Lighthouse on the Upper Peninsula's Lakeshore Trail
The Upper Peninsula's Lakeshore Trail has been an obsession of mine for years. I first thought of running its 42.8 miles as a two-day event. Then last year I entered the realm of ultrarunning, and began believing I could do it in one day easily, without aid.

My coworkers were at first silent when I told them my plan, but after a few moments they opened with a barrage of questions.

"How do you take care of your feet?"

"With duct tape and Moleskin," I told them.

"Duct tape?"

I tried to explain how duct tape prevents blisters from forming due to the friction created by rubbing skin on fabric.

"How do you hydrate?" This question and terminology came from a non-runner.

"I have a CamelBak," I answered, then explained what one was.

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Yes, that's part of the adventure," I said confidently.

I have an addictive personality that gravitates toward extreme events. The longer and harder the trail is, the better I feel when I complete it.

Once I made up my mind to run the Trail, I pored over area maps, but none were topographical. So I didn't have much idea what type of terrain I would be traversing. It was through rugged back country, inaccessible by automobile, was all I knew.

Just over a week from the time I made up my mind, I arrived at the trailhead.

Lakeshore Trail, a part of the North Country National Scenic Trail, offers spectacular vistas of Lake Superior, cliffs, dunes, waterfalls and rivers. It traverses deep, dense forests, dark and green with vegetation; white, sandy beaches and tranquil meadows where deer flee your path and birds squawk.

My route took me west along the south shore of Lake Superior between Grand Marais and Munising. The route was almost entirely single-track trail, and the only help I received was from my wife, Kim. She crawled out of bed at 4 a.m., drove me to the trailhead and picked me up at the end of the run. My only supplies were what I fit into my pack and carried on my back.

I started with 100 ounces of water, 100 ounces of Gatorade, and more than 6,000 calories in energy gel and chocolate bars (another addiction), a camera, water treatment pills, a blister kit and a cell phone.

At 6 a.m. I kissed Kim goodbye, scratched our golden retriever's head, and ran slowly away from the Grand Sable Visitor Center near Grand Marais. My goal was to maintain a 4 mph pace. I estimated it would take me no longer than 12 hours to get to Munising, even if I had to stop for any length of time. Because of the distance and perceived difficulty of the route, I planned to run 20 minutes, walk for five, then repeat that pattern for the duration.

The first mile of the trail snaked its way through tall grass and around Grand Sable Lake. Then it headed into lush forests toward the Log Slide Overlook five miles away. A quarter-mile stint on a county road was the last pavement that I saw.

My paced slowed as I hit soft sand at the Log Slide Dune. During the late-1800s lumbering boom, logs were sent down a dry chute here with so much friction the chute caught fire. As I crested the dune, Lake Superior came into view and strong wind caused the temperature to plummet.

I gazed out over panoramic views of the Grand Sable Banks and Dunes. In the distance I could see the Au Sable Light Station, built in 1874 and now being restored. Its light shine 17 miles out on the mighty lake.

After another hour of easy running, I reached the east end of 12-Mile Beach. I tried running on the sand, but the stable flies - which travel over open areas and bite - were so thick I fled the beach for the trail and forest cover.

As its name implies, the beach is 12 miles long. The trail, which travels through woods that extend up to the cliff overlooking the beach, posed little challenge until Beaver Creek.

Although a rough-hewn log bridge spans Beaver Creek, the trail approaching its crystal-clear water was a muddy quagmire. My Gore- Tex trail shoes got drenched wading through it, but my feet stayed dry. Steep hills approach and lead away from Beaver Creek. The descent was harder on my feet then the climb up the other side on my legs.

About six hours into the run, between Spray Falls and Chapel Beach, I lifted my legs high to cross a log fallen on the trail. This caused both my hamstrings to cramp severely. The pain was intense; for five minutes I couldn't walk, much less run. This was as close as I came to panicking, helpless amid all the isolation. At last, drinking water made the cramps go away.

The duct tape and Moleskin on my feet helped to stave off blisters. The top of my right foot, behind my big toe, developed a scarlet-and-purple bruise, but the malady didn't affect my running.

At Chapel Beach I climbed toward Grand Portal Point into a high maple forest. The trail went up, down and around cliffs towering above the lake.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore begins at Grand Portal Point. Here the trail becomes far more technical, with steep hills and bluffs dropping straight down to rocks and frigid green water that crashes into coves and caves some 200 feet below. One misplaced step and I could have tripped over a root or rock, which were prevalent during the entire run, resulting in a fatal tumble down a cliff.

I did catch my toe on roots and rolled an ankle once, but did not have to stop because of them. For the most part the roots were inconvenient obstacles, but at times they functioned as steps up some steeper slopes. The trail was narrow at times, with many downed trees across it, but open to running the entire way.

The name "Pictured Rocks" comes from streaks of mineral stains in the face of the sculptured cliffs. The result is multiple shades of brown, streaked with layers of white and green, rising 50 to 200 feet above Lake Superior's vast blue.

Looking west from Grand Portal Point, I could see as far as the next point a half-mile away. I would run around a bend or over a sandstone point, only to face another one. I desperately wanted to see Miner's Castle to know how far I had left to run.

This was the toughest part of the run. I was fighting a strong urge to quit, but knew I had to escape the forest. "Toughen up, finish what you started," became my mantra.

Fifteen miles of the trail's most-rugged section were yet to come. I was fatigued, running low on fluids. Miner's Castle, still more than seven miles away, was the closest place to refill my water.

As a result of my dwindling supply, I stopped eating. I didn't want solid food sitting in my stomach with no liquids. This proved costly; my energy level dwindled.

Thirteen hike-in campgrounds and seven group sites are spaced every two to five miles along the Lakeshore Trail, but there is no potable water. I did have anti-bacterial pills with me, but was reluctant to use them on water from the Lake Superior watershed.

Just lifting my feet became an ordeal. For the next few miles I picked points a few hundred feet down the path as goals. After I'd reach one, I'd set another.

Less than two miles from Miner's Castle, I staggered onto the white sand of Miner's Beach. The Castle was now visible, meaning water was near; but first the trail crosses Miner's River and leads away from it. I voiced my displeasure at this diversion to the trees.

The trail wound its way through the forest before heading up the run's longest hill to the park, which provided water and restrooms but no telephone. I had carried the cell phone with me, but the region was too remote to have service.

My pace slowed significantly during the two hours to Miner's Castle, but I was still ahead of schedule. Kim had agreed to meet me at 6 p.m. at Munising Falls seven miles away, and it would take me another hour and a half to get there.

With no way to let Kim know where I was, I headed out onto the trail again. I'd told her to call the rescue team if she hadn't heard from me by 10 p.m. Fortunately the last miles were uneventful, and I completed the run in just less than 11 hours.

I approached Kim on quivering legs, but felt a sense of accomplishment for finishing my odyssey in one day. Now I'm obsessing about my next.

Paul H. Marcotte is a Gaylord-based free-lance writer. He may be reached at pmarc_2000@yahoo.com. MR