A 15,000 Step Day

Kezia and Matthew set out along the Dune Trail to Lake Michigan.

On Saturday, we decided to visit Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore and take a hike over the dunes to Lake Michigan. The guidebook touted the hike as "strenuous", so we followed its advice and took all the prescribed accoutrements listed (water, snack, shoes, etc.). Even so, the trek to Lake Michigan was not without its perils—there were three stray Band-aids in the sand along the way, and a sticker on the toilet seat of the handicapped stall in the park bathroom, not to mention a ~4-roundtrip mile walk in desert conditions with 9+ giant hills of sand to traverse on a hot summer day.

Kezia, the camper, the one experienced enough with these things to own the type of bag one might want on a strenuous hike of any length, took the first shift carrying the pack.

We began our journey with a 5-minute warmup climb. Many partake of the famous dune climb and go no further than the flat expanse at the top. Some eager climbers see the even larger hill beyond and think that maybe if they just ascend one more hill, the view will yield a gorgeous panorama of the lake. And it does. But not of Lake Michigan—you can still only see Little Glen Lake behind you, just beyond the parking lot and the road on which you drove in.

The beautiful view of Little Glen Lake from atop Sleeping Bear Dunes.

It seems impossible, but each time we crested a hill, another lay in wait just beyond. Past barren sand bowls of brush and up and around curving trails we trekked. We met some travelers along the way, many looking happy even on their return trip, though few said much as they passed. We would eventually discover why. One small boy heading back asked us, "Are you going to the beach or coming from it?" "Going," we politely replied. "You can see it just over the next hill," he said. Our spirits were lifted. We increased our pace. And we found he did not lie, per se, but it was still not yet as near as our hot feet would like.

Endless sand and hills stand between Kezia and the Lake.

At last, after a final descent, we spotted the rocky shore and heard the gleeful sounds of sojourners splashing in the surf. We picked out a stony space and Matt plopped down our bag. Kezia waded quickly into the water while Matt more delicately followed, and I watched as their knees disappeared below the surface. I went ankle-deep in the cool waters, which brought immediate relief to my flaming footsies. Kezia made it to her armpits in a matter of seconds, but I saw Matthew get only waist deep before hunching and howling with discomfort. Kezia reached a sandbar and called out for him to follow, but he had turned and struggled to make it back ashore as the waves crashed into his legs like a pack of begging pups. Still he remained crouched and yet he laughed maniacally as if he were being tickle-tortured. When he finally stumbled to shore, he declared it was the rocks that had done in his bare feet, not the cold as I had assumed. Kezia wore water shoes, and that had made all the difference.

Beautiful Lake Michigan at last!

After resting an hour on the beach, lightening our pack by eating our snacks, I took on the role of the pack mule and we began our return trip. Again, impossibly, the journey seemed primarily uphill. At first when we saw weary travelers headed to the lake, we encouraged them by saying, "It's just up ahead! You're almost there!" but soon we reached a point when we decided it was best not to say anything, for more than one hill still separated their hot feet from sweet relief.

As we plodded along, Matt commented that it felt wrong to his body to be heading away from the life-giving water into the desert wasteland. At least on the way beachward, we had made a happy discovery that following in the footsteps of those who came before us made hill climbing easier. We employed this trick all but once when the grade of the hill made the ascent a scramble at best. Fortunately, a lone tree cast a shadow 3/4 up the hill, and I parked it there for a rest to recover and encourage any struggling along behind. One had a blown out shoe and had never made it to the oasis, and another's swimsuit could barely contain her heaving breast as she panted and flailed and tried to catch up to her every-man-for-himself partner.

The 3/4 of the hill I had already ascended as I rested under a lone tree.

Encouragement now doled out with no more climbers in sight, I made it back on my feet and reached Matt's outstretched arms at the top, a mere ten feet away. As we reached the next guidepost marking the way, and Matt stopped to empty the sand from his shoe, I pulled out my phone and flicked open the camera app. It occurred to me that an opportunity had almost been missed, but there was still time, and "The last 3/4 miles of a Sleeping Bear Dunes hike" documentary film was born.

I noticed after I uploaded my video that there is a "transcript" tab on the YouTube page. I recommend checking that out for amusement value.