AGATE BEACH AND MISERY BAY
by Dave Aho

On the north coast of the United States, there are a series of remote and desolate beaches where beauty is unsurpassed and privacy is guaranteed. The south shore of Lake Superior yields a rocky coast speckled with sandy beaches and shallow coves. One of the most remote spots that has rudimentary camping and picnic facilities is Agate Beach, about ten miles north of the hamlet of Toivola off of state highway M-26 in the western U.P.

From Toivola, I drive north on the Misery Bay Road amid an explosion of fall colors to a junction with a sign indicating left to Misery Bay and right to Agate Beach. This is homestead country, populated by Finnish immigrants who still have family farms along the road. We cross the Elm River, an excellent brook trout stream and continue on to the beach. There is developed parking and a fifty-foot sandy cliff overlooks the beach, which is speckled with lake-polished stones from pea-sized to basketball-big boulders. Agates are fairly easy to find hence the beach's name. Sometimes, you can find a piece of clay pipe or pottery from the eighteenth and nineteenth century French fur traders and missionaries who first settled this area.

If we had turned left, we would've gone to Misery Bay, another beautiful beach area where the Misery River empties into the big lake. This is the site of an early French settlement and a good spot to find pieces of clay artifacts. In summer, the river provides a temperate swimming hole to acclimate one's body to the chilly waters of the nearby lake. There is also a boat landing and some decent trout fishing in the river.

There is a rudimentary campground and picnic area at Agate Beach and you may encounter a few people on a nice day, but even then it is quite easy to walk along the beach in either direction and come across spectacular privacy among the coves and bays. An eagle soars high overhead among the puffy clouds as I stretch out my sun-faded beach chair and enjoy the azure sky and colors of the lake, which begin with a hot turquoise and morph into rich cobalt blue as I look farther out. The gentle breeze removes the bothersome flies, which thrive under certain weather conditions. I can hear a large, Pileated woodpecker hammering on a tree in the woods behind me. A seagull cries a shrill salute as it banks overhead and rides an unseen current on a roller-coaster swoop over the clean sand of the beach as if beckoning me to come out for a swim. Perhaps I would in July, except this is now October and the water is cold even though the air is a mild 65 degrees. It is a spectacular autumn day in the northwoods.

Sometimes, in the summer, the flies can be murderous on this beach. Without any wind to blow them off, the little monsters bite like small dogs. Some people say that insects are destined to inherit what's left of the planet. They say that bugs have been here since Adam first scratched, and they'll be here long after we've poisoned ourselves into extinction or genetically mutated mankind into oblivion. Which works out for the best. Who would want to live in a world with nothing but bugs anyway? We'd all have to eat like Turkish prisoners.

But on this wonderful fall afternoon, there are no bugs - only endless tranquility as I have the entire beach to myself, a common occurrence in the fall. I leave my loafing and take a walk along the shore. It soothes the soul and there is no industrial racket, no human noises at all and nothing man-made in my field of sight except for a jet contrail miles overhead. Only the roar of the surf, the occasional staccato of the woodpecker and the timeless shriek of the seagulls, soothing sounds that keep me connected to the beauty of the beach in autumn.

The sun is low this time of year. The trees are ablaze in a host of autumn colors; burning orange, bloody reds, hot yellows intermingled with the last vestiges of summer's deep green clinging to the leaves like the warm day clings to the end of the season. The shadows are long and the wind is unseasonably mild. It may be a perfect autumn day.

On a curious note, I walk to the shoreline and stoop to feel the water. It feels strangely mild, almost like August, a bit of surface water warmed by the day's sunshine and deceptive of the lake's frigid depths. I become mesmerized by the shiny gravel at my feet and bend over to find a beautiful red and brown agate about the size of a large marble. It is easy for rock hounds to spend hours poking among the rocks along the shore. I'm not a rock hound, but it still absorbs me for an hour.

I'll be back here to visit these cold waters in winter, this rugged shoulder against the Canadian cold fronts that roar over the lake, bringing tons of snow and blizzard conditions to the hearty folks that live here. Thirty below zero is not uncommon in winter, often accompanied by stiff winds howling across the lake and gathering snow to unload on the Keewenaw Peninsula, which gets more snowfall than any place east of the Mississippi, receiving nearly 400 inches in the winter of 1978-79.

On second thought, I think I'll wait until July when I can truly enjoy her clean, clear waters and warm weather.