Mount Curwood: Michigan’s High Point by 12 Centimetres?

Mount Curwood is a peculiar state-highpoint problem. A differential-GNSS survey on 26–27 October 2024 measured its highest natural ground at 603.3 metres (1,979.3 ft) and Mount Arvon at 603.2 metres (1,978.9 ft). The difference is only about 0.4 ft, or 12 centimetres, but on those measurements Curwood is higher.

For decades Mount Arvon had been recognized as Michigan’s highest natural point after a 1982 USGS field survey placed it roughly a foot above Curwood. The question reopened when 2015 LiDAR data showed the two summits almost level. Eric Gilbertson’s later dGNSS survey produced the newer figures now used by Peakbagger.

Recognition is less tidy than the measurements. At the time of writing in August 2026, Michigan DNR was still describing Mount Arvon as Michigan’s highest natural elevation, and the Highpointers Club still recognized Arvon rather than Curwood. In other words, the newer survey puts Curwood higher, while important official and highpointing sources have not adopted that change. That disagreement made the obvious solution for my visit simple: go to both.

One of the decisive details in the survey is surprisingly physical. The benchmark at Arvon sits on a concrete pillar about 7 inches above the surrounding natural ground, while Curwood’s benchmark is essentially flush with the ground and nearby natural bedrock rises about 8.5 inches higher. Comparing the actual highest natural points rather than the tops of the monuments helps explain why the newer result differs from the long-established ranking.

Smoke, then shortcuts

I drove north from Racine, Wisconsin, with a long day on the road ahead, but I was in a particularly good mood. I was finally travelling again, and the next target was a state highpoint. Passing Milwaukee, I was impressed by the amount of smoke. Visibility looked to be only a couple of hundred metres in places. The smoke was apparently coming from wildfires somewhere around the Canada–US border, though exactly which side depended on which news report one listened to. It was a slightly surreal start to a trip I had been looking forward to.

Coming north from Green Bay, I made the obvious decision to take the first tempting shortcut towards Curwood instead of continuing past L'Anse and approaching from the northwest. It was not entirely a bad decision. The route was interesting. It was also slower than simply driving the extra distance on the normal approach.

The shortcut began with a wide stream that went well enough, followed by a muddy ravine where I got stuck and needed several attempts to escape. Then came a much larger stream crossing, roughly knee deep with big rocks on the bottom. The wheels kept slipping between them, and I spent perhaps half an hour getting through. At one point I climbed out and rearranged surrounding stones into an improvised bridge. The water stayed below the engine and eventually the car made it across.

About 500 metres later I found a fallen tree blocking the road.

That meant turning around, crossing the same stream again and repairing my little stone bridge for a second passage. I was mostly pleased to get out under my own power. The prospect of walking 10 or 20 miles for help did not sound especially attractive.

Back on the forest-road maze, I tried another route, then another. Eventually one worked. I reached the Curwood trailhead and discovered that the hiking portion of the day was almost comic in comparison with the drive: perhaps 50 to 100 metres along old vehicle tracks.

The summit itself was a small wooded clearing with a marker on a tree, the benchmark and no view at all. There were also impressive numbers of mosquitoes. Curwood had only recently become the higher summit in the modern survey data and did not appear to receive many visitors, which left me wondering what exactly all those mosquitoes had been eating before the survey debate sent more highpointers this way.

The lack of scenery made the survey story more interesting than the summit panorama. Mount Curwood has 289 metres of prominence and nearly 198 kilometres of isolation, but visually the highest point is simply a patch of Upper Peninsula forest. Its significance is measured in centimetres, not drama.

Plan Min and Plan Max

Curwood completed Plan Min. Plan Max was to visit Mount Arvon as well. A difference of about 10 or 12 centimetres is not much in ordinary life, and with the recognition question still unsettled, visiting both summits was the only version that would make me sleep better.

So I tried another shortcut.

I had already read a report saying that a driving track towards Arvon was blocked by a downed tree. I nevertheless hoped somebody might have cut it since then. They had not. I turned around again, drove perhaps another 10 or 20 miles back and finally took the regular road. This time I ignored the voice suggesting further shortcuts. The normal approach was a quite good gravel road.

Mount Arvon immediately looked more like an established state highpoint. There were signs, a visitor register, a picnic area and a viewpoint through the trees. After Curwood’s enclosed summit, even one open direction felt generous.

Arvon’s viewpoint was modest, but it was still a view, something Curwood’s enclosed forest summit did not provide.

The visit also made the 12-centimetre distinction easier to appreciate. The 2024 survey puts Curwood higher, but Arvon still carries the physical traces of having been Michigan’s recognized highpoint for more than four decades, and major institutions still treat it that way. Visiting both on the same day felt like the sensible way to handle a distinction this small.

After the two summits I continued towards Superior, stopped for a quick dinner and spent the night in a parking lot. Plan Min and Plan Max were both done. For a mountain with a summit walk of perhaps 50 metres, Mount Curwood had managed to produce a remarkably long access story.