Through the past brightly
Oh, rust and smoke, the heater’s broke
The door just blew away I light a match to see the dash And then I start to pray
The frame is bent, the muffler went
The radio, it’s okay
Oh what fun it is to drive
This Rusty Chevrolet
— Da Yoopers from “Rusty
Chevrolet”
Well, the Liar-in-chief is holed up in Mar-a-lago, awaiting sedition charges and another St. Paddy’s Day is in the books so I guess we can return to the discussion of Michigan’s legendary Upper Peninsula that we began four weeks ago.
(Author’s note) It’s only fair to warn you that I have been working on my taxes all day (I’m still not done) and I’m just getting started on this column. It’s already after midnight so I just brewed a pot of gnarly Italian coffee. It’s going to be an allnighter. The point I’m trying to make is, if I seem to trail off into incoherence near the end . . . I probably am. I can hear many of you saying, “What’s new?”
The first iconic UP landmark I want to talk about is Castle Rock (remember, I’m aiming today’s musings largely at my outof-state readers).
Castle Rock is a geological limestone stack and tourist attraction located 3 miles north of St. Ignace, that is to say, the northern end of the Mackinac Bridge. Castle Rock, which rises 196 feet over the waters of nearby Lake Huron, was created by centuries of erosion.
After the Wisconsinan Glaciation (remember that?), Lake Algonquin was formed. The
Ice Age melt off caused the waters of Lake Algonquin to be much higher than the water level of Lake Huron is today. Over time, the declining water eroded much of the land. Castle Rock resisted this erosion because it is comprised of super tough limestone breccia. It is a sea stack or sea chimney, geologically similar to several features on nearby Mackinac Island, such as Arch Rock or Sugar Loaf.
Castle rock has been owned by the Eby family since 1928, and admission to climb the stairs up to the top is only a buck. From the summit, I’m told you can see nearly 20 miles.
Hmm . . . I’m not trying to start trouble and this is supposed to be about the UP, but when I was a kid I lived in upstate New York and from the big hill above our subdivision, I could see Oneida Lake which was at least 20 miles away. And it didn’t cost anything.
On the other hand, Butch Olympio lived up that way and he was always threatening to beat me up, so I guess it’s a wash.
Oh-oh. I wanted to talk about Tahquamenon Falls next, which is around 70 miles due north of Castle Rock, is 48 feet high and comes in a lovely tea-color from all tannin in the water. That said, in New York, I lived five miles from Chittenango Falls which, at 167 feet, is as tall as Niagara, just not nearly as wide and probably not that many people go there on their honeymoon. Five miles from my house. 167 feet.
When I saw Tahquamenon for the first time, I said, “I see the rapids, where’s the falls?”
Trout-fishing-wise, I never fished the Tahquamenon River so I can’t compare productivity but I caught the biggest Brown Trout of my life in Chittenango Creek a mile above the falls so there’s that.
Rats. This is devolving into why upstate New York is better than the UP. Think, think, think, What do I really like about the UP besides Upper Hand Brewery and a piping hot pasty or two?
Pictured Rocks.
Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore is on Lake Superior and extends for 42 miles along the shore. The park has extensive views of the hilly shoreline between Munising and Grand Marais in Alger County, with picturesque rock formations, waterfalls, and sand dunes.
Pictured Rocks derives its name from the 15 miles of colorful sandstone cliffs northeast of Munising. The cliffs reach up to 200 feet above lake and have been naturally sculptured into a variety of shallow caves, arches, and formations resembling castle turrets and even human profiles.
Hah! There, suck on that, New York.
And it’s only 2:35 a.m.
To be continued.
And so it went.