Mission: Marquette

Armed with actual information we actually bothered to look up, we headed out on Saturday for a day in Marquette, Michigan, nestled on the shore of Lake Superior just 38 miles west of our campground. Highway 28 afforded a tantalizing view of the great lake nearly all the way.

We stopped at several overlooks along the way, one of which led down to a beach, where we met a couple from Wisconsin who were knee-deep in the calm, freezing-cold water searching for agates, those pretty, banded rocks that, when shined up, make lovely jewelry. We didn’t know at that time that it’s (say it quietly) illegal to collect rocks along the lakeshore, so after a pleasant chat we wished them good luck in their endeavor.

Marquette itself is a city, but also not a city; bigger than a town, but still entirely approachable, with a few streets that make up the downtown area. It can call itself a city because it has a cathedral, but we were here for its fabled dog-friendly nature, with Presque Isle Park as our goal.

Iron ore was the main economic driver in the area, starting in 1911, and the massive ore dock in the harbor is still in use today. We stopped for a quick photo of this impressive piece of engineering, and that’s when we saw the first of many, many NO DOGS signs.

You can’t fight city hall, especially when you’re a tourist, so we drove around the park, then searched for any lakeside parking area that didn’t forbid our sweet Ruthie. None found, we decided to pick up some fresh produce at the Saturday Farmers Market, which also had the glaring red circle with a slash through it, superimposed over the image of a dog.

In the end, we simply enjoyed the downtown architecture, which was impressive, and started our search for a dog-friendly lunch stop.

Of the five options outlined by the Visitor Center’s leaflet, one was closed, one had no outdoor seating, two had just a couple of tables outdoors, all of which were filled, and the fifth we never found. But none of that mattered when we found the Co-Op Grocery, Marquette’s answer to Whole Foods.

Three little pasta-based salads, an iced coffee, and a sparkling water later (with a scone thrown in for good luck) we ventured over to the sadly-named Dead Lake (so called not because it’s dead, or people who use it get dead, but because the Native people here recognized it as a place where their ancestors dwell), and after a small false start we came upon Tourist Park, a cozy picnic table in the sun, and a little girl named Amelia who fell in love with Ruthie. Lunchtime perfection!

With so much success in the wake of failure, we agreed another trip out to Pictured Rocks State Park was in order the next day, this time with actual knowledge of its location as our guide. And what a pay-off! We took short hikes, we walked on beaches, and we saw magnificent waterfalls, the final one being the majestic Miners Falls.

It was during this hike that we realized most of our photos were of the forests, and it really hit home how starved we’d been for nature. Florida has plenty of fascinating natural features, some of which hold a deep desire to kill you, but there’s something about a forest – deep and dappled and filled with the promise of frolicking deer and racoons – that touches a heartstring and plays a soul-stirring tune.

Lunch this day – the 18^th anniversary of the day we married – was in the remarkable Grand Marais on the far eastern edge of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. The Midwestern version of a wild west town, it had a single street that made up the downtown area, with just a handful of shops and dining outlets.

Dog-friendly patio? Check! Stunning view of Lake Superior? Check! Lots of Midwesterners and their amusing accents? Double check, with a heaping helping of off-road vehicles and a pint or two of beer for all of the over-21s. Chilly temperatures that required a run back to the car for our sweatshirts? That happened, too.

But none of the inconvenience mattered when we found Lake Perch on the menu. It’s Susan’s childhood in a basket, along with sides of coleslaw and French fries, and, with a pint each of local beer to toast our massive good fortune, we celebrated our anniversary to the strains of country music with lyrics that mentioned sex on a pontoon boat (“a slow-motion party”), sexy girls on tractors, and something about one man’s distain for another man’s testicles, complete with that word actually sung for all to hear.

Tomorrow: What in the name of all that is holy is that banging sound?