I recently meandered out onto Lake Superior on my first extended sailboat trip across it with some friends. We left Duluth, Minnesota, and headed to Wisconsin’s Apostle Island National Lakeshore, and then traversed the western arm of the lake to Grand Marais Harbor in Minnesota.
Since I am writing this, you know I survived the three-day trip. If fact, I would like to think I thrived, despite turning green with seasickness once (I avoided hurling, though!) and having to wear all my winter gear, plus hand warmers, on the 4th of July.
I learned a lot about sailing, but still have more to know. And I got a firsthand look at conditions on the lake, which is useful for my job, since we fund research projects on Lake Superior.
Two things struck me and my sailing companions. The first was the color of the water. Almost all the way to the Apostles it was the hue of chocolate milk. The large extent and persistence of the coloring was unusual. There were also floating logs to watch out for.
According to a news story I read upon returning home, the condition is due to a series of recent heavy rains that have sent thousands of tons of silt into the lake. Chequamegon Bay, on the other side of the Apostles, is also experiencing heavy sedimentation.
Usually, the chocolate milk dissipates within a few days, but this round of it is lasting longer than usual because we kept having downpours every few days. Most of the sediment comes from the Nemadji River and its red clay banks, along with the St. Louis River.
We also had more than double the amount of usual rainfall for the month of June. Anglers and charter captains are having to travel farther than usual out into the lake to find clear water for fishing.
Stable flies covering jeans during a beach walk. Good thing they can’t bite through denim!
The second notable thing were the flies. Known locally by the name of “ankle-biters” or sand flies, stable flies look like a common housefly but they are meaner because they bite – usually a person’s ankles. I can attest that there are roughly a gazillion of them out on the lake and its shores this summer.
The only thing that saved us from certain insanity on a shore trip to Outer Island was the fact that we were wearing jeans, which they couldn’t bite through.
The flies congregated in seething clusters from our knees down, rarely venturing farther up our legs. Thank goodness they had no interest in our bare arms or we would have had to run screaming back to our dinghy!
According to a story on National Public Radio, researchers have figured out how and why the flies and other biting insects like mosquitos do this. They think these biting bugs target feet and ankles because we are less likely to notice (and therefore kill) them. They hone in on their target by smell, and apparently, the sweat and skin on our ankles smells different from that of the rest of our body.
Besides wearing jeans, we found it helpful to elevate our feet off the ground while we were on the boat. They didn’t seem to be able to find our ankles if they were level with the rest of our legs. Conditions on the boat never got bad enough that we needed to apply repellant, but we were glad we had some along, just in case.
Although the water wasn’t its typical crystal-clear blue, and we had many insect stowaways aboard our sailboat, Lake Superior was still magical. I greatly enjoyed spending time on it, and hope to do so again someday.
A bear got to this beach before we did.
Last week, I meandered over to Two Rivers, Wisconsin, birthplace to the ice cream sundae. We arrived at the Historic Washington House Museum and Ice Cream Parlor at noon, just in time to have ice cream for lunch!
We were met by a little girl who seemed to be related to the parlor manager. As she stood next to the counter, hugging her fluffy teddy bear, she gave us recommendations for the best flavors, extolling the virtues of each.
She tried to talk me into strawberry ice cream, but once I saw they had coconut, I begged her permission to have that instead. She graciously granted my request, so my lunch consisted of Coconut Joy ice cream (with coconut flakes, chocolate chunks and almonds), topped with hot fudge sauce.
Although some other towns make rival claims for the origin of the sundae, the place in Two Rivers is the only one recognized by the National Register of Historic Places. Read 
The High Roller Observation Wheel will take you and your date to new heights on a slow spin five-hundred feet above the city. The wheel is so huge, it takes a half-hour for one rotation. Day or night, it’s a great way to get your bearings in a city with so many landmarks. Likewise is the Eiffel Tower Replica at the Paris Casino. Take an elevator ride to the top for a spectacular view.
The food and wine is pricey, but oh so worth it! I had the lemon sorrel soup appetizer and veal medallions with morel mushrooms and fiddlehead ferns. So good! Russ had the roasted beet salad and bison with an asparagus add-on. For dessert, we romantically shared a Grand Marnier soufflé. Words fail me.
We chose the trail to see a new place and because the crisp and sunny spring air seemed to demand it. We didn’t go seeking a vision quest like Native Americans are said to have done on the peak, nor to seek our spirit animals, but we just might have had a dose of both of those things along the way, too.
In conjunction with my trip to see 
The trickster god myth “belongs” to more than just one tribe. The lodge gets its spelling and images from the Cree version. In my book, I concentrate on the Ojibwe version. Nanabozho’s mother was human and his father was the west wind. He’s a shapeshifter, often appearing as a rabbit or a human with rabbit ears and legs.
We stopped several times along the highway, but the best place was one without a ready-made scenic parking lot. We glimpsed a bay that whispered of Norway and ice and stillness. We drove back and forth, looking for the best access road. There were no roads, only private driveways.
Although it looks like it’s been on the site forever, the hotel is young. It opened in 1986 only about a half-block away from the original hotel. According to a helpful historical fact sheet provided to me by the desk clerk, the original hotel was built in 1877 by the Wisconsin Central Railroad when Ashland was a transportation hub for lumbering, quarrying, and mining.
The basement level is home to Molly Cooper’s Bar and Grill. It was closed in the morning when I was snooping around, but looked like it would be a fun place to eat, with views of the lake.
Wisconsin is known best for its beer and cheese. The state offers wineries, too, and I took a tour of the most productive facility this past week. 
The land the winery sits on has grown grapes on and off since the 1840s, whenever the weather has allowed. The vines on the property now were planted in 1972 when the Wollersheims bought it.
I found the winery easily and parked in the lot below. The winery’s website says it takes 10 minutes to walk the path from the lot to the winery (which is uphill, BTW), but I estimate it would only take any relatively able-bodied person a couple of minutes. However, I suppose if you stop to read the historical sign along the way that would add more time.
I learned that the Prairie Fumé is made from grapes not grown on the property. The grapes come from the Finger Lakes region of New York and are trucked in juice form to the winery, where Philippe works his magic on them.
Alas, it was time for me to continue onto my ultimate destination, which was Madison. I was expecting to eat dinner alone there, but things worked out so that a friend from high school was able to meet me. Plus, it was her birthday, so I brought along the bottle of Prairie Fumé for her.
Marie's Meanderings 
