Tag Upper peninsula

If you’ve never been to the Upper Peninsula —GOOD! Don’t go. It isn’t for you. It’s a shit place with nothing to do and nothing to see. Stay away, for your own good.

If you have been, then you know it’s heaven on Earth, and not to tell anyone about it. The first rule of the real diehards of the UP, the so called Yoopers, is not talk about the UP with the trolls. Trolls, if you don’t know, are everyone who live under the Mackinac Bridge, which separates the Upper Peninsula from the rest of Michigan. And the rest of the planet, really. If you do make it past the bridge, stop at the Yooper Tourist Trap. It’s well worth a visit.

Michigan’s Upper Peninsula is one of the most stunning natural places on this little blue ball. The fresh water lakes, the untouched forests, the rivers and waterfalls tucked away from the swarms of tourists. It’s a dreamland for the outdoor enthusiast.

Biblical Plagues in Rapid Secession

There are downsides to the UP, and they aren’t for the weak of heart or faint of knee. ‘Round about spring the mosquitos hatch. These nasty buggers can hatch right out of the snow. I’ve seen them crawling around on the ice looking for blood. There aren’t a few mosquitos here or there, but swarms of them so thick you can’t go outdoors.

One time my dad and I decided to hike to a nearby lake through the woods. I had head to two coverage and a hat. I had on so much mosquito repellant that I probably gave myself brain damage. My boots covered my feet, and I had gloves on my hands. So, we set out in mosquito season. ‘Round about the time we reached the other lake I couldn’t take it. I snapped an evergreen bough off of a nearby tree and started whacking the air around me. I saw the lake, muttered, “yeah, it’s great. Let’s get out of here.” And we dashed home, swinging pine boughs at the mosquitos. My neck, face, ears, wrists and ankles were covered in bites.

When the mosquitos die down a bit, the mayflies hatch. These congest the surface of everything from screen doors to picnic tables to windshields to boats. And if you were planning on fishing during bass season you can forget about it, because the fish are full to the gills with mayflies. They don’t want your stupid lure, they want a La-Z-Boy and a multi series Netflix show to binge while they chill in their nests and ignore you.

After the mayflies come the bitting flies. These assholes will nip and gouge at any exposed skin on your body, including your eyelids. But, if you think you’ll just wear long sleeves and pants to fool them you can forget about it, because they can bite through steel. Also, it’s 90 degrees outside, Celsius, and you’re damp and covered in sweat, which only attracts more flies.

And then there is about a week of nothing trying to bite or kill you. In that week, you can enjoy the fall foliage, stroll around in the amber-tinted forests or take in stunning vistas of Lake Superior.

After the Plagues Come the Snow

But right as you start thinking, “Hey, we should get a cabin up here,” the snow hits. And it hits hard. In the UP there is snow from about early October to round about May. And if you haven’t heard the very technical term “round-about” before, you haven’t studied the weather or insect patterns of the UP because that’s as good as it gets. ‘Round about is a technical term in the UP.

Finally, the fishing report for the UP: Many of the folks who come up, the trolls, they come up for the fishing and hunting. Hunting season is so-so, but you might as well stay downstate and save yourself the $5 Mackinac Bridge fare. Lodging costs more in the UP for hunters, too. Stay away, stop killing all of our wildlife, ya jerks. Fishing, on the other hand, is also horrible in the UP. So many people escaped to Michigan after the tourism board launched their Pure Michigan campaign that pretty much all of the fish in the great lakes are now in troll bellies down south. Fishing reports for the past five years have been abyssal. 

‘Round about now, you’re probably asking why I’m even writing about the UP. The answer is that this is a warning, a morality tale of sorts. Stay out of the UP so the fish come back, and the mosquito populations die down. Stay away, ya damn trolls! Back, back! Try somewhere else in America.

If you’re following our road trip then you know we hit the U.P via Wisconsin from Rockford, Illinois. This after a long stint in Beijing. Beijing is home to twenty million. The U.P has less than a million in the whole massive area. Needless to say, agoraphobia set in as soon as we hit the dimly populated area. One nice comparison is that there are probably as many birch trees in the U.P as there are people in Beijing.

Having come from a massive city, we found the U.P to be a delight. The people are tough, and remind us of the characters in Northern Exposure. They tell stories that end in “eh” and involve bear hunting, being snowed in for months on end or else hilarious tales of drunken debauchery as they were snowed into the tavern for the night. A great sense of humor and thick skin are prerequisites to living in the U.P. But more than that you need to love the outdoors, because they creep in, and in the U.P there is no contest about which side would win- humanity or nature.

While in the U.P we baited bear, went fishing, hiked around waterfalls and up on the golden hills, and watched the leaves go from green to yellow to vibrant fire red.

See more of the epic photos of the leaves in transition on our photos page!

We’ve spent a few weeks in Michigan’s UP, the Upper Peninsula surrounded by great lakes. It is a beautiful, if not rugged landscape that grows tough, hardy people who are simultaneously hard as nails and yet as friendly as Home Improvement’s Wilson character. You can walk into a diner or bar in the UP and see some of the world’s most flannel-clad, bearded and grime covered men, only to have them pull out a chair for you or hold open the door with a tip of their baseball cap. It reminds me of a time I’ve never experienced, but only heard about. People leave their doors unlocked, and neighbors stop by almost daily to chat about the weather, the fishing conditions or whether or not you saw the deer out by the lake the previous evening.

Here is a story to demonstrate my point: The septic tank pump broke and alarms were going off in the cabin. We dug out the still water hole and replaced the pump. Meanwhile, neighbors from the left and right side of the cabin sauntered over to offer their help, advice and the use of their facilities until we solved the problem. Neighbors from even further down the road heard of the incident and drove by to see if they could help. It was like a sitcom scene where the whole town shows up in the yard to help one family. I had heard of such things in the past from my grandparents (or history books) but up in the UP that is just daily life. The community has taken us under their wing, given us local history lessons, books, food and fishing and hiking tips. It’s like we’re part of the family—two long lost prodigal grandchildren who suddenly returned from out of the woods. It’s a great feeling, and one we’ve never experienced anywhere we’ve traveled. All hail to simplicity!

On an unrelated note, our time in the UP has yielded quite a few fish as we try our hands at acquiring our food from the wild. As it stands, I have caught several large bass while Mike seems to be a pro at walleye and pike. I learned to filet the fish, a task which involved (sadly) cutting it open and taking out the parts Americans don’t eat. It made me sad since we’ve seen folks in China dig into the organs and eyes, head, etc and yet we’re wasting those parts here in the US. I have no idea how to cook fish head, but when I’m back in China I’ll take a cooking lesson or two so I don’t have to toss out half the fish in the future. I have this theory that you shouldn’t eat meat if you couldn’t or wouldn’t go out and catch/kill it yourself and prepare it from the moment you capture it to the moment you eat it. I’m testing this long-held philosophy with the fish. So far, it involves petting the bass and apologizing to it, turning around while Mike stuns it, and then I’ll cut it open (while apologizing) and then filet and skin the meat parts. Then I apologize a bit more while I’m washing and storing the fish. I never considered myself a city girl, but I think these Yoopers (UP locals) would have a good laugh if they saw me petting and apologizing to my recently caught bass.

We just returned this evening from a small neighborhood gathering where some of the town’s most well known locals had us (and a few other cabins) over for desert. We chatted about many things, but no political or religious conversations emerged. We talked at great length, however, about the beaver population (did you know a beaver can live up to 80 years!) and told stories around the table of our travels abroad (everyone was extremely intelligent and well traveled). I have to say, it was a really amazing, simple and perfect evening with the Yoopers.