A North Manitou Memoir: Women, Magic, and Place

Emmie Koonmen and Kara Schaub bathe in white flower petals falling from bushes near the ferry dock on North Manitou Island. Photo by Abby Chatfield.

By Abby Chatfield

Sun contributor

With the Manitou Islands all but closed to visitors this year (unless you have a private boat)—as the National Lakeshore rebuilds the docks, we at the Glen Arbor Sun are reflecting on the Manitous with an ongoing series about experiences we’ve had on the islands.

When an opportunity arose to create my ideal North Manitou Island backpacking excursion seven years ago, I reached out to some female friends and acquaintances. Outdoor adventures with fellow women are some of the most rewarding experiences for me. There is no hierarchy or alpha in the group, but instead genuine camaraderie and a supportive dynamic that allows everyone to connect with and learn from their surroundings. Women work together, teach each other, and address challenges as a team in the outdoors.

I was working as a backpacking guide for an outdoor retailer and needed to scout the island for the outfitter’s official trip. It was late June, and we were to follow an itinerary I’d put together to determine if it was interesting, realistic, and doable. We planned to spend two nights backpacking around North Manitou Island, exploring various spur trails off the perimeter loop.

The Manitou Islands were inhabited by European immigrants from the mid 1800s into the mid 1900s. The settlers farmed and logged the islands, feeding the steamships that brought Chicagoans to summer on the islands as they escaped the heat of the city. Seasonal cottages built from Sears & Roebuck kits make up Cottage Row at the north island’s ghost village.

The National Park Service took over the islands during the second half of the 20th century. Eventually the old farmsteads were swallowed back into the earth. Here and there a foundation still exists along with a handful of weathered buildings, and rusty farm and logging equipment. Other than these disappearing historical remnants, only nature exists on this island.

Although I could technically do this alone, I was six months pregnant for my first time and didn’t know what to expect. I’d need help carrying the weight of a tent and other necessary supplies, but the value of these women’s opinions about the adventure was the real clincher. Plus, it is just way more fun to share outdoor experiences with others.

The group got acquainted with each other during the wet and foggy ferry ride from mainland Leland to the island. There were six of us, some with no backpacking experience at all. Two of us were six months pregnant, and not one of us knew everyone else.

It stopped raining the moment we disembarked onto the island’s waterlogged dock. The water level was so high that summer that the dock was almost level with the lake, water lapping over its sides. We hiked clockwise around the island, camping next to water both nights.

The first day we walked over eight miles, mostly following the Perimeter Loop, taking spur trails to a cemetery near an old cabin named Bournique’s Place and in search of other landmarks we never located. We camped on the west side of the island, just north of Johnson’s Place, so we could watch the sunset over Lake Michigan’s unbroken horizon of endless water. South Manitou Island loomed in view across the Manitou Passage, the ghosts of shipwrecks hidden beneath the channel’s churning currents.

We cooked our dinner over two camp stoves on the beach while we shared backcountry cooking hacks and taught the beginners how to filter water. Just before sunset, a doe emerged from the forest, her fur glowing the color of burning coals in the fading light. Throughout the night, she stayed with us, the sound of her tromping and rustling weaving into my dreams. The next morning, not only was mama deer still there, but two fawns had joined her. I couldn’t help but think of it as a good omen for myself and my pregnant backpacking partner.

Day two was going to be another 8-mile hike. A restless night’s sleep confirmed for me that this would be the last time I’d camp during this pregnancy. The other women offered to help carry more gear to ease the strain of their two pregnant companions. When pregnant, a backpack hip belt isn’t a comfortable option, so their help was essential in making it a safe and more enjoyable journey.

It was a sunny day, heavy with humidity, mosquitos and laughter. The Perimeter Loop led us to Swensons Barn, a historical horse barn in good condition. Not far from the barn was the former site of Crescent City, one of two villages on the island that were once inhabited by settlers but are now left to the imagination. The fog veiled the lake, but it was hot and sunny on shore. We ate lunch, soaked our feet, skipped stones, and relaxed.

We followed the trail along an old railroad bed where tracks once led past Davenport Camp, a deserted logging camp marked only by rusted chains and broken equipment. Further down the trail at Stormer’s Camp, an automobile junkyard with the most colorful, interesting pile of rusted artifacts left on the island, one of us freed a Monarch butterfly from a spider web, carefully sweeping away the fine, sticky strands from its wings until it flew away.

We cut inland at the Pole Bridge to camp at Lake Manitou. The calm inland lake provided an easy source for filtering water. We swam and relaxed in hammocks under the cedar trees by the water’s edge. After crawling into our sleeping bags for the night, we shared bedtime stories with each other, bodiless laughs floating between tents.

Our final day was a short 2 ½-mile walk back to the ferry, past Frank Farm, home to the island’s largest apple orchard remnants. At Cottage Row, near the dock, we waited under the abundant flowering bushes, laughing at ourselves as white petals fell like snow all over us. I believe that none of us were really ready to be done with the trip, terrible sleep aside. We had forged new friendships and were leaving the island full of inspiration and new aspirations.

The power of North Manitou Island inspired a new hobby for one woman and was a factor in another woman’s decision to move her family to Leelanau County. The power of a group of women inspiring each other, teaching each other, and carrying each other’s weight was an unforgettable experience for me.

Although I’ve backpacked many times with female companions since then, sharing this time on a remote island, untethered from the responsibilities of daily life, is hard to match.