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t. k. splake |
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MONTREAL FALLS ODYSSEY part i the artful dodger was filled with petrol and last night i had carefully packed the cameras, film tote, and tripod. earlier this morning i perused again the "waterfalls of the keweenaw peninsula" pamphlet distributed by the local tourist council. in addition to the pamphlet and map, i had other descriptions of how to find the waterfall on the montreal river north of the old smith fisheries location. p.j. barone, an evergreen café early morning coffee regular, and tom ryallis, my "artis" bookstore proprietor-neighbor both shared with me their experiences driving to the fisheries and hiking to the waterfall. i had learned that the waterfall on the montreal river was a most spectacular sight with a white sandy beach at the bottom of the falls. the past summer i had been working to collect enough good film footage to produce a second "splake reading poetry in the keweenaw" dvd. the montreal river waterfalls sounded like an ideal location for me to read my poem "the mountain beyond." the scenic backdrop of the falls would provide a graphic illustration for the verse's concluding lines: "chanting primal incantation, soothing bardic prayer, moving into the waterfall, beyond the rainbow." leaving calumet early in the morning, i was fueled by an evergreen café coffee to go caffeinated rush, and vintage hangover from the previous evening's old mil suds. quietly turning highway tranny miles north i passed through the small ancient mining villages of kearsage, allouez, mohawk, and the abandoned gratiot location settlement. while the sun was rapidly rising and making a warm splash across the far eastern horizon, i reminded myself of the good fortune filming melissa's "flower power" vw bus before she put the van in storage for the winter. mel and i chose the lakeview cemetery a couple of miles outside of calumet for our filming location. this insured that we would have quiet filming conditions free from distractions, while i read my favorite brother richard brautigan poem to the sony cam-corder mic. i told melissa tales of the two vw buses that i had owned, operated, and it seemed restored in the process of using them for my transportation. they were a grand pleasure to drive, sitting right up in front with your nose almost pressed against the windshield. driving a vw bus truly gave one the feeling of being a master overseer of the highway. however, i also recalled that the list of repairs and things gone wrong was an endless inventory of woes. one summer while camping in maine, i had to have the engine seals replaced at the vw service in presque isle. on another occasion i had a ball joint go bad while camping in the eastern area of michigan's upper peninsula. that time i coaxed the van into the sault ste. marie, ontario dealer for repairs. vacationing one summer in the porcupine mountains in the western upper peninsula i dropped a valve. this required a two-day layover in ironwood while the vw service there did a complete engine overhaul. driving past the exits for the old central and delaware mining locations, i thought holy waugh, the colors that were so dull and drab a couple of days ago have suddenly taken off and are at their peak. as i marveled over the dazzling red, orange, yellow and mauve-purple foliage hues in the bright autumn sunlight, i was tempted to cancel my mission to the montreal river and falls, and do my planned filming at the old power building on the central mine property. instead i decided to continue on m-41 north, and shortly turned off on the bete grise road, slowly descending into the valley that led to the keweenaw peninsula's eastern shore of lake superior. motoring past the mount bohemia ski resort entrance, i felt sickened by the ecological savaging that had been done. the mount bohemia developers had created an obscene scar in the wilderness with the t-bars, forest slopes cleared for ski runs, and cheap looking circular dome rental units for the winter crowds of "beautiful people." i turned off the bete grise road to see if i could get some added instructions on the way to the smith fisheries at the lac la belle café and filling station. making a quick dogleg detour, i thought momentarily of my travels with dad a long time ago. the little son tommy with my favorite stuffed panda riding around with emery as he tried to sell insurance policies to people in the small town of three rivers, michigan. then later as an older lad , prospecting northern michigan acres with dad that would be placed on auction for back taxes in rural michigan high school gymnasiums on saturday afternoons. i learned from the lady at the lac la belle café that the road to smith fisheries was now marked with a sign, as she remarked something about it being a 911 emergency services requirement now. she estimated it was about seven miles or so into the fisheries where i would have to park and then hike another two miles with my cameras and gear to reach the waterfalls. i also learned that there had been some heavy-duty timbering in the area all spring and summer, and that the road was in pretty bad shape due to recent fall rains. the conversation with the café waitress ended with her suggestion that if i had any trouble driving, to always keep to the right side of the road. almost immediately i discovered that the road to the fisheries was treacherous driving, with huge mud holes, spongy low areas patched with mining poor rock, and two tire spurs that frequently veered off to the right and left, leading to other lumbering locations. as i was contemplating the new definition for the finnish expletive "holy waugh, edna" i noticed the dodge speedometer was wavering between four and five miles per hour. this meant that reaching the smith fisheries and hiking into the waterfalls could take an hour or longer of ass thumping and teeth rattling driving. a sudden bottoming out scraping reminded me of the time in munising when i ripped open my gas tank on a large chunk of ice, and being stalled, out of gasoline in the deepest, darkest corner of the northern keweenaw peninsula was not a reassuring feeling. a hard metallic clunk in the dodge's front end brought to mind a spring trout fishing adventure when i broke a tie-rod on my old ford bronco prospecting for brook trout streams in the pictured rocks lakeshore outback. that time i had to walk out to the highway, hitch a ride to the melstrand store's payphone, and sit and wait for pat carl to drive his wrecker from munising to tow the disabled bronco back for repairs. a little farther along the trail the tranny took a nose dive into a stretch of soft sandy runoff accumulation from the past rain, and brought back memories of the date with the rascal polish girl from steuban. one autumn while driving the back road adams trail between munising and grand marais, reading poetry from brautigan's "springhill mine disaster," my ford tempo slammed into a chuckhole and tore off the fan belt. it was with some serious panic that i watched the temperature gauge race by the red markings on the dashboard before reaching the grand marais village limits and help. in further contemplations of my searching for the smith fisheries, it suddenly occurred to me that i had not paid real close attention to the several logging turnoffs on the drive so far. i realized that coming back to the bete grise highway, if i mistakenly turned off on a feeder trail , i might drive until i ran out of gas, or sometime a day or two later emerged out of the wilderness miles north in copper harbor. an imagined mining gazette newspaper article describing the "old man found deceased in the woods north of lac la belle with officers of the sheriff's department investigating the incident" was another worse case scenario building in my brain-skull cavity. when i finally decided to turn around and retrace the unnerving miles, i was probably right around a forest curve in the trail from the smith fisheries, and my destination. however, i reasoned that i was not exactly sure where i was, and the memories of past automobile breakdowns continued to grow on my consciousness. it seemed that the smith fisheries and montreal river waterfalls at best was a "maybe," and it would be wise to put them at the top of a brave new 04 and counting list of things to do. i had my cameras in tow, excellent october filming light, and the magnificence of the keweenaw autumn colors that were certainties. i decided to go back to the central location and do some filming, and afterwards make my way down to the old quincy mining properties in hancock, working as long as the available light prevailed. i hadn't decided yet how i would explain my smith fisheries - montreal river - misadventures to the early morning coffee regular tomorrow at the evergreen café. there would probably be a silent few who would feel my quest for the waterfall was crazy. while it was possible others might titter and teehee about the old man who turned scared. back on the bete grise highway at last, window down, fresh air filling the tranny, i strangely recalled my crusty old college basketball teammate in battle creek. MONTREAL FALLS ODYSSEY part ii one of my gray bardic traits is list making, and a return to the montreal falls was an important item for the brave new 04 and counting collection of important things to do. the stubborn dane portion of my persona hated admitting failure, so making to the smith fisheries and montreal falls beyond was a most significant goal. this year i felt confident that i could locate a keweenaw county resident living close to lac la belle with a lake worthy boat i could hire to boost me along the superior shoreline and drop me off at the mouth of the montreal river. i was surprised to discover after making repeated inquiries that no one was interested in doing a short day charter and earn a few extra dollars. a couple of licensed lake captains running fishing charters with larger boats had to decline because they couldn't safely get close enough to shore to let me off. on a morning late in june, i explained my dilemma to clyde mikkola, the artist-in-residence at the omphale art gallery in calumet, michigan. afterwards clyde expressed an interest in traveling to the montreal falls again and revisiting the site where he had camped on several previous occasions. we were able to quickly strike an agreeable understanding that i would finance a tank of petrol and we would use clyde's ancient but dependable old ford bronco to get to the smith fisheries and montreal river falls. we decided it was a good idea to take our montreal falls adventure on a sunday, in order to minimize the potential trouble of meeting a twin-tandem semi loaded with logs driving out from the smith fisheries location. we left calumet about 10 a.m., and it seemed quickly that we arrived at the smith fisheries turnoff outside the small community of lac la belle. it became immediately apparent that the hard scrabble road was in no better driving condition then the year before during my ill-fated journey. the first mystery of the sunday morning occurred when we drove past a capped four-inch steel pipe rising out of the ground and quite close to the road. clyde and i mused over the reason for this pipe's existence seemingly out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. there was little serious possibility that it could be related to any mining activities past or present, and, we worried that it might be the water supply for some future subdivision of expensive gated estates. eventually we arrived at the deserted remains of the smith fisheries, and it was painfully obvious that i had not made my decision to turn back only a short distance from the fisheries the year before. i guessed the fisheries to be about two miles further from where i had quit driving last autumn. we continued driving beyond smith fisheries until we came to a sign that read "danger washout fifty feet ahead." We discovered that the bank paralleling lake superior about twenty-five feet below our road had eroded right to the edge of the two-tire track. while clyde carefully negotiated this narrow section, it seemed very likely that come the spring, 2005, after ice out and the subsequent run-off, this road will become impassable. we were able to drive about a mile beyond the fisheries before we came to a dead-end turn about. clyde parked the bronco and we packed up our gear and headed out along the hiking path to the montreal river and falls. the trail proved extremely brushy, and there was an extensive network of exposed tiny tree roots every step-and-a-half. it was necessary to be certain where you planted the next vibram sole, less you quickly find your self nose down in the trail dirt. we rounded a trail opening on a bluff overlooking lake superior and saw several white feathers floating on the waters. at first glance they appeared to be flower petals awash on the early morning tides. quickly rounding another overlook, clyde and i spied a large lake gull torn open and lying on a rocky peninsula below. it was our good quick guess that we had interrupted something faster and stronger than the gull having its early morning breakfast. we agreed that it was most likely a large hawk or north american eagle. however, this was a primo-and-splendid photo opportunity that i planned to capture on our return trek. after what seemed like not too much time hiking, we reached the lower falls where the montreal river empties into lake superior. at this point there was indeed the magnificent sandy beach that i had been told about that would be wonderful for day-picnicking or longer periods of camping. i got busy with my filming interests while clyde split with his art crayons and sketch book for a large bolder roost a little farther down the shoreline. i stationed the sony-cam on the edge of the river falls, and let it film the watery sound and fury for about five minutes. because the falls were too loud for me to read the poem i wanted to use with the new SPLAKE dvd production i was working on, i moved the sony-cam back to a quieter location on the beach. after four or five reading takes, i finally got a tone and temper on record that i was satisfied with. i walked down the beach to where clyde was drawing and asked him, "are you ready to go back and retrieve the bronco?" clyde replied, "don't you want to hike back to and see the upper falls on the montreal?" i told him, "no, let's leave a little something to come back and see on another visit to the montreal river." i remembered old "papa" hemingway's habit of quitting a writing day while his energies were still strong, so he would have an easier time getting back and started the next writing morning. so, clyde and i agreed to a mikkola-splake montreal river redux for a "maybe list" one sunday after labor day and the first good keweenaw peninsula frost. while hiking back we were mostly quiet, and i was looking for and waiting to come upon the opening to film the remains of the lake gull scene. suddenly clyde pulled up and pointing over to our right whispered, "see that, it's a young coyote." we watched as a small brown dog-like animal bounded through the wilderness brush and away from us. back at the bronco and the turn about clearing, we rested our legs, sipped some cold water, and pondered the second mystery of the montreal falls trekking odyssey. i asked clyde, "why do you think we didn't see the gull's carcass on our return hike, we took the same path we walked in on?" one possibility is that we simply missed seeing it. in addition, the coyote we saw and watch vanish in the brush might have distracted our vision just enough that we walked past the gull scene unknowingly. finally, our sunday morning coyote sensing an easy breakfast for itself, might have climbed down the bank to the lake shore and dragged the gull off the rocks. the following monday morning i told kirstin, the manager of the office shop in calumet, "well i finally made it in to the montreal falls." she asked me "how was it?" and i replied, "well, the falls of course were awesome, but it was the hiking and sense of excitement not knowing what we might find around the next corner that provided the greater pleasure." this conclusion to the sunday on the montreal seemed to lend credence to the familiar zen principle that "it's the journey and not the destination that is important." yet, sometime after labor day, clyde and t.k. will make their return to the montreal river, this time checking out the upper falls with sketchbook and camera. |