Uncategorized

That Time Lake Superior Almost Killed Me

/ mariezhuikov / 15 Comments

Outside magazine recently published a story about Cold Water Immersion Stages and Survival Tips. The article reminded me about an experience I had as a college student when I was working for the National Park Concessionaire on Isle Royale, an island in Lake Superior.

I was a waitress at Rock Harbor Lodge during the summers of 1983-84. The lodge is one of the only civilized spots on the wilderness island, which has no roads or other amenities. Instead, it’s filled with wolves, moose, loons, and fog. Lake trout swim in the depths, hikers tread the challenging trails, and boaters brave the waves.

I think it was during my first summer when I was working dinner service on a hot day. Hot on Isle Royale is a relative term. In Florida, eighty-five degrees would seem like nothing, but on “the Rock” as we called the island, it’s a heat wave. Add in a hot kitchen and the effort of serving a lot of hungry patrons, and you have a bunch of waiters, waitresses, and cooks who are sweating through their white polyester uniforms.

A much younger Marie in her 1980s waitress uniform on the steps of Rock Harbor Lodge, Isle Royale National Park. Image by Dorothy Pramann

Outside the dining room windows, a view of the marina, with docks, sailboats, and the allure of Lake Superior’s cool blue waters beckoned. Everyone working that evening made a pact to jump off the end of the nearest dock once our shift ended.

Normally, I liked to ease into the lake slowly. I’d swum in the lake many times in a different, more sheltered, harbor nearby (Tobin Harbor). But I was young, reckless, and hot, so I joined my coworkers in the plan. I expected the water temperature to be the same as during my previous swims.

Our shift over, we all marched down the dock, fully clothed. I was perhaps the second or third person to jump into the water. The people before me whooped and hollered but had no trouble. I didn’t want to get my hair wet, so I launched myself off the high dock with arms and legs splayed to keep my head above water.

My vanity is what saved me.

As the Outside magazine story outlines about the body’s response to cold water immersion shock, the moment I hit the water, I gasped, but because my head was still above water, I gasped air instead of water. Also, both of my legs immediately cramped up, turning into useless weights that began to drag me down.

The water was frigid, much colder than I’d experienced before. What I didn’t realize was that an offshore breeze had created upwelling conditions, bringing near-freezing water up from the depths of the lake and into the harbor.

My arms still worked, so I pumped them furiously to keep afloat and to swim toward the dock. When I could catch my breath, I pleaded for help and said my legs didn’t work.

Amid all the shouting and activity of other people jumping in the water, it took a while for anyone to notice my plight. Eventually, I was able to reach the dock where two coworkers pulled me out. I don’t recall how long it took before my cramps resolved as the blood that had fled to my body’s core returned to my legs while I lay on the dock.

Thankfully, nobody else cramped up. Why me? Maybe I was also dehydrated or something. Who knows! I’m just “lucky,” I guess.

As I walked off the dock, I recall feeling grateful that I survived my cold-water plunge–grateful that I didn’t drown. Best yet, my hair didn’t get wet!

I had no other lingering effects, but I did learn one important lesson: test the water first, stupid!

Poetry Book Review and Other Writing Fun

/ mariezhuikov / 6 Comments

My poetry book, High Fire Danger, was reviewed in the latest issue of Lake Superior Magazine. Sorry, the review is only available to subscribers. But here’s an excerpt: “In her poetry, the language and images of nature permeate Marie’s writing whether about love, loss, family, or frustration.”

And here’s a review by a member of the Wisconsin Writers Assn. that you can read even if you’re not a magazine subscriber. Hope you have a chance to check out the reviews. High Fire Danger is available on Amazon.

Second, I received a fan email from a reader in Maryland. She read my first novel, Eye of the Wolf. “To say I enjoyed it is an understatement. What an unusual and vivid story! The last few chapters were absolute page-turners! You are such a lovely writer…” That made my week! The book is out of print but is available through many libraries.

For more information about my books, please visit the book page on my web site.

Camping in Brule River State Forest

/ mariezhuikov / 14 Comments
Tiny Scamp, tall pines

Russ and I took our Scamp trailer recently to northern Wisconsin for our one-and-only camping trip of the summer. We’d tried to camp earlier in the season, but had trouble making reservations in state and provincial parks because the reservations get snapped up so fast. We even woke up once before 6 a.m. to try and make a reservation but open spots were gone in seconds!

Thankfully, sites were available at the Bois Brule Campground, which I got to know during my stint as a Road Scholar trip leader this summer. We made reservations for three nights in mid-September.

One warning, however! Non-Wisconsin residents need to be prepared for extra fees, plus you need to buy a Wisconsin State Parks vehicle pass. If my memory serves me correctly, we ended up paying more than $150 for the privilege of staying in our camper in a place without electricity or running water. (There is a hand pump, however, and artesian wells nearby.) But we were determined to go camping, dammit! So, we made the reservation.

See the heart shape in the trees over our campsite?

Campsites nestled among tall pines and carpeted with pine needles attracted us to this campground near the Brule River. Plus, it was less than an hour’s drive from Duluth, and it had reservations available.

Stoney Hill Nature Trail

Our first evening, we took a walk around the campground. Ironically, we met some other Scamp owners who lived in Duluth! It felt funny to travel someplace distant and yet meet people who lived not far from us. We enjoyed a campfire that night as we listened to barred owls hoot along the riverbanks.

The next morning, we hiked the Stoney Hill Nature Trail, which is accessible from the campground and covers 1.6 miles in a loop. Interpretive signs along the way provide information about the natural and cultural history of the Brule River State Forest.

We chose to hike the loop clockwise for a less strenuous hike. (The other direction features a steep 184-foot climb that we would rather walk down than up.) The trail culminated in a lookout over the Brule River Valley. But once we arrived, we had to laugh because we couldn’t see a thing. The lookout is overgrown with trees! But we enjoyed the exercise and learning more about the area.

After lunch, we drove to Bayfield, a town about an hour away on the shores of Lake Superior. Our first stop was the Apfelhaus Cidery. Part of the Hauser Farm, the cidery is run by a former coworker of mine and her husband. The apples come from their own orchard. I’d seen the cidery tasting room when it was under construction and was excited to see it now that it’s open.

Our cider flight

We ordered a flight of four different ciders. Two were alcoholic and two were N/A. We enjoyed the N/A offerings best because they were sweeter. Our favorite was the cherry variety. As we sipped, we enjoyed a view of Lake Superior from the cidery’s perch atop a ridge.

Sated by cider, we made our way down the ridge to town. We spent time shopping and perusing the many art galleries and gift stores there. For supper, we ate on a dock jutting out into Lake Superior at Hoops Fish and Chips Dockside. Hoops is a commercial fishing operation, and they serve lake whitefish caught that morning. They used to only offer it fried and breaded with French fries but now have added it grilled with rice. I’d eaten there before but Russ hadn’t. We ordered one of each dish. Both were excellent! They also serve Apfelhaus cider.

Our whitefish dinners at Hoops

On our way back to the campground, we stopped at the infamous Moquah Bar, which you can read all about in a separate post, “We Survived the Moquah Bar.”

After another quiet night and campfire, we awoke the next morning to a mostly empty campground. Most of the other campers are fly fishers, who leave at the crack of dawn to fish the Brule River, which is famous for its trout.

The Brule-St. Croix Portage Nature Trail

We hiked again, this time traveling about a half-hour to Upper St. Croix Lake, near Solon Springs. The picnic area there is home to the Brule-St. Croix Portage Trail, which is what the Voyageurs and fur traders of old used to travel from Lake Superior to the Brule River and Upper St. Croix Lake. This would then take them into the St. Croix River, which led to the Mississippi River and beyond.

At the trailhead, you can either choose the portage trail or a bog trail that leads to a boardwalk. I’d already been on the bog trail, so we hiked the portage trail. It begins with a steep incline up a ridge but then levels out after that. Along the way stone markers commemorated historic explorers from the fur trade era. We hiked about half the trail.

After returning to the campground for lunch, we headed out with our bikes on the car to the small town of Ino, Wisconsin. Our goal was Forest Road 236, a seldom-traveled picturesque back road good for cycling and motorcycling. We rode 30 miles and only saw a few other vehicles.

We returned to the campground to enjoy our classic camping dinner of scrambled eggs and Spam. The only thing that would have made it better was if we had remembered to pack the ketchup!

As our trip came to a close, we reflected on the joys of camping in northern Wisconsin—from peaceful hikes and friendly encounters to delicious meals shared under the pines with the gurgle of the Bois Brule in the background. Sipping crisp apple cider with a view of Lake Superior was a highlight, perfectly capturing the spirit of relaxation and adventure that defined our getaway. We left feeling grateful for the memories made. I’m not sure if we’ll have other camping adventures since we are considering selling our Scamp. If this was our last outing, it was a good one!

Bayfield Harbor

Stepping Back in Time at Bark Bay Slough

/ mariezhuikov / 12 Comments
Old Blue at Bark Bay Slough

My friends and I were supposed to go into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in mid-July. Unfortunately, wildfires happened there and in Canada. The fire danger was so high and the air quality so poor that the Forest Service closed the entire wilderness! It seems funny that a wilderness can be closed, but there you have it.

We wanted to do something together nevertheless, so we needed to come up with a Plan B. We decided to spend a few days in a friend of a friend’s cabin in Brule, Wisconsin.

Besides enjoying meals of whitefish from Lake Superior, hiking, and chasing waterfalls, we satisfied our need for canoeing with an afternoon trip on Bark Bay Slough, near Herbster. I’d been to the canoe landing there before but never had time to venture out on the water, so I was looking forward to this trip.

The three of us piled into my Old Blue canoe with our camp chairs and books. We headed out onto the smooth water toward the bay mouth, where the slough empties into Lake Superior. Bark Bay Slough is bounded by the mainland on one side and a two-mile sandspit on the other. It’s a Scientific and Natural Area full of floating bog islands, birds, fen and bog plants that’s managed by the state of WI.

Old Blue where the slough meets Lake Superior.

As we paddled, I thought about how the Duluth-Superior Harbor back home used to look like this slough before dredging occurred for shipping and the Duluth canal was cut, which allowed the bog islands to just float away into Lake Superior. Canoeing the slough was like stepping back in time.

We passed modest cabins perched on the sandspit and amused ourselves by pointing out which ones we would like to own if we could. None of us chose the beaver house, though, that came into view. Even though it looked well-constructed and had wild roses in the “yard,” that particular house would have been too dark and damp. No windows!

A beaver house in the slough

Eventually, we reached the bay mouth, which was surrounded on both sides by sand beaches. We landed our canoe and spent the rest of the afternoon swimming in the cold waters, lying in the sun, wandering, and reading.

Finally, the lure of an ice cream store in Herbster dragged us back into the canoe for our return paddle.

Reflecting on our adventure at Bark Bay Slough, I realize how sometimes the best memories are made when plans change. The peaceful beauty of the slough, the laughter shared with friends, and the chance to experience a landscape lost elsewhere left a lasting impression. Our trip reminded me that detours can create moments we’ll cherish long after the paddle home.

Canoe Story Published!

/ mariezhuikov / 18 Comments

My story, which originally came from this blog, was recently published in a local magazine called Northern Wilds. The story is about “That Time I Lost a Canoe in the Boundary Waters.” The magazine is on local (northern MN) newsstands now, but if you’re not from around here, you can read the original story here. This story, which took place in 2003 with my BFF Sharon and her children (and mine), also appeared in my blog-memoir book, Meander North. The Wilderness teaches me a lesson in it.

The Northern Wilds editor has been gracious enough to agree to publish some of my blog posts in her magazine when she needs stories. In this June issue, I was also interviewed by writer Victoria Smith for her story about, “Camping with Canine Friends.” You’ll see photos of my dearly departed goldendoodle, Buddy, and tips about how to successfully camp with your dog.

In case you’re wondering, I still miss my Buddy greatly, but I’m not ready to get another dog. I have too much meandering left to do, and that is easier without having to pay kennel fees for the dog left behind. Perhaps once I/we curtail our traveling, we’ll be open to loving another pet.

Happy reading and happy writing!

Buddy lives in print!

Wandering Wisconsin Point

/ mariezhuikov / 14 Comments
The Superior ship canal and Wisconsin Point lighthouse.

Russ and I visited a windswept peninsula near Superior, Wisconsin, last weekend. We wanted to check on how the prescribed burn area was rejuvenating after the burn I helped with last fall. As we approached Wisconsin Point, the steady roar of Lake Superior on one side and the more muted lap of Allouez Bay on the other created a backdrop of sound. Once, the Ojibwe lived there, but now the point is mainly a recreational area. It’s known for its towering pine forest and the distant flash of its lighthouse.

The prescribed burn area on Wisconsin Point.

In the burn area, the air still held a faint, smoky tang, but plants seemed to be coming back well, even with our chilly spring. Bright green grass sprouted bravely through ashen soil, and I ran my fingers over the bark at the base of some trees, rough and blackened but still sturdy. The large trees seemed little worse for wear—did you know that the rugged bark of red pines is fire-resistant? The trees need fire to regenerate, so they have adapted to it. That’s one reason for the prescribed burn: to encourage red pine regeneration. The point’s white pines, their needles soft and fragrant, are doing fine, but the red pines remain sparse. On our walk, we spotted an eagle’s nest, a massive tangle of sticks perched high above, and heard the sharp calls of the birds echoing through the canopy.

Bear Creek Trail, Wisconsin Point

Wisconsin Point also sports a relatively new nonmotorized trail that I haven’t had a chance to hike yet. The Bear Creek Trail begins near Hwy 53 and parallels Moccasin Mike Road to Wisconsin Point. Once on the point, it crosses Wisconsin Point Road, enters a wooded upland, and then a marsh for a total of 2.3 miles. It ends at the first parking lot on the point and sports a gravel surface, wooden bridges, and an impressive floating boardwalk over the marsh. Along the way, a pagoda provides a scenic view of the lake and the bay. Although the weather was a blustery 45 degrees, the forest provided shelter and warmth.

The pagoda on Bear Creek Trail

As we crossed the marsh, we noticed a beaver lodge and heard a Sora waterbird call. Soras are also known as Carolina Crakes. They’re brown and white, about the size of a chicken, but with longer legs perfect for wading in the shallows. Although the birds are common throughout the U.S., they are relatively rare in Wisconsin because they require large and healthy wetlands for habitat, and we all know what humans like to do to wetlands. (Drain them!)

A wetland along the Beaver Creek Trail, complete with beaver lodge.

Our visit to Wisconsin Point was both invigorating and enlightening. Seeing the resilience of the landscape, from the recovering burn area to the thriving wildlife, was a reminder of nature’s ability to adapt and flourish. The combination of ecological restoration, immersive natural experiences, and unique wildlife sightings makes Wisconsin Point a destination delights the senses and invites return in every season.

A Hike on the Prairie

/ mariezhuikov / 14 Comments

We meandered west to Minnesota’s Pothole Prairie Region last weekend. Russ’s daughter had planted roots — bought her first house in a small town there. Naturally, we were eager to witness her new beginning.

The Prairie Pothole Region is an expansive area in the northern Great Plains, primarily located in Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota, Iowa, and parts of Canada. It’s known for its thousands of shallow wetlands, commonly called potholes, formed by glaciers about 10,000 years ago. Depressions in the ground left by glaciers fill with water from snowmelt and rainfall, creating a diverse habitat for various species.

Muskrat houses

The region is often called “America’s Duck Factory” because it supports over 50% of North America’s migratory waterfowl. These wetlands provide essential breeding, nesting, and feeding grounds for many bird species, making them one of the most important migratory bird habitats in the Western Hemisphere.

We enjoyed our visit not only to the house and stepdaughter, but also with our two little white “grand dogs.” They are energetic and wonderful hikers. We wore them out on the first day with two hikes. The second, where I took these images, was on the Edwards Waterfowl Production Area Trail. The first part of the trail was paved, then a longer section (about a mile) was mowed.

The trail sports a photography blind on one of the pothole ponds. We entered, but the ducks were far away, and I don’t have one of those fancy telephoto lenses on my camera, so the blind was wasted on me. But, we saw and heard many redwing blackbirds, yellow-headed blackbirds, tree swallows, killdeer, Canada geese, yellow warblers, and song sparrows.

The clouds put on a show – the kind only available in wide open spaces. I loved the oak stands that graced the hillsides.

We left the wetlands full of wood ticks and wonder. I hope you enjoy this virtual tour.

The Tulip that Dared to be Different

/ mariezhuikov / 16 Comments

We bought nine white tulips last week to bring a bit of spring into the house. About a foot of snow still lies on the ground here in northern Minnesota, but the increasing sunshine has us impatient for winter to leave.

Once we brought them home and arranged them in a vase, I noticed that the tulip flowers were hiding inside their green leaf sheaths like the heads of shy turtles. But after a few days, they began to grow and emerge. One had a tinge of red to it, so I was curious to see what it would look like as the flower opened more. The fresh bouquet looked gorgeous as big white and fluffy snowflakes fell outside. Outdoors, spring had hidden its face once more.

A few more days later, the flower fully opened, and I was surprised to see that half of one petal was a deep ruby red. I was expecting an inner ring of red or something—not this. I asked my friends if they’d ever seen anything like that. None had, but some said we must be lucky, that it was like finding a four-leaf clover.

I turned to the ever-useful internet and discovered that this phenomenon is called sectorial chimera. Sectorial means that only one section of the flower is affected. Chimera means changeable or mixed. In scientific terms, it means that the flower has a mix of genetic tissues. My tulip was a white tulip that also contained red tulip genes. For some reason, the redness was expressed in a single petal. In a way, my friend was correct. Like a four-leafed-clover, this tulip was a unique genetic mutation.

There’s some info also on the internet that symbolically, the white flower represents purity and peace, and the red petal, a streak of hidden passion. “Together, they convey a deep emotional connection and the beauty of love in all its forms.”

I just wanted a sense of spring but received so much more from a simple grocery store bouquet!

Returning Good Fire to the Land

/ mariezhuikov / 19 Comments
A fire crew member monitors the Nov 2025 cultural prescribed burn on Wisconsin Point.

A story of mine appeared in the April/May 2026 issue of Lake Superior Magazine. It covers a project I’m involved with that’s designed to bring back the Ojibwe tradition of prescribed burning on Wisconsin Point, a long sandspit on Lake Superior. The Ojibwe once lived in the red and white pine woods there until they were moved to reservations in the mid-1800s. Before then, they would set small, controlled fires to keep brush down, encourage plants like blueberries, and help red pines sprout. They call these fires “Ishkode,” or good fire.

I first heard about this practice a few years ago while I was still working as a science communicator for Wisconsin Sea Grant. The organization funded research that studied tree rings and fire scars on Wisconsin Point and its neighboring sandspit, Minnesota Point. I reported on the project by writing articles, news releases, and producing a podcast.

Last year, a few months before I retired, I heard that the Ishkode group was looking for help with communications. I immediately volunteered, and you can read about the results in my article. I’m happy to say that last fall, Ishkode successfully returned to the point for the first time in 159 years. And nobody got hurt! More patchwork burns are planned in the future.

As a result, I was approached by a different group that’s working to bring Ojibwe fire practices back to Minnesota Point. Although the two points are separated by a short span of water, they are different politically and socially. Not only are they in different states, but Wisconsin Point is uninhabited, whereas more than 100 homes line Minnesota Point, many of which are beachfront mansions. Wisconsin Point is owned by the City of Superior and the Fond du Lac Tribe. Minnesota Point is a mix of private, city, and state Department of Natural Resources property. There’s even an airport near the end of it.

Both fire projects are led by Fond du Lac tribal members. Except for those folks and me, most of the rest of the people involved in each project are different. Because of its complexity, the Minnesota Point group is much larger (about 40 people). I began helping them this winter and finally have everyone’s names and affiliations down.

Our goal is to conduct a prescribed burn on Minnesota Point this spring. It will be the first time in 180 years that a burn has occurred there. Things are falling into place nicely, and so far, public reception has been good.

I’m happy to have a hand in returning a missing piece of the ecosystem to the shores of Lake Superior. As one of our group members said, the burns will help the choked forests breathe again. These points aren’t the only places where the Ojibwe used to burn. Evidence can be found all around the lake.

For more information, check out my article in the print version of the magazine, or check the Wisconsin Point Ishkode webpage.

Smoke from the prescribed fire drifts through the pines on Wisconsin Point. The fire will help the beleaguered red pine population regenerate.

Pancakes, Anyone?

/ mariezhuikov / 16 Comments
Each of these ice pancakes is about three feet across.

Winter is loosening its cold, hard grip on Lake Superior. One sure sign of spring is pancake ice. Sorry for the misleading title—these pancakes are not edible. But I suppose they are, if you like chewing ice.

Pancake ice on Lake Superior with Duluth’s iconic aerial lift bridge in the distance.

Pancake ice can form in early winter, too, but in spring it occurs when the ice begins to melt and waves or wind blow the ice chunks around. The wind whistles over the lake, carrying the crisp scent of melting ice and the freshness of open water. The ice chunks slap against each other like bumper cars at a fairground. The pancakes form circles with ridges along the sides, their surfaces glistening under the pale, watery sunlight. Pancake ice can also form on open water when it gets cold and ice crystals freeze and then break up and are blown around. This phenomenon can also occur on rivers and in the ocean.

Sometimes the rotating, colliding ice makes sounds, but I didn’t hear any during Russ’s and my walk along Lake Superior’s shore the other day when I took these photos. Instead, there was only the whisper of our boots on the asphalt trail, and the restless sigh of the breeze—sharp enough to sting cheeks and make eyes water.

This year, Lake Superior experienced 27% ice cover. The last time the lake came close to being completely frozen was 2019. The long-term average is 61.5% ice cover, and I assume that average is going down as the climate changes.

During our walk, other signs of warming weather in Duluth were the white legs of everyone who wore shorts for the first time since October. Mind you, it was only 44 degrees F with a cold northeast breeze, but people are so desperate for spring that shorts seemed like a good idea! I even saw a bare-chested man wearing shorts, his skin turning pink in the biting wind. I was not so inclined. In fact, I had to raise the hood on my jacket and cinch it tightly around my face, feeling the rough fabric press against my cheeks as I tried to shield myself from the breeze once we turned around and headed back to our car.

But the pancakes and white legs are here on Lake Superior. Spring can’t be far behind.