What Would Roger Do? Part Two

I have a flaw in my character — I don’t have a killer instinct. I couldn’t bring myself to kill that mouse in cold blood. I carried the can into the woodlot behind our house. I gave the mouse a stern warning. I told it exactly what it could expect if it came inside the house. And then I dumped it out with the ruined seed.

The story doesn’t end there. Two mornings later, I got up after my wife did. I walked into the other room and found her sitting at the computer desk, looking down at her feet. Her cat was crouching on the floor staring at her slippers. Under my wife’s foot was a mouse, alive but very unhappy. My wife was having a good time watching the cat tease it and, at the same time, commenting on how cute the mouse was. I left them to their amusement and went downstairs for breakfast.

About 15 minutes later, my wife came down. She asked me to go upstairs and pick up the mouse tail that was lying on the hallway floor. Yep. The cat had eaten the mouse — all but the tail (I’m sorry — I didn’t think to take a photo). As I picked it up in a Kleenex and tossed it, I couldn’t help remarking, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And while I’m on the subject — this is the only reason that I have ever been able to discover for owning a cat.

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What Would Roger Do?

At the end of a long day of rain, my daughter informed me that I’d left the lid off the garbage can in which we store our bird seed. It was too late to save the seed — it was drenched. But when I went out to inspect the damage, I noticed something else in the bottom of the can.

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We occasionally get mice in our house, and I have declared total no-surrender war on them. But this one wasn’t in the house. As I leaned over to get a closer photo, it just cowered.

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I had a dilemma on my hands. Should I kill it, or should I let it go?

What do you think I did? What would you have done?

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Quincy Mine

We got to the Quincy Mine in time for the final tour of the day. Copper was mined there from 1848 until 1945.

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Many of the buildings are in ruins, but a few have been preserved/restored. We had a few minutes to tour the museum in one of the old hoist houses and get fitted with hardhats.

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A serious gentleman gave us a tour of the Nordberg Mine Hoist, built in 1920 (and only in operation for 11 years). This is the machine that operated the cable that lifted men and ore in and out of the mine.

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This is a blueprint of the mine. Each row is a separate level — there were 92 in all, reaching 9,260 feet into the earth. The sections shaded in white are cavities where copper was mined.

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We took a tram down the hill.

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As we descended, we could see the bridge between Hancock and Houghton and (way down in the lower left) the members of the previous tour waiting to go back up the hill.

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At the bottom of the hill, we jumped off the tram and onto a wagon pulled by a tractor. We were taken about half a mile into level seven of the mine. (All 85 levels below this are flooded.) Here’s one of the cavities where copper was mined.

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We were the final tour, so as we left the mine, they were shutting off the lights behind us. When the mine was in operation, this opening was used to pump water out of the lower levels.

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This is the Shaft-Rock House, where ore was brought up and miners were sent up and down. The cable from the hoist stretched across the scaffolding to the shaft.

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Here’s what it looked like inside.

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We wandered about for another half hour looking at the ruins of other buildings.

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We stopped for gas in Houghton at a station that had potatoes and carrots piled up between the pumps. We ate supper at an Arby’s nearby. It was dark when we got back to our campsite. A little more water had dripped into the tent, but none of our stuff was wet. We had been hoping to enjoy a campfire, but it wasn’t to be. We went to bed early.

I woke up around sunrise (if you can call it that) on Sunday. It was still raining. I decided I’d had enough. I woke up my family, we packed in the rain, and headed for home. It was an odd day. We drove through eight separate rain showers over the seven hours of the trip, with occasional periods of sunshine in between. The vacation hadn’t gone exactly how we’d planned, but it was hugely fun.

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Down the Keweenaw

We drove up Brockway Mountain, but on this day the only view we got was the inside of a cloud — not that it wasn’t pretty.

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It was raining again when we got to Eagle Harbor. We stopped along the road and took photos of the lighthouse across the harbor.

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We drove around to the lighthouse, but we didn’t go inside.

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Here’s the same lighthouse in 1996. Lake Superior was looking very ocean-like on this afternoon.

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Up the Keweenaw

We wandered about Calumet for a little while, looking for something to look at. The National Park Service owns several buildings in town, but none of them were open. A kind woman who spotted us trying to enter a locked building gave us a pile of brochures and recommended we tour the Quincy Mine. It looked interesting, but since it was 15 miles behind us, we decided to hit it in the afternoon. This old train/plow was one of several bits of decaying mining and railroad equipment that was scattered around town.

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It’s obligatory when driving up the Keweenaw, to take a photo of the snowfall meter.  You can click the photo to get the full effect.

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Copper Harbor sits at the northernmost tip of the peninsula. Here’s the lighthouse as seen from across the harbor.

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We parked in town. The ladies toured gift shops while Nate and I strolled about town.

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We found an “old-fashioned candy” store that featured types of candy not often found in stores anymore.

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We bought a variety and shared it as we drove back south. The bacon-flavored jelly beans were not a hit.

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