Here’s what turns my crank: Free-flowing rivers in wild country, ponds hidden in tamarack swamps, campsites under white pines swaying in a breeze, trout gulping mayflies. I like pushing off in a canoe. I like slinging a backpack onto my shoulders. I like knowing that if I find a woods or a pond or a stretch of river that suits me I can stay put for a few days or a week. And I like going my own way, at my own pace, and stumbling upon beautiful and interesting places.
So of course I like Michigan. After a lifetime of exploring it, my appreciation just keeps growing.
For one thing, we’re never more than a few miles from water here. And with so much of the two peninsulas protected by state and national forests there are thousands of miles of two-track roads and hiking trails to explore. The opportunities for adventure are endless, and you don’t need to go far to find it.
On summer weekends Gail and I like to throw some gear in the back of the car, strap our canoe to the racks, and head for the woods. We take our time and drive the trails slowly, with the windows open, so we can spot berry bushes and smell sweet fern and more easily catch glints of water through the trees. On the seat between us we keep a county map-book open so we can make notes in the margins – “Good bluegill lake,” “Grouse cover along this creek,” “Lots of blueberries here, 2009.”
In a radius of fifty miles from our home are more streams, lakes, and ponds – and more forests, swamps, bogs, and dunes — than anyone could explore in a lifetime. There are birds and wildflowers to study, fish to catch, berries and mushrooms to gather. Meandering trails will lead us to them, and they can get us happily lost, too.
And isn’t that the point? Get lost, so we can discover new places. Get lost, so we can forget about work and money worries and the latest political scandal. Get lost, so we can learn more about the places we love – and maybe learn a little more about ourselves, as well.
[Originally published in Michigan Blue Magazine, special Adventure Travel edition, summer 2012.]
Jerry, one winter when my dog was a puppy, we went walking in the snow within a mile of Northport. I wandered intentionally into what is in summer a wetland, eager to photograph the red berries of Michigan holly. Got all turned around and could not follow my footprints back. Lost! Snow too deep to sit down and rest, no kleenex in my pocket for runny nose. My puppy wasn’t worried at all. Eventually we came out somewhere I recognized enough to find my way back to where I’d left the car. People in town could not believe I’d gotten lost — “In NORTHPORT?” Adventure can be very close to home.
Thanks for sharing this, Pamela. Your mistake was telling people about it! That moment when we realize we’re lost — it’s disorienting (literally), a bit terrifying, and maybe good for us. Keeps us more alert in the future…