My first trip to the BW was in 1980. Two buddies and I decided to go. Our planning took place the night before we left for the Gunflint Trail at a high school keg graduation party.

We had no maps, and when we finally found a lake off the Gunflint, we realized we forgot a tent. So, we planned on sleeping in the truck-pretty sure, in hindsight, we were not in the BW. We did manage to catch a few walleyes, and it was time to head back to the truck to make dinner.

When we approached the parking lot where our truck was, I jumped out of the canoe (we did manage to remember a canoe) to lead the craft to shore. In the process, I cut my right foot on something in the water so bad that we decided to head to Duluth in case I needed medical attention. Of course, we had no first aid kit.

Have learned a few things in the ensuing 38 years...your story?

It was 1983 and me and my girlfriend now wife had a permit for Homer lake off the gunflint trail. We were doing a loop for 7 nights. On the way in our first day we passed a couple guys on a portage and they mentioned having a bear in their camp.

We set up our first night on Juno Lake. It was incredibly still and quiet as the sun went down. I never experienced a Quiet like that before. We cooked spaghetti over a fire.

At dusk we heard a large branch snap across the narrow lake. Then another. Mia started getting very nervous. I calmed her down and we got in the little two man tent.

Long story short, we heard a loud bang down by our canoe. It was pitch black out but my flashlight revealed the source of the noise. A very large bear was going through our site very casually. It came to smell our tent while I banged tin cups. Soon it wandered up the trail.

About 10 minutes later we heard a loud crash in the woods. We both knew our trip was now over. The next morning we saw the damage. All our food was consumed on the spot. All we had left was coffee. The bag was ripped open but wasn't eaten.

We paddled out hungry as heck through Brule Lake and spent time windbound there on an island. I drew pictures of cheese burgers and a chocolate shake in the journal while we waited. We then spent the rest of the week at the Grand Marais campground.

I'm more of a newbie. First trip 2015, me and my then 9 year old son.

Entered at Gunflint Lake, doing the Granite River Route. Get dropped off at the entry point on Gunflint, load the canoe, paddle about 10 minutes to the narrows that go from Gunflint into Magnetic Lake. The wind is blowing so strong out of the north we literally cannot make any headway into Magnetic, and end up sitting on the rocks at the narrows from Gunflint into Magnetic, cold and miserable, for about 2+ hours, waiting for the wind to die down. My son is having a miserable time, cold, windy, almost crying, and not liking the way this trip was going, wishing we could go back home.

Eventually, 3 hours into our trip and 1/4 mile from out starting point, we try to paddle again, and can't make headway. Fortunately, some good souls that were on Magnetic gave us a tow across the lake to the first portage into the Granite River. From there, you're pretty well protected from the wind, and the paddling was relatively easy/normal.

My son went from having a terrible time for a couple of hours, to the whole trip turning into a good, fun adventure. Now we're hooked, this year going back for trip # 4 and doing a much more aggressive route. I think this was a great experience for him, overcoming some obstacles and perserevering.

Ham Lake entry point. Late September, 1996. Married earlier that year and returned every piece of crystal and used the money for canoe packs and compression bags! I was still making portage pads for the Coleman RamX barge we took. I had to make something from scratch that would fit the METAL thwart. Used a pipe clamp bracket thing, and stainless bolts, and 1x4 and foam and vinyl, etc. Work of art that's still useful!

Trip was great - with the exception of my birthday dinner, which included pork chops (bone-in) and corn on the cob. Didn't think we'd be portaging the bones and cobs around the rest of the trip! Lesson learned.

Remember starting the trip with portages as chaos... never practiced lifting a too-heavy pack WHILE standing on a pointed triangular rock, etc. But ended the trip with portages like a "symphony". We both knew what to carry and how and could do it wordlessly.

1971, 16 years old. In through Snowbank to Kekakabic via Ima, Thomas. etc., out via Knife, Ensign, Moose. VERY long day from Snowbank to Kek. Never paddled a canoe before, so we saw a lot more of every lake than was really necessary. Most of the day I was wondering what in the world I was doing there, sweaty, tired, bug-bit, leech-bit, and crabby. Set up camp well after dark and woke up to one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen, with a full week to look forward to. We swam, fished, climbed (rock walls and the Kek fire tower). I was hooked from that point. Some of the highlights included 3 of my friends getting inside the tower, closing the hatch and discovering there was no handle on the inside. A little creative wood carving and a suitable finger grip was established, a crisis narrowly averted. On our exit day I discovered how deceiving water depth is in very clear lakes. At the very first landing I thought it looked about knee deep so I jumped out and went right up to my chin! Our scout leader, a really great guy to this day,
had two rituals to end a trip. First, he made a huge batch of baked beans in a pot buried with hot rocks for our supper and second was his ritual "burning of the clothes" that he had worn all week. He bathed, put on his change of clothes, and launched the stinky, week-worn threads into the fire. It was and is my favorite BW trip for so many reasons, and Roger and I still talk about it today.

Mercy. I'll never forget it. Sag to Seagull. June 2013. 9 people, 4 canoes, and really only one person who knew what we were getting into.

Memories? For those of you with the patience to read it: Where the Loons Never Left Us

Will never forget those first paddle strokes into the channel up 81 Landing toward Big Sag. Lost for 5 hours and stranded on an island in a thunderstorm, then we finally figured out where we were and made our first campsite southwest of American Point. Steak dinner with potatoes and the sunset over the opening to Cache Bay. Loons calling at night.

Trophy small mouth bass on the second cast. Wind. Suffering on Monument and Ester Portages. Drenched on Ester Lake. Sunset through the rain.

Rocky cliffs of Knife. Sitting with my entire rear end in a puddle of water paddling on Ogishkemuncie.

Last night on Seagull around the campfire looking at the stars and listening to two loons call to each other, first one, then the other, faster, faster, faster, and melting into an almost euphoric choir.

Paddling out. Standing on the dock thinking about what I had gone through.

The hand of God seen through the little things that happened each and every day.

It was the start to a lifetime of wilderness memories that is still being made. And that only scratches the surface. Check the trip report if you really want to read it - it's LONG.

two weeks around La Croix under a tarp in 1985.
I thought if I could do in in Scouts back in the 50's it should work out,sort of.

1972. I was 16 years old and picked to participate in a summer Creative Writing classbased out of Macalester College with the Twin Cities Institute for Talented Youth. Found out that that their tradition was to take the group to the BWCA for the very first week to cleanse the soul and get the creative juices flowing. I had no idea what the BWCA was nor did i know any of the other 16 or so people along for the trip.

I was in over my head but game. Intimidated by the mostly older and wiser youth that were there. I was a smart but sheltered and shy city kid amongst a bunch of radical(to me) hippies, including the adult instructors. Mind blown by pot smoking, skinny dipping people. Once I got over the shock I adapted well to the overall experience and had a great time. I was in a canoe with the instructor, John Caddy who was recovering from a broken back so I turned out to be the grunt too, which I was up for at the time. We entered at lake One and went as far as Insula, but the memories are foggy from there. But the BWCA, wow. Blew my mind. I was hooked.

Went back the next year again with the same organization, a little wiser and more prepared. I know we went out of Snowbank on that trip and made it as far as Thomas and Fraser. On that trip they challenged us all to do a one night "solo" where they dropped us off on a remote spot or island away from the group. Freaked me out completely but taught me some things i still remember to this day. Thankfully they came back the next morning to get me:) This trip only increased my interest in the BWCA and danged if I am not still going 45 years later.

1984, about 10 days. Had planned on goinegto Ely with my brother and he had cancelled. A friend of a friend told me about 3 guys needing a 4th. It was an "Adventure."

The leader and driver's car broke down 5 hrs away in Hannibal, MO, where we spent the day. Then drove straight through to Grand Marais. Put in on Gunflint and headed down the Granite to Sag, across and over to the little set of lakes off of Ester/Hansen for our only layover day. Then Knife, Ogish, Tuscarora, Little Sag, on out through Snipe, Cross Bay, and Ham then down the Cross to where it comes into Gunflint and back to the landing. I DO NOT RECOMMEND PADDLING THE CROSS TO GUNFLINT.

1983, a group of us stood on the dock of Canadian border outfitters, with groceries in paper bags, and gear for a month. pat, the outfitter got a real kick out of it.
we felt leaving our tent open when we got to carp would allow the bears to come and go when we were out fishing, well, it also allowed the rain to soak our tent insides!
5-10 lbs. potatoes, huge iron skillets, jugs of oil. it did make for some yummy fish fry's.
lanterns, more fishing gear than roland martin owns, but we had some good laughs and fun, and fantastic fishing.
i love that carp lake area! good memories.

1971, Namakan River Loop in Canada. Paddled from Crane Lake through Loon River to Lac La Croix, then the Namakan River, Namakan Lake, Sand Point Lake, and back down to Crane Lake.

Memories? It seems like only yesterday. The smell of the canvas tent, sunburned ears on a sandy beach on LLC, the thrill of running Lady Rapids with an empty canoe (just for the fun of it!), standing at the top of High Falls, a beautiful sunny day at Namakan Narrows. Camping at Myrtle Falls and hearing the water all night. Six days of very hard work that changed me for a lifetime. I was planning the next trip by the time we were on our way home again.

How It All Began

My son was 10 and we went with 3 of his classmates and their Fathers.
Stayed at Disappointment Lake.
Have been going up ever since. At first went up every other year, then started going up every year, now have been going up 2x per year. When I retire maybe I'll move up there?

It was 1980. I was 15 (a few weeks short of 16) and went with a youth group from my church. We divided into several groups of about 8 people per group and were allowed to choose our route. Being with a group of macho teenage boys, we chose a 90+ mile loop. Day one was no shirts, no sunscreen, a lot of sun. We all had blisters on our shoulders and backs by the next morning. We couldn't portage our packs or canoes so we ended up base camping. I do remember making it up to the pictographs and climbing Warrior Hill. I think our entry was EP16.

Trip #2 (formally) was in 1990 with 3 buddies. Went in at EP40 Homer lake and exited EP41 Brule. It rained miserably the first day and night. We had a terrible campsite and were all wearing cotton and cheap disposable plastic rain gear. It was miserable. As soon as we woke up the next morning there were two rangers (two females) landing at our site to make sure were were following the rules. It was the first and only time I ever saw a ranger. Me and one of my buddy's went "fishing" one day and managed to land a Sven & Ole's Pizza and a 12 pack of beer.

Did many trips in from 1988 to 1993 while I lived in Duluth. A roommate had an aluminum canoe so on a my days off we would load it up and head up north for a day trip to fish or hunt. Spent many nights at SNF campgrounds on the fringe.

1992, 4 college guys including myself and only 1 of us had been to the bwca before so he did all the planning. We entered at Snowbank and spent 2 nights on Jordan, 2 nights on Ima, and the last night was supposed to be on Disappointment which lived up to it's name. All sites were full and we ended up exiting a day early.

2 heavy aluminum canoes that didn't have portage pads. Full size cooler, 10 lb sack of potatoes, didn't catch many fish and we had expectations of fish jumping in the canoe. We used canvas duffel bags instead of packs so we were triple and quadruple portaging. We paddled out on Snowbank in rain and wind with whitecaps busting over the bow of the canoe into my lap and I was singing the Gilligans Island theme song the whole way. We had ponchos instead of rain gear and I remember trying to get around a point and after 10 minutes of paddling still being in the same spot. As soon as we finally made it to the landing the wind and rain stopped and it was bright and sunny.

First stop was at Pizza Hut in Ely and 4 guys inhaled 4 pizzas and 8 pitchers of pop.

The whole drive home we talked about how awesome the trip was :)

First morning of our first trip. 1978, Shell Lake. Bear ripped the wall of our tent while my new bride and I lie there, contemplating whether it was light enough to get up. Did get the heart pumping.

Still marvel at why we ever returned, but sure glad we did. Trip 40 coming up.

Anyone who has ever been to Quetico Provincial Park or the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness remembers their first trip, whether it was good, bad or indifferent. Most people also remember the person who introduced them to these lands and lakes of beauty. That person for me was my former college roommate, Doug Klees. Not long after graduation Doug called and asked if I would be interested in a canoe trip up in Canada. Having only been in a canoe a few times in my life I wasn't sure, but after hearing fish tales about the size and numbers being caught up there I was intrigued.

Doug informed me of the cost for this excursion and over the summer I managed to save enough to participate in this outing. On August 8th, I met with Doug and his two other friends who would be embarking on this journey. It was nice to meet these guys before our departure into Canada and to gain some familiarity with each other. We discussed all the items required for the trip and looked over maps of Quetico.

It was determined I would need to borrow several items and purchase others. Doug loaned me a two piece fishing rod which would be easier for portaging. He said if I took my one piece rod something might happen to it on the trail. I also had to borrow a backpack, rain gear and a tackle box. I didn't have many lures at the time since my experiences with casting artificial lures were limited to small in-line spinners used on a local river. Up until this time I was basically a live bait fisherman. Doug provided guidance while lure shopping. I didn't have a big budget, so 9 lures were selected along with some wire leaders. Cheap hiking boots were in order as well. I was persuaded to purchase some nonofficial Army jungle boots from a surplus store.

On the Friday before Labor Day everything was packed and crammed into the SUV for the drive north towards Ely, Minnesota . We drove straight through the night and about 900 miles later arrived in Ely the next afternoon. After sliding out of the SUV at the outfitter's parking lot, my head began ringing with noise. I had never been to a place so quiet. I could not hear a thing except for what was going on inside my head. We proceeded to empty the SUV and pack everything that would fit into our backpacks. Since there was no room for my over-sized sleeping bag, it was placed into a plastic garbage bag and tied to the back of my pack. A garbage bag also performed the duties of a dry sack for all my clothes.

It was hard to fall asleep in the bunkhouse that night, even after the all night drive the previous evening. First, it was too quiet, scary quiet. Secondly, I couldn't stop thinking about these huge fish we were going to be catching.

The next morning we had breakfast and then were towed over to the Canadian border at Prairie Portage. The Canadian Customs cabin (which is no longer open today, you must now use a RABC permit to enter Quetico) was the first stop. We were asked the standard border crossing questions and then moved on to the ranger's cabin for permits and fishing licenses.

With all the paper work done, the fishing trip was ready to commence. It took us a while searching the shoreline, but we found the first portage. Having no idea of what a portage was like; my thoughts were of a simple trail through the woods. There were no preconceived notions of climbing small mountains, walking through muck and tripping on every rock and root on the path. I wasn't able to see where to step because of the packs on both my front and back sides. The previous rainstorms made everything on the path slippery and muddy. At the end of the portage I was hoping we didn't have to do any more of those. Little did I know what lied ahead.

The next lake was paddled in hardly any time and we came to our next portage. I had no clue there were two long, back to back portages next on the slate. The first portage wasn't bad as far as the terrain, but it was extremely long. The real fun didn't start until the next portage. It was now my turn to portage a canoe for the first time. It was one of those so called “light-weight " aluminum models that felt like 80 pounds or more digging into my shoulders. The recent rainstorms had turned this portage into a small creek, with water extending up almost to knee level in certain areas. The portage was extremely rocky and I was constantly slipping off of rocks that couldn't be seen under the murky water. My sleeping bag was starting to fall from the backpack as it caught on limbs while I climbed over dead-falls. I had to squeeze the canoe in-between downed trees and to crawl under them in the mud. I was soaking from the rain, sweating profusely, swatting mosquitoes and cursing like a sailor. I started to wonder what the heck I had gotten myself into!

Later, we arrived at our first campsite and after setting up camp I was glad to take off the wet boots and socks that were tearing up my feet. As a nightly ritual we would wring out our socks and hang them on tree limbs. Dinner consisted of splitting a bag of freeze dried something or other. We used one of those old fashioned fill with white gas and pump up the pressure type stoves. At times it would be very difficult to ignite. There were two tents. One was a 2 to 3 person tent and the other a single. During the whole trip I had to sleep in the tight, 2 to 3 person tent on a foam pad. Some nights were spent sleeping with both guys' stinking feet in my face so we could all fit into this tent. We alternated each night. It also continued to rain most evenings.

After wake up each morning, I would grab my socks off the trees, wring them out again, slap them on the rocks a few times and then slide these wet, nasty things back on. This was followed with shoe-horning the wet, blister inducing jungle boots back on. It rained each and every day we were out there. I lived in a rain suit with a swimsuit on underneath most of the trek.

The majority of the time I had no clue where we were. Sure I knew I was on some remote lake in Canada, but that was about it. On one portage while playing follow-the-leader, we made a wrong turn. Halfway through a marshy bog I fell into a muck hole all the way up to the two backpacks I was wearing. I couldn't set myself free and had to be rescued from this disaster by one of my trip mates. When we finally made it to the lake a discussion begins about our whereabouts. After our two leaders finished debating our location, a conclusion was rendered. We were back on the same lake from which we had just portaged!

We moved to a new location every day. During canoe travel we would troll for fish. If we caught fish and it wasn't raining too hard, we would fillet them for lunch. If it was pouring down rain, lunch would consist of Ramen noodles. The fishing was everything I imagined it would be. I caught my biggest smallmouth bass ever, my first walleye and first northern pike. Every smallmouth seemed to be huge. The walleye tasted great. If I was lucky enough to catch a walleye, they made me portage the fish until we reached our final destination for the day. One pike I caught was close to ten pounds and I couldn't figure out how in the world to pull this monster into the canoe. As with most pike on the trip I was scared of those teeth. I brought one top-water lure with me, an old jitterbug. It was tied on only once during the whole trip because my fellow trip mates all laughed about it and said I'd never catch anything on a top-water lure. It was promptly replaced with another lure and not used again.

A little more than halfway through the trip I fell ill. The illness was possibly caused from being wet constantly, be it my head or cold feet. It seemed to be raining all the time. I was a trooper and stuck it out, though I certainly didn't have much of a choice. Laying on a large rock in the middle of a lake, a discussion had begun on what we would eat when the trip was finished. There was talk of pizza, cheeseburgers with bacon and a carbonated drink. It was at this point we all decided to start heading back to the border and leave on day 9 instead of 10.

We paddled back down towards the border the following day. We encountered some brutal portages along the way, but after what I had already been through on this trip I was accustomed with long, hard days. While on a creek, our path was obstructed by an enormous bull moose who was not in any rush to move out of the thoroughfare. We back paddled and waited until he was done grazing. Once the creek-block was cleared, we made our way back towards Basswood Lake. Arriving at the end of the last portage into Basswood's Bayley Bay we were greeted with the largest rolling white caps of the voyage. Since I was still under the weather, it was a great strain to paddle across the bay. I was exhausted by the time we landed at Prairie Portage. The plan was to paddle back to the outfitter's resort, but we were not up to the challenge. We ended up flagging down a tow boat and purchased a ride back to Moose Lake. The outfitter greeted us with a cold beer upon our return to the dock. Finally something carbonated to drink!

1977, 80 pound canoe, terrible food, Sears Hillary tent, no sleeping pad, ridged frame academy backpack,two poles teamed with a couple Mitchell 300 reels, and nothing but cotton to wear,route was moose River to Lac La Croix. Lots of big Northerns were caught by the group off our camp. Do remember having a little to much Tang and vodka the first night !! Maybe the second night also....

Approximately 1989. Drove from Cleveland to Ely. Put in at Isabella River and travelled to Bald Eagle Lake and probably took out Little Gabro. Went with my wife and another couple. Had a great site on Bald Eagle, caught some fish, spent time with good friends. Next trip was 2008 with my 11 yo son and a troop of Boy Scouts. We lived a bit closer then, and now. Been going back ever since, sometimes four trips a year.

Went in to Pauness in the 70's. Maybe 76. A bear came into our camp in the middle of the day. We threw rocks at it and chased it away. Went out for evening fishing, and took our food pack, but when we got back to camp in the near dark, our tent was destroyed. We paddled out in the dark.

Nineteen and sixty-eight, not my first canoe trip, but the first to the boundary waters. Seven teenager Scouts and one adult set forth from western Rainy Lake bound for Grand Portage in two weeks. It had rained hard for 13 days straight before we started; a fact that would impact our travel in the days ahead.

It took us three days to clear Rainy Lake and another two to make Loon River. On Lac la Crox we found our stride and began to cover some distance. Breakfasting and packing fast in the morning and using the long June evenings to keep traveling.

While on Crooked Lake we realized that something was odd about the water level. Curtain Falls was roaring, but having never seen it before we didn't know anything was different that day. We had planned to lunch at Table Rock, but were really stumped when we couldn't find it. We were pretty good navigators and were pretty sure we were at the spot. Someone poked their paddle at the rock we were floating over and said, "that rock is flat as a table".


Curtain Falls June 1968

The narrow places in Crooked had enough current to nearly have us dead in the water. Basswood River was wild, with huge standing waves. At Prairie Portage we learned the rest of the story. After the 13 days of rain, the day we began on Rainy, the old wooden dam at Prairie Portage gave way sending a surge into the already high water.


Basswood River June 1968

Sucker and Birch Lakes were nearly drained making it a muddy slippery mess to get to shore to camp on Birch. From Birch we made a huge day to Voyageurs Island in Saganaga.

We stopped at Gunflint Lodge for ice cream, to mail post cards and call to let folks know we might be a day late and not to worry.

After a couple more days of hard travel, with flashlights handy we began Long Portage in the twilight hoping to camp near the other end. We did a tentless bivouac at the end of the portage and were excited to start early and make another big day through Mountain to Moose. Sunglasses in hand I looked out to the lake deciding to pack or wear them. I thought it odd that I was looking down at my shadow when I should have been seeing the sun rise over Rove Lake. We gathered to consult the map and compass. In our excitement to get over Long Portage that night we missed the turn off the old RR grade and followed the grade gradually around to the west and the end at Daniels Lake!

The time it would take us to get back on track would have had us coming in to Grand Portage way too late for the comfort of our families. So we spent the day on a leisure tour through Daniels, West Bearskin and Hungry Jack Lakes to camp at the USFS campground on Flour Lake. We cleaned up the outfit, had a feast with the extra food and had a local outfitter call Bill Rom's in Ely to bring our car and pick up the canoes and packs we rented at Flour Lake.

The day we were supposed to be arriving at Grand Portage we drove there and had two breakfasts a piece at the restaurant that used to be in the fort.

In 1970, we returned to start at Saganaga and end at Grand Portage successfully.

My first trip...and then some
These photos were found in my sister's basement last summer. We thought they were all lost! I have the blue and white hat. I was 20 yrs old there. That was my very first canoe trip.

Cool thread.

1999 or 2000...Just out of college, me and 3 buddies decided to take a 5-night trip. I think one of them had gone with a church group or scouts or something previously, so he was the "leader" - the rest of us were newbies. Fully outfitted.

We launched at Fall Lake EP and I believe camped somewhere on Pipestone night 1. Wherever we were, it was motorized and we were being harassed by some a-holes in a motorboat that kept driving by yelling obscenities at us (and other occupied campsites). That was annoying, but nothing ever came of it, and I remember seeing more stars that night than ever before in my life and falling in love with the wilderness.

The rest of the trip was simply amazing. We went up through Basswood Falls and back around through Horse and Jackfish Bay, travelling every day. I remember absolutely perfect July weather, few other people around, and somehow stumbling upon excellent campsites every night of the whole trip.

I still look back at that as possibly the 5 best days of my life. My wife hates when I say that because she wasn't there and thinks it should be our honeymoon or something, but sorry sweetie, that was about as close to a perfect week I've ever spent.

For some reason it took me some 13 years to return in 2013, but have made it an annual trip now, even adding a second planned one this summer.

My first trip to the BW was at age 33 in 2008 through EP 14. We travelled up the Little Indian Sioux North to a five night base camp on Loon Lake, and the sixth and final night spent on Upper Pauness on our way out. I had been camping my entire life and canoeing for many years, but had never combined the two. I borrowed an older canvas Duluth pack from a neighbor, and other than my fishing gear, didn't really own anything else that was of use. I was going along with 3 others who had 15 years experience up there, and was assured they had me covered, and they thankfully they did.

I stern paddled in a 17" aluminum beast that we borrowed from someone the others guys knew, and the other two used a red Mad River canoe I was allowed to take from our resident camp. It was the first time this group was not renting canoes, but it was the last time either of those two canoes went on a BW trip (we have since updgraded).

Although I'm sure I'll hit "submit" and remember other things, there was so much I learned on that trip. 7 hours in a vehicle can fly by as you soak in stories from those with experience. Ely has some damn good food. Bring earplugs for in the tent. Bring footwear that can get wet and dry quickly. Storms really pop up fast and can be amazingly powerful when you're stuck on a rocky point in the wilderness. Sightfishing smallmouths over their spawning beds while hiding in the bushes above rocky outcrops is crazy fun. The international border has little white markers that double at latrines. The guy at the mechanical portage on the north end of Loon will indeed sell you 4 lukewarm Budweisers if you offer him $20. Said Budweisers will taste absolutely amazing. A 40"+ Northern pike could fit an entire football in its mouth, but can still manage to miss a spinnerbait on multiple swipes. A 20" smallmouth, even when its on the end of your paddling partners line, is an amazing thing to behold. Shooting a rapids with an unloaded canoe, even one as small as the one between Upper and Lower Pauness is enough fun to do twice. Moose are freaking huge when your backpaddling in a river to watch them do their thing.

Needless to say, I was hooked, and still trip with 2 of those 3 same people every summer, having added my son to the mix for the last 5 trips in place of the one guy's dad who just can't physically come with us any longer. I'm looking forward to many more memories for years to come, God willing, and will never take for granted what I've already been able to experience in the last ten years.

All I remember was blisters on day one due to constantly wet feet, new water shoes and tiny lakes.....Load up, paddle 5 minutes, get out and rinse and repeat.....and way to much fishing equipment. It sort of sucked but I kept going back.

My first portaging trip was the Bower Trout to Ram Lake route. It was a tad rugged, with the now revered Misquah to Little Trout portage thrown in there at just the wrong time for good measure. That was a trip. I have memories of that one. Been back thirty times since. So much fun.

July of 1993 I was listening to a uncle tell of his trip to LLC at a family reunion. He and his dad had gone thru Zups and had a blast. He asked me if I wanted to go. I said when and he said how about next month.

So it all started August 1993. Two uncles and three cousins and no one had any clue what we were doing. I would drive to Iowa and meet my uncle that night we would drive to Sparta WI and meet up with the rest of the family and our two cars would head north. We would arrive in Orr just as the sun was coming up, eat a big breakfast at some restaurant and sign their guest book. Best breakfast i have ever eaten. Cant remember the name of the place, but i do know it had burned down at one point.

We used Zups again and would for a few more years until we figured out that we did not have to go to Canada to get to the BW. We had gotten a tow to an old ranger cabin on LLC. The wind was really ripping out of the West and we were going right into it and the waves it created. We ended up getting the coveted campsite at fish stake narrows. To this day I can't believe we didn't swamp. We fished for a week and I was hooked.

Every summer we would go to the BW, uncles, cousins, my dad and brother would go a few years. As the uncles aged and were no longer able to go us cousins have kept going. I took over the planning for many years and now as the oldest of the original group have left a lot of the planning to Naturboy12. Our gear has vastly improved. We have acquired all our own gear, reserve our own permits, and have our own canoes. We have seen and experienced a great many wonderful things. Participated in a rescue a few years back that was divine intervention. Shared a camaraderie and tradition that helped a young man define who he would become.

I hope I am blessed with many many more years of trips to the BW.

Thanks Uncle Kent for taking me to the BWCA all those years ago.

jcavenagh: " My first trip...and then some
These photos were found in my sister's basement last summer. We thought they were all lost! I have the blue and white hat. I was 20 yrs old there. That was my very first canoe trip.


"

AWESOME photos! Somewhere they exist for my first trip, but, sadly, I am pretty sure it is at the bottom of a garbage heap.

1983: What do you mean I can’t bring a can of shaving cream? Declaring 6 packs of cigarettes. Reading USGS topographical maps. A water testing kit is awkward to carry on portages. Pitching a tent on bare rock. The view of Sarah Lake. Sea Gulls fighting over fish guts. Finding out you can’t leave Walleyes on a stringer overnight and expect to eat them for breakfast. The awful din of Mosquitoes at dusk. The mosquito stuck to a Sundew leaf. Pitcher Plants are smaller than I thought. Some orchids are weedy looking. The people who lost their food to a bear. Hearing every little noise that one night. Sharing my cigarette rations. My last cigarette. Passing around the "roll your owns". Eating TVP in chili. Eating TVP in spaghetti. Eating TVP in Shepard’s Pie. Talking about pizza and salad. Colas taste wonderful after two weeks without.

Interesting stories here, and in spite of it all, you still keep going back for more... :)

Iron Lake via the Bottle Portage in early June 1980. Me and my friend John. We used the outfitter for everything as we didn't have packs or equipment yet. We got to Iron Lake and started setting up camp and found that they had forgotten to pack a tent! We tried to use tarps and sticks to make a tent but got frustrated and gave up by late afternoon and went fishing. Around 8PM a canoe approached us and asked if we were the party that needed a tent. Thank goodness because the weather turned rainy and cold and the ticks were really bad that year. It rained every day and we spent our time pulling ticks off and fruitlessly trying to start a fire so we could cook something. We ate all the food that didn't need cooking for 3 days until finally getting a fire going by using a can of deodorant that John had (ha!) as a torch and then proceeded to cook everything perishable and eat it all. We did catch some nice bass and walleyes in between heavy rain storms. I will never forget that as we paddled out looking like drowned rats the weather was breaking and we passed a guy and his wife that were just starting there trip and they informed us that the weather was forecasted to be beautiful all week. With all that went wrong we still couldn't wait to go back and did so for over 30 years in a row.

Like others in this thread, we paddled with heavy gear, which made for misery. Ours was a logging road trip in a 1965 Chevy Biscayne station wagon, aka a Wagon Queen Family Truckster, and we had three flats and one crash. The mosquitoes were thicker than in any subsequent trip and my grandfather was the first to bed and the first to rise. Not wanting to donate blood to the local fauna alone, he'd walk from tent to tent, banging on our cast iron skillet with a metal spoon.

Frenchy19: "

jcavenagh: " My first trip...and then some
These photos were found in my sister's basement last summer. We thought they were all lost! I have the blue and white hat. I was 20 yrs old there. That was my very first canoe trip.



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AWESOME photos! Somewhere they exist for my first trip, but, sadly, I am pretty sure it is at the bottom of a garbage heap."

Frenchy - There is a very weird story behind those pictures appearing. My B-I-L, Mark, who is shown portaging, went blind about 3 years after that trip. He and my sis always had the furniture in their house in a very specific place. In his office, in the basement of their house he had his computer stuff. Everything was always along the walls so that he could walk without tripping. He died last summer. After his funeral my sis went down to the office and found an old typewriter cart sitting dead center in the room. She had never touched that old cart for decades and had not even begun to clean out the office. Right on top of the cart was an envelope with the photos in it.
We had looked for those photos 4 or 5 times over the years, but never found them. My sis wondered out loud to me if maybe Mark had somehow caused that cart to be there.

That very first canoe trip was a watershed event in my life. I had been heading into some serious trouble, but after experiencing the BW/Q I completely turned my life around, went back to school, then got into law school and have had a wonderful time all these years.
I am so happy that these wonderful memories have been reinforced with the discovery of the missing photos.

This is a great thread. I keep coming back and going to the bottom to read the latest. Reckon I might put in my own story, though it doesn't hold a candle to some of these.

We had looked for those photots 4 or 5 times over the years, but never found them. My sis wondered out loud to me if maybe Mark had somehow caused that cart to be there.

Wow!!!

1957 or so. I barely remember it since I was very young. Lac LaCroix. All I remember was rain, a tent that leaked, mosquitoes, tall grass, a swampy campsite. Most of all I remember being afraid a bear would show up.

Funny, now I don't much care if it rains, the bugs don't bother me, I am picky about campsites, my tent doesn't ever leak and I don't worry about bears.

It took me awhile but I have evolved.

Wow. 1972. Just bits and pieces. Scoutmaster drove us in his country squire station wagon from Cincy area. Packed like sardines. Canadian Waters Outfitters. Checked in with Dan Waters and drove to a resort with a dock full of rowboats and canoes to practice with. Stayed in a romper room bunkhouse behind the little bait shop store. Right up the shore was a sauna.
Next morning we took a short drive ,loaded up and flew to somewhere on Basswood. First plane ride. Took 2 trips to haul 8 of us.
Canvas cabin tents and our first taste of dehydrated food. It poured at least one whole day. Hammer handle pike around camp. My arsenal consisted of 2 roostertails,a mepps,a lazy ike,and a comet minnow lure purchased at a gas station on the way. paddleTelescopic rod broke on the last night at camp. Always wondered how big that fish was.
One daytrip was to Wheelbarrow Falls. We prided ourselves to know we had set a foot in Canada. One canoe in our group ran the falls. It shot up in the air a canoe length and fished them out at the pool at the end on the opposite bank. Canoe looked like a cross between an accordion and banana. Towed it back to camp.
Another daytrip was a long winding weedy deep banked creek that could wedge a canoe at the curves. It ended in a burn area I think.
I don't remember the plane ride back to Ely, but returned to the bunkhouse behind the bait store. I remember the sauna with the hot rocks and the taste of salty sweat in my nose.
I was hooked. Couldn't wait to do it again. The place was majic especially to a teenager. Ely was cool too. I could close my eyes and still see sanpshots in my mind years and years later.

A couple of us seperately returned a couple times years later. In 06 or 07 3 of us tripped together again and I have been coming back ever since.

1986. Was in my twenties and invited to be the group's fourth by a grade school friend who was going up with two of his college buddies. This is the only trip I've been on that I did not do any of the planning. I was nervous that this would maybe be just a little too much "roughing it" for me but in spite of all of the dumb mistakes we made I had an absolute blast and have been back dozens of times since.

To this day it is the only trip that I've seen a bear. One of the biggest highlights from that trip is that, the summer before she died, I got to meet Root Beer Dorothy.