Grand Marais losing its lifeline

Town's harbor fills up with silt, putting its economy, boaters in peril

Charlie Cain / Detroit News Lansing Bureau

GRAND MARAIS -- When they look into the blue water of their harbor, residents of this picturesque village along the rugged shore of Lake Superior see something is going desperately wrong, a worsening situation that threatens the community's existence.

The scenic harbor is disappearing before their eyes, as the equivalent of 6,000 semitrailer loads of sand and silt pour into it each year.

A 5,770-foot-long timber pile breakwall, built in the late 1890s to keep the harbor clear of sand and silt, disintegrated long ago due to neglect, and the federal government has failed to fix it.

"Unless we do something, we've got three to five years until this harbor is gone," said Jack Hubbard, supervisor of Burt Township, which includes Grand Marais, a village whose economy depends on tourism.

"We screamed and hollered about this for 50 years, and no one does anything. Keeping this harbor viable should be a no-brainer."

The Upper Peninsula harbor's importance was recognized by Congress as far back as 1880, when it declared it a federal "Harbor of Refuge" that can be counted on to provide quick shelter to ships when violent storms suddenly kick up.

But northeast winds are dragging about 100,000 cubic yards of sand and silt into the harbor annually. The East Bay is no longer hospitable to boats.

Now the West Bay faces the same fate: Its maximum depth has dropped steadily from 55 feet a few decades ago to 20 feet today. Some sections are 4 feet deep -- too shallow for some recreational boats.

Despite efforts by U.S. Sen. Carl Levin, D-Detroit, and others, the federal government has been unwilling to come up with enough money to build a new wall to keep nature's forces at bay.

To hear the locals tell it, if the harbor goes, so does the tourism that is the quaint town's lifeblood. There are no fast-food chains or boutique coffee shops along the harbor. But you can get a cone at the Lickety Split ice cream shop or stop by the Lake Superior Brewing Co. to quench your thirst or the Sportsman Restaurant for a dynamite breakfast.

Safety is also a huge concern, said William Boik, planning unit manager with the Michigan Waterways Commission, which oversees recreational harbors.

Grand Marais is the only harbor of refuge along the 90-mile shore of Lake Superior between Munising and Whitefish Point. Over the years, it's earned the nickname "Shipwreck Coast."

It was near here on the night of Nov. 10, 1975, when a vicious storm whipped up 45-knot winds and 30-foot waves and sank the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald, a 729-foot-long freighter bound for Detroit. All 29 crew members perished.

"It's a long, very treacherous stretch of water, and that harbor is very important to us," Boik said. "We support Grand Marais in its efforts to have the federal government rebuild the wall. If nothing is done, there will be a real impact."

Town thrived in mid-1800s

Grand Marais, 400 miles northwest of Detroit, got its name from the French who came upon the deep harbor in the 1660s. It means large swamp or marsh.

The town was established in the 1860s by the flourishing fishing and timber industries.

In 1883, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers began construction of two parallel jetties to provide a channel into the harbor, to serve the growing commerce. A short time later, the 5,770-foot-long timber pile dike was constructed.

The corps maintained the breakwall until 1943, when World War II permanently halted the effort.

Building a new breakwall today would cost between $6 million and $32 million, depending on its configuration.

In 1999, Congress authorized $50,000 to study the erosion problems in the harbor and in the years since has appropriated about $1.5 million for the project -- not enough for the corps to begin work.

Wayne Schloop, chief of operations for the Detroit District of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, which includes the Upper Peninsula, said that although a new breakwall is needed, "it's difficult for me to forecast in the present economic environment when Congress might appropriate enough money to construct one."

Schloop said the latest plan is for a wall of 2,500 feet (less than half the length of the original) for $6 million to $8 million.

Levin has been pushing for years to win federal funding for a wall and concedes it's a slow process.

"While the tourism industry has replaced the once-booming lumber trade, walls of sand filtering undeterred into the harbor jeopardize both the economic sustainability and commercial/recreational boating safety of this area," he said in a statement.

"I have and will continue to work to secure funding for Grand Marais and other shallow draft harbors in Michigan, but this will be a long-term effort."

A man on a mission

Jack Hubbard is the guy who might be sent out if a call went to central casting for someone to lead the fight to save Grand Marais harbor.

An easygoing lumberjack by trade, he's been supervisor of Burt Township (population 480, which swells to 2,000 or more in the summer) for less than two years. But he's made saving the harbor his mission.

He knows firsthand the dangers Lake Superior can hold. His uncle's name is among 12 listed on a memorial in the harbor dedicated to the local commercial fishermen who perished on the lake.

"No one is helping us. Most politicians are just throwing us curveballs because they think Michigan quits at the Mackinac Bridge," said the 53-year-old father of three.

Hubbard -- who favors T-shirts and suspenders rather than suits and ties, and chews tobacco while tooling around in a beat-up 1964 Jeep -- is trying to raise money to build a breakwall without government help. So far, it's proving to be a slow go.

At the Grand Marais music festival earlier this month, for example, the Save Your Harbor group he spearheads sold nearly all of the 100 wooden flowers that were hand-painted by townsfolk. The 3-foot-tall flowers went for $20 each and came with 11 envelopes, in hopes buyers will send in another $20 a month during the coming year. That could add $24,000 to the kitty that already includes about $84,000 raised through a special property tax millage on residents and a 50-cent nightly fee on campers.

"One way or another, this is going to happen" he vowed. "I suck at losing."

His determination and enthusiasm rub off on others.

'Pretty high hopes'

"In weather, I've seen boats just piled up in here seeking shelter," said Gordon Kniss, 69, who works at the local hardware store. "They should have never let the breakwall go. The harbor is a huge part of our town. Jack's working hard, and we have some pretty high hopes it's going to work out somehow."

A year ago, Hubbard enlisted the aid of the head of a Grand Rapids engineering firm that had a working knowledge of the harbor situation. Engineer Tom Newhof drew up plans to construct a rock wall that could be financed with private money as an alternative to waiting for a federally funded project.

Newhof, however, is not optimistic any effort -- public or private -- will begin in time to save the bay, which he figures has a life expectancy of five to 10 years.

"I can see the disaster, the train wreck coming. But I don't know how to stop it," Newhof said.

"It ought to be in the national interest to save this harbor. And here it's just going away before our eyes."

You can reach Charlie Cain at (517) 371-3660 or ccain@detnews.com.