At the end of May we went to the island to unpack camp for the season in preparation for this summer’s artists, the first of whom arrived on June 7th. We put the boat in at the public launch at Big Traverse Bay, about 8 miles north of the island. The air was around 65 degrees and the water was cold–about 36 degrees. Having never been on the lake under such conditions we were cautious and wore wetsuits, booties, life jackets, gloves and heavy shells. About a mile east of the harbor, as we were rounding Louis Point, we saw a thin white line stretching across the horizon. Veering east we ran the boat closer and were amazed and delighted to find a field of icebergs stretching for more than a half mile. Some were larger than trucks and extended deep into the water, turning light green and then medium blue as you peered down through the clear lake. Some were the size of barrels. Others could be lifted by hand. “Do you want to get on one?” “Yeah.” So we did–and took an abundance of pictures in our excitement. The small ripples on the lake lapped against each berg making a unique sound from all around. It was likely a once in a lifetime experience. At least on May 27th.

For the next three days as we did chores around camp we watched various sized bergs flow back and fourth. Some days they would blow north, other days south. The large ones would worry us a bit as they gradually approached the boat attached to the mooring, as they were many times the mass of the boat. Luckily, as we learned, each time they got within a few stone’s throws of collision their undersides would hang up on the bottom in water much deeper than our anchorage. The tip of the iceberg adage came to mind, and we were thankful to benefit from this fact, especially in the middle of the night as we slept. 

The consistency of the surface of each berg was composed of long geometric crystals, about 4 inches by ½ inch, which were loosely associated above the waterline, close to the berg’s surface. If you picked up a handful they would clink like glass rods and if you stepped on them your feet wound sink in to the ankles. They were very different from regular snow. Deeper in the more central berg the ice was compressed, like that of an ice rink, and iridescent. Occasionally a berg in the distance would calve and then turn over sideways. The sound would carry for hundreds of yards and through the trees to the campfire, or the deck of the shelter. 

Around camp we cleaned up and removed many items that had been brought out without clear purpose over the past year or two. We dried out a few books which had gotten wet, presumably by snow that had blown into the shelter over the winter, and then melted in the spring. We ate smoked trout, fresh fruit until it ran out, fiddlehead ferns which we foraged, pasta, rice, eggs and various dried beans. We listened to the birds and noted the buds of the trees, which were just coming out, several weeks after their counterparts on the mainland. The heartier of the two of us went for a swim, albeit brief. We accidentally caught a small bat that was sleeping in a bin of screws at the work site. We enjoyed one beer a day each–a total of 6–which we had in the evenings after working, and after chilling them in the lake. We didn’t catch any fish, unfortunately, though we only trolled for a few hours on one afternoon. It was a surreal experience on Lake Superior. 

Rob Gorski and Emilie Lee

+ Additional photos on Flickr 

On Saturday, June 7th, 2014, Elvia Wilk, Rabbit Island’s first fully supported Artist-in-Residence, landed and unpacked her bags in the small shelter on the island’s western shore. The lake was calm and the water was 36 degrees. There was a light drizzle. The sky was overcast. We ran the boat south from Big Traverse Bay over approximately eight miles of open water due to winter ice damage at the Hannula’s harbor piers in Rabbit Bay, our usual launch. Small waves lapped the sandstone shoreline adjacent to the island’s mooring. Legs and feet numbed quickly while ferrying supplies from the boat to land in thigh-deep water just days after the last of the lake ice melted.

Elvia is an American artist who travelled from Berlin, Germany, to spend three weeks on Rabbit Island immersed in solitude. She brought clothing suited to variable spring weather in the midst of Lake Superior, food, camp fuel, a number of books on subjects ranging from science fiction to a sociologist’s view of the art world, and a manual typewriter. 

Her first several days on the island were windless and calm and temperatures ranged from the upper 50’s to mid 60’s. She settled in and learned the nuances of the island—how to run the small aluminum boat that was left for her, how to troubleshoot the camp stove, etc. Lake Superior’s surface was glassy for a rare extended stretch. Abundant salamanders were found in the forest—a new discovery.

Yesterday, however, the weather changed and the lake showed a more turbulent side. Winds to 35 knots pushed through the island’s trees, shaking them audibly. Waves crashed against the rocks. Intermittent rain fell and overnight temperatures dropped to 41 degrees. It is indeed compelling to consider the emotions one feels alone and exposed, sheltered in only basic terms. Elvia is currently in the midst of an uncommon period of time away from it all.

On June 21st, our second Artist-in-Residence, Nich Hance McElroy, will be arriving. He and Elvia will work alongside one another for several days. Then, later in July, four artists composing the collective Waboozaki will take up residence on Rabbit Island. 

Saturday was a big day for us and we’d like to document it for the sake of posterity. The Rabbit Island community has come a long way since its inception in 2010. Many incredible artists, musicians, chefs, writers, photographers, scientists and friends have shared this island and left no trace, yet this year we are proud and excited to fully support these 6 residents with $2,250 individual stipends, a group show at the DeVos Art Museum opening on August 18th, a catalogue publication, and, most of all, a wild and remote space to explore their creativity on. We are hopeful that meaningful ideas will be added to our culture by these artists and that many more acres of land will be set aside as society recognizes the need to organize itself reasonably. 

The amount of ice still present in Lake Superior between the mainland and Rabbit Island. Photo by Rob Gorski, May 25th, 2014.

An unusual sight to say the least.

Temperatures for the Keweenaw mainland have been in the 70s for the last couple weeks–and even broken 80 on several days–but the remarkably long and hard winter still bears evidence in Lake Superior. It is an interesting contrast considering the record high temperatures the lake recorded just two years ago. Climate change may be making these swings more dramatic and unpredictable, and as a result will have an effect on Rabbit Island’s ecosystem and surrounding habitat that we are excited–albeit anxious–to study.

Rob and Emilie Lee, an artist who worked on the island last summer, arrived on the island a few days ago to begin setting up camp for the summer residency season. Boating from the mainland this year was a noticeably more challenging endeavor for two reasons; The ice floating between the island and the launch, and our original harbor at Rabbit Bay rendered temporarily unusable, having been badly damaged by shifting shore ice one month ago.

Andrew Ranville arrives in a few days to continue preparing camp and welcome the first resident, Elvia Wilk, a writer and poet from Berlin who lands June 6/7th. If the ice has not melted by then she will enjoy an unique sight at the start her “summer” residency on Rabbit Island.

תודה לך תל אביב (Thank you, Tel Aviv)

This piece about Rabbit Island was published today in Time Out Tel Aviv. A translation is available via Google Chrome. 

Many thanks to journalist Yuval Avivi for sharing.

The winter of 2013-2014 was an epic season for the Keweenaw Peninsula as the region has been withstanding relentless snowstorms and unusually cold temperatures. More than 300 inches of snow have been recorded to date. 

Surrounded to the east and west by great expanses of Lake Superior, the exposed 45 mile long peninsula is geographically positioned to become trapped in a cycle of winter storms. As the surface of the lake warms, condensation rises and is blown east across the land mass where it cools and becomes snow. Not since 1979–the last epic winter on record–and only a few times since records have been kept historically, has this amount of precipitation fallen.

+ Ice coverage on Lake Superior reached 96% at the end of February, exceeding all other measurements since 1979. Because of this ice, spring sunlight hitting the surface of the lake will be bounced back into space, and it will take longer for the region and entire east coast to warm up this spring and summer. There are 54 days until we set the moorings for the season and 68 until the first resident artist arrives from Berlin. 

+ Thanks to satellite technology we are able to keep an eye on the lake as it shifts on an hourly basis. NOAA CoastWatch satellite images of Lake Superior are updated twice daily. 

+ Snowfall this year is 314.5 inches and even 10 days into spring it is still coming down. The local snow thermometer can be viewed here.

+ Approximately 65 miles to the northwest of Rabbit Island lies Isle Royale National Park, where this winter one of ten remaining resident gray wolves crossed the ice to mainland Minnesota. Sadly, it was discovered dead, leaving only nine wolves left in this special national park, as well as a moral conundrum over what to do if the population continues to decline. On Rabbit Island (where we side with the basic tenet of non-intervention in wilderness) it will be interesting to see if mammals have migrated over the rare 2014 ice bridge. There is a small chance we could have deer, coyotes or bobcats in our midst this summer.  

+ The following local scuttlebutt was received recently via email detailing how several Keweenaw residents took advantage of the unprecedented ice in mid March: “Allegedly two guys were crazy enough to leave the east side of the Keweenaw Peninsula and go the thirty miles out on Lake superior to Stannard Rock to ice fish. Crazy, EH? When they got there they were the last to arrive; 17 other idiots were already there. No report on the catch. This comes from a good and reliable source.” A fine example of Sisu if ever there was. 

+ The average water temperature of Lake Superior in a typical August is approximately 60 degrees, allowing for several minutes of comfortable swimming at best. In August of 2012, water temperatures reached a record 74.8 degrees after a near iceless winter and above average summer temperatures, which made the lake water abnormally comfortable. This summer, in light of the current 95% lake ice cover, we’re likely on the hook for historically refreshing dips.    

+ Approximately ten miles from Rabbit Island as the crow flies is the house on S. Iroquois Street where the Rabbit Island idea was hatched. This is a photo of how much snow was in the yard two weeks ago.

+ To date we have not stepped foot on Rabbit Island in winter, though are planning a trip in winter 2015 after the sauna is complete. 

+ Heikki Lunta is the local embodiment of the Finnish snow god character, who originated in the United States in the mythology of the Upper Peninsula. If ever there was a time to sing the traditional song "Heikki Lunta Go Away", it is now. 

+ The photos above were taken over the past three months by Jerome Johnson of Rabbit Bay. Several of these were taken in the last week of March! Many thanks, JJ. 

The Newest Rabbit Island Google Photo: Notes on Satellites and Ethics

Recently Google uploaded a new satellite image of Rabbit Island. It is an amazing shot. From a camera fixed in orbit 423 miles above our planet you are able to discern features that, until recently, you needed a wetsuit and goggles to see. In amazing detail, you can see, 25 feet under Lake Superior’s surface, the island’s stone reefs. Off the northern tip you can see Moon Break (first surfed in July of 2013 by Ben Moon and Rob Gorski), a right break that forms when north winds blow from between Louis Point and Bete Gris farther up the Keweenaw Peninsula. Off the southeast point, you can see a shallow underwater sandstone ledge that creates breaking waves given an east or northeast blow greater than 20 knots. Those waves build over several hundred miles of fetch from Canada, crash over Rabbit Island, and then flatten again when the depth drops to a deeper blue. With our 13-foot Boston Whaler we’ve surfed some of those waves, too. If you look more closely in the shallows, you can see shoals that native Lake Superior Redfin Trout use for spawning. These shoals are made of layers of head-sized rocks, the result of more than ten-thousand freeze-thaw cycles splitting apart Jacobsville sandstone as it rises to form the island. According to fishermen we’ve bumped into in Calumet, on clear, calm days late in the year you can see trout spawning in these shallows, and when scared by a boat, scurrying between stones, hiding in the many nooks. 

Up out of the water you can see the white cobble shoreline, and inside it a dense, green forest canopy. If you look more closely, you can also see individual mature trees, including several we’ve climbed. Off the southwest point, you can see a dead and weathered deciduous tree that the island’s eagles frequently perch in. On the southern shore you can see a large white pine that toppled in 2012, and which, though partially submerged, has survived two seasons of ice and waves. We call it Big Leanie. On the northwestern shore, you can see the new shelter we began building in 2013—and you can see the roof on it, which we finished on August 10th. A quarter mile south, there’s main camp. The Rabbit Island School camped in the pines there from August 11th through the 17th, but none of their tents are in the satellite image. Four miles to the west, in Rabbit Bay, you can see the small harbor at the mouth of Lahiti Creek where Sisu, our Montauk 17, and our 13-foot Sport, rest on the southern dock. We pulled the boats out of the water on September 15th. By then, leaves were turning yellow, yet there’s no hint of yellow in the image. Taking this into account we estimate that Google shot this photo between August 18th and September 13th, 2013.

All told it is fascinating to consider how this small remote wilderness has now been archived. It is indeed an interesting time to be an environmentalist, and also an artist. Possibilities are certainly changing.

Scrolling around it is interesting to study this image of an ecosystem viewed in its geographic whole and reflect on the overarching idea that everything rising here above lake level will remain, so long as American contract law is valid, unimpeded forever. The island is 91 acres, of course—a mere speck on the scale of a region, state, country or continent—yet in the context of our culture this land and this image represent ideas that we believe are broadly relevant: intentional non-development, the assignment of value to intact watersheds, incorporation of non-financial environmental costs on balance sheets, restraint, community involvement in conservation, wise legislation, honest scientific inquiry, creative expression, the celebration of the natural rules of the game, rational reclamation, etc. The very fact that such satellite imagery of our planet exists changes the ethical fundamentals that every generation going forward must apply to land use.

Giving a voice to these ideas within our culture is one of the goals of the Rabbit Island project. Encouraging others to pursue similar projects is another. Contextualizing land to creative energy in plain terms is a third. Accordingly, it is logical to wonder whether the concept of this image—of this watershed, of those uncut trees—can ever be recreated on a larger, organized scale, and projected upon land where ecosystem integrity had previously been lost to subdivision. (A related essay exploring this can be found here.) We believe that such ideas must necessarily become part of our culture. As the ability of society to reasonably organize itself sustainably continues to progress we believe that wilderness, like art, will continually be seen as evidence of a civilized people, and, as a corollary, that a civilized people will become capable of creating the conditions necessary for sensible organization of environments on a larger scale than the individual. Wilderness, where it exists, after all, exemplifies civilization in our modern world. 

As the snow accumulates on Rabbit Island and the ice on the shore thickens, we’re preparing for our 2014 Artists in Residence. Others are working on a handful of independent projects, continuing various scientific experiments, readying the second annual Rabbit Island School, and seeking the IRS accreditation of the 501c3 Rabbit Island Foundation, a professionally-managed, crowdsourced, conservation fund. Still others are reporting last year’s artist activity, and—we’re crossing our fingers here—planning a fishing derby in late July. Summer’s coming, and it’s exciting as ever.

Explorations. Circumnavigations. Transects. A one-to-one drawing on the landscape. Never lost; always finding the way. Taking the long way around, the long way through, and always taking the long view.

Create paths the way of a wild animal. No indiscreet cutting, no bushwhacking. The forest’s flora is the guide. The branches creating corridors, corralling wayward steps. Distinctive trees, rocks, and rare open spaces become suggestions, sentries, and signposts. Walk it once and forget. Walk it twice and remember. Every time the same way. Bring two confidants, show them the way. That is how a trail is made.

Essays and photographs from the Rabbit Island project are included in the recently released second issue of The Alpine Review, Returns. Included in the Places section are a brief piece about the Rabbit Island Residency, an interview with Rabbit Island’s founder, Rob Gorski, and lead artist in residence, Andrew Ranville, several photographs, and Rob’s essay about land use, There is no Antonym for Subdivision, exploring the cultural context of the project.

From The Alpine Review:

Beyond its interesting role as a place for artistic, social and scientific experimentation, Rabbit Island provides a strong metaphor against our obsession with intervention, which has ramifications far beyond its shorelines.

From the prologue of the second issue, Returns:

As the rate of change accelerates, many of us are devoting more and more energy to finding meaning, balance and a map that works. In pursuit of steady ground, we find ourselves looking to the past for solutions, inspiration, humility and truth. This more complete perspective allows us to weigh and measure the findings of today and yesterday, to pick what is appropriate, what works and what is real, and discard the obsolete, superfluous or absurd. Returning to first principles, original baselines and classic simplicity we take what has worked to solve what hasn’t, equipping ourselves with the wisdom of the ages as we correct and forge our path ahead.

The Alpine Review is a thoughtful 300+ page magazine published by Louis-Jacques Darveau in Montreal, Quebec. Copies can be found here.