Rock Harbor Campground back to Three Mile Campground
5.7 miles hiked
Michael:
At about 2:00am I was startled awake by a moving rock.
From 2:00am to 3:00am I tossed and turned in fits of anxiety and fear.
By 3:15am I was sound asleep.
Let me explain.
Two nights ago, we stayed in one of the Isle Royale’s lean-to shelters at Three Mile Campground. The Campground’s shelters all face Lake Superior. That night the wind sounded like a helicopter rotor hovering nearby overhead. Constant, deafening and menacing. Many times it felt as if its force would lift up the floor beneath us.
We slept there again last night. The wooden shelters have a roof, a hard floor and are fully enclosed on three sides. The fourth side consists of wire-mesh; great for summer breezes and Lake views, bad for spring nor’easters. I needed to do something to protect us from the winds. The Rangers had promised 35-knot gusts. Gale force blows coupled with sub-freezing temperatures. They would not be wrong.
During the cold breezy afternoon, we worked on a wind barrier. We covered the mesh from the chest level to the floor with a combination of our tent’s footprint, garbage bags and athletic tape. We anchored our quixotic wall with large rocks. Feasibility, practicality and shame in our own wimpiness stopped us from wallpapering everything.
The finished product breathed in and out with each wind burst and seemed to make things less chilly. We fell asleep at 7:00pm. It was too cold to do anything else. Fires are not allowed at Three Mile Campground. We dozed off in our tent warm, warmer than the previous four nights even though it was much colder around us.
At about 2:00am I was startled awake by a moving rock.
I turned to Gab, “What was that?”
She answered, “The anchor rocks from our wall. It’s been happening for a while now. I’d be surprised if it’s still up.”
I popped out of my warm cocoon, opened the tent and peered out into the cold. Nothing had moved. The wall was intact except for some loose athletic tape. I panicked. In a sleep walking mist I flattened down the detached tape and hurtled myself back into the tent. In the process, I had lowered my body temperature by about ten degrees. At 2:00am I was warm, dreaming and content. At 2:15am I was freezing, awake and anxious.
I listened intently for every sound. The constant roar of the wind coming off the Lake, through the Harbor and into our tent provided no relief. The gusts came about once a minute striking more fear with each reoccurrence. I listened to the wind suck in my wall and then exhale it with such ferocity that it lifted the anchoring rocks.
After every gust, I wondered if my wall was still there. It couldn’t be, I reasoned. The garbage bags must be flapping away, the rocks must be strewn everywhere. I am getting so much colder. I can’t do anything about the situation. I have to get up and fix the wall. When will the sun come up? Why am I on this damned Island? Did the wall ever work? I have to get up and fix the wall. I am on an Island in the middle of Lake Superior. Am I crazy? I am crazy. Nothing was wrong the last time I got up. I am so much colder. I have to get up and fix the wall.
“Gab, should I get up and fix the wall?”
“I am not willing to do that,” she elliptically responded.
“Well you wouldn’t,” I snapped back.
She didn’t counter.
More rocks moved. The wind breathed deeper and deeper. I peered out the tent window. Nothing seemed to be out of place. I tried to get to sleep. More rocked moved.
It was 3:15am. Something dawned on me.
My nose wasn’t cold. It had been the previous four nights. I am in a wooden shelter. The wall is working. I am driving myself crazy. I could stay up all night and worry or I can accept that I have prepared to my best ability. No more athletic tape is going to make me any safer. If part of the wall comes down, than so be it.
I do not need to engulf myself in fear. Yes, its 25 degrees outside and yes, the winds are strong but I cannot let that take over my night.
5 minutes later I was sound asleep.
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