John Pepin

“Feeling pretty good at last, rough times are all in the past. Oh, and it’s shinin’ brightly.”

— Bob Seger

With the morning sun already climbing its way above the treetops, I stood at the head of a deep riverine gorge, looking down into the wide and wooded expanse.

It was a beautiful vista to see, with tremendous trees lining the walls of the steep canyon. Way down below, I could see the river twisting and turning this way and that as it moved, like a big snake.

Along the waterway, obscured by trees and dirt, rust and time, these woods hold pieces of concrete foundations, an old monument and other remnants from the early days of iron ore production in this storied region.

But those features were located downstream from where I was headed. I was going to be walking down into the canyon and then making my way upstream in search of a waterfall hidden somewhere down there in the deep forest canopy.

At the place where I began my descent, the river takes an especially wide turn. There was once an old dam here.

The growth of trees and forest understory was thick, with my way forward often blocked with whole trees or large branches blown down during intense winter or summer storms.

It was one of those climbing over, ducking under, going around and pushing through walks that was made pleasant by its downhill trajectory.

The smell of pines was in the air, and it was late enough in the year that virtually all the mosquitoes were gone. I pushed my hand back through my hair and felt pieces of bark, dirt and tiny sticks that had caught in my hair as I had moved through the underbrush.

I soon spotted a glen in the forest, an opening that was comparatively flat that had one time been selectively cut with a saw. Flat-topped stumps remained along with piles of wood that had been stacked, presumably for burning.

The land here under the trees was covered with dappled sunlight. Closer to the river, the sun was shining brightly, bathing the faded green and yellow grasses in warm sunlight.

In this attractive forest opening, small pines had sprouted up to about knee height under taller versions of these same species and few oaks and maples too.

From where I stood, the trunks of these taller trees were as black as night, silhouetted against the brighter background.

I could see leaves bigger than my hand on sprouting thimbleberry bushes. Tall and still green grasses had slumped over providing a soft place to sit and soak in the forest surroundings.

While this side of the riverbank was covered in those diminishing summer grasses, the opposite side was thick with flowering bushes and other growth likely too thick to push through comfortably.

I kept following the sound of the water upstream. As I went, the river began to drop below me with the topography steepening decidedly over a relatively short distance.

The sound of the river began to get louder, indicating that the slope was steeper, and the water was now rushing downhill.

I walked out to a place where I could stand at the edge of an embankment a see clearly down to the water. The river was slipping past, chattering loudly as it rolled over smoothed black and gray rocks, stirring up some white water.

In one place, a narrow and elongated series of riffles made the water look like the back of an alligator. Logs pushed downstream during high water times sat stranded against the far bank, whitish brown foam floated there too.

The types of trees here switched to largely a growth of cedars and balsam firs. I moved along as the footing got tougher and the trees grew closer together.

After more effort to negotiate the thick growth in the woods here, the terrain produced a steep hill. From the top there was another great view of the shallow river rushing past.

On the other side of the hill, the topography dropped back down and suddenly I was at the river’s edge. I could hear the waterfall rushing.

I stepped my booted foot tentatively into the water to try to steady myself. The rocks were slippery, but my boots were able to grip the flat surface of the rocks. I took a few more steps to get out far enough into the stream to photograph the waterfall.

It was a braided cascade type that was situated at a bend in the river.

The left side of the feature was wider and shallower, while the right side moved water into a darkened corner where a large rock outcropping shot directly upward.

The rocks were slanted and sharp. Small spruce trees and cedars grew out of the rocks on the face of the cliff.

The trunk of a large and now waterlogged tree laid sideways across the top of the waterfall. The sound of the water was calming and exhilarating at the same time.

At the foot of the falls there was a deep plunge pool that likely contained trout.

Where I was standing, the water was about knee-deep, but this pool was certainly deeper than that. How much deeper was unclear as the greenish cast water fizzed and foamed its way on past me.

For me, all waterfalls are special places, and each holds a distinct character unto themselves. This one had that too.

I took pictures from several vantage points before moving farther upstream, still following the river. Moving through raspberry bushes and Canada goldenrod, I heard water rushing from downstream and upstream.

After walking a short distance, I was delighted to look down from a ridge to see an almost identical, but mirrored waterfall with another deep plunge pool, braided water flow over dark colored rocks.

I say mirrored because the wide braided portion of the falls was on the right rather than the left. In between the two cataracts the river dropped one level and then another as it flowed in fast fashion with white water and rapids swirling and stirring.

The sides of the river were covered with ferns and other retreating summer grasses and plants. There was an old beech tree overhanging the waterfalls, with a yellow birch standing next to it.

This was another beautiful place. The narrowness of the river here set it aside from the waterfall downstream. Both places were remarkable.

I made my way down between the boulders to the top of the waterfall. I walked out to a flat rock shelf and stood to take a few more pictures.

From this vantage point, I could see downstream to the top of the first waterfall where the fallen tree lay across the top of the falls.

Climbing back up over the rocks, I followed the drainage alongside the river upstream. This let me get around a bend in the river and avoid some thick growth along the shoreline.

Back at the river’s edge, though still perched above it by 20 feet or so, I spotted a third waterfall ahead of me in the distance. This was by far the smallest of the three waterfalls, but it was still very cool.

This was more like a rapid that tumbled over a decided shelf in the river. Behind it, the water flowed calm and still. In front, there was a whitewater plunge pool that extended across the entire width of the stream.

The water then flowed over some more rocks and into another pool deep enough for fish to hide. Yellow and white birch trees hung over the water here along with cedars. The understory was bracken ferns and maple saplings.

I have often hiked for a good distance into the woods to find a single place like any of these three waterfalls. To find them all within a half-mile section of one river was truly special.

Just the deafening sound from these three beautiful water features was enough to slog through the thick brush for.

The sights, the remote character of the surroundings, as well as the possibilities for some forest bathing, peaceful contemplation and trout fishing make this a place I would expect to return to in the future.

The sunlight shone across the water, casting a light into the deep water and temporarily illuminating the scene. Meanwhile, dark waters surrounding the swath of sunlight refused to divulge any information on what lay beneath the surface.

Upstream from these falls, the river made another snake formation, spreading out soft and deep in the shape of a backward letter “S.”

A few red leaves were sprinkled throughout the foliage here, indicating autumn was underway thought the warm temperatures of the day and the still dominant green color of almost all the plant life sought to indicate otherwise.

From here, I walked up a hill to another forest glen. This one had also been logged selectively at one point. I stopped for a few minutes to soak up the shade before heading out of the forest.

This was a beautiful and meaningful excursion that reminded me how much I deeply love exploring these outdoors north.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.