North Of The Stress Line

It only took Momma Cuandito and I three tries driving around the block to figure out how to get into the grass parking lot alongside Lucy's Place, the Bayfield B & B where we had reservations for two nights.  We made our way up the front steps, where we were greeted by Bruce, the male half of the husband and wife team that owns Lucy's.  I immediately predicted this would be a place that puts comfort first, as Bruce was in his bare feet, shorts, and a plain T-shirt which looked like he may have slept in it.  He reminded me of another B & B proprietor we had met seven years ago at Green Duff Mansion in Vicksburg, Mississippi, who came out of his house to greet us with a drink in his hand and invited us to join him in the library for a bump after we'd settled in.

Bruce gave us the Readers' Digest story of his life, which in a nutshell was that he and his wife, Barb, were frazzled professionals who decided to quit their jobs about a decade ago and pursue their mutual dream of owning a B & B.  Lucy's Pace is "north of the stress line," he said.  "My house is your house.  Make yourself at home."  He gave us a brief history of the place, which he claimed had a real estate abstract as thick as a phone book, introduced us to his Siberian rescue dog, Tyson, and showed us to our first floor quarters, the "North Room," one of four guest bedrooms.

After getting the lay of the land on the Bayfield restaurant scene -- Bruce said he was "Maggied out," referring to the local hotspot, Maggie's, where Momma Cuan and I had eaten several years ago and which is generally considered the "go to" dinner spot for most tourists -- we decided to walk the half mile down hill toward downtown.  The main drag, Rittenhouse Avenue, ends at the harbor overlooking Lake Superior and Madeline Island.  The best view in town, however, is the sun deck on top of the Bayfield Inn, adjacent to the harbor.  I'd imagine the deck would be wall to wall people on a weekend, but since this was Wednesday afternoon the scene was a perfect blend of sun, lake view, cold beer and classic rock coming over the sound system.  The entire scene was north of the stress line too, even calm enough for me to be able to Shazam a deep cut Buffalo Springfield song.

We poked around a couple of stores on our way back up Rittenhouse to Ethel's At 250, a pasta and pizza restaurant we'd passed on foot a short time earlier.  By now the place was packed, with the long line of people waiting for a table extending outside the door.  We were only two hours away from the starting time of the ghost walk tour we had booked, so we resorted to our oft-used strategy: we sat at the bar instead of joining the que for a table.  We have found that sitting at the bar, even when there is other seating available, is a smart move because there is always more action at the bar, the people watching is better, and if we're lucky, the bartender just might provide more entertainment, not to mention better service.  Such was the case at Ethel's, where the bar was being tended by (again!) the male half of the husband and wife team that owned the place.  As was true of Bruce, the B & B owner, Bill the bartender said that he and his wife always dreamed of owning their own business, and the cards fell just right several years ago for that to happen.  The menu, by the way, has a very well written story about the owners' family and how Ethel's came into being.  As for the food, my lobster ravioli would have been better with a less thick alfredo sauce, but I still enjoyed it.  Momma Cuan gave a thumbs up to her shrimp ravioli with pesto.

We met Mary Jane, our guide for the ghost walk tour, outside the town's heritage building, across the street from the old library.  I knew ahead of time that we'll probably never go on a walking tour as freaky as the 2004 Jack The Ripper evening tour we experienced in London, conducted by expert historian and author Donald Rumbelow .  Nevertheless, I was hopeful that there might be some scary moments awaiting us in the shady back streets of Bayfield.  Mary Jane assumed the role of a mid-eighteenth century orphan, and since she looked like she stepped out of a Dickens novel, it was an easy sell.  Our first stop was a huge old house in a quiet neighborhood on the corner of Rice and 3rd.  Mary Jane told us that when new buyers of the residence moved in many decades ago, they did some remodeling which involved knocking down a few interior walls. This upset the deceased ancestors of the previous owners, so they vented their displeasure by turning lights on and off in the house and committing other spooky acts which angry spirits do.  We also heard some stories of haunted ships on Lake Superior, and of the great flood of 1942 which washed away so much land in Bayfield that a deep ravine extends through the town for several blocks.  The effectiveness of that story was enhanced by the fact that we listened to it while standing on a wooden pedestrian bridge, more than a hundred feet above the crevice.  We could hear water running below, but we could not see it, despite the fact that the gaps between some of the planks were two or three inches wide.

Mary Jane saved her best story for last.  It was about a Bayfield boarding house, the identity of which she was not permitted to reveal.  About seventy years ago there was a woman (let's call her "Greta") who was raising her nine children in the house.  Unbeknownst to Greta, her oldest unwed daughter gave birth to a girl and immediately gave the baby up for adoption.  One of Greta's younger daughters spilled the beans, and Greta tracked her granddaughter down in a Chicago orphanage, whereupon she brought the baby back to her Bayfield house.  There was a huge confrontation between Greta and her older daughter, the baby's mother.  Greta yelled at her daughter, "No!  You cannot have this baby!"

Fast forward sixty years from that point.  The boarding house is still there, but Greta is long gone.  One morning a house guest (who, coincidentally, is pregnant) reports to the owner that she had been awakened by an elderly woman in her bedroom holding a baby and screaming, "No! You cannot have this baby."  Some years later, another guest reports to the owner that he was awakened by an older woman tickling his feet as he lie in bed.  In both instances, the woman was wearing a pink nightgown.  It turns out that Greta had a fondness for pink nightgowns, and used to awaken her children by tickling their feet!

The next morning, following a delicious egg bake breakfast at Lucy's Place, we strolled down to the harbor in time to catch the Grand Tour of the Apostle Islands.  The three hour twenty minute ride is on the Superior Princess, piloted and narrated by Captain Deborah and her two man crew.  Here is a trivia question you can use to make some money on a bet:

Question: How many Apostle Islands are there?
Answer:  Twenty-two.

If you answered "twelve" (or thirteen), join the club.  All of the Apostle Islands except Madeline are part of the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore.  Captain Deborah explained that when the islands were being acquired by the Feds for the National Lakeshore, they passed on Madeline due to the relatively large numbers of individual land owners who would have to be bought out via eminent domain.  There are also many parcels of real estate on that island which are subject to ninety-nine year leases, making the legal complexity of a buy-out even greater.

The Grand Tour passes closely by eleven of the islands, and almost all of the remaining eleven are clearly visible.  Captain Deborah grew up in the area, and sailed among the islands as a young girl.  Her stories were fascinating and often humorous.  A few of the highlights from her narration relate directly to: Stockton Island, which contains more black bears per acre than any other parcel of land in the lower forty-eight states; Hermit Island, so named because the fur trader who first inhabited it, a man named Wilson, lost a boxing match with a political opponent on Madeline Island, and immediately sought solitude on Hermit; Cat Island, which was charted by a cartographer who circled it in his boat and was left with the erroneous impression that the island was shaped like a cat; Raspberry Island, which has a famous light house used by mariners who were looking for the channel that leads to the Bayfield Harbor; and Devils Island, my personal favorite, which is the northernmost point in the state of Wisconsin, containing beautiful sea caves on its northeast and northern shores, and a lighthouse which emitted a red light instead of the customary white beam.

After we disembarked the Island Princess we perched upon bar stools at the busy Pickled Herring, and enjoyed a bowl of clam chowder.  Eddington's in downtown Minneapolis remains the gold standard for clam chowder, but the offering at the Pickled Herring was a worthy challenger.  Of course we had to wash it down with a couple of cold ones.

A few more stores, another uphill climb to the B & B, a nap and a shower later, and we were off to see Gaelic Storm at Big Top Chautauqua.  On the way we stopped at Portside, a restaurant two miles outside of town and very highly recommended by Bruce.  Portside is well off Highway 13, located in Port Superior Marina where the fat cats dock their beautiful yachts.  Momma Cuan and I had the best seats in the house, right next to a large window overlooking the marina.  We saw many people with rolling carts filled with whatever belongings they'd need to spend a night or two on board their vessel in the Great Lake.  Another place north of the stress line!  There must have been over a hundred and fifty boats, almost all of them with huge masts, tied up in the harbor.  I guess the recession is over.  After a pre-dinner cocktail -- I settled for Dewers since they did not stock J & B -- Momma Cuan and I each had the lake trout, no doubt brought in from Lake Superior earlier that same day.  I had mine blackened and it was perfect, one of the best fish dinners I've ever had.

Gaelic Storm was in fine form, just as we knew they would be from having attended two of their concerts before.  They are a five person group which features original Irish songs, and a few traditional Irish and Scottish folk songs to boot.  They have been around since 1996, and although some of the personnel has changed over the years, the two mainstays are impish Patrick Murphy, who sings lead with a thick brogue on most of their songs, and Steve Twigger, whose smooth tenor voice has an uncanny similarity to Ed Robertson of Barenaked Ladies.  I don't believe it's an exaggeration to write that Gaelic Storm establishes more rapport with the audience than any other band I've seen in concert.  When we saw them on the Guthrie's thrust stage three St. Patrick's Days ago, they all came out with a mug of beer in their grasp.  At Chautauqua, at least three of them repeated that eloquent entrance.  After the first song, Twigger told the crowd that the Big Top is one of their most favorite venues, and then Murphy faked emotional hurt when it was brought up that they had not been invited back to play last summer after having done so several summers in a row before that. "Thanks a lot," he said with bemused sadness and mock anger.

One thing that impresses me about Gaelic Storm, and I know this sounds weird, but they are better than they need to be.  They sing a lot of Irish drinking songs to loving fans who are themselves probably enjoying a pint, and the whole vibe is "party hearty."  Yet, their original tunes have catchy hooks and lyrics, and their musicianship is outstanding.  All five members work hard not just as entertainers but as practitioners as well.  One of the funniest moments during their two and a half hour (including a short intermission) show occurred after they played an instrumental called Dead Bird Hill off their newest album, Chicken Boxer.  Kiana Weber and Pete Purvis were just shredding it on the fiddle and the bagpipes, respectively, and the crowd gave them a standing O.  Before the applause died down, Murphy went up to the mic and said with a straight face to the crowd, "I know what you're thinking... Twigger and Murphy are tremendously talented on the guitar and accordion!"

When we got back to town we just had to discuss the concert highlights over a beer, so we found Morty's and bellied up to the bar.  Momma Cuan and I agreed that when their next album, The Boathouse, is available, we intend to buy it.  That will be the fifth of Gaelic Storm's nine albums (excluding a compilation) which we will own.  The omission from the set list of our mutually favorite Gaelic Storm song, Don't Go For "The One," was only a minor disappointment.  A bigger disappointment was the boorish behavior of several of the fans who kept on calling out for the band to play their signature song, Johnny Tarr, even after Murphy told them in reply that "Johnny Tarr is kind of our Free Bird," referring of course to Lynyrd Skynyrd's anthem which those southern rockers usually save for the end of their shows.  I was surprised Murphy kept his cool as long as he did when the idiots persisted with their request.  And yes, as promised, the band did play Johnny Tarr toward the end.  They also repeated a gimmick they used during the Guthrie concert for Me And The Moon, which includes the lines, "I brought the whiskey, he brought the light."  During the playing of that song, Twigger instructs one half of the audience to hold up their drinks for the first part of the lyric, and the other half to hold up their lit cell phones for the second part.

Little did we know when we walked out of Morty's Thursday night that we'd be in for a surprise at breakfast the next day.

The conversation among the B & B guests around the Friday morning breakfast tables turned to a discussion of what we'd all been doing since we had arrived in Bayfield.  When MC and I mentioned the ghost walk, the loquacious Bruce revealed that Lucy, for whom the inn is named, is the grandmother in the story told by Mary Jane.  In other words, the woman whom I referred to as "Greta" above was, in fact, Lucy.  The North Room was Lucy's room, and the confrontation between Lucy and her older daughter occurred in a bedroom upstairs called the Wicker Room.  Bruce stated that he knows everything Mary Jane said about Lucy is true, because he confirmed it with one of Lucy's daughters who still lives in town.  According to Bruce, when that daughter moved to a different Bayfield house ten years ago, Lucy's ghost moved with her.  There have been no paranormal activities in Lucy's Place since then.