

# Along the Shores of Lake Superior

### Miscellaneous Trip Journals

### by

### Quimby Family & Friends

### 1906-1951

### Compiled by

### T. Bart Quimby

### with the assistance of

### John & Lorraine Quimby  
Gretchen Neeley (Quimby)

###

### April 2013

### Published by T. Bart Quimby at Smashwords

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### Copyright © 2013 by T. Bartlett Quimby

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods which results in any person or entity being charged for this material. No one except the publisher is to profit from this publication.

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

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# TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface – 2013

Preface – 1990

My First Trip to the Mouth of the Amnicon River (1906)  
By Wallace L. Quimby

A Week on the South Shore of Lake Superior (1917)  
By Wallace L. Quimby

By Canoe from Duluth to the Apostle Islands (1942)  
By Tom and John Quimby

Journal of Isle Royale Trip (July 23 Aug 1, 1945)  
Author unknown

## Hermit Island Trips

Trip to Hermit Island (1907)  
By Wallace L. Quimby

Comments on Trip to Hermit Island (1907)  
By Russell G. Maynard

A Hermit Island Development  
By Wallace L. Quimby

Hermit Island Pilgrimage – Twenty-two years after (1929)  
By Wallace L. Quimby

Hermit Island Revisited – Thirty-one years later (1938)  
By Wallace L. Quimby

A Hermit Island Checkup – Forty years later (1947)  
By Wallace L. Quimby

The Island is Still There – Forty-four years later (1951)  
By Wallace L. Quimby

Prologue

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# Preface - 2013

As mentioned in the original preface, this compilation of stories has been assembled primarily for the benefit of the descendants of Wallace Leland Quimby, who wrote most of these accounts. It is hoped that these stories will allow his descendants to have a glimpse of some of their heritage which has contributed to who they are. Very few of us are untouched by the character and interests of our progenitors.

Secondarily, the stories seem to have some value as entertainment and as a look at what is was like to live in the Duluth/Lake Superior area a hundred years ago.

Originally we 'published' these stories in two different pamphlets as the stories came to light. In this edition, we combine all the stories that we were able to find. Additionally, a greater effort has been made to make limited grammatical changes and to fix obvious misspellings.

I wish to acknowledge the contributions of my Aunt Lorraine Quimby, wife of John L. Quimby and daughter-in-law of Wallace Leland Quimby. Lorraine passed these stories and other family records to me as she approached the end of her life. The short hours we spent discussing these stories and other family history are precious memories of mine. As she passed away just months ago, I will miss her and her store of family history greatly. There are not many left in her generation in the Wallace L. Quimby family.

Whatever value these stories are to you, I sincerely hope that you will find these accounts interesting.

Happy reading,

T. Bartlett (Bart) Quimby

Eagle River, Alaska

April 2013

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# Preface - 1990

Since finding the stories contained in this volume while visiting John and Lorraine Quimby in South Carolina in 1976, it has been my intention to combine them into one volume and distribute them to the rest of the family. It has only taken 14 years. A couple of years ago, Gretchen and I typed the stories (Gretchen did three of the four) and they have been sitting around awaiting the "finishing touch". The finishing touch has involved the typesetting, printing and binding. The impetus to complete this project has come with access to a high quality laser printer and the idea that this would make a nice Christmas present for the extended family.

Concerning the stories... Several of the original documents have photographs and maps attached to them. My collection of these attachments is incomplete and of poor quality. As a result of this, and the fact that I have little time to complete this project, they are not included. It has been (and still is) my intention to contact John & Lorraine to see about correcting this deficiency. When and if I ever do, a second edition to this volume will be published. In the mean time, it is best that these stories be disseminated "as is" rather than gathering dust in my computer.

Note that these stories are essentially as they appear in the original documents with minor corrections made to spelling and, on a rare occasion, to the grammar. An effort has been made to proof read these stories, albeit a little rushed, however I still expect there are some typographical and transcription errors. When you find some, please note them and send me the corrections. The corrections will be made to any future editions. A blank page or two is left at the end of each story for you to record notes of items that should be included in the next edition.

I would like to add additional volumes to this one, each containing interesting stories from our family history. If anyone has written journals of interesting experiences, please send them to me and I will include them in a future volume.

These stories have been fun to read. They have helped me to gain some insight into the personalities of my own family members, some of which are no longer with us. It is interesting to see some the same traits in our ancestors that we still have today. We are, to an extent, the product of our heritage. Knowing that heritage should help all of us to feel proud of who we are.

I hope that you enjoy these stories as much as I have.

T. Bartlett Quimby

Eagle River, Alaska

12 December 1990

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# My First Trip to the Mouth of the Amnicon River

### By Wallace Leland Quimby

During the summer of 1906 I had worked as time keeper and weigh master at Pittsburgh Coal Dock #2 (formerly Pioneer Coal Co.). At eighteen years of age I had not yet learned to talk back to the boss in the same manner that he talked to me. In late September after a flurry of charges and counter charges I was fired with some caustic remarks about a fresh red headed kid.

At home my parents were enraged over my losing my job and in general it seemed that everyone was bent on making life uncomfortable for me. I decided that this was a good time to take the camping trip about which I had been dreaming. From Albert Boden I borrowed a very well built clinker row boat which he had constructed in connection with his manual training course at high school. Boden also loaned me his 12 gauge double barreled shotgun. From someone else I borrowed a forty five revolver. Russell Maynard loaned me a tent and pack sack. I had in my possession two heavy blankets and a pea jacket which were the property of the Minnesota Naval Reserve.

I assembled a supply of groceries which I estimated would be sufficient for one week. I remember that I also had a lantern, a supply of candles, several books and magazines.

The other member of the party and my good companion was my dog Fido. We had Fido about eight years previously when he was two years of age and he usually accompanied me on short outings. Fido was a cross between a cocker spaniel and a water spaniel and was beautifully marked in two shades of brown. He had exceedingly long floppy ears and his intelligence was evident in his expressive face. At ten years of age he had acquired real wisdom.

Bert Boden kept his boat at the head of the Sixth Avenue slip beside Patterson's Boat Livery. Patterson made a business of renting row boats. Duluth Boat Club had been located next to Patterson's place before moving to Park Point two years earlier. Boden's boat was kept under a dock and pulled up on a shelving fill under this dock. With a chain and padlock he had the boat fastened to one of the piles supporting the dock.

On a bright sunny day in late September I carried my groceries and some other equipment down to the boat and hid them in the rubble near the dock. I went back for some more equipment and when I returned found all of my first load was gone. Patterson had been watching me and came over to see what had been disturbing me. He told me that he had found my supplies and equipment and carried then over to his boat house. He said he had found my supplies and assumed that they had been hidden by some water front thieves.

It was mid afternoon before I got organized and started rowing along Park Point. I headed for Allouez Bay. Opposite the Boat Club I stopped briefly and admired the boats, canoes, motor boats, and sail boats. My thoughts were what a great privilege it would be to be connected with that organization.

Further down the Point, I stopped to look from out in the Bay at the Anneke summer home located about a quarter of a mile south of the end of the streetcar line. That rambling log structure at the top of the sand bank with a view of both the Lake and the Bay appealed to me as the world's most desirable residence. Some members of the family, or perhaps guests, were busy around two or three boats moored to their substantial dock.

A chill evening had arrived by the time that I was pulling through the channels leading through the swamp at the lower end of Allouez Bay. For my destination I had in mind a spot where I had picnicked a couple of years before. I easily found the small cleared space and headed for shore. Unfortunately I had arrived during one of those infrequent spells of low water. About fifty feet from shore the boat stuck in the mud and I could make no further progress rowing or poling the boat. I peeled off my clothes and went overboard to pull the boat ashore. This was more of a job than I had anticipated as I went almost waist deep in the mire. After a half hour of pulling and tugging I finally made the shore. At this place Wisconsin Point is less than 100 yards in width so my first act was to dash over to the lake and wash off the swamp muck with which I was plastered. By this time it was getting dark and I looked for a spot to pitch my tent. Along the Bay side (swamp at this point) there were dense thickets of alder bushes approximately eight feet high. A narrow path led into one of these thickets from the small clearing where I had landed. Entering the path and taking a few steps I came on a cleared spot in the thick alders where someone had camped. The tent ridge pole was in place on two end upright poles, side stakes were lying on the ground and clean fresh hay a foot or more in depth covered more than half of the space where the previous tent had stood. In a matter of minutes I had my tent tied up to the ridge pole, the sides staked down and a real cozy shelter established. From the Lake shore, not much over 100 feet away, it was easy to gather arms full of small drift wood. A half hour after landing I was boiling potatoes and frying ham. Soon I was feasting on this, topped off with a can of tea. I had a special tin pie plate for Fido and shared my food with him. Fido had a rather worried disdainful attitude at the time I started to wallow around in the swamp muck to get the boat ashore and his expression was one of disapproval until I got the tent up and started to prepare food. Then he began to perk up, wag his tail and give his ears a lift when I spoke to him. Soon we had the lantern lit inside the tent and the blankets spread on the luxurious hay bed. Before we went to sleep, a violent northeaster came up with some rain. We could hear the breakers roaring on the lake beach but in the sheltered spot among the alders we did not feel the wind at all.

The next morning the northeaster was still blowing full force but the sun was shining. I had taken some wood into the tent on the previous evening so we had no trouble with the breakfast fire even though the surroundings were rain soaked. While we were eating breakfast a man came over from the lake shore through the small clearing. There had been a considerable rise in the water level during the night. He was carrying a bucket which he had filled at the swamp landing place. He was greatly surprised to find Fido and I occupying the camp spot. He said that on the previous forenoon and several days before, an old fellow had been camping there. Evidently this old boy had pulled out just a few hours before we arrived. Our visitor said that he and two other men were beaching and were camped on the lake shore about a quarter of a mile south. He suggested that I come down to visit them in the evening. I questioned him as to what he meant by "beaching." He explained that a recent change in laws regarding the rafting of logs allowed anyone to take possession of logs twenty four hours after they had become lost from a raft. He said that he and his two companions had worked the beaches from the mouth of the Brule to Wisconsin Point rolling logs down to the water's edge. They were about ready to engage a tug with a log boom to go to the Brule and start working back gathering logs which would be sold to a Superior saw mill. The foreman of the beaching crew had come up to my location for water because the breakers rolling in on the beach were full of sand and sediment stirred up by the northeaster.

During the first day in camp I did considerable exploring in the swamp (an area of approximately two square miles) following up the open channels and locating two creeks that flowed into Allouez Bay from the Superior side. The frosty nights had started duck migration and there were several parties of duck hunters in the swamp. I chatted with three men in one of these parties and told them of the spot where I was camping. They were enthused about what they considered my wonderful opportunity to shoot some ducks. They outlined how I could row my boat to a hiding place among the tall swamp grass and cat tails before daylight and have an advantageous position when the ducks started to fly at dawn.

After dark, that second evening in camp, Fido and I walked a half mile down the beach to where the beaching crew was camped. They had a large pyramid type tent on the edge of the woods and facing away from the lake. The three men were reclining around a big driftwood fire. They were slightly startled when I came on them out of the darkness but quickly made me feel welcome. The foreman who I had met at my camp was a tall athletic type man with sandy hair and mustache. One of his men was a French Canadian of the voyager type. He had a fierce looking mustache with long drooping points. The third chap was definitely a lumber jack of the fat looking chunky type. After some conversation in the which I explained my purpose or lack of purpose about being on Wisconsin Point and some talk about their beaching work, the French Canadian took charge of the conversation and turned to be quite a narrator. He had been a deck hand and watchman on package freighters which carried a few passengers. He regaled us with accounts of his adventures with women passengers and particularly dwelled on how on one occasion he had nursed and doctored two sea sick young ladies. On the return trip up the beach it was so pitch dark that I had trouble locating my camp. I finally identified it by a large stand of poplar trees located on the lake side of the point and near the path which led across the point to my camp. The tops of the trees made a definite and peculiar silhouette against the sky. During a period of forty or more years after this when returning from canoe trips down the South Shore I found this tree formation was always the same. I have formed the opinion that after trees in the sand of Park Point or Wisconsin Point attain a certain size there is little or no growth.

The next two mornings I rowed out into the swamp before dawn and concealed myself among the reeds as the duck hunters had suggested. This was my first experience at duck hunting. I used up a lot of my ammunition and brought down only two ducks. After the second morning I decided that I did not like getting out in the cold darkness. My reasoning was that for quite a number of years I had been a early riser because of a morning paper route or school vacation jobs that required reporting not later than 6:30 A.M... Now that I was on vacation I decided I would stay in the blankets until I was good and ready to get up. During the remaining days on Wisconsin Point, I usually did not wake up until the sun was shining warm and had dispelled the dew or frost.

On the third day the beaching foreman stopped to say hello and stated that he was walking up to the head end of the Point. I found that he was quite a sociable chap and made it a point to chat with the residents and squatters living on Wisconsin Point. Probably, because of his operation of gathering up logs along the beaches, he found it best policy to be on good terms with all of the shore residents. Our first stop, about three quarters of a mile north of my camp, was to talk with an elderly French Canadian who had lived in a shack at that location for many years. He was a well known character in the Allouez Bay area. At the time we visited him, his big gripe was that he did not like two men of the bohunk type who had settled in a shack near him. Some years later I heard that this old French Canadian fell off his dock while drunk and drowned in shallow water near the shore. We talked to several other people as we worked our way toward the north end of Wisconsin Point but I do not remember the details. There was an Indian settlement about one mile south of the Superior entry. We briefly greeted a couple of these Indians. The foreman said he was acquainted with a number of the Indians but said he found they seldom cared to engage in a conversation of any length. There was a cemetery near the Indian settlement and I remarked to the foreman that there were more graves than individuals living in the Indian village. He answered that the Indians had been there for a long time and it was natural that there would be more dead ones than live ones. Further north near the Superior entry we stopped at the home of a family named Hall. The foreman explained that the Halls were very substantial people. Mr. Hall had a responsible position in Old Town Superior probably at an elevator or the ore docks. The house was a long narrow building, three of four rooms in tandem all covered with tar paper. Everything was neat and in good repair. Mrs. Hall, a robust, handsome, blonde, middle aged woman, had just killed a chicken and was out in the yard cleaning and plucking it. The foreman introduced me to Mrs. Hall and spoke to her with considerable deference. He told her that he had run into a delay in getting the tug and boom to pick up his logs, and that it was also going to be a problem during the stormy fall season to get calm weather to assemble the logs and get them to the saw mill. This six or seven miles walk up to the Point and back again was just enough outing for one day. Back at camp we prepared a meal and loafed around in the sun. On following days we made additional trips up the Point, down to the South Shore to Dutchman's Creek or further explored the swamp in the boat. Fido indicated that he heartily approved of the life we were leading including sleeping in the mornings until the sun had warmed up the interior of the tent and made the outside surroundings more pleasant. When it rained, and during some of the cold evenings, I would stay in the tent reclining on my hay bed with Fido snuggled up in his corner. I had a considerable amount of reading material and for night light I had a stake driven near the head of my bed on which to place a candle.

Toward the end of the first week I decided that, since I felt no desire to return home and would prolong my camping trip beyond my original intention, I had better cross over to the village of Allouez and telephone my mother. There was also the necessity of replenishing food supplies. So one afternoon I made my way through the swamp channels to the mouth of the Bear Creek and rowed up Bear Creek until I found a trail leading through the brush and fields to Allouez. The shabby little store at which I bought my groceries did not have a telephone but they told me the saloon had one. At the saloon the surly bar tender grunted out permission for me to use the telephone. I talked to my mother telling her that I was enjoying my outing and had decided to stay away for another week. As the telephone was not a pay phone I decided it would be a good idea to make a purchase at the saloon. I found that the duck hunters, the beaching crew and the Wisconsin Point inhabitants generally regarded a bottle of whiskey a precious possession. If they did not have a bottle they were planning to get one. In addition to considering whiskey as one of the joys of life, they regarded it as effective medicine, especially after exposure to the elements. Accordingly I purchased a half pint of whisky cost 35 cents. On my way back to camp and before I was out of Bear Creek a cold wind driven rain storm came up. In spite of my rain coat I became thoroughly drenched before I reached camp. I remembered how the water gathered in the bottom of the row boat and sloshed in and out of the tops of my shoes. Fortunately I had a fifty pound lard tin in which to place my groceries. There was no shelter for Fido and he was thoroughly miserable. We got back to camp at twilight. Just inside the tent entrance I peeled off my soggy, drenched clothes and put on my extra suit of long woolen underwear. I partly dried Fido with a burlap sack and fixed him a nest in the hay. Then before wrapping up in the blankets I had a drink out of my half pint bottle. I felt very warm and cozy in my comfortable bed. A really fierce storm was raging with the rain beating on the tent and I felt happy to be in what seemed to be an ideal refuge. I woke up in the middle of the next forenoon with a headache. The storm had subsided and the sun was shining. A sumptuous breakfast with a quart of coffee put me in tune with my surroundings.

On numerous canoe trips and lake shore expeditions taken during the next thirty or more years it never occurred to me that a bottle of liquor should be part of the supplies. This attitude reminds me of a story attributed to Abraham Lincoln.

During the Civil War a women's temperance organization became quite powerful and accumulated a large membership. The executive group decided that their prestige would be increased if they could persuade the President to sponsor their organization or at least express his approval of their aims. Accordingly they sent a delegation to Washington to call on the President. In talking to the President the spokes lady became somewhat confused and several times repeated her statement about the damage that liquor did to young men. After presentation of facts and purposes had been completed the President complimented the ladies on their laudable efforts. He stated that he was particularly impressed with their emphasis on how young men were harmed by excessive drinking. He went on to say that in his opinion it would be a good idea if young men would refrain from drinking or at least use liquor very sparingly. He said that it had been his observation that if a man over indulged himself with liquor when he was young, he would find that when he reached an advanced age and needed liquor for its medicinal qualities, it would not have the desired stimulating effect.

A recent Lincoln biographer tells us that Lincoln was an expert in straddling controversial subjects and the foregoing story seems to be an example of how he would endeavor to satisfy both parties. This biographer tells how he did this in the Lincoln Douglas debates. Northern Illinois was abolitionist whereas Southern Illinois was pro slavery.

I had taken Bert Boden's double barreled shotgun with me on my trip to Allouez and had not thoroughly wiped it dry on my return to camp. Considerable rust had gathered on the metal parts. I spent most of the day cleaning off this rust with kerosene and sand.

Toward the end of our first week in camp, Fido and I decided to walk along the Lake beach towards the Superior Entry. About two miles north we met the beaching foreman rowing furiously along the beach to the south in a small unusually well built light boat. He stopped and explained that the tug with the boom had passes in the night, picked up his men but missed him. I believe he had spent the night in Superior. He borrowed the light row boat from the Halls and was on his way to the mouth of the Brule to supervise his crew and the tug picking up the logs assembled on the beaches. As it was a long row to the Brule I got into the boat with him and offered to spell him for several miles. I made a sprint row of about three miles to the mouth of Dutchman's Creek and then walked back to my camp. That was the last time I saw the foreman. He greatly aroused my interest in taking a trip along the South Shore and visiting the various river mouths.

On my second Sunday three duck hunters with whom I had become acquainted on the previous Sunday stopped in to visit with me. They had been out since before dawn and welcomed my offer to make coffee. While drinking our coffee I told them that as a result of my conversations with the beaching crew I had become very much interested in seeing the river mouths of the South Shore.

They encouraged me in the idea of a trip down the South Shore and before they departed the four of us carried my boat across the Point to the Lake Shore. The breakers were still piling up on the beach. This of course meant that my trip down the lake shore would be delayed until the seas subsided. Late that afternoon I noticed that two tents had been set up on a sand spit that extended out into Allouez Bay from Wisconsin Point, where the open water stopped and the swamp started to form. In the early evening I decided to visit this camp. I received a cordial greeting and much interest was expressed in my camping alone with my dog. They could not understand why I had not accomplished more in duck shooting. One of these parties was a man approaching fifty years of age and his two boys, one about 13 years of age and the other about 16. In their afternoon and evening effort they had shot one duck.

In the course of my conversations with this group I was asked my name. The man asked if my father was John Quimby and became positively excited when I said he was. He introduced himself as Charlie Lawrence. He said that when my parents had resided on Park Point he had been very friendly with them and remembered me as a small child. We moved away from Park Point in 1892 or 1893. In recent years I had occasion to get a birth certificate. The record at the court house was in a list sent to the County Clerk by C.W. Lawrence, Clerk for the Village of Park Point.

I spent the evening chatting with the Lawrences and told them of my plans to row down the South Shore and that I would probably camp at the mouth of the Amnicon River. Lawrence at the time resided at about 36th Street on Park Point. He agreed to telephone my parents when he returned home in a couple of days and inform them of my plans for the South Shore trip.

The next morning the lake had calmed down to just a slight chop. I broke camp, loaded my equipment into the boat and started rowing down the shore. Fido sedately sat on the stern seat and when I talked to him, he indicated his approval of what was being done.

After three hours of rowing along the high clay banks of the South Shore which were topped with interesting looking woods we arrived at the mouth of the Amnicon. Just before arriving at the Amnicon I saw the abandoned hull of a boat about 25 feet in length with its stern buried in the beach sand.

The Amnicon flowed through a channel in a considerable sand bar at its mouth. Soon after entering the river I met a small skiff being rowed by a good looking man with a woman and a year old baby in the stern. He introduced himself as Bill Nelson of Park Point. He had come down the Amnicon about ten days earlier in his power boat. This was a small cabin craft modeled after the whale back. "Togo" was lettered on the stern and bow of the boat evidently named after the Japanese admiral a hero in the Russian Japanese War.

The "Togo" was moored to the west bank of the river about three quarters of a mile from the river mouth. On a cleared space and close to the Togo was a neat camp including a commodious tent.

About two hundred yards north of Nelson's camp and about a hundred feet back from the river there was a well built log cabin which had been deserted for several years. Even though the place was in bad repair and had considerable trash scattered around the interior I decided to make it my camp. The size of the cabin was about 12 feet by 15 feet. In one corner there were bunks formed by the placing of two double bed springs one over the other. Someone had evidently recently occupied the place as the top bunk contained a heavy layer of fresh balsam boughs. I placed my folded tent over these boughs and had a good mattress.

Across from the bunks there was a built in plank table with a window above it. The door was substantial with an outside hasp so that the place could be closed against the intrusion of porcupines when we were away. Lacking a stove the cooking was done over a fire outside the cabin.

After moving my equipment into the cabin and preparing a meal we rowed down the river and out into the lake to inspect the beached boat hull. Apparently this had originally been a sailboat which had later been fitted with a gasoline engine. All of the inside fittings had been removed, just a shell remaining. A hole had been broken in the stern and considerable sand had washed into the boat. Later in the day I talked to Nelson about this wreck and we eventually decided there were many reasons why we did not care to attempt a salvage job.

Nelson was a fine looking tall dark man with a Clarke Gable appearance, black closely cropped mustache and swarthy complexion, perhaps partly due to suntan. His clothes and boots were special hunting and woods type fitting him very well. Evidently he got some satisfaction in keeping a neat appearance as even in this secluded spot and alone with his family, he shaved regularly. I had pretty well gone through my reading material and Mrs. Nelson was extremely grateful when I handed it over to her. Because of the baby Mrs. Nelson remained in camp while Bill was in the woods.

Nelson was very much determined to kill a deer before he left the Amnicon. Across the river from Nelson's camp there was a clearing which had been a log skidway. Some farmer located near highway #13 had out the hay in this clearing and the adjacent old logging roads and stacked the hay near the river. This spot had attraction for the deer. Evenings and early mornings, Nelson took a stand near where he had seen deer. He had frequent shots at the deer but as yet had not killed one. He assumed that I would be anxious to join him in his deer hunting. I explained that all of my cartridges for the double barreled shotgun were loaded with bird shot. When I mentioned that I had a forty five revolver with cartridges, he suggested that I pry out some bullets from the revolver cartridges and replace some of the bird shot loads in the shotgun cartridges. I found I could load the shotgun cartridges with two of the revolver slugs and fixed up several of the cartridges in this manner. I explained to Nelson that I was not interested in dawn hunting but I did join him on several evenings. I got one shot at a deer, but did not bring it down and doubt that my shooting could be very accurate with the slug loaded cartridges.

Fido and I had our great success in hunting partridges. Fido had been given to me eight years before when he was two years old. His former owner was a plumber by the name of McKathin who lived with his mother and sisters at the north east corner of Lake Avenue and 5th St. A rather peculiar widow living next door to the McKathin home had won Fido's loyalty and affection. Fido abandoned the McKathins and decided that the widow's house was his home. McKathin decided to break up this arrangement and as my home was quite distant, he presented me with Fido with the understanding that I must not let the widow get him into her possession. Bob Thompson at one time lived in the district I described and I feel sure he knew the people I mention.

McKathin told me that Fido had a mania for partridge hunting. He said that for several weeks that summer he had lived at Deerwood. He stated that every day Fido was permitted to roam; he departed for the nearby woods, always treed a partridge and barked until someone went out and shot the partridge.

The second day at the Amnicon Fido treed a partridge near our cabin and I easily shot it. Nearly every day thereafter we did some partridge hunting always getting one or two birds. Fido was delighted when I would accompany him, but if I remained in camp he would go out alone, tree a partridge and bark until I joined him and shot the bird. When I accompanied Fido he ranged the woods for a considerable distance on each side of me, his nose to the ground, not only his tail wagging, but he appeared to be wagging half of his body in his enthusiasm. His procedure was to flush a partridge feeding on the ground. The partridge would fly into a nearby tree, Fido would bark and hold the bird's attention until I came up quietly and shot it. The woods on the west bank of the river where we hunted had a park like atmosphere. Years earlier the marketable large timber had been cut out and in the very recent years railroad tie cutters had taken out the cedar. Tie cutters had built the cabin I was using. These operations had left the woods a maze of trails and old logging roads. Many large trees were left standing, including birch, spruce, balsam, maple, and bass wood. Probably the thinning out by the loggers and tie cutters had given these trees an extra opportunity to develop. These expeditions into the woods with their highly colored fall leaves were the most enjoyable part of the entire outing for both myself and Fido.

We made a couple of trips down to the Lake and on foot explored the shore on both sides of the river mouth. In a grove of trees to the east I found evidences of what had been a rather extensive tent camp during the summer. There were tables made of drift wood planks, board tent floors and fireplaces. Under one of the tables I found a stack of Strand magazines. This was an illustrated English magazine featuring travel stories and true adventure articles.

To the west of the river mouth a section of the high clay bank projected toward the river mount sand bar. On top of this promontory I found a three foot section of heavy plank spiked to a tree. An inscription had been burned into this plank with a hot iron. The wording was:

In Memory of  
John Swanson  
Drowned here October 1887

On a trip to the Amnicon in 1914 I found this marker was still in place but did not find it in later years. The wave action of the Lake continually wears away the clay banks of this part of the South Shore and the tree with the marker had probably been washed away.

After being at the Amnicon four or five days Nelson and I discussed our food problems. Both of us were running short of supplies. We decided to make an expedition into the back country with the hope that we would find farmers who would sell us supplies. Accordingly, at noon one day, we started south on the old logging road leading from the skidway on the east side of the river. At that time there was no regular graded road leading from what is now highway #13 to the river mouth. We encountered a network of old logging roads. Farmers made it a practice of cutting the lush growth of grass on these old roads and stacking the hay at intervals. This kept the roads open from year to year and prevented their being overgrown with brush.

At one place we found the ruins of an old logging camp. The place where the cook had thrown out his brine, cooking water and dish water, served as a salt lick for deer and other animals. The earth was eaten away to a depth of two feet. Nelson pointed out that here was a wonderful opportunity to shoot a deer. He pointed out several places where a hunter could conceal himself and shoot deer when they came at night. He surmised that the creek that flowed past the lumber camp was the same stream that entered the Amnicon near where we were camped.

After leaving the lumber camp we held to the trails and logging roads that lead to the south east. Nelson put up markers at trail intersections so that we would not get lost on our return trip.

In the late afternoon we came out of the woods into a clearing on Middle River. This was one of the Finlander farms which we had heard about; several small neat log buildings, some cleared cultivated land, and more land in the process of being cleared. An elderly man carrying a baby, evidently grandfather and grandchild, met us in the yard. He did not speak English and motioned us to a nearby field where a robust young woman, the child's mother, was digging potatoes. The woman spoke some English and we made her understand our need for food supplies. The net result of my purchases was about five pounds of flour, fifteen eggs, and some potatoes. Nelson made a similar purchase. We were treated to several glasses of milk before we departed.

On the return trip, Nelson having in mind his wife and baby alone in camp strode out at a rapid pace. I had difficulty in keeping up with him. I had brought the shotgun with me. This along with the food I had purchased made an awkward load.

The markers Nelson had put up at the trail intersections prevented our going astray on the return trip. Usually he had arranged some sticks and at other places he had placed three stones.

At the time I purchased the flour, I had been puzzled as to how I would use it. Nelson solved this problem by giving me some baking powder and telling me how to make dumplings. During my remaining days at the Amnicon my standard meal was to boil one or two cut up partridges. I would make up a flour dough with baking powder and one egg. On top of the boiling partridge I would place small dough balls. This combination was quite satisfying to Fido and me. We ate this meal twice each day, first in the middle of the afternoon and again in the late afternoon. The few potatoes that I had brought back from the Finlander farm were peeled and eaten raw for dessert. I was surprised to find how thoroughly I relished these raw potatoes. With our food at this low ebb Fido and I were exceeding diligent in our partridge hunting and successful to the extent that we had meat for each of our two daily meals. The reason we were remaining after our food supplies had become so low was that we were having a series of northeast storms and the lake was continually whipped into white caps.

Nelson kept harping on the lumber camp salt lick that we had discovered on the upper reaches of the creek which he assumed flowed into the river near our camp. His theory was that one could row up this creek as far as it was navigable and then follow the creek on foot to the old lumber camp. Because of his wife and baby he felt that he could not make an overnight venture but persuaded me I would be missing an unusual opportunity if I did not make the trip.

Accordingly, one afternoon about four o'clock Fido and I got into our row boat and started up the creek. We did not get very far before we hit shoal water and were forced to abandon our boat. The going in the thick brush along the creek was very difficult and at times I just waded in the stony creek bed. Finally night fall caught us with no indication that we were near the lumber camp. I built a small fire and heated up a can of cooked partridge and dumplings I had brought with me. I had one blanket which was not much protection against the cold ground and near freezing temperature. Fido and I huddled together and had brief naps. Several times we built up a small fire and crouched near it to get warm. When daylight broke we made our way back down the creek to our boat and rowed back to camp. Fido acted thoroughly forlorn, disgusted tail dragging and a mournful expression. As we rowed back to camp I told him that at Wisconsin Point the men had tried to make duck hunters out of us and here at the Amnicon we would resist Nelson's further attempts to train us as deer hunters. He did perk up when I told him that we were just natural partridge hunters and would continue that vocation.

Nelson was rather disgusted with our failure to find the lumber camp. I did not discuss the trip with him but quickly got into my bunk for a forenoon of sleep and to eliminate the night's chill from my system. One great advantage of the cold nights was that there were hardly any mosquitoes or flies. The frosty and occasionally freezing nights discouraged all of the bugs. One variety of pest that we were unable to eliminate was the numerous small squirrels that continually scrambled about our cabin. They came in through openings in the roof, walls, and floor. They always started scampering around at night as soon as we put out our light. Fido slept at the foot of my bunk and gave us some protection. When these pests invaded our bunk he threatened them with growls and snarls. Our food was protected from the squirrels by tightly covered tins. However, one night I forgot to put away my soap. The squirrels either ate or carried away the last of my soap.

For several more days we continued our routine of partridge hunting, waiting for a let up in the northeast winds which kept the lake boiling. Mrs. Nelson said that she had enough of camping and roughing it, and would insist on going home as soon as the lake was calm enough for their craft.

One morning I woke up with an awareness that the wind had gone down. I went down to the river's edge where my boat was pulled up there I found the stack of reading material I had loaned Mrs. Nelson. This indicated that they had departed and I further checked this by finding that their camping spot was vacated.

I decided that it was also time for me to start toward home and that I should take advantage of the present calmness of the lake. Before starting on the long pull to Wisconsin Point I felt the necessity of having a good meal under my belt. So Fido and I took to the woods with the intention of getting one or more partridges. Apparently we had killed off or frightened the partridges in the vicinity of our cabin. This time we went far afield to get one partridge and it was more than two hours before we returned to camp. We boiled the partridge with a double portion of dumplings and had a very filling meal. By noon I was packed up and went down to the river to bail the rain water out of my boat. Looking down the river I saw a boat occupied by a man and a boy rowing up stream. Soon I recognized them as Charlie Lawrence and his younger son. He had become interested in a trip to the Amnicon through my talks with him and what the beaching crew had told him when we were all in Wisconsin Point about two weeks previously. After greetings, their remarks were about my shaggy unkempt appearance. I had needed a hair cut when I left home, and had not shaved for three weeks or more. My clothes for the trip were just old partly worn out city garments. Working back and forth through the woods and swamps had caused this inadequate clothing to disintegrate and I did not have a needle or thread to repair tears. My shoes were just about falling to pieces. I explained that I was on the point of pulling out. They urged me to stay a couple of more days as they were determined to salvage the boat hull beached near the river mouth. They stated that they had plenty of food for all of us. They immediately started preparing a meal. As I had just had a filling meal I told them I would enjoy just a cup of coffee. Long before this I had used up the last of my coffee and tea. Remembering something I had read about the rebellious American colonists using dried raspberry leaves as a substitute for tea I had been trying out leaves from the wild raspberry bushes and wild strawberry plants. I had found that sweetened hot water slightly flavored with wild strawberry leaves made a morning drink which helped start the day. The Lawrences moved into the cabin with me and fixed up the lower bunk. The next morning we went down to the beach and started our efforts to move the boat. With boards and cooking utensils we shoveled out the sand that had washed in through the hole in the stern. This hole was closed by nailing a piece of canvas inside. Then there were hours of work moving the wet sand in which the boat was embedded. Finally we got some short pieces of logs under part of the boat and with levers gradually inched it into the water. We towed it into the river and beached it in the slough just inside the river mouth sand bar. Lawrence was now in a hurry to get back to Park Point and engage a power boat to tow back his newly acquired craft. We had spent the day in exhausting labor part of the time wading in the icy lake water. That evening we had a ample and filling meal. Before retiring to our bunks Lawrence produced a bottle of whiskey and mixed up some hot toddies. He said we deserved this medicine after our day of labor and exposure. The next day we took it easy and I showed the Lawrences the general layout of the country around the river mouth. This was their first trip to the Amnicon.

On the third morning of the Lawrence's arrival we packed up and started to row back to Park Point and the Sixth Avenue slip. As we rowed down the small river on that bright morning we remarked how strikingly attractive the scene was. The leaves on the bushes and trees had their brilliant fall colors and on the west side the rise of the land to higher elevations added to the scene. The Lake was smiling just a slight chop. Our trip back through the Superior Entry and into Duluth harbor was uneventful but pleasant. I stopped at the Maynard store and home in the early evening, returned the tent and equipment I had borrowed from them, and then telephoned my home.

Russell Maynard told me that he had been down to the mouth of the Amnicon and as far as Middle River looking for me. In company with another Park Point boy he had gone to Wisconsin Point with the intention of continuing on to the Amnicon. Continued rough water on the Lake prevented their making the rest of the trip by boat, so making an early start one day, they walked along the shore to the Amnicon, made a raft to ferry across the mouth of the Amnicon and continued on to Middle River. They returned to Wisconsin Point the same day. They had expected that I would be camping near the shore and because I was located a considerable distance up the river they did not find me.

On my arrival home, and after initial greeting, my mother told me I looked like a tramp and smelled bad. My father identified the odor as campfire smoke. For more than three weeks, I had been cooking over campfires and sitting or reclining alongside of campfires for warmth and cheer. Most of my worn out camping clothes were consigned to the garbage can. A scrubbing in a steaming hot bath and ministrations of a barber eliminated the camping odor but my mother continued to make suspicious sniffs and insisted that a slight smoky smell continued.

My folks told me that they had been receiving telephone calls for me from Mr. Wiswell, superintendent of the Lehigh Valley Coal Dock at Superior. When I telephoned Mr. Wiswell, he asked me to come to Superior for an interview, intimating that there was a possibility that he would have a job for me. Coal dock workers of Duluth and Superior were something of a fraternity and the grapevine had circulated the story of my run in with Owen Hunt, the superintendent of Pittsburgh Dock #2 at Duluth. Mr. Wiswell had been feuding with Owen Hunt and the story of my arguments with Hunt had come to him with many trimmings. In the interview he first asked for my version of my differences with Hunt. Then he offered me a job as time keeper and weigh master. In those days ten hours was the standard working time for laborers. As time keeper I was required to be on the job not later than 6:30 A.M. to check in the men. Just about this time the steam boat Troy had knocked off the turn draw of the Interstate Bridge. This meant that the trip to Superior was prolonged by transferring from the street car to a ferry boat at the foot of Rice's Point and catching another street car on the Superior side. I found that I was obliged to leave home about five o'clock in the morning to get to the job on time. In the evening I got home by eight o'clock if I was lucky in my transfers. Sometimes I took one of Captain Majo's small ferry boats, the Hattie Loyd and the Swansea.

Later in the fall I learned that Lawrence had been successful in towing the boat hull to Duluth harbor and docking it near his Park Point home. He rebuilt it and installed a gasoline motor. When Russell Maynard and I took our trip to the Apostle Islands the next year, June 1907, we found Lawrence and his son established at the mouth of the Amnicon. They were making a business of collecting logs along the beaches and assembling them in the slough behind the river mouth bar. From planks and lumber picked up on the beaches they had built a substantial small two room cabin in the shelter of the promontory on the west side of the river mouth.

Like other small rivers flowing into Lake Superior the Amnicon probably has an interesting history. Some fragments of this history are known to us. In a special historical edition of the Superior Telegram, mention is made of the fact that the first continuous program of ship building at the head of the lakes was at the mouth of the Amnicon River. Because of a plentiful growth of birch trees an Indian established a business of making large cargo carrying canoes there. Undoubtedly the river was often a harbor of refuge for canoe and small boat travelers in the early days preceding steam navigation and when water travel was the only means of communication and transportation.

Then, of course, there was the lively period of logging and there were evidences that the logs were skidded into the lower part of the river for rafting to mills. In our time there have been quite a number of developments at the river mouth that have faded away. I know of five cottages or cabins that have been built in this area that have burned or disappeared. Charlie Lawrence was positively enthralled about getting established at the Amnicon and wanted to buy some land. He found that many square miles of land including the Amnicon district were owned by the Barden family of Superior. They did not care to sell of portions at the mouth of the Amnicon, considering this to be a strategic entrance to the area. In 1940 Ray Higgins told me the Barden heirs had ceased paying taxes and let all of this land revert to the state.

Just previous to the stock market crash of 1929 and the ensuing depression a promotional organization made preliminary steps toward constructing a resort hotel at the mouth of the Amnicon River. They built a breakwater, cleared land, put up a couple of temporary structures and built a road. All of this was abandoned in 1929. The breakwater was supposed to prevent shoaling at the mouth of the river but my observation was that it did very little toward keeping the channel open. For the past twenty or more years a commercial fisherman has been established here with his buildings, boats and equipment.

In a 1954 edition of a Minneapolis real estate journal I noticed that this fishing settlement with all equipment was offered for sale.

Undoubtedly my continued interest in the Amnicon River is because my initial trip there was so enjoyable as a voyage of exploration and discovery.

### \-------------<0>\-------------

# A Week on the South Shore of Lake Superior

### South Shore Trip 1917

### By Wallace L. Quimby

Recently I brought out from our files several logs and journals of small boat and canoe cruises along Lake Superior's shores. These were passed along to some of our friends who are familiar with that locale. Their expressions of interest were both surprising and gratifying.

Heggie maintains that our most interesting trip was when we went by canoe from Duluth to Port Wing. She has a vivid recollection of events and adventures of that trip but is reluctant to attempt writing her version of the things that happened to us during that week. Accordingly I am endeavoring to tell her story.

For a number of years we had talked about canoe trips along the Canadian border, with alternate ideas of rowing around Isle Royale or cruising along Lake Superior's south shore. These plans were constantly deferred because from the year 1909 thru 1916 my vacations were used up in going to rowing regattas, either as a contestant or representing the Duluth Boat Club in an official capacity. We were married in June 1916 and during the following winter we made plans for a voyage of two weeks. Because of changing jobs I lost my 1917 vacation. In mid September I was given an unexpected leave of absence of one week. We immediately organized for a canoe trip to Port Wing, planning to return to Duluth on the steam boat America.

## SUNDAY

We made an early morning start from our Park Point cottage. The eighteen foot canoe was loaded with camping equipment and supplies. I paddled in the stern and Heggie in the bow. We were fortunate in having dead calm water which is most likely to occur in the early morning. Three hours of paddling along the bay side of Wisconsin and Minnesota Points brought us to the narrow port of Wisconsin Point just north of the marshes at the end of Allauez Bay. This was the historic "Little Portage" used since ancient time by the Indians and later by the voyagers of the fur trade era.

We had coffee and a snack after carrying our canoe and equipment to the lake beach. Heggie had begun to tire from paddling in her bow position. I made her a nest with the blankets and for a back rest propped up a canoe chair back against the front seat. As we proceeded along the South Shore she entertained me by reading aloud from the New York Times of the preceding Sunday and frequently commenting on the beauty of the scene. The Sunday New York Times in its great bulk gave us reading material for our whole trip. A breeze came up, starting ripples on the lake which later developed into a slight chop, just enough to make paddling more interesting.

Two hours after leaving Little Portage we arrived at the mouth of the Amnicon River. The area at and near the mouth of the river appeared to be a more complete wilderness than at any time I have visited the place. The tie cutters' cabin up the river and the shacks that had at various times been built at the river mouth had burned or otherwise been destroyed. The small clearings, old logging roads and burned areas, all had a heavy growth of bushes and small trees. Apparently this was a year when the place had been infrequently visited by parties on camping or cruising expeditions. No signs of camp fires or camp sites. The nearby beaches had an unusual accumulation of flotsam and driftwood, indicating that there had been little if any beach combing during the past summer. At that time the mouth of the river was an isolated spot. There were only over grown trails from the back country to the lake. The feasible approach to the area was by water. Large boats could not enter the river because of the shallow water at the sand bar at the river mouth. A season of storms and rough water discouraged operators of small boats from attempting trips to this spot.

We selected a camp site on the lake beach and near the edge of the thick brush on the east side of the river. Our tent was a small pyramid type borrowed from Walter Hoover. I believe at that time this was known as a miner's tent.

After eating a thick sirloin steak for lunch and unloading the canoe we walked along the beach. Among the drift material cast up on the beach we found two sets of shelves about three feet by four feet. I figured that these were from a ship's pantry. We carried these shelves to our camp. Near the camp I found a ship's hatch cover which I placed on two short sections of timber near our fireplace. This made a convenient work and dining table. Heggie spent the early afternoon exercising her ideas of camp housekeeping. She unpacked our food supplies and arranged them on the shelves. A little later she found that squirrels were enjoying this spread. A paper sack of shelled nuts had entirely disappeared. I asked her what had prompted her to bring the nuts. She explained that some time on the trip she intended to make a plate of fudge. I am inclined to favor having food supplies in quantity and variety for camping trips. Eleven years previously I had been storm bound at the Amnicon River and for the best part of a week I had eaten partridge and dumplings. Never again did I risk not having adequate supplies of food. The food items were returned to containers that were proof against the raids of the squirrels.

As evening approached, Heggie expressed fear that we would be cold sleeping on the ground in our meager shelter. There had been some night frosts and the frigid lake was a few yards from our camp. In articles on camping and woodcraft I had read about keeping night fires in front of an open side on a tent like ours, the slanting canvas reflecting the heat down on the sleepers.

I built a fire of heavy chunks of driftwood figuring this would settle down into a bed of coals. During the first part of the night we were too warm. The fire near our tent and equipment made me feel uneasy and I woke up frequently

## MONDAY

At that time of the year the nights were long and as soon as dawn appeared we were up preparing a breakfast of oranges, ham and eggs, and coffee. Heggie was unhappy and uncomfortable. She complained about being all smoked up as a result of sleeping close to our camp fire. She was especially concerned about her smoky smelling hair and said she would not feel clean until she could have a hot bath. She ridiculed my statement that I could arrange a hot bath in an hour.

A short distance down the beach I had seen a large barrel or hogshead. The action of the waves and sand had scoured the inside to a white cleanness. I rolled the barrel back into the bushes near our camp, stood it upright and made two steps alongside it with short pieces of timber. Four large oil tins were picked up on the beach and the tops of these were opened up with our can opener and axe. A preliminary boiling and scouring with sand cleaned these containers. Soon I had the barrel three quarters filled with hot water. Heggie luxuriated in the steaming soapy bath and after a quick rinse in the cold lake. She felt happy and expressed her satisfaction with our surroundings. We did not again attempt to keep a night fire and found that we were comfortably warm between our two heavy double Hudson Bay blankets.

Much of this second day was spent up the river. I investigated the place where I had lived in an abandoned log cabin eleven years before. There was hardly a trace of the building remaining. The trails and logging roads of 1906 were now overgrown with bushes and young trees. The first mile up the Amnicon River was dead water with a short slight current, being at nearly the same level as the lake a sort of estuary. Beyond this mile the river is shallow with rapids flowing over a rocky bottom. I got out here and waded another mile, towing the canoe with Heggie comfortably seated amidships. We found a deer crossing near which there was a substantial platform built high in the branches of a large tree. Evidently this was a source of meat supply for one or more of the farmers located on what is now Highway number thirteen.

The downstream return to the lake was easy and after a hearty meal we made plans for an early get away the next morning hoping that the fine weather would last until we made the mouth of the Brule River, ten miles further down the shore.

## TUESDAY

At dawn we were up. After a quick breakfast we broke camp and started eastward along the lake shore. Again we were favored with calm water and bright sunshine. The slight fall chill in the air helped make paddling an enjoyable exercise. The almost complete absence of flies and mosquitoes could be credited to the cold nights.

When we were about two miles from the mouth of the Brule a north east breeze came up and rapidly gained strength with resulting rough water. Working against this head wind, we put on increased power and before the waves became dangerous we arrived at the sand beach on the west side of the Brule River. This sprint had tired us and we were glad to have assistance in beaching our canoe from an elderly man who had been sitting on a log watching our approach.

We sat down for a rest and explained the object of our trip to our new friend. He said the northeaster appeared to be developing into a real storm and that there would probably be a lot of rain. He was sure that our small tent would be inadequate shelter. He told us that he was living alone in a two story house on the west side of the river and that he would be glad to have us occupy the upstairs rooms. We accepted his invitation and just ahead of a driving rain storm we got our equipment moved into the house.

Our host was Andrew Anderson who had lived at the mouth of the Brule for many years. Before settling in that location he had been a carpenter in Duluth.

We prepared a meal in Anderson's kitchen and rested until mid afternoon. There was a lull in the rain and Anderson took this opportunity to show us around his place. The house in which he was living was a narrow building with a small porch across the front. The house rested on a substantial stone masonry foundation. This was the type of house often built in Duluth on a lot having a twenty five foot frontage. Anderson, being a carpenter, had undoubtedly followed a standard plan in constructing this building.

In former years Anderson had worked a complete farming operation, but at the time of our visit, he had entirely abandoned farming. He owned a tract of timberland and most of his income was derived from getting out telephone and telegraph poles. His fields grew hay which was harvested by a dairy farmer located several miles to the south.

There were a number of neatly constructed log buildings, one of them being a three room log cabin which had been the residence before the citified structure had been built. There were other log buildings which had been barn, stable and chicken house. In one of the buildings we saw winter equipment including skis and a toboggan. Of course his tools for getting out the poles in his timber lot were in tip top condition. There were axes, saws, hooks and tools for peeling off the bark. He had an orchard of about a dozen apple trees but never harvested much of a crop as in spite of a high pole fence the deer got most of the apples.

Anderson told us that in earlier years his wife and daughter had lived with him. He said that he had built the city type house primarily to please his wife. In the following year his wife and daughter became tired of the isolation and had moved to Duluth. The daughter was now grown up and had a responsible office position.

That evening we retired early. Before we went to sleep we heard the roar of the surf on the beach and the wind driven rain beating against the windows. We congratulated ourselves on having found shelter.

## WEDNESDAY

We were up early but found that Anderson was ahead of us. He had been out on the river and caught a large pike. He quickly cleaned and scaled this fish. Soon it was cut into pieces and frying on his wood burning kitchen stove. Anderson insisted on cooking and serving the breakfast explaining that he felt he should take his turn at the work because Heggie and I had done the cooking on the previous day. Fish for breakfast was unusual for us but this meal was appetizing, eating the fish less than an hour from the time it had been pulled out of the river.

Back of the river mouth sand bar there was a body of water like a pond or small lake. Most of the shores were marsh. Anderson referred to this as "the slough." His group of buildings was on the high land at the west end of the slough. He caught fish sufficient for his needs in both the slough and the river.

The rain had stopped and while the wind was still blowing we enjoyed a bright sun and cloudless sky. As the woods, bushes, and tall grass were rain drenched we decided on a canoe trip up the river to the first rapids. This used up most of the forenoon. Anderson had told us that there were some late wild raspberries along the dirt road on the west side of the river. The road was hardly more than a trail and the bushes grew close to the rutted track. We leisurely walked along this road stopping to pick berries at the more heavily laden bushes.

About two miles up this road we came to a farm which was owned and worked by a French Canadian family. The wife, a vivacious person, was the only one at home and we were soon engaged in a conversation with her, explaining how we happened to be in that area. Heggie suggested that we buy a chicken. The farm wife replied that she would be glad to sell us a chicken but since they were all out in the open it would be difficult to catch one of them. I told the women that I would solve this problem if they would select the fowl. They decided on a young rooster. Much to the amusement of the women I just ran the bird down, keeping in pursuit until it was exhausted. The farm wife plucked and dressed the bird for us. We also purchased a quart of cream and two loaves of home baked bread.

With our plunder we walked back to Anderson's. From our supplies and some items from Anderson's larder a holiday dinner was prepared. The rooster was stuffed and roasted. Our desert was a lemon pie. That evening we sat around taking to Anderson by the light of a couple kerosene oil lamps. We induced him to tell us much of the lore and history of the area around the mouth of the Brule River along with many of his personal experiences.

Around the turn of the century there had been a settlement at the mouth of the river. I remembered the barrel stove mill which was in operation when Russell Maynard and I made our trip to the Apostle Islands in 1907. In the years just previous to our visit there had been several small farming operations on the east side of the river but all of these had been abandoned. There were three houses remaining on the east bank. One of them was owned and occasionally occupied by a priest. Anderson told us that the Larsons with whom we later became well acquainted had recently moved from the Brule to Park Point, Duluth.

During the early years of his residence at this place Anderson had operated a large two masted sailboat, making frequent trips to Duluth and Superior. At that time there were two parallel piers at the river mouth and the port of the river adjacent to the lake was an adequate harbor for small vessels. The great storm on November 1905 had partially destroyed the piers. Later storms had completed the destruction and at the time of our visit the entry through the sand bar was shoaled up to the extent that it permitted the passage for only small boats. Anderson's sail boat was accordingly blockaded and the hull was resting on a ramp near his buildings at the west end of the slough.

One of Anderson's trips to Duluth in his sailboat had ended in near disaster. He was approaching the Superior Entry running before a considerable northeaster when his rudder became unshipped. The boat went out of control, tipped on its side with the masts and sails lying in the water. For some time he just clung to his partly capsized craft while being bounced around by large waves. His predicament had been observed by some of the residents of Wisconsin Point. Two men got a row boat, worked thru the surf and barreled their way out to pick up Anderson. The two men were awarded Carnegie medals and a sum of money. Anderson seemed to think there was something unfair about this award as he who had furnished the opportunity for heroic action was burdened with the loss of his cargo and had the expense of repairing a partially wrecked boat.

The heating stove in Anderson's living room was an upright cylinder more than six feet tall. When we remarked that this was an unusual type of stove, he explained how effectively it solved his winter heating problem. From the top he would load the stove with a section of log four or five feet in length. This along with occasional stoking with smaller pieces would give him fire for a couple of days. Thus he avoided much of the labor of sawing and splitting wood into smaller pieces for heating purposes.

## THURSDAY

In the morning we found that the wind had gone down but that waves of considerable size were still breaking on the beach. Following Anderson's advice we waited until mid forenoon before departing and had a leisurely breakfast which included a huge bowl of raspberries and cream. As the seas had subsided to a long dead swell we loaded our canoe at Anderson's dock and paddled thru the slough out to the river.

The narrow passage through the sand bar where the river current met the lake waves gave us some turbulent water but putting on all of our power brought us thru this without shipping water. Anderson stood on the beach watching our getaway and waved a farewell. Our friendship with Anderson lasted for more than twenty years. We always stopped in to see him on subsequent trips along the shore and occasionally went to his place by automobile. He was killed while riding into town in a friends truck. The truck went into a side ditch on highway #13 and overturned.

The long roll of the subsiding swells added to the interest of the three hour paddle to the mouth of Iron River. The character of the shore had started to change from high clay banks to low sandstone ledges. We observed places where sections of sandstone had been quarried from these shore ledges.

Iron River entered the lake between two substantial piers which were formed of timber cribs filled with large chunks of sandstone. The nearly deserted village of Orienta consisted of a few buildings spread along the east side of the road which followed the top of the river bank. The first building in the approach from the lake was the vacant hotel. The only buildings occupied were Mike Hopkins' saloon and one substantial house on the far end of the street. The quarry and logging operations which had supported the community were activities of the past. We proceeded up the river for half a mile and found a camping spot on the low land which lies between the river and the high banks to the east. After unloading the canoe and pitching the tent we prepared a lunch of French toast and bacon. Later we paddled up the river until the stream became shallow and rocky. Then we followed the river trail until we came to the pretty falls tumbling down the narrow channel in the terraced sandstone wall. Along the way we saw that the narrow gauge railroad leading from the quarry near the falls to the lake had recently been torn up. Some of the steel rails were stacked on the right of way.

The expedition to the falls used up most of the afternoon. Returning to the camp we prepared our evening meal and after an hour beside the fire we got between the blankets. Our sleep was disturbed by two horses that were pastured in this area. They often clumped around our tent and at times seemed to be about to step where our heads were resting.

## FRIDAY

While we were eating breakfast a young man came along to round up the horses. In our conversation with him we mentioned that the horses had been close to our tent during the night. He said that the black horse was stone blind and inclined to cuddle up to any person who came near him.

The previous day we had found a large area of blueberry bushes near the falls. Heggie promoted the idea of a berry picking expedition. As the grass, trees and bushes were wet from the night dew, I suggested that we defer the berry picking until later in the forenoon. While Heggie remained to do some of the camp chores and read a portion of our Sunday New York Times I made a trip to the village. I found Mike Hopkins the saloon keeper in the small cottage adjacent to his place of business. He remembered that Russell Maynard and I had stopped ten years earlier at Orienta on our way back from the Apostle Islands. He agreed to sell me some eggs as he was still keeping chickens. I went into the kitchen with him to get the eggs and was really shocked by the disorder in that room. Evidently eggs were a constant item of Hopkins diet. Behind the stove there was a pile of about two bushels of eggshells. Hopkins had observed how startled I was at the appearance of his kitchen and remarked that he really should have a housekeeper.

I returned to camp with the eggs and found Heggie in a relaxed mood. She was satisfied to be alone. Hopkins had told me that John Benesch an old acquaintance of my parents and a relative of the Maynards was up river supervising the loading out of the steel rails from the old quarry railroad track. The rails were being loaded on lengthened horse drawn wagons and being taken to Port Wing for shipment to Duluth by water. After a chat with Benesch I returned to our camp.

Around noon we made our way to the blueberry patch. The season was late for berries. There were few of them and they were small dried up specimens. As I was unable to generate any enthusiasm for berry picking we soon returned to camp. On this day and the previous day a young woman riding a lively saddle horse had stopped to chat with us. She was spending her vacation with the family who were still resident in Orienta. She had been making a practice of riding to the blueberry patch.

This afternoon she arrived at our camp on her return trip in a state of great agitation. Both she and the horse were plastered with wet sand. She told us that in fording the river she and the horse had become mired in quicksand and that they had a desperate time getting on to solid ground.

In the late afternoon there were signs of an approaching storm. I had heard that the Cooley family of Park Point had on several occasions taken parties to Orienta in their power boat and had camped at the old hotel. We decided that we would take advantage of the shelter. We broke camp and paddled to the river beach near that desolate looking structure. We carried our equipment into the lobby which we found to be surprisingly clean. The only furnishings in the lobby were two tables and a big pot bellied heating stove in the center of the room.

In a small room on the first floor we found a bed frame filled with new clean hay and decided that was where we would spend the night.

Daylight was now fast fading and since that place seemed somewhat spooky, Heggie urged me to make an inspection of all the rooms while we still had some twilight. Accordingly I started to look into all of the rooms on the first and second floors.

On the second floor there was a side hall or passage way leading to what appeared to be an addition to the main building. This passage led to quite a large room and on the other side of this room I was startled by a life size figure of Jesus. In the dim light I had an illusion that the figure was advancing towards me and I felt the hair raise on the back of my neck. Heggie heard my ejaculation and in a hysterical tone from the bottom of the stairs asked me what I had found. The room was a Catholic chapel in good order, complete with seats and equipment. The statue was of plaster but remarkably well executed as to features and garments. Later we learned that the people who operated the hotel were devout Catholics and had the chapel for use of the community at the time it was a lively lake port serving quarry and logging industries.

That night the weather turned cold. There was rain and wind off the lake. We congratulated ourselves on having found shelter more adequate than our small tent. A rousing wood fire in the lobby stove added some cheer to our situation. For a while we sat near the stove but the place was gloomy being lighted only by a couple of candles we had brought with us. We retired early. Heggie was uneasy about sleeping in this old building and felt better when I nailed up the door to our bedroom.

## SATURDAY

We were up at dawn and prepared our breakfast on the lobby stove. The lake was moderately rough and a misty wind driven rain was falling. As our plan was to board the steam boat America at Port Wing in the late afternoon for our return trip to Duluth we felt obliged to continue our journey in spite of the unfavorable weather. We indulged in some self criticism for not proceeding to Port Wing the previous day when weather and water conditions had been more favorable.

After loading the canoe I had Heggie take the bow seat but I told her I would not expect her to paddle. I wrapped her in our waterproof poncho and gave her my felt hat. As we came out of the river mouth and started eastward along the shore the waves did not seem to be at all dangerous but the rain made the going uncomfortable. After a couple of hours we came to the place where the shoreline changes from east to north. A peninsula at this point. The change of direction caused us to head directly into the waves. The wind had freshened and the waves became larger. The crest of one of the waves came over the bow and dropped into Heggie's lap. I accepted this as a danger signal and decided to go ashore. Although Heggie was a small person weighing about 110 pounds, there was too much weight in the bow to permit the canoe to lift over the waves which we were taking head on.

We landed on a sand beach which was protected by a rocky projection. I explained to Heggie that her weight in the bow made an over load for navigating in the increasing roughness of the water and that I would take her back to the road which paralleled the lake shore, from which point she could walk to Port Wing. I estimated that the road was about a mile from the place where we had landed. Heggie was attired in knickers, half length laced boots, the poncho and my felt hat. In the tall grass, bushes and generally thick vegetation thru which we started to travel amidst the falling rain she was soon thoroughly soaked. We did not find a definite trail and kept trying to make our way in the desired direction following a maze of over grown logging roads and deer trails. Because of this our trip back to the road was greatly lengthened. Heggie became discouraged and accused me of not knowing where I was going, saying that I was walking her all over the state of Wisconsin. At one point she sat down and started to weep and refused to move. To keep her moving my strategy was to walk about two hundred feet ahead of her. She kept following being afraid of being left alone or letting me get out of her sight. Later we found what appeared to be a definite trail. Here a big buck stepped out of the woods just a few yards ahead of us. The deer gave us a long stare and then bounded away. The incident shook Heggie out of her grief and we began to make some good progress. As we neared the highway we crossed a large enclosed pasture. A herd of cattle started to drift in our direction. This did not concern me until I observed that there was a big bull in the herd. I told Heggie to hurry to the fence and I advanced to meet the cattle all of whom stopped, apparently being just curious about strangers in their territory. Heggie usually required considerable assistance in getting through a barb wire fence but in this instance she quickly rolled under the lower strand of wire.

Soon we were out on the highway at a point where the land had a considerable rise and falling away to the east. From this point we could see the church steeple at Port Wing and I estimated the distance to be about two miles. I instructed Heggie to follow the road into Port Wing, go to the hotel, engage a room and send her clothes to the kitchen to be dried. I told her I would take the canoe to Port Wing harbor and join her at the hotel.

On the way back to the lake I was fortunate in finding a surveyor's cleared out line running north and in a half hour had located the canoe. Before loading the canoe at Orienta we had made a cushion of small sticks in the bottom of the canoe and thus had our equipment elevated from the accumulated water. The tightly packed canvas duffel bags and pack sacks shed the rain water and did not permit the contents to get wet.

Until I rounded the point of the peninsula the going was rather rough heading straight into the oncoming waves. After rounding the point and being in a position to quarter the waves my progress was really enjoyable in spite of the heavy rain. The canoe was meeting the waves at approximately a forty five degree angle. The first impact of the waves on the bow and the first three or four feet back of the bow gave the front of the canoe a lift. This lifting action followed along the rest of the canoe and the nicely ballasted craft slid into the valley between the waves. My opinion is that the heavy rain smothered the white caps and to some extent flattened out the waves. At my rate with the weight out of the bow and the load in the bottom, the canoe rode the waves like a cork and the sensation was similar to riding on a roller coaster.

I cut across the bay west of Port Wing where the last of the operating South Shore quarries was located. When I turned into the space between the two pieces forming the entrance to Port Wing Harbor which was the mouth of Flag River, I had the waves and winds directly behind me so that I came boiling thru this entrance and turned to the Booth dock and warehouse.

The man in charge of the Booth establishment helped me unload my cargo and lift the canoe on to the dock. He was an energetic individual on the young side of middle aged and in our later conversation I learned that he was a career man with Booth Fisheries having managed warehouses and dock depots at various ports including a station in Alaska. This individual was opinionated and vociferous. He told me that he had spotted me coming around the point and as there were not any canoes in the Port Wing area he was greatly mystified. He was critical about my being on the lake in bad weather. I had to assure him that I was accustomed to handling small boats and would not think of doing anything dangerous. I explained that the necessity of connection with the America had caused me to travel in disagreeable weather. Before starting to weigh and list the canoe and equipment for shipment he got in his final shot saying that if he wanted to travel from Duluth to Port Wing he would certainly select some other form of transportation.

The Booth dock manager told me that the America was due in the late afternoon and as there was a large stack of steel rails from Orienta to be loaded the boat would not depart until late evening. I changed to dry clothes and made my way up the road to the village which was about a half mile from the dock. The rain had stopped and I felt rather satisfied in having arrived on schedule at our destination. The hotel was a small structure not more than eight or ten rooms. At the office I inquired of the man behind the desk as to whether Mrs. Quimby had registered. The answer was negative. Consternation was a mild word for my feeling. I became very insistent, telling how I had left Heggie on the road headed for Port Wing. I was told that there were no other hotels or boarding houses in the village and that there was little possibility of her having arrived. In the midst of this conversation a woman's voice from the kitchen said "If someone is inquiring for Mrs. Quimby tell him to call the telephone number written on the memo pad." When I telephoned, Heggie's voice answered and she told me that she had stopped at the Gustafsen farm, something over a mile out of town. She described the place. I immediately headed down the road and had no trouble in finding the farm. There I found Heggie in a happy frame of mind and in the midst of a friendly group of people.

Heggie told me that she had no intention of slogging down the muddy road to Port Wing when I left her. She had decided to ask for shelter when she got to the first house. At the Gustafsen farm she was sympathetically received by Mr. and Mrs. Gustafsen and their twelve year old daughter. When they admitted her to their home they of course inquired as to where she had come from. Heggie's replay was that she had come from the lake which partially explained her water soaked condition but the word "canoe" did not register with them. Their next question was "How did you happen to get into the lake?" Quite a lot of conversation was required to make them understand the series of events which had brought her to their doorstep. Later when Heggie was describing the Gustafsens mystification I told her that the initial impression she made on them reminded me that Greek mythology that the goddess Aphrodite was born full blown from the foam of the ocean waves.

The Gustafsens loaned Heggie clothes while hers were dried by the kitchen stove. After having some hot food she was her normal self and amused the Gustafsens with descriptions of the experiences of the past week.

Except during the winter months the Gustafsens lived in a summer house which was mainly a large kitchen. They showed us thru the winter house which was the most immaculate home we had ever seen. Everything was spotlessly clean, freshly painted, varnished and scrubbed. Crisp white curtains at the window and the stoves polished to a high luster.

Coffee was served and two hours were spent with the Gustafsens after my arrival. From them we obtained much interesting information about the Port Wing community. Besides the 12 year old daughter they had several grown up children who were away from home. One of the sons was employed at the Port Wing sand stone quarry and a daughter was attending teachers college in Superior.

We mentioned that I had talked to Mike Hopkins at Orienta. The Gustafsens had a number of anecdotes about this character. One of these stories was about a man who had lived with Hopkins for about a year. During the winter the man died. Hopkins moved the corpse to the back room of the saloon and laid it out on the floor alongside of a dressed hog he had purchased to augment his winter's meat supply. Hopkins then took off for the town of Iron River to make arrangements with an undertaker and notify the county coroner. Before seeing these individual he stopped in a saloon for a couple of drinks and got started on a spree which lasted for the best part of a week. During this interval the frozen hog and corpse rested side by side.

The Gustafsens told us that the bull we had encountered on our hike from the lake to the highway was a dangerous animal.

After our return to Duluth we sent the Gustafsens a gift as a token of our appreciation of their hospitality. They reciprocated with a box of apples from their orchard. During the following winter Mrs. Gustafsen and their elder daughter called on Heggie. We kept in touch with the Gustafsens for more than ten years. Toward evening Mr. Gustafsen hitched up a horse to his top buggy and drove us into Port Wing. At the Booth dock we waited for the America which docked shortly after 7pm. She carried a minimum of freight and only a half dozen passengers. The decline in port to port travel by water was already under way. Port Wing was not on a railroad and as truck lines were not yet fully organized the town was dependent on the lake boats for transporting freight and passengers.

We watched the loading of our canoe and equipment. The crew and passengers were much interested in the fact that we had cruised from Duluth to Port Wing in such a small craft and commented on our making the trip in stormy September weather. The steward was particularly friendly and when I told him that I was very hungry, that I had a strenuous day and very little food since early morning he said he would do his best for us. The crew and passengers had been served their evening meal but he said that he would prevail on the cook to prepare food for us. He asked what we would like to eat. Hesitatingly I said steak, french fried potatoes, a salad and apple pie with a big scoop of ice cream. He said we would be serve exactly what we had ordered.

While our ravenous appetites were helping us enjoy this nicely prepared meal the waitress hovered about encouraging Heggie to tell her experiences and sensations on the trip from Duluth. Heggie told of the various incidents with much enthusiasm punctuated with laughter. She was a much different person from the one who had sat down weeping in the sodden woods in the forenoon of that day.

A crew of men were loading the steel rails that had been hauled from Orienta. We were told that the loading would not be completed until midnight. Accordingly we took a two berth stateroom and despite the clanging of the loading we were soon enjoying the kind of sleep one has after a strenuous day.

## SUNDAY

When we woke up in the early mooring the boat was tied up at the Booth dick in Duluth. We quickly dressed and departed by street car for our Park Point cottage, deferring the picking up of our canoe and equipment until the next day.

This day we had a cold spell such as may occur in Duluth in late September. An even week, almost to the hour from our departure by canoe we were eating breakfast from our tea cart in front of the crackling wood fireplace of our living room.

In the following years we made many canoe camping trips including more cruises along Lake Superior shores and voyages thru the chains of lakes along the Canadian border. Heggie and I are in agreement that the one week trip to Port Wing supplied the most in enjoyment and surprises.

A comparison of some areas:

Lake Superior = 31,820 square miles  
Ireland = 31,837 square miles  
Lake Okeechobee = 730 square miles  
State of Florida = 58,560 Square miles

Area information from World Almanac 1959

### \-------------<0>\-------------

# By Canoe from Duluth to the Apostle Islands

### 1942

### By Tom and John Quimby

## FIRST DAY  
TUESDAY JULY 28, 1942

We left Sunnyside at 2:30 in a slight rain after some debate as to whether or not it was advisable to start in such weather. Since it looked as though it would clear we decided to leave. Two hours of rowing took us down the Duluth Superior Harbor past the coal docks, grain elevators, and Great Northern Ore Docks to Allouez Bay. Continuing along the bay side of Wisconsin Point we rowed to the edge of the marshes at the end of the Bay where we went ashore, pulled the canoe out of the water and walked across the automobile road built on the rail bed of the once proposed railroad. The waves in the lake were larger than we considered safe for the canoe so we set up camp on the beach after carrying our equipment and canoe across the point. One man can carry the canoe for a short distance without a yoke by placing the center rowing seat across his shoulders and holding the forward cross brace with his hands. We had a good supper of steak and boiled potatoes. Tom took up his duties as official dishwasher and after he finished we packed things in their respective bags, laced them under the overturned canoe, and turned in about 9:00.

## SECOND DAY  
WEDNESDAY JULY 29, 1942

Woke up at 6:00 but it was raining and blowing so we slept until 8:00. Breakfast and breaking camp took two hours and we pushed off at 10:00. After passing the end of Wisconsin Point we rowed along several stretches of high clay banks and at 12:15 sighted the pier at the mouth of the Amnicon River. Glancing about, we noticed that several fishermen were working in the shallow opening in the bar with a scraper pulled by a motor driven windlass. They gave us the usual look we always get from those who see us in the lake with a canoe and continued with their work of deepening the entrance to the river for their boats. We rested on the beach about a quarter of a mile east of the river. At about 2:30 we stopped for lunch at Barden's Creek after which we took a Lake Superior bath. Dive in soap up and rinse off. As we were getting dressed a Finn farmer came down the bank, evidently for the same purpose, for when we shoved off, after being asked if it wouldn't be easier with an "enyen in de boat", he was already taking off his shoes. Two hours more of paddling brought us to the mouth of the Brule River. It was 6:00 and being tired and hot we stopped there for the night, camping on the west bank of the river.

## THIRD DAY  
THURSDAY JULY 30, 1942

We got another late start due to rain and reached the mouth of the Iron River at about 3:30. We rested and talked for a while with a farmer casting across the river mouth for pike. Leaving there we pulled along the shore until a long line of thunderheads appeared moving over the lake from the northwest. The shore along here is rocky for several feet above the water. Above this point the banks are of clay and about 15 feet high. We spotted a break in this bank where a small stream had built up a sand bar at its mouth. Going ashore there we had supper and pitched the tent among the birches and poplars on the top of the clay bank. After supper we explored back into the brush a little and found a deer path running parallel to the lake shore. Following this path we were led down to the stream at the mouth where we had landed. Here, about 100 feet back from the lake was a picturesque little park of evergreens through which the stream wound. our admiration of the place was cut short by rain and we hurried back to the tent. The squall came with a gust of wind that pulled a corner stake loose. As I leaned out the doorway to fasten it down, Tom held the corner down from the inside by pushing hard with both hands. The rain was pouring down and I was soaked, but everything held fast. We wrote letters until time to sleep.

## FOURTH DAY  
FRIDAY JULY 31, 1942

We were on the water by 7:00, rowed to Port Wing and cooked breakfast on the point west of the harbor entrance. After breakfast we rowed up the river to the old sawmill basin. Mailed our letters and asked for mail (of which there was none). Ate lunch at Herbster after two hours of rowing around high sandy banks from Port Wing. At 2:30 we started out along Bark Point. The point has high banks with a fringe of poplar and birch at the top. Behind this fringe of trees are a number of farms. Each farm has a flight of steps to the lake at the bottom of which are fish houses and racks for drying nets. The Finnish farmers along here divide their interests among farming, fishing, and country road work. The tip of the point is rocky with small sandstone cliffs covered with evergreens. This ground together with the cleared land and orchard further back are operated as a commercial nursery. After looking at the length of Bark Bay and comparing the length with its width, we took a good look at the sky for disturbances of any kind. Seeing only high, thin clouds, and considering the fact that the light N.E. breeze that was blowing could usually be depended on to hold steady, we decided to cut across the mile and a half or so of open water to Siskiwit Point. Tom put on our borrowed life preserver and we set out. Twenty five minutes of hard rowing took us across the bay, and in another half hour we were shore on the beach west of Cornicopia.

## FIFTH DAY  
SATURDAY AUGUST 1, 1942

The morning was windy and rainy so we got another noon day start. Out around Squaw Point the red sandstone cliffs here where rockier, steeper, and higher that any we had yet seen. There were a few cottages on top and long ladders reached down to the flat rocks on the lake wherever usable for swimming. We later learned that these lots had been sold by a Minneapolis man at about $100 apiece. The point beyond this was even worse from a canoeist's standpoint. The cliffs were in many places 50 feet or higher with no possible landing point at their base, only overhanging ledges and some water filled caves. We used up a roll of film in our camera. The winding mechanism stuck on the first shot on a new roll, hence, the lack of pictures of this trip. Rounding the point we began to see evidence of the rainstorm in which Bayfield had been flooded several weeks before. At several points sand had been washed out in fan shaped piles into the lake 30 feet or so. Beyond these sand piles clumps of large trees lay flat on the ground and deep sand gullies ran back inland. The bay we were now in is known as Little Squaw Bay. About a quarter of a mile down the bank we saw a platform running out from the 10 foot bank above the narrow sand beach. Back of this we saw the roof of a cottage and on the beach a man was working. As we came closer he stopped work and we looked at one another. He yelled "Come ashore". We did, and were invited into his cottage to rest and get acquainted. He was Mr. A. Haugland, retired, formerly in charge of the Crane Co's Milk Plant Equipment Division. He and his wife had come here in 1939. He owned 400 acres which consisted of part of the point. His wife has since died and he is now living alone. We readily accepted his invitation for supper of an excellent steelhead salmon or lake trout which we greatly enjoyed. After dinner Mr. Haugland showed us around his place. What he called his good road to Highway #13, 2 1/2 miles to the south, had been washed out, and part of the way out he was forced to use old logging roads and fields. He took us over his ground in a pickup truck: Attached is a complete description of the place. That night we slept on a bed with an innerspring mattress in his attic instead of on the ground as we had done the previous evenings.

## SIXTH DAY  
SUNDAY AUGUST 2, 1942

Up at 7:00. Breakfast of grapefruit, hotcakes, coffee, and bacon. Tom and I did the dishes while Mr. Haugland took his truck and went out to pick up a man he had coming to work for him. As Mr. Haugland was planning to go back soon to his home in St. Paul he needed help to put his boat, an 18' x 16', heavy fishing boat, into the garage. Moving the boat took most of the morning and after dinner we went exploring.

Haugland was trying to find a better location for his road to the high ground to the south. He had found traces of a logging road to the southeast and we followed this faint trail up through the brush for several miles to the upper, intact, section of his main road. This trail would be a much better location for a road since it had no steep hills and miraculously crossed no ravines or gullies. Throughout our stay we were impressed by the importance of roads to such a spot. Without them Haugland's place is practically isolated and inaccessible except on foot. This isolation worried him considerably and had caused his decision to go home. We rode out when he took Zeigler, the helper, home.

We got stuck in a soft meadow once, but after digging out had no more trouble. Went to bed early planning to get away in the morning before the wind got too strong.

## SEVENTH DAY  
MONDAY AUGUST 3, 1942

Got up at 6:00 later than we had planned. Had breakfast and said "goodbye", pushed off with an increasing S.W. wind on our stern quarter. As we approached Sand Point the waves became too high behind us for comfort and we had to row hard to keep them on the stern. Broadside, they would have made quick work of swamping us. Sand Bay was more calm but as we approached Little Sand Point the fun began again. We raced into Little Sand Bay and went ashore at Johnson's dock. Johnson fishes and has accommodations here for tourists and deep sea fishing parties. He was working on nets and exclaimed "Holy Gee", when he saw what kind of boat we had come in. We called home for transportation after deciding that canoeing in this weather was impractical.

We moved our baggage into the room above the ice house at the foot of the dock. At about 6:00pm Dad showed up in the Buick. He had his bag, as we expected he would, and was prepared to stay.

Johnson's cabins are fitted for housekeeping and they evidently don't regularly serve meals to their guests, but we talked them into taking care of us in this respect. We had some wonderful pink lake trout for supper.

After supper we put the canoe in the water and cruised N.E. along the shore. The light canoe with three of us working: Tom in the bow, I rowing, and Dad paddling in the stern fairly raced along. On Point Detour Tom spotted two deer coming down the bank for water. We stopped rowing and watched them for several minutes. Being in the sun we weren't seen, but the breeze carried our scent and the deer soon scrambled up the bank and back into the brush. As we rounded the point the lighthouse buildings on Raspberry Island came into view. In the red light of the setting sun the buildings in their green clearing with the dark pines behind set among the surrounding islands and water made a most beautiful sight. We stopped at the clearing on Point Detour where Wayne and I had camped two years before. Here Tom saw his first porcupine drinking at the water's edge. We threw a bandana over him hoping some quills would stick but only got one. Being city people we didn't think of killing it with a stick and getting all its quills. After a short rest we paddled down to the entrance of Raspberry Bay and returned again to Little Sand Bay.

## EIGHTH DAY  
TUESDAY AUGUST 4, 1942

Got up at 7:45, had a big bacon and egg breakfast, and at about 9:00 went aboard Herman's (Johnson) boat the "Northern Light". We chugged out to his pond nets south of York Island and watched Hermy and his helper Emil lift the nets from the small rowboat used for this purpose. Tom rode in this boat with the fishermen and got a close up view of the operation. Most of the catch were suckers with the trout and whitefish numbering about one third as many as the suckers.

On the way home Hermy turned the wheel of the "Northern Light" over to Emil and cleaned the fish. This was done on a board across a barrel. A fish taken from one side was gutted on the board and thrown into a box on the other side of the barrel, into which entrails were scraped. Suckers were put in one box, trout and whitefish in another. Tom watched this intently, either interested in what was being done or admiring the finesse of the fisherman.

Had hour old fish for dinner and spent a lazy afternoon. After supper we rowed down into Sand Bay to Sand River. A deserted cabin drew our attention and we asked Hermy about it when we returned to headquarters.

Hermy, as he is known, is about 35 and was reared on Sand Island where he graduated from the eighth grade of the school which serves the 10 to 15 families living there. His father was a fisherman and Hermy inherited the business which reminds one of the free range cattle business where one merely rounds up the animals and sends them to market. On Little Sand Bay he has developed in addition to his fishing business a small tourist business and services for the Sand Islanders who use his facilities as their mainland headquarters for docking their boats, beer and conversation, gasoline, and garages for their cars. In the Winter he tells us, he passes the time sleeping late, mending nets, cutting ice and fishing for fun. "It's just like living in the city" he says, "telephone, and roads plowed right to the door." For a boy from Sand Island, that is city life.

To come back to the deserted cottage, Hermy tells us it belonged to a professor who had some queer ideas on farming and boating. He had a nice place, but apparently became discouraged after the Indians who hunt around Sand River had cleaned him out a couple of times.

## NINTH DAY  
WEDNESDAY AUGUST 5, 1942

Put the canoe on top of the car after breakfast, said good bye, and left Johnson's. Where Highway #13 crosses Sand River a huge jam of brush, trees, and old burned stumps lay against the bridge. The approaches had been washed out, but we made our way across the narrow temporary fill without incident.

We left the car at the entrance to Haugland's road and with a packsack full of food walked in to the lake, some 2 1/2 miles. As we approached the cottage the dog, Topper, came barking and growling. On seeing Tom, however, his manner abruptly changed as he recognized his playmate of several days before.

Mr. Haugland stopped work on his beach and after exchanging greetings he served us lunch.

After lunch Dad and I looked over the place and decided it was probably a little too much for an elderly man to try promoting the development which Haugland contemplates even if it were at all sure of success. Other schemes of a similar nature located from Duluth to Ashland have all failed. It seems probable that this country, with what it can offer the vacationists could be developed after the war if it is sufficiently publicized and promoted in the populations centers.

The transportation problem could be solved, it seems, with an adequate dock and a power boat.

We left Mr. Haugland at 2:30 and hiked back to the car. The drive back to Duluth was uneventful except for a coffee stop at Herbster and to show Dad the stakes on the bank where Wayne and I put them after we pitched our tent three years ago.

## Attachment

## THE 400 RANCH

The 400 RANCH consists of 400 acres on the shores of Lake Superior, Wisconsin, located on the west side of the Bayfield peninsula on Little Squaw Bay. Surrounding this peninsula are the twenty two beautiful wooded Apostle Islands the paradise of the North. Around these Islands are nature's spawning beds for the famous Superior Lake trout which are attracting national interest especially in the past four years when deep sea fishing came into prominence. This not only produced the big ones but lengthened the season greatly in which they can be caught. For trolling no fishing license is required.

The development of this property was started in 1939, when a new highway was built, making this beautiful spot accessible by automobile (which accounts for its not being developed earlier). Its rolling hills, rambling streams, and natural timber, consisting of White Birch Balsam, Hard Maple, Spruce, Pine and Mountain Ash, constitute a variety of colorful beauty.

Little Squaw Bay has a distinct climate all of its own, similar to that of Seattle, Washington, which is due to the air currents coming in from the West. The temperature seldom reached 80 degrees, or a frost, before October 15th. In 1940 our temperature chart shows but two days with a temperature of 80 degrees. The air is always clean, free from dirt and pollen an ideal spot for one affected with hay fever, etc., or for those who want to get away from the heat and noise of the city, and just let the world go by during the summer months.

Little Squaw Bay has a clean, sandy beach shoreline, extending out into the Lake for some distance with no drop-off making an ideal place for swimming no mosquitoes to bother. The water is always clean and pure no weeds in the Bay. From the sand beach inland, there is a rise from 10 to 15 feet, to a plateau. This is where the timberline starts; and here can be found the most beautiful building lots desirable in every way.

This is an ideal site for a hay fever sanitarium, with golf course, consisting of nearly 100 acres starting at the lake shore, with a plateau of about 25 feet above water level, which is best suited for building. There is a second and larger plateau with an elevation of about 40 feet, to a still larger plateau all overlooking the lake. This is very scenic as it also overlooks the valley to the North. These plateaus are surrounded by timber and a small creek running each side of them. The entire property is within the restricted district, set aside for summer places and timber reserve, which naturally makes the taxes very reasonable. Other parts of this property are particularly suited for scenic walks through the woods and hills, or perhaps for raising a garden where vegetables and flowers grow abundantly.

We have been pretty much all over this good old United States, and do not anticipate being accused of overstating or exaggerating the high points of the property.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We have overlooked mentioning that two seasons have been spent in developing this property and building lots are now for sale, for the first time!

Signed: A.I. Haugland

Bayfield Wisconsin

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# JOURNAL OF ISLE ROYALE TRIP

### July 23 Aug 1, 1945

## MONDAY JULY 23 12:15pm

W.L. Quimby with son Tom, Westy Pruddon, P.R. Moore with son Dick met at Northland Bus Depot for departure to Grand Marais on first leg of our trip. Depot crowded two busloads taken. We took our personal packs with us but had sent ahead our tents, bed rolls, cooking equipment and food. At 8:00 am the North Shore truck had called at 2619 Minnesota Point for the boats. A beautiful though somewhat warm day. We stopped briefly at Illgen City for rest and then arrived at Grand Marais at 4:00pm.

Hotel Arrowhead had rooms for us not too clean. We put away our packs and went to dock to see about boats. They had not arrived so we ate at Mopps a good place. Went back to dock and soon our truck came. Many iceboxes to unload but finally our boats went aboard undamaged. Many comments, such as "Where is your motor?" "You are certainly flirting with the undertaker with that on Lake Superior." Etc.

Tried to get some ice cream but after a long wait only two strawberry sundaes available. We looked over the Lake Shore Hotel which seemed cleaner and certainly quieter than the Arrowhead.

Westy had a long distance call from boat line re our return trip. All okay.

All retired about 9:00 pm to be called at 4:00 am tomorrow!

## TUESDAY JULY 24

At 4:00 am a knock at our door brought us out and all said the first part of the night was too noisy for sleep. The sun gave no light and it was only after clearing the harbor that the sun broke over the hills of Canada to our left. Picked up our meat from the icebox and left the hotel at 4:30.

Other passengers included a man and wife, and another man. Promptly at 5:00am we were away. A light fog held at the shore and the Grand Marais horn moaned twice each required interval. A long roll greeted us and soon all were feeling the effects the boys to such an extent they ate no breakfast. The men went below for ham, eggs, French toast, syrup, coffee, milk, jelly. The butter was on the table in pound lots, something for our war rationed eyes to feast on. All retired to top side for a rest.

At about 10:30 Rock of Ages light came into view and beyond the heights of the outer islands of Washington Harbor. To our surprises we found ourselves docking on the outer end of Washington Island whereas we had expected to go into Washington Harbor probably as far as Windigo Inn (now closed for the duration). First we knew we saw our boats coming off so hustled to follow them (first having paid $11.00 passage on them, as well as $6.50 plus 98 cents tax on each passenger water transportation seemed high to us for 54 miles since we had paid only $2.60 each, Duluth to Grand Marais which distance is 115 miles. Shows what volume can do!) Our big boxes came off, and then a dignified gentleman inquired if P.R. Moore (as shown on the crates) was a brother of D.C. Moore and this was our first meeting with George Barnum, an Isle Royale habitué. George seemed somewhat disgusted with our outfit and in no uncertain terms recommended the south side of the island saying, "You could see for yourselves, couldn't you? That wind in this direction would not permit travel on the north side." We saw no more of George.

Suddenly all human life had left the fish dock and we found ourselves alone breaking out our boxes and then loading the canoes. No one remained to tell us where to camp so we followed a suggestion from George and started for the far end of Washington Island. The big boat first and it seemed well loaded, too, but progressed at good speed. We passed Washington Island and rounded a point where a sandbar and good camping spot appeared. There the big boat came too and we waited the canoe for agreement on the spot. Shortly this was agreed upon and camp was commenced. Decision was made to spend the night here due to roll of big lake, tired feeling and a bit of sea sickness remaining. The tents went up dinner was prepared steak, boiled potatoes, peas, coffee (no tea!) and Klim. After lunch Westy went fishing. Quimby boiled up fruit into a savory mess and Dick and Moore slept. Evening meal was peanut butter sandwiches, rice with stewed fruit thereon.

A beautiful sunset found us sitting on the point contemplating the surroundings and meditating on 900,000,000 years ago when it seemed the island was covered by Lake Superior.

All went to bed by 9:30.

## WEDNESDAY JULY 25

Struck camp at 5:00 am. Bacon, eggs, oranges, bread, coffee, stewed fruit. All hands pitched in and at 7:10 we were away. Westy and Moore, with Dick steering in the big boat; Wallace and Tom in the canoe. A good following breeze took us around Cumberland Point and then we struck for Rainbow Point but found the water too rough for a cut across, so into shore we rowed and took time out for a rest. Rice and tomato soup, previously prepared by Wallace, went great here. The canoe took off first at about 900 am and the cruiser soon followed after Westy found no fish in the little river running down from Feltman Lake. Dick and Tom changed the outlet of the stream by damming its mouth.

After a half hour the canoe, with Tom and his Dad, pulled away and was soon around Rainbow Point. The cruiser followed in 15 minutes but so able did the canoe manage that it was some two miles beyond before the "cruiser" came alongside. A short conference determined on Long Point as camping place for the day. Arriving there, we found evidence of a fishing camp with a small boat, motor driven, laying off the beach. We proceeded on for 1 1/4 miles to the mouth of a small stream where good camping ground was found amongst birch and fir trees. Dinner of steak, potatoes and carrots was eaten this time in the tent due to black flies there have so far been few mosquitoes.

Later in day, George Barnum came by in his launch inquiring as to our progress. Wife and a friend with him.

Dick tried surf boat riding on the big air mattress but soon gave up due to cold water. Then Westy, Moore and Wallace tried to swim but lasted less than 10 feet each. Water ice cold. A big sleep then looked best to all and lasted until 7:00 pm when a fire was started and "soup" put on for a light pre bed snack. Bed 9:00pm with a full moon shining. When the moon rose in the east it looked like a ship on fire.

During the night a heavy animal, or several, presumably moose, visited our camp and make quite a racket as they crashed through the woods.

A big beach fire preceded bed.

## THURSDAY JULY 26

Morning found the wind in the east and it increased throughout the day. Wallace was up at 3:20 and Moore at 4:00 am. The moon was shining high and Venus in the east was big and bright. The color was just showing in the east.

It looked like travel would be possible and breakfast was prepared: bacon, eggs, coffee, fruit. The wind continued to increase and decision was to wait for calmer water, which never came that day. About 11:00 am Westy set off to visit Long Point and the other four set off in a due westerly direction, expecting to find Feltman Lookout. Many moose signs were seen and beaver dams but after following the trails about 1 1/2 miles, the party came again to Lake Superior. The shore was followed back to Long Point and thence to camp. Dinner of steak, friend onions, potatoes, tomatoes, toast and cocoa followed. All sat around a beach fire which by the way had not gone completely out since last night.

At 2:00pm "3 Old Men" went to tents for a nap. Hunger brought all out and a supper of peanut butter sandwiches, fruitcake and orange juice followed. Then a big fire was made and stories told, Dick entertaining between times with his harmonica. Bed by 10:00 pm. We expected to get up at 2:00 am but heard the wind increasing and the surf pounding all night.

Quimby and Moore were up looking things over. At 3:00, the east was bright red, a sailor's bad omen.

## FRIDAY JULY 27

A cold, gray, rainy morning greeted the late risers. Per agreement, Moore took over cooking but had such eager beavers as helpers had little to do. Table was set by Westy and the beach fire built up. Oranges, boiled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, jam quickly disappeared. The boys busied themselves getting up wood, while others washed dishes and got up day cooking wood. A small duck lost from its brothers and sisters wandered into camp but quickly made its way back to the water and soon was far out in the lake where the gulls circled over it but did not harm it.

Westy and Wallace walked to Long Point for worms while Tom sorted agates ("Who in h wants agates?"), and Dick read.

## SATURDAY JULY 28

A call at 3:00 am from Quimby brought everyone out though the pounding surf still seemed as strong as ever. "A dead roll", Wallace called. Dark clouds scurried through the air rain seemed near. However, preparations went on and breakfast of boiled eggs, toast, coffee, etc. put a better view on things.

Moore and son took the canoe and at 5:40 were away, a long roll and head wind. Slow progress. The cruiser was soon away and after an hour was up to the canoe where 15 min. was taken but the canoe kept on.

Long Point behind was a land mark for miles. The shore was heavily wooded, but rocky and foreboding. Little Boat Harbor was passed without rest and Fisherman's Home Cove and finally Port Houghton was rounded and relief immediately felt from the wind and roll. 1 1/2 miles west on the bay a site was found for lunch and rest, 13 1/2 miles from the start and time 9:30, or 4 hours. Rest of 1 hour was had and soup served, then Wallace and Tom in the canoe set out ahead of a rather stiff side wind and strong rowing and paddling was necessary to negotiate the 3 miles across. The cruiser set out later and headed for Hay Point and made it in one hour and waited for the canoe to come up the shore. Agreement was made to go on to Siskiwit River for night camp.

In the islands off shore the going was easier, though the sun was hot. About 1:30 the cruiser made landing and found a favorable camp site though "designated camp site" is never the best place for our type of camp. A large boat "Arrow" was at anchor and a tough looking crew aboard. Two members had been fishing in Siskiwit lake. The Arrow soon pulled anchor and was away.

In a half hour to the "horror" of the cruiser crew the canoe came in but towed by a, to us, strange type of lake boat. It proved to be a boat used by the Michigan Park Service and was in charge of Dr. Karl F. Lagler, Department of Zoology, University of Michigan with two female students as assistants. The party was studying Isle Royale fish and had spent three weeks at that task with two weeks to go.

Both parties camped at the site and in exchange for a steak sent over by us, they returned two fine fish, speckled trout one fully 18" long, which made an excellent supper.

Moore and son walked over to Siskiwit Lake (1 1/2 miles) but saw no moose.

The evening was grand and the islands with Isle Royale light flashing made a beautiful and restful night. All tired out, bed was welcome at 9:00pm.

## SUNDAY JULY 29

No one stirred until 5:00. A beautiful morning told us to be on our way. Breakfast of boiled eggs, milk, coffee, toast, jelly and fruit fortified us. At 7:20 the canoe was away, Westy rowing and Tom paddling and not again to be overtaken until 11:15 when the cruiser came up near Saginaw Mine, 12 miles along the shore a following wind had helped in pushing us along.

This site, though small, was beautiful and lunch was enjoyed and pictures taken by Dick. We were now so near "all weather" shelter that the successful completion of our journey seemed assured over Conglomerate Bay and on to old lighthouse and a camp site ready for the jump to Mott Island only remained.

At 1:00pm left this snug harbor and with the same fine following wind, we made fine time down the shore. Conglomerate Bay seemed a small jump. Westy and Dick in the canoe kept well ahead of the cruiser. However, it was only a short time until the canoe rounded a rock and was at the old lighthouse. This place was built in 1854 and served Rock Harbor until abandoned for a new lighthouse on Caribou Island in about 1889. The old buildings were in a good state of preservation, excepting for doors and windows, which apparently were recently closed up with canvas by the National Park Service.

Dick and Tom proceeded to the top and gave the men a hearty hello. Moore proceeded to the top of an adjacent rock where a good camp ground was discovered across on Caribou Island. Some pictures were taken, and then we crossed to the beach which had been seen from the lighthouse. While preparing to pull up the boats it was found this was just a narrow rock and across was a fine harbor with a good dock. The boats were taken around the new lighthouse to this dock and camp made at the height of the rock.

This island, we later discovered was once the headquarters for C.C.C. operations, though the main camp had been on the mainland. All that remained of the headquarters buildings, however, was a well built "John". The dock was in excellent condition, some 60' long and on one side 15' of water.

A dinner of pancakes, bacon, stewed fruit was appreciated and then a fire at the dock was built. A boat came in, with Park employees and a boy aboard. The Park man proved to be well informed on not only Isle Royale but the entire North Shore. He knew the country we had traveled in our "cruiser" in 1930 from Fort William to Michipicoten. Also, he told us that the previous evening he had "taken in" the crew of the Arrow for illegally fishing in other operators' waters. The Arrow had out nearly a mile of net.

Bed looked too good to long stay away from, and 9:00 found us fast asleep.

## MONDAY JULY 30

While Quimby got up at about 4:30, he found it too cold and returned to bed. Westy tried some fishing but no success, at 9:30 breakfast of pre war sausage, scrambled eggs, oranges, milk, coffee, jam etc. was enjoyed. More loafing followed with a trip to "Cemetery Island" made by all in the canoe. This is a small island near Caribou Island and contains several graves dating to when some of the Irish Welsh copper miners died in this port. Westy surmised the island was selected because it contained enough earth in which to dig a grave. An old rotted skiff, probably used in transporting people to Hancock in about 1850 was also observed. Beaver falls were seen.

Dinner of beans, beets, asparagus soup, good milk (Klim) and fruitcake as consumed at 4:30 pm.

Westy tried fishing while Tom, Dick, Wallace and Phil went to light and sat out on a jutting rock to look out the passage to good old, cool Lake Superior.

Later another Park man came to see us and talked for some time. He had a telegram to deliver (not for us) and we thought this good service for the Park.

Bed looked too good to resist and 9:00 o'clock found us all in bed.

## TUESDAY JULY 31

Our last day! A beautiful morning cool and a bit foggy. Breakfast of scrambled eggs a la Quimby (in a double boiler) proved good to eat but hard to wash the boiler. Bacon, fruit, coffee, oatmeal completed the meal.

We began to leisurely pack up. Tents came down and bedding was aired. Camp cleaned up and the cruiser and canoe packed at 1:20. A beautiful row up the harbor brought us to Park Headquarters in two miles. Mr. Boggley was Chief of Service. We unloaded and brought our boats and truck to place assigned us and awaited the S.S. South America. A light lunch was eaten on the dock. The big boat was an inspiring sight sailing up the narrow harbor. 490 passengers aboard streamed off. The folks from the lodge 5 miles up the harbor came to tend "store". Barbara Lee and her friend as an Indian maid were among the group. Barbara liked her work very much. Tom and Dick returned to the lodge in one of the boats and got 22 packages of cigarettes for the girls' daddies in Duluth. After some grumbling our boats went on top deck, and Westy and Moore arranged for rooms while Quimby supervised the loading of the boats.

Cost of room, each, was $20.70 for the Quimby room and $22.43, each, for the room where Prudden, Moore and Dick slept. Looked high to us but it included 2 meals. The cost of returning the boats was as yet undetermined.

By 6:00 o'clock (7:00 ship time) the boys were back from the lodge and all went in to dinner and everyone enjoyed the service and white table cloths, though we missed the view and the coolness of our camps. All were on deck to see the ship pass out through the narrow channel at Caribou Island. We hailed our camp site there and found Dr. Lagler and his companions encamped there. The ship struck well out from shore but then lined up with the island and seemed to check Isle Royale light, the later Rock of Ages light and then straight for Duluth.

We remained up until we saw Long Point where we had been storm bound for two days, then after Tom treated to ice cream we retired, the boys remaining up to inspect the ship.

With the 2 miles rowed today we completed just 50 miles of rowing as follows:

July 24 Booth Dock to camp site =1 mi.  
July 25 Camp site to Long point = 10 mi.  
July 28 Long Point to Siskiwit River = 22 mi.  
July 29 Siskiwit River to Caribou Is. = 15 mi.  
July 31 Caribou Is. to Park Hdqtrs. = 2 mi.  
Total = 50 mi.

The ship's foghorn was a discordant note from about 12:30 on. We concluded the only difficulty in our style of camping is when we leave civilization (Arrowhead Hotel, Grand Marais) or return to it (Ship's foghorn). All were up hoping to catch an early glimpse of Duluth but fog prevented and only by careful maneuvering did the Ship's Captain strike directly between the piers of the canal.

We docked only 15 minutes late. Mrs. Moore came down for breakfast. The boats were lowered to the water and the luggage unloaded and divided.

The Quimbys rowed away and the Moores and Prudden drove away, all firmly believing this was the best of our lake trips and hoping to go again soon.

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# Trip to Hermit Island

### 1907

### By Wallace L. Quimby

Recently I read "The Country of the Pointed Firs" first published in 1896. In that narrative the author Sarah Orne Jewett describes the scenery and people of a section of the Maine Coast.

In the preface I found a quotation: "The thing that teases the mind over and over for years and at last gets itself put down rightly on paper, whether little or great, it belongs to literature". While I feel the compulsion to write my story of an unusual outing I do not have any idea or ambition to have it classed as literature, I do intend to pass along what I am writing to Russell Maynard and perhaps the only other one who will read my narrative is the person who will type it for me.

History and tradition tell us that some of the great teachers of the past, retired to the wilderness to escape organized living and profound scholars continue to explain the inspirations they obtained. So if an ordinary individual takes a similar break, he can be excused if he accumulates pleasant memories which remain with him for the rest of his life.

During the Winter of 1906 and the Spring of 1907, I worked as a car checker or yard clerk for the Northern Pacific Railroad. This was in the heyday of railroading. No com-petition from truck lines or air transports. Railroad men were the kings of labor.

The Rices Point Yard at Duluth was approximately a mile in length and had fifty-five parallel tracks. This was where the cars of incoming freight trains were sorted for placement at different business institutions. Locally loaded cars were placed here for assembly into outbound freight trains. There were always hundreds of empties waiting to be assigned to some place on the railroad system. In the late fall and early winter months the yard was jammed with arriving grain loads and the great number of cars which had been loaded with coal at the several coal docks. There were occasions when delays in getting loaded cars to their destinations were fatal to the contents. I remember a load of beer caught in a freeze, the kegs or bottles burst and beer icicles hung all around the outside lower part of the car.

The duties of the car checkers were to get a complete daily record of all cars on the various tracks to check car numbers and seal number on all outbound trains and see that the cars of inbound trains were tagged for guidance of the switching crew in distributing these cars. Car Checkers worked in two twelve hour shifts 7 A.M. to 7 P.M. and 7 P.M. to 7 A.M. and seven days a-week. We were kept on the move up and down the yard in all kinds of weather. I worked the night shift which meant that during the winter month's work was always done by the light of a railroad lantern. When it was raining we oiled our cardboard switch lists on which records were made so that the pencil notations would be legible and the paper would not become pulp. In below zero weather the signal oil in our lanterns would often solidify leaving us in the dark. Nothing to do but return to the yard office, place the lantern on the big pot bellied stove for thawing and start out again. One of the problems always under discussion was how to protect our hands in freezing weather. As our work required continuous writing, any type of glove or mitten was encumbrance. The most favored covering for the hands was a loose thin woolen mitten. For awhile I adopted the idea of having two heavy sheep skin lined mittens dangling at my waist from a cord around my neck. I wrote bare handed, frequently stuffing my hands in the mittens to warm them. Traveling on the cinder fills between the tracks quickly wore out shoe soles.

Along in May 1907, I began to be fed up with being continuously on duty. Seven months had elapsed since I had taken any time off and I started to think of the delights of a camping trip down the shores of Lake Superior. Russell Maynard who had been working a long stint at his family's grocery store on Park Point was a kindred spirit about making a get away from the job.

I arranged for a ten day leave of absence, no paid vacations connected with my employment. Just before midnight on my last night on duty an inbound freight train consisting of about a dozen box cars pulled up in front of the yard office. The conductor brought in his waybills, signed the book and was instructed to drop his drag on Track #1 at the north end of the yard. After the inbound desk clerk had recorded the car number on a switch list and made out the cards specifying the switching instructions for each car, I took these records and walked the half mile to where the train had been dropped. I found the cars on the lead extension instead of track #1. I made a mental note to tell the yard master of this discrepancy. I then proceeded along one side of the train tacking on the cards that contained switching instructions and writing down the seal numbers, then back down the other side getting the numbers on the seals looped through the door fastenings on that side of the train. Having finished this work, I headed back towards the yard office. When I was about a hundred yards from the cars I had just checked, I heard a terrific crash behind me and one of the cars came rolling down the lead, stopping near me. I turned back and found most of the cars in a jumbled broken heap, something like what happens when a child knocks over a structure of building blocks. About the time I had left the yard office a transfer crew had telephoned the yard office from Missabe Junction stating that they were bringing in a long string of empty steel ore cars. These were for assignment to coal docks for coal to be delivered to Iron Range points. The yard master informed the foreman of the transfer crew that the main lead was open and told him where the cars should be switched in on storage tracks at the lower end of the yard. Accordingly this drag came high balling down the lead with the engine pushing the string of cars and crashed into the box cars which I had just finished checking.

As the lead and one of the main line tracks were blocked the wrecking train which was parked near the round house not more than a quarter of a mile away, was immediately ordered out and got to work on the debris in the early morning. Some of the cars were loaded with shipments for wholesale grocery houses. Packages and cases which were not broken open were stacked for delivery. Broken packages were dumped into the trash car. It occurred to me some of the not so mutilated groceries would augment the supplies we had listed for our camping trip. So before all of the scrambled mish mash of broken packages was scooped up I retrieved about forty pounds of prunes, between fifty and a hundred cigars and approximately ten pounds of hard candy. I carried these items across Rices Point to the Bay and hid them under a dock.

During the next day Russell and I were busy assembling our camping equipment. We had hoped to get away in the early afternoon but we were slowed down by many unforeseen incidents like Russell's final duties at the store and borrowing some items that we did not own. As I had run short of food on a camping trip of the previous fall, I vigorously promoted the idea of taking a surplus quantity of groceries. I remember that among our supplies were a ten pound sack of corn meal, a ham, five pounds of smoked sausage, several packages of Aunt Jeminas pancake flour, syrup, loaves of bread, beans and a liberal supply of canned goods. All of this was packed in fifty pound lard tins.

Our boat was an unusual craft and ordinarily would not have been selected for the kind of trip we were planning. It was more of a scow than a row boat. This craft had been built by the Maynards in the years before the Aerial Bridge was constructed. It had been used for ferrying supplies from the grocery wholesale houses. This semi-scow had also been used for bringing coal across the Bay from the coal docks. In size the boat was more than twenty feet in length square stern with a V shaped bow. I hesitate to state its width, probably six feet more or less. Because of its width the only feasible places for rowing were two thwarts up in the narrowing part of the bow. Even there the one who had the seat towards the stern was forced to use extra long oars.

We finally got away in the early evening, first crossing the Bay to pick up the salvaged supplies I had hid at the end of the Pioneer Coal Dock. We then headed down the Bay for the Superior entry with the two of us rowing a leisurely stroke. To balance off the weight of the two of us rowing in the bow all of our equipment was piled in the stern with my dog Fido sitting on the stern seat. There was enough vacant space amid ships to hold a dance. Because of the light load our cumbersome craft had very slight draft and the rowing was surprisingly easy.

About midnight we passed into the Lake through the Superior entry and followed down the beaches of Wisconsin Point. The lake was a flat calm and the sky was clear and starlit. Between one and Two o'clock we were well down towards the base of Wisconsin Point and decided it was time to get some sleep. We pulled the boat up the slightly shelving beach, rolled out our tent and a large tarpaulin for ground cover, got between our blankets and quickly went to sleep. The sun was shining in our faces when we woke up about 6 A.M. So after a hearty breakfast prepared over a drift wood fire we proceeded along the South Shore. The lake was only slightly ruffled by a breeze and we were well satisfied to be easily rowing along the pleasant shore were the narrow beaches were backed by high clay banks which were topped with interesting looking woods.

About the middle of the forenoon we entered the Amnicon River thru a narrow channel in the river mouth sand bar. In the wide slough inside the sand bar we found Charlie Lawrence of Part Point and his son booming up some logs which they had collected along the lake beaches. They had built a neat two room cabin from driftwood planks on the west side of the slough. After a short visit with the Lawerences we rowed up the river to the abandoned log cabin where I had camped for two weeks during the previous October. This was the place we proposed to make our head quarters during our ten day vacation. After eating a meal prepared over a fire outside the cabin we decided a midday nap was in order as neither one us had much sleep during the past forty or more hours. We loaded the top wide bunk with freshly cut balsam boughs, placed our folded tent and blankets over these and after draping our mosquito net over the head of our bed, turned in for the needed sleep. After a couple of hours sleep we were awakened by a thumping racket. Opposite the bunks, there was a built in plank table. Fido was on top of this table and in great distress. We saw a porcupine departing thru the open door. Fido had tackled this intruder and had a snout full of quills just like a well filled pin cushion. We immediately got up and went to work extracting the quills from Fido's nose and lower jaw. Lacking a pair of pliers we used a clipping device designed for cutting off the ends of cigars. After an hour's work over our struggling crying dog we had most of the quills removed. The balance of the quills just worked themselves into Fido's system. I had told Russell about the attractive net work of trails thru the woods near the cabin. In the late afternoon we started a tour of the woods. Due to spring rains these trails were decidedly different from the dry condition in which I had found them the previous October. Where I had formerly traveled dry paths there were pools of water and much of the ground was like a swamp. We cut short our expedition and returned to the cabin. That evening we were plagued with clouds of mosquitoes and tried to protect ourselves with a smudge fire. After getting into our bunk and the refuge provided by the mosquito netting we discussed our situation and decided we would pitch our tent near the shore where the lake breezes would cause the mosquitoes to be less plentiful. So early in the morning we rowed down to the river mouth sand bar and prepared breakfast fanned by a fresh breeze from the lake.

Later we went over to the Lawrence's cabin and chatted with them while they were having breakfast. The time was still early morning as in this northern latitude in the month of June day break was around 3 A.M. We told the Lawerences about the mosquitoes torturing us in the upriver camp and our plan to pitch our tent near the Lake beach. Charlie Lawrence response to this was "Why don't you boys go on to the Apostle Islands. There are hardly any mosquitoes at the islands." We gathered that the Lawerences did not care much about having our company at the mouth of the Amnicon. Perhaps they were afraid that we also might become interested in the collection of logs along the nearby beaches. Apparently a great many logs had escaped from the rafts being towed to the mills at Duluth and Superior during the spring months. The thought of cruising to the Apostle Islands interested us and Charlie Lawrence promoted the idea in a big way. We had a large tarpaulin which we had brought along for the purpose of covering equipment in the boat when there was rain and to fold up and use as a floor in the tent. Lawrence said he could help us make a sail with this piece of canvas and that with the westerly winds which were prevailing we could sail to the Apostle Islands in one day. We quickly fell in with this plan.

On the beach we found a small bleached driftwood tree from which the branches were trimmed. This served for a mast and Lawrence got out his tools to make a bracket and well in the bow into which the mast would be stepped.

The mast and canvas were laid out on the beach. Our sail was nailed to the mast and boom rigged to lie diagonally across the sail, from the lower inside corner of the sail to the upper outside corner. Someone described this as a leg-o-mutton sail. From rope we had in our equipment and supplemented by what Lawrence gave us we rigged up stays and a sheet, Soon we pushed off and headed east before a gentle westerly breeze. As we passed the mouth of the Brule the whistle of the stave mill located on the east side of the river let go it's 12 o'clock whistle blast. As we had left the Amnicon Ten miles back at 7 o'clock this indicated to us that our progress had been about two miles per hour. In the afternoon the breeze freshened kicking up small waves. Running before this westerly breeze our flat bottomed craft went over these waves with a continuous ker-slap. Beyond the Brule the character of the shore started to change from clay banks to sand stone ledges. We cruised about a quarter mile off shore and had an opportunity to inspect all of the detail of this coast. This was a most enjoyable day, bright sunshine, a cool breeze and it was pleasant to be idle after two days of rowing and other activity. We did not feel the burden of any responsibilities left behind us and had no concern about what was ahead of us. Undoubtedly we were at the right age to thoroughly enjoy the type of expedition on which we were started. Russell was eighteen years old and I was nineteen. We did not have a map of the area for which we were headed but in general knew that the Apostle Islands were ahead of us. Eight years previously I had been on an excursion to Bayfield with my parents on the whale back passenger boat, the Christopher Columbus and I had some hazy ideas about the islands.

About the middle of the afternoon we came to the village of Orienta at the mouth of Iron River. As the Maynards had acquaintance with a family living there, we decided to go ashore for a brief visit. We found these people and I remember that they had two teen age boys living with them who had recently arrived from Ireland. The village had less than a dozen houses a small hotel or boarding house. There were some substantial stone filled timber crib piers on both sides of the river mouth. A narrow gauge railroad ran from the shore back to a sandstone quarry further up the river. There were quite a number of logs in the river, probably salvaged from the beaches. We had seen many beached logs as we passed along the shore.

Later in the afternoon we passed Port Wing and noted the activity at the sandstone quarry about a mile to the west of the harbor entry. The fresh westerly breeze continued and as we slipped along the shore from point to point in the bright sunshine we were reminded of the song "Over the summer sea, etc."

In the late evening twilight we arrived at the end of Bark Point. In the distance about twelve miles we could see Sand Point. Beyond Bark Point several deep bays penetrated inland, Bark Bay, Siskiwit Bay and Squaw Bay. At the time we were not familiar with the geography of the locality and did not know these names as we were without a map. We decided that since we had a favorable wind astern that we would head across the open stretch of water to Sand Point. Soon it was real dark with an overcast sky. Even though we felt safe in running before the wind, feeling sure that we would hit the distant land we had seen before darkness blotted out the shores. Russell spread the blankets in the bottom of the boat for a nap. I remained in charge of the steering oar over the stern and had the sheet fastened so that I could trim the sail from time to time. Around midnight high land loomed up ahead. As I got nearer it appeared that the shore was a vertical cliff formation. I aroused Russell telling him that we were approaching land. He woke up in a very bad humor saying we have had enough of this and we will go ashore right now. He did not seem to realize that there was nothing in the way of a landing place ahead of us and continued to be insistent about making a landing. So with the remark, "Well it is your boat," I handed him the steering oar. In a few minutes we were close to the high rocky shore with the waves sloshing against the foot of the cliff and into the crevices. Not a good situation in a flat bottomed boat, with the sail nailed to the mast. We turned the boat to the north and I put one oar out on the side towards the cliff. I rowed vigorously. This combination of sailing and rowing kept us off the rocks. The sandstone cliffs had been worn into fantastic shapes and gullies with an occasional cave. The appearance of the shore reminded me of pictures of ancient ruins appearing in the Ridpath history we had at home. After less than an hour of this maneuvering, the cliff formation ended and we came to a sand beach where we landed and pulled the boat out of the water using a couple of small logs as rollers. We immediately built a fire, opened two cans of Campbell's tomatoes soup which along with some bread gave us our first hot food in about twenty hours. How we did relish this hot soup! Always in after years when I am served tomato soup I picture two of us sitting near our fire which made a small circle of light on the sand beach. The boat pulled up near us and Fido sitting on his haunches with a quizzical doubtful looks on his face. After our quick and satisfying repast we spread our tent on the sand for a ground cloth and got between our blankets. We did not have any idea as to our location or surroundings. We thought it a good idea to load the shot gun and place it alongside our bed. We put the forty-five revolver under the folded jackets that served as pillows. We went to sleep very quickly. The breeze off the cold Lake Superior was like the world's best air conditioning and this location a few yards from the small waves that made a soothing swishing sound as they rolled on to the beach.

The sun was quite high when Russell nudged me awake saying "Look Wallie". To my surprise there were a group of buildings about a hundred yards up the beach. We immediately walked over to the buildings and found this was a deserted lumber camp with empty skid ways leading down to the edge of the water. Equipment remaining about the place indicated that it had been occupied until quite recently. Looking into the bunk house we saw an improvised card table made from an upside-down wooden box with slats nailed at the corners for legs. After a hearty breakfast we pushed off and started northward along the shore towards Sand Point which was less than two miles from our camping spot. Out in the lake we spotted Eagle Island the first of the Apostle group. The westerly breeze was continuing and pushing us along at a comfortable speed.

Rounding Sand Point, we entered a large bay (Sand Bay) lying between the mainland and Sand Island. We steered across the crescent of Sand Bay, and in a couple of hours made Point Detour. This was the head of the Bayfield Peninsula and from here the mainland broke away to the south. Now we could see islands in every direction. Our plan was to follow down the shore until we arrived at Bayfield where we planned to buy a map of the area.

The favoring breeze continued as we passed the mouth of Raspberry Bay and continued down the shore. Early in the afternoon we met the Booth steam boat Barker in the wide channel between Oak Island and the main land. The Barker veered off its course, evidently to look us over. The crew and passengers came to the rail giving us a long stare. Our scow like craft with the improvised sail undoubtedly was an unusual sight and had evidently aroused considerable curiosity. Late in the afternoon we rounded Red Cliff Point and caught sight of a village some miles down the shore. Later we learned this was the saw mill town of Redcliff. Here the land veered to the southwest and we began to have sailing difficulties trying to beat into the west wind which had freshened considerably. Suddenly quite a violent squall hit us and we decided to run before the wind to the nearest island which was three or four miles out in the lake to the east of us. We came boiling up to this island coasted around to the leeward where we found a narrow beach backed by thick woods. Most of the shore was an abrupt sandstone formation. We put up our tent, cut some balsam boughs for a bed and prepared a meal. Early in the evening too large shaggy dogs approached our camp barked threatenly and then departed. This indicated to us that the island was inhabited. Our sleep that night was not altogether comfortable as the mosquitoes were annoying and we were disturbed about getting back to the main land and following the shore down to Bayfield.

The next morning while we were eating breakfast a man and a boy in a skiff came rowing down the shore and stopped near our camp. The man had something of a hostile attitude and his reply to our greetings was not friendly. They finally came close to the beach and we explained that we were from Duluth on a vacation trip. The man became more amiable and finally pulled up to the beach. He really thawed out when we gave him a handful of cigars. He proceeded to tell us that his name was Bill Conklin that he was custodian of a lumber camp on the other side of the island and that he had a number of fishing nets at various points around the island. He explained his initial questioning attitude towards us was that when he first saw our tent he assumed that we were thieving Indians from the Red Cliff Reservation which is on the main land a short distance north of Bayfield.

Conklin told us that the boy Oliver, about 12 years of age, was the son of a friend and was living with him during the summer school vacation. He told us that there was a old unoccupied house near the lumber camp and that this would be a good camping spot for us if we planned to remain on the island for several days. In fact he indicated that he would enjoy having our company. We were told that the Island on which we had landed was known as Hermit Island or Wilson Island.

Conklin a sturdy man with a heavy black mustache and the boy, Oliver were engaged in lifting nets, so we left them and rowed a couple of miles to the other side of the island. Here we found an abandoned quarry. The several buildings which had been put up in connection with the quarry operation were now being used as quarters for a lumbering operation which was closed down during the summer months. On a high wooded cliff slightly jutting out into the lake and just east of the quarry was a building having the appearance of a cross between a Victorian mansion and a Swiss Chalet. Two stories and a tower or cupola. Some planning had been done to keep the building in harmony with its surroundings and all outside walls were shingled with cedar bark. Vandals had done a rather thorough job in wrecking the place but on the second floor we found a large room which had a fire place. We immediately decided that this would be our home for several days. We were tired and on our journey from Duluth we had not been getting an adequate amount of sleep. My face and the back of my hands were badly blistered from sunburn. I have the kind of skin that goes with red hair and the fact that I had worked nights for many months further reduced my resistance to sunburn. I was glad to find this refuge from the sun.

We unloaded all of our equipment and carried it up the steep path to the house. Our alarm clock was placed on the heavy sandstone mantle over the fireplace. We had a broom which enabled us to sweep out some accumulated trash. The room had a large closet which we fixed up for sleeping quarters by putting our folded tent on the floor and hanging our mosquito netting over the doorway.

In the middle of the forenoon Conklin and Oliver returned with a considerable catch of fish and for an hour or more were busy cleaning these fish. The trout and whitefish were placed on ice. The herring were salted and put in kegs. We were presented with a trout for our noon meal. During the next three days Russell and I enjoyed leisure and the comforts of our camp. My sunburn was painful after the blisters broke and the skin started to peel. We occupied ourselves with preparing meals and as we had a good supply of reading material we had an enjoyable period of relaxation.

After a couple of idle days we decided that we would do some fishing. In our equipment we had a hundred foot net, the mesh was the size used for catching herring. We told Conklin about this net and also informed him that we had no previous experience in handling a net. He immediately took over and rigged our net with floats and weights putting in vertical slats-at the ends. He explained that the net should stand like a fence on the lake bottom. Under his direction we placed the net in a favorable location.

We adopted Conklin's daily program of getting out to the nets around four o'clock in the morning. The five nets which Conklin had set along the shores of the island produced a considerable catch. Each one of these nets was several hundred feet in length. The procedure of pulling these nets across his boat and removing the fish added up to considerable labor. Later at the dock and fish house there was the operation of cleaning the fish. The trout and white fish were placed in boxes of crushed ice. The herring and suckers were salted and placed in kegs of brine. We were surprised to see the suckers being preserved in this manner. Conklin told us that he received only a small payment for the suckers and explained that the Booth Company sent them to Chicago where there was a market for these low priced fish among certain foreign groups. By the time the fish were put away disposition made of the refuse, the tables, floors, dock and boat flushed with water, it was generally noon and the main part or the day's work was done. Our small net never contained more than a dozen fish. We generally had a white fish or a trout for our noon meal. Conklin furnished us with a keg insisting that when we returned home we should have a fifty pound keg of fish to justify our trip.

Several times we were invited to have meals with Conklin and the boy Oliver. Usually a white fish stew or chowder was served, potatoes, onions and other available vegetables were boiled with the fish. We learned that Conklin was known thru out the area as Whitefish Bill because of his talent for making these delectable stews. He suggested that we stop addressing him as Mr. Conklin and call him Bill or just Whitefish.

Whitefish seemed to have adopted us and in return for his hospitality we helped him with his chores and the handling of the fish.

Often in the early afternoon we took a nap. Preparation of our meals took some time and we had plenty of reading matter to occupy the hours when we were not exploring the island or taking advantage of favorable breezes to sail towards the other islands. The cedar house was ideally located to catch the lake winds and the views from the tower were most entrancing. Lake Superior weather at this time of the year was most ideal, long sunny days combined with cool breezes off the frigid water. We had a swim each day but never stayed in the cold water for any length of time.

Occasionally Whitefish or Oliver visited us at our quarters. We gave Whitefish more than half of our supply of cigars and Oliver made some heavy inroads on our supply of hard candy, to which he was more than welcome.

Whitefish was a rugged character about 45 years of age and had spent much of his life among the islands as a fisherman. He worked in the lumber camps of the Bayfield area during the winter months. He gave us much of the lore and fragments of history connected with this district. The abandoned sandstone quarry was a huge opening gouged into the side of the island indicating that a great quantity of stone had been removed. We were told that this and other Apostle Island quarries had been worked during the eighteen eighties and nineties. All of these workings had been long closed down, probably due to the fact that concrete and brick construction were taking the place of brown stone. We remarked to Whitefish that the large quarry back at Port Wing was still being operated. He told us that the sandstone of the Port Wing area was much superior to the Apostle Island sandstone in hardness and texture. He said that Apostle Island sandstone had been used in construction of the court house at Milwaukee. After several years this stone started to weather very badly, deep grooves and holes appearing in places like window ledges. Several experiences of this nature depressed the market for sandstone from the Apostle Island area.

Whitefish spun a romantic yarn about the cedar house in which we were residing. Back about 1890 an elderly man who was one of the backers of the quarry operations acquired a young wife. Both of them were enthralled with the natural beauty of Hermit Island and the magnificent views from the high cliff near the quarry. Here they built the unique house which was now a temporary home for Russell and I. The furnishings were of the most luxurious type including a grand piano. All went well during the glorious summer and fall days but when bleak winter arrived, the young wife was unable to stand the solitude and escaped across the ice to Bayfield abandoning home and husband. The husband ceased to spend any amount of time at the house. At various times the house was raided and all of the furnishings were gradually stolen, the final result being the still very attractive ruin which we had found. Whitefish also had a vague story about a hermit by the name of Wilson who had lived on the island in the long distant past. There was a tradition that Wilson had buried some treasure and at times there had been exploration and digging for this treasure.

Whitefish was very proud of his two dogs. They were large dogs about the size of mastiffs but had shaggy coats. He fed them liberal quantities of fish and the leavings from his table. Much of the time they ranged the wooded island and undoubtedly ran down rabbits and other small game to supplement the food which Whitefish gave them. In the winter they were used as sled dogs for inter island travel. To show us their pulling power Whitefish harnessed them to the sled and drove them over a path near the quarry. The dogs showed great enthusiasm for this display of their strength and ability. While our spaniel, Fido, made friends with these huge dogs he did not show any desire to roam the woods with them. Probably at eleven years of age he got more enjoyment out of taking naps near our fire and contemplating the surroundings from the stern seat of our boat.

As I think of our absolute contentment from day to day I am reminded of the stories in Greek Mythology about the lotus eaters. After about ten days had elapsed we decided that we should make a trip to Bayfield. One of our reasons for making the trip was that before we left the Amnicon, Charlie Lawrence had told us that in a few days he would be towing some logs to the Duluth-Superior harbor and that he would be at his Park Point home for several days. I had ordered some fishing tackle from a mail order house and this fishing tackle had not arrived at the time Russell and I had left Duluth. We had asked Lawrence to telephone my parents and request them to forward the mail order package to Bayfield. We also wanted to write our folks about our pleasant situation at Hermit Island and our decision to be away for about one month instead of ten days, as originally planned. Then too, I felt an obligation to write the Yard Master and the Chief Clerk at the Northern Pacific Yard office telling them about my delay in returning to my job.

As westerly winds came up nearly every day and strengthened towards noon, we made a start in the early morning calm and rowed the ten miles to Bayfield arriving there before noon. We found an attractive camping spot south of the town. While Russell watched camp I went to town. My first call was at the Barber shop. My sunburned face had ceased to be painful but it was a mass of peeling skin and as I had not shaved since leaving Duluth, the combination of beard stubble with peeling skin made me uncomfortable as well as giving me a disreputable appearance. There were quite a number of men at the three chair barber shop. This was in the days before there was a perfection of safety razors and in every community a large proportion of the male population depended on the barber for their shaves as well as their hair cuts. One of the patrons seated in a barber chair observed that I was a stranger and engaged me in a conversation. This individual was a member of a local clan named Boutin (pronounced Bu-tan.) He was about thirty years of age and had the dress and manner of a prosperous business man. I told him about the voyage that Russell and I had made from Duluth and that we were camping on Hermit Island. He was greatly interested in our experiences and agreed that we were having an ideal vacation.

Much of the conversation in the barber shop was about commercial fishing but there was also considerable speculation about the ventures that were being made in fruit growing and the cultivation of berries. I gathered that the Boutins were one of the larger operators in the fishing industry. The talkative individual who had engaged me in conversation stated that he and his associates were having unusually good results and even this early in the season they were piling up a reserve. One of the barbers questioned "Perhaps you have put away a thousand". The reply was "Long ago." After our friend had departed one of the barbers remarked "Those Boutin boys sure can shoot the bull".

When I got into the chair for my shave, the barber remarked that I had the worst case of sunburn he had ever seen and he was reluctant to start shaving me. Finally he proceeded taking off both whiskers and dead skin, leaving my face looking like a raw beef steak. He applied a soothing lotion and released me from the chair with sympathetic remarks. While my face looked bad, the painful period was really in the past and in the next two or three days I was all healed up but with a complexion nearly as red as my hair.

After leaving the barber shop I went to both the post office and express office hoping to find my package of fishing tackle. No mail from home, no package. I found a home bakery run by two elderly ladies and purchased several loaves of bread. Next at the butcher I bought a good sized beef steak. At the drug store I purchased picture post cards and a map showing a section of the South Shore and all of the Apostle Islands.

On returning to camp, Russell joined me in my disappointment over not having received mail from home. We decided to wait until the next day and make another try for mail or express. We thoroughly relished the steak and bread, the feast of fresh meat the first since we had left Duluth. Our original supply of bread had been used up early in the trip.

In our pleasant camp we spent the balance of the afternoon writing messages on the post cards and reading the newspapers I had purchased. I wrote the N.P. Yard Office that I was detained at the Apostle Islands and that my return was indefinite.

The next forenoon after the arrival of the train bearing mail, Russell made the trip into town but again we did not have mail or an express package. We bought some more bread and some groceries. Early in the afternoon running before a strong westerly wind we sailed over to Hermit Island in a couple of hours. Here we fell into the routine of comfortable living which we had previously established and continued to avoid thoughts of returning to Duluth. We theorized that since we had come down to the Apostle Islands with a west wind, we would wait for an east wind and then sail home.

Approximately a week after our return from Bayfield, Whitefish was faced with a problem. He began to run out of ice in which he packed his trout and whitefish. The Booth steam boat Barker made regular trips thru the islands delivering ice to the fishing stations and picking up fresh fish. On two trips the Barker had not responded to the signal flag which Whitefish had raised at his dock. Because of this situation Whitefish said that it would be necessary for him to make an immediate trip to Bayfield dispose of his fresh fish. I volunteered to go with him and early in the morning of July 3rd we started for Bayfield in his skiff. We took turns rowing and arrived at Bayfield in the middle of the forenoon. I assisted Whitefish in carrying his boxes of fish to the Booth receiving warehouse and then sat down on the edge of the porch outside the office while Whitefish was being paid for his fish delivery and listened to him register his protest about the Barker not stopping at his dock when he had put out his flag signal.

Where I was seated I was out of sight of both parties but could hear what they were saying.

The ensuing conversation between the two men was not only startling but definitely shocking to me. The Booth manager questioned Whitefish as to what kind of a gang was hanging out at Hermit Island. He went on to say that one night in the previous week and unoccupied summer home between Bayfield and Washburn had been burned to the ground. The next day a peculiar looking sail boat had been observed departing from a point south of Bayfield and sailing to Hermit Island. The manager explained that there was a growing suspicion that a gang headquartering at Hermit Island had plundered the cottage and then burned it to cover their depredations. The circumstances and date coincided with our sailing back to Hermit Island the previous week.

Whitefish vigorously came to our defense, telling how we had come down from Duluth on a vacation trip. He repeatedly said "they are as innocent as babies". He described Russell as a grocery clerk and said that I was some kind of a book keeper. Whitefish did a really good job in convincing the Booth manager that we were not desperadoes or arsonists.

After finishing his business at Booth Fisheries Whitefish headed for the saloon and insisted that I should come along for at least one drink. The saloon was a large room with a long bar and was doing a rushing business. The date was July 3, 1907. A crowd had assembled to get a head start in celebrating the Fourth of July. There were men from the shore and island fishing stations, lumber jacks from some camps that were operating during the summer, saw mill workers from Red Cliff and of course the regular habitués of the establishment. I might add that there were some sons of habitués making a business of caging drinks.

Whitefish was greeted with great acclaim as everyone in the place seemed to know him and many had not seen him for many months. Whitefish immediately set up the drinks for his friends. After having a beer I excused myself stating that I had business at the Post Office, the Express Office and wanted to make some purchases. I told Whitefish I would wait for him at the point where our boat was beached. Again I found that there was nothing from home in the way of mail. After buying some bread and other supplies I returned to the boat and proceeded to kill time by reading the Saturday Evening Post that I had purchased at the drug store.

After I had waited three hours or more Whitefish came reeling down to the shore and he was shouting drunk. We got into the boat and even though this was a flat bottom craft of the dory type, he insisted on putting up the sail and trying to tack into a head wind. For more than two hours we sailed back and forth in front of the Bayfield docks without making any headway towards Hermit Island. All of the time Whitefish was sounding off with the maudlin non-sense typical of a drunken person. Finally I persuaded him to take down the sail and let me row. Soon we were passing along the shore of Basswood Island with Whitefish Bill indulging in loud mouthed song and story. At the south end of Basswood there was an abandoned quarry with several buildings close to the water. Just beyond these buildings on the flat solid rock shore a strange looking man hailed us and motioned that we were to come ashore. This individual had a long snowy white beard and white hair down to his shoulders. He was wearing a white smock which came to his knees and was holding a long staff. This apparition reminded me of pictures in the old testament section of an illustrated history of the bible given me by my Grandmother when I was a small boy.

Our bearded friend helped me get Whitefish ashore and into the nearest building. This was a machine shop and we assembled some empty burlap sacks on which we bedded Whitefish. I accompanied the bearded one to his small two room cottage up the slope from the quarry and its buildings. Like the living quarters of most old men living alone the interior was real disorderly. The old chap told me that his name was Pugh and that he was employed as watchman for the quarry property. He was a saintly character and the way he phrased his conversation, one would think that he had learned his speech from the bible and religious books. I have since concluded that the old fellow was approaching his dotage and was deliberately playing the part of a biblical character. I remarked about his hair and beard being a pure white. His explanation was that he had been a red head and that in old age red hair often changed to white instead of gray.

Pugh prepared a meal consisting of rather stale bread and tea. This scanty repast reminded me of the passage in Ivanhoe where the Black Knight visits the friar at his forest retreat and is offered a handful of pulse and a drink of water from the spring.

I told Pugh how Russell and I had come from Duluth and were camping in the cedar house at Hermit Island. He was emphatic about Hermit Island being a bad place for us. He stated that the roughians of the area often assembled at the Cedar House or the quarry buildings before the lumber company repaired these buildings and put a watchman in charge. He said these groups were no better than pirates and that they often brought squaws from the reservation for their drunken orgies. According to Pugh, Sodom and Gomorrah were tame villages as compared to Hermit Island when one of those parties was in full swing.

After our frugal repast and while Pugh was puttering around washing the cups and putting away the bread I went down to the machine shop to check on Whitefish. I found him rampaging around with a small sledge hammer knocking parts off the machinery. When he saw me he exclaimed, "Where is old Pugh," I stated that Pugh would be along any minute Whitefish immediately collapsed on the gunny sack bed and went into an act of being a mumbling drunk. Pugh suggested that it might be advisable to spend the night with him so that Whitefish could get sobered up. I told him that if I could get my companion into the boat we would have no trouble in rowing the seven or eight miles to Hermit Island. We assisted Whitefish into the stern of the boat and as I rowed away from the flat stone ledge landing place, I expressed my thanks to the old prophet who was posed as though he were Moses about to receive the stone tablets.

After we had passed around the first point of the Basswood Island shore, Whitefish became very alert and took charge of the situation. It was late twilight and Whitefish insisted on pulling ashore until dark. Then he insisted on rowing back to the machine shop stating that he had assembled some plunder that he wanted to load into the boat, When I protested Whitefish got real ugly, the substance of his remarks being that this trip was entirely his expedition and that I had just come along for the ride. Before we got to the machine shop I demanded that I be put ashore and told Whitefish he could pick me up when he returned. The result of the raid was four burlap sacks of metal parts and fittings and two sacks of potatoes, as this cargo loaded us down to the point where we did not have much freeboard I was glad that the lake was only slightly ruffled by a light breeze. Whitefish was able to keep his bearings by lights on Madeline Island

and some lights south of Bayfield. When we were about half way home a two masted sail boat loomed out of the darkness. On being hailed this craft stopped and we rowed alongside. This large sail boat belonged to Jake Steuffel who conducted a considerable fishing operation at Presque Isle. The sail boat was manned by Steuffel, his 15 year old son and two fisherman employees. Whitefish told with much glee how he had foxed old Pugh and his story was received with hearty guffaws. After some palaver and urging that Whitefish return to Bayfield for a Fourth of July celebration, all of the plunder except one sack of potatoes was loaded into the sail boat. Whitefish told me that if I kept a certain shore lights in the same relative position over my stern I would make Hermit Island. Soon the sailboat faded into the darkness and I was rowing alone concentrating on the guiding shore lights. When I was about two miles from Hermit Island and thought I saw it looming out of the darkness a faint light appeared dead ahead. Russell had hung our lantern in the tower of the cedar house and this was my guide until I got within hailing distance. Responding to my hello, Russell and Oliver came down to the landing with the lantern. Soon we were in our rough quarters preparing a substantial hot meal at the fire place.

After Oliver had departed I discussed the disturbing happenings of the day with Russell and we decided that we should start our return trip to Duluth as soon as possible. We did not feel that we could leave Oliver alone on the island and that we were forced to remain until Whitefish returned. The next day July 4th we lifted our net and hung it up to dry. We put the head in our fish keg which was nearly full, overhauled our sail and generally got in shape for a quick getaway. The next afternoon Jake Steuffel and his son in his two master sail boat came drifting up to the landing place before a dying breeze. We fed them and later Russell and I joined Steuffel on a bench near the dock, Steuffel a kindly old man told us that white he had been sitting there alone he had been thinking about a skirmish in Tennessee where he was part of a Union Army contingent that was later incorporated into Sherman's Army. He said that the skirmish was the most desperate fight in which he was ever engaged and described how the rebels scattered thru the woods were determined to get his company. He claimed that while the Union soldiers fought under the direction of their officers that each rebel acted as a free agent and were like hunters going after game. Steuffel had a quart bottle of Whiskey and urged us to share this with him. Neither Russell or I had a liking for whiskey and after one drink Russell excused himself and departed. I remained with Steuffel asking him more about his war experiences. He did not have much to say about the fights culminating in the Battle of Atlanta. He seemed to dispose of all that as routine soldiering and said that the march from Atlanta to Savannah was just a big picnic. He did want to talk more about that skirmish in Tennessee.

Earlier I had questioned Steuffel as to why his two employees and Whitefish had not returned with him. He told us that they were having a real bender trying to drink up all the liquor in Bayfield and would be worthless for several days as far as work was concerned. He said that he felt obliged to get back to his nets and equipment at Presque Isle and take care of as much of the work as he could do alone. He did not seem to resent his men going on a drunken spree, stating that they had worked hard all Spring and were entitled to a holiday. He said that Whitefish and his two men would probably return when the Barker made its next trip through the islands.

I told Steuffel that Russell and I were greatly disturbed about Whitefish robbing the machine shop at Basswood Island. He replied that it was really a low trick to have taken Pugh's potatoes but that many residents of the area considered the property of the quarry and lumber companies as being fair game.

I told Steuffel that Russell and I were ready to start on our return trip to Duluth but were concerned about leaving Oliver alone. He was sympathetic about our problem and said that perhaps his son would be willing to remain with Oliver. We called the two boys from the cedar house where they were visiting with Russell and both of them readily agreed that it would be quite a lark to be left in charge of the island's establishments.

Steuffel had repeatedly examined our big flat bottomed boat. He remarked that the craft would be ideal for work around the pound nets. Finally he proposed that we trade our boat for his sail boat. This was a seaworthy craft of thirty or more feet in length, of considerable draft and undoubtedly the two sails when new had cost more than our boat. Of course the idea excited our imagination but we considered the fact that we had no experience in handling a boat of that type, that in case of storm we must run for a harbor and could not just take refuge on any beach. Russell finally disposed of the matter by stating that the boat belonged to his father and he could not make the trade. Steuffel went on to further explain his startling offer by telling us that the era of power boats was here and that he found that depending on sail was losing him too much time.

Before departing early next morning Steuffel expressed his concern that the nets belonging to Whitefish Bill had been left unattended for so long a period that many fish had already spoiled. He suggested that with the help of the two boys, Russell and I bring in the fish. Because we had been the recipients of so many kind acts from Whitefish we readily agreed to this suggestion. Steuffel cautioned us to discard all fish that were soft and salt down only those that were firm and hard.

Bringing in the fish cleaning them and putting them in brine took all of the morning and forenoon. The two boys insisted that we should put on a special feed as a farewell party. So we pooled our choicest supplies, with two whitefish for the main dish. We lingered over this spread until well into the afternoon. Then, as a north easter had started to blow, Russell and I decided to push off with this favoring wind. Our expressions were, we came down here before westerly winds and now here is a northeaster to take us home.

With a freshening wind on our quarter we went bowling along towards the channel between Oak Island and the mainland. The increasing wind soon kicked up white caps and both of us sat on the lee gunwale to hold down the heeling over of our craft. We hoped for calmer water as we ran under the shelter of mountainous Oak Island. Here we had new difficulties when the sail tore loose from the outer end of the boom. We decided to run before the wind into Frog Bay where we could see a sand beach. As we neared shore we saw two small buildings which we recognized as a fishing station, the usual fish house at the water's edge and the living quarters further back from the shore. A man stood on the shore watching our approach and motioned to us to hit the beach where there were several small logs or rollers. As we came thru the breakers the man stepped into the water grabbing the side of the boat near the bow. Russell and I went over the other side. With the three of us taking hold we quickly ran the boat on to the rollers and out of the water. While the three of us were pretty well drenched the boat did not take any water in the landing. The man who helped us was a tall rangy half breed and he told us we were on the Red Cliff Indian reservation. We explained that we were tourists returning to Duluth after having spent more than two weeks with Whitefish Bill over on Hermit Island. As rain was threatening we immediately started putting up the tent using a shear arrangement of our oars to hold the ridge pole brought to us by our new friend. Later the half breed came back and told us that he had left a trout on the table in the fish house for us and we could pick it up when we got ready to cook it. We reciprocated by giving him about four pounds of our prunes and a couple of cigars. There were two Indian women at the house but they kept in the background. We fried the trout before a rain squall hit and ate in the tent. The rain and wind lasted until about midnight and then subsided. In the calm that followed swarms of mosquitoes invaded our tent and at daybreak around three A.M. we were glad to pull out after a hasty breakfast. In the dead calm as we rowed along the shore we found the water remark-ably clear. We could see nets extending along the sandy bottom like wire mesh fences and we saw a surprising number of fish swimming about, and some of them caught in the nets.

During the morning and early forenoon we made good progress rowing north along the shore and across the mouth of Raspberry Bay. As we rounded Point Detour and head west into Sand Bay we found ourselves heading into a strong west wind. After battling this wind for a couple of hours we landed on the beach about a mile west of Sand River. Here at noon we cooked up a substantial meal and decided to rest until the wind would go down towards evening. From our camp we could see a couple of small shacks at the mouth of Sand River and a man moving about. Later in the afternoon Russell walked over for a visit. He found that this chap was engaged in a small fishing operation working alone. Russell brought back a hard luck story of how this man had lost or had nets badly damaged in spring storms, and that in general he had picked a very poor location for commercial fishing.

Late in the afternoon the wind went down and we took to the oars, rowing around Sand Point and down the shore opposite Eagle Island. We arrived at the abandoned lumber camp just before dark. That night we slept on the floor of what had been a combination black smith shop and carpenter shop. There was a thick covering of wood shavings on the floor and this along with our folded tent and blankets made a comfortable bed. We overslept the next morning. We had planned to start at daylight to make the long row, 12 miles, across the open water between the camp and Bark Point. At six o'clock while Russell prepared breakfast I loaded our equipment into the boat. Breakfast had become pretty well standardized. Russell was the expert in boiling the corn meal, carefully measuring the meal, water and salt. Just the right amount of cooking produced a result more solid in texture than regular corn meal mush. Russell called this pudden (pudding). With liberal quantities of condensed milk and sugar this made a sustaining meal for starting the day's work. We often had excess cooked corn meal to fry and eat with other food later in the day. Sometimes we mixed the cooked corn meal with Aunt Jemima's pancake flour and made some very tasty flap jacks.

Shortly after we started rowing that long stretch of open water to Bark Point, the west wind came up and gathered strength during the forenoon. Our boat rode high out of the water, catching the full force of the wind and it was quite a slow grind for five or six hours rowing to Bark Point. About noon we pulled up on the shelving sandstone ledge at the tip of Bark Point and after a hasty lunch sought the shade of the nearby trees for several hours of rest. In the late afternoon I decided to walk down the east side of Bark Point with the hope of finding a habitation where I could buy some bread. Russell stayed behind to prepare a meal. Less than a mile down the shore I found a combination fishing station and farm operated by a pleasant middle aged German couple. They were very much interested in what I told them about our trip. They remarked about Fido's handsome appearance and he accepted the compliments with a wag of his tail and a lifting of his ears. I purchased two huge loafs of homemade bread for five cents each and also a bag of eggs for a small additional sum.

On my return to our landing place I found that Russell had suffered one of those mishaps that are likely to occur in cooking over a camp fire. Both the kettle and frying pan had overturned into the ashes and sand. In trying to retrieve part of the meal he had burned his hand.

I have always been very fond of french toast. We now had the makings for this concoction, bread, eggs, condensed milk and syrup. I told Russell to nurse his burned hand and soon I had fried a huge stack of French toast which more than replaced the dumped meal.

Towards evening the west wind began to lessen and soon after we made our start along the shore in a dead calm. At times it was difficult to keep our direction. By midnight we were on the beach near Port Wing. We went to sleep with a resolution that we would start rowing at dawn and thus avoid the west wind that started blowing so strongly in the early forenoon. By four o'clock the next morning we were on our way and were on the beach near Orienta by eight o'clock. This was the only real hot day of the trip and we were real tired from night and early morning rowing. We decided that our feeling of exhaustion and some disgust with our situation could be relieved with the help of a pail of cold beer. So taking our largest bucket, Fido and I made our way to Mike Hopkins saloon on the one and only short street in Orienta. Hopkins was the purveyor of liquid refreshment for a considerable area around Orienta. He was an extremely affable character and I mentioned that one of his cronies, John Benesch, was an uncle of my companion Russell Maynard. For twenty-five cents he filled my bucket with draft beer in which a couple of large chunks of ice were floating. Russell and I had a couple of drinks out of the bucket but found that we became even more loggy and the heat of the day became more burdensome. The beer went flat and we dumped most of it. The ability to drink large quantities of beer is a talent which we had not acquired. During the rest of the forenoon and early afternoon we dozed in the shade of some trees fringing the beach. At the western end of Lake Superior a hot day is often followed by a cold north east wind off the lake. That is exactly what happened to us in mid afternoon. When the wind switched to the north east we immediately stepped our mast, fastened the stays and spread our sail. Soon we were scudding along to the west before an increasing cold wind which caused us to don sweaters and mackinaw jackets. Everything was favorable, we took the waves on the quarter and the wind was not violent enough to cause dangerous white caps. To again be making this easy progress along a beautifully wood shore gave us a feeling of luxury and contentment.

In the twilight of the evening we approached the mouth of the Amnicon, assuming that the Lawerences would be there we fired a salute of two shots, but on entering the river and beaching our boat we found no one around. A note on the cabin door informed all concerned that the Lawerences would return the following week.

We made ourselves at home in the small two room cabin. The doors and windows were screened; all was clean and in good order. We enjoyed the advantages of cooking on a stove. We planned to stay at the Amnicon for a couple of days as I wanted to take Russell over some of the interesting trails I had explored the previous fall.

The next day we rowed up the river as far as it was navigable. The Amnicon is a small stream but is a sort of gulf or sunken valley for a mile back from the lake with plenty of water in this section. Beyond this it is a shallow stream flowing over a rocky bed. The trails thru the woods were less swampy than when we had been in the area three weeks earlier and we had a real enjoyable day. Several years later a forest fire swept this area and there is only a memory of the groups of large trees that the lumbering operations had not found suitable for their purposes. We had become so wholly adapted to and identified with our lake shore existence that we kept banishing the thoughts of returning to our homes and jobs.

We had set our net near the river mouth and caught enough fish to supplement our diminishing supply of provisions.

In the middle of the forenoon of our second day at the Amnicon a couple of rough characters arrived from Superior in a small power boat. These were two plug uglies who after looking us over moved right into the cabin, pushing our equipment out of the way and monopolizing the stove for cooking their food. They sneered at our protests that we were occupying the cabin with Lawerences approval and that we did not care for their company.

Their whole attitude indicated they were ready to pick a fight. Russell and I talked over the situation. We agreed that we would not be forced out of the cabin but would be careful not to provoke these rough necks into action. From previous observation and experience I was quite familiar with this type. Their holiday would be enhanced by a knock down drag out fight. During two school vacations I had worked as night cashier at Ribenacks Crystal Restaurant on the bowery and had seen how viscous this type could be in a fight. Saloon bouncers handling pugnacious lumber jacks often caused a gory fracas. I remember a fight between two hack drivers the larger man after unmercifully beating the smaller one, finished up by kicking him in the stomach several times, putting him in the hospital.

The two men who had encroached on us were heavily muscled individuals, probably some type of construction workers. I could see that we would not have much of a chance with them in a knockdown, drag out, eye gouging contest.

As a precaution I slipped cartridges into the double barreled shot gun and loaded the forty-five revolver. I hid these under our blankets and equipment where I could quickly reach them.

My thoughts were that If they started any violence I could stop them with charges of bird shot and would have the revolver in reserve. I did not divulge my plan to Russell as I knew he would not approve of my ideas and might inadvertently tip off the two plug uglies as to my intentions.

We spent an uneasy afternoon in and near the cabin ignoring the sarcastic jibes of our unwelcome visitors. Our resolution was that we would not vacate the cabin until we were ready to continue our trip. Towards the end of the afternoon the strong west wind started to subside and we decided that this was a good opportunity to row to Wisconsin Point. Accordingly after a hearty meal we loaded our equipment into the boat and prepared to depart. The two roughnecks became quite cordial and wished us a pleasant voyage. Perhaps they also had been doubtful about the ultimate outcome of the strained relations they had created.

The river outlet thru the sand bar had become partially shoaled up and there were just inches of water flowing over the channel bottom. We became grounded in the middle of this channel and were not able to move in spit e of vigorous poling and shoving with the oars. With the thought of lightening the boat and perhaps hauling on the rope attached to the bow I used one of the oars to vault to the sand bar's edge. Here was a surprise. The water seeping through to the lake had created quick sand and on hitting what I thought was solid ground I went in to the sand well above my knees. Looking at my predicament Russell broke into what I considered a silly laugh. Almost automatically I swung the oar from where I stood and swatted him across the back. I was immediately sorry for this act and told him so. He calmed down and helped me out of the quick sand. As I think this incident over in after years I believe it was due to being on the hair trigger alert all afternoon to act quickly if either of the two tough characters laid a hand on either Russell or I.

Following the shore towards Wisconsin Point we had calm water and a clear star light night. Soon we raised the diamond necklace of the Allouez ore docks. Conditions were ideal for rowing. Before midnight we pulled ashore on the beach at Wisconsin Point, built a fire, made tea and had a lunch. We decided that since conditions were so favorable we would make the final leg of our journey. After midnight we passed thru the Superior Entry and proceeded up the bay side of Minnesota Point. Both Russell and I were members of a group who had rented a cottage at 25th Street. We named the place Arios Club, about three o'clock we barged in on those of the group who were sleeping there and I cannot say that our arrival at that time of the night was greeted with great enthusiasm. Four of the members were arouse. Ben and George Frink, Albert Bowden and Allen McDonald.

The following day I reported back at the Northern Pacific yard office and of course Mr. Killian the chief clerk had much to say about my taking a ten day leave of absence and then staying away for a month. He had quite a liking for boats and the water and was greatly impressed with my account of our voyage. He told me that he had been obliged to replace me on the night shift but would find a place for me in a few days.

In writing the journal of our trip I find that I have dwelt on the details of navigating, camping and telling about the people we met. The satisfying experience of living so close to Lake Superior is difficult to explain. The super tonic air off the Lake keeps one in a constant state of exhilaration. Activities which require conscious effort in a hot humid climates are as easy and natural as breathing.

The constantly changing moods of the lake are not only interesting but at times supply a challenge. Much of the scenery is superb and many of the Apostle Islands are like jewels set in the crystal clear stretches of Lake Superior water. These were the primary elements of making our trip an experience never to be forgotten. Then too we were at an age and situation in life when we could live each day with little thought about responsibilities of the past or the future.

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# Comments on Trip to Hermit Island (1907)

### By

### Russell G. Maynard

I have made a search for the letter mentioned May 16, 1941 and for a little book that I had some notes of our trip in but could not find either one.

Some place on this trip, I believe that Fido, although a water spaniel got sea sick in the boat and didn't get his head over the side, the way a human should have done. That reminds me of a book "One Day in a Dog's Life" - very funny.

I recall Charlie Lawrence & Son being down at the Amnicon, my impression of his great desire to get us out of there by painting us such a rosy picture of the mosquito-less Apostle Islands was because he was "shining deer" and didn't trust anyone.

The morning after cutting across from Bark Point to near Sand Point (bottom of Page 7), my remembrance of waking you to "Look, Wallie" was at Sand Island, the first thing I saw that morning. All down through the years, I had presumed it to be "Sand Island" but when I saw your map in the back of Book #1, I know it must have been Eagle Island. It's a good thing that we didn't run onto Eagle Island Shoals in the dark the night before.

Perhaps you forgot this but it stands out in my memory. July 4th, we slept until about 2 P. M., then "celebrated" the 4th by firing our guns several times from the cupola of our 2nd Floor "Mansion." The reason for our sleeping until 2 P. M. by our "mantle" clock was, I believe, that we did some celebrating the night before with hot toddies upon your late return to the island so didn't get to bed until nearly morning. We had no worries if we wanted to stay up all night and sleep all day \- who was to say us nay?

I think that at least part of the time while living in our 2nd floor apartment we hung the tent up over the big broken out double windows.

Just one more comment for your page 23 - on preparing to leave the Amnicon and your sinking into the sand to your knees - you didn't really hit me with the oar (even if you did have good cause to) - just threatened by holding it over my head and made me scared enough to make me quickly apologize for laughing,

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# A Hermit Island Development

### By Wallace L. Quimby

In the year 1910 I received a letter from Lake Superior Land and Development Company of Minneapolis with an illustrated booklet which glorified Hermit Island. In the letter I was told that a project was being developed for selling acreage on the island for the growing of apples and other fruit.

The letter informed me that part of the list of names for mailing the prospects had been obtained by copying the many names and addresses chalked or penciled on the interior walls of the cedar house. Russell and I had registered our names and address on wall plaster remaining in the room where we had camped.

The booklet is pasted on the following page. To me the interesting feature of the book is the view which includes the cedar house. The plat showing the lots to be sold had quite an appeal to me that time.

In 1910 Russell Maynard was working on a survey crew in Montana. I sent him the letter and booklet with a request that he return them to me.

In 1941 while Russell was going thru some of his papers he came across my letter with the enclosures. He returned the booklet to me after having held it for 31 years.

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# Hermit Island Pilgrimage

### Twenty-Two Years After  
July 4, 1929

### By Wallace L. Quimby

An evening in late June when a cold north easter was blowing off Lake Superior, Heggie (Mrs. Q. ) and I were reading in front of a blazing fireplace in the living room of our Park Point cottage. Then one of those husband and wife conversations took place. Heggie interrupted my reading with the question, "What are we going to do on the Fourth of July." My answer was: I suppose we will do what you want to do or something someone else wants us to do. Her response was, "Don't you have a slight idea of what you would like to do." This remark aroused me from the book on which I was concentrating and my reply was that I could make a very definite plan for the holiday.

I proposed that we interest someone in driving us to Bayfield and that I would hire a boat to take us to Hermit Island. My reason for specifying that some other person drive the car was that I had recently broken a bone in my right foot and was not able to drive an automobile. The injured foot was bound up with splints and I was getting around on crutches.

Heggie thought my idea was good and suggested that Bob and Ruth Thompson might be interested in our project. She immediately telephoned Ruth who responded with one hundred percent enthusiasm I then talked to Bob and made the deal that he supply the transportation to Bayfield and that I would charter a boat. Over the years I had become well acquainted with George Boutin, a clerk in the office of Duluth's Division of Public Works. George was a member of the Boutin family who conducted an extensive commercial fishing operation out of Bayfield. I telephoned George at his home and was assured that If I called his brother at Bayfield some arrangement could be made for the hire of a boat on July 4th. I have forgotten the brothers first name but hereafter shall refer to him as Boutin Senior. As the evening was still young I put in a long distance call for Boutin Senior at Bayfield and immediately got him on the wire. Boutin Senior stated that they had a cabin boat which would be ideal for our purposes, that it would be operated by his son Grover who knew all the good fishing spots and that the price for the day would be $25. 00. I told him to expect us at the Bayfield municipal dock at 9 A. M. July 4th. So within an hour after the inception of the idea, all arrangements had been made for an expedition that had been on my mind for many years, Our son John, eight years of age slowly warmed up to the project. I am sure he thought the fourth could be better celebrated with the neighborhood boys.

We were late in leaving Duluth and arrived at the Bayfield dock at ten o'clock instead of nine. Neither the boat or the Boutins were there. We telephoned the Boutin residence but did not get an answer. The filling station attendant told us that both of the Boutins had been about town shortly before our arrival. We visited all of the business places that were open stating that we were looking for the Boutins and that we would be waiting for them at the local hotel. The Pageant Inn. As we drove down the main street Bob stopped at each intersection and shouted: "Oh Grover". We found that the Pageant Inn had ceased operations but as the door was not locked we made ourselves comfortable in the lobby and proceeded to read the Duluth and Chicago papers we had with us, Bob and Ruth were not at all disturbed by the turn of events, saying if we could not get over to Hermit Island it might be even more interesting to take the auto ferry over to Madeline Island.

About a half hour after we had established ourselves at the hotel, Boutin Senior came in. He had the appearance and manner of a senator and I suspect he was the same individual with whom I had chatted at the barber shop twenty-two years earlier. Boutin made some remark about our having taken possession of a closed hotel and then explained that his son Grover had gone to the Fourth of July celebration at Ashland when we had not shown up at nine o'clock. He felt responsible for us and said he would scout around for some other person who would take us to Hermit Island. Very shortly he came back and said he had found a fisherman who would take us to the island. The boat we engaged was a substantial craft open from bow to stern and the rather youthful looking owner agreed to make the trip for fifteen dollars. This was a pleasant day, bright sunshine and a mild cool breeze from the north. We broke out the lunch and spread it on the floor of the boat. The feature of this repast were four small stuffed roast chickens, This along with other tasty items and hot coffee of the thermos jug made a satisfying meal. Our young son John began to admit that our plans for celebrating the Fourth of July had some merit.

Soon we were approaching Hermit Island and I perched myself on the bow of the boat from where I later spotted the cedar house. From the start of our cruise the boat man had expressed concern about finding a place where he could put us ashore. The substantial quarry dock of large sandstone blocks faced with heavy timbers had entirely disappeared, probably torn away by winter ice movements. Most of the shore on this side of the island was vertical cliffs. About a quarter of a mile east of the cedar house there was a section of shore which was a gravel and boulder slide. The bow of the boat was nudged up to a large rock at the foot of the slide and the five passengers went overboard on to this rock. The boat backed out into the lake and our boatman said he would come up to this landing when we signaled him. Being on crutches I had a rather difficult time making my way up the long gravel slide. Bob intimated that the objective was probably not worth the effort and when I persisted he remarked to Heggie, "Your Husband is a nut." On reaching the plateau of the island we found an overgrown trail leading to the cedar house. Since the days when Russell and I had camped there the building had been elaborately re-built. There was a large elevated water tank nearby. The house had again been abandoned but everything was in good repair except that all of the windows had been removed. Before exploring any of the other rooms we went up the stairs to the second floor room where Russell and I had camped back in 1907. This room with it plastered walls and ceiling was quite different from the wrecked ruinous space Russell and I had occupied. The fireplace was unchanged, as I looked at the great sandstone mantle; I remembered how we had used it for pantry and sideboard. There had been placed our perpetual pail of well sweetened stewed, prunes, the alarm clock, cooking utensils and the canisters containing the cigars and candy with which we treated Whitefish and Oliver when they visited us. Many of the original structural ideas had been preserved and the outside walls were still covered with over lapping strips of cedar bark. As architecture was a subject closely allied to Ruth's profession of Interior Decorating, she requisitioned some paper out of my note book and sketched some of the unique features of the building. After thoroughly inspecting- the house and enthusing about the view from the tower we returned to the head of the rock slide. Back of this there were several acres of apple trees. Brush and grass was knee high but as yet the wild growth had not overwhelmed the orchard. Some of the trees had died but most of them were loaded with green apples. Practically all of the trees had webs spun among their branches by some type of moth and it was evident that the trees were deteriorating from neglect and the attacks of insects. In the middle of the orchard there was an abandoned cabin which had evidently been a comfortable small home.

After inspecting the orchard we returned to the shore, hailed our boat and scrambled over the bow at the spot where we had come ashore. On the return trip we cruised close to shore to get a view of the old quarry. All of the Quarry and lumber camp buildings were gone. In 1907 the floor of the quarry was a solid expanse of bare rock, perhaps a half acre in area. Now this floor was overgrown with bushes and small trees. Remarkable how vegetation can take possession of a apace which had been a barren area of rock.

We questioned our boat man about the length of time the cedar house had been in operation as a hotel and the reasons for the orchard being abandoned. He could tell us very little, beyond remarking that it had been an unsuccessful land settlement promotion.

Our return trip home was the finale of a pleasant outing and for me the end of a tremendously satisfying pilgrimage.

### The Cedar House was sighted

### John Quimby watches our approach to the island.  
He doubts about his Dad's Shangri La.

### Wallace L. Quimby – 4 July 1929

### Bob Thompson and the boatman are mildly tolerant of Quimby's enthusiasm.

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# Hermit Island Revisited

### Thirty-One Years Later  
July 1938

### By Wallace L. Quimby

Previous to 1938 we had established our home in Miami but each summer returned to Duluth and occupied our Park Point cottage for several weeks.

The effects of the great depression were still being felt and a considerable number of young men resident on Park Point were unable to find employment. A group of these boys ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age had come into possession of a steel life boat, salvaged from the steam boat America which had sunk near Washington, Harbor, Isle Royale. They had managed to equip. this boat with a main sail and a double jib. At a dock near our cottage they were outfitting this craft for a trip to the Apostle Islands. All of this was very interesting to me and of course I-told them about my trip to Hermit Island. Before their departure I told them that if they arrived at Bayfield and were interested in giving me transportation to Hermit Island for the price of ten dollars, they could telephone me collect and that I would drive down to Bayfield with my son John who was then seventeen years of age.

Several days later and at two o'clock in the morning our telephone rang. Ray Hewitt was on the wire. He announced that they had arrived at Bayfield and wanted to know if I was going to meet them. Standing there in the chill of early morning and still half asleep, I almost said forget it. But realizing that I had committed myself to the boys I agreed that I would meet them some time in the middle of the forenoon.

The hundred mile drive to Bayfield was pleasant and we found the boys at the city dock about ten A. M. They were out of supplies and short of funds, so the ten dollars I handed them immediately invested in groceries and meat.

We pushed off -from Bayfield before a favoring south westerly breeze and in a couple of hours were near Hermit Island.

The rocky shore near the old quarry and the point where the cedar house had been located did not have any suitable landing places. Coasting around to the east side of the island and out of the wind we found a wedge shaped cove with high cliffs on both sides. Here the boat was moored, (see picture) and soon the crew were scrambling up the cliffs to scout our surroundings. I had felt that I was very much one of the gang but as I was cautiously making my way up the north cliff, one of the boys from the other side sang out,' "Hey, why don't one of you guys help Mr. Quimby." Then I realized they regarded me as an old man who had come along for the ride.

After a quick inspection of our immediate surroundings two of the boys started preparing a meal. They set up a two burner gasoline stove on the ledge which shows in the picture and the two who were the cooking experts soon served an appetizing spread. The equipment in the boat was surprising adequate and complete. They had a fine ship's compass standard Lake Survey navigating charts. All equipment like bedding rolls, supplies and cooking utensils were stored away in an orderly ship shape manner.

After being well fed the whole gang started across the island. We came to the orchard which was now overgrown with bushes and small trees. In spite of being partly smothered in this wild growth many of the apple trees were still alive and loaded with green fruit. The cabin located in the orchard was in a ruinous state. Evidently it had been used the previous winter or perhaps on earlier winter as shelter for a fishing party. There were ice chisels, fish spears, net and other equipment scattered about the main room. A considerable quantity of canned goods was stacked in a corner. The boys considered adding some of these cans to their supplies. I strongly advised against this as all of the cans were rusty and it looked as though some of them were rusted all the way through to the contents.

All of the trails which I remembered were completely overgrown but we did make our way thru the dense growth to the site of the cedar house. This park like spot had hardly a vestige of the old building, just a few of the foundation stones. There was sort of a slide or chute down the side of the cliff where the house wreckers had loaded out the salvaged material.

Towards evening we were back to our boat and after having a lunch we prepared to sail back to Bayfield, A gently north breeze had come up and one of the boys remarked that we could take advantage of this favorable wind and make Duluth by morning. I said will let's do just that. They questioned me about my car which was in a parking lot at Bayfield. I said that I would send John to Bayfield in the bus to bring home the car.

When Russell and I had been on the island in 1907 we had inspected a sea gull nesting place on a high cliff projecting into the lake at the east end of the island. Shortly after pushed off from our landing place we came close to this rookery and many sea gulls swooped down towards our boat making protesting cries.

Soon we were clear of Hermit Island and headed into the lake east of Oak Island. The light breeze continued and we slid along in the long northern twilight with views of the high forested islands the long channels between them.

In the late evening and a couple of hours after darkness had descended we rounded Raspberry Island and figured we could come about and head thru Sand Bay. By this time the wind had veered about to the northwest and instead of making Sand Bay we found ourselves sailing down to the dead end of Raspberry Bay. I suggested that we head north again and try for a position for taking thru Sand Bay. At this time I borrowed a blanket and went to sleep on the bottom of the boat. When I woke up it was daylight, about four o'clock and I found that we were out in the open lake about ten miles north of Sand Island. Our skipper had decided against thru to navigate thru Sand Bay and was making a long reach into the Lake with the hope of making some westing. He said that he had sighted Split Rock light on the north shore just before daylight broke. During the next half hour I checked the compass with the charts and decided we were heading north with little chance of making progress towards Duluth and the west. The wind was freshening and long combers with white caps were meeting us on our quarter. The boys had removed all of the air tanks from their steel boat and I could visualize one of these waves coming aboard and our sinking like an iron kettle.

After discussing the situation with the boys I did not have much trouble in persuading them to come about and head back towards the South Shore. We endeavored to pass Sand Island on the west with the idea of heading down into Siskiwit Bay perhaps landing at Cornucopia from where John and I could make our way back to our car at Bayfield. Our craft just could not sail into the wind to the extent that we could pass Sand Island to the west. About eight o'clock we landed in a small cove on the north side of Sand Island. Sand Island shores differ from the sand stone cliffs and steep rock slides of many of the other Apostle Islands. Here we found low rock shores with an occasional sand beach. While we knew that on the south side of the island there were farms and fishing stations. Here we found an untouched forest, a thin layer of soil over the rocks and as a result of the north winds many tortured looking trees near the shore.

Our supplies were still adequate and after a breakfast of bacon and eggs a decision was reached that we would be unable to make headway against the west wind and that the logical move was to return to Bayfield so that John and I could return to Duluth in our car. So along towards noon we embarked and racing before a strong west wind we soon rounded the east end of Sand Island and head south towards Bayfield. Early in the afternoon the wind went down and we were becalmed for several hours in the channel between Oak Island and the mainland. In the late afternoon a yacht type cabin cruiser came within hailing distance and ran alongside us in answer to our signals. The boys asked for a tow into Bayfield and after looking us over with evident distaste, a bull dog faced individual who was either the captain or owner agreed to give us a tow. While the lines were being made fast, one of the men on the yacht asked if any of the boys were looking for work. There was a chorus of assent and the man asked that two of them report to a Bayfield water front warehouse the next morning. One of the boys remarked that he had been combing Duluth for months looking for a job and here while we are floating around on a little traveled part of Lake Superior a party comes along and offers us employment.

We arrived at Bayfield in the early evening. Two of the boys decided to return to Duluth with John and I. We made home before midnight.

The next day I was terribly tired and only wanted a lot of rest. Observing my action or perhaps I should say my lack of action my better half engaged me in conversation as follows:

Wife: "Sometime you are going to die."

Husband: "Is that news. Everybody expects to die."

Wife: "I can tell you how you are going to die."

Husband: "Very interesting. Let's have your prophecy."

Wife: "One of these days when you insist on pretending that you are eighteen years of age it is going to kill you."

The three boys who remained with the boat at Bayfield found that it was useless to try beating back to Duluth against the west winds which prevail in July. They decided to cruise among the islands until a favorable wind came up. Being short of supplies they telephoned home asking that funds be wired to them. They partly replenished their food stores by going back to Hermit Island and sorting out the canned goods we had found in the orchard cabin. On close examination they found that many of these cans had not rusted through.

After more than a week they started for home in a northeaster which proved to be more than a gale and as they rode the long white capped combers they had doubts as to whether they would make it. They told us of their feeling of relief as they came boiling thru the Superior Entry into the Duluth-Superior harbor.

To me it seems that this trip in the old life boat was a recent experience. I am however made aware of the lapse of time by the fact that the boys are now middle aged men with families and mood jobs. The exception is Sam Richardson who was killed in battle in World War II.

John Quimby who was with me on this visit to Hermit Island refers to the trip as The Voyage of the Tippy Tin.

### Landing in the Cove. Madeline Island in background

### The Tippy-Tin under Sail

### Cabin in the Orchard

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# A Hermit Island Check Up

### Forty Years Later  
July 1947

### By Wallace L. Quimby

Phil Moore informed me that he was taking a party of friends on a cruise of the Apostle Islands on a charter boat out of Bayfield. He invited me and my younger son Tom, then 17 years of age.

Of course I accepted the invitation with much enthusiasm and told Phil that I hoped we would cruise close to Hermit Island. He replied that he had that in mind when he invited me and that this would be a culmination of the Hermit Island stories I had been telling him over the years.

The party consisted of between fifteen and twenty persons mostly young people who were friends of Patricia and Dick Moore. The caravan of four cars stopped on a signal from Phil where Highway #2 crosses the Brule. One of the older members of the group asked why this stop was being made. Phil was in rare form that day with many a quip and joke. He said you may not know it but we are approaching the Holy Land and I thought it would be a good idea for Quimby to baptize our children in the Brule.

At Bayfield we embarked in a large cabin boat and headed for Hermit Island as the first point for observation. The captain of the boat was mystified by this request for a close up view of what he considered a lesser island of the Apostle Group. He did make a half circle of the island. I had a good view of the old quarry, the promontory where the cedar house had been, the old orchard now completely overgrown, high cliffed cove where the Tippy Tin had landed and the isolated point where there was still a sea gull rookery. We had a good close up view of the south, east and north sides of the island.

During this encirclement of the island Phil and I sat in the stern of the boat and as we passed each point that was of so much interest to me I gave him a whole string of reminiscences. Phil had heard much of this before but because of his liking for locations of this type he was well conditioned for listening. While I was telling him about experiences with Whitefish Bill someone snapped our picture which appears on a following page.

Phil hailed a group of the young people near us saying Mr. Quimby spent three weeks on that island back in 1907, There was an almost total lack of response but one of the group did say "what for". Considering all circumstances this was an appropriate reply and did effectively shut off the oldsters disposition to tell about something that happened long ago.

Phil quickly appraised the difficult problem of making a landing on the island. He said the cliffs and high rocky shores reminded him of Pitcairn Island as described in the book Mutiny on the Bounty. In that book we are told that several years after the mutineers had landed a search ship approached Pitcairn Island and put a small boat overboard for closer inspection. After coasting a considerable length a shore without finding a landing place this search party decided that the island was not inhabited and the ship soon departed,

Hermit Island has two small sand beaches on the north side. Russell end I were fortunate in finding one of these beaches when a squall forced us away from the mainland in 1907.

For the balance of the day we had a delightful cruise along the shores of scenic islands. Most of the islands had been logged off but on all of them I noticed that some isolated original white pines remained where cliffs jutting out into the lake made it impossible to cut down these trees without having them fall into the water. I wonder whether these will serve as seed trees to start a new growth of white pine.

Phil Moore passed away very recently and remembering the things that he so greatly enjoyed in this life I hope that the place to which he has gone is similar to what the Indians visioned when they talked of the happy hunting grounds.

### Phil Moore & Wallace Quimby – July 1947

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# The Island was Still There

### Forty-Four Years Later  
July 1951

### By Wallace L. Quimby

In the summer of 1951 we made our annual trip from Miami to Duluth and occupied our Park Point cottage for nearly two months. Our son John came from Neil; York City to be with us for one week.

I prevailed on John to drive down to Bayfield with me and take a trip thru the islands on the Booth Fisheries Boat, named The Apostle Islands. This comparatively small Diesel powered craft took us along the south shore of Madeline Island stopping at several fishing stations. The quantities of iced trout and whitefish picked up at these stops seemed rather small as compared to the catches we saw back in 1907.

The distant point on this trip was at Stockton Island. I remembered that at the time Russell and I were cruising the islands the natives called this Press Keel (Presque Isle). The fishing station at Stockton Island was temporarily inactive and there was no one about the place. The passengers were given time to, prowl around. John and I took a short walk into the woods and saw numerous deer tracks on the trails. The captain of the boat told us that the island had been deeded to the University of Wisconsin by the lumber company which had stripped the island of all marketable timber. We were told that in the forty years that had elapsed a new stand of trees had matured and logging operations would again be profitable.

From Stockton Island we headed back to Bayfield on a course which brought us between the north side of Madeline Island and Hermit Island. I had told the captain of my interest in Hermit Island and on this part of the trip I was invited into the pilot house. I further won his favor by purchasing the booklet "The Apostle Islands", price one dollar.

The captain steered close to Hermit Island and enabled me to spot places like our old Quarry, the Promontory where the cedar house had stood and the cove where the crew of the Tippy Tin had landed In July 1938, Because of the encroaching forest it was not possible to see anything of the old orchard or of the ruined cabin in the orchard. The captain told me that people seldom visited Hermit Island, one reason being because of the landing difficulties. He said little remained of the orchard as the bears broke off the branches in there, feeding on the apples. The captain was particularly interested in my recollections of the Booth steamboats America, Easton and Barker which had served the ports at the west end of Lake Superior in by gone years. He had never seen these craft and referred to them as the big boats.

The sum total of this check up was that the island was now a complete wilderness with a denser growth of trees and bushes than at any time in its known history. On the east end of Madeline Island and only a few miles from Hermit Island there is the village or La Pointe, one of the oldest permanent settlements in mid North America.

We know of a number of periods in which Hermit Island had inhabitants, We hear about the hermit Wilson who lived there approximately 1850 to 1860. There was the quarry operation in the 1880's and 1890's. A logging operation was just temporarily shut down when Russell and I were there in 1907. Then starting in 1910 there was the real estate and fruit growing promotion. Evidently Wilson liked the island as a place of residence. The man who built the great cedar house must have been enthralled with the surroundings. According I would say that Russell and I tuned in with the sentiments of some other people when we so thoroughly enjoyed living there for a brief period.

### The Barker – Booth Bay Fisheries

### This is the boat on which John Q. and I made our trip in 1951

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# Prologue

**Wallace Leland Quimby** (1888-1960): Wallace was born in Duluth and lived there most of his life. He was a rowing competitor with the Duluth Boat Club (1912-1914) and was captain of the rowing division for several years after that. In 1912 he was on an intermediate eight crew team which set a world's record while claiming a national championship. He had a lifelong love of the water.

**Hedwig Sofia (Lundquist) Quimby** (1888-1962): Hedwig was born in Sweden and immigrated to the United States with her mother while still a youth. She married Wallace in 1916 in Duluth, Minnesota. In later years, she had poor health and the family wintered in Miami, Florida and spent summers in Duluth.

**John L. Quimby** (1920-1996): John was the oldest son of Wallace & Hedwig. He was born and raised in Duluth. He eventually served in the U.S. Army in Europe during World War II and graduated from Harvard Business School after returning from the war.

**Thomas (Tom) W. Quimby** (1930-1995): Tom was the second child of Wallace & Hedwig. He was born in Duluth and raised in both Duluth and Miami. He eventually graduated from the University of Miami with an electrical engineering degree and took his young family from the South to California. Later he moved to Alaska and most of his family either went with or followed him. He had a lifelong love of the out-of-doors and with the water. He served over 30 years in the Coast Guard (mostly in the reserves) and taught his children to appreciate canoeing and small boats in addition to other outdoor pursuits.

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