"I was an artist-in-residence at Isle Royale, staying at the Dassler Cabin for about three weeks in June 2005. Because I had composed a number of works inspired by water features in national parks, Isle Royale seemed an ideal place for me to seek inspiration for a large-scale composition. My proposed project was a half-hour concerto for flute, cello, and orchestra that would be premiered later that year by flute soloist Amy Saxton Wiggs, cello soloist Steven Wiggs, and the Fort Dodge Area Symphony, an amateur orchestra I was conducting at the time in Fort Dodge, IA.
I often describe my creative process as being one in which I think about the music for months or even years and write it in weeks and days, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I set off for the island. I guess I had expected to gather general experiences and see how those experiences might lead to musical thought.
For the first week and half of my residency, I got to know the area around the Dassler Cabin, canoeing around Tobin Harbor, walking the trails around the cabin and the Rock Harbor Visitor Center, and soaking up the changing views of the lake from the inspirational bench behind the cabin. I listened to sounds like the distant lighthouse signal and the occasional loon that set up camp some nights in the cove on the point, but I didn’t really identify anything that seemed like it would lead toward a specifically musical idea.
The breakthrough for me came in the second week when I went to Windigo. Before I arrived on the island I had planned to take a trip to Windigo along the Minong Trail and was told this would be an unusual trek for an AIR. I figured that was one of the best ways to get to know the island more intimately. I caught a boat ride down to the Daisy Farm campground one morning then headed out across the island to the Minong Trail. My original plan was to take four days to get to Windigo, but I ended up accelerating the trip after a really wet (and mosquito-plagued) second day. That night at Lake Desor I found that my sleeping bag was wet and things were feeling rather miserable, so I decided to head out early the next morning and see if I could get a shelter where I could hang things to dry at Washington Creek. Of course, that section of the trail between Lake Desor and Windigo is a soggy and rugged one. When I arrived at the shelters, my boots were completely soaked and I was plenty worn out, but the sun came out and I was able to start drying my gear. It was all looking better. As I was unpacking, though, I realized that I couldn’t find my pocket knife. Not only did I feel hobbled without a knife on a backpacking trip, it was particularly upsetting because that knife held a lot of sentimental value: I had won it as a prize years ago when I sold the most lawn fertilizer in a Boy Scout fund raising project. I couldn’t think of any other option than that it had fallen out that morning back at the Lake Desor campsite. So, not being one to give up easily, I determined that the next morning I would get up before sunrise and make the full round-trip journey to Lake Desor, over the beaver dams and rugged pathways and back again over that same trail in one day.
The next morning I woke in pre-dawn darkness, and as I gathered my day pack I started to notice the panoply of amazing sounds around me. There were various splashes from Washington Creek, subtle clicks and knocks of creatures in the trees, and most haunting of all, the song of the White-throated Sparrow. Of course all of this was painted on the ever-present sonic canvas of mosquitoes buzzing. As I listened to the counterpoint of the sonic space of Washington Creek I finally started to have musical thoughts and genuine inspiration from the island. I knew that my composition would have to explore this soundscape in some way. After that, I was finding musical inspiration everywhere.
That afternoon when I got back from Lake Desor (more on the search for the knife later), I stopped in to the marina and store where Jim was running the boat rentals. I had never kayaked before, so he graciously offered to accompany me on a trip around the harbor. My idea had been to go out and see the wreck of the America, but Jim explained that might be a bit much for a first kayak trip. Instead, he very kindly offered to take me our on a power boat later that afternoon to see the wreck. On the way out we discussed all sorts of things, among them whether or not I heard musical sounds in direct response to the natural surroundings, differences between the general vibe at Rock Harbor and Windigo, and the fact that we both had recently lost beloved dogs. When we got out over the America, we looked down at the prow of the ship hanging ghost-like just below the surface. I considered if I should try to touch it but wisely decided against an attempt. Earlier we had talked about the dog Spike, who had been lost because he was tied up to America’s railing when she went down. As we floated there above the watery grave, Jim wondered aloud if that leash was still down there clinging to the rail.
After another day’s visit with the rangers and guests at Windigo, I caught the Voyageur II back to Tobin Harbor, allowing me to get a full view of the northern side of the island from the water. My experience of the long day hike back and forth along the Minong Trail had revealed that long hikes were a fantastic way to get my mind spinning with creative thought, so for the next several days I took hikes (usually 18-25 miles a day) all over the eastern end of the island. Along the way, I started to craft large parts of the structure for my concerto in my mind. One day in particular, I decided not to stop walking until I solved the problem of how to pull everything together in the final movement, titled Windigo.
It was during that last week that I gave my public presentation, “An Artist’s Place on Isle Royale,” wherein I covered a number of topics, ranging from my previous work inspired by waters, to the role an artist serves in society in general and how it could in some ways be compared to that of the scientific researchers working on the island. I also addressed my own creative experience during the residency and shared the story of how going back to find my lost knife gave rise to my first real artistic thoughts. I hypothesized that art is essentially born of discomfort, and I had needed to be in an uncomfortable space before the art started to rise. Finally, I told the story of my lost knife and what had happened when I went back for it.
Along the Minong Trail that morning I met someone coming from Lake Desor and asked him if he had seen a pocket knife on the ground at the campsite. Alas, no sightings. So I went all the way back and nervously entered the campsite, looking all around in hopes of finding it. Just as I was about to give up, it came to me: Just before turning in for the night at Lake Desor, I had had the brilliant idea of tucking my knife into a special interior pouch in my backpack, one where I would be sure not to lose it! Indeed, when I got back to Washington Creek, there was my knife, safe and sound where I had stashed it the night before.
After my presentation, a man came up to me and said, “You are the man who lost his knife, and found his muse!” This comment and the story behind it are now permanent parts of all of my teaching when I discuss the creative process. I am eternally grateful for my experience on Isle Royale and the critical role it played not only in my artistic growth, but also in what it taught me about the way art rises within me.
Postscript:
Upon my return from the island I set right to work crafting the musical materials I had summoned during my residency. The result, Of Minong, was completed by mid August. Also appearing that August was my first son, which added plenty to the excitement of writing a major composition in time for an October premiere. At the time, Greg Blust was coordinating the AIR program, and I sent him a message telling him about the upcoming premiere, and indicating that I would be sending the score and recording shorty after. The premiere took place in mid October, and I got the recording a few weeks later. I had a full score, with dedication and program notes set out to send, but somewhere along the way - perhaps in the chaos of wrangling a newborn at home - it got buried under a bunch of files and other accumulations, and I forgot to send it. I even arranged an alternate version of the second movement for a trio of flute, cello, and piano that was premiered in 2007. It was several years before I came across that score and CD and realized to my horror that I had failed to submit it back in ‘05.
So, here is my donation, over 13 years later. The score is a bit long in coming, but my experience on Isle Royale has been a perpetual companion throughout those years. I offer my sincere thanks to everyone who made the residency possible and all of the amazing people who protect Isle Royale."
- Eric McIntyre, February 2019
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