MLive says: “Known as "The Big Spring," over 10,000 gallons per minute flow from Kitch-iti-kipi's limestone bed. Two-hundred feet across and 40-feet deep, it is Michigan's largest freshwater spring. Visitors can view the spring from a moving platform or from the shore. The water is a lovely color and the area is perfectly calm. That is, except for the tourists who are clamoring to experience the beauty here.”
July 1, 2019
According to the internet, “Kitch-iti-kipi” means “big cold water,” which is appropriate for the largest fresh water spring in the State of Michigan. The original name given to this site by indigenous people was “Mirror of Heaven,” which is also extremely appropriate given the placid water surface (I don’t know how accurate that is: like I said, the internet told me). One of the things I wanted to know most about this site was the history indigenous people had with it, but it’s really hard to find that kind of information. The DNR/State Parks Department didn’t have anything there about it, and the information online is super inconsistent.
Apparently a guy named John Bellaire “found” the spring and convinced a logging company to sell it to the State of Michigan for $10 in 1926, because he thought it should be used for recreation. Then he made up a bunch of Native American stories and legends to publicize the park, appropriating the cultures of multiple groups, so I really have no good source of information other than tracking down indigenous people who have ancestry tied to that area (and I don’t really know how to go about doing that). Quite frankly, knowing that was what happened at that site makes it a lot less magical to me.
Anyway…
Kitch-iti-kipi is a really beautiful place, and it would be far more beautiful and enjoyable if the State Parks Department limited the amount of people allowed to visit at once, and enforced better rules at the park. When I first saw the spring, it was truly magic. The water was bright turquoise-blue and perfectly still on the surface, allowing for crystal clear reflections of towering white cedar and white pine trees. It smelled like a coniferous paradise, and you could almost feel the chill coming off the water’s surface.
If you watch closely, you can see lake trout swimming beneath the surface. What is very suspicious though, is that lake trout don’t live in small inland springs: they live in massively deep lakes. While I wanted to find the aquatic giants charming, I knew that the State of Michigan was stocking these trout in the spring, which further ruined the magic for me. While listening to a DNR employee, I learned that there were about 200 mature lake trout in the spring that came from a stocking facility in Marquette, MI. They were old breeder fish, meaning that they had been used for their good genetics to breed fish for the federal stocking program in the Great Lakes. They were “retired,” so to say, and would finish their lives here.
Because lake trout don’t actually live in the spring, these fish had to be fed pellets twice a day, just like in a stocking facility. Unfortunately, my trip on the raft across the water hosted feeding time, and it was disgusting. The pellets smelled terrible, and I felt like their presence in the spring was on par with dumping pollutants into the water.
The most annoying part of all of this, were all of the absolutely terrible people making comments about fishing in the spring. One truly abhorrent conversation I overheard involved a man talking about how easy it would be to “pick a few of these off” for a good fish dinner, and a woman responding that they wouldn’t taste any good because they’ve been fed pellets their whole lives; the man concluded that the fish were “useless” if he couldn’t eat them. Apparently, that is the value that our society places on beautiful wild creatures. While these are stocked fish, a blanket worth was given to their entire species: if we can’t use them, they are worthless. It’s devastating to walk through the world and hear this sentiment echoed over and over again in our culture, and cultures in other parts of the world that I have visited. It ruins experiences for me time and time again to see life so easily tossed aside when it cannot serve someone, not to mention hearing comments about the people being inconvenienced by nature when they chose to come into nature.
While I hated that the state was stocking fish in this magical place, and that annoying people who had no appreciation for its magic were there making thoughtless comments, I did my best to tune them out and enjoy it. On my raft ride, I photographed the trout to showcase them as the beautiful and mysterious lake dwellers that they are; I watched sediment billow on the bottom of the spring as water rushed in through cracks in the bedrock; I breathed in coniferous gifts when the fish pellets were gone; I watched reflections in the water, more crisp than an actual mirror.
I tried not to raise controversial questions to the DNR employees, tried not to snap at the boy who kept telling us all he was bored, and tried ignore the people who refused to shut up and just listen to the sounds of being in a big forest on a calm spring.
I read the signs to learn about the spring, sent grateful thoughts to the water, and reminded myself that other people deserve to experience things even if they know nothing about them.
I wish people respected the land more.
The park around the spring is small: there is a gift shop, a picnic area, and some bathrooms. I walked around here for a little while, and noted how happy the delicate asters in the understory made me; but felt unsettled due to the quantity and attitude of people in the park. I didn’t stay long.
Kitch-iti-kipi is a beautiful spring. It is a treasure in the forest. It is so magical, and has the potential to be so much more magical if protected and preserved.
Some places are simply better left alone.
