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Beaver Island Getaway
By Lisa M. Jensen
 

If you don’t own a boat, you can reach Beaver Island one of two ways — by flight or ferry.

Because the largest inhabited island in Lake Michigan is located 30 miles north of Traverse City, the Beaver Island Boat Co.’s ride is no quick Star Line jaunt juiced up by an entertaining hydro tail. Crossing to the island’s unpretentious Paradise Bay takes two hours — use them to exhale.

You can also hop on a twin-engine charter plane at the Charlevoix Airport Terminal Building.

Not particularly one for flying, I felt at ease here: A newer facility flooded with natural light, the uncrowded lobby offered fresh coffee and doughnuts. The young, curly-headed daughter of the cheerful Island Airways woman who checked luggage bounded from one of three dogs waiting with their owners to another, asking names. Two older girls stood by a dispenser on the wall, happily churning out colorful foam ear plugs. Passengers strolled in within 10 minutes of their flight; several moments later, a friendly man in a cap and khaki shorts called out, “Anyone here on Plane One? The bus is leaving.”

The Brittan-Norman “Islander” we boarded included four rows that each sat two adults comfortably and reminded me of my first car, a hearty ’78 Rabbit. The engines accelerated with a startling roar and within seconds the diminutive plane was off the ground, offering a panoramic view of blue and miniscule whitecaps below.

Less than 20 minutes later, our destination’s silhouette expanded on the horizon; the misty coastlines of neighboring shorelines in the nine-island Beaver Archipelago became visible as the plane bobbed over dense forest toward a grassy runway.

Getting to Beaver Island either way is an adventure in itself.

 

On The Island

Don’t go to Beaver Island anticipating horse-drawn carriages, candymakers and Victorian facades in pretty pastel hues. What you find here won’t spring out at you with bells and whistles.

It emerges, like a wine’s character — or, after a couple of hours, the personality of a stranger you meet in The Shamrock, the island’s oldest pub and prime social hub.

Here in the sleepy, historic harbor town of St. James, you can’t distinguish vacationers from the locals (some of whom can trace their Irish roots on the island back five generations); everyone at The Shamrock dresses casually and seems to know people from at least two other tables. What’s more noticeable is that everyone appears to be in a great mood, even before they order.

My husband, Mike, and I had only been on the island for a few hours, but we understood why the cheeriness prevails: There’s no urgency, no urban commotion. Nothing here makes visitors feel like a tourist, and therefore reminds them that the serenity they’re feeling may be temporary.

Meanwhile, a shared appreciation for the island’s abundant natural amenities has created a protective, jovial kinship between the 550 permanent island residents, including our friend, Liz, who exchanged waves with everyone we passed. This is, she emphasized, a safe place.

Her friends, Bob and Joan, own the secluded log Shanoule B&B, nestled off a long gravel road that cuts through thick woods. A simple wooden stand off to the side reading “Dan’s Stand” belongs to their 12-year-old nephew who, we’re told, frequently leaps out in front of the few cars that go by, waving his arms and encouraging passers-by to stop for lemonade or fresh maple syrup.

“Most of these people are his relatives,” Liz acknowledged. “But one summer he made $100. On this road!”

Respite for us began after we landed. Liz dropped us off at Barney’s Lake, one of seven picturesque inland lakes on Beaver. Part of a 120-acre nature preserve, Barney’s Lake is home to a pair of common loons: We were greeted by the haunting wail of one as we met up with Ken Bruland for a kayak tour.

An educator at heart, Ken left his teaching career to become a kayak guide (and EMT specialist) after his father died following a heart attack. “He never had the chance to enjoy the retirement he was looking so forward to,” Ken shared. “I didn’t want that to happen to me.”

The tranquility of dipping a paddle into the pristine water, of gliding through reeds and lily pads, surrounded by woods as a tern circled and swooped, was rejuvenating.

Kayak Ken also heads up less tranquil treks out to shipwreck sites in the big lake. Beaver Island and its sisters – including Garden, High, Hog and Whiskey among others – offer countless recreational excursions for boaters, divers, hikers, campers and paddlers; Beaver even offers a comfortable, full-service spa, East Wind, as well as a few galleries and shops. (Montaage’s upscale home accents and furnishings are popular with visitors and locals alike.)

Fourteen miles long and about six miles wide, Beaver Island is predominantly forest, much of it state owned. More paved, gravel and dirt roads that can be explored in a weekend wind and wrap through these woods, leading to sparsely populated stretches of beautiful beach. (September, we’re told, is the best month to swim; the lake’s warmth is at its peak.)

At Iron Ore Bay, waves churn up sediment along a white, pebbled fringe of shore and beach grass; a weathered picnic table is the perfect place to admire the water’s turquoise, deep cobalt and pale blue hues. Donegal Bay, arguably the most breathtaking stop along Beaver’s scalloped coastline, resembles the ocean; Central Michigan University mans a biological station in Sand Bay. Throughout the island, a diversity of cottages and homes can be rented or purchased, as well as several motels, hotels and lodges.

Located high on a wooded bluff overlooking Lake Michigan, with its own stretch of sandy, pebbled beach below, The Beaver Island Lodge earns its ranking from Detroiters as a top “secret” getaway. In our main floor suite, we enjoyed an ample living room, kitchenette, private patio and easy access to Nina’s Restaurant. The lodge’s relaxed, elegant dining room offers sublime entrees, friendly service and memorable sunset views.

After watching wild turkeys and ducklings at the water’s edge, we also liked being able to pick up a deck of cards in the lobby, one of numerous games available to patrons.

Void of TV or phone in our weekend retreat, and well ready to rest after a long bike ride and great meal, we savored the sound of surf and wind gusting through surrounding towering hardwoods from our patio, cold drinks in hand. If ever there is a place to beat your husband at poker, this is it.

Beaver Island is where you find time.

For more information, visit www.beaverisland.org; www.islandairways.com; www.BIBCO.com; www.inlandseaskayaking.com; www.beaverislandrealty.com; or e-mail Steve at chamber@beaverisland.org. Lisa M. Jensen is editor of Michigan BLUE.