Indian Point

Prior to the building of the existing channel between White Lake and Lake Michigan, lumber, cargo and passenger ships manuevered their way in and out of the busy port of White Lake through a narrow, shallow stretch of the White River. During dry spells, it was often necessary to transport cargo by barge from ships on Lake Michigan into the harbor as the river channel was too shallow for fully-loaded vessels to pass. Where this stretch of the river met White Lake, a bump of land, known as Indian Point, protruded from the northern shore of the lake forming a bay to the east, known as Indian Bay. Legend has it that Indians would wait in the woods on this point of land for the barges to transport the ships’ cargo into the lake. As the loaded barges sat in the bay, awaiting their destination, they would pirate the goods at night.

In 1866 Congress appropriated money for a lighthouse at the mouth of the White River. At this same time it was decided to construct the current east-west channel between White Lake and Lake Michigan to replace the oft-impassible stretch of the White River.

The old channel, now a mere creek flowing aimlessly from the SW corner of Indian Point to Lake Michigan, is still visible — a reminder of the busy and colorful history this area holds.

Getting There…

Follow the old channel trail along White Lake. As you near the point where you can go west no more, make your way to the place where the old channel meets White Lake at the SW corner of Indian Point.

Clues…

Find the letterbox under rocks, shaded from the mid-day sun by the lower boughs of the easternmost evergreen tree in the small stand of trees near the water. Please be discreet in your searching and stamping activities and rehide the box well!

Dutchman’s Breeches

Site Notes…

This box is located at Hoffmaster State Park. A Michigan State Parks vehicle pass is required for entry and can be purchased at the park. Please check the park web site for dates and hours of operation.

Clues…

Hike a mile along this trail,
In the latter days of April,
Beneath the leafless trees,
The Dutchman’s Breeches you will see.

He’s stashed an extra pair,
And you can find them there,
Snugly wedged near overlapping Y’s
Near the top of twenty-five.

Morris’ Mystery

Clues…

I was walking along sucking on a piece of hard candy, humming a Joni Mitchell tune, counting crows along the west edge… 1, 2, 3, 4… 14, 15… oh wait, there’s one more, hidden behind the white stallions…

In the picnic shelter there were two old men playing checkers and it got me thinking about Morris — the Russian, not the cat, not the artist. I found it quite intriguing how he went from being an immigrant tailor to the king of checkers. One had to wonder how the story would have come out if Lomberg hadn’t failed. Would he have become the king of checkers instead? Surely he would have been too yellow to risk everything and move the whole operation from Chicago to Kalamazoo, as Morris had done. And this would probably be a housing development instead of a public park full of maples.

So, I wondered as I reached a small oasis, if Morris was a Russian immigrant, how did this little island get this name? And what exactly is the significance of this pile of rocks? I was still mulling over the possibilities as I headed north into the woods on the trail about 60 paces up the drive, but soon changed focus and directed my energy to the climb that lay before me.

There was a profusion of spring flowers and the scent was intoxicating, but it hardly seemed like I was going to find what I was looking for out here in the woods. I could barely even hear any traffic, let alone hope to see any, or catch a ride to town. But the woman had seemed to know what she was talking about when I had told her what I was looking for.

I found myself humming Joni Mitchell again, hoping this paradise would never meet such fate. A dollar and a half just to see the trees seemed a bit outrageous until I put it in perspective — I had after all, paid $5.00 to get into this park.

I turned my attention to the scrawled directions she had given me…

Mystery Mink

This box was planted in honor of a beautiful, but aggressive, chocolate-colored mink that chased me down the beach one day after I stumbled on his nesting spot.

Clues…

Just recently I moved into my new home here along the water. We minks tend to move around a lot and I was getting restless at the old place, so I decided it was time for a change and wanted to get settled in before winter. I looked at several places along the lake here in West Michigan, and finally it came down to choosing between a place up north near Stoney Lake and this place. The critters that lived in this cozy little burrow before me were very tidy and I just moved right in.

It really is a nice place, with large boulders for walls and a clean sandy floor. Outside my door are grass-covered sand hills and two small popple saplings that provide shade from the mid-day sun. The lake is only about 25 feet down the path so I can swim and fish whenever I want. I have great views from here — lake sunsets to the west, a desolate stretch of State Park beach to the north and if I stand on my tippy-toes on my roof, I can see the top of the lighthouse across the channel at about 30 degrees east of due south. The street I live on is a gently curved rocky breakwall that acts as the northern arm around a harbor where lake meets lake. There isn’t much traffic here, just an occasional early morning fisherman and sometimes kids from the campground playing hide and seek among the rocks in the summer.

Because I don’t see a lot of people, my attention was piqued the other day when I noticed a woman walking toward my street from the beach parking area. There was a camera around her neck and I figured she was just a tourist coming to take pictures of the lighthouse. But not long after she had climbed up onto the rocks, she stopped — up there towards the beach, just past that “Y” in the path. I studied her intently as she looked around to see if anyone was watching (guess she didn’t see me), and then pulled a plastic container out of her pack. She checked to make sure it was sealed tightly and then buried it in the sand, under a small rock, right there between those two boulders with yellow paint. After that she snapped a few pictures of the water and walked back to her truck.

I waited until she was gone and went over to investigate, hoping to find some fish or something else worth eating. But it was just a plastic box containing a pen and a little book, and the strangest thing — there was a soft pink block of some sort with a picture of a critter who looked a lot like me carved into it! Hmmmm, humans… they play the strangest games!

Chinook Pier

Getting There…

Use a Michigan map to get to the town of Grand Haven, located along Lake Michigan in the midwestern portion of the state. The following poem will provide your starting point and the clues to lead you to the end of your letterbox hunting trail.

Clues…

At the place where pianos once were made
The name within my brickwork laid,
For years I towered tall above the town
‘Till the ‘98 windstorm blew me down.

The old steam engine, Pere Marquette
You’ll find NE across the road a bit,
From it’s nose a few steps west
Buy summer produce at it’s best.

This place is known as Chinook Pier
Summer is a busy time of year,
Tourists shop and buy ice cream
Charters catch a fisherman’s dream.

Along the walk a place there’ll be
here fish are weighed and cleaned bone-free,
Stand facing water over there
Where smell of fish hangs in the air.

Along the other side you’ll see
A linear park with many trees,
The pathway to the box is now in view
How you get there, is up to you.

At the very west end of this walk
Five places people sit and talk,
When ash trees shade you from the sun
Your treasure hunt is nearly done.

Where handrail meets the seawall
Be very careful not to fall,
Reach your hand up and in
To find the letterbox tin.