A Shared Wilderness

How has Isle Royale changed? How has Isle Royale changed you?

Derrick Jaeger

Perched high along the Greenstone Ridge, I'm mesmerized by the big lake view. The world feels far away. I only stopped for a quick water break, but I've been here for hours - basking in sun and solitude. A raven swoops across the cliff face kraa-ing madly, urging me to move along.

Invigorated, I head down the trail. Though I've hiked this route many times, it's ever reinventing itself. New built beaver dams flood the forest and the trail; old dams give way, ponds vanish.

I hear McCargoe long before I see it. When I arrive, the place is buzzing. The campground is busy; resurging interest in the outdoors and national parks has brought visitors to Isle Royale in unprecedented numbers. All the sites are full, and cheerful strangers offer to share. Fresh off the ferry, they are so clean, and I'm suddenly aware of my muddy, bedraggled, swamp-scented self.

I inelegantly cannonball off the dock, joining several dozen revelers splashing in the warm(ish) water. Boats of all sizes are rafted off the dock. Everyone is enjoying the day, the place, and each other. It seems I have descended into a community, although the map puts my location at the heart of the wilderness.

Evening draws in. The whirl of the day has calmed, and everyone converges at the community fire ring. We exchange experiences, talking quietly of past trips and trips yet to come - of how the island has changed, and of how it has changed us. A moose wanders into the cove as the sun is setting. We are hushed. And together in this shared wilderness, we find ourselves renewed.

Valerie Martin