Apostle Islands National Lakeshore ⓘ

This unique collection of islands became a designated National Lakeshore on September 26, 1970. The purpose of the lakeshore is “to conserve and develop for the benefit, inspiration, education, recreational use, and enjoyment of the public certain significant islands and shoreline of the United States.” The law recognizes the significance of the lakeshores' natural, historic, scientific, and archeological features for the purpose of protecting these features and making them available for public education and enjoyment. Apostle Islands National Lakeshore encompasses 69,372 acres, of which 27,323 acres are submerged lands in Lake Superior. We work closely alongside federal, state, tribal, local and private partners to accomplish our mission and maintain close, positive relationships with our gateway communities, area businesses, local citizens and many friends of the park. Our staff is committed to preserving and protecting the Apostle Islands natural, cultural, and historical resources.

For more information and comprehensive history of the Apsotle Islands read People and Places, a Human History of the Apostle Islands , a Historic Resource Study of the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore (A large 8.7mb pdf) Come to the Apostle Islands to discover the wonder, beauty, and history of twenty one islands and twelve miles of mainland shoreline that make up the National Lakeshore.

Native Americans have occupied the islands and surrounding area for thousands of years. Certainly, their creation stories put them here for as long as humans have existed. One's way of seeing the world gets shaped by immersion in the world around them and the Ojibwe peoples' culture is a great example of that. Their culture is saturated with a relationship to this place, these islands, and all of the natural world around us. A very important way to show this relationship is to look at Ojibwemowin (the Ojibwe language) for in the translations are ways to see this world that may be different from what we are used to. Learning a little bit of the language helps to preserve it from extinction and saves those ways of thinking.

The Ojibwemowin audio you are hearing was provided by Ranger Damon. Damon Gezhiibideg Panek is an enrolled member of the Mississippi Band of White Earth Ojibwe and a former Park Ranger at Apostle Islands National Lakeshore. He served as the park’s Ojibwe Cultural Specialist where he worked to integrate Ojibwe culture, history, and language into education and interpretation curriculum.

Before Gezhiibideg’s family “relocated” to White Earth in the 1860’s, they lived on Madeline Island and in the surrounding area. He currently lives on the Red Cliff Reservation with his family.

There are many great resources to learn more about the history and culture of the Ojibwe people, both around the Apostle Islands, as well as throughout the greater Lake Superior region. The Red Cliff and Bad River Bands each host a summer Pow Wow, which are open to the public, as well as other events throughout the year.

Miskwaabekong - The Red Cliff Reservation - hugs the northeastern shoreline of the Bayfield Peninsula, nestled between Cornucopia and Bayfield overlooking the Apostle Islands in northern Wisconsin. Red Cliff presents opportunities for community members and visitors to enjoy a beautiful area while also preserving our land and natural resources. The Red Cliff Band is also the largest employer in Bayfield County.

The Bad River Tribe aims to work toward a more progressive, financially stable government, to maintain tribal sovereignty; and enable members to progress individually, towards a more fulfilling life culturally, spiritually, and economically.

The reservation’s conservation area contains almost 500 miles of rivers and streams, over 30,000 acres of wetlands, 38 miles of Lake Superior shoreline, and the Kakagon Sloughs.

Formed in 1984, GLIFWC represents eleven Ojibwe tribes in Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan who reserved hunting, fishing and gathering rights in the 1837, 1842, and 1854 Treaties with the United States government. GLIFWC provides natural resource management expertise, conservation enforcement, legal and policy analysis, and public information services in support of the exercise of treaty rights during well-regulated, off-reservation seasons throughout the treaty ceded territories .

The Ojibwe People's Dictionary is a searchable, talking, Ojibwe-English dictionary that features the voices of Ojibwe speakers.

The Ojibwe called the big lake Gitchigumi , or, “Great Water,” in deference to the lake they believed had the power to provide ample harvests of fish or to cast a storm upon them capable of destroying entire villages. It was believed a great sea monster lurked underneath the surface, a sort of lynx-like creature known as Mishi Peshu which represented the raw power, mystery, and most importantly, the innate danger that came from challenging the sacred waters. The beast demanded respect and like the lake itself, was not to be taunted or provoked. Only the bravest, or perhaps the most insane warriors set out in their canoe without first paying homage to the lake’s Great Spirit. Mariners who sail these waters continue to respect the weather of Lake Superior. Gale-force winds known as the “Witches of November” blowing in excess of 100 miles per hour can develop into storms strong enough to produce tornadoes as far away as Virginia. Great Lakes mariners faced a plethora of reasons their ships might sink to the bottom of the lake. As commerce and passenger service increased on Lake Superior, ship captains were required to keep one eye on the weather while maintaining a sharp lookout for ships that passed too closely. They knew nautical maps could be inaccurate and fail to indicate the presence of shallow water shoals which caused them to run aground. Ship captains were also aware of the ever-present possibility that a minor mechanical issue could quickly transform into something much worse. Every mile traveled on Lake Superior’s surface required intense focus and high levels of meteorological awareness from the sailors, and maps and compasses were sometimes not enough to ensure safe passage from one port to another. Even on the calmest of days, it was not uncommon to greet the sunrise with calm skies and light winds, only to be praying for one’s life by nightfall.

Theodore Karamanski, author of Great Lakes Navigation and Navigational Aids Historical Context Study , wrote “Nothing better symbolizes the drama of American history than a lighthouse on a storm-washed shore.” It is lighthouses, Karamanski believes, which have played a vital and irreplaceable role in American history. By 2013, more than 400 lighthouses stood upon the international shores of the five Great Lakes with more than 262 structures located on the American side. From the earliest days of Great Lakes shipping to the present, sailors of all skill levels have had to be concerned with delivering cargo and passengers safely from one port to another on the big lake. Before the advent of lighthouses, mariners sailing Lake Superior’s waters relied on simple, crudely drawn maps or simple celestial navigation as a means of conducting a safe journey from one port to another. Soon after the War of 1812, when competition for the fur trade intensified between French, British, and American traders, ships ranging in size from two-masted schooners to large, fast-sailing sloops plied the waters of Lake Superior. By the mid-1800s, huge “lake freighters” carrying several tons of goods and numerous passengers added to the increasingly-crowded flow of traffic on the lake. While ship captains felt confident in their ability to steer clear of other ships, they knew the one element they had no control over was the weather. For that, they needed assistance in the form of land-based navigational aids that would guide them through the darkest nights and the worst cases of inclement weather. The Lighthouse Act of 1789 provided government funds for the construction of lighthouses at numerous locations nationwide. By 1843, five towers illuminated Lake Superior waters with the number of lighthouses increasing to 34 by the end of the decade. Ships heavily laden with iron ore had to skirt the rocky shoals of the Apostle Islands on their way from ports like Ashland and Superior Point before heading into the deeper waters of Lake Superior. It was still possible, however, that ships would encounter bad weather despite the number of lighthouses lining the lake’s coast. Ships continued to strand on shoals of founder in heavy seas, some sinking to the bottom with passengers, crews, and cargoes still aboard. “Storms were the greatest threat to shipping. The power of the wind and waves magnified exponentially the dangers imposed by navigating on Lake Superior. In fair weather, a schooner or steamer could manage without harbors of refuge, make port without the aid of pier lights and even overcome grounding on hidden shoals. In heavy seas, these issues became lethal.” No single season was favored over the other, although the winter months usually produced the most severe weather conditions. From late spring to early fall, shores quickly became shrouded in blinding mist and fog.

Built 1856 Placed in service 1857 Abandoned 1858 Re-lit 1869 Retired 1929 Guided tours available

Built 1858 Retired 1897 Served as housing until abandoned in 1940 Foundation ruins still visible

Built 1862 Placed in service 1863 Enlarged 1906 Automated 1947 Light moved outside building 1957 Guided tours available

Built 1874 Automated 1961 Temporarily closed to public access due to construction activity

Built 1881 Automated 1921 Light moved to steel tower c.1933 Light moved back to lighthouse 1985 Still in service, guided tours available

Temporary tower built 1891 Permanent tower built 1898 Permanent tower placed in service 1901 External braces added 1914 Automated 1978 Lens removed 1989 Lens replaced 1992 Still in service

Built in Pennsylvania 1880 Dismantled 1918 Re-erected on Michigan Island 1929 Automated 1943 Still in service, guided tours available

Apostle Island Scrapbook Learn some of the stories of the men and women who have lived and worked in the Apostle Islands through the years... the tales of "ordinary people" living extraordinary lives.

In many cases, the tales are told in the participants' own words. The stories come from many sources- diaries, letters, old newspaper articles-hence the name Apostle Islands Scrapbook .

The Heroine of Michigan Island "I had three persons to talk to: my husband, who was assistant keeper, the head keeper, an old man with but one eye, and a fisherman who came that summer and lived in a shack down the shore."

"I hate lighthouses," said Mrs. Alexander McLean, whose husband kept the light on Raspberry Island for several years. "They are so lonely."

The Wreck of the Sevona September 2, 1905 was a dark day in the history of the Apostle Islands. In the space of a few hours, two magnificent ships were lost to a storm that swept the lake.

"The wind was south and we kept under the lee of the main shore until we reached Point Detour. Here we ran into the biggest sea that I had ever encountered."

Marooned On Oak Island! "The storm did not abate until noon of the third day, by which time the boat had received such damage that there would have been no escape for me from my prison"

Little House in the North Woods This seemingly nondescript cabin is worth a close look. Though built on the eve of World War II, its construction harks back to traditional Scandinavian methods.

Worst of all, he'd failed in his mission, it seemed. He'd have to tell his Indian companions that no one wanted to listen to them.

Rescuing the Keeper's Daughter On September 30, 1939, sixteen-year-old Marjorie Bard was scrubbing the stairway in her family's Devils Island home when she fell and fractured her hip.

What Happened to Poor Willy? "I know there is supposed to be a grave on Michigan Island and I've often wondered if it could have been the son of one of the keepers who always anchored the sailboat out and then swam ashore ."

The Story of Plenty Charm On the eastern shore of Lake Superior's Sand Island, a small cabin stands as a monument to two memorable individuals.

Early advocates for farming in the Apostle Islands were enthusiastic. The soil of the islands, they said, was suitable for fruits, vegetables, small grains, and dairy farming. Even more important, the moderating effect of Lake Superior upon the islands' climate meant that the growing season in the Apostles was some 40 days longer than nearby locations just a short distance inland.

But the expected agricultural boom never took place, and the last island farm was gone before the end of World War II. With their isolation and limited accessibility, farms on the islands could never compete economically with those on the mainland. Today, all that remains of these farms are ruined buildings, the outlines of fields, and a few hardy fruit trees.

The Early Years Well before the arrival of Europeans, Native Americans raised crops on Madeline Island and elsewhere in the region. Travelers reported that Hurons and Ottawas grew corn in the Chequamegon Bay region, while the Ojibwa grew pumpkins, squash, and corn. During the fur trade era, the American Fur Company maintained gardens and orchards on Madeline Island, to supply the bustling headquarters settlement at LaPointe. As European settlement grew, entrepreneurs and developers made attempts at establishing agriculture in the area. In the years following the Civil War, men such as Henry Rice, founder of Bayfield, and Ozara Stearns, Senator from Minnesota, bought tracts of land on the islands and had them cleared for agricultural use. Farms were established on Rocky, South Twin, and Ironwood Islands, but the schemes were short-lived. As early as 1895, the farm fields were disappearing under second-growth forest.

The Farms of Basswood Island While developers such as Rice and Stearns failed in their efforts to promote agriculture on the Apostles, a Civil War veteran named Richard McCloud showed that it was possible to establish a viable island farm. McCloud acquired a homestead on Basswood Island in 1865, and by 1870, he had a successful farm that supplied produce to the crews working at a neighboring brownstone quarry. McCloud sold the farm in 1878, and a few years later, the land came into the hands of Elisha K. Brigham, who expanded the operation further. Elsewhere on the island, an entrepreneur named Charles Rudd cleared land for a farm which he proposed to make a showplace for agriculture in the islands. Rudd himself spent much of his time out of the area, and hired a tenant farmer to manage the operation. The farms of Basswood Island did not outlive their owners. Rudd's farm ceased operation when he died in 1897, and Elisha Brigham's death in 1923 signaled the end of farming on Basswood Island.

Roswell Pendergast and Michigan Island Perhaps the single most influential figure in the area's agricultural development was a Michigan Island lighthouse keeper, Roswell Pendergast. Appointed keeper in 1869, Pendergast planted thousands of fruit trees on the island. Soon he was selling the apples, cherries, peaches, plums and pears that his trees produced, and supplying nursery stock to farmers around the region. As his enterprise expanded, Pendergast eventually found it desirable to move to the mainland, and in 1874, he resigned his position as lighthouse keeper and left the area. The trees that Roswell Pendergast planted are long gone, but his legacy lives on in every orchard of the Bayfield Peninsula. Pendergast was by no means the only one to attempt farming on Michigan Island. Prompted by a belief that the outermost islands of the archipelago were best suited to agriculture, several families and individuals filed homestead claims on Michigan Island. Some of these pioneers stayed only a year, others held on longer, but one by one the settlers returned to life on the mainland. By the end of the nineteenth century, no farms were left on Michigan Island.

The Sand Island Community The most extensive and successful agricultural settlement on the Apostle Islands evolved on Sand Island. With a year-round community that numbered about one hundred at its peak, Sand Island attained a level of settlement exceeded only by Madeline Island. There were two distinct settlements on Sand Island. At the southern tip was Shaw Point, settled in the 1870s by Civil War veteran John Shaw. Farther north along the shore was the community of East Bay, where several families, primarily Norwegian immigrants, supported themselves by fishing and farming. Combining these pursuits provided a degree of security: it was unlikely for both crop and fish harvests to fail in the same year. Life on the island was challenging. Today it is hard to imagine the degree of isolation the settlers faced, but one illustration can be seen in the lighthouse log: in November, 1898, the keeper visited his East Bay neighbors and found that "The people over there had lost track of time and did not know either the day or date." Times changed for the people of Sand Island as the twentieth century progressed. Radio brought closer contact with the outside world, but the Depression made economic survival more difficult. One by one, the old families moved to the mainland, where opportunities were more plentiful. In the autumn of 1944, the last year-round residents left the island, and the fields cleared by human toil began to disappear beneath the returning forest.

Visiting the Farm Sites Remnants of the farming era are most clearly seen today on Sand and Basswood Islands. The Basswood Island loop trail leads hikers to the site of the McCloud-Brigham farm. No buildings remain standing, but the outlines of the clearing are still visible. On Sand Island, a short trail leads from the East Bay campground to the Noreng family farm site. The remains of several buildings are easy to locate.

Visitors should use extreme caution when visiting abandoned farmsteads. Potential hazards include broken glass, rusting farm equipment, and open wells where long-ago settlers drew their water.

The Hokenson Brothers Fishery stands on the shore of Lake Superior at Little Sand Bay. Operated for more than 30 years by the families of Eskel, Leo and Roy Hokenson, it was an enterprise that started from scratch and eventually prospered due to the Hokensons' resourcefulness, ingenuity and hard work.

The Hokensons' story reads like a history of the Apostle Islands region. The three brothers were sons of Swedish immigrants. They grew up in Bayfield where their father was involved in lumbering and brownstone quarrying. As young men Eskel, Leo and Roy farmed and raised cattle on a family homestead near Little Sand Bay. During this time they fished only to supplement their diets. After several unsuccessful years on the farm the brothers bought three pond nets and began fishing commercially. By the late 1920's the Hokensons were farming during the day and fishing at night. As they honed their skills and realized how profitable fishing could be, they eventually pursued it full-time.

The Hokensons retired in the mid-1960's. Family members remaining in the area have been valuable sources of information about the fishery. Today, the fishery complex is maintained by the National Park Service. Its rustic buildings and historic artifacts are preserved as a museum where visitors can explore this remnant of the past.

For millenia, Native Americans have utilized phenological events coupled with traditional knowledge to keep track of time. For the Ojibwe, the happenings of the world help to influence the naming of the months of the year. In the United States, we use the "Gregorian" calendar, which is a solar calendar consisting of 12 months. Traditionally, the Ojibwe followed a lunar calendar, which is 13 moons long. The timing of each giizis (moon) corresponds to important events in the cycle of life and nature. Ojibwemowin (the Ojibwe Language) is traditionally an oral language, so it is important to not just see the words, but to hear them. Hearing and speaking these words helps preserve the culture of this special place. Click on the name of each moon to hear the word in Ojibwe.

Strawberry Moon. The strawberry is one of the first berries to become available to eat in June.

Halfway Through Summer Moon. This moon gets it’s name from the midway point of the summer, the solstice.

Ricing Moon. It was the manoomin, “food that grows on water”, that brought ancient Ojibwe to the Chequamegon Bay region a long time ago.

Combing Leaves Moon. After the trees show us their brilliant colors, they drop their leaves to the forest floor.

Freezing Over Moon. As winter grips the world around us the snow starts sticking on the ground, the wind gets a little bit chillier.

Little Spirit Moon. What is it about the month of December that would be smaller than the rest of the months?

Snowcrust Moon. This moon refers to the crust that forms on the snow as it warms up during the day and refreezes at night

Sugaring Moon. After long winters and with food stores running out, maple sugar was regarded as a special gift that came along with spring.

Standing on a high bluff at the most remote point of the Apostle Islands chain, the Outer Island lighthouse was built in 1874 to guide ships past the archipelago to the rapidly growing ports of Duluth and Superior.

The handsome brick tower stands ninety feet high, with a design that reflects the Italianate architectural style popular in the 1860s and 70s. Inside the tower, a cast iron staircase spirals up to the "watch room," where keepers serviced the lamp and kept vigil over the beacon. The watchroom is encircled by an outside walkway and topped by the lantern room. The hooded, arched windows and the decorated brackets supporting the watchroom walkway show an attention to architectural detail not seen before in the Apostle Islands.

Sited to cast its beam far across the open lake, the Outer Island light had a large, "third-order" Fresnel lens with a central band of six glass prism bull's-eye panels. These bull's-eyes concentrated the light into six brilliant beams. Rotation of the lens on a clockwork mechanism powered by weights caused the beams to sweep the horizon, making the light appear to flash.

The light station on Outer Island is exposed to the full force of Lake Superior. In its first year of operation, the station dock washed away. Waves eroded the clay banks until they collapsed, destroying the fog signal building at their base. Fierce northeast gales caused the tower to sway so dramatically that keeper O.K. Hall feared the clockwork mechanism would break.

The original fog signal building was replaced by a structure at the top of the cliff in 1875. This move caused the keepers many headaches, as the new location made it difficult to ensure an adequate water supply for the steam-powered whistle. In 1878, a third fog signal building, virtually identical to the second, was built at clifftop, adjacent to its twin. These two buildings were renovated and combined into a single structure in 1900, assuming the form that we see today.

Outer Island is remote. Elna Olson, whose father, Otto, was a keeper on Outer from 1905 to 1914, wrote,

"Father went to Bayfield once a month for provisions, mail and newspapers. In between times the folks had no idea of what was happening in the world - no telephone, and this was before radio was invented. Most of the provisions were canned foods, refrigeration hadn't been invented then, and we had no electricity anyway."

Visiting the Lighthouse Outer Island is the most remote of the six Apostle Islands light stations, and visiting it can be a challenge. The island is not served by scheduled cruises, although the Apostle Islands Cruise Service provides special trips in September as part of their lighthouse celebration activities. Only the most experienced private boaters and sea kayakers should consider attempting a trip to this lighthouse, due to the great distance and exposed location. Even when lake conditions permit approach, the exposed location of the dock often makes landing impossible.

The "Showplace of the Apostle Islands" was built at the urging of Henry Rice, the influential St. Paul politician who founded the city of Bayfield. A light on Raspberry Island would help mark the approach to the new port. Support from shipping interests added weight to Rice's proposal, and in 1859 President Buchanan signed an order reserving the entire island for lighthouse use.

Construction of the lighthouse began about two years later, and the structure was nearly ready for use by the end of 1862. Only one problem delayed the station's entry into service: the lantern's lens had not yet arrived. Lighthouse lenses are highly specialized optics, designed to focus the light from a small lamp into a beam that can be seen many miles across the water. The lens for the Raspberry lantern was crafted in France and took months to make its way over the ocean and across half a continent. It was not until mid-July of 1863 that the lens was installed and the light station officially began operation.

The lighthouse that entered service during the Civil War appeared substantially different from the structure that stands on Raspberry Island today. As originally built, the Raspberry lighthouse was a boxy, two-bedroom house with a shed at one side containing the kitchen. Rising from the center of the roof was a short tower that supported the lantern.

The small lighthouse served well enough for one keeper and his family, but tending the lamp without an assistant keeper was a taxing, seven-days-a-week job. A married keeper could rely on his wife for help, and Annie Larsen, wife of early keeper Louis Larsen, was actually appointed assistant keeper and paid for her efforts during their eleven-year stay at Raspberry. Mary Snow, wife of Larsen's successor Seth Snow, benefited from a similar arrangement.

When Francis Jacker took over the post from Snow, however, he left his large family home at their farm. Before long, he found himself wishing for help. The work was hard: "Proper surveillance of the revolving apparatus during the long nights of the fall when frequent windings are required, is exhausting," he wrote in his log. Not only that, the situation was dangerous: "In case of an emergency, no assistance is available on the island," he added.

Jacker's worst fears nearly came true in September, 1887. Attempting to move the station's small sailboat to a sheltered spot in the face of a rising storm, he was blown off course and shipwrecked on nearby Oak Island. He spent nearly three days, cold, hungry, and forlorn on the uninhabited island. Certain that he was doomed to perish of starvation, he was elated when a small boat approached the shore. His wife had decided to pay him a visit, and horrified to find her husband missing, organized a search.

Francis Jacker's close call on Oak Island convinced his superiors that there was a genuine need for an assistant keeper at the Raspberry light, and shortly afterward he was able to hire his son, Edward, as assistant keeper.

About a decade later, the station's complement increased again, with the establishment of a second assistant keeper's position. With continuing expansion in shipping traffic on Lake Superior, demand rose for a fog signal at Raspberry Island. State-of-the-art technology called for a coal-fired steam whistle, and such equipment demanded extra personnel to share the workload. In 1903, the current fog signal building was constructed, and a second assistant authorized.

The little lighthouse was hardly adequate for three keepers and their family members, so in 1906, the Lighthouse Service remodeled the building from the ground up. Portions of the old structure were incorporated into the new building, but final result was a lighthouse that was much larger and more imposing than the original. The new lighthouse was occupied until 1947, when the light was converted to automatic operation. The lens remained in the tower until 1957, when the Coast Guard replaced it with a battery-operated beacon mounted on a pole in front of the lighthouse. Today, visitors can see the original Raspberry Island lens on display at the Wisconsin State Historical Society Museum on Madeline Island.

While the lighthouse we see on Raspberry Island appears much the same as it did in 1906, the surrounding setting has changed substantially. When the lighthouse was built, the surrounding area was cleared of trees so that ships would have a clear view of the beacon. Photos taken as recently as the 1940s show an open area of several acres around the station. Today, forest has encroached upon the site, and only a portion of the original clearing remains.

More ominously, the bluff in front of the lighthouse has suffered severe erosion. The steep clay banks face the force of Lake Superior at their base, while the upper sections are subject to "slumping," or collapse. Despite some efforts at erosion control in the 1980s, engineers warn that the receding bank could threaten the light station structures in as little as ten years.

Fortunately, Congress has acted to protect the historic treasure known as the Raspberry Island lighthouse. Funds were appropriated to institute erosion control measures that will combine construction of a seawall at the base of the bluff, regrading the slope to a stable angle, drainage improvement, and planting vegetation. During the summer and fall of 2002, visitors to Raspberry Island were able to see the work in progress. By the end of October, more than half the project was complete. Work resumed in the spring of 2003, and the project was completed in July. For more information, visit the Rasperry Island Erosion Control Project page.

Visiting the Lighthouse The Raspberry Island lighthouse is the most readily accessible of the Apostle Island stations. During the summer season, rangers conduct tours of the historic tower. Close to the mainland, the island is a popular destination for skilled sea kayakers and private boaters who are prepared for the challenges of Lake Superior.

Three lighthouses have graced the narrow sandspit that separates Chequamegon Bay from the open waters of Lake Superior. Originally intended to guide ships to the old fur trade settlement of LaPointe on nearby Madeline Island, the station on Long Island took its name from that historic town.

The first LaPointe light was constructed about one-quarter mile east of the island's western tip. This small, wooden structure was hastily erected in 1858, when authorities found that in the previous year, the lighthouse intended for Long Island had been placed on Michigan Island in defiance of their plans. Although the "misplacement" of the lighthouse was apparently due to the instructions of a Lighthouse Service official, the contractor was forced to build a second lighthouse at his own expense.

Over the years, the focus of shipping in the area shifted from venerable LaPointe to the bustling industrial port of Ashland. To accomodate this change, authorities installed a steam-powered fog signal and replaced the old lighthouse with two newer towers, spaced nearly a mile apart.

The fog signal came first, built in 1891, several thousand feet east of the original light. In 1897, it was joined by the "New" LaPointe light, a 67-foot cylindrical tower constructed alongside. The old lighthouse had its lantern room removed, and continued to serve as housing for keepers and their families until it was finally abandoned in 1940, replaced by a triplex apartment block. Only ruins remain today, hidden in thick vegetation.

The Chequamegon Point light, a 42-foot tower at the western tip of the island, was also erected in 1897. The LaPointe keeper had to operate both lights. Fortunately for the weary keepers, the Lighthouse Service eventually built a concrete sidewalk connecting the two towers, eliminating the need for a tiring walk through loose sand.

By 1924, a radio beacon was added to the LaPointe light station. Generators supplied power for the radio beacon and keepers' quarters. Eventually, a cable was installed across the channel to Madeline Island, making the LaPointe station the only one among the Apostle Island lights with consistent access to electrical power.

LaPointe light station and the Chequamegon Point light were fully automated in 1964. The fog signal building was demolished in 1986.

Of the three historic lighthouses of Long Island, only the New LaPointe tower remains in use. In 1987, concerned about erosion, the U.S. Coast Guard moved the Chequamegon Point tower, lifting it with a helicopter and transporting it about one hundred feet back from the shoreline. The beacon was placed on a modern cylindrical structure, and the old tower stands empty, surrounded by trees.

Six light stations stand upon the Apostle Islands, helping guide ships on the waters of Lake Superior. These lights operate automatically today, but in times gone by, lighthouse keepers lived on the islands and tended the lights. Some of the keepers were bachelors, but many brought families to the lonely island stations. Lightkeepers' wives filled many roles, often helping their husbands tend the lights, while caring for their families in conditions that are difficult to imagine today.

Anna Maria Carlson was one such woman. Born in Sweden, Anna Maria came to the U.S. as a teenager. At the age of twenty-one, she married Robert Carlson, newly-appointed Assistant Keeper at the Outer Island light. Many years later, she told a newspaper reporter of how it felt to adapt to her new way of life:

I had three persons to talk to: my husband, who was assistant keeper, the head keeper, an old man with but one eye, and a fisherman who came that summer and lived in a shack down the shore.

Oh! The loneliness of those days on Outer Island! There was nothing to see but water, with the dim outline of other islands of the Apostles group behind the haze, and an occasional steamer way out on the lake. When my housework was done, my husband used to take me down the shore to the fisherman's shack, where we would visit for a while. Or we would walk out into the woods.

That was my life, day in and day out. Going ashore to the mainland, 40 miles away, meant riding in a sailboat, which always frightened me. Nights I would look out of the window and see nothing but the dark water; no lights anywhere, not even in the fisherman's shanty, which was too far away.

The old lighthouse keeper, dead these many years, was always very kind. He showed me how to cook, for I had never been used to much work. I have learned to do all kinds of housework since my marriage. A woman can learn to do anything if she sets her mind to it.

Robert Carlson rose quickly in the Lighthouse Service, and in just a few years, he was promoted to Keeper of the Michigan Island light. In the same years, Anna bore three children: a daughter, Cecelia, and twin boys, Robert and Carl.

It was in her first year at Michigan Island that Anna faced a harrowing experience which gave her the opportunity to display an inner strength that proved she could overcome the worst that an unfamiliar environment could offer her.

Here is Anna's own description of the incident, as transcribed by reporter Stella Champney in the Detroit News, May 17, 1931:

We were trying a winter on Michigan Island, where my husband was head lighthouse keeper. His brother was assistant. When we decided to stay, our hired girl promised to remain with us through the winter. But she slipped away and went ashore with some fishermen, and didn't come back.

(One day) they took the dogs and went fishing. I was always afraid to be alone on the island. A city-bred girl, the stark loneliness of it was appalling. As soon as they left the house I ran about and locked all the doors and windows. Yet there was nobody on the island but myself, and the children, a little girl past two, and the twin boys, nine months old.

For a few hours after they had gone that day I was busy setting the house in order. The tower was closed but there was lots of work to do in the house, and I was glad for that. I got the children's lunch, prepared things for an early supper, as I knew the men would be very hungry when they came home, and then sat down to wait.

Women who wait in brightly lighted cities with people all around within call of the voice have no conception what it is to sit and wait for your man on a deserted island, with snow and ice everywhere and no light but the stars.

I watched the sun go down across the water, waited until its sickly yellowish light had disappeared and the stars came out. I kept stoking the fires, for I knew the men would be cold when they came in.

I did not even think of such a thing as their not coming. They had been gone since before daylight, and they would be home before six, I was sure. The wind was blowing a gale, but in my ignorance of such things I gave it no thought.

Six o'clock came, and darkness. It was so dark outside I could not bear to look out the window, but I kept watching for the men and the dogs. It began to snow. Seven o'clock and still my man had not come. I put the children to bed and waited.

Unbeknownst to Anna, the ice had broken up while the men were fishing. Robert and his brother had been carried out into the open lake.

All night long I sat by the fire, terror clutching my heart. I could not believe they would not come. Every time the wind rattled the branches of the trees around the lighthouse I would start up, expecting to hear my husband's voice.

Morning found me on the verge of hysteria. But there was serious work to be done. I had to milk the cow because of the children. And I was afraid of a cow. Raised in Chicago, where one doesn't even think of such things, I had never learned to milk, even after coming with my husband to Michigan Island, where a cow and chickens provided the main food for the children.

It was bitterly cold and still snowing. A winter fog shut us in. I went down to the barn and looked at the cow. She swung her head and made a noise and I knew I could never milk her as I had seen my husband do.

Running into the woodshed, I grabbed the ax, and in desperation began chopping at the wall of her manger. Making a hole through which I could put both hands, I started to milk into a little tin cup which I held with one hand, milking with the other. The cow kicked and I jumped away.

But the children had to have their milk. So back I went and I kept at it until I got enough for them. I fed the cow, and watered her, and looked after the chickens.

Then I went back to the house and waited. I waited and watched, and somehow kept my reason all through that terrible day, and the more terrible night that followed.

Things began to get a little hazy after that. Two nights of terror, and another night faced me. Somehow, I lived through them, looked after the children, got their milk, fed the chickens. That is about all that I remember of those days.

"I spent six years on that island. Tourists used to come from Bayfield and that was all the social contact I had. We always seemed to be on lonely outposts. There were three years on Huron Island, three miles off shore from the Keweenaw Peninsula, and when my husband was on Stannard Rock I had to live alone on the mainland. We're through with lighthouses now and I am glad."

"I liked them," said McLean, "or I would not have spent 35 years keeping the lights going."

Oramill Luick lived with her husband Emmanuel at the Sand Island light from 1911 to 1921. In November, 1912, while on the island, she gave birth to the couple's first child. A month later, with no medical assistance available, the baby girl died, and her father buried her on the island. The Luicks had three more children, two of whom survived to adulthood. In 1931, Oramill Luick also took time to share some memories with reporter Champney:

"My only neighbors were the wives of fishermen," said Mrs. Luick, "But we stuck together. We organized a sewing circle, and we sewed for the Red Cross and other things. We met twice a month at each other's houses, and got up nice little parties, besides. We made much of our birthdays, and baked birthday cakes, and made most of everything we had. There were Mrs. Bert Hill, Mrs. Herman Johnson, Mrs. Fred Hanson. Mrs. Harold Dahl, Mrs. Louis Moe, Mrs. Bert Noring, Mrs. Loftfield and Ms. Swain Berdstrom. When you live for years with just a handful of neighbors, you remember them all your life.

"We had an 18-foot flat boat with a three-horse power motor, and when it was too wet to cross the swampy places, my husband would sometimes run me to a neighbor's in this boat. The soil is not deep on these islands, which are mostly sandstone and rocks, but some of the fishermen's wives raised garden stuff, and a little fruit. We went three and a half miles for our milk, every other day. Our nearest neighbor was a mile away. The first year we were there Charles Haven was the assistant, and he had a wife and two children. Then came Ole Christensen, and his wife. At the last there was as unmarried assistant, and the three of us kept the light. We were six miles from the mainland."

September 2, 1905 was a dark day in the history of the Apostle Islands. In the space of a few hours, two magnificent ships were lost to a storm that swept the lake. Early that morning, the steamship Sevona sought shelter from the storm among the islands. Clawing its way through the tempest, the ship struck a shoal northeast of Sand Island. Seven crew members drowned in sight of shore. Later that day, the huge schooner-barge Pretoria foundered in sight of Outer Island, with a loss of five lives.

"The worst storm since '73 swept Lake Superior last Saturday and Sunday, causing many wrecks and much loss of life. Two large boats were wrecked off the Apostle Islands, causing the loss of twelve lives.

The news of the wreck of the steamer Sevona reached here Sunday evening when the chief engineer, Wm.Phillipi, one of the survivors, came to town from Little Sand Bay where he landed with ten more of the crew and passengers.

The steamer Sevona, owned by James McBrier, of Erie, Pa., struck the reef between Sand and York islands at 5:15 last Saturday morning and went to pieces. The boat was in charge of Captain D.S.McDonald, and had a cargo of about six thousand tons of iron ore on board. The Sevona left the Allouez docks at West Superior Friday night at six o'clock. There was a heavy sea running when the boat cleared, but the captain thought nothing particularly of it until he was outside of Outer Island when the wind and waves became terrific. He then concluded to turn back and seek shelter among the islands."

It is supposed that he was headed for the west side of Sand Island but got in too close to the island and struck the reef that projects out from Sand Island, about one and one half miles out from the lighthouse. When the boat struck there was a crash, followed closely by two others and the big boat came to a stand badly broken in the center. It was in constant danger of collapsing owing to the seas which were beating the helpless ship unmercifully. She gradually sank onto the rocks and seemed solid. The whistle was blown for help until the fires under the boilers were extinguished, then rockets were sent up, but there was no one to see or hear their signals of distress.

At daylight there was no letup of the wind and at 6 o'clock, with a mighty crash, the huge vessel broke in two at the fourth hatchway. The forward end of the vessel seemed to be still solid, but the rear end gradually sank into the water. At eleven o'clock Chief Engineer Phillippi ordered one of the boats lowered and in this he placed four women-- Miss Kate Spencer and Miss Jones, of Erie, PA., Mrs. Wm. Phillippi, of Buffalo, and Mrs. Cluckie, of West Bay City, Michigan. He then took six of the crew and got into the boat himself and left the ill-fated steamer.

After nearly five hours of battling with the heavy waves they landed at Little Sand Bay, a large wave lifting the boat and setting it high and safe on the sand beach. More than once the men thought they would have to give up but their courage was kept up by the ladies who nerved the men up to further efforts and they finally landed safely. Boat number two containing six of the crew put off at the same time that the engineer's boat left but they handled the boat badly and it soon disappeared from sight of the other boat and it was thought they had been drowned until Captain John Pasque went out with the R.W.Currie Monday and found them at the west bay of Sand Island. The wind and waves had driven them ashore in less than one hour from the time they left the wreck.

The seven men on the forward end of the boat had absolutely nothing to leave the wreck in after the other boats had left. It was impossible for them to reach the after end of the boat after she struck, as the huge waves were going clear over her, nor was it possible for the small boats to reach them.

As soon as the truth was known in Bayfield the tug Harrow , under the command of Captain Anderson, went to the scene of the wreck to endeavor to rescue the seven men who were left there, but when the tug reached there nothing but the stern of the boat remained. The bow had been entirely swept away and the seven men were gone.

Those who reached shore in the engineer's boat at Little Sand Bay were taken care of at the logging camp of Napolean Rabideaux. The engineer, after being rested and refreshed, started for Bayfield in company with a teamster from the camp and it took them nearly all day to reach here as the heavy wind had felled many trees across the road. His statement was as follows:

"The sea got so high that the captain concluded to run for shelter, and it was shortly after we turned that we struck. Shortly before this I received a signal from the captain to check the speed but after she struck I received no more signals and I stopped the engine. There were three distinct shocks and crashed, then the boat came to a stand and broke in two. We blew the whistle for help until our fires were put out."

"The vessel broke in two as soon as we struck, but there was a portion of the star-board side rail hanging and I don't know why the captain didn't try to come aft. Of course it was almost impossible, but they might have made it for almost a half hour after she broke. It may be that he thought the forward end would stand the sea, as it seemed to be hard aground. I don't know why. I wanted to go forward with our life boat, and try and pick them up, but we couldn't, and I didn't want to lose the people I had.

If there had been only one of the mates or even a sailor aft to take charge of the other small boat, they might have gotten them off, but every sailor on the vessel was forward and cut off. Those in the rear were deck hands and oilers and knew nothing about managing a row boat."

The remainder of those who were in the engineer's boat came to town Monday and Miss Kate Spencer and Miss Jones left on the afternoon train for Erie, Pa.

"It makes me shudder to talk or think of the terrible experience through which we passed. About three o'clock in the morning Captain McDonald knocked at out door and told us that he was going to seek shelter, and for us to secure all breakable stuff in a place of safety, as when the boat put about she would toss badly.

It was only a short time before the captain came to our stateroom again and told us to dress. This we did and a little later two sailors came and accompanied us to the after end of the boat. We were instructed to put on life preservers, which we did. No one seemed to be specially frightened, but a 5:45 came the terrible crash which broke the vessel in two.

We got into the life boat at that time, but the captain and the men could not come aft owing to the break. He hailed us through the megaphone 'Hang on as long as you can.' We did so, but the sea was pounding so hard, that we finally got out of the small boat, and into the large vessel again, all congregating in the dining room which was still intact.

The big boat was pounding and tossing. Now a piece of the deck would go then a portion of the dining room, in which we were quartered. During all this time, the men forward could not get to us. Finally, at 11 o'clock everything seemed to be breaking at once, and by order of the chief engineer, we took to the small boat again.

One by one we piled into the boat, leaving six men behind us. I never heard such a heart rending cry as came from those six. 'For God's sake don't leave us,' they cried, so two of the men who were in our boat got out and helped the six men get the port boat over to the starboard side so they could launch it. These men then left in their boat and our and our men came back to our boat, and we put off.

It was a terrible fight to keep the small boat afloat. And to the skill of the second engineer, Adam Fiden, we certainly owe our lives. He is an expert sculler, and kept our boat right, when oars on the side were practically useless. We knew we were in danger, but we obeyed his orders implicitly, and he finally landed us safe and sound.

When the tug Currie returned from Sand Island Monday afternoon with the six men who were in boat number two, it was also learned that the bodies of Captain McDonald and Nels Severson, wheelsman, had been found on the beach at Sand Island. Justice Davis was instructed to go there and hold an inquest. Upon their return to the island two more bodies had been found, Louis Darwin, first mate, and the other one could not be identified. The bodies were brought to Bayfield and taken in charge by Undertaker Sense, and prepared for shipment. The body of Captain McDonald was sent to his home ln Northeast, Pa., Tuesday and two more of the bodies were shipped to Buffalo Wednesday.

Harry Magnet, a sailor on the steamer W.H.Mack, arrived in the city from Duluth Tuesday evening and identified his brother, Otto Willett, the last one of the bodies that washed ashore from the steamer Sevona. He took the remains of his brother to Cleveland Wednesday.

A search has been made for the three remaining bodies but none of them have been found yet.

The bodies of the second mate and two watchmen are still missing. The survivors of the Sevona were sent to their respective homes Wednesday evening after being in Bayfield since Monday. Their expenses were all paid by the owners of the boat. Valued at $250,000, and insured for $160,000, she was a total loss."

The bodies of the remaining victims were all eventually recovered. Lying just below the surface, the wreck of the Sevona was determined to be a hazard to navigation, and so the Army Corps of Engineers dynamited the wreck in the summer of 1909. Nonetheless, significant portions of the Sevona remain today, and the wreck is a popular destination for sport divers.

Burt and Anna Mae Hill were among the best-loved and most widely respected residents of Sand Island. Anna Mae was the daughter of Frank Shaw, the island's first European settler. In 1896, she married Burt, a native of Appleton who had settled in Ashland. They had two daughters, one of whom died in childhood. When Anna Mae's father retired from farming in 1910, the Hills left their home in Ashland to take over Mr. Shaw's island farm

Burt was a multi-talented jack-of-all-trades. On the mainland, he had been a printer and journalist. To make a living on the island, he fished, farmed, did carpentry, served as the community postmaster, and briefly ran a co-op store. People who knew him said he could fix just about anything. Anna Mae gained renown for her cooking, and she supplemented the family income by providing meals for fishermen and vacationers. She was also a skilled healer, dispensing remedies for neighbors' ailments and even setting broken bones.

Burt and Anna Mae maintained their island home until old age and ill health forced them to move to the mainland in 1941. They were among the last full-time residents of the island. In October 1944, the remaining families took leave of the island, and the Ashland Daily Press headline read, "Sand Island Deserted First Time In Half a Century."

Life on the island provided many challenges. Here, Burt recalls how a simple trip to the mainland nearly turned to disaster for the couple and their seven-year-old nephew.

"What was one of the most exciting events of our career on Sand Island thus far was our trip to Bayfield on October 4, 1926. We had waited nearly a month for a nice day to make the trip, but it turned out to be one of the worst wind storms of the season.

The wind was south and we kept under the lee of the main shore until we reached Point Detour. Here we ran into the biggest sea that I had ever encountered. I tried to get into the Bay at the Pageant Grounds where we could tie up at a dock, but every time that we would go down on a big sea the engine would stop.

I tried two or three times to make it but it was of no use and I turned back. When reaching the gas buoy on that point I threw anchor and waited until after two o'clock, thinking that some boat might come along and pick us up, but nothing doing. Not a boat all day long.

I then decided that we might just as well turn back for home. When I came to lift the anchor I found that it was foul and it took the efforts of Mae and myself to get it loose. We then started for home but when opposite Frog Bay the wind became so strong that it nearly capsized the boat before I could get it headed into the wind.

Here we laid until 5 o'clock when I decided to try and get ashore where we could get shelter in an old cabin. I got near enough so that we could have reached the shore by wading but we did not want to get wet, so I pulled out a ways from the shore and threw the anchor.

Here we stayed all night. I laid some life preservers on the floor, and with our coats to cover us we tried to get some sleep, but I was too nervous to sleep, so I got up and sat by the engine all night. I thought that when one of those strong gusts of wind would strike that the anchor chain might break and I wanted to be ready to start the engine and run the boat onto the beach but the chain held all right and as soon as it was daylight we pulled anchor and started for Bayfield where we arrived at 7 o'clock in the morning. The wind had subsided some and switched to the northwest, turning cold and snowing but we reached port without any more trouble where we went to the hotel, washed up and had breakfast.

We were lucky in having something to eat with us. We were taking some roast chicken, butter, etc., to Marguerite and I had diabetic bread that I always carried when away from home, but I was in such a nervous state that I ate but one sandwich during all this time.

We intended to go right through to Ashland with the boat but when we reached Bayfield we decided that we had had enough boating for awhile and we took the train for the balance of the way."

An Apostle Islands lighthouse keeper was a busy man. Tending the light at night and maintaining the station during the day demanded long hours of work. Records from 1915 show that one lighthouse keeper was expected to put in 105 hours of work each week!

Though some light stations were staffed by a keeper and one or more assistants, at others the keeper was expected to handle it all by himself. In such cases, days off were out of the question.

Family members often pitched in to help. Many keepers' wives learned to light and tend the lamps, enabling their husbands to leave the station for one or more days. Occasionally the Lighthouse Service acknowledged this contribution by officially appointing the keeper's wife as assistant keeper, and paying her a commensurate salary. Ella Luick at Sand Island, Mary Snow at Raspberry Island, and Matilda Rumrill at Michigan Island were several Apostle Islands keepers' wives who received this recognition.

Francis Jacker was keeper at Raspberry Island from 1885 through 1892. Though the Raspberry station had once been allotted an assistant keeper, the position was abolished in 1882, presumably for reasons of economy. Keeping the station without help proved a challenging job, as one of his log entries attests in the best bureaucratic manner:

"The reinstitution of an assistant keeper for this station is deemed necessary by the present writer for reasons submitted by letter to the inspector. In case of an emergency, no assistance is available on the island, and the proper surveillance of the revolving apparatus during the long nights of the fall when frequent windings are required, is exhausting. "

Though Jacker was married, he apparently chose not to bring his family to the lighthouse. Sometimes the logbooks give evidence of his loneliness, as on one Independence Day:

"Rain on the Fourth. No celebration within twelve miles of the station. The day passed in quiet solitude as usual."

"August 8, 1887. Tug Daisy brought an excursion party who visited the station and expressed their delight over the rural attractions of the place. They were the first visitors of the season."

Little more than a month later, Jacker's worst fears came true. His solitary situation put him into some real trouble. The keeper's log for September 1887 tells the tale:

"Early in the morning of the 13th, a westerly gale sprang up, all of a sudden, endangering the sailboat of the station which that night had been anchored near the dock. Jumping out of bed, I hurried to move it to a place of safety at the eastern extremity of the island--- the dilapidated condition of the ways rendering it impossible, for the moment, to have it hauled up to the boathouse."

"In the dark, I missed the point of landing, sailing beyond it, and the impetuosity of the storm made it impossible either to row or beat up against it, gravel having entered and lodged in the centerboard box, prevented the use of the latter;consequently tacking could not be resorted to. I could do nothing but to sail, under reefed canvas, with the current of the wind and waves, thus drifting over to Oak Island. "

"The storm did not abate until noon of the third day, by which time the boat had received such damage that there would have been no escape for me from my prison, were it not for a passing Indian who noticed my signal of distress and rescued me. I had spent nearly three days on the desolated island, without food, without fire, and being but scantily dressed."

By coincidence, while Jacker was marooned on Oak Island, his wife and family arrived at Raspberry Island for a visit. Finding her husband missing, Mrs. Jacker did what she could to tend the beacon. She was able to light the lamp, but could not operate the clockwork mechanism that rotated the lens to produce its characteristic flash. In Jacker's words,

"In consequence of the above occurrence, the light of this station was not extinguished in the morning of the 13th, and not exhibited the night following. It was relighted, however, in the night of the 14th and 15th by my family who happened to come on a visit, but owing to their inability to get the revolving machinery into motion, the apparatus did not revolve."

This harrowing experience brought Jacker an unexpected benefit. On September 22, 1887, J.C. Thompson, master of the steamer Horace A. Tuttle, wrote to the Secretary of the Treasury with a complaint. Thompson reported that he had passed Raspberry Island several days before, and found that the light was out. He demanded an explanation, noting that Raspberry Island was "important because it is the leading light between Duluth, Bayfield, and Ashland."

Letting the light go out was reason for a stiff reprimand or even dismissal, and the District Inspector ordered Jacker to explain himself. The story of his ordeal must have made an impression on Jacker's bosses- before the year was over, Edward Jacker, Francis's son, was appointed assistant keeper at Raspberry Island light!

Sand Island lighthouse, near the western end of the Apostle Island chain, was occupied for a shorter period than any of the archipelago's other lights. Built in 1881, it was the first of the group to be automated, in 1921.

Considered by many to be one of the most beautiful lighthouses on Lake Superior, the structure was built from sandstone quarried right at the building site. The design of the lighthouse was influenced by the Gothic style, popular during the Victorian period. The light tower begins as a square rising from the northwest corner of the dwelling, then gracefully flows into an octagon surmounted by the lantern and walkway. Carved wood trim decorates the steeply sloped gable end of the quarters. A fourth-order Fresnel lens produced a fixed white light from the top of the 44-foot tall tower.

Sand Island light had only two principal keepers: Charles Lederle, from 1881-1891, and Emmanuel Luick, from 1892-1920. In 1885, Lederle gained praise for his daring rescue of the crew from the steamer Prussia . Spotting the burning ship, he rowed a small boat several miles out on the open lake, and rescued the entire crew. Luick also witnessed a shipwreck at close hand, but could do nothing to assist the victims. During a fierce September storm in 1905, he could only watch from the tower as the freighter Sevona broke apart near shore. Seven sailors, including the ship's captain, drowned.

The keepers at Sand Island were not as isolated from civilization as those at other Apostle Islands lights. During the years the light was staffed, Sand Island supported a small, year-round community of farmers and fishermen. The keepers and their families often walked or rowed two miles to visit neighbors and participate in social events.

In 1921, the Lighthouse Service installed an acetylene light atop the tower, designed to run without need for daily attendance. Keepers from nearby Raspberry Island kept an eye on the beacon to make sure it was operating properly, and changed the fuel tanks when they emptied.

Meanwhile, Keeper Luick moved to the lighthouse at Grand Marais, Minnesota, to finish his long career. His former home did not stay vacant long, however; for much of the 1920s and 30s, the Lighthouse Service rented the building to Gertrude Wellisch, a Minnesota schoolteacher who used it as a summer retreat. Ms Wellisch and a later tenant carried out critical maintenance and repairs, helping to preserve the historic structure.

The station's lamp was moved twice during the years of automation. The Lighthouse Service erected a 50-foot steel tower in front of the stone building some time around 1933, and placed the acetylene apparatus atop it. The beacon stood outside the lighthouse for more than half a century, but in 1985, the Coast Guard returned the signal to its historic home and removed the metal tower. Once again, the light shines from the tower in this jewel of the Apostles.

Visiting the Lighthouse Close to the mainland, Sand Island is a popular destination for intermediate-level sea kayakers and private boaters who are prepared for the challenges of Lake Superior. There is no dock at the lighthouse, but nearby rock ledges and beaches may provide access in favorable weather conditions. In the summer season, National Park Service volunteers provide tours of the lighthouse, usually during the hours of 12:00 noon and 4:00 pm.

Shunning human contact, the brooding, bearded man retreated to the woods, hiding himself away in a tiny cabin devoid of comforts. No one knew for sure what private demons pursued him- some said that he nursed a wounded heart, others hinted that he hoarded an ill-gotten treasure. Many thought him uncouth, but others described him as a gentleman, well educated. Just about everyone agreed it was best to keep far away from him, though. "He was sullen and ugly," one writer recalls, "and on several occasions it is said that he used his gun to drive away unwelcome meddlers." He refused to pay taxes, and once greeted a visiting sheriff with a loaded rifle.

The tale of the Hermit is a story filled with violence, romance, and wealth. Or maybe not-it's hard to say. You see, since there was nothing written about the Hermit during his lifetime, writers and tale spinners over the ensuing century-and-a-half have felt free to make things up as they went along. As one writer confessed, "There are a number of different versions to this tale. The author has chosen the one which most appealed to him."

The Hermit's name was William Wilson… or maybe it wasn't. Some accounts claim that his name was anything but Wilson, and that the pseudonym concealed a dark past.

"Nothing is known of his early life," says one writer, "He came from no one knew where." Not so, says another: "He was born in Canada of Scottish parents," confidently adding that the year was 1792, and the place was Sault Ste. Marie.

Most sources agree that Wilson was a fur trader in his youth, and roamed the mountains as far as the Pacific Ocean. Tiring of the wandering life, one account tells how he walked cross-country, hoping to return to the land of his birth. Arriving there, he found his parents dead, his former sweetheart married.

It seems that few writers could resist the temptation to place a woman at the center of the Hermit's story. An 1890's account describes a mysterious moment:

One day a friend found him sleeping beside the cabin. He did not disturb him. But out of his dreams he awoke, and in an agonizing cry he uttered one word…"Estelle!"

Hmmm… who might this mysterious lady have been? Perhaps she was a woman wronged: one source says that at the age of 18, "he ran away from home, deserting a young French girl he was to have married." Not true, says another account: "He had a wife and daughter at L'Anse, in upper Michigan, who he took out to the Columbia River and there deserted. Later, repenting of this cruelty, he sought to reclaim them and found they had been murdered."

Perhaps there was no wife, no French girl, no "Estelle." Who can be certain? But surely we must know more about his life once he appeared in the Apostle Islands country! Indeed, the stories do grow more detailed, the tellers more confident. He came to LaPointe in 1841, we are told, and worked as a cooper, or barrel maker. His employer, John Bell, was every bit as fierce as Wilson, and just a bit tougher, it seems. The two men came to blows one day in 1847, and we hear that Bell laid Wilson out with one punch. Humiliated, Wilson vowed he would never stay on an island where he was not the best man, and so loaded a canoe with provisions and set off to an island where no man would ever be his better.

There, on what is now called Hermit Island, Wilson built a log cabin, planted a garden, and raised chickens. To earn a few dollars, he kept up his work as a cooper. Fishermen would stop by to purchase barrels for their catch, but the Hermit did not encourage them to linger. Yet some writers say he had no need to raise cash. They say that on his rare trips to town, he attracted attention by paying for supplies from a purse filled with silver Mexican coins. Others whispered of a store of gold, buried somewhere near his cabin.

Perhaps this rumor of hidden wealth led to the Hermit's death. In 1861, he was found "dead in his cabin, where he had undoubtedly been murdered… evidently by parties in search of his wealth." There was "evidence of a violent death struggle, crude furniture broken, the trunk empty, money bags missing."

"Not exactly," says another story: it was whiskey that laid him low." Wilson had died of delirium tremens… as misshapen monsters appeared against the mud-lined walls of his lonely cabin, he forced his trembling old body to go after them until life wrenched from it in a final, violent convulsion."

Oh, my! Amid all this embellishment, what do we really know about Wilson the hermit? We can be confident that he did exist- that in the decade before the Civil War, a tormented man spent his declining years all but shut-off from human society on a lonely island in Lake Superior. Beyond that, it seems that the Hermit will forever remain a man of mystery.

The final jewel was placed in the necklace of lights around the Apostle Islands when the beacon on Devils Islands was lit in 1891. A two-story, red brick, Queen Anne- style keeper's dwelling and a building for the steam fog signal were completed at this time, but the light was placed in a temporary tower. The tower, made of wooden timbers, held a fourth order, nonflashing red light.

A two-story, brick and shingle house similar in design to the keeper's dwelling was built for the assistant keepers in 1897. Work began on the permanent tower, an 82- foot tall steel cylinder, that same year. Although the tower was ready in the fall of 1898, there was a three year delay in supplying it with a lens. A third order lens from the Paris firm of H. Lepaute finally arrived in April 1901. The permanent tower was placed in service shortly afterward, and the temporary tower torn down the same year.

The lighthouse was originally designed as a plain, self-supporting cylinder, but the high winds of its exposed location caused the tower to shake so badly that lightkeepers complained that the motion sometimes extinguished the lamp. In 1914, the Lighthouse Service reinforced the structure with external braces, alleviating the problem and giving the tower the appearance we see today.

Devils Island's flashing red light became a major landmark along trans-Superior shipping lanes. The station's steam fog signal was replaced in 1925 with a compressed air diaphone and a radio fog beacon. Ships on the lake could use the time delay between the radio and audible signals to determine their distance to the station.

Devils Island eventually became the last manned station in the Apostle Islands. As the other lights were automated, the Coast Guard maintained a five-man crew on Devils Island to watch over the beacon and perform periodic maintenance on the other island lights. This era finally ended in 1978, when the Devils Island light was automated as well. When the Coast Guard detachment hauled down their flag, it marked the end of over a century of lightkeepers tending lights in the Apostle Islands.

The lighthouse at Devils Island is the only one among the Apostles group to retain its original Fresnel lens, though there was a three-year period when the lantern room was empty. The U. S. Coast Guard removed the third order Fresnel lens from the tower in 1989 and replaced it with a smaller, plastic beacon. The National Park Service repaired the lens and returned it to the tower as a display in 1992.

While technological advances decreased the importance of lights as navigational tools, these lighthouses have acquired a significance beyond their importance to mariners. They represent a fascinating period in the historic development of the region. They also remind us of the brave men and women who tended these remote outposts to make life safer for sailors navigating the waters of the Apostle Islands.

Visiting the Lighthouse Although Devils Island is relatively remote, the lighthouse is a popular destination for experienced boaters and sea kayakers. There are several landing sites, making the island accessible in a variety of wind conditions. Tour boats do not usually stop at Devils Island, but the Apostle Islands Cruise Service offers excellent views of the lighthouse from the lake. Visitors who do reach the island will find the lighthouse staffed with a volunteer lightkeeper during the summer season; tours of the tower are usually available between 9:00 and 11:00 am, and 1:00 pm and 4:00 pm.

The words of New Hampshire poet Sam Walter Foss come to mind upon contemplating a small cabin not far from the Little Sand Bay Visitor Center. This one-room log cabin, long hidden in dark woods, has become easier for visitors to find now that improvements have brought the park entrance road close to its door.

The National Park Service has the responsibility and privilege of caring for homes associated with figures who made transcendent contributions to the nation's history. Each year thousands of visitors tour such sites as Franklin Roosevelt's mansion at Hyde Park, the birthplace of Martin Luther King, or the house at Appomattox where Grant and Lee signed the document that ended the Civil War.

But the Service also preserves homes of men and women whose names few may remember, but who each played their own role in the nation's story. There are pioneer farmsteads, slave quarters, workers' tenements. Visiting these homes helps us understand and appreciate the accomplishments of "ordinary people" who turn out, upon reflection, to be pretty extraordinary in their own way.

Born in Norway in 1882, Nelson found himself faced with a difficult choice as he reached adulthood. It was hard for a young man to find work in Norway at the turn of the last century. Throughout the eighteen-hundreds, advances in medicine and agriculture had led to a decline in the death rate and a growth in population, but economic development had not kept up. More and more people found themselves competing for any available jobs and the nation's relatively small portion of arable land.

Faced with this situation, many young Norwegians took the difficult step of leaving family and friends to seek a brighter future in America. Between 1825 and 1915, no country but Ireland sent a larger portion of its sons and daughters to this country than did Norway.

John Nelson was one of those who chose to try his luck in the New World. Upon arrival, like many Norwegian immigrants, he made his way to Wisconsin. He settled for a while at Ashland, and found work as a lumberjack in the logging camps of the Lake Superior country.

Logging was a hard way to make a living. It didn't leave much time for family life, and Nelson never married. He must have devoted himself to honing his skills with axe and saw, for acquaintances remember him as an expert woodsman. As his experience grew, he rose to become crew foreman, and finally set out on his own as an independent contractor.

By the end of the 1920's, though, the heyday of Northwoods logging was over. The great stands of pine were long gone, and the area's mills closed one after the other. There was still some hardwood and pulpwood to cut, but the need for lumberjacks dwindled. As John Nelson reached his fiftieth year, he found it necessary once more to start anew.

Moving to Little Sand Bay, he found employment as hired man to the three Hokenson brothers at their fishery. In those days, there was plenty of work for an extra set of hands in the fishing business. He helped unload the boats, repaired nets, cut lake ice in the winter. He cut and shaped poles for pound net stakes, and he carved chunks of sandstone into weights that helped hold the nets in position. The pay would not have been much, but Nelson's needs were simple;he was used to a rugged life.

Having found work, his next order of business was to build himself a home. Nelson constructed a temporary, tar-papered shack not far from the slough which empties into Lake Superior just east of the Town of Russell parking lot. He stayed there several years while he cleared a nearby patch of land and set aside logs to build a bigger, better cabin. Some time around 1938, he completed the structure we see today.

This seemingly nondescript cabin is worth a close look. Though built on the eve of World War II, its construction harks back to traditional Scandinavian methods. Nelson used no power tools in his work;each log was cut and shaped with axe and plane. The careful dovetail joints at the corners testify to his skill and care.

His living conditions were Spartan, but over the years Nelson added a few comforts. He never had an indoor toilet, but after a while he dug a well and ran a cold water line inside;wash water drained into a bucket around back. The biggest change came in the late 1940s, when electric power finally came to Little Sand Bay. Now he could have lights, and perhaps a radio. Friends say he never had a phone or a car.

The logs of the cabin give evidence to what was unquestionably John Nelson's most memorable characteristic: his great strength. Everyone who remembers him agrees on one thing: he was the strongest man they ever met. "Oh, man, he was a real bull," commented one acquaintance. "I was just a kid then, and I thought the world of him. He used to pick up fish barrels and blocks of ice and move them around like they weighed nothing at all."

When it came time to build his cabin, that strength proved its worth. Having no horse to pull the logs, he'd hook a chain to the fallen trees, wrap a harness around his chest, and drag the heavy timbers himself.

Nelson continued working for the Hokenson family through the most active years of their fishing business. When the brothers had no jobs for him to do, he'd help their neighbor, Herman Johnson, or find someone with trees that needed cutting. In his spare time, he continued clearing land until he had enough open space for a productive berry patch. The strawberries he grew there provided a bit of extra income;old-timers in the town of Russell remember the delicious berries wistfully.

Like logging, fishing could be a dangerous business, and John Nelson suffered at least one serious accident while working for the Hokensons. While using a winch to pull their boat out of the water, the handle suddenly spun free and struck him in the head, knocking him unconscious. When he awakened, he found he had lost his sight. Roy Hokenson and his wife Irene took him into their home and cared for him as he convalesced. Fortunately, his eyesight eventually returned, and Nelson could return to his cabin.

The Lake Superior fishery collapsed in the decades following World War II. Years of fishing pressure had taken a toll on fish populations, and the invasion of the parasitic lamprey brought disaster. Once again, John Nelson saw the decline of an industry that provided his livelihood, but he was not there to witness it when the Hokenson brothers retired from fishing in 1962.

You see, even the mightiest of men has to grow old some time. There came a day when a friend dropped by the cabin and was surprised to find Nelson not home. Searching around, he found the old logger collapsed in the forest, still harnessed to a tree. Nelson had suffered a stroke while trying to drag a log out of the woods as he'd done so many times before. Though he survived the stroke, he never completely regained his health, and he spent his remaining years in a nursing home. John Nelson died in 1959, a few days before his seventy-seventh birthday.

After his death, a box was found in his little cabin, full of letters and postcards, written in Norwegian. These papers tell us one thing more about John Nelson: though an ocean separated him from the land of his birth, he never forgot the family and friends that he left in far-off Norway.

The Incredible Journey of Benjamin Armstrong and Chief Buffalo Benjamin Armstrong was desperate: out of money and out of his element, a frontiersman marooned in Washington, D.C.

Worst of all, he’d failed in his mission, it seemed. He’d have to tell his Indian companions that no one wanted to listen to them. They’d made the arduous, two-month journey from Lake Superior to the national capitol, all for nothing. The result would be war.

Benjamin Armstrong is one of the most intriguing characters in the history of the Apostle Islands. Born in Alabama in 1820, he left home at the age of ten. As a young man, he traveled around the Midwestern frontier, working his way up the Mississippi. By the time he reached his early thirties, he had settled at the old fur trading village of LaPointe, on Madeline Island.

Along the way, Armstrong developed close friendships among the region’s Ojibwe people. He learned their language, and eventually married a daughter (some say a niece) of the respected chief of the LaPointe band, Ke-che-waish-ke, or Buffalo. The chief became fond of Armstrong, and adopted him as a son. Armstrong, in turn, served the tribe as interpreter and adviser.

In the late 1840s, disturbing news began reaching the Lake Superior country. Powerful politicians were lobbying in Washington to force the Ojibwe out of their homelands, resettling the tribe to unfamiliar surroundings on the Minnesota prairie. In February, 1850, President Zachary Taylor issued a proclamation repudiating earlier treaties, and ordered the Indians to get ready to move.

Sitting in on tribal council meetings, Benjamin Armstrong could feel the sense of betrayal and anger in his Ojibwe friends. “I could tell great trouble was brewing,” he later recalled. Rather than submit to exile, many of the men agreed: “Better to be slaughtered in our old home, where we can be buried by the side of our relatives and friends.”

Conferring with his adoptive father, Armstrong arranged an audacious plan. He would escort the elderly chief all the way to Washington. President Taylor had passed away suddenly- perhaps the new President Fillmore would listen to reason. Maybe a personal appeal would bring justice for the Ojibwe, and preserve peace along the frontier. It was a desperate measure- Buffalo was more than 90 years old- but the stakes were high.

On April 5, 1852, Chief Buffalo, Benjamin Armstrong, and five Ojibwe companions launched a canoe from the Madeline Island shore. Three days of paddling brought them to the town of Ontonagon, where they circulated a petition protesting the removal order. To Armstrong’s elation, he found unanimous support. The white residents of the region objected strongly to outsiders’ plans to force their Ojibwe neighbors into exile.

The party paddled on, stopping at each settlement along the lake’s wild coast, collecting ever more signatures for their petition. Day followed day as they battled waves and storms; each night, they slept under blankets on the shore.

At Sault Ste. Marie, they met an obstacle more formidable than the waters of the big lake: bureaucracy. Officers at the fort there informed Armstrong that no Indians were allowed to pass that point without advance permission from Washington. Presenting his petitions and explaining the urgency of his mission, Armstrong finally convinced the officials to allow his party to continue. They warned him, though: “The Indian Agent at Detroit will be sure to stop you.”

Leaving their canoe, the delegation boarded a steamer bound for Detroit. As predicted, the agent there held them up, then finally relented. Shaking his head, he warned, “You’ll never get to Washington.”

Armstrong proved him wrong. They continued by steamer to the city of Buffalo, where they boarded the first train that any of the six had ever seen. The railroad took them to Albany, where another steamboat took them down the Hudson to New York. There seemed to be trouble at every stop, but each time, Armstrong found a way to overcome the obstacles.

At Washington, though, it seemed their luck ran out. The Commissioner of Indian Affairs refused to meet with the delegation. “You have come here without permission,” he told Armstrong. “I do not want to see you or hear of your Indians again.” An appeal to the Secretary of the Interior brought a curt dismissal: “I can do nothing for you.”

Dejected, Armstrong walked back to the hotel where Buffalo and his companions waited for word. How could he tell them that their hardships had been wasted? What would happen when they returned home? Their money was gone- how could they even get home?

Arriving at the hotel, he found the Indians surrounded by a curious crowd. Several well-dressed gentlemen seemed particularly interested to learn what had brought an Ojibwe chief all the way to Washington. Armstrong summoned his strength and wearily explained the nature of their mission.

“We can help,” said one of the men. Among the onlookers, it turned out, were a United States Senator, and a member of the President’s cabinet.

The next afternoon, at three o’clock, Armstrong, Buffalo, and their companions walked in the door of the White House. President Millard Fillmore welcomed them and solemnly accepted the pipe of tobacco that Buffalo offered as a mark of friendship. Each man in the room took a draught on the pipe, then Buffalo’s deputy and spokesman, O-sha-ga, arose and explained the Ojibwe’s plight. He spoke for an hour, with Armstrong translating.

President Fillmore listened carefully, then promised the group a prompt reply. Two days later, he summoned the delegation back to the White House and announced his decision: he would rescind his predecessor’s order. The Ojibwe would not be forced to leave their homeland.

Armstrong and Buffalo brought the welcome news back to LaPointe. Two years later, Armstrong again served his adoptive father as translator and adviser in the negotiations surrounding the Treaty of LaPointe, formalizing the agreement between the United States and the Ojibwe.

Chief Buffalo died in 1855, at the age of 96. Benjamin Armstrong built a cabin on Oak Island, where he farmed for several years. He made two more trips east as an advocate for the Ojibwe; on one, he met another President: Abraham Lincoln. After a long and eventful life, he died at Ashland in 1900. Several years before his death, he dictated the memoirs which told the tale of his trip to Washington with Chief Buffalo.

Benjamin Armstrong cleared a homestead near the Oak Island sand spit, and lived there from 1855 to 1862. Nothing remains of his cabin, but campers in site number one pitch their tents very close to the spot.

Edna Lane Sauer was daughter of Ed Lane, Keeper of the Michigan Island Light from 1902 through 1937. In 1985, she shared this memory in a letter:

"I know there is supposed to be a grave on Michigan Island and I've oftenwondered if it could have been the son of one of the keepers who always anchored the sailboat out and then swam ashore.He took cramps and died.I remember one old journal that told of the accident and always mentioned "Poor Willy."We children used to cry about Poor Willy.It is too bad we have never located the old journals and just wonder what happened to them."

We learned that on Sunday last a son of Mr. B. F. Rumrill, the keeper of the Outer Island lighthouse, while swimming out to retrieve a boat that had gone adrift, was seized with cramps and drowned before assistance could reach him.He was 17 years of age, an only son, and a worthy young man.His afflicted parents have the sympathy of our entire community in their bereavement.

But that can't be right! There was no Outer Island keeper with that name. There was a Michigan Island keeper named Pliny Rumrill, though. The newspaper must have the island and the name wrong.

We don't have the Michigan Island logbooks from that year, but we do have the Outer Island logs from that era. Let's take a look and see if they provide any help:

Tuesday September 3, 1878 -- E, moderate to light... At 8 p.m. the Second Assistant returned, absent three days 11 hours.Mr. Miller and party bring the sad news of the drowning of Mr. Rumrill's (the keeper of Michigan Island light) son last Sunday while trying to swim to the station boat which lay at anchor a short distance from the shore.He was about 19 years of age and an only son.

So that's it! "Poor Willy" was William Rumrill, son of P.F. Rumrill who was keeper at Michigan Island from 1874 through 1883. He was somewhere around 17, 18, or 19 years old when he drowned. Many years after he died, the lighthouse keeper's kids still cried when they heard his story.

On September30, 1939, sixteen-year-old Marjorie Bard was scrubbing the stairway in herfamily's Devils Island home when she fell and fractured her hip. Her father,lighthouse keeper James Bard, used the light station's primitive two-way radioto call for help.

Since thenearest Coast Guard cutter was reported to be at far off at Isle Royale, threecrewmen from the Duluth station volunteered to respond in a small, open boat.Setting out at 9:30 pm, the men battled strong southwest winds throughout their75-mile journey.

Onehalf-hour before they reached Devils Island, they learned that the large cutterDiligence had finally intercepted the radio calls and arrived at the scene toaid the girl. So close to their destination, the Duluth Coastguardsmen continuedon and landed on the island to help.

Lighthousepersonnel and Coast Guardsmen placed Marjorie on a bedspring, and carried herone mile down the trail to the south landing. From there, the cutter took herto Ashland and medical attention.

Marjorie eventuallyrecovered from her injuries, but before she returned to the island, her fatherwas transferred to another station. It was not until more than half a centurylater that she set foot again on Devils Island. In 1997, one year before shepassed away, Marjorie Bard Coon and her husband Lester visited Devils Island ona National Park Service boat.

On the eastern shore of Lake Superior's Sand Island, a small cabin stands as a monument to two memorable individuals: Gertrude Wellisch, a strong-minded, independent woman who knew just what she wanted out of life;and Clyde Nylen, a craftsman so skilled that people still speak admiringly of his work four decades after his death.

Gert Wellisch (1896-1966) spent her childhood summers in the Apostle Islands. At first her family summered on Madeline Island, but in 1910 her father, a well-to-do manufacturer from St. Paul, joined with three other businessmen to build an imposing, Adirondack-style lodge on the west shore of Sand Island.The West Bay Club still stands today, owned by the National Park Service, but occupied by its former owner under a use-and occupancy agreement.

When Gert reached adulthood, a unique opportunity came her way to have her own summer place on the island. In 1920, the brownstone lighthouse at Sand Island's northern tip became the first beacon in the Apostles to be automated. The building sat vacant until 1925, when Gert, making use of her father's political connections, secured permission to lease the lighthouse, at a rate of $25.00 per year.

For the next eighteen years, Gert made the Sand Island Lighthouse her summer home. As a schoolteacher, she was able to spend the full summer on the island, and she invested substantial time, effort, and funds into maintaining the old building. As she later boasted, "My living there has kept the place from becoming a ruin."

Island neighbors recall Gert fondly. "She was a rugged individual that could take hardship," recalled one. "She used to walk from East Bay over to the lighthouse, and that was two miles, and she'd carry her suitcases."

They remember her as generous, as well. Concerned with the education of the island's children, she would hire them to do chores, then pull a book from her shelves and insist they read a chapter as part of the deal. When she brought a car out to the island, she left it parked at the East Bay dock, so that her neighbors could use it when they had heavy loads to carry.

The story of the Apostle Islands is not just a chain of islands in Lake Superior, but one of people, places, and their experiences. To this day, families gather near this lake to enjoy the scenery, visit with each other and friends, use campsites, cook a meal and share stories over a fire, go for a dip in the lake and dry off in the hot sun. A tradition which stretches back for thousands of years, over which time, Native Americans occupied the islands and surrounding area.

Traces of past lives are strewn across the islands as people have lived, worked, and visited this area throughout the centuries. Their impact can be as dramatic as lighthouse or fish camp, and as small as a chunk of charcoal. The waves of Lake Superior hide other stories in underwater shipwrecks .

As part of our mission to preserve and protect the natural and cultural history of this special place, archeologists survey and analyze the remains of sites throughout the park. The artifacts in the national lakeshore are a unique and irreplaceable window to our past. Exploring these treasures allows us to glimpse a few pages in Apostle Islands’ story. All cultural sites and artifacts, including underwater, are protected by law and are for the enjoyment of all visitors and future generations to experience.

Throughout the Apostle Islands nature has shaped the history of this place. The abundant natural resources of the islands, especially the forests and fisheries, and the location in Lake Suprior near the western edge of the Great Lakes waterway have been key elements affecting why and how people settled and used the islands. The historic properties that the park maintains is over 23 acres of grounds. Our staff is dedicated to the challenge of maintaining and preserving these historic landscapes to preserve the historic function, look, and feel of our light stations, visitor centers , and cultural sites.

Our air, water, soil, forests, oceans, rivers, lakes, scenic beauty, wildlife habitat… that is the wealth of the country. -Gaylord Nelson

Twenty-two Apostle Islands lie off the Bayfield Peninsula in Lake Superior, the largest and most pristine of the Great Lakes.The National Lakeshore includes twenty-one of these islands and a 12-mile segment along Wisconsin’s north coast. Colorful Precambrian sandstone eroded into cliff formations, sea caves, and a collection of sandscapes, including sandspits, cuspate forelands, tombolos, a barrier spit, and numerous beaches.

The lakeshore is at the continental northwestern limits of hemlock-white-pine-northern hardwood forest as well as elements of boreal forest. This diversity provides habitat for nesting and migratory birds, and a variety of mammals, amphibians, and fish.

The park provides a scientific laboratory for researchers to study. The Great Lakes Inventory & Monitoring Network , academics, and park scientists all spend time on a variety of projects to better understand and monitor the natural world of the Apostle Islands. You can find a variety of technical reports and resource briefs below.

The Apostle Island archipelago's sandstones were deposited during the late Precambrian era, about one billion years ago.

Island environments, naturally isolated, provide important habitat for numerous bird species, mammals, amphibians, and fish.

Apostle Islands lies in the tension zone between the boreal and temperate forests, giving them an ecosystem that is unique in North America.

Although the Apostle Islands appear unchangeable, several forces contribute to shape the lakeshore.

Island environments, naturally isolated, provide important habitat for numerous bird species, mammals, plants, amphibians and aquatic species. Wildlife species are characteristic of the southern limits of the boreal and northern limits of the hardwood/hemlock forests. Game species include whitetail deer, black bear, snowshoe hare, waterfowl, woodcock, and ruffed grouse. Other fur-bearers include the red fox, coyote, beaver and otter. Small mammals are an important component of the lakeshore's terrestrial fauna and include: shrews, mice, voles, red squirrels and chipmunks. Some common mainland species do not occur on the islands, including raccoon, skunk, porcupine, gray squirrel, chipmunk and woodchucks.

The Apostle Islands area is important for commercial and recreational fishing. Shoals near the lakeshore's ¼ mile lakeward boundary provided critical spawning areas for the commercially important lake trout and whitefish. The fish community presently found within the relatively shallow Apostle Islands waters is diverse and complex for waters such as Lake Superior.

The islands within the park provide important habitat for resident breeding birds as well as neotropical migrants. The great majority of nesting forest bird species in the Apostle Islands are migratory. The lakeshore includes important migratory bird concentration points during spring and fall migration.

Colony nesters, Piping Plovers, and migrating warblers take advantage of the large diversity of habitats here.

Early explorers and visitors today are amazed by the rich fish population in the cold, clear waters of Gichigami (Lake Superior).

American marten, a Wisconsin state endangered animal, thrives in the protected wilderness of the islands.

Bring your binoculars and keen sense of hearing to observe a variety of birds throughout the islands.

With its strategic geographic location, The Apostle Islands has a large diversity of habitats and refuges for birds. These islands were identified in the 1950s and 1960s as one of the heaviest traveled migratory flyways in the Great Lakes Region. The islands reduce the distance birds fly over open water when migrating to areas north of Lake Superior. Outer and Long Island provide critical habitats for migratory birds such as passerines, hawks, falcons, waterfowl, and shorebirds in the spring. Birds can find habitat on nearly all other islands in the park. There are large fluctuations in migratory volume from year to year, especially on Outer Island, most likely due to highly variable weather conditions. The islands are important habitats for resident breeding birds as well as neotropical migrant land birds (those, which migrate to Central and South America in winter). Over 89% of the breeding birds in the Lakeshore are migrants and 59% are neotropical. The Lakeshore established an annual breeding bird survey in 1990 in response to the growing need to document the abundance and trends of neotropical migrant birds in the United Sates.

Gull and Eagle Islands combined have 88% of the lakeshore's breeding herring gull populations and 80% of the herring gull breeding population on the entire Wisconsin shore of Lake Superior. Eagle Island has the only great blue heron rookery in the park. Every year park staff conduct breeding bird surveys for herring gulls and cormorants on Gull Island. Breeding birds surveys take place every year (1990-present), in partnership with Great Lakes Inventory & Monitoring Network.

Resource stewardship of piping plover is a collaborative effort between the park, Bad River Band, Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources (WDNR), U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS), University of Minnesota (UM) and The Nature Conservancy (TNC). Long Island and the Michigan sandspit were designated as critical habitat for piping plover by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in 2001. Long Island is the most important piping plover habitat in the park and, until 2019 was its only successful nesting location. It was also the only successful plover nesting location in Wisconsin until 2016. From 2006 to 2020 the number of successful nests has ranged from 3-5 and the number of successfully fledged chicks from 5-15. High Lake Superior water levels and intense storms in recent years have degraded and reduced habitat availability on Long Island, resulting in fewer nests and lower success rates. There has been rare, but occasional nesting on Outer, Stockton and Michigan Islands. Successful nesting occurred on the Outer Islands sandspit in 2019 and 2020. Stockton Island, Julian Bay, had successful nesting in 2019 and the Michigan Island sandspit had its first successful nesting in 2020.

Since 2007, there have been plover monitors stationed on Long Island to monitor plover nesting, provide information to visitors and make observations. The Bad River Natural Resource staff has led the plover monitor program on Long Island since 2010, with assistance and collaboration from park staff and other partners. Park staff check other island locations annually with the assistance of WDNR and monitor nests, as needed. Other important partners include FWS, Ecological Services, UM and TNC.

The bald eagle/Migizi/Haliaeetus leucocephalus, an Ojibwe clan animal, has been a success story in the islands as it has throughout the country, although concerns with contaminants remain (Dykstra, et. al 2019). In the 1970’s, eagles were on the brink of extinction throughout the country and absent from the Apostle Islands. Following legal protections and banning of DDT, bald eagle numbers started to recover. Eagles returned to the Apostle Islands in 1980, with the first successfully fledged young in 1983. Nesting gradually increased until 2009, then increased more rapidly. By 2018, there were 46 active eagle nests on 21 of the 22 Apostle Islands, all except three-acre Gull Island. Bald eagle monitoring (1980-2018) – WDNR overflights and banding significantly scaled back after delisting of endangered species and the end of the Great Lakes Inventory & Monitoring Network led bald eagle and contaminants research.

The Chequamegon Bay area is among the best birding locations in Wisconsin. Situated along the south shore of Lake Superior, the bay is a unique landscape feature that forms a central point for a diversity of habitats including open water, mudflats, coastal wetlands, open fields, pine barrens, and varied forest types. As a result, the bay area hosts a wide variety of bird species that depend on these habitats during the breeding, migration, and winter seasons. Abundant public lands and extraordinary natural beauty provide visitors with unparalleled bird watching opportunities in this area of northern Wisconsin.

This checklist below includes more than 300 bird species observed at least once in the Chequamegon Bay area since 1972. The list applies to areas of Ashland, Bayfield, and Iron Counties within a 40-mile radius of the city of Ashland, Wisconsin, and includes species observed by or reported to the authors.

Apostle Islands National Lakeshore provides regionally diverse and unique plant communities. This is due primarily because it lies in the tension zone between the boreal and temperate forests. Thus, the islands and their forests comprise an ecosystem that is unique in North America.

In pre-settlement times about 90% of the islands were covered by an upland mixed coniferous/hardwood forest dominated by hemlock, white pine, sugar maple, yellow and white birch. The boreal forest community was dominated by white spruce, balsam fir, tamarack, white cedar, birch, and aspen.

Most of the islands have a history of logging, however some islands were not commercially logged (North Twin, Devils, Raspberry, Long, and Eagle) and others retain old growth forest remnants (e.g, Outer, Bear).

Over 800 plant species occur within the lakeshore, including Wisconsin State listed endangered, threatened, and special concern species. Following logging, deer populations irrupted on many of the islands, severely impacting species favored by deer, such as Canada yew. Some islands had moderate-high deer densities, while others did not have a history of deer populations. Today, islands without a history of high deer densities support lush stands of Canada yew, a very rare species on the mainland mainly due to deer browse. Currently, deer populations occur on only a few islands.

Wetlands within the lakeshore include bogs associated with sandscapes, perched bogs, lagoons, alder thickets and beaver flowages. These wetlands contain unique flora and fauna and add a considerable amount of ecological diversity to the lakeshore. Bogs dominated by sedges, wetland shrubs and sphagnum mosses often occur in the filled-in lake basins that are located just inland from sandscape dune ridges. The larger bogs on Michigan, Outer, and Stockton Islands have lagoons with floating and submersed aquatic species. Bogs found on poorly-drained summit plateaus are often smaller and have poorer bog floras than their coastal, sandscape counterparts.

About one-third of the Islands coasts consist of Precambian sandstone ledges and bluffs. Local vegetation on these rock faces depend on the microhabitat and can vary from common willows and weed species, to subarctic rarities and species with calcareous tendencies. Steep reddish clay bluffs are vegetated with small trees of balsam poplar, white birch, red maple and showy mountain ash.

The lakeshore has a rich assemblage of dunal features. Dunal vegetation, beach grass and beach pea, as well as a shrub and forest component of speckled alder, quaking aspen and white birch dominate these sandscapes.

The two great destroyers of biodiversity are, first habitat destruction and, second, invasion by exotic species.

The spread of invasive species is a major factor contributing to ecosystem change and instability, ultimately leading to biodiversity reduction. Preventing non-native invasive species establishment has a much better success rate than trying to eliminate a species once it is established. At Apostle Islands, both aquatic and terrestrial species continually threaten the park. From microscopic organisms to large trees, the potential is always there for non-native species to invade and overtake fragile ecosystems that make the lakeshore a popular destination for hikers, boaters, and sightseers alike.

Invasive species are exotic species which cause harm to the economy, environment, or human health. Invasive species:

Many of these species come to the lakeshore via boats, on clothing or gear, and even on firewood. For example, it is possible to transport zebra mussels from water body to water body through just a few drops of water containing larval forms. Whether kayaking, sailing, hiking, camping, fishing, or enjoying a picnic, paying attention can help keep invasive species out.

Burn only dead and down firewood from the islands. Non-local firewood can be infested with spongy moths or emerald ash borer.

Brush your boots and remove seeds to the garbage (not compost). Spotted knapweed, garlic mustard, and other seeds will stick to hiking boots and clothing.

Remove seeds (like purple loosestrife) and burs from pets’ fur, and pay attention to tire treads picking up buckthorn berries.

Most individual and group camp sites on the Apostles include a fire ring, picnic table, metal bear resistant food locker, and nearby privy. NPS Photo Plan Ahead Camping is available on 18 of the Lakeshore's 21 islands, and at three campsites on the mainland. The mainland campsite is only accessible by kayak or a 6-mile hike on the Lakeshore Trail from Meyers Beach. There is NO drive up car, tent, or RV camping available in the Apostle Islands. There are a variety of these camping options available in the local area . The islands are only accessible by sea kayak, motor boat, sail boat, shuttle service, or water taxi . Be sure to make your arrangements ahead of time to visit the islands. Reservations are required for all camping, and camping fees do apply. Types of Campsites In The Apostle Islands: Campsite access and amenities throughout the Apostle Island National Lakeshore vary from island to island.

Individual Campsites: $15/site/night. Group size of 1-7 people. Individual sites are spread across the islands and are often set apart from other sites so visitors can experience solitude and basic camping amenities (picnic table, fire ring, bear resistant food locker, & nearby privy). Reservations can be made 30 days in advance from the start of your trip. Primitive Camping Zones: $15/island location/night. Group size of 1-5 people. Primitive Zone camping is not a specific site, but is island specific. It provides the option of choosing a backcountry area to camp. Specific guidelines determine what areas are available on each island. In addition, there are no amenities, such as privies and food lockers, so campers should be prepared to properly manage your food and waste. Please practice Leave No Trace Principles when camping in Primitive Zones. Consult the Primitive Zone camping map for potential landing sites and available areas. Reservations can be made 30 days in advance from the start of your trip. The following areas are closed to primitive zone camping: Areas excluded from primitive camping zones and closed to camping to protect sensitive natural and cultural resources. Area posted as closed to protect bird nesting areas and threatened or endangered species. Areas in view of any designated trail. Areas within 1/4 mile of any building, historic structure, individual or group campsite, or another camping party, including other primitive zone campers. Areas within 100 feet of a flowing stream. Private land or lease holdings. Group Campsites: $30/site/night. Group size of 8-21 people. A party of eight to twenty-one people is considered a group. All groups must use designated group campsites. There are 9 group sites available on 5 islands (Sand, Oak, Basswood, Stockton, & Rocky). Group sites provide more space for the larger group size and basic camping amenities (picnic table, fire ring, bear resistant food locker, & nearby privy). Every March, the park conducts a group camping lottery . After the lottery is concluded, all remaining campsites and dates are available for reservation. Accessibility : Individual site #1 on Stockton Island at Presque Isle and site #3 on Sand Island are Accessible. Groups sites A & B on Stockton at Quarry Bay and group site C on Sand Island are Accessible. All have boardwalks leading from the docks to the campsites and vault toilets, as well as raised wooden decks for tent pads which connect with the boardwalk. Picnic tables and fire rings are all designed to be Accessible. If you need these sites, please request them when making a permit reservation.

Camping on Stockton Island. NPS Photo View Campsites Campsite Directory - View campsites with descriptions for each island, access, and amenities.

Primitive Camping Zone Information & Maps Build Your Itinerary How to make a reservation online.

Looking out at Lake Superior from Stockton Island. NPS Photo Docking Some visitors choose to visit the islands and sleep in their personal self-contained vessel. If you are traveling out to the islands with your own boat there are a few things you should know before you visit. Public docks are found on 12 of the islands in the national lakeshore. Space is reserved at some docks for National Park Service (NPS) vessels and excursion boats. The remaining space is available to the public on a first come, first served basis. Overnight docking fees are in effect from 6pm to 6am. Fees: Overnight docking fees: $15 for boats less than 40 feet in length/night Overnight docking fees: $30 for boats 40 feet and greater in length/night. Anchoring The Apostle Islands’ protected bays, public docks, and pristine beaches offer outstanding boating opportunities. Many visitors choose to anchor out in bays overnight. There are no fixed anchorages within the park. There is no cost for overnight anchoring within the park. Weather conditions can change rapidly on Lake Superior, so it is important to regularly check the area marine forecasts. Safety Beaches, sand spits, and campsites are some of the park's most popular attractions. Please follow island ethics of Leave No Trace to protect the outdoors and keep the park pristine for future generations. Remember that you are in bear country. Check out the Bear Country Safety page for more information about bears and how to help prevent them from being attracted to campsites. Keep in mind that camping in the Apostle Islands is remote. Be prepared and plan ahead. Camp safety is your responsibility. Always be aware of your surroundings and up to date on current weather conditions in the park.

Local Area Camping Camping on the Apostle Islands can be a unique and memorable experience, unfortunately, there is no drive up car or RV camping available in the Apostle Islands. However, our gateway communities provide many options for more traditional drive up car, tent, and RV camping. Bayfield Red Cliff Cornucopia Washburn Ashland Madeline Island Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest

Campsite access and amenities throughout the Apostle Island National Lakeshore vary from island to island. Individual Campsites: $15/site/night. Group size of 1-7 people. Individual sites are spread across the islands and are often set apart from other sites so visitors can experience solitude and basic camping amenities (picnic table, fire ring, bear resistant food locker, & nearby privy).

Campsite Directory - View campsites with descriptions for each island, access, and amenities. Primitive Camping Zone Information & Maps

How to make a reservation online. To make camping reservations and obtain a camping permit go to Recreation.gov or call the Bayfield headquarters to speak to a Park Ranger at 715-779-3398, select option 2. Please note that you can only book an itinerary within a 30 day window of when you want to start your trip. This does not include group camping.

There are 21 islands in the National Lakeshore archipelago, sea caves, lighthouses, 12 miles of mainland accessible by car, and wilderness to discover. The places to go to for recreation, solitude, reflection, and beauty are spread out over 720 square miles in the Apostle Islands of Lake Superior. Whether you are paddling a sea kayak, sailing through the islands, hiking a trail, or visiting a historical structure, there are many ways to experience the park. The islands are accessible by water only. Due to the distance between islands, it can be hard to see the entire park in one visit. Some specific places are of particular interest to visitors, however. There are three visitor centers located throughout the Apostle Islands staffed by park rangers with interpretive displays, restrooms, and park information. Park headquarters is located on the mainland in Bayfield and another is at Little Sand Bay in the Town of Russell. The third is open seasonally on Stockton Island. Hours of operation vary at each location and can be found on the website.