Off Kilter (volume III)

A continuing series of the unusual, weird, or just plain strange doings in these Apostle Islands

Told around campfires with the stars rising like sparks on a summer night, or in snatched conversations between commercial fishermen as they pull nets, the Apostle Islands are woven through with stories.

Some of them are well-documented, subjected to the academic rigors of peer-reviewed historical journals, fact-checking, and primary sources. Some, well, are not. These are the stories of the “I’m not sure where I heard this” variety, those best told in the half-light of a fading campfire and taken with a grain of salt. But all of them are a part of the fabric that weaves the color into these islands and into the human heart.

In this continuing series I call Off Kilter, I offer up some of the stranger stories, tales that don’t really fit anywhere else and leave you shaking your head about the weird and wonderful world we live in. To read earlier installments, click below. Or, read on for a pair of tales bound to leave you wondering just what is it about these islands anyway?

THE BOAT HOUSE: THE HERRING KING CABIN

Herring King Cottage, circa 1977 (Photograph by Bob Mackreth, National Park Service)

At first glance it can seem whimsical, a Dr. Suess kind of house with a boat for a roof as if an unusually large wave tossed the hapless craft atop the cabin and then receded leaving the boat high and dry and now a part of the house. The real story of Sand Island’s Herring King Cottage is, however, more tragic, and speaks to both the dangers of the lake and the frugalness of life on an island.

Locally built sometime in the very early 1900’s, the Herring King was a gas-powered tug owned by the Boutin Fish Company of Bayfield. Like most local vessels of the time, it was used to carry whatever needed carrying — lumber, rock, fish, mail, even groceries if needed. But mostly it was a commercial fishing boat.

On a cold Thanksgiving day in 1917, the Herring King was making what was to be its final run of the season carrying a good late-season catch from the Moe Fishery on Sand Island heading to Bayfield. Hardly had it let go its lines from the Moe dock near East Bay when tragedy struck.

A fuel line suddenly burst, spraying gas onto the hot engine and within seconds the wooden ship was engulfed in flames, fanned by a strong southwest wind. Crewman Clarence Russell had time to get the lifeboat in the water. But that same strong wind that was fanning the flames proved too much for Russell who quickly drifted away from the flames without the oars and with no way to control the boat enough to return for the other passenger — Captain John Gordon, now stranded on the burning boat.

Although another vessel, the steamer Goldish was nearby. Her captain S.L. Goldish maneuvered close but could not reach the burning boat for fear of sparks and the blazing heat, putting his own ship in peril. Inching as close as was safe, and then a little closer, a life ring was tossed towards the distressed sailor still aboard the Herring King. It didn’t quite reach. The endangered man would have to jump and frantically try to reach the life ring. Gordon, hesitated, frozen by fear but endangered by flames. When he finally did leap into the water, he could manage only a few short strokes in the bone-numbing lake before sinking below its dark surface and disappearing. He was never seen again.

The Herring King was a total loss, burned down to the hull. Still, nothing can be wasted on an island and despite the tragic story behind it, the hull was dragged to shore not far from East Bay intact enough to become the odd-shaped roof of a structure that stood for decades and became known as the Herring King Cabin. All but gone now, only a very sharp eye will notice even the faintest rubble of the cabin that told the story of tragedy on the lake and how life goes on despite tragedy for the frugal ingenious people of islands.

CAT FIGHT: MICHIGAN ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE

Ed Lane was the longest tenured keeper at a single light in the history of the Apostle Islands, serving at Michigan Island Light from 1902-1938. All those years on a remote, wild island in Lake Superior, meant that Lane had seen a lot of things in his time. Still what happened to him one day in 1916 was something even he could never have predicted.

Keeper Lane had, over the years, seen a lot of wildlife on the island. Bears occasionally rummaged nearby for food. Coyotes could sometimes be heard howling on still nights. But in 1916, he noticed something unusual, what he called a “lynx” prowling the grounds of the lighthouse. One day, while just outside the living quarters, Lane watched the animal boldly sneaking up very close to the open back door of the house. Without a weapon handy, he grab a large stick and prepared to defend himself. The animal leapt at him, snarling, scratching, and clawing, all of this taking place only feet from the lighthouse.

Lane managed to pull himself free from the sharp claws and teeth. He ran in the house, grabbed his gun, and fired, killing the animal instantly. Not one to waste anything, the keeper skinned the creature and took the pelt to City Hall on his next trip to town receiving a bounty of $6 from the County Clerk. The story of the battle of man versus cat was told in an article entitled “Kills Lynx After Fight” published in the Belvidere Daily Republican on March 21, 1916.

Now, although the Apostle Islands are situated at the “potential southern range limit of Lynx canadensis” or the lynx, there has never been, according to the National Park Service, a verified sighting of lynx in the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore.

Ed Lane of Michigan Island might beg to differ.

— Jeff Rennicke (all photographs by the author unless otherwise noted)

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