Thursday, May 15, 2025

North Shore Camping

 The weather was predicted to be hot, very hot for this time of year where I live, so I took off for a couple days on the North Shore of Lake Superior where it's never hot. Well, almost never.

A couple years ago I camped at Gooseberry Falls and did all the hikes there. After breaking camp the last morning, I went a few miles up the road to Split Rock Lighthouse, where I decided there was way more than I could hope to absorb in such a quick visit. So this time I camped at Split Rock.

The first afternoon I stopped at the pullover on the north side of the road and hiked to this waterfall on Silver Creek It could have been a pleasant place to cool off the next afternoon, but as it turned out, I didn't come back.

I set up camp at Shipwreck Creek Campground in the park. My tent fits over the hatchback of my Prius. Not as well as it fit over my 2009 model, but with some adjustments (like screening to block mosquitos where the sides now jut out), it worked. The azalea bush is a gift from my husband for our anniversary that I didn't have the heart to leave behind to wilt alone.

I was less than enthusiastic about the road noise and exposer of the sites, which were beastly hot in the sun, and cold in the wind that sent me early into my tent that evening to read. It might be better with leaves on the trees, but I won't camp here again. Tettegouche, as I discovered the next day, is MUCH nicer.

Tuesday morning I was off by 7 AM along the Corundum Mine Trail. It follows the shore of Lake Superior past cart-in and backpacking camp sites that were almost all occupied. It's a shame that I couldn't sleep there in my car. :-( 

I have my book Honey From the Comb; a Guide to Focused Prayer Using Scripture in my phone and stopped frequently for worship. The setting invited worship even without the Scripture. 

Benches like this one (in the midst of the cart-in sites) were rare, but one of the things I carry in my backpack is a collapsable tripod stool, that gives me a seat anywhere I choose to stop and pray and drink tea from my thermos.


When I got to the end of the trail, I found I was just under the road from the waterfall I had climbed too the day before. This grove looked like a delightful place to hike to from the pullover on another occasion. 

On the way, I passed the climb to the Corundum Mine, but decided to wait and see if I still had the energy on the return. I was pretty tired, but as my husband will tell you, I'm always afraid I'll miss out on something if I turn down an opportunity, so I did the climb. The mine site was pretty disappointing. Not much to see except a sign telling what had been there 100+ years ago before a fire. But just beyond the concrete and rebar was the dark face of a cliff that plunged from high above straight down into the lake below. Unfortunately, I seem to have not taken a picture of that spectacular plunge. (I guess I will have to walk this trail again sometime.) But following the cliff back away from the lake was a small trail. I had to crawl over a fallen tree, but as I suspected, it led to an easy climb up the back slope of the palisade with awesome views from the top.

Lunch on Pebble Beach, followed by a pleasant read in my chair in the shade.

But I was falling asleep. Not surprising after five hours of exercise in the morning. So I retreated to my tent. The site was hot in the sun (too hot to want to sit there and read), but in the tent with the flaps open, it was breezy and pleasant for a nap.

In the late afternoon, I returned to the shore and hiked toward the lighthouse for which the park is named with beautiful views along the way.




Wednesday morning instead of returning to Gooseberry as planned (wonderful park with great waterfalls and swimming holes), I decided to explore one park further along the lake.

Tettegouche used to be called Baptism River. I think the river still is, but the park is now called by its original Native name. Like Gooseberry, you can park at the visitor's center for free and hike where you want. (Split Rock needs a paid pass.) I took the trail to Two Step Falls and the High Falls, which we have done before. It's only a mile and a half each way, but the round trip took me three hours. It's mostly uphill. Then you have to climb down hill to the base of the falls. Two Step Falls is 200 stairs down. The sign at the top warns that the bottom was washed out in a recent flood and reaching the bottom required a scramble. As usual, I had to see for myself. I ended up sitting on the bottom step and giving the scramble a pass. View was tantalizing, but obstructed. You can't even see the second falls, which is around the corner behind the top branch on the right.


After climbing back 200 steps and resting on the bench at the top with my thermos of tea, I climbed another third of a mile to the access for the high falls. This one also warned that the bottom flight of stairs had been washed out, but this time was only 83 stairs and the scramble at the bottom was quite doable. I sat on my tripod stool and drank tea and ate a packaged Greek pastry I found in my pack from last fall's trip to Greece and Turkey (from the airplane?). Forget granola bars; this was delicious. An angler in his waders decided that he was in the wrong spot and didn't stay long.

It's another climb to the top of the falls. 

The bridge we crossed on our 2020 visit has since washed out, but I could see people on the far side. Turns out there is a trailhead at the top of the west side near that beautifully wooded campground that would probably be a lot easier to get to. Next time.

So I returned to my car and hiked the short distance to the mouth of the river. It looked like there was a path along the cliffs back to the visitor center, but my legs were feeling like they had done enough for this trip (18,000 steps Tuesday; 13,000 steps Wednesday), and I left that exploration for another day. (The trail started with a steep uphill, which contributed to that decision.)

And so I headed home with wobbly legs, hoping for another solo camping trip later this summer to explore the things I let pass this time.

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