As Falls Tahquamenon, So Falls Tahquamenon Falls, Pt. V

Happy 'Merica Day, Patriots!!!

(contd.)

Tahquamenon Falls - Day Five

In the previous couple of days, we had managed to check off two of our mandatory 'To Do' items from our Vacation Check List:  the hike from the Lower to the Upper Falls (for me), and the swimming in the Lower Falls (for Rita.)  Today, we'd be tackling two more:  the famous Oswald Bear Ranch (for Kris), and visiting the resort town of Grand Marais and exploring the surrounding area (for Smitty.)  We hit the bear ranch up first, since it was only, like, ten minutes from our campsite, and conveniently on the way to Grand Marais. . . 

Posing with a bear in the obligatory gift shop/entrance.  (It's not real.)

I can honestly say I've never seen something like this before.

I was designated the dude to hold the spoon slathered up in jelly and honey, which this black bear cub ate off while the rest of us stood about and posed with it.  We were given a laundry list of instructions before posing with this beast:  don't make any sudden movements, move away from the bear as soon as it stops licking the spoon, and, most importantly, do NOT touch the bear.  You can see how well our group listens.

Another probably-not-Native-American totem pole.

My kids were convinced this was a grizzly bear.  So was their mom.  I had to explain to my roommates that not all black bears are actually black - they come in various colors.

The ranch entailed four, HUGE caged areas, spread out around the ranch so as not to be anywhere near each other.  The large males over three years in age (shown here) were to the north of the ranch, and the young adults/teens (ranging between 2 and 3 years of age) towards the center, with the babies and cubs (less than two years of age) located at the western edge of the ranch, right at the entrance.  Finally, at the far southern reaches of the facility - as far away as humanly possible from the adult males - were the adult females.

Smitty bought some apples to throw at the caged animals.  'Cause that's how Americans roll.

Watching the teenage bears eat handouts. . .

Alayna videotapes ('records,' whatever) some gigantic adult males.

It was a bit of a hike to check out the female bears on the far side of the ranch.  Thank God it was so ridiculously hot and humid out (low 90s with relentless sun). . .

Oswald Bear Ranch

Kris and Abby atop the feeding platform for the female bears, who were slightly smaller than their male counterparts.  They had a similar setup for the other bear areas, but we neglected to use them.

I helped the girls stick their cameras out over the fence - making damn sure their straps were snuggly around their wrists - in order to take some pictures of these bears begging for apples.

After feeding the bears for an hour or so, we - of course - exited through the gift shop.  Here, a store clerk compares how similar the bear claw 'replica' that Alayna was considering getting was to the genuine article (they were pretty close.)

Heading north, towards Lake Superior.  From there, we'd turn west and hug the coastline until we rolled into Grand Marais.

At one point in time, as we hit Lake Superior and were driving along the coast, we came across a roadside overlook.  We decided to stop and descend a winding wooden stair down to where there was a beach - figured a twenty-minute stop to splash around in Lake Superior would be fine.  NOPE.  Almost immediately, Smitty and I were brutally attacked by biting Black Flies.  Somehow - don't ask me how - the womenfolk continued on over the beach and started wading into the water.  We yelled after them to get back to the van, and Kris turned around bewildered to ask 'why?'. . . . not realizing her entire bare legs were covered by Black Flies.  As it dawned on the rest of them that we were slowly being eaten alive, we made a mad dash back up the stairs and into the van, and high-tailed it the f*** out of there.

For the next twenty minutes or so, as we sped down the road (which had suddenly turned into chatter-bumped gravel), we occupied ourselves with killing all of the flies that had followed us back into the van.  They continued biting our legs - especially Smitty, who, as driver, couldn't really get to his own - and we more or less kept a flip-flop at the ready the rest of the way to Grand Marais.

Survivors

This stretch of road was brutal.  You can see the chatter bumps at the bottom right corner of the image, and they shook our van so badly and so loud that we had to yell at one another just to be heard.  For the ENTIRETY of the rest of the way to Grand Marais.  We swore to ourselves that we'd take the longer, paved way back to the campsite. . . regardless of how long it took us.

As we finally rolled into town, following our hellish one-hour drive of biting insects and terrible roads, we all grumbled that it better be worth the trouble 

This poor kid looks back towards an alternative mother figure for help, considering his own mom looks like. . . well. . .

Entering Grand Marais. . .

There was a big Fourth of July festival going on in town today ('cause 'Merica), and most of the town's small population was centered around the main street's pubs, taverns, restaurants, and beachfront.

An honor system in place at a local fruit vendor's stall.  Pretty awesome.

This was a huge attraction for the local population, who must be desperate way up here in the U.P. for any form of entertainment.

Here's a brewery we sadly didn't get to go into. . .

Abby nabs herself a free lemonade from a local stand.

This little town reminded me of an 80s movie.  Like the small resort town in Jaws or something.  Everyone was nice and knew one another, local good ol' boys were riding around in the back of pickup trucks with open beers, people were mingling on the streets with open drinks and joking with cops, kids were running about unsupervised.  And here I am living in stick-up-the-ass Midland like a sucker. . .

Not quite a museum, per se, but while we waited for a table at the next-door tavern restaurant, Smitty, Abby and I went in to check it out anyway.  We're history nerds, folks.

The former postmaster of Grand Marais.  Slightly more badass than Yours Truly.  Gotta respect the sideburn game.

Pretty decent food and service at this place, in case you're ever in the area.

Only downside I can think of is the amount of time it took to receive our food - over an hour for a pizza.  I'm sure they cooked it from scratch, but still - it was hard keeping the girls entertained for so long.  We still tipped the waitress well - it wasn't her fault the kitchen staff had their head up their ass - but you can rest assured I wrote a negative review later.

I detect a theme with their choice in decorating, here. . .

Two hours later - yes, it took nearly two hours to receive and eat our f***ing meal - we were ready to explore the surrounding area.

As we got back into the van, we saw this poor bastard - with a three-inch wingspan - impaled on Kris' radio antenna.  R.I.P., dude.

Our first stop was the lakeshore trail, leading up to the Sable Dunes, that neighbored Michigan's Pictured Rocks.

Before checking out the Dunes, though, we opted to hang a right and descend into the valley below in order to scope out Sable Falls.

Sable Falls, using a high shutter speed.

Same F-Stop, but using a slower shutter speed (note the water - I get artsy from time to time.)

There's always a couple assholes who have to ruin the shot for everyone else. . . .

Smitty, being forced to wait on someone else for a change.  Ah, the sweet, sweet justice of it all.

This guy remained in this position for over twenty minutes, really concentrating on his waterfall picture-taking.  It wouldn't have been all that weird, I suppose, if he had been using, like, a real SLR or something. . .  but he was using a SMARTPHONE.  What the hell?

There's so much Freedom in this picture it's at risk of splitting off from the rest of this blog and creating its own republic.

After scoping out the falls for awhile, we got our asses back on the trail and started off towards Sable Dunes. . .

Smitty, always willing to lend a hand to my lazy-ass children. . .

This trail wound through patches of dense forest and open glades such as this one, and was nowhere near as hilly and rough as our super-long hike a few days earlier. . . but we were all still sore from that feat of endurance, so today's short jaunt was downright horrible.

Crossing a stream, as our group constantly moves into higher ground. . .

This kid was NOT having a fun time with this.

In a nod to National Lampoon's Vacation, Sable Dunes pulled a Wally World on us.  After hiking for a half an hour through the woods, we arrived at the pathway to the dunes, only to find out that they were closed.  Everyone was so tired and sweaty that we didn't care all that much, though.

Not able to check out the main dunes and Picture Rocks, we decided to keep going in order to check out the dunes along the shoreline instead.

Trudging up the final stretch.

The Dunes. . .

More of Lake Superior (fortunately no Black Flies this time around, thank God.)

Dueling cameras. . .

Smitty captures the hazy glory of Superior.

After standing about in the open sun, sweaty and miserable, we turned around and made our way back towards the shade and comfort of the woods. . .

Shut up, sign.

Smitty still wanted to see more of the local area, as exhausted as he was, so we drove to the nearby Visitor Center. . . to find that it had closed about five minutes earlier.  The assholes were still inside, with the lights on and everything, but they refused to answer our knocks at the door.  I hope they get bit by black flies.

This was actually pretty funny:  there are parts of the dunes that are so steep, once people slide down the hills, they are unable to climb back up.  They're essentially stranded between the dunes and Lake Superior.  I guess this happens so frequently that there's a special service the local township fire department provides, where they drive out in a boat and essentially 'rescue' you.  To the tune of $500.  Per person.  Sounds fair to me.

Abby's not so sure about this whole 'Upper Peninsula' nonsense. . . 

We stopped off at yet another local attraction that Smitty wanted to check out - some beach where a stream emptied out into Lake Superior.

The black flies were back, but not as bad as before, so Smitty and Rita took the girls down to the beach to wade about in the stream.  Kris and I were pretty much funned out with flies by this point, though.

Shortly after arriving, Alayna, too, became funned out with the nature.

We cowards hung out on this bridge that crossed the stream, and took pictures of the others frolicking in the waters below.

What a beautiful family.

Gettin' bored.

Not gettin' bored.

This is getting to be quite a familiar sight these days. . .

We had to drive back through Grand Marais on our way home, after a long day of sight-seeing and being devoured by insects.

I'm sure this is just a place where guys that plow snow for a living meet up in the wintertime, but still. . . how badass of a name is that for a snow plow guy?

Ah, the ol' Pickle Barrel House Museum.

Huh.

(We didn't go inside.)

Before leaving once and for all, Rita took Abby to check out the beach while Kris, Smitty and I went to check out a local art shop. . .

A pretty badass diner, in all its 50s-ish glory.

Alayna bought one over-priced bracelet, the rest of the store was a bust.  We essentially walked four blocks each way, just for our health.  Like a bunch a' suckers.

Sun was beginning to set over the town, where most of the inhabitants were beginning to party in the streets, amassing near the beach for the evening's firework display.  We opted against this, seeing how we were about 90 minutes from our campsite, and wanted to get back at a reasonable time.

'Cause freedom.

Fast forward and hour and half.  Back at camp, the evening's campfire lit, the taco dinner served, the kids getting showered, and this IPA being opened.

Munching on some much-needed grindage.

Enjoying a fire after another long, hot, fly-ridden, exhausting day.

- Brian