It was 1900 AD. Frank and his kind of retriever Duke were sitting in his small boat on Lake Michigamme near Champion Michigan, a small town in the UP.
It was a cool October Sunday morning, Frank's only day off from the iron mines. Across his lap was his double barreled Damascus 12 gauge shotgun.
He paid 2 dollars for it. A rich Detroit hunter sold it to him saying that Damascus barrels were too weak for the new smokeless gunpowder.
Frank considered himself lucky to get such a fine gun. He didn't care that he had to use black powder shells. Sitting there, he had 10 H.M.C. Co. Black Club No. 12 in his coat pocket.
He had shot down 3 ducks already and hope to get one more for a good morning shoot.
His boat was near the shore, partially under some low tree limbs on the edge of a swampy part of Lake Michigamme. Being October, there was a lot of ducks flying in and he was sure he would get that last one and he would head home nearby.
It was a small 3 room log cabin (one of the old logger homes) that he had renovated and made snug for his wife and 3 children. His first born, a girl was now 10 years old and was a real help to his wife and he was so proud of his 2 sons that he was sure would follow him and work at the Champion Iron Mine.
Champion was a real bustling community of 2500 about 30 miles West of Marquette. Now that was a city Frank thought.
The mine company had brought a lot of people to Champion Frank thought and he was hoping that maybe one day, Champion would be as large as Marquette.
Right then, another flock of ducks were quacking their way into the swampy area. Duke lifted his head and sniffed the wind. Frank slowly lifted his gun and started leading the lead duck. Boom! Down went the duck and Duke leaped from the boat even before Frank could say a word.
Frank opened his gun and flipped out the empty shell that landed in the lake.
Duke had already made it to the duck and with that soft mouth retrievers have, brought the duck back to the boat and to Frank.
A good shooting morning Frank thought. I can have the kids gut and pluck the ducks for their winter food supply.
Frank, who lived near the rocky ridge that ran along the main road had used a few sticks of dynamite from the mine company and made a 10X10 foot hole in the rock and after facing it with native stone had a great place
to store all his food. It was only about 20 feet from the cabin and with it staying cool in the rock, he saved money and didn't have to buy the ice that a few business' had cut from the lake.
He had even taken some tin roofing that was from an old abandoned house nearby and covered the door. Dang pesty bears had torn the old wood door off and raided his food supply. Well one bear had made a great contribution to his food supply. No more. The tin covering had made it almost impossible for pests getting his food.
Frank and Duke slowly approached the shore. Frank tied up the boat and him and Duke headed for home.
It was a good day Frank thought.
2011 AD. It was a beautiful October day for Tim and Emma, his German Shepherd as they walked down the beach on the East end of Lake Michigamme. Nearby was the motor home that he and his wife and 3 dogs were vacationing in. October was a good time to use the state parks of Michigan. There was maybe 4 or 5 other campers in this park of about 150 sites.
Tim had his camera at the ready. The fall colors of orange and brown and reds were all along the native stone ridge across the highway.
Tim had already got some pictures of a train hauling car after car of logs that went through the sleepy town of Champion with a population of about 250 souls and then heading to the mills. There was a small cove a short way away that was kind of swampy and he had heard ducks quacking to each other there. He was hoping to get close enough to get a picture or two of them as well. He didn't hold much hope in that what with big mouth Emma along with him.
But he was enjoying the quiet of the day and the beauty of the fall colors.
Walking along the lake edge he happened to look down at his feet and saw what looked like the end of a shotgun shell stuck in the sand.
Reaching down, he picked it up and discovered it was only the metal end of the shell. Tim thought that it was probably the end of an old paper shot gun shell and the paper had rotted away in the water.
Wiping it off and peering closer he was able to see what the print was on the shell.
It read, U.M.C. CO NO.12 and BLACK CLUB around its edge.
Tim wondered how long that shell had been in the water and what a coincidence that he found it at this time.
Another day or so there was a good chance that the shell would have been buried it in the sand.
He wrapped in a piece of paper towel and tucked it in his shirt pocket.
Tim and Emma started back to the motor home and to have lunch with the family.
It was a good day Tim thought.
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