A perfect Duluth day

I went to Duluth. The weather was gorgeous. I walked out onto Minnesota Point in search of a buoy depot out in the wilds of Minnesota Point. It's a loooong sandbar that stretches across St. Louis Bay. At the end of the line is a fantastic beach and park and an airport. Beyond that is a few miles of wilderness surrounded by water. A great Duluth website (perfectduluthday) had given me the idea.

My Aunt Julie used to live in the very last mansion on Park Point, and claimed that the depression of a trail used by Native Americans was still visible running the length of the spit (a well-trod minor ley line?).

I hiked along the shore past the airport and came upon the ruins of Duluth's first lighthouse. It was built in 1856.

The bouy depot was empty and cool inside; the air was close. Suddenly, a drum began to beat from another chamber, scaring the shit out of me. It was merely an old leathery Duluth hippie. I snuck up to a hole in the wall and snapped a pic of his ass.

Here's a photo of my next adventure--the abandoned ore docks on the Wisconsin side.

As I walked home, I watched rain storms race down the hill an out onto the lake in front of me.