Superior Hiking Trail Day 5: Saturday, August 29

Tenting at Fault Line Creek campsite (SHT mile 131.5), walked 22? miles today

Morning sunlight filters through the trees, illuminating the humble commode at the West Gooseberry camp.

Awoke to a radiant morning, with shafts of clean sunlight breaking through the trees, birds chirping, faint string section somewhere in the unplaceable distance, etc., etc. Moved slowly at first down a nearly completely flat trail paralleling the Gooseberry River, encountering increasing numbers of day hikers the farther east / toward the lake the trail progressed. The feeling of accompanying the river on such a gentle trail on such a splendid morning was really quite a joy; I wouldn’t go so far as to say the mud and the bugs and the dullness of the previous few days were worth it, but all of that certainly seemed like a distant memory.

Taking a gander at the Gooseberry as it streams toward the lake.

When the river and the trail met Lake Superior, the trail did something a bit surprising and joined a paved bike path next to highway 61 for the next at least 3 miles. I was expecting something a bit more ... trail-y for this southernmost visit to the SHT’s namesake lake, but there were signs up saying “the trail is permanently closed, please follow the bike path.” Heard later that there may have been a dispute between landowners and hikers that led to the footpath being shut down in this area. At any rate, hobbled along the bike path next to the busy road for I don’t know how long, because my databook didn’t seem remotely accurate with the mileage figures in this area. My stupid foot reacted poorly to all the pavement-beating, which forced me to gulp down even more ibuprofen than usual, and I already feel uncomfortable with the normal amount. Just off the bike path around 11am I did enjoy a gear-drying break right on a beach of Lake Superior.

The Legend lives on, from the Chippewa on down, of the bIg lake they call Git-Yer-Gummies.

Once the trail left the lake, the early-afternoon bit along the south side of the Split Rock River was more difficult than anything I was expecting on the SHT, which was a pleasant surprise. I actually didn’t know it was mathematically possible to push hard uphill for so long in this state—previously on the SHT I don’t think I’d gone constantly uphill for longer than about three or four minutes. The reward was some stellar overlooks of the North Shore, with the air clear enough to see all the way to Wisconsin, after crossing the river and doubling back toward the lake. Missed my chance to fill up on good water at the Split Rock River, and so was stuck walking the last 6 miles to this campsite with empty water bottles because I refused to fill them up with mud or beaver urine, which is what the few “water” sources in that stretch looked to be.

High and dry views of Superior in the sunny afternoon, from Split Rock State Park.

At this campsite, to my surprise since it seemed I’d shirked the crowds when I left Split Rock SP, there were three groups already present. Fortunately, nice open tent sites abounded and even more fortunately, everyone turned out to be great company around the campfire / dinner area. 30 minutes or so after I arrived, Certified American Hero Dana Gilbertson showed up having hiked four miles in from the nearest trailhead with some beers and a dog. Old friends, new friends, a beer, campfire, clear skies, North Woods ... it was a fine end to an already fine day. Life: good.

Yet another minivan lurking ominously, this time on a Mixed-use path closed to motor vehicles. Minnesotans have a fondness for American minivans that defies logic until you consider how they reflect the values of the population: amply sized, unsexy, sensible, prizing comfort above all other Qualities.