“Sometimes I wonder how come I turned out so weird, so different from
everyone else. Maybe it’s because I’m left-handed and I think out of the other
side of my brain. Or maybe I’m an alien and I think out of someone else’s
brain. It’s probably from reading too many sci-fi books and eating ice cream
and saltines for supper.” Pat Loehmer
Flashback
I graduated from high school on June
1, 1980. As my party was winding down that afternoon, Pat and I started packing.
She had been working summers at the paper mill while going to college at River
Falls and had managed to save enough money to buy herself a baby-blue Ford
Courier and a tent. We had decided that
we would take a week off work – I would be clerking at Tomahawk Drug for one
more summer before leaving for college myself in the fall – to go camping in
the UP.
We were planning on camping in state
parks at night, and even though the Upper Peninsula of Michigan wasn’t the final
frontier, it was a big adventure. All we had was the truck, a dome tent, a cook
stove, sleeping bags, and some maps. And of course, too much food and just
barely enough cash.
We camped in Porcupine Mountains
State Park on Lake Superior for a couple nights, then moved to McLain State
Park. We had camped at McLain with our parents when we were kids. It’s a
beautiful park with breathtaking views of Lake Superior. Sunrises and sunsets.
Pat would look out over Lake Superior,
and as close as we were, sometimes I still wondered where her mind was, what
she thinking. Or was she just weird?
That camping trip still remains one
of the high points of my life. That whole week everything was so simple. We did
what we wanted, when we wanted and how we wanted. I dreamed of living the rest
of my life like that, young and carefree, foolish and full of life, happy and only
concerned with being at peace.
 |
| Clearly, not Lake Superior, but another body of water in the UP. |
1996
In June of 1996, Pat was feeling well
enough that she decided it was time we went on another camping trip and that we
should take our older sister Judy along.
The first night we stayed just outside of Mercer at Lake of Falls, a small county park along the
Turtle Flambeau Flowage. Pat and Judy went up in the middle of the afternoon to
set up camp, and I joined them after work. They had found a site on a
small peninsula, almost like being on an island. It was a gorgeous spot.
The next day we packed up camp and
set off to find more waterfalls. Our first goal was Spring Camp Falls. The
Wisconsin Gazetteer showed a little red line, Camp 7 Road, heading west off of
Highway 51. It connected to East Branch Road, which led right to Spring Camp
Falls.
Camp 7 Road began as any other gravel
road through the woods. But it quickly deteriorated. The track went straight
through a swamp, so when the road was first laid it was a corduroy road, a road
made by laying logs across the roadway, especially over wet, lowland terrain. The
idea was that the road was dry, but it was also incredibly rough, and the
roughness only got worse over time.
In 1996, this particular road was
simply heinous. By the time the logs were coming up under Pat’s Blazer, the
lane had become a path, barely wide enough to fit through, branches hanging in
front of us and tree trunks encroaching on both sides.
Judy and I got out and started walking
the track in order to help Pat drive through. We continually stopped to access
the situation, but since it was obvious we couldn’t turn around and backing up
was out of the question, we kept slowing crawling forward.
We checked the cell phones. Surprisingly
we still had coverage.
“And if we called for someone to get
us out of here, how exactly do you think they would do that?” Pat asked
logically. She had a point. And we were at a point of no return.
Finally the road, not even an ATV
trail by this time, approached a slight incline, at the top of which was dry
land and a grassy opening big enough to turn around. Now the question was, do
we turn around?
We knew what we had just slogged
through, but was it better or worse up ahead? As tired and frustrated as we
were, I thought we should leave the Blazer and at least walk the road for a
little ways to see if it improved. Pat hated to be pessimistic, but she feared
that the trail would get worse, or even suddenly dead end and then we couldn’t
even turn around. Judy simply shrugged.
We turned around and worked our way
out of the swamp.
Years later, I would find that
waterfalls via another route. But someday, as God is my witness, I will get
there along Camp 7 Road.
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