Just Me and My Dogs: A Solitary Hike on the Lake Superior Hiking Trail

Just me and my dogs, alone, on the Lake Superior Hiking Trail. I’ve hiked portions of this trail many times in my life, but never alone with my dogs, and never this particular segment.

Early in the afternoon on Saturday, August 18th, I drove the short 2.5 miles up the gravel road from the location my family was vacationing at, to the Castle Danger Trailhead. I noticed a few cars in the small trail-side parking lot, but saw no one. I leashed the dogs, threw my backpack over my shoulders, and headed over to the trail sign:

• Crow Creek .5mi
• Red Pine Overlook 1.5mi
• Encampment River 2.6mi

Sure! Why not?

I felt a sort of elation as the dogs and I stepped onto the trail – alone. In my day-to-day life I’m a stay-at-home mother of 7 and 9-yr. old children, which I love, but it’s been years since I’ve walked alone; at my own pace; in silence.

Nature, here I come!

The dogs started off the hike with an excited burst of energy. They seemed to know that a wilderness hike was waiting for them. Brook, my 12-yr. old border collie-lab mix, and Ayla, my border collie-Australian cattle dog mix, were pulling at the leashes with their noses buried in the long grass. I noticed a silence, devoid of others’ voices. But shortly thereafter, new sounds of rustling grasses, branches hitting each other as the wind swept through the high tree tops, and the poignant call of a bird evaded my ears. I was zoning in on the wilderness around me.

Within minutes we came across a sign:

As I gazed past the sign, I noticed a sharp drop in terrain. We must have made it to Crow Creek. I let Brook off of her leash for the steep descent down as I didn’t want her restrained while she climbed down the stairs – her old hips need special attention. But, the dogs barreled down the wall of Crow Creek anyway, while I tried to avoid the poison ivy that was invading the trail at every step.

“If you stay to the left, it’s easier to step down to the creek bed” came a female voice from below.

“Thank you!” I replied. A slim lady with short grey hair and a hard hat greeted me as the dogs and I stepped into the mostly-dry Crow Creek. Brook, off her leash, gingerly made her way over to the lady to say hi. Everyone is Brook’s best friend. Luckily, the lady was a dog lover, and squatted down to give Brook a thorough pet.

“What’s going on down here?” I asked.

“Well, last month we had 8” of rain here, and several footbridges were washed down stream, so we’re here to disassemble them and fix the steps on the sides of the creek.

As I looked up the creek, I was surprised to see workers hauling a huge boulder using a four-handled sling – one man per handle. They were gathering the boulders and placing them on the sides of the creek to be used as stairs. There was no way to get heavy machinery into the creek, so everything has to be done using human power.

A few of the workers waved, and one said “You’re the first one to use our new steps!”

“I’m honored, and thanks so much for the work you’re doing here!” I replied.

The dogs and I said our goodbyes, tested out the new steps on the far side of the creek – “They’re sturdy!” I yelled down to the crew below – and continued on our way.

Up, up, and up, we climbed.

“This is going to be some overlook.” I thought to myself.

The dogs and I hiked up steep hills, we climbed up small, but challenging rock obstacles, and cherished the brief flat terrain. The billion-year old basalt cliffs surrounding Lake Superior were proving to be formidable hiking opponents.

Now I was hearing the dogs panting, my deep breathing, my new barefoot trail shoes crunching on gravel trails, and I think I could hear my heart beating. The challenging hike was invigorating.

The same bird with the high, sharp call continued to follow us on our hike for about a half a mile. I never did see the shy, but curious bird as it kept itself well-hidden in the canopy of the trees.

Soon after the mystery bird left, we arrived at the breathtaking Red Pine Overlook. Small, but perfectly manicured farms dotted the vast valley below, we could see tree tops for miles, and the distant landscape was tinged a milky bluish-white due to the Canadian wildfires that burned hundreds of miles away. Brook, panting like crazy, chose to lie down on a rocky outcrop to enjoy the breeze coming up from the valley.

Just as we were all sitting down to catch our breath on the overlook, the dogs and I heard something crashing through the woods behind us. I immediately thought black bear, or maybe a moose. Whatever it is, it’s big, and it’s CLOSE! Ayla, my ferocious 35lb. 1-yr. old dog jumped straight up, and turned a 180 in the air. Her buck was up as she barked wildly at the crashing sound. Just then, we saw an old red pine trunk crash through the trees right over the trail we had just walked, though it didn’t touch the ground as a young red pine exerted its strength and held that old trunk about 8 ft. off the ground.

Settle down, heart!

Since we were all up and alert, we decided to continue our hike to our final destination – the Encampment River. The next mile-long stretch of our hike would end up being my favorite. Towering red pines lined the high bluff we explored, thick layers of pine needles cushioned our steps, and a beautiful overlook accompanied us along the way.

Have you noticed the sweet smell of browned pined needles? It is one of my favorite smells. A sweet strawberry aroma, almost like strawberry Fruit Roll-Ups, is emitted when needles turn brown. As I was smelling the sweet smell of pine, I laughed when Brook decided to take another break under the pines and gaze out over the valley; I was happy to join her.

Twenty feet past Brook’s chosen break location, we spotted a sweet memorial which stopped us in our tracks:

Thank you, Sarah.

The dogs and I were bombarded with wildlife as we continued our journey and neared the river. A wild turkey crossed the path in front of us while another made for the sky, five ruffed grouse were flushed up by the dogs, scattering in the dense forest, and a deer, well-hidden by the trail-side brush, spooked just three feet from us. My heart was sent racing yet again as branches broke with the large doe’s escape through the woods. We all watched the white tail bound through the trees before disappearing. We rounded one more bend after encountering the deer before the Encampment River was in sight.

Brook and Ayla took off for the nearest deep hole and spent the next 20 minutes swimming in circles while they gulped down the icy river water. I found a large flat rock to sit on, delighted in watching the dogs play in the water, and thoroughly appreciated the beauty of my surroundings. I found myself wondering why I don’t do this more often.

After the dogs were satisfied with their break, and I noticed that our hike had already exceeded 2.5 hours, we started our journey back. This time we hiked without stopping. As we stepped down into Crow Creek at the end of our hike, I noticed that the workers had retired for the day, but a few more boulders had been placed on the stairway. A blue tarp covered their supplies, which the dogs found very interesting.

When the dogs and I entered the parking lot, some of the workers were packing up their car. One yelled out “How far did you make it?”

“To the Ecampment River.” I replied. “What a beautiful hike!”

I told them about the animals we encountered, and about the tree that fell right behind us.

“Did it cross the path?” One worker asked, seemingly concerned.

“No, a strong young pine held it off the trail.” I commented.

“Okay, good! We like to know when things like that happen.” the worker said.

We chatted for a few more minutes which led to the discover that the kind people that had been working on Crow Creek were a part of a volunteer group that takes care of the Lake Superior Hiking Trail.

When we parted ways, I thanked the workers for all they do for people who enjoy the trail. They thanked me for hiking the trail.

“I’ll be back again!”

I drove the 2.5 miles down the dirt road and felt refreshed, alive, and happy. What a beautiful hike – just me and my dogs.