Bridging the Straits

by Heather Steinberger

Fifteen years ago, I traveled from my home in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, to the Straits of Mackinac for a very special project. Not only was I exploring the area for a Lakeland Boating feature assignment, the St. Ignace Chamber of Commerce had arranged for me to take a tour of the Mackinac Bridge.

This wasn’t any old run-of-the-mill tour. It was a “tower tour,” a highly unusual adventure that would take me to the top of the south tower. I was quaking inside, although I wasn’t sure if that was due to excitement or nerves.

On that sunny June day, I squeezed into a Mackinac Bridge Authority pickup truck with representatives from the authority and the chamber, and we motored onto the 5-mile-long span. As we joined the traffic heading south to Mackinaw City, I craned my neck to get a better look at the towers, soaring 552 feet above the straits.

I was raised in the northern Great Lakes, so the 1957 bridge was a friendly, familiar presence to me, but I’d never considered standing on top of it.

The idea of building a bridge to connect Michigan’s upper and lower peninsulas dates to the latter half of the 19th century. In 1884, the Lansing Republican advised readers that existing year-round boat service across the straits was a failure. It was expensive and unreliable. Eventually, a bridge or tunnel would be necessary.

The board of directors for the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island agreed. According to the Mackinac Bridge Authority, when the board met for the first time in 1888, Cornelius Vanderbilt observed the need for a bridge as well.

Yet decades would pass before this vision would become reality. In 1923, the Michigan Legislature ordered the State Highway Department to establish a state car ferry service instead.

Ferry traffic became so heavy within the first five years, Gov. Fred Green ordered a bridge feasibility study. Then, in 1934, the legislature created the Mackinac Straits Bridge Authority of Michigan.

Unfortunately, these were Great Depression years. Although the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and even President Franklin D. Roosevelt were in favor of a bridge project, the Federal Emergency Administration of Public Works denied the bridge authority’s applications. That organization disbanded in 1947.

Bridge backers wouldn’t be dissuaded. The new Mackinac Bridge Authority took shape in 1950 and began its work.

In the meantime, the Michigan State Car Ferries chugged back and forth, carrying locals, tourists, students, hunters and commerce. In their 34 years of service, the ferries transported roughly 12 million vehicles and more than 30 million passengers across the straits.

The bridge authority representative opened a coffee-table-size hatch in the steel side of the south tower’s east leg. Clambering through, I found myself in a tiny, dark space that accommodated the tower’s elevator.

“Elevator” proved to be a generous word. The lift’s footprint was the size of three couch cushions, and the three of us had just enough space to squish inside before beginning our rattling ascent.

We soon came to a stop and, one by one, departed the tiny lift for the innards of the Mackinac Bridge tower, hundreds of feet above the water. It was a warren of steel cubicles, all with oval hatches in their sides. Some featured openings in their tops and bottoms as well.

It didn’t take much imagination to envision getting lost in this labyrinth. Fortunately, light bulbs lit the way to the ladder we needed to climb. I ducked and scrambled, finally spotting a sign with an arrow and handwritten lettering that advised, “This way up.”

Construction on what would become affectionately known as the Mighty Mac or Big Mac began in 1954. Dr. David B. Steinman designed the 5-mile bridge, including approaches and the world’s longest suspension-bridge span between cable anchorages. Then, the largest bridge construction fleet ever assembled converged on the straits.

After more than two years, more than 3,500 workers and nearly $100 million, the new Mackinac Bridge opened to traffic on November 1, 1957, marking the end of the car ferry era. Despite the downsides of ferry travel, many former passengers were sad about its demise.

There definitely were downsides. In the “Historical Michigan” Facebook group, Terry Schultz wrote, “Once the straits were so rough, the furniture moved in the waiting area.”

Georgia Woodruff remembered how she and her family “waited, and waited, and waited — the line of traffic stretched out of town.” Francis Williams shared, “My grandfather would leave for a beer and be able to find the car hours later. (It) had barely moved.”

The hours-long lines could be especially challenging in November, when thousands of deer hunters were on the move. Greg Schihl recalled how they would “get there a day early, and camp in line with their cars.”

Yet the wait also was part of the experience. Ann Tranzow shared, “It was so much fun… not tailgating, but very similar party time.” Paul Matthew Espo wrote, “I remember buying smoked chubs from vendors while waiting in line.”

Indeed, vendors would walk along the line of cars, selling everything from smoked fish and pickled herring to hot Cornish pasties. And, for many passengers, the car ferry trip might be their first or only experience aboard a ship.

“In 1953, me and a buddy after finishing grade school were treated to a trip to St. Ignace,” remembered Joe Brewer. “It was a total adventure.” On the Facebook page “Northern Michigan Photo Postcards - Our History and Heritage,” page administrator Don Harrison noted that the beloved 350-foot icebreaker Vacationland had the distinction of making the last official ferry crossing on that November day in 1957.

“Missing this opportunity, sadly,” he wrote. “It was before my time, since I was 3 years old.”

Helen Bloss wrote simply, “Rode those ferries many times. Loved them. Sorry they’re gone.”

The ladder shot straight upward through a steel tube that was vaguely reminiscent of scenes in submarine movies. As I grasped the first rung, I quickly realized the last time I’d climbed a ladder likely was in grade school.

My entire existence became centered on each rung, one at a time. Hand, hand, foot, foot. And again. And again. Don’t look down, don’t look up.

Our bridge authority host went ahead to open the hatch, our access to what felt like the top of the world. My dim surroundings gradually brightened, and with one more pull, I hoisted myself through that opening and popped out on top of the Mackinac Bridge.

Grasping the railing that separated me from the abyss, I could see Lake Michigan to the west, St. Ignace and Upper Michigan to the north, Lake Huron to the east, and Mackinac City and Lower Michigan to the south.

Below me, the bridge deck crawled with countless tiny vehicles, ants from this distance.Below them, I knew the tower piers plunged to 142 feet below the surface. At the bridge’s midspan, these waters are an astonishing 295 feet deep; the gorge creates the rushing currents for which the straits are well-known.

Kim Nowack has worked for the Mackinac Bridge Authority since 2002. She started as chief engineer and now serves as bridge director.

“The bridge carried 12 million vehicles across the straits in the first eight years,” she says. “That’s as many vehicles as the car ferries carried in more than three decades. It took an hour to get across the straits back then. Now, it takes 15 minutes.”

What does that mean for Michiganders? Increased commerce and tourism, for starters, but the bridge also has become a destination in its own right.

“We do a lot of vehicle events, like crossings for Jeeps, Broncos and Corvettes,” Nowack explains. “This summer, thousands of Mini owners are going to try to set a world record.”

The event, scheduled for August 4 – 5, is called Mini on the Mack. At press time, organizers already had received nearly 300 registrations, and they’re expecting more than 1,300.

You don’t have to drive across the bridge, however. You can also walk it, thanks to the Annual Bridge Walk on Labor Day weekend.

“It’s a big deal to close I-75 for pedestrians, so we only do it once a year,” Nowack advises.

In 1958, 68 walkers participated in the free event. These days, that number usually hovers between 40,000 to 65,000, although 85,000 walkers descended on the bridge in 1992 when President George H.W. Bush made the crossing.

A tower tour is also possible, although it’s a bit trickier to arrange. You have to apply for a Tower Tour Certificate.

“Once a year, we hold a drawing and randomly choose 25 nonprofit organizations to receive a certificate that can be raffled or auctioned for charity,” Nowack explains. “The winner will receive a certificate for two people.”

It’s an experience the winner will never forget.

The wind buffeted me as I stared at the enormous green cables sweeping down from the tower. There are 42,000 miles of wire in these 24.5-inch-diameter cables — 12,580 wires in each — and all together the cables weigh 11,840 tons.

Then it really hit me. I was standing on top of what is now the fifth-longest suspension bridge in the world. For a split second, I thought about clinging to the steel in a full-body hug. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to sear every detail into my memory.

All too soon, it was time to clamber back into that little porthole and make our return journey down the ladder tube, through the maze of steel cubes, into the breathless box of an elevator, and out the side hatch onto the bridge deck.

As our truck returned northbound toward St. Ignace, I gazed out the rear window, catching one last glimpse of that distant tower top. This is so much more than a bridge, I thought.

The Mighty Mac fundamentally changed life for people living on both sides of the straits, as well as for those who needed to traverse this corner of the Great Lakes. And it still makes a lasting impression on those who visit, whether you’re in a car, on foot, or discovering the views on top of a tower.

It’s recognizable, it’s transformational — and perhaps most of all, like the car ferries that came before it, it’s loved. It has become an icon.