Day 1

The crew assembled at Camp Courageous, gathered not for leisure but to begin an expedition. Bags in hand, faces new and familiar, they checked in with nursing,  a necessary ritual before heading out. Once cleared, we made our way to Upper Menester. Names were given, stories exchanged, and strangers began to fade into companions.

The duffle shuffle followed. A methodical unpacking of personal belongings, stripping away excess, whittling down to what’s essential for life on the trail. Luggage surrendered to duffle bags. Only what could be carried would come.

Dinner came next. First, a chow circle. Elbows locked, we moved through the old routine: “Is camp crafty?” “Are hands washed?” The cooks called out the meal , million-dollar baked ziti. A quote was spoken. Silence held for a moment as we passed the pulse, a simple reminder of community and presence. “Please love and chow.”

Afterward, the tubby scrubby campers cleaned plates, and wiped. Then boots laced for a hike through the woods of Camp Courageous. Not far, but enough to stretch the legs, test the footing, get a taste of what waited for us at Copper Falls.

Night closed in. At base camp, we gathered for evening talk. A daily reckoning. What went well. What didn’t. What we carry forward. Then quiet. Some lingered in the cooling air. Others drifted to bed. An early wake-up ahead. Tomorrow, the road.

Day 2

Just the road, the people you’re with, and the weight of your own pack on your back.

We tore through Upper Menster like a band of thieves, stripping it down to bare walls. Tents, stoves, sleeping bags, odds and ends you don’t think you’ll need but pack anyway. The van groaned under the weight of it all, a traveling circus of hopeful necessity.

Somewhere along the way, Bass Pro called to us like a neon shrine to excess. We lingered, spent money on things we needed, grabbed lunch, and pushed on.

By the time we made camp, the sky hung low and the air carried that honest, unvarnished smell of damp earth. No one needed to be told what to do. Tents rose, a fire coaxed to life. The cooks, bless them threw together chicken quesadillas on a battered griddle like it was the last meal on earth.

We sat around the fire, and we talked about the world we left behind. Tomorrow, we walk. Find the falls. Let the cold water and stone remind us why we came out here in the first place.

For now, the stars hang like old friends, and the fire holds back the dark. That’s enough.

Day 3

Waking up outdoors, there’s a kind of magic in it. The cool bite of morning air. It reminds you you’re alive. But if there’s one thing about this crew, it’s that no one sleeps in. Campers were up early, boots on, ready to chase whatever the day had to offer.

Breakfast was a proper camp spread. Hot skillets loaded with hash browns, bacon crisped just shy of too far, peppers, onions, a scramble of eggs and cheese, a meal that makes you forget you’re roughing it.

Two trails called our names: Doughboys Trail and Red Granite. Between the two, nearly eight miles of thick forest, jagged rock, and the kind of elevation that makes you question your life choices halfway up, and then grin. We hiked, we laughed, and when it was done, we cooled our sore feet in the cold, glassy waters of Loon Lake, a lone loon gliding past as if on cue.

Showers back at camp felt like heaven. Dinner was grilled cheese, tomato soup. Classic, no frills, perfect. S’mores followed, naturally. The night settled in slow, a fire crackled down to coals, and stories spilled out in that easy, timeless way they do when the stars are out and no one’s in a hurry. One by one, the campers peeled off to bed, the last ember of conversation dying with the last camper’s footsteps. Another good day in the books.

Day 4

The crew rolled out of their tents and into the cool morning air. The cooks were already at it. Pancakes on the griddle, sausage sizzling, a bowl of fresh strawberries waiting on the side, syrup ready to drown it all. No one needed to be told twice. The crew came alive fast, packing gear, breaking down camp, and hauling it all to the van like a well-oiled machine.

We hit the road. And somewhere along that ribbon of highway slicing through the pines, we caught a piece of wild fortune. A black bear lumbering across the road, heavy and unbothered. Nature handed us one last gift before we left her behind.

We Stopped for gas, grabbed  snacks, energy drinks, whatever kept the wheels turning. Lunch was at Culver’s, butterburgers, crinkle fries, and cheese curds that left everybody grinning. A few more bathroom breaks at offbeat gas stations, and before we knew it, we were rolling back into Camp Courageous.

Duffels hit the ground, gear still crusted in trail dust and adventure, tomorrow’s problem. Tonight was for celebrating. We loaded back up and headed into town for Mexican food. Tacos, fajitas, and quesadillas. The kind of meal you earn, not just eat. A little toast to the crew, to teamwork, to another expedition in the books.

Before calling it, one last hike. A dusk walk up from Pictured Rocks. The sun slipping low, trees cutting long shadows across the path. No talk of the next trip, no plans, just a quiet march back under a darkening sky. Then sleep, the good kind. The kind you only get after four days of dirt, sweat, and good company.

Day 5