Wilderness Summers in Ishpeming Tower

As foliage grows in, Ishpeming Tower no longer offers the expansive views it once did when it was constructed in the 1930s.

NPS Photo

Each time I near Isle Royale, I marvel at my amazing good fortune to have this place in my life, this green stone gem blue-sea-set.

In 1960 I was a college student looking for summer work. The only offer I received from a batch of applications was for “kitchen aid” at Rock Harbor Lodge on an island I’d never heard of. Having no better prospects, I accepted.

Though the job was really dishwasher, I fell in love with the island. Its wild beauty and isolation from crowds and mechanized hustle revealed a whole new possibility for joy in life. Over the next three seasons, I rose to the position of night watchman and met Barbara, the office secretary.

June, 1965. No more summer idylls. It was time for dedication to careers and marriage. Then came the call: the guy hired for Ishpeming Fire Tower had backed out. Would we be interested? Could we sail in five days? Our decision led to three wilderness summers, the last with our fifteen-month-old daughter.

Ishpeming Fire Tower does not “tower.” It squats on one-story legs on the second highest point on the Greenstone Ridge. Apparently planners assumed the spot would remain open and the tower would always have an unrestricted view. Not so. Trees grow. As hikers today discover, you don’t see the tower until you are almost upon it.

However, during our time the view was spectacular. To the north across blue Lake Superior waters was the Canadian shore, a dim line of headlands. Below us lay low ridges and boggy valleys of varying shades of green. To the south was the series of ridges that Ishpeming Trail alternately climbs and parallels as it ascends from Siskiwit Lake. We could see up and down the Greenstone Ridge, the undulating backbone of the island.

Our perch provided great sky watching. Distant thunderstorms moving across Lake Superior were silent flashes of light, and as they approached became bright bursts followed by muffled reports. Heavy nighttime lightning overhead really got our attention. Almost simultaneous explosions of light and sound were magnified and reflected inside our metal and glass skybox. Though we’d been assured the tower was well grounded, we nervously avoided the walls.

In the pitch blackness of a cloudy night you could get a lost, almost floating feeling as you peered out the windows trying to get some visual orientation. But on a clear, dark night standing on the catwalk gazing into the heavens, you had no doubt about your place in the universe. Stars beyond numbering formed a dome of lights stretching as far as you could see and deeper than you could imagine.

We still return to Isle Royale regularly, drawn both by the pleasure of the journey and the memories evoked. When we visit the tower, there is sadness at seeing it empty and abandoned. How nice it would be to be greeted by an enthusiastic lookout, maybe even a happy young couple, from the catwalk of a well-maintained tower. We could share our experiences and urge them to savor the best job they will ever have.

But that possibility is long gone. The tower has been unstaffed for many years. In reality, there probably never was much need for a fire tower at Ishpeming Point. But we are grateful for it and for the coincidences that brought us there for three wonderful summers in the wilderness.

Russell Tabbert
Isle Royale Park Ranger
1965, 1966, 1971