The Shawl I was looking forward to the six-weeks off, until shipping season started again on the Great Lakes. The past two months aboard the Alpena had been spent gathering my provisions and looking for a remote area to try some lake trout fishing. We tied up in Superior, Wisconsin, and I took a bus back home during winter lay-up. After packing all the needed supplies, I headed out of my home in Ashland, and across the frozen lake to the remote shores of Outer Island in the Apostles. The lighthouse on the north side of the island was a familiar sight on our trips across the lake, and seemed like a nice area to relax and catch some fish. With barely an inch of snow on the lake, my trusty Arctic Cat cut a smooth trail through over white landscape. After making it back onto solid ground, I set up my tent on the leeward side of the woods. It was just before dusk, when I noticed the beacon from the lighthouse. It illuminated the the darkening sky as it flashed its warning to all who may pass by. Never able to visit the lighthouse during shipping season, it was now within walking distance. I spent the evening building a fire and putting away my supplies for my stay on the island. I awoke the next morning to over-cast skies and barely a breeze. After breakfast, I loaded up my sled and walked out to a clear spot on the ice. My ice-auger made easy work of it, making two holes in the ice in short order. After setting up my poles, I set up my chair and grabbed a beer. The hours passed as I watched and waited for some action, to no avail. The wind began to kick up, as I rechecked my lines. Then off in the distance, the sky grew dark and I could see a wall of snow approaching. Thinking it was a snow squall, I ran to pack up my equipment and headed back to shore, unsure of what was coming my way. As I got to shore, the skies grew darker still, as the snow and howling winds became a blinding storm. I was caught by surprise and unsure of what to do, when I remembered the beacon from the lighthouse. The beacon seemed to be calling me, a place to seek shelter from the storm. With so few options, I fought the winds until I was able to enter the lighthouse that sat on the dunes. As I entered and closed the door, I was overcome by a feeling of safety and comfort. It was then, when I thought about the beacon, and how it was to be lit during the daylight hours. Left with little to do, I climbed the stairs to the top, to wait out the storm. As I took the last step, I saw the ghost-like image of a woman, looking out to sea. Somehow feeling unafraid, I approached her as she looked my way and smiled. I had often heard stories of the Outer Island Lighthouse, and the ghost that lived there. She appeared middle-aged, wearing a victorian dress from the turn of the last century. “Stay here where it’s warm and dry” she said, now peering out the window once more. “What is your name Ma’am” I said, feeling as though I was unlocking a long held secret simply by asking her. “My name is Elizabeth Honner, but you may call me Beth.” I thought back to all of the stories I had heard, about Lake Superior. Still puzzled, I asked her why she lives here at the lighthouse. “You see, my dear departed husband was Captain Thomas Honner of the steamer Ira Owen. Have you heard of it?” Startled at her answer, I told her I had heard stories of it sinking during the November 27, 1905 storm. “They sank right out there” she said, as she pointed towards the lake. “I have been meeting him here ever since, whenever there is a bad storm. He only sailed on that trip as a favor to the other captain who had taken ill. I never thought it would be his final time on earth. Now, during bad storms, he meets me to tell me he thinks of me often, and not to worry.” “How did the beacon come on?” I asked, unsure of her response. “I turn it on, so he can find his way in the storm” she told me, as she pulled her shawl over her shoulders. After that, we stood inside in silence, as the storm raged outside the windows. Then, after what seemed like not more than minutes, she said “There he is!” I looked out to see a dark figure, walking towards the lighthouse from across the frozen lake. Beth quickly made her way down the stairs as she ran to meet him, as I stood and watched. She ran across the dunes in the storm, and met him just off shore. I watched them as they embraced and kissed, not quite sure if I should believe what my eyes were seeing. Then, the captain looked my way and waved to me, as though he was waving to an old friend. I caught myself suddenly waving back at him and smiling, unsure if all of this was a dream. I continued to watch them through the night, as they held each other close. After a few hours had passed, the storm seemed to be letting up. Then I saw Beth walking towards the shore, as her husband walked back towards the Owen. I saw her waving as she looked up at me, then she simply vanished into the night. I found a place to rest my head, unsure of what I had just been a part of. In the morning, I returned to my fishing spot, and reset my lines. As I opened the second beer of the day, one of my poles bent, with its tip almost touching the water in the hole I had made the day before. I walked over and began to reel in what I hoped would be a nice fish to have for lunch. The line strained as I pulled my catch through the hole. After I realized what I had snagged, I thought back to last night, now more unsure of what had taken place. On the end of my fishing line, was a woman’s shawl!
Posted on: Mon, 19 Jan 2015 23:56:18 +0000
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