Showing posts with label Keweenaw County. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Keweenaw County. Show all posts

The Last Place on Earth

Even after having made so many trips to Michigan's Copper Country and the Keweenaw Peninsula, I still had not made it to the historic Fort Wilkins, at the northern terminus of U.S. Highway 41. I finally made a point of visiting in October of 2014.


Rutabaga and I traveled along the Brockway Mountain Drive for a scenic journey to get there from Eagle Harbor, but it can be fairly said that there is not a single drive anywhere in Keweenaw County that is not scenic.


Atop Mount Brockway itself the autumn colors were beginning to show, in this westward view back toward Eagle Harbor:


You can see a snippet of Copper Harbor in the distance between the hills here, which is where Fort Wilkins lies:


Unfortunately we got here late in the day and most buildings were already closed, but we were still able to wander about the fort grounds freely.


The first of the treaties separating the local tribes from their mineral-rich lands in this region was signed in 1842, and the federal government quickly had it surveyed and sold for mining. The Michigan Copper Rush began in 1843, and Fort Wilkins was built in 1844. The local U.S. land permit office was originally down in Houghton-Hancock, but according to local historian Lawrence Molloy it was relocated here to the fort when it was built, to distribute leases to arriving copper prospectors.

Fort Wilkins is definitely not very heavily fortified...the term "fort" is more of a formality, really, since in truth it is more like a wilderness outpost surrounded by a small, log palisade on two sides (Lake Fanny Hooe protects the other two sides). In the 1840s northern Michigan, being an unsettled wilderness, was still part of the "Wild West." There were no roads, only Indian trails, so the only way to conduct major commerce was by sailing ship, which depended upon the few natural harbors to be found along the Keweenaw's jagged, mostly uncharted Lake Superior coast.


"Fearing that the Indians of the area might be resentful of the intrusion of the prospectors and the miners," the U.S. War Department established Fort Wilkins to protect the incoming white settlers from those ghastly savages. It soon proved however that the natives were "far less dangerous than the boisterous prospectors and miners," according to the book Michigan, A History of the Wolverine State.


Along the back of the Keweenaw Peninsula, the first frontier ports in the early Copper Rush were established at Ontonagon, Eagle Harbor, and Copper Harbor, and each started to get rowdy as tent cities sprang up around them with the arrivals of prospective miners. Again, the taming of northern Michigan presaged the much more romanticized American story of the Wild West, and the Michigan Copper Rush was a preface to the much better remembered California Gold Rush of 1849. In the days when Michigan copper was shipped from those three ports, it was coming from the older, first-wave mines like the Cliff Mine, Old Victoria Mine, and Norwich Mine (all of which I have already explored in depth on this website). There were also the early mines on Isle Royale, which should probably not be left out.

Hunt's Guide to Michigan's Upper Peninsula describes Fort Wilkins as "way beyond the frontier of settlement," and points out that it was the northernmost garrison in the United States, flung some 600 miles from Detroit. Of the soldiers garrisoned here between 1844 and 1870, 8% died while serving in the Army (half of natural causes), and 11% deserted. I'm guessing that's because for six months out of the year, the weather here made it feel like being stationed in Siberia. Some also perhaps found it more attractive to be a prospector than a soldier.


As you can see, the fort is perched right on Lake Fanny Hooe, although this minuscule outpost hardly commands a formidable strategic grip on waterborne trade; if the British Navy had somehow reappeared in Lake Superior to compete for the riches of these lands, tiny Fort Wilkins would have posed no obstacle to them (neither would have the obsolete Fort Mackinac or Fort Brady, for that matter). Fort Wayne in Detroit was the only real strategic protector of the upper Great Lakes during the 1840s Copper Rush, but it was never fully armed. Luckily there was very little chance of having to repulse naval invasions of the Great Lakes after 1865.


One thing Fort Wilkins had going for its defense however was that it was located in the woods so far back from navigable waters that I don't know if any enemy naval gun from that era would have been able to reach it, even if they knew where to aim. By the same token, Fort Wilkins was equipped with no seacoast-caliber artillery—only a few field pieces.

Then again, when the fort was active it is likely that all the trees in the area would have been chopped down to be used both as lumber and as fuel, and so as to eliminate the chance of a surprise attack.


A casual glance at Fort Wilkins' location on a MAP makes it seem as if it were deliberately placed so as to protect it from the chance of ever being engaged in a real battle. If it were built substantially—with stone ramparts and heavy cannon—and placed out on Hayes Point where the lighthouse is, it could have plausibly protected the shipping route through Copper Harbor, but it appears to be more designed to command Lake Fanny Hooe than Copper Harbor for some reason. Which seems strange since this small lake is hardly of strategic importance, as it doesn't connect to any other major water route.


In any case, the Mexican War in 1846 caused Fort Wilkins to be emptied of its garrison two years after it was completed. During that conflict, the fort was left in the hands of a single caretaker, Sgt. William Wright. Could you imagine being that guy, out here all alone? It would be great in the summer...


Fort Wilkins was left unmanned until 1867, when some Civil War soldiers were sent here to fill out the remainder of their enlistment terms. It stayed open in that capacity until August of 1870, when it was permanently decommissioned by the Army. Most of the small-time prospectors had given up and left the Keweenaw by 1846 anyway; the larger mining companies stabilized the region, and the fort wasn't needed to "keep the peace" anymore.

As I recall, there was a plan issued by Washington D.C. in the middle of the Civil War to beef up U.S. defenses along the Great Lakes by building a chain of new heavy forts and to reinforce existing ones, in case the Confederate alliance with England resulted in a British naval assault designed to cut off crucial Union supply routes. I don't recall whether Fort Wilkins was considered for reinforcement at that time, but Fort Wayne was heavily improved, and later so was Fort Brady at the Soo Locks.


After the Army abandoned Fort Wilkins in 1870, the Hunt's Guide to Michigan's Upper Peninsula says it became a popular picnicking and camping spot, and the favorite destination of a certain bicycle club in the 1880s; by 1910 automobile clubs were doing similar jaunts. I imagine the buildings were kept up somewhat by the locals who used it for picnicking and camping, but it probably started to fall into ruins after the automobile brought more tourists (and vandals) here from further away. So you see, "Urbex" already existed over a century ago.


Fort Wilkins became a Michigan state park in 1923, although by that time it had fallen into ruins from being mostly left to the hands of nature (and Urbexers) for the better part of 50 years. When the Works Progress Administration (WPA) began operating during the Great Depression, restoration work began on the fort's surviving buildings from 1939 to 1942. That was when the site was modernized into the park we see today—i.e., with a parking lot, water and sewage, a park store, and campsites.


Even today, Fort Wilkins is sort of like the last place on Earth. It is the furthest point you can drive to in Michigan (without a 4x4). Highway US-41 ends here, and beyond it there are no communities or any sort of civilization; just solid wilderness from here to the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula, ten miles away. There are the ruins of the old Keweenaw Rocket Range on Keweenaw Point, but again, you need a lifted vehicle to get there, or hiking boots. One of these days I will actually get out there to the rocket range, Schlatter Lake, and High Rock; I'm told it is a sublime wilderness area. Stay tuned.


The Fort Wilkins site is currently managed and interpreted by a public-private partnership between the state parks and the Fort Wilkins Natural History Association, a non-profit organization that raises money to support and sponsor programs and special events at the fort. They were the second such organization to do this kind of partnership in the state of Michigan, and having started here at Fort Wilkins in 1969.

Every year there is a summertime artillery muster at Fort Wilkins, usually the last weekend of July if I'm not mistaken. Lots of reenactors, and cannons going boom.


This small stone building is the powder magazine, where the post's ammunition was stored. It was the only stone structure on base, naturally to protect it from flame, and enemy cannonballs. The keystone above the doorway says, "1844 AD, 5th Infantry":


Inside, crates of musket balls and kegs of powder...or are they kegs of firewater for "keeping the peace" with the Indians?


This small creek drained from Lake Fanny Hooe to Copper Harbor, and protected the fort's western flank:


Lawrence Molloy writes that the lake was named after Captain W. Albutrtis' teenaged sister-in-law, who went down to the lake one day to do some laundry and never returned.

Molloy also says that the fort's grounds contain pits from some of the earliest Anglo attempts at mining copper in Michigan...the Pittsburgh & Boston Copper Harbor Mining Co. conducted the first commercial mining here near the lighthouse on Hayes Point, and later moved their operations next to the fort. This is one of their old shafts:


One more view from Mount Brockway, overlooking Copper Harbor, and Lake Fanny Hooe:


Here are some other posts of mine where I explore some of Michigan's other forts:
Fort Mackinac
Fort Drummond


References:
Michigan, A History of the Wolverine State, by Willis Dunbar & George May, p. 255
Michigan Yesterday & Today, by Ferris E. Lewis, p. 279, 517
A Guide to Michigan's Historic Keweenaw Copper District, by Lawrence Molloy, p. 71
Hunt's Guide to Michigan's Upper Peninsula, Second Ed., p. 54-55
http://www.fortwilkinsnha.org
http://www.michigan.gov/mhc/0,4726,7-282-61080_62655-59547--,00.html

End of the Line

The ghost town of Mandan was a place in the Keweenaw Copper Country that I never made much of a point to stop and see for many years, since I understood it to be a cliché / touristy spot on the side of the highway, which only really consisted of one abandoned house anyway. Even the popular Moon brand of travel guide books for Michigan mentions Mandan, featuring it under a section about ghost towns that you can visit in the state. Sure, it was a cool looking house, but how many photos of that one house does there really need to be? So, I never stopped.


But recently I finally gave in to curiosity, and on a whim swerved my truck off the road when I saw the sign for Mandan, just to see it for myself. There's actually a few occupied houses back here besides this famous one, owned by cottagers apparently. I also noticed a few concrete foundations of other lost structures along the now forested former streets of the village.

According to author Virgil J. Vogel, the name "Mandan" comes from Mawatadan, an Indian tribe that dwelt in North Dakota.


The original Mandan Mine was organized in 1863 according to historian Lawrence Molloy, but the town itself was actually situated slightly closer to the Medora Mine if I recall correctly. The very narrow yet very rich vein of copper at the site was ensconced between deposits of sand, and because it proved too difficult to extract profitably the Mandan was forced to close by 1868, Molloy said.

But in 1905 Mandan was bought up and consolidated with the Medora Mine, under the Keweenaw Copper Co. An entry on mindat.org says that a second shaft was sunk at Mandan in 1907 in hopes of better output, but that idea was kaput by 1909. Today there is very little surface evidence left of the mine itself.


Mandan's railroad depot kept the town on the map, however; it was the last stop of the Keweenaw Central Railroad in this wilderness, and included a telegraph office. In other words, it was the only link to the rest of the civilized world for the miners who lived in the lonely, outermost extremity of the Keweenaw Peninsula (other than what few ships came and went from Copper Harbor, Michigan's northernmost settlement).


An old entry on exploringthenorth.com has long been the most popular source of online information about Mandan; it was written using info from the book All About Michigan, by Clarence J. Monette. Mandan's post office operated from 1908 until 1931 it said, illustrating that the town itself was able to prosper independently of the actual mine from which it derived its name.


Once the Mandan Mine closed, the miners were able to easily find work at the Ojibwe Mine and Cliff Mine nearby, without having to move from Mandan. A peak of about 300 people lived here, in 25 homes and two boarding houses, all built by the company. There was a school built in 1907 as well as a general store in 1908, but out of all this only a total of four houses remain standing today. It was the loss of the railroad service in 1931 that finally did Mandan in.


And there you have it; the most photographed house in the Copper Country.


References:
http://www.exploringthenorth.com/mandan/mine.html
http://www.coppercountryexplorer.com/2008/04/mystery-at-mandan/
http://thecoppercountrymaps.blogspot.com/2014/09/mandan-medora-mine-and-kcrr.html
http://www.ghosttowns.com/states/mi/mandan.html
http://www.mindat.org/loc-229983.html
A Guide to Michigan's Historic Keweenaw Copper District, by Lawrence J. Molloy, p. 70
Moon Michigan, by Laura Martone
Indian Names in Michigan, by Virgil J. Vogel, p. 22

Daily Meditations

Photos from October, 2014.

These are the ruins of the engine house for the Arnold Mine's shaft #2, which I covered but briefly in an older post.


They have been cleaned up and made into a place of meditation by an order of Byzantine Catholic monks who live nearby--the same ones who operate "The Jampot" roadside stand. Their story is told in a recent Detroit Free Press article by John Carlisle.


As I said before, this mine was originally one of the holdings of its parent Copper Falls Mining Co., which was sold off by 1861. According to Mindat.org, the Arnold Mine explored the Ashbed Amydaloid Lode starting in 1860, and was incorporated in 1863. A "lode" is basically another term for a "vein" of metal ore embedded within a geological formation.


The Arnold Mine was worked sporadically until 1900, at which time all work ceased, though it had produced two million pounds of refined copper. As far as I know Arnold Schwarzenegger was never the governor of this mine, nor did he ever yell "GET BACK TO ZE COPPER" at the start of each shift.

It shut down and was stripped of its equipment after closing, allowing it to succumb to the ravages of nature. This included massive amounts of sediment being deposited from the nearby Jacob’s Creek, which gradually buried its stone ruins.


The Arnold Mine was then essentially lost to memory, and literally buried by the sands of time. Mike Forgrave of CopperCountryExplorer.com makes the interesting observation that over 70 years later the mine’s ruins made a sudden reappearance during the spring thaw of 1971 when a beaver dam burst, sending massive amounts of water downstream, not only washing out roads and at least one local business, but also uncovering the lost foundations of the Arnold. Roy L. Dodge’s Michigan Ghost Towns of the Upper Peninsula verifies this occurrence as well.


And now instead of my usual know-it-all blabbing, I will shut the hell up for once, and just let you enjoy the pretty pictures of old ruins in the Yoopee, as the monks intended.


















After wandering for a ways, we found ourselves at a poor-rock pile, a place where waste spoils from a mine are stacked up in a mound. The monks had even arranged some of the boulders to form nice little pathways through the otherwise ugly rubble:


As it turned out we had wandered all the way to the Arnold Mine's shaft #1, whose cap marker was right here:


The pipe serves as a marker (and perhaps a vent) for the cap over the old mineshaft. The name and number of the mine is welded onto the side of the pipe for identification.

Further down the road and up the hill we wandered.


Suddenly, we realized we were so high up that we could see Lake Superior:


It was an absolutely perfect autumn day and we had nowhere to be, so we kept wandering. We decided to follow the creek that trickled past the Arnold Mine's poor rock pile.


Pretty soon we were finding little waterfalls, like every 50 yards or so. Maybe this wasn't just another average creek in the Yoopee, but I honestly had no idea which one it was, if it had a name.


We didn't know where this trail led exactly, or how far it went, but we were liking it so far.


We were going downhill pretty fast now, which of course meant more and more river drops, but I was sort of taken aback, since in order to come across this many waterfalls I usually have to do some actual, conscious itinerary planning.



 

Wow...the river actually formed a bit of a canyon here...


That's a helluva drop, for what I think is an unnamed falls.

(As I later figured out, this is named Upper Jacobs Falls, and we were following the Jacob's Creek, according to a great website by my colleague Jacob Emerick, Waterfalls Of The Keweenaw. And no, he did not name the falls after himself).


Also, according to Mr. Emerick's map, the first significant falls we had seen earlier was also called Arnold Mine Falls.

Up ahead through the trees we could start to see glimpses of deep blue Lake Superior, and the golden dome of what must be the monastery:


We still had a long way to go first before we got down to the bottom of this hill, and it got awfully steep near the end.




Finally, the last drop:


By the time we reached this point in our hike along the river, we had descended from around 1,200 feet above sea level to about 700 feet above sea level.

According to Waterfalls of the Keweenaw again, this was Jacob's Falls...and I suddenly had a total-recall moment where I realized that I had in fact actually seen this waterfall many times before, while driving along M-26, which we were currently standing on the shoulder of while taking this photo.


And here was the monastery, with its glimmering onion domes, towering over a cliff looking out on the vastness of Lake Superior:


We had reached The Jampot.


References:
http://www.mindat.org/loc-8488.html
Michigan Ghost Towns of the Upper Peninsula, by Roy L. Dodge
http://www.coppercountryexplorer.com/explorations/mines/arnold-mine/
http://www.freep.com/story/news/columnists/john-carlisle/2016/01/23/monks-making-jam-in-upper-peninsula-monastery/78371442/