scenic wooden walkways the only man made things visible. Not a Marriott in sight, no Maid of the Mist, no buses full of tourists. Just the sound of water on rock and the breeze in the trees. Wait, what was that rude noise? Oh never mind, it’s just Dave. I think he ate his lunch too fast. 

We woke up this morning to a spectacular sunrise over Lake Independence. Val threw a sweater on over her pj’s and went out to get pics. It wasn’t long before we were on the road headed for the Apostle Islands. We stopped at the Visitor’s Center in Bayfield, WI and decided to stay at a campground at Sand Island Recreation Area. We tried to get on a cruise around the islands, but they don’t take dogs so we remain landlubbers, and settled for a walk around town and out on the pier. Sand Island is about 10 miles out of town. The campsites are slightly wooded, and the beach is fantastic. Val found some stones that may or may not be agates. Very soon after Val returned from her walk on the beach, the sky got dark and we could hear thunder. Dave turned on the weather radio, because we have no phone signal here for internet, and severe thunder storm warnings are out for this area. Next thing we know it’s hailing. It was so beautiful all day, and then all of a sudden dark skies, wind and hail. Wow! We learned that when our canopy gets full of water and hailstones it tips and drains then rights itself. How awesome is that! So Dave and Val stand in the doorway and wait for the awning to tip and drain and talk about how cool that is. It doesn’t take much to entertain some people.

Anatomy of a Murder?

Val was thinking about the book that Voelker wrote about the murder that happened here at the Lumberjack back in ’52. Wikipedia says that the “murder scene body outline is still there, although it is possibly a restoration and not the original outline”…really? Jack told us once that when he re-paneled the place he shot a couple more holes in the wall too.  After the book became a bestseller, and Otto Preminger made it a movie, the murder put the town on the map for some time. There was a lot of focus on the murder and the murder trial in the book, but people forget that the whole thing started with an alleged rape, and there were alleged panties left in the woods at the end of the park. The husband of the owner of the panties, after learning of the alleged rape, went straight to the Lumberjack and shot the alleged rapist – boom! Voelker convinced a jury that in an “irresistible impulse” the man shot the bar owner and should not be found guilty due to temporary insanity. I understand what irresistible impulse is. When I get on a scent…  I don’t know if it was temporary insanity or not, but I do know that when we walk the park today - out on the remote edges of the park – you can still find panties in the grass. Val always pulls me away and says, “No, Remi – that’s yucky.”

One remnant of the 50’s is the old camp office. This is the same building you see at the end of Otto Preminger’s movie, “Anatomy of the Murder,” with James Stewart and Lee Remick. It’s historical as is so much of this place. This is where the park manager lived and worked for many years. The new park office is at the entrance of the park, and the park manager no longer lives there. Kim spent so many years in close proximity to campers that some nights, when the park is full, she wakes up at daylight still in the park, sitting in her van in the parking lot. Dedication to duty like that is not easily found these days.  Kim explained to Dave that in order to convert the old office and home to a rental cabin she had a need of a wall to separate the entrance to the basement from the rental space so Dave built her a wall. Call Kim at Perkins Park if you want to rent the place - after all it is a piece of history.

From the front yard of the cabin you can see the smokestack from the old Ford wood plant. Henry Ford had a plant here in Big Bay to make the wood parts for his vehicles. You may – or may not – remember the station wagons with the shiny wood doors and quarter-panels. Well, Big Bay is where the wood came from. He built the hotel in town, and Henry was a founding member of the Huron Mountain Club, which is still very exclusive and private. The club is located at the end of the Mountain Club road, and there is security at the gate, as well as roaming security ensuring no one trespasses on guests or wildlife on club property. There are more stories to be told, so if you are inclined to make the drive up from Marquette on the twisty and sometimes bumpy road so much more may be learned.

You get a view of people in a campground that you just do not get in a regular neighborhood. Even if people have nice trailers or motor coaches they spend a lot more time out of doors, and the proximity is close. Things can be heard that are not meant to be heard by the world. Tones of voice can tell a whole story. It’s like when Val says, “Oh, you are such a good boy.” If she uses the same tone of voice and tells me that I am a flea bitten scoundrel it means the same to me. In the same way when the man says, “I could use some help here,” tone of voice is everything. Sometimes it’s body language that’s the illuminator. Like when some inexperienced person is backing a trailer into a spot, and has tried for the umpteenth time to get it where it needs to go and then hits a tree - when that guy gets out of the truck be assured that nothing needs to be said – his body language writes a book. I’m laying here on my leash right now watching some people across the road. The man is sitting in a chair. He is looking in the direction of the lake, drinking something out of a mug with one hand, and petting a dog with the other. Now that’s human contentment if I ever saw it.

Dogs and trees are simpatico. Trees are good for sniffing, peeing, shade, and for chasing the sticks that fall from their branches. The only time I don’t feel in harmony with a tree is when I am chained to one. Val explains that there are rules, and I understand that, but still… As I lay here looking at my companion, the tree, I notice the rough bark of a hard maple. Then my gaze takes me skyward up the truck in order to appreciate the limbs, branches, and leaves. The light that filters through from above mottles the colors seen from below. So many shades of green, brown, even black.  I ponder the spray of branches and the limbs that wither down to tender sprigs with leaves on the end. The leaves at the top of the tree are beneficiaries of all the sun, and the first spraying of water from clouds above. From my vantage on the forest floor I wonder why the leaves at the top of the tree are not as big as dinner a plate, and the less fortunate ones at the bottom as small as a tea cup. There’s not a breath of air right now. The leaves are held in suspended animation. Unusual, being right next to the lake, not to have even a slight breeze. Wait a minute… I see movement. Yes, there are one or two leaves that moved ever so slightly. Now more leaves are moving. The ends of the branches have begun to move and there is sound. The combination of wind and leaves makes a sylvan symphony for my listening pleasure.  Seeing, hearing, and feeling the breeze on a warm summer day titillates my senses, and I feel alive.