A cold wind swept over the frozen lake as we stared out onto the ice sheet from the shore. The loose snow whirled around our legs as it sped by, forming abstract patterns. Gray shores in the distance were the only other observers of this quiet scene. We were on the Eastern shore of Lake Superior in February and the temperature was roughly 6°F. It is a harsh, bitterly cold environment where the only wildlife willing to brave the cold are a few hearty squirrels darting back and forth in search of a meal before hurriedly returning to warm shelter.
This was my first foray into the world of winter camping in Michigan. I was accompanied by my friends Jess and Thomas who were both also novices to camping in the winter time. We would also be joined later in the day by my friend Jack, whose family happened to have a cabin in the area. On a picnic table behind me, Jess was attempting to fight the gusts and cook on a small propane stove for the small party of three braving the weather. However, Lake Superior decided that breakfast was not going to be our pre-made frozen potatoes and sausage that morning. Undeterred, we drove into town and found a local sandwich shop in preparation for our main endeavor of the day.
While no longer as secluded by trees and brush, Tahquamenon Falls rests deep in the woods roughly an hour and a half north from the Mackinac Bridge in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It consists of two distinct sections; the Upper Falls, the larger and more popular of the two, and the Lower Falls, a completely different set of waterfalls set a few miles downriver. Both falls are encompassed by the Tahquamenon Falls State Park which can be accessed by Highway M123 and a countless number of unnamed dirt roads. Winding our way along the main road, flanked on either side by evergreen and barren trees, we heard the whirs of snowmobiles crisscrossing somewhere in the dense forest. Arriving at our destination, we were greeted by a parking lot full of multicolored bundles of coats, heavy pants and hats, creating a wonderful mosaic in the muted atmosphere we had grown accustomed to. The trail to the Upper Falls was so well traveled by hikers, snowshoers, and cross-country skiers that it created a challenging sheet of uneven ice. While most travelers have cleats on their boots to deal with these types of conditions, I was quite unprepared in plain hiking boots and I became acquainted with the Michigan ice on an intimate level more than once.
This was my first foray into the world of winter camping in Michigan. I was accompanied by my friends Jess and Thomas who were both also novices to camping in the winter time. We would also be joined later in the day by my friend Jack, whose family happened to have a cabin in the area. On a picnic table behind me, Jess was attempting to fight the gusts and cook on a small propane stove for the small party of three braving the weather. However, Lake Superior decided that breakfast was not going to be our pre-made frozen potatoes and sausage that morning. Undeterred, we drove into town and found a local sandwich shop in preparation for our main endeavor of the day.
While no longer as secluded by trees and brush, Tahquamenon Falls rests deep in the woods roughly an hour and a half north from the Mackinac Bridge in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It consists of two distinct sections; the Upper Falls, the larger and more popular of the two, and the Lower Falls, a completely different set of waterfalls set a few miles downriver. Both falls are encompassed by the Tahquamenon Falls State Park which can be accessed by Highway M123 and a countless number of unnamed dirt roads. Winding our way along the main road, flanked on either side by evergreen and barren trees, we heard the whirs of snowmobiles crisscrossing somewhere in the dense forest. Arriving at our destination, we were greeted by a parking lot full of multicolored bundles of coats, heavy pants and hats, creating a wonderful mosaic in the muted atmosphere we had grown accustomed to. The trail to the Upper Falls was so well traveled by hikers, snowshoers, and cross-country skiers that it created a challenging sheet of uneven ice. While most travelers have cleats on their boots to deal with these types of conditions, I was quite unprepared in plain hiking boots and I became acquainted with the Michigan ice on an intimate level more than once.

As we approached the falls, a powerful yet serene rumbling filled the air, reminiscent of a distant freight train. The sound grew louder with each step, and after passing through a dense line of towering evergreens, we were met with an awe-inspiring sight. A majestic cascade of golden water poured forth from an ancient rock formation, gracefully descending into the river below. The rocky surfaces surrounding the falls were adorned with massive icicles, enhancing the already breathtaking grandeur of the waterfall. Along the riverbank, ice formations began to take shape, with occasional chunks breaking off and drifting downstream, creating a captivating display. We continued along the well worn path, stopping at a number of scenic overviews cut into the trees until we reached a set of steep wooden stairs leading to a platform constructed for the sole purpose of viewing the cascade.
We gazed into the dark water as a damp breeze brushed against our already chilled and stiffened faces. Despite the presence of other visitors on the platform, the scene felt utterly foreign to me. The vastness and inherent splendor of the surroundings encouraged a profound shift in perspective regarding life's fundamental priorities. With this, our journey to the Upper Falls reached its culmination, leaving an unforgettable impression upon us.
After a nippy hour at the Upper Falls we made our way to the Lower Falls trail head 10 miles away. We learned soon after arriving that the only parking was at the rustic site a mile and a half hike from the trailhead. So began our icy pilgrimage to the trailhead. We quickly realized why the road is closed for the winter as the entire path was layered in a thick sheet of ice and positioned at a very steep angle downward most of the way there. My choice of footwear came to the front of my mind once more as we were carefully making our way down but even with all my caution, I became even more intimately acquainted with the ice than beforehand. I was not alone in my struggles after a stranger took a small tumble as well. Finally arriving at the trailhead, a little worse for wear, we began to walk wooden walkways situated roughly a foot above the forest floor. Over the course of the season, the snow had accumulated to the point where we were truly walking about a foot above the pathway itself, giving us a unique view of the woods. The Lower Falls are generally a less popular attraction for other park visitors due to its relatively smaller size and longer walk to arrive. During our exploration, we relished the tranquility and solitude of the Lower Falls, encountering fellow adventurers only sporadically. We exchanged brief greetings and friendly nods, connecting through our shared appreciation for the untouched beauty surrounding us. Unlike the bustling crowds often found at the Upper Falls, here we could fully immerse ourselves in the serenity of nature. As we strolled through the dense evergreen forest, we reveled in the sheer joy of discovery. Each step revealed new wonders—a delightful fungus emerging from a fallen log, a meandering brook gracefully traversing the snow-covered ground. Despite our proximity to the falls, a profound stillness blanketed the surroundings, heightening our sensitivity to every subtle forest sound. The snap of a twig would instantaneously seize our attention, while the gentle creaking of the wind in the canopy compelled us to cast our gaze skyward.
At the trail's end, we discovered another wooden viewing deck offering a vantage point for the Lower Falls. While the falls may not have matched the grandeur of the previous cascade we encountered, it was the extraordinary accumulation of ice that left us in awe. A gradual ramp of ice extended to the top of the fence rails, forming a solid block as colossal as an SUV, proudly displayed at the front of the platform. It was a remarkable testament to the sheer power of the water. Afterward, we leisurely meandered along the riverside trail, immersing ourselves in the sights, scents, and sounds of the Eastern Upper Peninsula for the better part of an hour.
As the day drew to a close, Jack kindly extended an invitation for us to stay at his family's charming home in the town of Paradise. Positioned right along the serene shores of Lake Superior, a mere few miles from our starting point, the cabin exuded a cozy and familial ambiance. Despite being roughly half the size of a mobile home, its interior decor captured a grand and nostalgic snapshot of time, adorned with wooden ducks, framed pictures of schooners, a substantial wooden bookshelf, and a pipe rack in the living room.
Soon, a crackling fire was kindled in the cast iron stove, and we began shedding the layers of our adventurous day, gradually finding comfort in T-shirts and pajama pants. In the warmth of the cabin, we savored each other's company, cherishing the shared moments. However, the day's exhilarating hikes had left us thoroughly exhausted, prompting an early night's rest. Little did we know that the following morning would present us with a sight of unparalleled magnificence—a sunrise casting its dazzling light upon the frozen lake, serving as a breathtaking finale to our unforgettable journey.
We gazed into the dark water as a damp breeze brushed against our already chilled and stiffened faces. Despite the presence of other visitors on the platform, the scene felt utterly foreign to me. The vastness and inherent splendor of the surroundings encouraged a profound shift in perspective regarding life's fundamental priorities. With this, our journey to the Upper Falls reached its culmination, leaving an unforgettable impression upon us.
After a nippy hour at the Upper Falls we made our way to the Lower Falls trail head 10 miles away. We learned soon after arriving that the only parking was at the rustic site a mile and a half hike from the trailhead. So began our icy pilgrimage to the trailhead. We quickly realized why the road is closed for the winter as the entire path was layered in a thick sheet of ice and positioned at a very steep angle downward most of the way there. My choice of footwear came to the front of my mind once more as we were carefully making our way down but even with all my caution, I became even more intimately acquainted with the ice than beforehand. I was not alone in my struggles after a stranger took a small tumble as well. Finally arriving at the trailhead, a little worse for wear, we began to walk wooden walkways situated roughly a foot above the forest floor. Over the course of the season, the snow had accumulated to the point where we were truly walking about a foot above the pathway itself, giving us a unique view of the woods. The Lower Falls are generally a less popular attraction for other park visitors due to its relatively smaller size and longer walk to arrive. During our exploration, we relished the tranquility and solitude of the Lower Falls, encountering fellow adventurers only sporadically. We exchanged brief greetings and friendly nods, connecting through our shared appreciation for the untouched beauty surrounding us. Unlike the bustling crowds often found at the Upper Falls, here we could fully immerse ourselves in the serenity of nature. As we strolled through the dense evergreen forest, we reveled in the sheer joy of discovery. Each step revealed new wonders—a delightful fungus emerging from a fallen log, a meandering brook gracefully traversing the snow-covered ground. Despite our proximity to the falls, a profound stillness blanketed the surroundings, heightening our sensitivity to every subtle forest sound. The snap of a twig would instantaneously seize our attention, while the gentle creaking of the wind in the canopy compelled us to cast our gaze skyward.
At the trail's end, we discovered another wooden viewing deck offering a vantage point for the Lower Falls. While the falls may not have matched the grandeur of the previous cascade we encountered, it was the extraordinary accumulation of ice that left us in awe. A gradual ramp of ice extended to the top of the fence rails, forming a solid block as colossal as an SUV, proudly displayed at the front of the platform. It was a remarkable testament to the sheer power of the water. Afterward, we leisurely meandered along the riverside trail, immersing ourselves in the sights, scents, and sounds of the Eastern Upper Peninsula for the better part of an hour.
As the day drew to a close, Jack kindly extended an invitation for us to stay at his family's charming home in the town of Paradise. Positioned right along the serene shores of Lake Superior, a mere few miles from our starting point, the cabin exuded a cozy and familial ambiance. Despite being roughly half the size of a mobile home, its interior decor captured a grand and nostalgic snapshot of time, adorned with wooden ducks, framed pictures of schooners, a substantial wooden bookshelf, and a pipe rack in the living room.
Soon, a crackling fire was kindled in the cast iron stove, and we began shedding the layers of our adventurous day, gradually finding comfort in T-shirts and pajama pants. In the warmth of the cabin, we savored each other's company, cherishing the shared moments. However, the day's exhilarating hikes had left us thoroughly exhausted, prompting an early night's rest. Little did we know that the following morning would present us with a sight of unparalleled magnificence—a sunrise casting its dazzling light upon the frozen lake, serving as a breathtaking finale to our unforgettable journey.