Happy glampers

If a couple can survive a seventh-month pandemic quarantine together and still like each other after a weeklong camping trip in an RV barely big enough for two humans and a small dog, one thing’s for sure: They’re a good match.

Buy the ring. Call the caterer. This one’s a keeper.

After months under lockdown with Michigan’s COVID-19 orders and barely leaving the house except to pick up groceries or gas up the car, Rebecca and I decided to join millions of other antsy Americans and take a vacation.

To ease our health and safety concerns, we headed to an area devoid of many people where the coronavirus is known not to be as prevalent: Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where from March until July, there were under 150 cases total across the vast, 15-county region. (As of this writing, the number of cases in September has risen considerably. Great.)

We just returned from seven days of camping – more like “glamping,” a portmanteau word for glamorous and camping – in our RV Winnebago motorhome across the western UP. We had already explored the east to Sault St. Marie and the Soo Locks, but not west of Tahquamenon Falls. This was going to be our big adventure.

(Editor’s note: For those not familiar with any of this UP stuff, it’s pronounced “You Pee” and is home to natives known as “Yoopers.” Contrary to popular belief, including a camper we met from Kentucky, the UP is not part of Canada, although I imagine some Yoopers wish it were to distinguish itself from us “Trolls” living south of the Mackinac Bridge.)

For this 2020 pandemic trip, we opted to BYOB, as in “bring your own bed.” And fridge, stove, convection microwave oven, bathroom and most other comforts of home found in the beloved Beast, as our RV is known. We cleaned up the Beast and took comfort knowing we were surrounded by our own germs and not someone else’s.

Having our own motorhome allowed us to avoid gas station bathrooms (the RV’s facilities worked great, aside from our “no pooping” rule, which I may or may not explain later), and minimized our exposure to restaurants and supermarkets. We cooked and ate our own food. Nearly all of it, sorry to say.

Our road trip was glorious, even for a novice “glamper” like me, who thinks a little nature goes a long way. (OK, I actually said “I hate nature” when we hiked through that rocky, tree root-infested trail. I didn’t mean all nature.)

Just over the five-mile Mackinac Bridge lies some of the most beautiful, untouched areas of Michigan I’ve ever seen. “There’s nothing like it,” says Janice, our good friend who was born in Copper City. “It’s God’s country.”

Or, as they say in Yooper talk: “Say yah to da UP, eh?”

What distinguishes a camper from a glamper, you ask? Here are some clues:

• One doesn’t mind dirt. The other prefers a hot shower and unruly armpit hair shaved sooner than, say, every Thursday. And my blossoming chin whiskers would give Morris the cat pause.
• One can poop anywhere, or just hold it, for goodness’ sake. The other prefers a solid flush over going No. 2 behind a tree or in a makeshift bucket if your RV site is a 5K run from the campground restroom.
• One loves seeing animals in their own habitat, including eagles, otters and fox. The other appreciates this, but also prefers their wild animals in zoos.

I won’t bore you with details, but let’s just say our 1,000-mile weeklong adventure took us from our downstate home to St. Ignace and Munising, Hancock to Copper Harbor, back down to Ontonagon and the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, then home along US 2 through Crystal Falls and Escanaba back to St. Ignace.

I’m exhausted after typing that sentence.

Here are some notable moments in no particular order:

On the road again: What a beautiful drive from Munising to our first campsite in Hancock along the Lake Superior Circle Tour/US 41. The gateway to the beautiful Keweenaw Peninsula, the town is named after John Hancock, signer of the Declaration of Independence. Watching white caps hit the beach through trees ready to burst with fall colors makes you realize how small you really are.

Most memorable spot: Hands down, it was Bond Falls, between Bruce Crossing and Watersmeet, on our way home. Talk about saving the best for last. These majestic, 50-foot waterfalls on the middle branch of the Ontonagon River were more impressive than Tahquamenon Falls in the eastern UP – upper and lower, thank you very much. (They’re this post’s main photo.)

Funniest anecdote: In Munising, on the Lake Superior shipwreck glass-bottom boat tour with Captain Kate, our chatty guide, Heidi, whose sister Rebecca knew from teaching (of course, she did!), said this: “When we’re out here on Lake Superior, we watch out for a lot of things, including kayakers, or as we like to call them, ‘speed bumps.’” LMAO.

Bathroom humor anecdote: Same tour, where we saw what’s left of the Bermuda and Hettler shipwrecks under our boat. But one cool thing was seeing the Hettler captain’s actual porcelain claw-foot bathtub and commode nestled down there with a 10-foot section of the ship’s smokestack. His name? Captain John Johnson. Go ahead, say it with feeling, kids: “Holy crap, that’s Johnny Johnson’s john!”

Least memorable spot: Ironically, it was “The Mystery Spot” in St. Ignace that was voted the state’s No. 1 unusual attraction. In 1950, some surveyors exploring the UP realized that none of their equipment was working properly within a circle 300 feet in diameter. They also felt queasy and light-headed. To experience this and not much more, it will cost you $8. Save your money.

Scariest unprepared glamper moment: The Tonka-truck size spider I saw in the sink at our Hancock campground. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I poured Scope mouthwash on it, but I think he kind of liked it. Then I skedaddled out in a hurry – bedhead be damned!

Biggest heart flutter: When we passed a Holiday Inn Express, I swear my heart went pitter-patter, but it could have just been an episode of A-Fib. “Can we stay there?” No.

Worst Yooper food: Our first two experiences eating a pasty (rhymes with “nasty”), the traditional workingman’s meal direct from Cornwall, England, was a bust. The first pasty from Bessie’s in St. Ignace was unremarkable. Where’s the beef? And Bessie needs better manners. The second one from Muldoon’s in Munising was just “meh.” Not much flavor amid smooshed potatoes and meat. We continued our search.

Best Yooper food: Our last pasty from Lehto’s Pasties in St. Ignace hit the jackpot! Yum, yum. They’re more log-shaped than pie-like, but there’s real beef among the onions, diced potatoes and rutabaga. They’ve been making them since 1947, and there’s a good reason for that. They’re good.

Most unusual person: At the foamy Munising Falls, we met a motorcyclist from Ireland who lived in Chicago. Barely 5-feet tall, she was fierce, wearing black leather Harley-Davidson gear and tiny Doc Martens biker boots. Pretty bad-ass to be traveling alone in the wilderness. We gave her our spare map.

Wild kingdom moments: Aside from a gazillion chipmunks, we saw two eagles flying, three otters playing and a red fox running. No partridges in pear trees or golden rings to be had. Yet. LOL.

Biggest disappointment: It was a beautiful, sunny 60-degree day, but the Pictured Rocks boat cruise tour we had reserved was canceled due to 12-foot waves on Lake Superior. Some passengers in the previous group ended up tossing their cookies and more. Guess that’s why they call Lake Superior “the dangerous coast …”

The why-you-should-go-to-college tour: The town of Hancock was founded by the Quincy Mining Co. in 1859 during the heyday of Keweenaw’s copper mining boom. The site of brass foundries and mining machinery factories, Hancock was best known for its Quincy Mine, which we toured one morning. Our guide Dylan presented a somewhat chilling look at what miners faced working underground in dark, dank 43-degree conditions for 12-hour days, six days a week. They were considered skilled workers and earned $45 a month. Nicknamed “Old Reliable,” the mine produced copper continuously for 83 years, paying stockholders millions in dividends until it ceased production in 1945. And that’s why you should go to college, unless of course you own the mine.

Sweetest religious experience: Monks lead a simple and predictable life. Strict monotony to devote as much time as possible to a lifetime of prayer. And selling jars of homemade jam to survive. The Jampot is located near Jacob’s Falls, between Eagle River and Eagle Harbor on M-26. Since 1986, these bearded, black-robed monks have been selling jars of their “Poorrock Abbey” preserves made from wild berries they grow and pick near their shop. The store is their sole source of income, and all proceeds support the Holy Transfiguration Skete, a Byzantine Catholic Monastery on the shores of Lake Superior. The monks are best known for thimbleberry jam, made from the area’s wild berries that are hard to grow, harder to pick and frankly, very expensive. But very worth it. Our purchase would heat their pool, if they had one. According to Father Basil, like most everything, 2020 was a tough year for thimbleberries. Too dry and too hot – the second hottest summer on record in the western UP. Try their pound cake muffin. Or two. And may God bless you.

Driving through the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park: Three reasons to do this include but are not limited to seeing Lake of the Clouds, Summit Peak and Presque Isle Falls. Not to mention being able to say you got to drive through the “Porkies” and actually know where they are.

***

All told, we learned a lot about RV’g in our UP adventure, most of which I’ll never use again because we’re selling the Beast at top dollar since camping has become the year’s top pandemic getaway, and everyone and their brother wants one.

Of course, I’m kidding about that. Not everyone wants one.

Honestly, despite my whining, I have to admit that getting back to nature and unplugging for a week was good for my soul – and even my unruly hair doesn’t look too bad under a faded gray cap, especially if it says “Camping hair … don’t care” on it.

Don’t forget: Even during a pandemic, the glass is half full, even if it’s warm beer.

Or as my better half would say: “We ran out of fresh water in Quincy, almost ran out of gas in the Porkies and definitely ran out of DEF fluid before that silly check engine light came on. But you know what? It was a fun time.”

Yah, she’s definitely a keeper, eh?