Isle Royale
In the fall of 1996 I had the opportunity to backpack the length of Isle Royale with three hiking partners. We began in Rock Harbor and ended in Windigo—traversing the island north to south and east to west. I was fascinated by the history of the place and captivated by its beauty. This was also when I discovered the Artist In Residence program. Three years later, in 1999, I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation to participate in the program. I returned to the island for the last two weeks of June and the first few days of July. I stayed in the Dassler Cabin on Scoville Point with my colleague and friend Jay Needham, a sound artist. I made hundreds of photographs and Jay captured hours of location sound recordings.
I live in southernmost Illinois, in the Shawnee National Forest where I have photographed extensively. It is a landscape traversed by the terminal moraine of the last immense ice sheets that covered most of North America, and encompassing the remaining cypress swamps of the northernmost tip of the ancient Gulf of Mexico, all within a few miles. It is a landscape with eroded sandstone bluffs textured by lichens, mosses and ferns. It is very unlike the rest of Illinois. Though on its face Isle Royale is quite different from my home, there are striking similarities—the exposed rock, the constant and visible action of water on the land, the delicate layering of life—both locations eschew the grand vistas of much of our western landscape in favor of the subtle, the complex, the intimate experience of nature. When one takes the time to look closely, one discovers the unique charm and power of landscapes such as these.
Isle Royale does not fit many of our accepted definitions of wilderness. It has been mined and timbered extensively beginning over 5,000 years ago. It was home to fishing camps, tourist resorts, and family cabins. Since becoming a national park in 1946 it has been slowly returning to its natural state. Its value for us lies primarily in its magic as a landscape—this is the very thing that has captured the imaginations and creative energies of generations of artists who have been in residence in the Dassler cabin. It was a great privilege to join this group.
I live in southernmost Illinois, in the Shawnee National Forest where I have photographed extensively. It is a landscape traversed by the terminal moraine of the last immense ice sheets that covered most of North America, and encompassing the remaining cypress swamps of the northernmost tip of the ancient Gulf of Mexico, all within a few miles. It is a landscape with eroded sandstone bluffs textured by lichens, mosses and ferns. It is very unlike the rest of Illinois. Though on its face Isle Royale is quite different from my home, there are striking similarities—the exposed rock, the constant and visible action of water on the land, the delicate layering of life—both locations eschew the grand vistas of much of our western landscape in favor of the subtle, the complex, the intimate experience of nature. When one takes the time to look closely, one discovers the unique charm and power of landscapes such as these.
Isle Royale does not fit many of our accepted definitions of wilderness. It has been mined and timbered extensively beginning over 5,000 years ago. It was home to fishing camps, tourist resorts, and family cabins. Since becoming a national park in 1946 it has been slowly returning to its natural state. Its value for us lies primarily in its magic as a landscape—this is the very thing that has captured the imaginations and creative energies of generations of artists who have been in residence in the Dassler cabin. It was a great privilege to join this group.