When Nature Tears your Heart Out

I don’t remember when we first started coming to Duluth and regions northward towards Grand Marais in Minnesota. When I think back, I have a photo from a trip with my mom in 1987. I don’t remember why we went up, or what we did while there, but the photo of us standing near the Aerial Lift Bridge in Duluth, and obviously freezing suggests it was sometime early autumn. The first real memory I have of visiting is when I was newly pregnant with my son in the fall of 1989. The whole family was in Duluth together, and his father and I announced the news of the impending addition to the clan for the spring of 1990. We toasted the news (me with sparkling water) at Grandma’s Restaurant, our usual restaurant for at least one dinner whenever we were in town.

As I made my ‘fire escape’ plan for a month of working from Minnesota, I built in a week’s vacation on the North Shore of Lake Superior. My intention was to do a bit of hiking, some reminiscing and relax lakeside at a resort right on the Lake. I arrived as planned and struck out to explore Tetteguche State Park and the Superior Hiking Trail. As I was hiking, I contemplated writing about why hiking is my next favorite activity when I’m unable to run. The 14-mile strenuous hike from Manitou to the Caribou River certainly provided lots of food for a blog about me and nature. However, I chose to write instead a lament for Gooseberry Falls.

The two major landmarks in my life along the North Shore are Split Rock Lighthouse and Gooseberry Falls. The lighthouse is a manmade work of strength and fortitude. It stands overlooking the Lake and over the years provided guidance and protection to ships on the Lake in the time before technology made it just a tourist attraction. Gooseberry Falls, by contrast, are a work of God and nature. The beauty of the rocky cliffs and the force of water, come together to create an incredible show of strength, beauty and the power of a river. The sound of the mighty falls crashing down drowns out the voices of the many visitors as they explore the area.

My greatest memory of Gooseberry are the iconic pictures of my children. We visited there once when they were 18 months old and 3, snapping a photo of my son holding a mighty stick in one hand, while wrapping his other around my daughter’s shoulders. The water is rushing by in the background, and you can almost hear him saying that he’ll protect her from the cruel rapids. Then, ten years later, on our first vacation trip after I was divorced and we had moved to Massachusetts, we returned. Recreating the photo, they stood once again, though this time it was having fun playing with an earlier scene. Though I’m sure that my son would still want to convey that he would continue to protect his sister. These are the images that remind me of my home and all the times we traveled north, stopping at Tobie’s in Hinckley for caramel pecan rolls (only on the way north, never on the way south); having the requisite berry pie at Betty’s Pies in Two Harbors; going to Grandma’s Restaurant (though the food isn’t nearly as good as it used to be); and watching the Aerial Lift Bridge as ships passed in and out of Duluth Harbor. The more things change, the more they stay the same, and that goes for the North Shore. It may be a bit busier now, and many of the old summer cabins have given way to year-round residences, but it’s a constant and there is some comfort going there knowing what to expect.

Today, as planned, I prepared for my visit to Gooseberry Falls. I decided that I wanted them to myself, so I would arrange to go as soon as the park opened at 8:00. One of the unfortunate benefits of COVID is that the restaurant at the resort is only open for dinner. We fill out a card each night, checking a box to receive either a continental (yogurt and granola) or Scandinavian breakfast (complete with hardboiled egg, pickled beets and herring) and let them know what time we’ll collect our box. I seem to be waking up with the sun, so the earliest pick-up at 7:00 works well for getting on the road early. Even though I had my 14 mile hike the day before, I still woke up at 5:45, so plenty of time to sort out the details and prepare for the quick ten-minute drive to the Falls.

As I expected, the parking lot had a dozen or so cars and was virtually empty when I arrived. I pulled on my hiking boots and took off to explore the portion of the SHT (no, not SH*T) that runs within the State Park near the Falls. I decided to take a short, leisurely hike around the river that forms the Falls, rather than just going straight to them. This part of the trail is definitely designed for the casual hiker. Built by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression, the trails are easy and made even more so by wooden boardwalks and stairs built into the hilly parts so hiking poles are unnecessary. I saw a handful of people and was grateful that I had on my boots when a trail runner passed me. My physical therapist and my knee would have been very unhappy with me if I’d been wearing running shoes. It’s a perfect trail for running, not many obstacles and relatively flat; in other words, very tempting to a running addict. There were many tributes to the young men (18- to 24-year-olds) that were employed to build the trail system around these parts as well as historical markers explaining how and what they did to create an experience that we still enjoy today. There was also a sad reminder of the strength of the river in a marker that strongly urged people not to go into the river and reminded them that it is not a lake. At the bottom of the marker, the name and dates of a young man was engraved. Clearly, a teenager who had not respected the currents and rocks that are treacherous to those who venture into the water.

After doing an easy loop, I finally made my way to the main falls. Families were beginning to trickle in, and I wasn’t interested in doing a longer hike since today was supposed to be my ‘off’ day. I still wanted to see the Falls when there weren’t a huge number of people, so I decided I best get on with it. I noticed as I hiked the trail parallel to the river that there were spots along the way that were obviously underwater most of the time. I knew that Minnesota had experienced a hotter and drier than normal summer, so exposed areas weren’t too surprising. The water sources on my previous two days of hiking also appeared to be doing fine, and the Lake itself always looks like a mini ocean, so nothing too concerning there.

As I walked the pathway to the falls and turned to head down to the rocky areas where the best views can be found, I heard – nothing. That alone should have warned me – it was silent, except the banter of young children and their parents cautioning them to be careful. I came out from the path and looked around at the cliffs, the large rocky structures that jut out of the land and the beach like area we took the photos of the children (and even some of me after my mother’s memorial service in 2012). I jumped from rock to rock and realized that in year’s past, I would have been not just jumping from one rock to another but jumping over pools and jetties of water. Looking up towards the high bridge, I caught my breath. There was no water! Nothing. The Falls are now just a rocky cliff. Climbing higher, a very small pool of water was causing a drizzle of water to cascade down into an even smaller pool of water. Hardly what you’d term a ‘waterfall,’ it was more like someone had left a faucet turned on slightly. There were a few trickles of water; nothing like years past when the water would be cascading from the upper falls to a mini lake, and then down to the lower falls.

I climbed up higher to survey the area when I realized that it was time to go. I felt tears welling up; if I stayed much longer, I would end up crying in front of small children and probably have their parents thinking something was seriously wrong. Of course, there was something seriously wrong, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to share with strangers. I quickly turned and made my way back over the rocky terrain, walking quickly for the relative safety of the rental car where I could try to collect myself without anyone watching me.

It was only 10:00, and somehow, I no longer felt like doing anything else. My original plan was to spend several hours in the park and head to Betty’s Pies for lunch. Instead, I found myself there at 10:30 – I guess that’s brunch then, right? I drowned my sorrows in diner coffee (why does this always taste so much better than coffee anywhere else?) and a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie, ala mode. I ate at the bar but was actually grateful that no one sat down next to me. Normally, I like to chat with other diners, but today I just wanted to drink coffee doused with cream and sugar and eat my pie in peace.

Leaving afterwards, I couldn’t really think of anywhere to go. It was still early, but I was not motivated to find another touristy spot, and even less so to map out another hike. Driving back towards the resort, at Silver Creek Cliff, there’s a lookout point near the tunnel. I stopped there and looked out over the Lake, then strolled along the path to read about how they blasted through the cliff to build the road, the history of the Lake (from the perspective of the British and French traders who came through the area) and a short acknowledgement of what native American tribes once lived there. I thought again about writing down how it felt to visit the Falls and decided that would be best since even thinking about it made me tear up again. So, I headed back to the resort, grateful that the families are all out doing whatever they do during the day with young children around these parts.

I’ve always considered Mother Nature to be resilient and strong, even when humans try to tame her. The infamous gales of November (made popular by Gordon Lightfoot and ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald’) come to mind when I think about how, even now, with all our technical advances, a storm off the Lake can cause untold damage and destruction. Weather patterns like tornadoes, hurricanes and typhons can still take out even the most well-built structures and destroy people and property. Yet, these past few days, I’ve seen the other extreme. The once mighty Gooseberry Falls almost completely dry, while the lighthouse at Split Rock, built in 1910 is still standing after all these years, showing the engineering talent of an earlier generation. The only structure missing around the base of the lighthouse is a barn that was taken out by one of the keepers who lit a gas-powered heater so he could wash his new car. The ensuing fire and explosion were completely man-made. The other two barns still stand as do the three houses used as residences for the keepers and their staff who lived there during the shipping season when the lighthouse guided ships to safety on the Lake. It became a tourist attraction after it was no longer needed to guide ships in 1945.

Yet, if I’ve learned anything the past two years, it’s that Mother Nature isn’t as strong as she used to be. Drought throughout the country, particularly in Minnesota and California, where I live now, are causing not just higher risks of wildfires, but drying up waterfalls. Just before I arrived for my visit, vast amounts of land was burning in Manitoba, sending smoke and ash-filled air into Minnesota and driving worse air quality than California. The smoke has now cleared (until the next fire starts), but the idea of escaping the on-going issue with fire season in California by coming home may not be far enough in the future. Also knowing that much of the reason for drought conditions were brought on by human behavior shows that we are own worst enemy when it comes to abusing Mother Nature and suffering the consequences. Truly a sad state of affairs. Mother Nature is strong and resilient, but the on-going and constant abuse can only go so far before permanent damage is done.