Back at camp it was all about the smores. Peter getting Smores 101....stay close to the white coals...not the flames and slowly rotate. He claimed the fire was too hot and that we needed to roast all of them.
We took a ride up to the Shipwreck Museum. Dont know why I am fascinated with shipwrecks but I am. Jamison was in awe and decided that he wanted to be a scuba diver and go look for the "gerald" (the Edmund Fitzgerald) Gordon Lightfoot was in my brain for the rest of the day....bummer...here it is again. "The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down from the big lake they call Gitchee Gumee"More rock throwing...they are getting really good at it.
This a a boat rudder from one of the sunken ships off the point of Whitefish Bay.
We stopped for lunch along Whitefish Bay. There were a number of ring-billed gulls just hanging out in the water. I told the boys that when I was a kid I would feed the gulls corn chips. In spirit of re-living my childhood, I brought along the extra pancakes from breakfast and the boys had a blast feeding them. AND no one got pooped on. (a problem my mom always seems to have)
I can say that we have been to Paradise and back. And do you know what Paradise has....
creepy snowman statues and a couple motels. The doctor clinic is also the post office and gift shop, lets just call it a one stop shop.
Finally, our next and last, waterfall....Tahquamenon Lower Falls. The mosquitos were so bad we needed to be doused in DEET and all have hoods. I was not going to take the hood off even for a cute picture with the boys.We were getting pretty tired at the end. Jamison would take every opportunity to rest when he could.
Almost done...just a couple more days to highlight.
"The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead When the skies of November turn gloomy"
(i know it is in your head....ok, i have to look the whole thing up again)
by Gordon Lightfoot
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on downOf the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore - 26,000 tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early
The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconson
As the big freighters go it was bigger than most
With a crew and the Captain well seasoned.
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ships bell rang
Could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling.
The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,
T'was the witch of November come stealing.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane West Wind
When supper time came the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
He said fellas it's been good to know ya.
The Captain wired in he had water coming in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the words turn the minutes to hours
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters.
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the ruins of her ice water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered.
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they say, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early.
No comments:
Post a Comment