September 8, Monday – The Grand Marsh

Whenever you look at a road atlas of the state of Minnesota, they clip off the northeast corner of the state and stick it above the state. It is an appendage that doesn’t easily fit into the square box image that so many of our states exhibit. Grand Marais ( French for the “Grand Marsh”) is the only large city is this clipped off floating pie shaped section of the state. And that’s where I headed. After returning to the big lake, I journeyed north for an hour along sparely populated shoreline passing prime agate beaches when suddenly the city appeared behind a small harbor protected by breakwaters. It was a very quiet unassuming settlement, which dwells right on the water with the lowlands slowly slopping upwards to a ridge. This place was as remote a place as Ely was on the interior. I sat soaking up the sun on the open spacious waterfront that the town had created for all to enjoy. The summer crowds were gone and there was an air of getting ready for winter emanating from the locals. That feeling finally struck me and I got into my Jetta and hauled back down south along the coast to where I had left Snee-Oosh. With the units united I made for Duluth.
My layout in the cab has become a familiar arrangement for me: the small laundry basket, which holds my camera and extra map, is screwed down to the tabletop resting on top of the passenger seat. On a screwed down board on the lip of the laundry basket is a small tray that holds my sunglasses, sunscreen and energy bars. Resting on top of the engine compartment is my plywood base that holds my road atlas on a clipboard style setup with a potato chip bag clip holding the pages in place. The road atlas is there for constant referral. As I flew down the highway I hit a rough section in the road and the clipboard, road atlas and all went flying off the engine compartment and into the door well on the passenger’s side. A voice inside my head said in a drone tone, “Hey, Ron, I think your GPS just crashed.”
When I reached the city at the head of the lake, there was a hint of sadness for I was making a very decisive turn to the west and leaving my water world. I first greeted the waters of the east in Galveston six long months ago and water had always been on my starboard side. Oceans and lakes had been my constant companions and now as I left Duluth there was to be no more water until I hit the Pacific Ocean. A silent ceremony of thanks went through my mind as I departed the massive Lake Superior. Bye for now waters of the world.