Life in Ishpeming Fire Tower

The historic Ishpeming Fire Tower is no longer in use, but it has a rich human history.

NPS Photo

Ishpeming Fire Tower, in the middle of the island on the Greenstone Ridge, does not “tower” over its surroundings. In fact, hikers who are looking forward to it as a rest stop and hoping for a dramatic view from the catwalk, are surprised when they suddenly spot it hidden in the trees: a steel and glass box on iron struts one story above the ground. Ishpeming Point was burned over in the 1936 fire, and apparently when the tower was constructed in 1961, the view was unobstructed. But during our time as lookouts (1965, 1966, 1971), trees were already blocking some visibility.

The living-working space in the cab was eleven feet, six inches square, most of which was taken up by a counter, propane stove, Osborne Fire Finder, table and chairs, and mattresses. Early on, my wife, Barbara, and I learned to coordinate our movements to avoid bumping into each other. Space was even tighter in 1971 when our toddler Sara joined us.

Our official duties were minimal. We did a radio check at 8:00 a.m., and calculated and reported a “burn index” at 1:00 p.m. If fire danger was elevated, we watched carefully for smoke and lightning strikes in our territory. The Osborne Fire Finder, of course, did not actually “find” fires. It was a low-tech device for sighting on a distant point and determining its bearing and an estimate of its elevation. During our three seasons there were no fires, but we did report one false alarm, probably curls of fog hanging in a low area in the still morning air.

Though we had no close neighbors, we had frequent visitors. By the mid-1960s, the Greenstone had become a popular backpacking challenge. When hikers reached us, their mood ranged from joy to desperation – depending on weather, equipment, food and water supply, their condition and experience. We always greeted them cheerfully and invited them up to the catwalk to visit and take in the view. Some were disappointed that we didn’t sell pop or candy and couldn’t fill their water jugs.

Water was always a concern. Our supply came from rain on one half of the roof which drained into a galvanized stock tank hanging below the tower floor. Apparently, it was assumed that there would only ever be one lookout, and so the rain on the other half of the roof splashed onto the ground. Planning for having Sara with us in 1971, I jerry-rigged a way to direct the wasted water into an inflatable kid’s play pool. It worked, and we had plenty of water, though we quickly abandoned our plan of washing Sara’s cloth diapers.

We revisited the tower several times in the late 1990s and early 2000s while camping at Malone Bay. We were drawn by the pleasure of the hike and by the memories evoked at being at the tower again. But also, we were saddened at seeing it empty and abandoned. How pleasant it would have been to be greeted by enthusiastic lookouts, to share with them our experiences, and to urge them to savor the best job they will ever have.

Russell Tabbert
Isle Royale Park Ranger
1965, 1966, 1971