Refreshing Reprieve

Up

the

steps,







through

the

parking

lot,





into

the

car,







onto

the

highway,





through

the

tunnel



and

we were on
our way home.



Dan mused, "I'd forgotten how much Lake Superior is like the ocean - and it's just a two...three...four hour drive."

Living in the center of North America far from any coast, Dan often dreams of an ocean-side retirement home with waves crashing against the shores and the serenity of the blue vastness outstretched before him. That time is far away. Minnesota's North Shore is closer.

I saw him pocket two brochures:

one for deep-sea fishing

and another
for schooner sailing.

Maybe we'll be back for another Refreshing Reprieve.


Takk for turen. (Giving thanks by sharing this trip.)


With great gratitude to Paka and Grammy for keeping our boys and Moose overnight - so we could celebrate Dan's 40 years five months late and our 17th wedding anniversary a month early.

AND (just now) TO MY 10,000th visitor (like Minnesota's lakes) to ALONG LIFE'S ROAD!

Bluefin Bay

Later that morning,
Dan and I
explored the shores.

We found an
historical sign
explaining how
Norwegian
immigrants
came to settle in
this spot because
of its resemblance
to Norway.


We examined the bay with the telescope to see the old dock (below) and search the horizon.

On our way
to checkout
at the office,

we
rambled
south
along
the
board
walk,





passed

the

boathouse,






noticed

resort
guests

taking

kayak
lessons,










admired

a

classic

wooden

boat,




and
meandered
back

for
a
look

at
an old,
weathered
skiff







stationed

on

the

north

side








of

Bluefin

Bay.

Superior Sunrise

I love to watch the sun rise and set.

Ask Aaron. Whenever our middle son sees my latest snaps, he scoffs, "How many pictures of the sun have you taken?"

Hundreds... maybe a thousand. I don't know. It doesn't matter. For me, every one marks a moment in time. That's why I rolled out early - even on this vacation day - to catch the sun, on its way up, shining over Lake Superior. How often do I get THAT chance?

Sitting on the big rocks, listening to waves crash upon the shore, I began to realize what makes Lake Superior different from the other lakes in our Land of 10,000.

Here, there's no one boating, fishing, swimming, water skiing, knee boarding or doing much - for that matter - ON or IN the lake. (Or if they do, they've got a professional guide.) Most activities happen BY the lake. People bike, hike, jog, walk, shop, eat, skip rocks, meditate or - even - swim in a pool or soak in a hot tub on the shore BY the lake.

From this vantage point of the North Shore, a person can't SEE the opposite side. There's a vastness about Lake Superior that carries a person - mentally - to the ocean, especially as waves crash in, like this morning's moment on Bluefin Bay.


Come.
Share
this
Superior
Sunrise.

Good Night on Bluefin Bay

As dusk settled in, we drove over the rolling hills - with the shoreline most always in view - south along the road to Tofte.




Moonlight

shimmered

on

the

lake







when

we
arrived

at

our
night's

lodging
place -





a snug,
second-story
nook


with a
soaring
ceiling



hosted by


(and affectionately written about in this room's Guest Journal that's been kept for more than a decade)




The
Cosmic
Trout


and







Big
Brown
Bear.





After a day of listening to the Lake Superior "Sea," I thought I heard our hosts bid us a Norwegian "Good Night": Goo natta alle sammen. (Click here to learn why.)

Yes, Good Night on Bluefin Bay.

ONWARD:

to Grand Marais! Why not?

The rain had subsided.

On and off, the sun peeked through the clouds.


We both felt up to an hour-long drive farther north. Exploration has always been our motto while on tour. So, why stop and relax now?

Our challenge was informing Paka and Grammy of our intent to overnight from this remote area. Eventually, Dan got cell phone access to say: We're on our way to Grand Marais (mar-ay).

Next, we needed lodging, preferably on the way back to Duluth for a shorter run home Sunday. Dan gave his new Blackberry a workout, using its GPS to locate a couple resort phone numbers and call for availability and price.



Parked on a Grand Marais street, from the front seat of our car, he secured a reasonably-priced room for this very night over the phone with credit card approval.


Technological convenience...




Let

the

fun

continue!










On















the















shores;








and




in










the

stores.





(Say, where is my hard-covered copy I loaned out last year?)


Dan was most impressed with Ben Franklin.

This Grand Marais outlet can outfit anyone with most anything from Norwegian-imported sweaters to Woolrich flannels to Australian Outback boots to kitchen utensils, match sticks and much more. Call it: an old-fashioned general store!




For dinner,
we dined
alfresco at
The Wild
Onion Café.


While Dan sipped
his raspberry lemonade
and waited for our
Lake Superior Herring
dinner to arrive,


I
hustled
across
the
street
for a
memory
shot.



As
the
moon
rose
over
a
cottage
on
the
bay,


we
departed
Grand
Marais.

Onward: Back!

Minnesota's State Gem

Next stop:


the
Baptism
River
Bridge

to see
the sea...



or at least,


imagine
the sea.

High winds on Lake Superior brought in ocean-sized waves to the river's mouth.


Dan and I

hiked more
steps for

an up-close
experience

on the
sandbar


of this tributary to the greatest of North American's Great Lakes.

Would we, like thousands of other hopefuls, find a Lake Superior agate? No... but we tried.


If patience is a virtue,

then
my
husband
is
virtuous.

While I "putz"ed,
he waited,
thinking
his wife was getting
some "great photos."




"THIS is IT?"

he asked when
I showed him

the results
back at the car.





"Look closer," I said. "What do you see?"

He grimaced,

"A bunch of foam on the river."

"Look at its swirling layers," I said.

"Doesn't it
look like

a
Lake
Superior
agate?"




Perhaps these tributary rivers hold the secret recipe to forming Minnesota's
State Gem.

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."