810-Lancaster Farming, Saturday, February 12, iftM
Noel Grove
National Geographic
News Service
1 first laid eyes on Lake Super
ior and the big country around it
more than a decade ago. I
drowned myself in its pleasures:
fishing for trout, hunting for
mushrooms, picking berries in its
pine-scented air.
On my frequent returns to the
lake country along the
U.S.-Canadian border, I have been
heartened to find that it remains as
I first knew it, uncommonly clear,
still heavily forested, bathed in
exquisite stillness.
You can hear a lynx scream,
follow the tracks of wolves hunt
ing deer or sail along rock-strewn
beaches without seeing a soul.
And you may be awakened in the
night, as I was in my sleeping bag,
by a woodland caribou - vanished
elsewhere at those latitudes -
splashing through a quiet inlet
yards away. I was grateful for the
wakeup; overhead the northern
lights flickered, like wind rustling
the tent of the sky.
“We Indians feel this lake is
alive,” said Billy Blackwell, who
traces his ancestors to the Ojibwa
who loved this land. We sat on the
lake’s Minnesota shore, listening
to waves murmur against the
rocks.
“It provided our grandfathers
with food to eat, water to drink,
water to bathe in,” said Blackwell.
“It has a soul.”
It is easy to understand why the
Ojibwa fought the Sioux for rights
to Superior’s often bitter-cold
shores. French Canadians who
paddled Superior’s mountainous
blue waves in brick-bark canoes
called it “le lac superieur,” simply
referring to its location above the
better-known Great Lakes Huron
and Michigan. Superior it
remains, in any translation.
Today some 600,000 people
live along the lake’s 1,700-milc
shoreline, but more than half are
clustered in Thunder Bay, Ontar
io; Duluth, Minn.; Marquette,
Mich.; and Sault Ste. Marie, on
both sides of the “Soo” locks
separating Michigan and Ontario.
That leaves plenty of real estate
for wildlife, unspoiled views and
water so clear that, as one fisher
man told me,” A mile from shore 1
just dip out a cupful and drink it.”
Superior is the broadest fresh
water lake in the world. It could
swallow Scotland with 1,300
square miles to spare or tuck with
in its shoreline New Hampshire,
Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode
Island and most of Connecticut
combined. Something waterlog
ged could sink 1,333 feet at the
deepest point.
That’s only a quarter as deep as
Lake Baikal in Siberia, but the
volume of Lake Superior is still
awesome. Tipped and emptied
like a washbasin, it would cover
both North and South America
with a foot of water. Those who
live on its shores boast about its
size as Texans boast about their
state, and they complain about the
weather as farmers do.
Winters are long, but seem lon
ger because real summer is just a
The Incredible Lake Superior
blown kiss. The warmer weather
spreads a green blush over land
that is 90 percent forested. The
rest seems dominated by wild
flowers, with riots of lupine,
hawkweed and buttercups.
The colder, summer mildness
and wild flavor bring millions of
visitors. Winter squeezes out all
but a sprinkling of skiers and
snowmobilers. By October the
northland belongs again to the true
lake people.
“This country is not for every
one,” said Wendy Bell, former
mayor of Marathon, midway
ilong the north shore. “It’s expen
sive fuel costs especially
md if you don’t like winter, you
wouldn’t be caught dead here.”
While bad weather has sunk
ihips on Superior, squalls of a dif
erent sort have arisen over the
ake’s future. “Its fresh water is
>ur last major untapped resource,”
;aid Todd Kessler of the Inland
Sea Society, a citizens group bas
ed in Bayfield, Wis. “We
shouldn’t screw up that one.”
Damaging pollution of the other
Great Lakes has bred concern for
Superior. An International Joint
Commission, with representatives
of both the United States and
Canada, has pronounced the lake
“relatively pristine.”
Rossport came to symbolize for
me the enduring charm of the lake
country. A couple dozen houses
lie scattered against a slope over
looking a sky-blue bay and emer
ald islands.
I sailed out of Rossport one
August morning on a fishing boat
captained by 84-year-old Ray
Kenney, retired school principal
and lifelong fisherman. First and
only “mate” was his wife, Josie, in
her early 80s. The other passenger
was 96-year-old George Paradise,
a retired lowa Judge who has been
coming to Rossport every summer
for almost half a century.
“My doctor tells me I improve
when I come here lower blood
pressure,” said the judge, a small
man, sun-browned despite the pith
helmet that covered him like a
parasol.
“He and Josie won’t admit it,
but they’re very competitive,”
Kenney whispered as we trolled
over shoals 50 feet below. Josie
Kenney struck first with a
7-pound lake trout. The judge
answered with 8.5. I reeled in a
6-pounder. In less than an hour we
have more than 20 pounds of trout
in the icebox.
Superior showed muscle on the
trip home, kicking up 5-foot
waves that broke over our bow.
The judge sat silently in the stem
with an impassive Josie Kenney. I
chatted with her husband only to
hide my own uneasiness. We
finally chugged behind the islands
near Rossport, the waters grew
still and the judge wandered for
ward, brimming with optimism.
“Over there is Eagle Rock,” he
said, pointing to a slab of old lava.
“I was fishing here one Sunday
with an Episcopal priest. He
insisted that we have a little
church service there, and then he
told me to lead it.” Proudly he
recited his words from that day:
Exposing Its gentle side on a frosty December morning, Lake Superior laps at the
palisades beneath retired Split Rock Lighthouse on the Minnesota shore. The lake’s
mood can darken quickly. Gales with 30-foot waves make navigation treacherous.
The floor Is littered with some 350 shipwrecks.
The skyline of Duluth, Minn., is a sweet sight to mariners who sail into Lake Superior
as far as Asia to pick up cargo. Ail the other Great Lakes combined wouldn’t fill Super
ior, an inland sea that holds a tenth of the world’s liquid -fresh water.
“Look around you at the hills head at the canopy stretching over religion. And this is as fine a
and trees and the immense quanti- everything, a dome without pil- church as any man ever preached
ty of fresh water. Now look over- lars. Nature is the foundation of all under.”
WALK IN A
WINTER WONDERLAND
Take advantage of the snow and
go for a walk on a mild night. You
will be surprised at how different
normal objects appear on a moon
lit, snowy night.
********
SHIVER AND QUIVER
When it’s cold, you shiver and you
quiver.
B-r-r-r, b-r-r-r, b-r-r-r
When it’s cold, you shiver and you
quiver.
B-r-r-r, b-r-r-r, b-r-r-r
Your hands feel just like ice.
So you rub them once or twice.
When it’s cold, you shiver and you
quiver.
B-r-r-r, b-r-r-r, b-r-r-r
Bet you’re having trouble keeping warm on these frigid cold days.
You’re problem starving after shoveling driveways, sledding, and
fighting snow ball battles.
Sarah Clark of Breezewood has just the right solution for you. She
thinks Elephant Stew will warm you and satisfy empty stomachs. You
will need an adult to help you.
Make sure you read this complete recipe and understand it before
you attempt to make it.
ELEPHANT STEW
1 elephant (medium size)
2 rabbits
Cut elephant into small bite-sized pieces. This takes about 2 months.
Add enough brown gravy to cover. Cook over kerosene fire for
about four weeks at 465 degrees.
This will serve 3,800 people. If more people arc expected, add two
more rabbits to the stew. But add these only if necessary because some
people do not like hare in their slew.
IDEAS TO KEEP YOU WARM
ON BLUSTERY COLD DAYS
Amen, Judge Paradise.