I heard a perhaps (probably) apocryphal story the other day, concerning a National Geographic crew’s trip to the island in the late 1960s. Their mission: a story on Schoolhouse Beach, a natural wonder of pale, burnished limestone rocks and the island’s sole swimming beach. As the story goes, though, the islanders weren’t too keen on the prospect of national magazine-style attention. So someone got on the horn to the ferry captain and–goes the story–had the boat turned around halfway across Death’s Door. I can’t find any verification of this, of course. But I did dig up this piece, on Door County in general, from the March ’69 issue of the magazine.

The appearance of interviews with several islanders points to an ultimately successful research trip, though I suppose they could have been conducted by phone. What’s fascinating here, though–in addition to some excitingly baroque turns of phrase–is how on point the description is, still, of Door County life. Tourists still flock to Door County for fish boils. Divers still brave the Porte des Mortes water in search of shipwreck. The Packers still dominate all news media, all the time. (Especially now. For crying out loud, people–let the man play or kick him to the curb, but get on with it.) On Saturday night I sat outside the rec center and watched teenagers in miscellaneous Scandinavian costumes hop their way–with apparent good cheer–through a bunch of folk dances as part of the 60th annual Scandinavian Festival. 

Honestly, it’s a little freaky.