North Shore, Part II: Lost Like A Cyclist in Dublin

Contentedly stuffed with pie, Andy and I retrieved the car from across the street and drove down Highway 61. The original destination we'd had in mind was Palisade Head, but the drive was so scenic that we decided to bypass it in favour of the more distant Tettegouche State Park. Andy went into the ranger station to buy a permit and asked what we should do whilst in the park. The ranger on duty suggested a brief 0.7 mile hike to the High Falls.

We covered this distance slowly, stopping frequently to indulge our inner photographers. We'd had the good fortune to be sheltered in the car during the afternoon's sole bout of rain, and the sun soon made an appearance from behind the falsely foreboding clouds. Other hikers seem to have been deterred by the brief shower, however. We had the trail to ourselves, with the exception of a lone running man who startled us by bursting from a side path.

As we walked, evidence of the recent rain emerged in the form of expansive and frequent patches of mud. Likely because my trainers had grown uncomfortably soggy, I began to question the distance we'd travelled before Andy did. "I feel like we've gone farther than 0.7 miles," I ventured.
"No," he countered cheerfully. "It just seems like it because we've been stopping a lot to take pictures."
We continued on, and continued to take pictures. We kept confusing the sound of the wind with the sound of rushing water and expected to find a waterfall around every next bend as a result.

Instead we stumbled upon a sign for Nipisiquit Lake. We consulted our map (which previously had been of no help whatsoever) and discovered that we were significantly off course. We'd missed a turn somewhere, but where? We couldn't remember coming upon an intersecting path where we would have had the option to alter our route. While we were still lost in thought about our navigational error, Andy glanced up into a birch tree and noticed a mushroom growing high amongst its sparse limbs. "Fungus! You WAAAAAY up there!" he exclaimed, adopting his best gangsta tone and swagger (which weren't good). "WORD!"

Being doubled over with laughter helped me to forget about my wet feet and simultaneously cleared my memory. "Wait...do you think we were supposed to turn where that guy came running out of the woods?" I asked. That indeed proved to be the case. When we arrived back at the spot where we'd encountered Running Man, we found that the turnoff for High Falls was clearly and un-missably marked. I blame the distraction of Running Man coupled with how enraptured we were with the trail.

The route to the High Falls was significantly less muddy than Mystery Route. And it was significantly shorter. We reached the falls in what to us seemed to be record speed. We lingered long enough to rest our feet and take a few pictures, then started to hike back. We were hoping to catch the sunset from Palisade Head. As we reached the top of the staircase that ascended from the falls, we came across another hiker. We talked for a bit about the muddy condition of the trails. "I knew I shouldn't have worn my work shoes," she lamented. Glancing down, I saw that her feet were tied into a pair of New Balance trainers. What a great job she must have. We encountered her again in the parking lot and learned that she volunteers for the Superior Hiking Trail, driving five hours from Bemidji to do so. "Husband thinks I'm crazy," she quipped. "He can stay home."

We parted ways with our fellow hiker and embarked on the harrowing drive up to Palisade Head. The road was narrow, with tree limbs and other various forms of plant life encroaching on the black strip of tar that slashed through them. The steep incline and tight turns added to the sense of exploration we'd been enjoying throughout the day. This dissipated slightly when we found the parking lot and a couple busily steaming up the windows of their car there. We paid them little mind and managed to regain our sense of adventure by climbing as close to the sheer drop down to Lake Superior as we dared. The view of the rapidly shifting water was vertigo-inducing. And the deep crevices in the dark, slate gray rock, while not brandishing the power of freezing, pounding water, were intimidating in their own way.

Finally we turned away from the water and started exploring a little ways inland. We quickly came upon an area where white clumps of something were scattered all around. "That looks like deer hair," Andy mused, picking up a piece of it. The fibrous appearance of the cluster made me argue that it was a plant spore--a bigger, thicker dandelion puff. "You're probably right," Andy conceded. But his agreement didn't last long. After taking a few more steps he stopped and in a hushed, urgent voice told me to "Look over there...but look slowly."

Contrary to his instructions, my head snapped in the indicated direction to see a headless skeleton next to a strangely tidy pile of hide. After absorbing the initial shock, we climbed onto a higher rock for a better vantage point. From this angle we could see an intact deer leg poking out from under the hair pile. The circumstances of the deer's death seemed a little dodgy and made us both uneasy. We didn't linger long into the dusk. We found the other couple, oblivious to the carcass nearby, still parked in the lot when we went back to the car.

Perhaps it was the lingering memory of the skeleton, but the drive back out to Highway 61 seemed even more perilous than the trip in. Actually, my discomfort can probably be attributed to my realisation that what I'd assumed to be a one-way was actually meant to be a dual carriageway. But we made it back to the cabin without incident and relaxed over a steak dinner and some Newcastles. We still had one more day of exploring (and all the attendant becoming lost and finding dead things) ahead of us.