|... it happened at the river's mouth, where it empties into Lake Superior. I crossed it by way of ...
|... a pretty impressive suspension bridge, built for soles only -- a bridge that connects
|miles of pebbly beach (offering plenty of raw agates for the rock hound,
|assuming he knows what to look for, which I don't) with more miles of pebbly beach.
|Hat 52, my 'one hearted hat,' thought the rocks were pretty, even if we didn't know what to call them, and he noted that
|the local monarchs were a lot more interesting than stupid rocks anyhow;
|and they didn't seem the least bit interested in rock hunting.
|"Maybe they're looking for me," came a voice from the top of the dune. Hat 51 had drifted up there. He said it was Blueberry Man. He said the he didn't fit too well on that big guy's head.
|"Lots of sweet treats for the monarchs to feed on up here on the dunes" Blueberry Man called to me, "including some fat red Teaberries, ripening on the tiny Wintergreen plants even as their white flowers beckon with fresh nectar."
|"Imagination," I replied. "I let you hats have entirely too much latitude. Come on. I'm going back down and walk the beach. The heck with the blue blazes, always making me walk out of view of Lake Superior and back in these burned out woods."
|But eventually I had to leave the lake. The trail headed inland following the Little Two Hearted River. Finally the trail came out on a road in order to get across another river, and there I found absolute proof --
|Those two Big Soles could only belong to ... ... "I know who you really are, Blueberry Man!" I shouted. And in the distance I heard a deep rumbling call, half laughter, half bellow of triumph.
Two days of hiking, one on either side of the Mouth of the Two Hearted River, yielded the above annotated story. Here are the GPS tracks.