Rock Island

Rock Island

By Kathleen M. Brosius

February 5, 2021

A steak of lightning bolted across the sky. Kathy screeched and dropped to the ground, her best friend Barb landing on top of her. The afternoon sky had darkened considerably since the two arrived at the dock of the Washington Ferry. Their plans were to take the ferry from the tip of Door County across the, sometimes treacherous water, to Washington Island. From there, a ferry would take them to Rock Island. Cars were welcome on Washington Island, but tiny Rock Island was strictly for pedestrians. Leaving Barb’s car on the bigger Island, they watched as the ferry docked. Two people stepped off the platform.  

“I’ve been wanting to go over to Rock Island,” Barb confessed. “There’s a couple of old cemeteries over there. It’d be fun to find one of them, don’t you think?”

Kathy nodded, “Ya, sure. Let’s do it.”

The clouds continued to gather, lightning occasionally sliced through the darkening sky, but the girls were not about to change their minds. They hopped on the small ferry. The trip across the water was quick, but unpleasant. Choppy waves bounced off the ferry, and rain pelted down on the passengers.

Kathy wondered if they had made the right decision. She hoped that the rain would stop before they began the walk to the other side of the island. “I sure hope that this lets up,” she said. “It won’t be any fun if we have to trek 6 miles in the rain.”

“And back again,” Barb added.

“Do you know what Death’s Door is?” Barb asked.

“Ya, I do.” Kathy laughed, as they stepped under a flimsy awning. “We just passed through it, back there on the last ferry. Evidently, when the Native Americans lived in the area, warriors from two tribes fought a rough battle. I think it was between the Ho Chunk—that’s what the Winnebago originally called themselves—and the Pottawatomi. The weather changed, high winds developed, and both sides perished. The Winnebago believed the disaster was a sign that they should never attempt to cross the straight again; they called it a doorway to death.”

“Wow!” That is pretty interesting. Do you think as long as we made it over that stretch of water, the rest of the day will be a piece of cake?”

“We can only hope,” was Kathy’s reply.

The ferry deposited the girls at the C.H. Thordarson Boat House twenty minutes later. “Oh my gosh, look at that,” Kathy whispered. Isn’t that beautiful?”

Barb nodded. “I wonder if we can go inside.”

The boat house was open, and the interior did not disappoint. They learned that the building was completed in 1929, with most of the material coming from the island. The exterior, as well as the interior is made from blue limestone collected from the island. The lower level can house two 50 ft. yachts. The upper level reaches 65 ft from the water. Three sides are lined with towering windows. A balcony stretches from wall to wall and overlooks the beautiful furnishings and polished floors of the hall. An outside balcony overlooks the water.

“This is just breathtaking,” Barb said.

“Let’s make sure we get back here in plenty of time before the ferry comes, so we can come back inside for a while.” Kathy added. “Are you ready to go?”

Barb nodded and they began their trek around the island.

A break in the clouds brought smiles to the five passengers. They stuffed their rain gear in their back packs and set out. Two paths led the hikers into the interior of the island.

Three young men chose the northern route, nodded a farewell, and quickly disappeared. Kathy and Barb followed the path to the south. The two were happy to discover that the trails were well kept and easy to follow.

“I wonder if it’s raining on the guys,” Barb said. “They sure were looking forward to catching some big salmon today.”

“They have rain gear,” Kathy said. “If they get wet, it’ll be their own fault.”

They followed the path, chatted about the weather, the history of Door County, and what fun Washington Island was. “I hope we can come over to this part of Wisconsin again. I love it over here.” Barb stopped and pointed to some wild strawberries growing close to the trail. “Now those are some small berries.”

Bending over to pick a few, Kathy tossed them in her mouth. They were bittersweet but did indeed taste like strawberries. “These are so small; it would take a bucket full to satisfy a bear.” She laughed and reached for another handful of the juicy delicacies.  

Along the way, they noticed a small sign. Cemetery, it read. Barb left the path and stepped over a broken board from a fence surrounding the cemetery. “Oh, look!” She exclaimed. “These graves are really old.” The girls examined each stone.  

They read the names, wondering about the occupants and what their lives were like. The earliest date was 1843 as date of death. The most recent dating 1945 held the ashes of C. H. Thordarson, who had bought the island in 1910. He planned and contracted the building of the boathouse.

One of the tombstones was leaning over, almost ready to fall. The girls decided to straighten it. With Barb on one side, Kathy on the other, they grabbed hold and pushed. As the tombstone moved, an opening came into view. A big, long, vicious looking snake slithered out. The two women screamed to high heaven, jumped over the fence onto the path. For several minutes, they hopped and screeched thinking that they had met their doom. The snake disappeared into the unknown, while the damsels kept screaming. The thing was as big around as their arm and probably four feet long. Its color was black with wide orange bands. A demon for sure, the two finally went on their way, a bit more aware of their surroundings. Later, they looked up Snakes of Wisconsin. They couldn’t find anything that matched the snake that attempted to take them down.

“Well, we’ve been rained on. We’ve now been attacked by a snake,” Barb said taking a deep breath, then laughing at their adventure so far.

“We should either have it smooth-going from here on out,” Kathy said, “or our next predicament will a doozer.”

Barb, an anxious expression on her face said, “I really really hope not.” A chuckle escaped. A tiny prayer lingered in her thoughts.

Six miles sounded like a long way, but it didn’t take the two hikers very long to reach the Light House at the northern corner of the island. It was closed. They trekked on, stopping to examine a tree, or a flower, being careful not to disturb any wildlife, being snakes. The day turned into a lovely afternoon, with partly cloudy skies, and thankfully, no rain.

They followed the trail, wondering where their ferry companions were. Before too long, they turned south. They stopped to take some pictures, fussed over wildflowers and rock formations. The hadn’t noticed the sky darkening again. It began to rain. “Oh no!” Kathy cried. She pulled her rain gear out and wrapped herself up in it. A crack of thunder startled the two.

With no where to go, they donned their hoods and followed the path. The wind began. Thunder and lightning sent any critters on the island into hiding. Barb and Kathy could only keep walking. The wind grew stronger. Rain pelted the girls faces. They pulled their jackets tighter.

Kathy looked at Barb and started laughing. Barb began laughing. They found a tree trunk along side the path and plopped down on it. “I gotta rest a minute,” Barb said to her hiking buddy.

“What’s going on?” Kathy, screaming to be heard over the squall, attempted to stand, but slipped and down she went. Barb howled with laughter and then slipped, caught herself, and slipped again, but grabbed a tree and hung on.

“I quit,” Barb yelled. “Where is that ferry?” She pulled Kathy up and the two tramped forwards in search of either a shed, or a cave to hide in. There was none. They finally found a huge tree with thick foliage hanging over the trail. The huddled against the old tree, exhausted, cold, and lost. At least they felt lost, the ferry was only a few yards beyond them.

After a few minutes of catching their breath, they made a run for it, bursting out into a clearing. There was the boathouse and the ferry docked waiting for them. A moment later, and they were on board, again laughing at what had happened to them on this peaceful, beautiful, quiet little island. Not far behind them, the three young men appeared.

Sinking onto a bench beneath the awning, the five adventurers took a deep breath. Kathy and Barb looked at each other and began howling with laughter again, each wondering how the ride from Washington Island to the mainland would be tomorrow. Dared they even murmur the name Porte des Mortes--doorway to death.

They laughed again, hugged and both said, “sisters no matter what.”