Traverse, Northern Michigan’s Magazine | JUL ’19 77We spent the days driving, trying to closely follow a route I
had selected for us a week prior. (Tip: Let go of anticipated arrival
times.) On trips like these, it usually takes a few days to settle into
a routine and learn how to pack the car so the pots don’t rattle on
every bump. As the miles ticked by, we fell into a rhythm only a dirt
road can drum. We made sandwiches on dusty bumpers, argued
over where to store the toilet paper, divided up camp duties and
laughed at our mistakes. The dynamics between travel partners
demands a sense of humility for a successful trip. Instead of asking
yourself how they could make this trip a better experience, you
must ask yourself how you can make a better trip for them. It’s a
selfless act that actually works and turns frustration into grace. In
the white haze of a glowing headlamp while mosquitos buzz and
your bed feels like a sandbox (thanks, Layla), it means fetching a
water bottle or chasing the dog regardless of what you’re wearing.
And doing anything in your underwear after dark in the UP is the
ultimate sacrifice (thanks, mosquitoes). We eventually found time
to embrace our surroundings and remind ourselves why we took
this trip in the first place.
Jim Harrison once wrote in The New York Times: “It’s not easy to
cheerlead for the Upper Peninsula now after the extractive logging
and mining.” Young forests and slag piles cover these scars, yet
one can’t help but imagine what the UP once was. And though
the land has been beaten and bruised, it still thrives. We slept in
clear cuts and clawed our way around old mining ruins. We picked
wild blueberries next to stumps that spoke of loggers past. We
sipped coffee, inhaling the aroma of the morning mist. I plucked
smallmouth bass with my fly rod from the boggy shores of inland
lakes. Layla wandered the forest while we worked, her damp nose
inspecting every crevice that just might hold a critter to chase or
something dead with which to perfume herself. Drive these dirt
roads long enough and (unwillingly) donate enough blood to the
local skeeter population, and you’ll see more than swamps and
stumps and different shades of brown and green. The land glows
with a quality of light you can only find Up North.
Almost too soon, we reached our destination, the Porkies. We
dove deep into Lake Superior, washing off bits and pieces of the
land we had brought with us from Drummond Island, as if to say,
“This belongs to you, thank you.”Sam and Laura Brown live in Leelanau County. Keep up with their adventures
@gnarggles and @laura.lou9SAM FLY FISHES FOR BASS IN LAKE OF THE CLOUDS IN THE
PORKIES. // LAYLA STRETCHES HER LEGS DURING GOLDEN HOUR
IN THE HIAWATHA NATIONAL FOREST. // LAYLA AND LAURA ON
THE WAY DOWN FROM THE LOOKOUT TOWER IN THE PORCUPINE
MOUNTAINS WILDERNESS.