Tettegouche (tet-teh-goo-chee)

On Friday afternoon, the boys contacted Paka to see if he was up for a Saturday morning fishing trip.

He agreed they could come overnight for an early start. That meant Dan and I would be alone Saturday while the boys were at his folks' place.

Dan suggested taking a drive to the North Shore for a get-away. No kids - just the two of us. Now what wife (let alone one who hasn't been away with just her husband for more than three years) would turn down that offer?

And so, with Grammy and Paka's blessing, we took a spur-of-the-moment weekend trip traveling north of Duluth and stopping to look at whatever we pleased.

In spite of the day's light rain, hordes of people crowded easily-accessible areas such as Gooseberry Falls and Split Rock Lighthouse.


We opted to go farther north to a more rugged, less-traveled site.

From the parking lot, we walked up an incline and met a family coming down - their grandparents were bringing up the rear. Grandma looked at us and asked, "Feel like you're going straight up? It gets better."

She was right.

We discovered the path plateaued, declined and inclined before we hit a series of steps.

There we heard water rushing in the distance.



Soon after we saw the source - the Baptism River winding over rapids and dropping at least 60 feet (18 meters) at the High Falls, the tallest waterfalls located entirely within Minnesota.

(Only Pigeon Falls on the Ontario border is taller.)





We

climbed

down

more

stairs,





first

for

a

closer

look

at

the

river,


and
then

to
cross

the
suspension
bridge.



Later after swaying
over the river,

I asked Dan,

"Did you see the sign said:

'No jumping'?"

I couldn't imagine jumping

at the risk of tumbling into roaring water,

over a steep, rocky slope

and into such a torrent, especially after descending the stairwell through the rugged terrain to the falls' bottom.

Even 100 yards from the cascade, our clothes became damp from the mist. Perhaps that's why explorers called it "The Baptism River."

Water certainly holds power. Not only in its currents and tides but also in its ability to draw beings to itself. (See: Wendy and Dan)

According to area history, an association of Duluth business men bought 1,000 acres with a logging camp along the nearby shores of Mic Mac Lake from Alger, Smith & Co. Company loggers had spared a few red and white pines and called the camp site "Tettegouche" which was an old Algonquin tribe term from their native New Brunswick.

The new owners adopted the name which means "the retreat" for their camp and club.

In time and through a series of preservationist land sales, the property was added to The Baptism River State Park holding in 1979. The state eventually renamed the entire 9,300 acre area "Tettegouche State Park."

During our hour-and-a-half hike, we climbed up and down hundreds of steps through the forest. At one point, Dan inhaled deeply and spouted,

"Ah!

The smell of summer.
Nothing says

'state park'

like treated lumber!"





Meanwhile,



I



meandered





enjoying
solitude,


taking
pictures


and
thinking:


Nothing says "retreat" like "Tettegouche."