It’s exactly 6:36 AM. I’m only half-awake, and I’m barreling down a state park road in my 1995 Honda Accord.

I’m trying, and failing, to drive the speed limit, which is 25mph. The sky is clear, but otherwise it’s a humid morning, and my windshield is fogged over. My car is as tired and cranky as I am, and the defroster isn’t doing its job. I’m sticking my head out of the driver’s side window so I can see the road.

Nervously, I glance at the clock on my car’s dash – one of the things that actually works on this old thing. I’m gonna be late. I can’t be late.

It’s Monday. Most people in my situation are trying to get to work on time. Maybe they’re just barely going to clock in before they get written up, or maybe they’ll embarrass themselves by sheepishly finding an open seat at that important meeting that started fifteen minutes ago. Maybe they’re a college student, and it’s too early in the school year to get points knocked off their record for tardiness.

Me? I’m trying to catch the sunrise over Lake Superior.

I’ve been planning this trip for a long time. You’ll remember earlier this year when I attempted this same excursion, and it ended in disaster…you can read all about it here.

So, needless to say, as I drive northwards, I become more and more afraid. Will some act of God prevent me from ever traveling farther north than Ironwood, Michigan?

I breathe a sigh of relief as, somehow, I drive through this accursed city. The car still runs, and God is still good.

(Author’s Note: God would still be good even if my car did break down again, I’d just have a hard time believing it for a few minutes. Maybe a few days.)

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Interestingly enough, something did break down in Ironwood. My watch battery died. I laughed as I realized that 80% of my time in this town has been spent trying to fix something…I wonder what it’ll be next time?

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My first scheduled stop is Lake of the Clouds in the Porcupine Mountains of Michigan. Right before arriving at the southern shore of Lake Superior, I pass by the familiar sign pointing towards the tiny town of White Pine, where I stayed the night of Valentine’s Day in February of last year – one of my favorite impromptu adventures to this day.

Really, no matter what time of year it is, one of the best parts of arriving at Lake Superior is unsuspectingly meandering along a desolate road in the Ottawa National Forest – just when the woodsy scenery is beginning to bore you – and then bursting out of the trees and being welcomed to the great North by the largest mass of freshwater in the world.

Today, there’s misty cloud cover on this side of the Great Lake. Far out, the fog blends the sky and the water together, so you can barely make out the edge of the horizon. At the right angle, Lake Superior looks like a chasm of ethereal, moody nothingness.

I begin my ascent on the 107th Engineer’s Memorial Highway, and finally arrive at the Lake of the Clouds overlook. I can see the trail that snakes hundreds of feet down in the massive mountain valley, and I want to conquer it. But, this is just a quick stop. I’ve got a ferry to catch in Bayfield.

I drive back down the mountain, where I have to retrace my route through Ironwood again, and head due west. I just barely miss the southern edge of Lake Superior as I cruise along US-2.

Most of the day, I’ve made good use of my portable CD player and a pair of headphones I thrifted at Goodwill to listen to the Chronicles of Narnia. Here’s the thing: I can’t listen to audiobooks. I’ve tried several times – audiobooks, sermons, podcasts – I can’t do it. But, give me an audio drama, and I’ll sit perfectly still, spellbound, for hours.

That’s what this is – a Focus on the Family Radio Theatre audio drama of the Chronicles of Narnia, scripted almost word-for-word from the books by C.S. Lewis. These precious dramas are “staples” (Lewis fans? Hello? Get it? Joke?) of my childhood, and on this car drive, I’m working through The Horse and His Boy.

What’s so magical about this particular story is that, in Lewis’s narration, an estranged prince and a loyal war horse (a Talking Horse of Narnia, of course) have escaped their masters and are traveling together on a great adventure to Narnia and the North. Not only is there something special about listening to a childhood memory, whilst making your own, brand-new memories and adventures; I loved the fact that, just like the characters in The Horse and His Boy, I was traveling to the great North.

After a while, I switch from audio drama to music.* I hit “shuffle” on one of my favorite playlists and eventually hear a song by Rebekah Eden called “Prince Caspian’s Prayer” from her album Rowing in Eden. Rebekah Eden has a beautiful, elven voice, if you will. Her music in this album is gentle, but powerful – paired with strings and reed instruments and perfectly harmonized assisting vocals. I explore the rest of the album, only to adopt a new favorite song. It’s called “There and Back Again”, and it becomes the anthem of my adventure:

“I walked the world a little while / I know why I went

So far, oh so far / There and back again

Through fire of doubt and treachery / I was one who walked unseen

To the reaches of the night / I carried hope like a light

I found my way / I found my way

There and back again

Again”

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As the miles roll away beneath the tires of my Accord, I pass by the large lake-town of Ashland, Wisconsin. I pull over and stretch my legs on an old ore dock that stretches about a quarter mile into Lake Superior. I felt refreshed by the easy walk, the lake breeze, and the clear skies. This ore dock was built in 1915, and used until it became a landmark in 2002 (the year I was born). Check it out in this article.

(If you’re looking at a map of Lake Superior, and seeing the wolf’s head, Ashland is on the bottom part of the wolf’s snout. That little piece of the lake is actually called Chequamegon Bay.)

I keep driving on US-2, eventually splitting off towards the north again on State Highway 13. I am now minutes away from Bayfield.

Once I pull into town, I make a beeline for the Madeline Island Ferry, and I realize that my heart rate has climbed. I’m alone, and I’ll be driving my car onto a boat for goodness’ sake, and sleeping on an island for two nights.

This is, by far, the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

Before I know it, I’m on the ferry, which slowly chugs its way to my new home for the weekend. My nervousness has disappated. I hear the sounds of this car-barge plowing through the short waves of the lake. I feel the gentle rocking as we float along. I’m spellbound.

The weather is almost perfect before I board the ferry, but once we hit the water and feel the fresh, cool breeze of the cold lake, I start to forget my stresses and worries. They’re snatched by the brisk wind and carried far, far away. I’m in a state of disbelief – I’m doing this!

I’m on an ADVENTURE!

Disembarking from the ferry is easy enough, and I start following signs to Big Bay State Park. I’m not sure what I envisioned when I tried to imagine Madeline Island – but it’s not exactly what I’m seeing here. I didn’t think an island would look so wild, with so many trees – I had expected panoramic views of Lake Superior from all sides.

Apparantly, islands have…lots of trees.

Finally, I arrive at my campsite, and I feel like I’m dreaming. The last memories I have of camping were with family, years and years ago. Now, I’m making my own memories, on my own adventure, and I’m the one in charge. Mom and Dad aren’t here to tell me to wait until supper to eat snacks, or to stop bickering with my siblings, or to go to bed at a certain time

I am the KING of walk-in site #35.

For a while, I putz and fuss and make sure everything is in its proper place. This is where my ADHD/OCD brain is not helpful. (I’ve never been diagnosed, but the symptoms are very much there.) There are so many things to do, but I can’t fully complete one thing without being distracted by something else. The process goes something like this:

• I need to set up my hammock
• How do the bug-net and rainfly work?
• Hmm. I need to get a fire going.
• To start a fire, I need firewood.
• I left that in the car.
• I should probably put the courtesy cart back so other people can use it.
• I’m hungry.
• Hey…what should I have for supper?
• I should boil hot water for hot chocolate.
• I need water to…boil hot water.
• I also need a fire to boil hot water.
• I should build a fire.
• Where’s my firewood?

You get the picture. Eventually, I get my head screwed on right and set about making a fire.

Earlier this year, I dabbled with firebuilding in a more traditional sense – using flint, steel and tinder. No matches, lighters, or firestarters. It takes practice and frustration as you learn what sort of tool works best as a steel striker, and what kind of tinder is most effective, and once the tinder is lit…where to go from there. I probably spend about 45 minutes starting this particular fire, beginning with a magnesium block. You can produce shavings from it, which are extremely flammable, and then light it with sparks. It burns hot and fast, and long enough to light tinder.

Using the blade of my hatchet to catch the magnesium flakes, I try lighting the small pile twice…and the magnesium flashes, and sparks, and dies out.

From there, I change tactics and use my flint and steel on a brand-new resource: dryer lint. It’s extremely flammable, and holds a flame long enough for kindling to ignite. This strategy works, and soon I’m beaming from ear to ear as I look upon the flames I made with my bare hands and natural resources.

(Well, mostly. I’ve yet to harvest dryer lint from the great outdoors.)

Next, I set about a major reason for this camping trip – some much needed quiet time and reflection. I’ve been having some difficulty with my faith lately. Big, scary questions have come up, and it feels like the foundations I thought I knew are crumbling beneath me. Having the bedrock of your beliefs shaken, or disturbed, leads to a certain panic that I wish upon no one.

But, fire-boiled hot chocolate in a blue-and-white speckled tin mug help me forget about that panic for a while.

My calm night continues. I feeel my soul relaxing to an extreme I haven’t felt in a long time. I journal, I read, I pray. I listen to the crackling of my hand-built fire, the sound of the light breeze in the trees, and the hearty laughs and chatters of other campers at nearby sites. The smell of rich, earthy campfire smoke permeates the air. The light begins to fade, and shadows grow long and sleepy.

Journal entry from September 13th –

“Currently sitting in front of a campfire at Big Bay State Park on Madeline Island. The level of peace I have right now is unreal. This is unlike anything I’ve ever done, and I wonder why I didn’t do it sooner. I’m in my element. Everything is perfect…This is ME.”

As nighttime sets in, I look forward to “bedtime” – which, for me, is the time to lay in my hammock and read until I can’t keep my eyes open. The time finally comes, and I find myself quite snug in my Bear Butt hammock in the open air – there are hardly any bugs and the sky is clear – with my borrowed copy of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis, and my kerosene lantern suspended above me. Now, it feels like I’m in a dream within a dream. I feel peaceful, safe, and comforted. This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, I don’t want the night to ever end.

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Part 2 coming soon!

*(You see, if I’m driving down the road with my windows down because my air conditioning doesn’t work, I usually have overpowering wind noise. Now, if one is wearing earbuds, as opposed to headphones, this shouldn’t cause any problems. But, I just so happen to have a pair of headphones, not earbuds, for said CD player. So, when it gets warm enough to where I need to open my car windows, I can’t hear what I’m trying to listen to on my CD player. Make sense?)