(The Isle Royale blathering begins here)
Day 3 started out sunny and calm. The forecast was for nothing much either (this was the first day I did not hate the VHF). And, best of all, there was a prediction for at least two days of easterly winds - ie. tailwinds. This was good news for us, since the klepper is a much bigger fan of tailwinds than headwinds. And thus Hart - who proclaims himself to not be a fan of big crossings - proposed that we skip the Siskiwit Bay campsite and cut across the big bay itself and get back to where we would be if there had not been a wind day. I should note that the guidebook says doom! gloom! foolish! about this crossing, but I also take guidebooks with a salt lick. They say doom and gloom about everything that is fun. They are in cahoots with the VHF.
(And before you get all huffy on me here: please note that I do not take silly risks. I know what my limits are, and I stop well before I approach them. I just realize that guidebooks are written on the conservative side. They are like trail signage that says two hours, but omits to mention that that is if you smell every daisy you find and test every bench you sit on. What the sea kayaking guidebooks describe as "full day trip" can be achieved well before lunch too. Just saying.)
So, back to the non-guidebook-recommended crossing of Siskiwit Bay, and our flat as glass water at 8:30 a.m. 
CDT on Day 3. We decided we'd go for it. And then I went. And that was the last I saw of Hart and Ray for six or seven hours. My crossing was easy. I rounded Point Houghton, and there was the predicted tailwind. I puttered, I putzed, and I piddled... and I landed at Atwood beach by 11:15. This was the beach was covered with fresh wolf tracks. We were in the wilderness camping part of our trip - no outhouses, tent pads, picnic tables, plaque of rules, or dock. The only rule that I knew was, camp on the beach (and Ray later told us the no campfire rule too).
It was a bit gloomy when I first got there. Atwood Beach is a big beach, it was windswept, the sun was flirting with the clouds and having a period of shyness, I was a bit cold, and there was no focal point for camp. I walked up and 
down the beach and decided on a gully with lots of flat stones and convenient deadwood for a kitchen focus. Then, knowing that where I was would not be that easy to spot, I planted my salvaged flag as a marker (I'm sure it is against the rules, flying a non -US flag as a marker here. But I did it anyway. It marked the spot. And it was pretty.) Then I started to climb all over the deadwood to hang a tarp - it looked like a chance of rain, but more than that, I wanted a windbreak.
I was done with the tarp and puttering about with flat stones for a patio when Hart and Ray showed up. They clearly approved of the shelter/patio idea, because - while still in their wetsuits - got to work on helping. Hart pulled out a huge piece of canvas which we bungied to the bottom of my tarp to make the shelter complete. Then we did some heavy duty landscaping for the flat patio, and Ray and I lugged flat stones which Hart placed. I don't know which was more uncomfortable: being bitten by irate sand fleas while wearing shorts, or digging in the sand in a wetsuit. I think I'll take my fleabites...
By the time the shelter was done, the sky was clear. And the most wonderful afternoon of the trip followed. Ray puttered in the shelter. Hart disappeared on an exploratory walk. I relished trundling up and down the beach in bare feet (a first - and only - for this trip). Ray swam (I did not. 
Still no desire to be a new man, or man in general), Hart said later he did too, in a secluded bit of water on his walk. I read my book. I drank a beer. I listened to the waves. I felt like I really truly was on Superior. Wilderness camping is better than backcountry campgrounds. The afternoon and evening were magic, even if I did not get to see a wolf as I'd hoped. I checked the next day - the wolves came nowhere near the beach while we were there. Which would have made the getting up at night and wandering about 
the beach a bit a waste, except it wasn't, it was wonderful. I even took a picture by moonlight. I finally felt that relaxed backcountry feeling, when all is right with the world. If we'd been winded in at Atwood, I would not have been upset.