12/28/11 THREE EAGLES, AND A NORTHWOODS OZYMANDIAS

BALD EAGLE..CAN YOU FIND IT?

A RUSTIC CAMPGROUND

MADELINE ISLAND AS SEEN FROM CAMPGROUND

CITY CAMPGROUND

Wednesday, 8:00 AM.  20 degrees, wind WSW, light.  The sky is overcast with high gray clouds and the barometer predicts snow, which many Bafieldians are pining for, either because they are cross country skiers, or because they are worried about a changing climate.  I assure them that by May they will have experienced all the winter they could possibly wish for. 
    Yesterday I had the opportunity to spend some time in Dalrymple Park, a city campground on the lakeshore on Bayfield’s north side.  I investigated some hazardous trees for winter take down, and must admit I had little visited the park before.  It is very rustic, iindeed naturalistic, a fact attested to by three eagles which flew out of the conifers along the lake shore as Buddy and I approached.  There were two adults and one very large juvenile, the three probably being a family unit.
The park is named after a 19th century Bayfield booster and developer, who invested in land and railroad schemes that he thought would elevate the young community on the shores of Lake Superior to the status of other burgeoning cities on the Great Lakes, and in the process secure his fortune.  In true real estate over-statement, he called Bayfield “The New Chicago,” and when the railroad finally arrived he envisioned Bayfield as a major transportation hub of the nation, connecting the young city to the world via the Great Lakes.  He also promoted Bayfield being renamed “Dalrymple,” in honor of his far-reaching vision of influence, wealth and prestige for himself and the his city.
    Ironically, the rustic campground is the only monument to this Northwoods Ozymandias and  his schemes and dreams.

Ozymandias
            by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

      I met a traveler from an antique land
      Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
      Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
      Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
      And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
      Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
      Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
      The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
      And on the pedestal these words appear:
      “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
      Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
      Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
      Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
      The lone and level sands stretch far away.