(no subject)
On Wednesday, I was a lazy dog. I didn't get out of the house until 10:30, so clearly no sunrise pictures were in the offing. Instead, I decided to drive out to see the Redridge Dam, one of only three steel dams ever built in the US (of which only one other survives).
The drive took me to the small town of Redridge, in the Keweenaw peninsula, but southwest of Houghton. I travelled along a stretch of narrow dirt road called Covered Road, and it's one of the most beautiful stretches of forest I've had the chance to drive my car through. The tall slender trees lining the path made for a cathedral-like effect, and I'd very much love to drive through again in the fall.
I arrived at the dam and parked the car near a simple historical marker noting that the structure was built in 1901 and is a Michigan Civil Engineering Landmark. As I walked the short path into a woodsy area and found the dam itself, I understood why it was worthy of the honor.
The steel beams and supports of the dam rose high overhead from their concrete buttresses. Rows upon rows of steel members made for wonderful visual effects of tunnels and repetition. I wandered back and forth along the concrete foundation, exploring the stairs molded into the rises at each side of the valley the dam was built in. I found the outflow pipes for the dam, only two of which seemed to be doing their job. I found the valves that once controlled them, one of which, associated with a non-functioning outflow pipe, seemed to be damaged and spraying water out of it's top. "Steel dam, I love you." I commented as I looked at various elements close up and spent time trying to put together decent photographic compositions. What can I say? I fall in love easily with archaic macinery. It's a weakness.
I climbed up along the north side, around the concrete abutments and to the top of the structure, where I could look out over the trestle that once carried a railroad line over the top of the dam. Once that would have been only ten feet or so above the waterline. Now, it was more like forty.
I continued down and around on a path overgrown with brush and leafy things. After a short time I found myself at one side of the small pond between the two dams at the site.
Short history; a wooden dam was built to create a reservoir prior to 1900. Soon enough, that reservoir wasn't big enough for the mills it supported and a much bigger dam, the steel one, was built. For many years, the original wooden dam was underwater entirely! In the '60s, 30 years after the steel dam was last utilized, water in the reservoir got high enough to wash over the top of the dam. At that point, large holes were cut in it some thirty feet from the top, permanently lowering the level of the whole reservoir and revealing the original wooden dam, which still exists and is responsible for keeping the lake where it is.
The water there was shallow and stones protruded from the surface. I made my way across to the other side, photographing as I went. At one point, I set my 28-80 lens down on the sandy soil and it went rolling into a thin trickle of water. Eeep! I don't think any got in it.
I spent more time there, climbing up to the lake level and photographing the wooden dam from above, as well as the steel dam from different angles. Finally I decided to move on to the Baltic and Atlantic stamp mills, that should be on the Lake Superior shore downriver from the dam. Sadly, I was not able to access the ruins; it seems that all the land around has been bought up and is private property. Looks like maybe a bunch of vacation homes and things like that. I thought about driving far enough away that I could find public lake shore access, then walking along the shore, but that would be quite a distance and I decided to leave it for a possible other time.
I decided to try again to get to the lower, and most impressive, part of Hungarian Falls. I drove back to Houghton-Hancock, across the lift bridge, and to Tamarack City. Back up sixth street and the big dirt-road hill. But instead of going to the thirdstreet rutted-dirt-trail on the left, I picked the first one. That got to me a bridge I'd read about earlier. It was built for snowmobilers and ATVers, and is on the same supports that originally carried a railroad bridge over the gorge. Neat!
I found a path leading up stream from one end and started walking. It was about a quarter mile of path that ranged from 'a little uphill' to 'not quite steep enough to need my hands'. Finally I found myself at the lower Hungarian Falls again, but this time on the other side of the gorge. Along the way I photographed the remnants of a few more bridge abutments, these old enough that they were made from poor rock from mine tailings rather than from concrete. And try though I had, I hadn't seen a single place for a sane person to try to climb down into the gorge, and I still couldn't really see the falls from the rim.
So I went back to the bridge and wandered around looking for a trail to the bottom. The first one I tried lead me all the back into Tamarack City, following signs placed along the ATV/snowmobile trails for Coppermine Food and Spirts, which, as far as I could tell, does not exist.
I tried again on the other side of the gorge and finally found what I was looking for. I managed to scramble down to the valley floor, passing yet more bridge support remnants, these appearing to be vintage metal trestle legs that were torched off a few feet from their anchor points in the ground.
At river level, I looked around for a decent way upstream and decided that, since I was wearing Tevas, the best way to do it was, for the most part, to wade right through the shallow running water. I rolled up my jeans and got to it. I went back up that same quarter mile, this time splashing through water, jumping atop rocks, and occasionally climbing over the odd tree that had fallen across the river. Finally, I was almost there at the bottom of the huge falls I'd seen before!
I couldn't quite get to the very bottom. A large sandstone shelf concentrated the whole flow of the stream into the bottom of a curved lip, and I didn't want to try either climbing up through the flow, or trying to scale the taller, and very overgrown with plants, parts to each side. But I was close enough to the falls to be able to look up and see a significant part of them through all the foliage. I think if I came back in the Fall I'd be able to see them even better, but they were still definitely a sight to behold. I felt that all the splashing and jumping and climbing were worth it as I shot a bunch of photos of the falling water.
After that, I made my way back out of the gorge and back up to the bridge, where I bumped into some folks walking a couple dogs who I got to meet. Yay! Then I drove back to my host's place, 'cause I was worn out! That was a lot of climbing and jumping, and my legs were sore. I relaxed there for a bit, poking at Copper Country Explorer to read more about the places I'd seen. I'd missed the Quincy Mine tour again (it was too late after getting back out of the gorge), so I'll have to do that next time.
Instead I decided to go down to the Houghton Lift Bridge and photograph it at sunset. Which I did. And even have a couple of halfway decent pictures out of it, though the sunset was not at all spectacular.
And I'll write about my last day, up to finally arriving at the place in Minneapolis my dad's been staying with our family friend, in another entry.
The drive took me to the small town of Redridge, in the Keweenaw peninsula, but southwest of Houghton. I travelled along a stretch of narrow dirt road called Covered Road, and it's one of the most beautiful stretches of forest I've had the chance to drive my car through. The tall slender trees lining the path made for a cathedral-like effect, and I'd very much love to drive through again in the fall.
I arrived at the dam and parked the car near a simple historical marker noting that the structure was built in 1901 and is a Michigan Civil Engineering Landmark. As I walked the short path into a woodsy area and found the dam itself, I understood why it was worthy of the honor.
The steel beams and supports of the dam rose high overhead from their concrete buttresses. Rows upon rows of steel members made for wonderful visual effects of tunnels and repetition. I wandered back and forth along the concrete foundation, exploring the stairs molded into the rises at each side of the valley the dam was built in. I found the outflow pipes for the dam, only two of which seemed to be doing their job. I found the valves that once controlled them, one of which, associated with a non-functioning outflow pipe, seemed to be damaged and spraying water out of it's top. "Steel dam, I love you." I commented as I looked at various elements close up and spent time trying to put together decent photographic compositions. What can I say? I fall in love easily with archaic macinery. It's a weakness.
I climbed up along the north side, around the concrete abutments and to the top of the structure, where I could look out over the trestle that once carried a railroad line over the top of the dam. Once that would have been only ten feet or so above the waterline. Now, it was more like forty.
I continued down and around on a path overgrown with brush and leafy things. After a short time I found myself at one side of the small pond between the two dams at the site.
Short history; a wooden dam was built to create a reservoir prior to 1900. Soon enough, that reservoir wasn't big enough for the mills it supported and a much bigger dam, the steel one, was built. For many years, the original wooden dam was underwater entirely! In the '60s, 30 years after the steel dam was last utilized, water in the reservoir got high enough to wash over the top of the dam. At that point, large holes were cut in it some thirty feet from the top, permanently lowering the level of the whole reservoir and revealing the original wooden dam, which still exists and is responsible for keeping the lake where it is.
The water there was shallow and stones protruded from the surface. I made my way across to the other side, photographing as I went. At one point, I set my 28-80 lens down on the sandy soil and it went rolling into a thin trickle of water. Eeep! I don't think any got in it.
I spent more time there, climbing up to the lake level and photographing the wooden dam from above, as well as the steel dam from different angles. Finally I decided to move on to the Baltic and Atlantic stamp mills, that should be on the Lake Superior shore downriver from the dam. Sadly, I was not able to access the ruins; it seems that all the land around has been bought up and is private property. Looks like maybe a bunch of vacation homes and things like that. I thought about driving far enough away that I could find public lake shore access, then walking along the shore, but that would be quite a distance and I decided to leave it for a possible other time.
I decided to try again to get to the lower, and most impressive, part of Hungarian Falls. I drove back to Houghton-Hancock, across the lift bridge, and to Tamarack City. Back up sixth street and the big dirt-road hill. But instead of going to the third
I found a path leading up stream from one end and started walking. It was about a quarter mile of path that ranged from 'a little uphill' to 'not quite steep enough to need my hands'. Finally I found myself at the lower Hungarian Falls again, but this time on the other side of the gorge. Along the way I photographed the remnants of a few more bridge abutments, these old enough that they were made from poor rock from mine tailings rather than from concrete. And try though I had, I hadn't seen a single place for a sane person to try to climb down into the gorge, and I still couldn't really see the falls from the rim.
So I went back to the bridge and wandered around looking for a trail to the bottom. The first one I tried lead me all the back into Tamarack City, following signs placed along the ATV/snowmobile trails for Coppermine Food and Spirts, which, as far as I could tell, does not exist.
I tried again on the other side of the gorge and finally found what I was looking for. I managed to scramble down to the valley floor, passing yet more bridge support remnants, these appearing to be vintage metal trestle legs that were torched off a few feet from their anchor points in the ground.
At river level, I looked around for a decent way upstream and decided that, since I was wearing Tevas, the best way to do it was, for the most part, to wade right through the shallow running water. I rolled up my jeans and got to it. I went back up that same quarter mile, this time splashing through water, jumping atop rocks, and occasionally climbing over the odd tree that had fallen across the river. Finally, I was almost there at the bottom of the huge falls I'd seen before!
I couldn't quite get to the very bottom. A large sandstone shelf concentrated the whole flow of the stream into the bottom of a curved lip, and I didn't want to try either climbing up through the flow, or trying to scale the taller, and very overgrown with plants, parts to each side. But I was close enough to the falls to be able to look up and see a significant part of them through all the foliage. I think if I came back in the Fall I'd be able to see them even better, but they were still definitely a sight to behold. I felt that all the splashing and jumping and climbing were worth it as I shot a bunch of photos of the falling water.
After that, I made my way back out of the gorge and back up to the bridge, where I bumped into some folks walking a couple dogs who I got to meet. Yay! Then I drove back to my host's place, 'cause I was worn out! That was a lot of climbing and jumping, and my legs were sore. I relaxed there for a bit, poking at Copper Country Explorer to read more about the places I'd seen. I'd missed the Quincy Mine tour again (it was too late after getting back out of the gorge), so I'll have to do that next time.
Instead I decided to go down to the Houghton Lift Bridge and photograph it at sunset. Which I did. And even have a couple of halfway decent pictures out of it, though the sunset was not at all spectacular.
And I'll write about my last day, up to finally arriving at the place in Minneapolis my dad's been staying with our family friend, in another entry.