Bayfield: Museum, Restaurant and Trails

Today was going to be a kayak Day for me along the Apostle Islands. Mother Nature had other plans. I didn’t want to be sitting in a kayak with driving rain trying to get photos as I paddled. I drove around the coast for a few hours stopping at state park entrances and boat launches hoping the weather would let up. I eventually gave up on the idea of kayaking, ceeding victory to some other power.

I found parking in a field behind the Maritime Museum, which let me avoid the two-hour parking limits and fees just a few blocks away. I usually prefer parking a little farther out anyway—it's a chance to get some extra steps in and keep the van out of the thick of things.

Bayfield, Wisconsin is a small town with deep roots along the shores of Lake Superior. It was named after Henry Bayfield, a British naval officer who mapped the Great Lakes in the early 1800s—part of a joint U.S.-British effort to chart the borderlands after the War of 1812. The town was primarily a fishing village in its early days, and that legacy still lingers. A few people still make their living fishing the big lake or working on boat repairs, ferry maintenance, and other water-related trades. The year-round population is only about 600, but that number grows several times over in the summer. Tourism now drives much of the economy, with visitors coming to see the Apostle Islands, explore the shoreline, and enjoy festivals like Apple Fest. The town has a relaxed, historic feel, with old Victorian homes, art galleries, and family-run shops lining the streets. It’s a place where the lake is never far from view—and where its presence is still part of everyday life.

Maritime Museum

All the restaurants in town were packed with lunchtime tourists, so I made my way over to the Bayfield Maritime Museum instead. It’s free to enter—funded entirely by donations—and while it’s not a large space, it’s absolutely packed with fascinating stories and artifacts from the region’s maritime past. The layout is smart and engaging, and it’s definitely kid-friendly. There are interactive exhibits, short videos, vintage navigation tools, and detailed maps showing old shipping routes. You’ll find everything from the history of commercial fishing on Lake Superior to the evolution of hull construction and how the big lake’s unpredictable weather led to countless accidents and shipwrecks. One section highlights life aboard the old fishing tugs, complete with tools, gear, and personal stories. Also, over the past few decade much research has gone into bringing back various trout and salmon to the region.

A couple of local volunteers were rotating through while I was there—retired folks who clearly know their stuff and were more than happy to answer questions about the maritime industry in Bayfield and beyond. I spent close to two hours wandering through the exhibits and honestly could’ve stayed longer. The deeper I got into the stories, the more I appreciated just how much the lake has shaped this town and the people who’ve lived here. As I wrapped up my visit and reached the last exhibit, my stomach started reminding me it was time to find something to eat.

Lieutenant Henry Wolsey Bayfield was in charge of the surveyors in the area. There a quote in the museum from Bayfield that states, I had not room, even for a mattress, but slept, in all weather, in the boat, or on the shore upon a buffalo robe under the boats main sale thrown over a few branches placed on the ground. Many a night have I slept out in this way when thethermometer was down to near zero, and sometimes even below it. Yet even this was not so wearing as trying to sleep in vain, in the warm nights of the summer ellipse in the smoke of a fire to keep off the clouds of mosquitoes, which literally darken the air. — 1812.

Manypenny Bistro

I walked around the corner to the van, dropped off my camera, and grabbed my MacBook. Manypenny Bistro was right behind me, and by now it was after 2 p.m.—the lunchtime rush had mostly cleared out. The setup there is a little unusual. There’s an indoor dining area and a separate enclosed outdoor porch, but the two spaces aren’t connected. I walked into the porch section first, where a woman with her three kids was waiting for a table. I asked her how things worked, and she pointed me to the main entrance through the other door.

Once inside, someone quickly told me I could sit anywhere, so I found a spot and got settled. I ordered the blackened trout, which came with beans and rice, a mix of cauliflower and broccoli, and a side of fries. The trout had a smoky, spicy flavor—tasty enough, though it wouldn’t be winning any awards anytime soon. I also treated myself to a rare afternoon beer and got to work on some writing. By the time I looked up an hour later, the place had quieted down, with only a few people lingering at nearby tables.

The Streets

I walked the streets—or should I say the hills—of Bayfield, taking in the town’s charm and stopping to capture some of its architecture, even as the rain came and went.

Old Rittenhouse Inn

One of the standout homes is a grand Victorian mansion built in 1890, known as The Rittenhouse, now a bed and breakfast. It was originally built by Charles Rittenhouse, a prominent local businessman involved in banking and shipping during Bayfield’s late 19th-century boom. At the time, the town was thriving on logging, fishing, and ore shipments across Lake Superior.

In the 1970s, the house was lovingly restored by Mary and Jerry Phillips, who transformed it into Wisconsin’s first country inn and fine dining restaurant. Today, the Old Rittenhouse Inn remains one of Bayfield’s most recognized landmarks—for its elegance, its history, and its place in the local tourism scene. As I continued walking, I later spotted Jeff and Denise on their way to dinner there, a fitting end to their day in this lakeside town.

Carnegie Library

I stopped by the Bayfield Carnegie Library, a small brownstone building with a long set of steps leading up to the entrance. Inside, the librarian told me that the Carnegie Foundation had offered $10,000 to build the library—on the condition that the town matched the funds. This was part of Andrew Carnegie’s nationwide initiative in the early 1900s to help establish public libraries, something I’ve seen echoed in other towns across the country. I remembered touring another, much larger Carnegie library in Columbus, Ohio, earlier in my travels.

The Bayfield library had a cozy feel, with high ceilings and a fireplace along one wall. Above the mantel was a portrait of Carnegie, and off to the side, I noticed a painting of Kurt Vonnegut. I recognized it immediately—I’d visited the Vonnegut Museum in Indianapolis about a month ago. When I mentioned it to the librarian, she admitted she’d never read Vonnegut but said her father-in-law had just given her one of his books a few weeks earlier. “I really do need to sit down and read that,” she said with a smile.

Big Ravine

After leaving the museum, I walked down the hill to where I had parked the day before. I remembered seeing what looked like a pond above and decided to check it out. As I started up the path, a woman noticed my camera and said, “You’re going to get some good photos in there.” That sealed it—I made my way into the Big Ravine area, a beautiful natural space tucked right into the heart of Bayfield.

I ended up walking about two miles, stopping often to take photos. The light was a bit dark, with dark clouds overhead filtering the sun and creating rich contrast among the trees and foliage. I started on the Gil Larsen Nature Trail, which follows a small stream through a wooded ravine. The trail is well-maintained and easy to follow, with footbridges, small climbs, and plenty of places to pause and take it all in. I then connected to the Sweeny Switchback, a newer trail that gently zigzags up the hill, offering some nice elevation and views back down into the ravine.

At the top, I crossed the renovated Iron Bridge, now a pedestrian-only walkway. It’s a great vantage point and a key piece of Bayfield’s trail network, linking the wooded trails below with the quiet streets above. Just as I reached the other side, I heard someone call out—Jeff and Denise had spotted me, coming across the bridge.

Sweet & Salty

I wandered into Sweet & Salty, a small shop selling candy, nuts, and ice cream. A few people were ahead of me in line, clutching bags of candy and buzzing with energy—thin, jittery, and clearly riding a sugar high. The shop’s website lists a variety of classic ice cream flavors, but in person, double chocolate was the only one that looked remotely normal to me. The rest leaned a little too far into the novelty zone (think bubble-gum).

By 9:30 p.m. I wondered back to the van and headed to my spot in the wood 15 minutes away. I would fall asleep to the sound of rain on the van roof.