2010, the first year that I took my husband camping in the UP,
I was on a quest to find every waterfall which I could. In the Gazetteer, I found
the Upper and Lower Gratiot Falls. Granted they appeared to be in the middle of
nowhere. But really? Isn’t that the entire UP? We didn’t have any luck that
year.
This year, as we were heading back to our campground, driving
along Five Mile Point Road, I spied a sign for Gratiot River County Park. I
thought, ah, ha, maybe this would take us to the elusive falls. We started down
the gravel road and our teeth quickly began to rattle in our heads. The road
was wide and straight but was in desperate need of grading. And then it deteriorated.
The road narrowed and began to wind through the woods. We
met a Jeep coming out, so surmised that at least the road went somewhere. We
continued to crawl along at a top speed of 20 mph, the poor Blazer just
rattling from its every joint. In the rearview mirror, the hubby could see a
car coming up behind us, going probably 35 mph. The hubby pulled over and the
car whooshed past.
“Hmm? What do you suppose is at the end of this road that
they were in such a hurry to get to?”
“I don’t know,” the hubby answered, “but I can’t believe
how fast they were going. This-road-is-awful.” The corduroy road was rattling
his head again.
Then we came upon this sign. I cannot say who this fellow
is, but I would be embarrassed to have this road named after me.
“What? Stop with the overactive imagination.”
Never the less, he kept Dino on a short leash.
As the road opened out onto Lake Superior, we saw a tattooed
and toothless man carrying a fishing pole, the sleeves of his shirt cut off. A
whale-sized woman, wearing a black bikini, waded in Lake Superior. Another
woman with her man were drinking beer and playing cards on some pieces of
driftwood. Some children played, but I didn’t hear them laughing. I didn’t hear
any human sounds actually, just the sound of the waves on the beach. Clouds had
overtaken the sun.
I trudged through the sand making the most of the long
drive out here. I could sense the hubby behind me, the dog tight to his side;
they weren’t going to follow me.
I snapped a few quick pictures, and to the hubby’s great
relief, turned back. He was already hustling back to our vehicle. He had the
engine running by the time I joined him just moments later.
“Just let me get a few more pictures,” I whined.
“But I tell you, I hear banjoes!”
“Oh, stop it, already.”
“No, really,” he argued. “I think they are just waiting
for a sacrifice to show up.”
Just then a large motor home drove around the corner in
front of us. “Are you kidding me?”
“See, I told you. The sacrifices have arrived.”
Yup and about that time, I started hearing banjoes.
(If you’ve never
seen the movie “Deliverance”, you won’t get the banjoes reference, but you can look it up
here.)
3 comments:
Yup, sounds just like our "Camp Deliverance" in New Zealand. Not only did I heard banjos playing but all the other scenes from Deliverance whirled inside my brain.
I should have known that you would know what I was talking about, Denise!
Omg..I just read this again & laughed out loud again!!
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