The Porkies deliver a wild, memorable backpacking trip
Upper Peninsula ‘mountains’ offer lots of trails, scenic views of Lake Superior
The Porcupine Mountains might not be actual mountains, but they’re still one of the best spots for backpacking in the Upper Midwest.
Such a large tract of wilderness — 60,000 acres, including 35,000 acres of old-growth forest — is a treat in the Midwest, where logging, farming and private ownership have conspired to eliminate and fence off natural landscapes. Throw in a location on the shore of the greatest of the Great Lakes in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and you’ve got a recipe for a wild experience within driving distance.
So when my mom complained for the millionth time that I never take her camping, I granted her wish and brought her with me on my final trip this summer, backpacking in the Porkies.
“I have a feeling by the end of this I’m going to regret introducing you to the wilderness,” she said to me as we set off.
Oh yes, Mom. Be careful what you wish for.
She taught me to love the outdoors. As a kid, my mom grew up hiking, biking and camping in rural southern Wisconsin. She passed those hobbies on to her kids, taking my siblings and me camping as kids.
But as we got older, the busyness of adulthood pushed camping to the back burner. A new pursuit like backpacking seemed daunting and something just for super fit young people.
But one of my favorite things about backpacking is it’s something anyone can do — and even start doing — at any age. If you can hike and you have some camping gear, backpacking is not out of reach. As I told my mom, all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other, no matter how slowly that is.
It’s best to go with an experienced backpacker, someone who can help you plan, pack, navigate and set up camp. Someone who understands leave-no-trace principles and how to stay safe in the wilderness. The outdoors is a welcoming community – most backpackers are excited to introduce other people to the sport.
At age 57, my mom went on her first backpacking trip. By the end of our two-
night trip, she not only didn’t regret introducing me to the wilderness but had fallen in love with something I introduced her to.
Wild Porkies
It’s easy to fall in love with backpacking in Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, affectionately known as the Porkies.
Because of its hilly topography, 35,000 acres of the park weren’t logged in the 19th century, leaving towering old-growth white pines and hemlocks. It’s one of the largest tracts of virgin hardwoods in North America and is a National Natural Landmark.
In the center of the park, a large basalt rock escarpment rises above Lake of the Clouds, a 240-acre lake surrounded by the undisturbed forest.
The area got its name from its native inhabitants, the Ojibwe, who looked at the tree-covered mountains and thought they resembled the backs of porcupines. There are some of the little spiky critters in the park, but bears are the more abundant large fauna, along with deer, beavers, otters and hundreds of species of birds.
Mountains is a stretch of course, but by Midwest standards, there are some sizable elevation changes that lead to scenic vistas of the tree-shrouded hills and Lake Superior.
More than 90 miles of trails wind through the Porkies, leading to backcountry campsites, cabins, yurts, waterfalls and scenic vistas. The trails are only open to hiking, and while some see steady streams of traffic, especially around the popular Lake of the Clouds overlook, it’s easy to find stretches of solitude in the expansive park.
We found just that not long after setting off on the Lake Superior Trail from the west side of the park.
There, the Presque Isle River dumps into Lake Superior over a series of waterfalls. The boardwalk trails that wind along the river to overlooks of the falls are popular with day hikers and campers from the campground nearby.
But fewer hikers venture farther east into the park along the Lake Superior Trail, which shares a tread there with the North Country Trail, a 4,600-mile trail that stretches from New York to North Dakota.
The western edge of the Lake Superior Trail veers away from the lake and into dense, old-growth forest. Mud is a constant companion on this trail (and many others in the park), something I remembered from my last trip to the Porkies. But recent dry weather kept the trail in good shape overall — a welcome change from the swamps I slogged through on my last trip. The real challenge was as the trail dipped into and out of steep ravines — a treacherous prospect for a new backpacker trying to maintain her balance with 25 unwieldy pounds on her back.
I had taken most of our group gear in my backpack (tent, food), but my mom was carrying her own sleeping stuff and our cooking gear. Combined with water, it was a good amount of weight for a first-timer, but not enough to make her miserable. Or at least she wasn’t letting on that it was.
We both managed to stay upright through the steep ravines and passed a side trail to the Speaker’s Cabin, one of 18 cabins available for rent in the park. All require a hike in — anywhere from 1 to 4 miles — and are outfitted with bunk beds, a wood-burning stove, cookware and an outhouse. The park also has wilderness yurts available for rent.
The Speaker’s Cabin is on a bluff above Lake Superior; as we passed we heard kids laughing and saw towels hanging on a fence along the eroded bluff.
Soon we’d be getting our own dose of Lake Superior when we reached the side trail for our site, Lake Superior 1, and turned north toward the lake.
Unlike the Lake Superior campsites on the eastern end of the trail that are right along the shoreline, the two sites near the western end of the trail (LS1 and LS2) are perched on a bluff above the lake. Social trails lead down to the rocky beach, but it’s a steep climb down and up.
We dropped our backpacks and beelined for the lake, soaking our feet in the clear and surprisingly warm water — by Lake Superior standards, at least. I surprised my mom with a small box of wine to toast to our successful day, breaking my own rule of no booze on a backpacking trip. It was for a good cause, though. I’m not above bribing people into loving backpacking.
“This is worth it,” my mom said as we sat on our private beach on the lake. The view was worth the miles of challenging ravine climbs and nagging mosquitoes. Views like that are why I backpack.
“You’re right, I can see how you just put one step in front of the other,” my mom said. “Your back itches, so what? You just keep going.”
If a few mosquito bites were the worst experience of the day, then it was a rousing success.
Most first-time backpackers are baptized with blisters or sore muscles they didn’t know existed. But I had purposely planned an easy first day, just 3.5 miles, and even with some steep sections, the trail was a relatively easy hike.
Around a campfire that night we played cards and watched the sun set through the trees from our bluff-top perch. I couldn’t have ordered up a more perfect first backpacking experience. My mom was smitten, already talking about getting my dad into it.
We still had another night to go, however, and clouds in the distance were a foreboding foreshadowing of what was to come.
Foggy Lake of the Clouds
As the night wore on, the light lapping waves of Lake Superior crescendoed into crashing bruisers, and the wind matched the ferocity as it ripped through the trees around our tent.
Thankfully, the rain held off long enough for us to quickly pack up camp in the morning. My original plan had been for us to hike the 3.5 miles back along the Lake Superior Trail to our car at the trailhead, then drive to the other side of the park for a second 3-mile outing on the Escarpment Trail.
But the looming rain had me worried what those steep, muddy ravine trails would turn into under an onslaught of water. We had both struggled when they were dry; wet, they could be dangerous. Neither of us needed a broken ankle or worse.
So I decided on Plan B, and looked at it as a good lesson in making sure you have a Plan B when you’re out in the wilderness.
Plan B was to hike about 1 mile south along the Speaker’s Trail to a trailhead on South Boundary Road, which runs along the southern edge of the park. I would leave my mom and our packs there, then walk 3 miles along the road back to our car at a much faster and safer pace.
It started raining lightly as we reached the trailhead and I walked through a steady sprinkle back to the car. After picking up my mom, and learning she managed to brew her first cup of camp coffee on her own while I was gone, we drove 15 miles around the southern edge of the park and then up toward the Lake of the Clouds overlook.
I made a rookie mistake and assumed there would be a water pump at the overlook, which there was not, so we drove back down to the visitor center to fill up for our final day. A quick stop at the small park shop provided hot chocolate to warm our damp, chilled bones. The day before I had been so hot I wanted to swim in Lake Superior. Another backpacking lesson: Be prepared for every kind of weather.
As we sat in the car sipping hot chocolate, I contemplated Plan C: Bail on our second night. The rain was light but showed no signs of dissipating, and temperatures were struggling to climb out of the 50s. We had rain gear, but backpacking isn’t as fun when you’re cold and wet.
But my mom still seemed up for it, and our second campsite was one of my favorites in the park.
So when the rain finally let up for a bit, we threw on our backpacks and set off from the Lake of the Clouds overlook. Normally, the overlook is one of the park’s most popular spots, offering stunning views from an accessible spot 600 feet above the lake.
But the lake was living up to its name that day and a wall of white obscured it from view. The crowds were limited to two other wet backpackers and us.
We began hiking east on the Escarpment Trail, winding into the forest and back out onto exposed stretches of the escarpment for more views of the white wall. The sky sputtered intermittently, and the misty fog kissed our faces.
While mostly following the top of the rock ledge, the Escarpment Trail dips down and climbs up a few peaks, making for a more challenging hike than our first day. After one descent, we reached an unnamed cutoff trail that leads to an abandoned mine. The park was mined for copper in the 19th century, and old mines and equipment are scattered throughout.
Any other day I would have diverted to see the mine, but rain is a good motivator to stay the course. We began a final climb up what my mom dubbed “masochist mountain.” Switchbacks or gradual ascents do seem to be a foreign concept in the Porkies; a lot of trails just barrel straight up or down hillsides.
I was just thankful that I could breathe. The week before I had been backpacking in the Colorado mountains above 12,000 feet. While still challenging, hiking at 1,500 feet in the Porkies provided considerably more oxygen for my lungs.
The malicious mountain we hiked in the Porkies is officially 1,571-foot Cuyahoga Peak, and on it sits Escarpment Site 1 (ES1), home sweet home for the night.
I had discovered ES1 on my first trip to the Porkies. It’s a prime site on the escarpment with views of Lake of the Clouds, the Upper Carp River and purportedly even the northern lights on clear nights.
But by the time I reached it on my first trip it was already taken, so I missed my chance to camp there.
This year, the park changed its backcountry camping rules. Before, sites were first-come, first-served. You could also camp wherever you wanted as long as you were 200 feet from water or a trail. Now reservations are required for 63 designated sites, and dispersed camping is not allowed during the summer. It’s part of an effort to ease human pressure on the popular park, which has seen attendance rise to more than 300,000 people annually.
I scored a reservation for ES1 about a month before our trip, and I was determined to show off the views.
But the rain and fog persisted to block those views, and after dinner I wrestled with a slick bear pole to hang our food before we retreated to our tent for the night.
Stunning views
The fog clung to the valley into the next morning, but the warmer air gave me hope the sun would soon burn it off.
We began making breakfast and slowly, trees in the gorge below began to break through the fog. Mist clung to some of the ridge tops, but we soon could see the entire valley, the narrow Upper Carp River winding toward Lake of the Clouds.
The nicer weather brought out more hikers, too. They passed our peak-top perch as we sipped coffee and soaked up the views we had suffered for.
The hike back to our car at the Lake of the Clouds overlook offered even more splendid views of the valley and even Lake Superior in the distance. And because the trail follows the rocky escarpment, it was mostly mud-free — maybe the only one in the park after the rain the day before.
Back at the overlook, people crowded around the rock walls snapping selfies above the lake.
“I wish there were less people like yesterday,” my mom said.
Wishing for solitude in the wilderness? She was a true backpacker already.