News & Articles

Sea caves are an iconic part of the Apostle Islands. Photo by Emily Stone. 

The paddleboards’ fins caught on thick tangles of aquatic vegetation as we pushed through the Lost Creek Estuary near Cornucopia, Wis. 

The open waters of Lake Superior promised easier paddling ahead. Where the stream met the bay, waves and currents had shifted the sand into spits and bars. When my fin dragged on one of them, slowing me to a stop, the busyness of summer suddenly caught up to me, too. 

“Can we have a snack?” I called up to my paddling partner Kevin, who turned obligingly and beached himself on the other side of the sandbar. 

Resting on our boards, munching on granola bars, and gazing down the beach at a string of other people happily relaxing on the shore of Lake Superior buoyed my spirits a little. 

Soon we paddled north again, hugging the eastern shoreline of Romans Point. The red sandstone cliffs so common on the South Shore were short here, with birch trees and alder shrubs growing less than a dozen feet above the water. Broad, flat ledges held more sunbathers, and ladders down the steeper parts indicated that this was all private shoreline.

Even after a snack, I was still tired, an ache in my shoulder persisted, and the sun was strengthening at the top of the sky. 

Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m going for a swim!” I declared, as I tucked my sun hoodie, hat, and sunglasses under the bungies on my board and adjusted the ankle leash. With one hand plugging my nose, I slipped off the board and into the lake. 

Cheering and laughing, I popped up from the plunge with a grin on my face. The lake was refreshingly cool, but the top layer was heated by the sun. The slight onshore breeze had pushed all the warm surface water into the bay. 

Advocates of cold plunging claim that you need water to be between 50 to 60 degrees Fahrenheit, but I could feel all the same benefits flooding my body and brain. The cold shock released endorphins, which vaporized my shoulder pain and gave me a feeling similar to a runner’s high. 

My fight-or-flight system released norepinephrine, increasing blood flow to the brain and producing feelings of euphoria. Both the scientific research and my own experience show that cold plunging is a reliable tool for improving energy, focus, and mood.

Refreshed, and thrilled to have the rare chance to actually swim in Lake Superior, I parallelled the shore for a bit until the space beneath a low, sandstone shelf called my name. 

Under my fingers, the stone felt rough. This Orienta Sandstone formed a little less than a billion years ago. After the Mid-Continent Rift tried to rip apart the proto-North American continent, the low area it formed became a catchall basin. With no plants on land to hold the soil, powerful streams broke off chunks of bedrock, carried them into the basin, and washed away all of the less durable minerals until mostly quartz remained. Immersed in the lake who now fills that primeval basin, I could still see the fingerprints of those ancient streams, preserved in the cross-bedding patterns.

Newer patterns clung to the rocks, too, and these were green. Mottled like a snake’s skin, and forked like a snake’s tongue, these simple plants represent another ancient bit of history. Liverworts, a type of spore-producing plant related to mosses, were likely the very first plants to creep out of the sea and onto land over 4 million years ago. Slipping into this mode of “soft fascination” in nature improved my mood even more.  

Eventually I climbed back up on my paddleboard so that we could continue around the point.  Cliffs rose out of the lake ahead of us and soon towered a few dozen feet above our heads. 

Millenia of waves had worked their way into weaker layers of rock and then continued to enlarge them grain by grain. Some hollows were still tiny, but others formed deep alcoves. They spoke of the power of persistence. As we rounded one corner, a sea arch with one leg out in the lake framed our view. In another spot, multiple caves had coalesced into a maze we could paddle through.

After hours on the water, we returned to dry land to find food and shade. Taking our dessert to-go, we sat at a picnic table with a view of the lake and remarked about just how restful and healing the day had been. 

The combination of soaking in sunshine; gazing at and jumping in clean water; feeling awe at the ancient rocks; and admiring the beauty of life, had worked a special kind of magic on our moods. 
A little flock of gulls bobbed on the waves just offshore, their relaxed calm bringing us even more joy. As we readied to leave, one of those gulls turned to swim directly toward us. 

When their feet hit bottom in the shallow water, they kept moving forward until they had walked a few steps onto the sand. They stretched their neck forward, opened their beak, and gave a loud “SQUAWK!” 
I’m no expert in the language of birds, but that sure sounded like the bird had overheard our conversation about the healing powers of the lake and all they could think to add was “well, DUH!” 

Emily M. Stone is Naturalist/Education Director at the Cable Natural History Museum. Her award-winning second book, Natural Connections: Dreaming of an Elfin Skimmer, is available to purchase at www.cablemuseum.org/books and at your local independent bookstore, too. For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. The Museum is open with our brand-new exhibit: “Anaamaagon: Under the Snow.” Our Fall Calendar is open for registration! Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.