If you have ever visited my hometown of Marquette—especially downtown Marquette—you most likely have seen the large structure that protrudes into Marquette harbor. Many of you may know exactly what this structure is but for those who don’t, please allow me to enlighten you.
This imposing structure—roughly 85 feet tall, 70 feet wide, and 1000 feet long—is known as an ore dock. Ore docks are used to load iron ore from mines further inland into ore boats, a term that can be deceiving since the word boat is often equated with a small craft. An ore boat, for all intents and purposes, is a ship.
There are very few, perhaps less than a half-dozen of these docks on the planet, and Marquette has two of them. The dock at the northern—or upper—harbor is still in operation. The downtown dock in the lower harbor ceased operation in 1971.
In recent weeks I have been looking over old photos of this dock—and more specifically photos of it during its construction. I had never seen these images and I must admit that I was impressed with the process of such an undertaking. The engineering is marvelous and the primitive (by today's standards) equipment used to put it together is a thing to behold.
These photos took me back to the days when my friends and I were invincible, otherwise known as middle-school.
By this time the dock had been closed for almost a decade, and any access to it had been gated off with stern warning signs threatening those who dare trespass. Of course such signs read like open invitations to boys our age. We determined that if we really weren’t supposed to go out on the dock, the railroad that owned it would have done a better job securing it. The gate was easily pried open to a point that would allow us to slip through.
From there we had to carefully walk the wooden timbers of the trestle-like approach some 150 feet to the dock. On the dock it was wide enough to drive a truck down both sides so there was no need to be cautious but there was a chance we would be spotted out there, so we opted to explore the interior instead.
What an amazing place. High above our heads the upper portion of the dock had the appearance of a huge cathedral ceiling stretching out 1000 feet ahead of us. Concrete columns ten feet wide with equal-sized gaps between them allowed the daylight to stream in illuminating octagonal pools of water fifteen feet across, spaced three or four feet apart, along the entire length of the floor. These pools were actually openings in the dock exposing the lake water underneath.
At the end of the dock there was another trestle-like structure that housed a staircase leading to the top. There was no point in walking all this way without finding out if we could get on top.
Up the stairs we climbed.
Many of the treads were severely rotted. Several were missing completely, even whole series of them where we would have to stretch our legs out so we could walk on the stringers that once supported the now absent treads. It looked very much like every treacherous set of ancient stairs in every adventure movie ever made.
The top of the dock was a world unto itself. Wide, flat and vacant. Huge planks and railroad tracks covered the surface. Rows of light posts stood sentinel along each edge. The rusting hulk of a machine that looked like its job was to shake the ore out of the rail cars was the only thing that remained on the otherwise empty deck.
Looking back toward shore, the city took on an alien appearance. Seeing it from this forbidden view made it all seem foreign. It was a view that would tempt us back many times over the years and each time the stairway at the end became more treacherous.
The last time I climbed it I was old enough to know better. In the mid 90’s a group of us decided to make our ascent one last time. I’m glad that I did. A few years later the entire approach to the dock was removed, along with the deck and the trestle work at the end.
The view from the top is a memory I will never forget.
Waye Braver can be contacted on Facebook or by e-mail at waye@braverinstitute.com
Visit the Braver Institute at www.braverinsitute.com
This imposing structure—roughly 85 feet tall, 70 feet wide, and 1000 feet long—is known as an ore dock. Ore docks are used to load iron ore from mines further inland into ore boats, a term that can be deceiving since the word boat is often equated with a small craft. An ore boat, for all intents and purposes, is a ship.
There are very few, perhaps less than a half-dozen of these docks on the planet, and Marquette has two of them. The dock at the northern—or upper—harbor is still in operation. The downtown dock in the lower harbor ceased operation in 1971.
In recent weeks I have been looking over old photos of this dock—and more specifically photos of it during its construction. I had never seen these images and I must admit that I was impressed with the process of such an undertaking. The engineering is marvelous and the primitive (by today's standards) equipment used to put it together is a thing to behold.
These photos took me back to the days when my friends and I were invincible, otherwise known as middle-school.
By this time the dock had been closed for almost a decade, and any access to it had been gated off with stern warning signs threatening those who dare trespass. Of course such signs read like open invitations to boys our age. We determined that if we really weren’t supposed to go out on the dock, the railroad that owned it would have done a better job securing it. The gate was easily pried open to a point that would allow us to slip through.
From there we had to carefully walk the wooden timbers of the trestle-like approach some 150 feet to the dock. On the dock it was wide enough to drive a truck down both sides so there was no need to be cautious but there was a chance we would be spotted out there, so we opted to explore the interior instead.
What an amazing place. High above our heads the upper portion of the dock had the appearance of a huge cathedral ceiling stretching out 1000 feet ahead of us. Concrete columns ten feet wide with equal-sized gaps between them allowed the daylight to stream in illuminating octagonal pools of water fifteen feet across, spaced three or four feet apart, along the entire length of the floor. These pools were actually openings in the dock exposing the lake water underneath.
At the end of the dock there was another trestle-like structure that housed a staircase leading to the top. There was no point in walking all this way without finding out if we could get on top.
Up the stairs we climbed.
Many of the treads were severely rotted. Several were missing completely, even whole series of them where we would have to stretch our legs out so we could walk on the stringers that once supported the now absent treads. It looked very much like every treacherous set of ancient stairs in every adventure movie ever made.
The top of the dock was a world unto itself. Wide, flat and vacant. Huge planks and railroad tracks covered the surface. Rows of light posts stood sentinel along each edge. The rusting hulk of a machine that looked like its job was to shake the ore out of the rail cars was the only thing that remained on the otherwise empty deck.
Looking back toward shore, the city took on an alien appearance. Seeing it from this forbidden view made it all seem foreign. It was a view that would tempt us back many times over the years and each time the stairway at the end became more treacherous.
The last time I climbed it I was old enough to know better. In the mid 90’s a group of us decided to make our ascent one last time. I’m glad that I did. A few years later the entire approach to the dock was removed, along with the deck and the trestle work at the end.
The view from the top is a memory I will never forget.
Waye Braver can be contacted on Facebook or by e-mail at waye@braverinstitute.com
Visit the Braver Institute at www.braverinsitute.com
This piece first appeared in the February 13th, 2014 edition of the Pioneer Tribune, a weekly newspaper from Manistique, Michigan. Please visit their website: www.pioneertribune.com
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