Ice caves of the Apostles
Near Cornucopia, people wait for the window into a crystalline world to open.
© Beth Gauper
Two of the many photographers who flock to the ice caves head home at dusk.
Along the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore in Wisconsin, everyone waits for a big freeze.
Only when temperatures stay low for a long time will the edges of Lake Superior freeze enough for people to walk out to the mainland ice caves, whose beauty is renowned.
Even when ice is sufficiently solid, wind may suddenly split it, and snow may block the access drive. So when park rangers say it’s okay to go — well, then you’d better go.
I’d been calling the ice-cave hot line for weeks one year when, finally, I heard the magic words: “Conditions do
allow access to the mainland sea caves.’’
It was March 1 when I drove four miles east to Meyers Road, parked near the lakeshore and started picking my way over the
lumpy path across the frozen lake.
The whole world was white, except for the frosty blue of the sky, and it was hard to tell where lake ended and shore began
— especially since a 4-foot-high wall of snowy boulders sat where I thought lake should be.
Then I passed Craig Mealman of nearby Russell Township, who explained that the “boulders’’ were blocks of ice pushed toward the shore by wind.
Mealman had just been to the caves and was planning to return the next week with a picnic.
“There are a few areas where I’d just like to sit and look at it,’’ he said. “You can sit and take in the awe of it. In one place, it looks just like a crystal geode on the inside; it’s cool.’’
The ice is formed by lake spray and by water trickling over and between layers of the red sandstone cliffs, which rise 50 to 80 feet above the lake. Ice formations also can be found in the sea caves at Swallow Point on Sand Island and on the north shore of Devil’s Island.
But it’s rare to gain access to those caves, unlike the ones that line the bay called Mawikwe, Ojibwe for weeping
Delicately colored by minerals in the rock and soil, frozen to the cliffs in ways that mimic the stalactites, columns and flowstone found in underground caves, the ice formations are spectacular — and irresistible to photographers.
© Lauren Gagner
Throngs of visitors visit the caves.
As the sun began to settle toward the horizon, I reached the caves and found that all three others there were professional
photographers, busily adding ice-cave shots to their stock.
Bruce Montagne of Milford, Mich., was snapping photos for a coffee-table book on Lake Superior, on which he’d been working for 10 years.
“I was out here kayaking in August, in the last 45 minutes before sunset, and these things turned fire-engine red,’’ he said. “I think I shot 15 rolls of film; it was really something. That’s what I was hoping for today, but I don’t think so.’’
I walked closer to the caves and skidded; snowshoes aren’t much good on glass. An infinite variety of ice covered the cliffs — smooth blue humps at the base, froths of mint-green blooming out of the middle and thin layers draped over the top, translucent as a centenarian’s skin.
It was as if a limestone cave had been turned inside out and left to shimmer in the sun. There were colonies of chalk-white
soda straws and bacon-strip flowstone. Inside the caves, gnarled yellow columns formed rows of organ pipes, and stalactites
hung like cow teats.
Outside, ice clung to rock in ridged waves, like fish scales, and the soda straws in some crevices were as thick as shag
All this ice is just a bonus, though, for the cliffs are spectacular in themselves. Over eons, the waves of Lake Superior
have cut arches and chambers in this red sandstone, with shadowy interiors connected by skeletal fingers of rock.
Topped by spindly birch trees, white and black against the winter sky, they’re breathtaking.
Soon the light began to fade, and I ducked into a cave one last time, looking through a fringe of icicles at the red sun sitting on the horizon, amid bands of pink.
As I trudged back with Montagne, Claudia Adams of Rochester, Mich., and Dave Herrick of Spooner, Wis., Montagne spotted three coyotes dashing over the lake. “Oh, that’s killer,’’ he murmured.
Then Montagne headed off to shoot the frozen waterfalls at Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, just inside the
Michigan border. Herrick went back to Spooner, and I went into Cornucopia to have dinner at Fish Lipps, a cheerful place with
colored lights and booths lined by windows.
As I waited for my mushroom-Swiss burger, I talked with T.J. Lovick, whose family runs Fish Lipps. He told me why the park rangers are so conservative about allowing cave access.
© Beth Gauper
A giant icefall is tinted blue and pink.
“That lake can split just like that,’’ he said. “You get wind surges, and it moves the ice back and forth. One day the lake is white, and the next day it’s open as far as you can see. It can happen in two hours.’’
Often, he said, people stop by the restaurant asking for directions to the caves.
“We have a lot of people come in and ask for directions in December and January,’’ he said. “Their local lakes are frozen, and they think this is a regular lake.’’ He laughed uproariously.
Cornucopia, a fishing village since the 1920s, is the northernmost town in Wisconsin. Today, it’s a friendly, laid-back spot with a marina that caters to sailors and a few gift shops that snag tourists who happen by.
“In the summer, we go to Bayfield for excitement, as if it were the Wisconsin Dells,’’ said Gloria Deering, who operates tourist cottages in Corny and had come to Fish Lipps for a potluck. “Then we come back here for the tranquility.’’
Back in my room at the Fo’c’sle, I watched a 1998 documentary made by Duluth public television, and there was
Deering dishing up whitefish during Cornucopia’s annual fish fry. There was Harold Ehlers, owner of the old-fashioned
general store where I’d bought a pair of boot crampons for my next foray onto ice.
And there were my hosts, Dave and Mary Beth Tillmans, aboard the two-masted ketch and Zodiac they use in the summer to ferry tourists into the sea caves.
© Beth Gauper
Ice and icicles cascade down sandstone cliffs.
Many kayakers visit the sea caves in summer, but if you don't have your own kayak, you'll need to rent one, and to do that,
you'll need to show you've completed a safety course. In winter, all it takes to get to the caves is a pair of legs.
As I headed home, park rangers at the Bayfield headquarters were bracing for an onslaught of visitors. It was the first weekend people would be able to get to the caves, and the first winter, after three warm years, that the ice had frozen for more than a few days.
“The lake is a huge heat sink, and it takes a long time for that heat to dissipate,’’ said Neil Howk, the ranger whose voice I had heard so often on the hot line. “It takes a long time for the ice to get going.’’
Rangers regularly check the ice with augers, he said, but still get nervous, especially with up to 1,000 people going out on a weekend.
“We don’t say it’s safe to go out on the ice any time, because that’s stupid,’’ Howk said. “Ice is not safe. Basically, our message is, conditions do allow access.’’
But on the Apostle Islands lakeshore, those are magic words.
Trip Tips: Cornucopia and Mawikwe Bay ice caves
Information: Apostle Islands National Lakeshore ice-caves hot line, 715-779-3397, Ext. 3.
Getting there: It's a good hour east of Duluth. From there, take U.S. 2/53 to Wisconsin 13 and Cornucopia, whose “downtown’’ is just off Wisconsin 13 on Superior Avenue.
It’s another four miles to the parking lot off Meyers Road; there's a $3 parking fee. From there, it’s a mile
walk east to the ice caves.
In 2014, the parking lot overflowed, and Cornucopia organized a
shuttle from Ehler's General Store in its downtown to Meyers Beach, $2.
There's also a shuttle from Legendary Waters Casino in Red Cliff, between Cornucopia and Bayfield, $8 round-trip.
Call 715-779-3712 for details.
When to go: Snow insulates the ice and delays a hard freeze; the best scenario is extreme cold, no snow and no wind.
Usually, it's fruitless to check before mid-February.
However, in 2014, rangers gave the okay on Jan. 15, the earliest date in most people's memories. And in 2009, park rangers gave the okay on Jan. 29 and conditions allowed visits all the way through mid-March.
Some years, rangers never give the okay — in 2011, when snow fell early and stayed; in 2012, when it was too warm;
and in 2013, when the ice was close to solid for only a couple of days in the middle of one week.
The caves are most beautiful in late afternoon, when the setting sun illuminates the ice and stone, and during extreme cold, when ice is most delicately formed. Try to go on weekdays to avoid crowds.
Obviously, don’t go at all unless rangers give the green light. If snow has been heavy, call and ask if Meyers Road is plowed.
© Beth Gauper
Even if Lake Superior doesn't freeze, the views of the ice caves are spectacular from the Lakeshore Trail.
If you want to see the ice caves but can't get to them on the lake, you can walk to them on the two-mile Lakeshore
Trail, which starts at Meyers Beach and follows the clifftop (be careful).
You won't get to go into the caves, but you'll see lovely blue and ocher icefalls over the red cliffs. The patterns of lake
ice also are beautiful when viewed from above.
What to take: Wear sturdy boots and, unless the lake path is packed, snowshoes. Boot crampons are handy for climbing
around inside the caves.
To be especially safe, keep a buddy nearby and carry ski poles in case the ice breaks and to help on the ice.
Dining: In Cornucopia, Fish Lipps serves pizza and burgers on weekdays and adds pasta, honey-fried chicken, steaks and fish on weekends. The Village Inn has a more extensive menu, including roast duckling, prime rib and trout.
Accommodations: The Fo’c’sle B&B has two attractive rooms
with private entrance, overlooking Siskiwit Bay Marina; breakfast is brought to the door. Dave and Mary Beth Tillmans are the
The Village Inn, off Wisconsin 13 in Cornucopia’s “downtown,’’ has four pleasant rooms with a common sitting area with fireplace where a continental breakfast is served. It's popular with snowmobilers. 888-745-9745.
There are many more places to stay in and around Bayfield.
For more, see Bayfield in
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