So even after disgorging my entire experience in blog form, it actually took me a little while to come up with what can best describe my trip, and it makes me want to go back.
For a few days, I forgot it was 2020.
Tuesday, September 22, 2020
Tuesday, September 8, 2020
Boundary Waters Pt4
The awkward part about sleeping in a hammock is getting out in the middle of the night because your bladder is as old as the rest of you. Opening the mosquito net and finding your footwear are all easy things when you can see. Either way, I slept like a dream. I felt amazing that morning, and leftovers for breakfast made it much nicer.
It was the best camp site we had seen so far, but we needed to move on. We headed due east, our maps telling us there was a narrow waterway we could cut through rather than going around an island. When we reached it, we discovered that it was not, in fact, a waterway. It was the shortest portage I'd seen: as soon as I stood up off the boat I could see the other side. My boat, along with Noma and Ron, simply carried our canoes the short distance and put back in. The other two boats went around.
After meeting up, we found an empty camp site, but didn't set up. We stopped for lunch while another boat continued forward to see if we could find something better. Within an hour (I wasn't really timing it), they radioed back having found the perfect spot on the southern tip of Clarke island. We gathered our things and followed them, finding that this spot actually had a beach. They called it sandy, but it was more grainy. Chunky as it were. We set up camp and settled for the day. Some of us went swimming, which changed us from smelling like the unwashed masses, to smelling like a lake. I accepted the change.
Then came the winds.
Well first came the rain. We saw the storm coming from a distance, and worried somewhat as to what direction it was going. We got a light sprinkle compared to the downpour we saw at a distance. Once that had passed, we climbed to a high point to watch the weather. That's when the winds came. We retreated to our tents, and about halfway through the noisy bluster I decided I didn't want to risk my sleeping gear and went to my hammock to retrieve them. That's when I realized it wasn't all that windy down there. The wind was rustling the tops of the trees quite heavily, but didn't bother us much down there.
The squirrels at this island were noisy. I had never heard them so loud, nor seen them so bold. Nature isn't as afraid of us out there as in the suburbs.The island also had plenty of maple varieties, and the sap showed.
Who goes camping and expects to stay clean, honestly?
After dark, Becka took me on a late night canoe ride to the middle of the lake. It was dead silent. A gentle breeze, and a nearly full moon. Yes we took pictures, but we all know that no picture has ever captured the moment. No visual that large, or that deep, can be done justice. I was mesmerized.
I fell asleep easily enough, but woke at 2am to the sound of a strong wind. I could ignore it well enough until I heard the footsteps.
You see we were spread pretty thin across the southern part of Clarke Island. I couldn't find a decent spot to set up close to the others, so I was a little ways off by myself. It wasn't difficult, just isolated. That's what makes footsteps in the middle of the night so disconcerting.
I had my flashlight, but my knife was in the tent with Becka. So I did what any other person would do in that situation and froze solid for an hour or so. It was dark enough that you couldn't see the hammock without a light, and they had no light.
"They" were either nature or my imagination. Didn't calm my nerves. I just stayed awake until it started to get light out, then felt brave enough to fumble my way out of a hammock with little visibility under the rain fly. Of course I was alone.
We broke camp and headed south. It was windy, the water was choppy until we got to the narrows, I actually worried since the waves were about the size of our boats. We made it across unscathed but not unsplashed, and made the gentle ride down until we reached the outfitter.
It felt a bit odd, seeing society. The outfitter isn't in the park itself, but the waterways are connected. This was apparent when we passed the sign identifying the boundary to the boundary waters (we saw a similar one one Seagull lake), and later rode past some private docks leading to some houses. Once we disembarked, we made the drive back connecting to Grand Marais before heading back to Bear Lake. I had never been so grateful to not be the one driving.
You ever take a shower and come out of it feeling like you need a shower? Felt like that for a few days. I finally smelled worse than my kids.
Sunday morning came and everyone packed their stuff away, and good-bye's were said. Becka was right. There's nothing like the place.
It was the best camp site we had seen so far, but we needed to move on. We headed due east, our maps telling us there was a narrow waterway we could cut through rather than going around an island. When we reached it, we discovered that it was not, in fact, a waterway. It was the shortest portage I'd seen: as soon as I stood up off the boat I could see the other side. My boat, along with Noma and Ron, simply carried our canoes the short distance and put back in. The other two boats went around.
After meeting up, we found an empty camp site, but didn't set up. We stopped for lunch while another boat continued forward to see if we could find something better. Within an hour (I wasn't really timing it), they radioed back having found the perfect spot on the southern tip of Clarke island. We gathered our things and followed them, finding that this spot actually had a beach. They called it sandy, but it was more grainy. Chunky as it were. We set up camp and settled for the day. Some of us went swimming, which changed us from smelling like the unwashed masses, to smelling like a lake. I accepted the change.
Then came the winds.
Well first came the rain. We saw the storm coming from a distance, and worried somewhat as to what direction it was going. We got a light sprinkle compared to the downpour we saw at a distance. Once that had passed, we climbed to a high point to watch the weather. That's when the winds came. We retreated to our tents, and about halfway through the noisy bluster I decided I didn't want to risk my sleeping gear and went to my hammock to retrieve them. That's when I realized it wasn't all that windy down there. The wind was rustling the tops of the trees quite heavily, but didn't bother us much down there.
The squirrels at this island were noisy. I had never heard them so loud, nor seen them so bold. Nature isn't as afraid of us out there as in the suburbs.The island also had plenty of maple varieties, and the sap showed.
Who goes camping and expects to stay clean, honestly?
After dark, Becka took me on a late night canoe ride to the middle of the lake. It was dead silent. A gentle breeze, and a nearly full moon. Yes we took pictures, but we all know that no picture has ever captured the moment. No visual that large, or that deep, can be done justice. I was mesmerized.
I fell asleep easily enough, but woke at 2am to the sound of a strong wind. I could ignore it well enough until I heard the footsteps.
You see we were spread pretty thin across the southern part of Clarke Island. I couldn't find a decent spot to set up close to the others, so I was a little ways off by myself. It wasn't difficult, just isolated. That's what makes footsteps in the middle of the night so disconcerting.
I had my flashlight, but my knife was in the tent with Becka. So I did what any other person would do in that situation and froze solid for an hour or so. It was dark enough that you couldn't see the hammock without a light, and they had no light.
"They" were either nature or my imagination. Didn't calm my nerves. I just stayed awake until it started to get light out, then felt brave enough to fumble my way out of a hammock with little visibility under the rain fly. Of course I was alone.
We broke camp and headed south. It was windy, the water was choppy until we got to the narrows, I actually worried since the waves were about the size of our boats. We made it across unscathed but not unsplashed, and made the gentle ride down until we reached the outfitter.
It felt a bit odd, seeing society. The outfitter isn't in the park itself, but the waterways are connected. This was apparent when we passed the sign identifying the boundary to the boundary waters (we saw a similar one one Seagull lake), and later rode past some private docks leading to some houses. Once we disembarked, we made the drive back connecting to Grand Marais before heading back to Bear Lake. I had never been so grateful to not be the one driving.
You ever take a shower and come out of it feeling like you need a shower? Felt like that for a few days. I finally smelled worse than my kids.
Sunday morning came and everyone packed their stuff away, and good-bye's were said. Becka was right. There's nothing like the place.
Boundary Waters Pt3
Seeing as I normally wake up around 5am, I indeed woke up about 4am. I tried to stay quiet, but I also needed to do quite a bit of stretching to fix what the ground had done to me. That's when I discovered the mice.
Field mice, I think they were, had swarmed our food. None of the bags had been breached save one: mine. The one with my wife's all natural stuff in it. Everyone else's heavily processed food product substitutes were untouched. (Not knocking it, that's what I had too). The bag itself was ruined, but it wasn't a hardship. The worst part of it for me was that I couldn't really relax and stretch myself out, the mice were unafraid and aggressive.
Becka woke next and joined me for awhile on the rock. A million stars in the sky chased away by a startling sunrise, all shattered by the constant probing of these mice. They finally retreated when others started to wake and the sun took away their stealth.
After some light planning, we broke camp and headed out. We crossed the rest of Alpine and made for Red Rock Lake. The portage was awkward; the trail was very narrow, which was fine when carrying gear, but when carrying a canoe the brush was grabbing you on both sides.
The name of the lake made sense when I noticed many a rock whose color was reddish. (They were closer to orange, but the lake was probably named at a time when the color itself was called "yellow-red" before taking the name of the fruit. Yes, I'm gonna flex my word nerd right now).
It was sunnier that day. Red Rock lake was much calmer. The shoreline changed, the forest fire hadn't reached this area like it did the others. The trees were much taller (as opposed to the glorified saplings we had before), a sight that gave me hope. The dead trees became a rare sight as we headed north toward Red Rock Bay.
This portage was odd. It was basically rocky water. We could pull the boats alongside us once we got out, but the last third we needed to carry them. So we did, gear and all. It was much easier than trying to carry them separately. It was my second favorite portage of the trip.
Further north we found our camp site on Gold Island. We had the island to ourselves, and it was full of very large, sturdy trees. We set up camp for the day, and I finally got to set up my camp hammock. I laid down, but managed to nap. Sleeping on the ground wrecks my shoulders, and paddling a canoe offers them no respite. Dear wife was kind enough to rub my shoulders, but I needed proper sleep.
After two days worth of half meals and snacks, we finally settled down and spent a few hours cooking a large and lengthy dinner. I went back 3 times and even cooked what I would later save for breakfast the next morning. After sunset, we played an interesting numbers game, afterward Becka read us a story that she had written on a previous trip to the boundary waters, ages ago.
As I got settled into my hammock, I noticed that from exactly where my head rested, I could look out on the lake while a gentle breeze caressed me. I don't sleep that well at home.
Field mice, I think they were, had swarmed our food. None of the bags had been breached save one: mine. The one with my wife's all natural stuff in it. Everyone else's heavily processed food product substitutes were untouched. (Not knocking it, that's what I had too). The bag itself was ruined, but it wasn't a hardship. The worst part of it for me was that I couldn't really relax and stretch myself out, the mice were unafraid and aggressive.
Becka woke next and joined me for awhile on the rock. A million stars in the sky chased away by a startling sunrise, all shattered by the constant probing of these mice. They finally retreated when others started to wake and the sun took away their stealth.
After some light planning, we broke camp and headed out. We crossed the rest of Alpine and made for Red Rock Lake. The portage was awkward; the trail was very narrow, which was fine when carrying gear, but when carrying a canoe the brush was grabbing you on both sides.
The name of the lake made sense when I noticed many a rock whose color was reddish. (They were closer to orange, but the lake was probably named at a time when the color itself was called "yellow-red" before taking the name of the fruit. Yes, I'm gonna flex my word nerd right now).
It was sunnier that day. Red Rock lake was much calmer. The shoreline changed, the forest fire hadn't reached this area like it did the others. The trees were much taller (as opposed to the glorified saplings we had before), a sight that gave me hope. The dead trees became a rare sight as we headed north toward Red Rock Bay.
This portage was odd. It was basically rocky water. We could pull the boats alongside us once we got out, but the last third we needed to carry them. So we did, gear and all. It was much easier than trying to carry them separately. It was my second favorite portage of the trip.
Further north we found our camp site on Gold Island. We had the island to ourselves, and it was full of very large, sturdy trees. We set up camp for the day, and I finally got to set up my camp hammock. I laid down, but managed to nap. Sleeping on the ground wrecks my shoulders, and paddling a canoe offers them no respite. Dear wife was kind enough to rub my shoulders, but I needed proper sleep.
After two days worth of half meals and snacks, we finally settled down and spent a few hours cooking a large and lengthy dinner. I went back 3 times and even cooked what I would later save for breakfast the next morning. After sunset, we played an interesting numbers game, afterward Becka read us a story that she had written on a previous trip to the boundary waters, ages ago.
As I got settled into my hammock, I noticed that from exactly where my head rested, I could look out on the lake while a gentle breeze caressed me. I don't sleep that well at home.
Boundary Waters Pt2
(I should start by saying this group was Noma and Ron, Cami and Manny, Rugga and Tara, with myself and Becka)
Grand Marais is a tiny spit of a town that thrives on tourism and closes early in the day. From there it's about two hours driving to get to the campground we spent our first night in. (Our entry permit was for Wednesday, and we didn't want to spend any of Wednesday not in the water) About half way there, the signal disappeared. No data, no calls, no texts. I've tried disconnecting for awhile, but there has always been something nearby. This was the first time I can recall where it was a total cutoff for everyone I was with. It lasted until we reached about the same spot on our way back.
Two campsites, four tents, eight people, and sixteen rules to a completely 'made up on the spot' card game that had No Boundaries. It was, without a doubt, the strangest and most cathartic way to start a trip into the middle of nowhere. The only disappointing part was there was nowhere to set up my hammock. (I have a nice camping hammock with a mosquito net and rain fly so I can spend the night in it instead of sleeping on the ground in a tent). Alas the tent will have to do.
In the morning we wasted little time packing up and getting into the water. It's worth noting at this point that as we were loading and setting out, absolutely nobody turned over and swamped their boats. Nope, absolutely nobody. Wasn't me, wasn't anyone else with us. Just didn't happen. Nooooooooooooooooooope.
Once out into the water, we headed south towards Seagull Lake. There was a quick portage to get there, so we made landfall and started on foot (those boats turned out to be surprisingly light). At least, it's a very short portage if you go the right way. You see it was a loop, and the correct way is surprisingly short. If you go the other way, you'll still get there, it will just take awhile. I won't say who was holding the map, but I will say that if I had a cursory look at it, it would have helped.
Anyway several hours later we were on Seagull Lake. It was bright, but overcast. Warm enough, but not hot. I couldn't have asked for better weather. I would say it was a large lake, but when you're in a lightweight boat not much wider than yourself, it's all relative. I can't say much about the experience, and that's strictly due to my inability. We were in good company, in our own hands, and completely at the mercy of nature. It was serene. It was surreal.
It was crowded.
I always had this image in my head of the boundary waters being this vast empty wilderness, but we saw a dozen or so other boats on the lake, and every single camp site was taken. I was assured this was only the case because Seagull Lake was so close to the entry points, but the image was still shattered.
We made our way through to Rog Lake, which had a very different portage than my first experience. It was a simple straight line through the woods from one body of water to another.
Now I'll say that on the map we had, all the portages were measured in rods. One rod is sixteen and a half feet. Why they used some arcane measurement that we kept having to make adjustments for is beyond me, but I'll do the math for you. This first portage was 330 feet. Far from the circular path we experienced earlier, it was an unmarked rocky trail with a slight elevation. Once through, Rog Lake was a small one that merely took us through toward Alpine lake. That portage was much longer, but led us through to where we would find our first camp site. We took the first empty site we could find.
Apparently a major economic disruption encouraged more people to go camping, and to stay longer.
This region of the boundary waters had, apparently, experienced a forest fire about ten years ago, which was evidenced by the many still dead trees and the lack of nice big trees to set up a hammock, or even hang a bear bag. We set up camp. This is when I learned that a boundary waters latrine is not the same as any other campground.
It's a toilet sitting in the woods. No building, no roof. Nothing. Just a toilet sitting in the woods. It was surrounded by thick underbrush, but still... just a toilet in the woods. The upside here is that it didn't stink.
Not long after dinner, my NY sleep schedule was strongly asserting itself. The lack of a place to hang the food has us merely setting it on a giant rock near the shore and hoping for the best. We didn't have to worry about bears.
Grand Marais is a tiny spit of a town that thrives on tourism and closes early in the day. From there it's about two hours driving to get to the campground we spent our first night in. (Our entry permit was for Wednesday, and we didn't want to spend any of Wednesday not in the water) About half way there, the signal disappeared. No data, no calls, no texts. I've tried disconnecting for awhile, but there has always been something nearby. This was the first time I can recall where it was a total cutoff for everyone I was with. It lasted until we reached about the same spot on our way back.
Two campsites, four tents, eight people, and sixteen rules to a completely 'made up on the spot' card game that had No Boundaries. It was, without a doubt, the strangest and most cathartic way to start a trip into the middle of nowhere. The only disappointing part was there was nowhere to set up my hammock. (I have a nice camping hammock with a mosquito net and rain fly so I can spend the night in it instead of sleeping on the ground in a tent). Alas the tent will have to do.
In the morning we wasted little time packing up and getting into the water. It's worth noting at this point that as we were loading and setting out, absolutely nobody turned over and swamped their boats. Nope, absolutely nobody. Wasn't me, wasn't anyone else with us. Just didn't happen. Nooooooooooooooooooope.
Once out into the water, we headed south towards Seagull Lake. There was a quick portage to get there, so we made landfall and started on foot (those boats turned out to be surprisingly light). At least, it's a very short portage if you go the right way. You see it was a loop, and the correct way is surprisingly short. If you go the other way, you'll still get there, it will just take awhile. I won't say who was holding the map, but I will say that if I had a cursory look at it, it would have helped.
Anyway several hours later we were on Seagull Lake. It was bright, but overcast. Warm enough, but not hot. I couldn't have asked for better weather. I would say it was a large lake, but when you're in a lightweight boat not much wider than yourself, it's all relative. I can't say much about the experience, and that's strictly due to my inability. We were in good company, in our own hands, and completely at the mercy of nature. It was serene. It was surreal.
It was crowded.
I always had this image in my head of the boundary waters being this vast empty wilderness, but we saw a dozen or so other boats on the lake, and every single camp site was taken. I was assured this was only the case because Seagull Lake was so close to the entry points, but the image was still shattered.
We made our way through to Rog Lake, which had a very different portage than my first experience. It was a simple straight line through the woods from one body of water to another.
Now I'll say that on the map we had, all the portages were measured in rods. One rod is sixteen and a half feet. Why they used some arcane measurement that we kept having to make adjustments for is beyond me, but I'll do the math for you. This first portage was 330 feet. Far from the circular path we experienced earlier, it was an unmarked rocky trail with a slight elevation. Once through, Rog Lake was a small one that merely took us through toward Alpine lake. That portage was much longer, but led us through to where we would find our first camp site. We took the first empty site we could find.
Apparently a major economic disruption encouraged more people to go camping, and to stay longer.
This region of the boundary waters had, apparently, experienced a forest fire about ten years ago, which was evidenced by the many still dead trees and the lack of nice big trees to set up a hammock, or even hang a bear bag. We set up camp. This is when I learned that a boundary waters latrine is not the same as any other campground.
It's a toilet sitting in the woods. No building, no roof. Nothing. Just a toilet sitting in the woods. It was surrounded by thick underbrush, but still... just a toilet in the woods. The upside here is that it didn't stink.
Not long after dinner, my NY sleep schedule was strongly asserting itself. The lack of a place to hang the food has us merely setting it on a giant rock near the shore and hoping for the best. We didn't have to worry about bears.
Boundary Waters Pt1
I was able to tell the story about my van problems easily. It was just relaying events with my usual flavor sprinkled in. But the trip to the boundary waters itself, the reason it happened, I needed to take more time to digest it.
My wife's family was from the Minneapolis area, and about half of them still live in the region. The first stop was in Eagan on account of the new baby. We would have arrived early on Saturday and had the day to enjoy, but unforseen issues knocked that back to a midnight arrival. Midnight central, so my body was telling me it was 1am. (And after the mediocre rest I had previously, I crashed pretty hard)
Sunday my wife's entire family was together again. We gathered at the big aquarium in the mall of america. My kids got a kick out of the tunnel where the sea life swam above us, but I couldn't get over the jellyfish. Sure they're translucent, but the tanks had different colored lights, so it just them look so much cooler. (I swear they're not from Earth)
We reconvened at the house (where we could finally see each other's faces, stupid masks) for many a group photo (which my kids hate), after which the bulk of us headed for Bear Lake Wisconsin.
This arm of the family lives right on the lake. He's a park ranger at a scout camp, and they live right on the camp. I couldn't think of a better place to keep my kids occupied during our trek.
Monday was spent, oddly, with many of them sorting through their parents storage locker before buying the food for our trip. Not complaining, but it did mean that we came home with more stuff than I anticipated. What it did mean was that the food prep lasted long into the night.
Tuesday we headed out. All of us (kids included), met up in Duluth with those that stayed in MN, then out to Gooseberry Falls. The kids just jumped in the water. As a native New Yorker, I was startled by the complete lack of fencing and other barriers stopping people from doing anything fun in the water. The sheer drop-offs were a bit unsettling, knowing full well that my kids go running full bore not watching which way they're going, but everyone came out of it alive and chilly. From there, the kids went back to Bear Lake. The rest of us went on to Grand Marais.
My wife's family was from the Minneapolis area, and about half of them still live in the region. The first stop was in Eagan on account of the new baby. We would have arrived early on Saturday and had the day to enjoy, but unforseen issues knocked that back to a midnight arrival. Midnight central, so my body was telling me it was 1am. (And after the mediocre rest I had previously, I crashed pretty hard)
Sunday my wife's entire family was together again. We gathered at the big aquarium in the mall of america. My kids got a kick out of the tunnel where the sea life swam above us, but I couldn't get over the jellyfish. Sure they're translucent, but the tanks had different colored lights, so it just them look so much cooler. (I swear they're not from Earth)
We reconvened at the house (where we could finally see each other's faces, stupid masks) for many a group photo (which my kids hate), after which the bulk of us headed for Bear Lake Wisconsin.
This arm of the family lives right on the lake. He's a park ranger at a scout camp, and they live right on the camp. I couldn't think of a better place to keep my kids occupied during our trek.
Monday was spent, oddly, with many of them sorting through their parents storage locker before buying the food for our trip. Not complaining, but it did mean that we came home with more stuff than I anticipated. What it did mean was that the food prep lasted long into the night.
Tuesday we headed out. All of us (kids included), met up in Duluth with those that stayed in MN, then out to Gooseberry Falls. The kids just jumped in the water. As a native New Yorker, I was startled by the complete lack of fencing and other barriers stopping people from doing anything fun in the water. The sheer drop-offs were a bit unsettling, knowing full well that my kids go running full bore not watching which way they're going, but everyone came out of it alive and chilly. From there, the kids went back to Bear Lake. The rest of us went on to Grand Marais.
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