Kitch-Iti-Kipi

Michigan’s Upper Peninsula is a spellbinding strip.

Cradled by three Great Lakes, the UP oozes confluence: water and land; tree and sky; solid rock and frolicking wildlife. Coming from the mitten, a traveler crosses the Straits of Mackinac, where Lakes Huron and Michigan meet, going over the Western Hemisphere’s longest suspension bridge between anchorages. US Route 2 traces Lake Michigan’s northern shore, with spectacular water views on the south and an orphic forest on the north. All the way north is an inland sea. Lake Superior has bottomless swells, Isle Royale National Park, and one of the grandest stretches of coast on the planet, Pictured Rocks.

The peninsula is full of fantastic Indigenous names, such as Manistique, Ishpeming, and Keweenaw.

Perhaps the best appellation belongs to a lesser-known gem just northwest of Manistique: Kitch-Iti-Kipi.

It glides off the tongue. Kitch-uh-tee-kip-ee. And the natural feature there rises sublimely to meet the grandeur of its name. From Anishinaabemowin, the Ojibwe language, the phrase means “big cold spring.” Sometimes called “The Big Spring,” “Mirror of Heaven,” or “The Blue Sky I See,” Kitch-Iti-Kipi is the largest natural, freshwater spring in Michigan and a geological marvel.

The view of Kitch-Iti-Kipi above might not scream “tourist attraction,” giving the appearance of just a picturesque pond in the woods.

But beauty at the Big Spring is not surface-level.

Nearby Manistique’s nickname is “The Emerald City,” a sobriquet likely rising from one of K-I-K’s defining attributes.

From above, a chromatic majesty:

Kitch-Iti-Kipi’s unique coloration hits immediately, but the other visual features might not be immediately apparent due to the perspectives inherent to photography.

The spring feeds a 300-foot-by-175-foot pool (91 meters by 53 meters) that is 40 feet deep (12 meters). The images above of the pool’s bottom are not taken from below the water’s surface. Fish, logs, and sediment appear with clarity thanks to the water’s incredible transparency.

More than 10,000 gallons of water pour into the pool every minute. It’s so much liquid that the reservoir remains near the temperature of the inrushing water year-round, 45 degrees Fahrenheit. This constant temperature, combined with a steady flow and natural filtration from the limestone below, helps keep the spring clear; algae and sediments have little chance to form clouds in such a system.

Peering 40 feet into a pool and seeing the bottom as if it were an arm’s length away is a sensory trip. The three types of trout – brook, brown, and lake – that prowl the water are enormous and plump, up to four feet long, thanks to a ban on fishing at the spring. The water is so clear that our brains trick us into thinking we could just reach under and grab them. Dead tree limbs, covered with lime, defy decomposition in such an environment; they lie in horizontal ghost forests. The sand at the bottom burbles like a constantly shifting mandala.

These views arrive thanks to a hand-powered raft connected to a wire that spans the pool.

The craft features an open interior, allowing a rider to almost feel like a diver.

Kitch-Iti-Kipi is the result of fascinating geology.

The top layer of land in this part of Michigan is glacial till. Below that stratum sit three slices from Earth’s past. Just under the till is the Burnt Bluff Formation, composed of dolomite bedrock. At the bottom is the Richmond Group. These two layers sandwich the Cataract Formation, which is made of gray dolomite and interbedded sheets of shale. The Cataract Formation is more susceptible to chemical alteration from groundwater than its neighbors. Rain and snowmelt seep through the glacial till into portions of the Cataract Formation that bend toward the surface. Over the ages, this water dissolved the compounds in the formation, crafting cracks, caves, and tunnels.

As more water arrives from the surface, the water below becomes pressurized. At some point, fissures in the Burnt Bluff formation developed under the present location of the spring. The pressurized water spurts through these holes, causing an underwater sandstorm and filling the pool.

Today, Kitich-Iti-Kipi resides within Palms Book State Park.

Though it was obviously known to Native Americans, its story after European discovery is a rare example of human altruism.

Despite an abundance of fresh water, humans did not naturally flock to it, probably due to high sulfur content. In the 1920s, a human named John Bellaire came across the pool, obfuscated by dense, tangled treefall. Nearby was a dump used by loggers, but the spring lay unknown to most people. He envisioned an attraction, believing the turquoise waters would bewitch visitors. Bellaire could have purchased the plot himself, hoping to make a fortune. Instead, he convinced Frank Palms, the owner of Palms Book Land Company, to divest Kitch-Iti-Kipi to the state of Michigan for $10. Included in the deed is the provision that the land “be forever used as a public park, bearing the name Palms Book State Park.”

Thanks to this good deed, any person can gaze upon The Blue Sky I See.

Perhaps because of its relatively remote location – Kitich-Iti-Kipi is a 4.5-hour drive from Milwaukee and six from Detroit – the spring does not feel overrun with tourists.

The line to board the raft is never long.

Though the features are inherently different, Kitich-Iti-Kipi almost feels like one of the geysers at Yellowstone, yet the spring will deliver superior solitude.

If you find yourself in the Upper Peninsula, head to the Big Spring and peer into the crystalline waters for a look at geology in action. Or, make it a destination!