This is Forty Mile Point Lighthouse. It’s forty miles southeast of Old Mackinaw Point and forty miles northwest of Thunder Bay. So, an appropriately named lighthouse. It was completed in 1896 and has guided Lake Huron sailors since April of 1897. The tower is still an operational beacon. It’s lit by a 4th order fresnel lens set at three second intervals. The lens was built by Henry LePaute in 1872.

The lighthouse has recently been restored inside and out. Many of the rooms are furnished as if their original occupants had just run down to the water’s edge to check their fishing lines. Recently, the pilot house of the 1912 Steamer Calcite was relocated to the grounds. 

When you visit, be sure to walk down to the beach. One hundred and fifty feet of the shipwrecked Steamer Joseph S. Fay is visible. It was loaded with iron ore when it broke up on a sandbar in 1905. The lighthouse keeper’s log for October 20, 1905 reads: “At 8:30 p.m. last night the steamer, J. S. Fay, came ashore here in a sinking condition. She soon broke up. Most of the crew came ashore on the pilot house. Three men swam ashore, the mate was drowned.” The entry for December 4, 1905 reads: “The assistant found a dead man on the beach about 1 mile up. We think it is the mate of the Fay.” Many sailors lost their lives in Lake Huron’s violent storms. Fall could be especially treacherous.

One great way to find your way to the lighthouse is to follow the bike path out from Rogers City. If you want to shorten the route a bit, park at Seagull Point. You’ll have a great view of Lake Huron and won’t miss a bit of the most scenic sections of the path. The path ends at the lighthouse. Or use these GPS settings to guide you to the entrance: N 45 29.024; W 083 59.892.

Read more about the lighthouse here. As you enter the grounds, tune your radio to 107.3 FM to hear a bit about the history of the site.

I confess to not having toured Dinosaur Gardens or even played putt-putt at its Raptor Retreat 18-hole mini golf course. So, being uninformed, I’m not sure what happens when a visitor climbs the ladder of this brontosaurus. Does a knock on the door gain admittance to the wonder of a bronti’s innards? Is it maybe the clever entrance to a slide down his tail?

I do think that the brontosaurus painter could have jazzed this specimen up a bit. Was he really this drab? If so, I suppose realism might be best. Probably my childhood was a tad too influenced by my favorite inflatable float toy, “Dino,” the big green Sinclair Oil Company mascot. Poor Dino. He blew away one day on Elk Lake and was never seen again. He’s probably shown up on Ebay by now.

Dinosaur Garden did more with green in this fellow, obviously pieced together at the shoulder. A masterpiece, with more of that  60′s comic book character look. He even has a spotlight that shines on him at night.

But it is the 20-foot Jesus with a bowling ball that really steals the show at Dinosaur Gardens. With both dinosaurs and God and bowling, you can hit an awful lot of fan bases. Since 1957, Jesus has graced the site. To me, it looks like he even got a recent fresh coat of paint.

Further on down US-23, a very muscular very hairy Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox stand guard among the tall red pines. Paul is still looking quite impressive, but Babe could definitely use a fresh coat of blue paint. Probably once Jesus’s baseplate got its paint there wasn’t enough left over for Babe.

Word is that Babe was a great help to Paul around the logging camp. Babe could pull anything with two ends and was really useful straightening out twisted logging roads. Paul would then pick up the extra miles of road, once the kinks were all pulled out, and use the leftovers in other places where he needed road. And Paul, we all know that Paul was so big it took five storks to deliver him to his parents.

The first Paul is near Ossineke. The next Paul, without his Babe, is in downtown Oscoda. The modern hardhat is an inspired touch.

The day we visited, even hard-hatted Paul was unable to keep US-23 open and traffic moving through Oscoda. The road was torn up, blocked off, and we had to detour all around the downtown business district.  But all businesses are open during construction (even Rent-A-Hubby if you need to rent one).

Further on down US-23, one woodcarver has an entire yard full of wares to choose from. There are lots of samples on display including this wonderful boreal dead fish collection.

But my personal favorite among his work is dinodog:

I can definitely see this guy on Antiques Road Show about 50 years from now. “You didn’t scrub the fungus off the base–that’s good, if you had it would have lost thousands of dollars in value.” “He has some cracking, but that just enhances his worth. It shows he spent lots of time outside.” I admire this carver’s sense of humor. He also carves lots of bears. I’m pretty sure that this one, on a residential lawn south of the carver’s shop, is the same artist’s work. But I’m fairly sure that the bunny ears are not original equipment.

The sunrise side tour of public folk art closes with this gem from a colorful gift shop in Harrisville. I call it Moose With Purple Antlers. Setting him off against that bright orange wall makes it basically perfect.

I love the sunrise side. No kidding. This place is so much more real and so much more fun and feels so much better than toney art galleries on Michigan’s sunset side.

The unseasonably warm weather is hurrying up ice out this year. The big thaw is being hastened by temperatures in the mid-seventies! This “river” cuts a swath near shore in the first bay, if you are coming out of the Narrows, on the east side of the big part of Long Lake. My theory is that a late season snowmobiler headed out on the lake, and then thought better of it. As the lake melts, the ice peels like an onion skin, showing evidence of winter’s activities.  You can see where snowmobiles moved about–and there weren’t many this year. You can see where the ATVs headed to ice fishing holes.

Speaking of holes, check this one out. The sun has heated the cinder block, sitting in about two feet of water, where we attach our aluminum paddle boat in the summer. This is the result:

The camera could not quite capture the many shades of green and blue showing through the ice.  But here’s a sample:

We arrived at the lake Friday evening, March 2nd, just as the snow was starting to fall heavily. The trip from the Detroit area had been mostly rain. A hard rain whipped up into a frenzy by high winds. Once we got to the Rose City/Alger exit, traffic had thinned and the rain had stopped. The drive from there was uneventful, until the snow started at about Mio.

Arriving at the lake we found about 6 inches already on the ground. It had drifted considerably in places. This is the view from the inside on Saturday morning. Most of the county and apparently all of the lake lost power at about 5am Saturday morning. We were grateful that our generator kicked in, keeping our furnace, fridge, toilets and lights humming right along. The rural electrical co-op is being quoted as saying it could be a week before power is back. Their crew is already working at the airport, so hopefully it won’t be as long as they estimate.

Here are some scenes from the lake this weekend. Click on the photos for a closer look.

My brother Norb is an avid fisherman and a wonderful woodworker. A few weeks ago I received a surprise package from him: this set of hand-painted fishing lures. He salvages hooks and parts from old lures and carves and paints new bodies. Of course, they are way too cool to load up with nightcrawlers and dangle on the end of a fishing line. We have them displayed at the lake house.

It’s been a warm winter so far. Not much snow. The ice is thick enough to walk on. But we are still not feeling comfortable hauling out the ice shanty. That hasn’t stopped a few of the foolhardies from racing around in their snowmobiles, though. So far, fortunately none have fallen through the ice. Falling through the ice on a snowmobile–I don’t think there’s much chance of a happy ending to that one.  Take time to watch this video, featuring a top Canadian thermal physiologist (Gordon Giesbrecht), to learn how to possibly survive a fall through the ice, as well as the proper way to perform an ice rescue.

To end this on a more peaceful note.  Here’s our frozen lake.  Long Lake, Hillman Michigan.

Last weekend’s M.U.S.H. (Mid-Union Sled Haulers) dog sled race at Clear Lake State Park, near Atlanta (Michigan), caught me unawares in the adventurous hat department. This musher wore a knitted hat with dog fur spun into the yarn. Siberian Huskie, I believe.  It works for the athletes doing all the pulling, so why not also for the musher?

These Samoyeds donated their hair to be spun and knitted into another warm hat:

Samoyeds go through a massive twice-yearly shed (they “blow hair”) and also basically keep up a steady supply of tufts that a dedicated dog hair spinner put to good use in this hat. Its owner told me that there’s nothing warmer. This hat looks like it’s felted and molded itself to its owner’s head. The Samoyed has longer guard hairs but it’s the shorter, softer undercoat that sheds seasonally.

This musher looked so perky in what might have been a synthetic fur, I thought I’d show off her hat for its inspirational value. It takes a confident woman to pull off this look. (And she does!)

Finally, there’s this gentleman. Yes, for me, at first there’s a strong gross-out factor. But that wears off. Mushers have very strong bonds to their dogs. Since this was an event celebrating dogs, I assumed this was one (and not a coyote, for example). And I’m imagining that this was likely a very special dog. Maybe a team leader. Maybe he had heroic moments somehow. Maybe he spent tons of hours by his master’s campfire. Or I suppose maybe his master just decided he’d make a nice hat. Waste not, want not. Anyway, here they are:

I thought the races would be interesting and they were (see my previous post). But I was surprised that the day also provided some knitting inspiration.

This weekend we saw our first sled dog race. A Mid-Union Sled Haulers (M.U.S.H.) race. It was a perfect day for spectators. 20 degrees and sunny. About 8 inches of snow on the trails. We watched the 5-dog event and the very exciting 7-dog event. We also watched one and two-dog skijoring.  In skijoring, a cross-country skier wears a harness and is connected to dogs by a length of rope. The dogs are also harnessed. The skier skis like crazy and the dogs run like crazy.

Before their races, we walked around and met the dogs.  All of them seemed to be in game day mode. Some paced a bit. Some barked. Many rested calmly. They were well-fed, well-groomed, and well-hydrated as all fine athletes must be.

Every team had its top dog. This alpha, leading a 7-dog team, was howling in wolf-like fashion as the team’s handlers were harnessing the dogs into place. The message?  I imagined: “Team…this is it! This is what we live for! The chance to run full out and show what we’re made of!”

There were many young people tending to the dogs. Feeding and watering them.  Shoveling up LOTS of poop because that’s a M.U.S.H. must. Leave nothing but pawprints behind.

M.U.S.H. allows no whips. Except in the one-dog event, each musher must carry a dog bag. If a dog is hurt, he’ll be picked up by the musher, tucked into the bag (on the sled) and packed out by his buddies. I came away feeling that these folks understand the responsibility that comes with participating in a two-species sport.

Enjoy some scenes from the day. My next post will feature some amazing musher hats–including some knit with yarn spun from dog hair.

The light was perfect on a breezy November Day. This is the view from where the road ends at Lake Huron, in Harrisville. Harrisville is the County seat of Alcona County.

As of the 2010 census, 493 people lived in Harrisville. So, a very small town, in a remote section of Northeastern Michigan. A fine example of what the “sunrise side” offers: big water, tall trees, and a neighborly feel.

Some call ice fog “pogonip.” Pogonip is an adaption of the Shoshone word for cloud (pakenappah). That’s what The Old Farmer’s Almanc is referring to in December when it says: “Beware the pogonip.”

On a perfect spring or summer day, when everything is perky and bright anyway, rainbows are just the frosting on the cake. Very yummy but sort of more than you need. But once fall really gets going, it’s way different. It’s been raining for days and days now. You feel, in your bones, how cold it’s soon going to be. You are checking for cracks in every shell you live in trying to figure out how the cold will get at you.  Through the patio doors.  Through the electrical sockets. Through socks that have sprouted holes. Through a sweater that’s somehow not buttoning right anymore. You are bracing for the winter.

And then a rainbow like this happens. There is nothing better than a rainbow arched in a deep gray fall sky.

In a clearing off Sorenson Road, near Hillman’s Long Lake.  October 27, 2011.