Be it bears, weather, health emergency, or just overactive imagination, we've all had them while we've been out in the BW! What is the story of your longest night? Did everyone make it out safely? Was the perception of what might happen worse than what actually happened? Were any lessons learned that may be of benefit to others? Share away!

I'll start here, for me it's usually bears, at least recently since I moved to AK.
I always solo, canoe, backpack or hike.

My first solo in AK was a overnighter on the Kenai Peninsula, I paddled and portages six miles into Swan Lake. Set up camp, relaxed and bedded down.
In the middle of the nite i woke up to splashing sounds in the water, my first thought was a Brown Bear.
No it was not a bear, but Salmon spawning along the shoreline, needless to say I did not sleep well that nite.

I have only camped out 20+ nights in ak, but the human eating bears always keep me from a really restfull nites sleep.
There have been three maulings within 8 miles from where I live in the last 2 years.

I miss canoeing in the BW, it's so relaxing compared to AK.

A newbie group member. No details... I will just say that we took turns staying awake and on guard and I did fear for my life for about 48 hours.

quote schweady: "A newbie group member. No details... I will just say that we took turns staying awake and on guard and I did fear for my life for about 48 hours.
"

In the BW, the potential for instability in humans concerns me far more than the animals. Out west, I'm with LindenTree on the grizzlies. My daughter and I had one night of very light sleeping out there due to a sow somewhere in the vicinity with a fresh elk kill. At some point in the small hours, I finally convinced myself that she would be too well occupied with the elk to come and eat us in our sleeping bags like a pair of burritos.

While in the main campground at Sawbill thirty-some years ago at the tender age of eight, I spent a solid half an hour trapped in the outhouse while a bear sat outside eating copious amounts of food stolen from a near by campsite. In my eight year old mind, I was fairly certain I'd be next. We portaged out the next morning. I was a wreck for the remainder of the trip.

Nights in barren land Grizzly country , just feel real vulnerable on the Tundra with those critters around.

Well, a couple decades ago I toyed with the idea of writing a book about some of my canoeing and backpacking adventures. I wrote a story of our only ugly bear encounter to date. I'd had a few before, many since and nary an issue. Here's an excerpt of the story:

......we sailed across Horseshoe into the small narrows where you can choose to go south into Vista or east to Gaskin. The rain didn’t look like it would oblige us and hold off until we made it into Gaskin, so we decided to settle for the campsite on that northern point.
I hurriedly strung our tarp while my wife, Margaret, set up the tent and unrolled the Thermarests and down bags and otherwise turned our little piece of granite into a home. I brought the canoe up into camp and balanced it on the typical “Canoe logs” found at most campsites for our kitchen table.
By now those ominous looking clouds had passed to the east without so much as a drop of the wet stuff we had anticipated. Oh well, we had a decent campsite with plenty of privacy since no one occupied the campsite across from us and the nearest neighbors being across the narrows and into that southeast bay.
We also began to take notice of the condition the previous “Sloppy” campers had left this campsite in. The firepit was a mess with ashes and food bits sprinkled around and little “Tidbits” were left in various places. There was a Ziplock bag with a lighter, matches, and T.P., spare parts from an unknown camp stove, and a fishing reel that seemed to be in perfect working order. “Gosh, how come people are so messy and lazy I remarked,” not for a minute thinking the items left behind and general disarray of the campsite may have been due to some reason other than the previous campers being “Slobs.” “I know, but at least they did leave some “Courtesy wood” so we can get a good fire for dinner,” Margaret said. Well, I guess the previous voyageurs weren’t completely inconsiderate!
That evening’s dining experience was a real “Five star” meal including steaks topped with sautéed onion and hashbrowns. We usually splurge on the first night before resigning ourselves to freeze-dried fare except for the occasional “Shoreline meals” of fresh fish fillets rolled in Martha White Hushpuppy Mix and homemade onion rings. Makes the old salivary glands work overtime just thinking about it!
After digesting the meal and the sunset, courtesy of the dry cold front that passed through teasing us into thinking we’d get a downpour, I changed out of my damp clothes into my “Eveningwear” of hospital scrubs.
Searching for a suitable tree to hang the “Bear rope,” I was unable to find anything near the campsite. Finally, in the gathering dusk, I found some suitable trees about 200 yards away from the campsite. The limbs I used were probably 20-25 feet up. “Shouldn’t have any problems with bears tonight,” I said, not realizing how ironic that statement would become. Leaving out three packets of hot chocolate, we trekked back to the confines of our home for the night.
Drowsily we sipped the hot chocolate while the flames of our campfire licked the brisk air of that September evening. The mild ache of paddling muscles, too long unused, which always accompanies the first few days out, had settled into our bones and was inviting us to finish the last few drops of hot chocolate and stretch out on the comfy Thermarest pads lying inside the tent.
Almost simultaneous to draining the last few drops out of my Sierra cup, we heard a rustling in the leaves behind us. The “Sitting” log was located on a rise with a small brushy ravine immediately behind. Straining to see what the source of the noise was, we stood and scanned the area. Not seeing anything I said, “Probably a pine marten, “ having seen one earlier in the day while paddling the shoreline of Poplar Lake. Then the rustling began again followed by a long, low growl, which sounded similar to the last bit of water flowing out of a large drainpipe. “That’s no Pine Marten,” Margaret replied, with a bit of tremor in her voice. The outline of a large black bear became evident as our pupils dilated in response to looking into the dark ravine for several seconds. Almost relieved that it wasn’t the legendary Bigfoot, I stammered, “It’s just a bear, we’ll scare him off.”
Now this wasn’t the first time we had seen a black bear in the wild, being experienced BWCAW campers, but all those we had seen before were in the “Average” 150-250lb range, whereas; this appeared to be a good 350 lbs, give or take a loaded Duluth pack. I reached over and grabbed my canoe paddle, swinging it wildly overhead and began to “Whoop” like a deranged escapee from an asylum! The bear responded with a long resonant growl, which was much more menacing than my “Whooping.” I then snatched my veteran cooking pot and a spoon and added “Pot banging” to my repertoire. The bear’s response; he emitted another long, menacing growl. So much for “Plan B!”
Still not convinced that this wasn’t the average black bear, I added a “False charge” to my act, running a few feet toward the bear while “Whooping” and “Pan Banging.” The bear’s response to my antics, you guessed it; the bear emitted another long low growl while advancing a few feet. I guess he was going to oblige me by meeting me half way!
It’s safe to say now that I was a bit scared, well; petrified is probably a better description of my state of mind at the time! Here we were, in the wilderness, no help, no gun, and an angry bear; we were smack dab in the middle of one of Larry Kaniut’s “Bear Tales” books, only I wasn’t home in my easy chair reading about it I was “Living” it!
Well, when the body is excited there is a natural sequence of events in which the body is flooded with adrenalin and dopamine rendering a person capable of sometimes “Superhuman” strength; it’s called “Fight or flight” syndrome. Relatively certain that the influx of the two was not enough for me to successfully “Fight” the bear, I chose the latter, “Flight!”
While Margaret bravely assumed my duties as “Whooper” and “Pot banger,” I flicked the 70lb canoe onto my shoulders like it was an empty Duluth pack and ran down to the water. Taking the cooking utensils, turned percussion instruments, from Margaret I instructed her to take sleeping bags and the Thermarests to the canoe while I resumed our intimidation tactics on the bear. “Leave the tent unzipped,” I stuttered, “Or he will make a new entrance!”
When Margaret had finished packing our “Bedroom” loosely into the canoe (if timed it would have probably been some kind of a packing record) I retreated to the canoe and quickly pushed off into the black depths of the lake, all of about 10 feet, before we grounded on a piece of Boundary Waters granite. Frantically we tried to push off the offending rock, almost upsetting the canoe while the bear came right down to the water and continued to do what he did best, low menacing growls.
Finally breaking the adhesion of aluminum to granite (these two elements have a strong affinity for each other), we paddled out about 100 yards and began to breathe again! We could hear the bear strolling around the campsite with occasional metallic noises and muffled growls. While pondering what to do next, we noticed the faint glow from the campsite east of us toward Gaskin on the opposite side of the lake as the bear. Normally we wouldn’t intrude on anyone else’s privacy in the BWCAW except to engage in conversation while passing on the portages or a “Wave” while passing on the water. Tonight, however; we would make an exception. If the bear were to “Look us up” again, we preferred a larger “Welcoming committee!”
We slowly paddled up to the site as two fellow paddlers came down to the lake to greet us. After explaining to the two our circumstances one of the two said to the other, “See, I told you that wasn’t me making those noises when you were back at the tent!”
These two generous men not only invited us to stay in their campsite, but also insisted that we share their four-man tent. These two “Southern Gentleman” from Houston, Texas will never be forgotten by Margaret or myself.
And as it turned out, they were both Respiratory Therapists and with me being a R.N., we talked “Shop” long into the night; not that I would have slept anyway. The bear, I assume decided September is a bit chilly for swimming and kept to his side of the lake.
As the sunrise ushered in a glorious Canoe Country morning, Margaret and I pondered our next step. We decided that we had had enough of the “Wilderness Experience” for one trip and would paddle out. Problem was, we had to go back to the campsite to retrieve the rest of our gear, or what was left of it, and there was the matter of retrieving the food pack 200 yards back into the woods. I certainly didn’t relish the idea of returning, but we resigned ourselves to our task.
Our gracious hosts were already out on the lake trying to tempt the plentiful walleye and smallmouth, which inhabit Horseshoe, and the only thing we could think of to give them in “Thanks” was to refill their fuel bottle with Coleman fuel from ours.
As we gently landed at our former campsite, glaring at the rock that had tried to prevent us from leaving, we slowly stalked up to our tent and gear. Although the dry, rocky campsite showed no distinct spoor from our visitor, one large track was firmly planted just inside the tent door where he had given it his inspection. The coffee pot and cooking pot were on the ground but nothing had been damaged. Nothing, that is except my wet clothes. Seems that the odor of steak and onion must appeal to the black bear as my jeans and underwear had a few tears and punctures and were wet with saliva, bear saliva. I kept these for many years as a sort of “Trophy” from our “Bear trip.”
Now, as for retrieving the food pack, I never stalked a whitetail with the stealth I used in stalking that pack. It dangled, unharmed, about twenty feet up. I have no doubt that the bear probably would have figured a way to get it if he had found it, but apparently the fact that there were no suitable trees near the campsite saved this particular Duluth pack from certain demise at the hand (or claws and teeth) of Mr. Bruin.
As we paddled back in, it seemed our senses were even more aware of the sights, sounds, and overall beauty of the Boundary Waters that day. At Hungry Jack Outfitters, the owner seemed a bit skeptical of our little adventure. “There never has been any bear problems on Horseshoe before.” It wasn’t until the next year that I found out that even though Horseshoe Lake might have never had a problem with bears before, that particular September was an exception. I also heard that a certain bear hunter killed a nice bruin in this location.
For many women (and men for that matter) this would have been their last trip to the BWCAW. Thankfully my wife loves this area almost as much as I and wouldn’t let this deter her from returning. Of course, we now always carry pepper spray and the following year we did use a guide, but after getting back in the saddle we’re now comfortable again in Canoe Country.
Also now, I’m a bit more careful when inspecting possible campsites. And if the previous tripper leaves a Ziplock bag with T.P., matches and a lighter inside, you know Margaret and I won’t be spending the night!

BTW, many "Experts" say they've never heard a Black Bear growl. I've heard huffs, teeth popping, moaning noises, but this bear GROWLED. THere is no other description of the noise. Believe it or not, we know what we heard and the guys camped across the lake heard it to.

Also, the proprietor of HJO was the previous owners, before Dave and Nancy Seaton. Found out from another outfitter that there were other bear encounters at that campsite that year until a bear hunter encountered the bear. I have stayed there again a couple times and was a little freaked out the first time!

My longest night in the BWCA was my first night on my first ever solo last October. I had to crawl out of the hammock 5 times during the night to pee. I guess treating myself to a large 1/2 dark roast - 1/2 cappuccino on the way up to Ely when I rarely drink coffee anymore was a bad idea.

Three long nights stand out to me:

2000: was sharing a 9' x 9' tent with three other guys--three of the loudest snoring sleepers I've ever heard. The weather was nice that night so I left the tent to go sleep outside but I could still hear them about 50' away.

2004: temps got down to a record cold one night in early August, 27 degrees(F)! We had gear a for a summer trip and I could not sleep because I was too cold. Lesson-learned to prepare better when packing.

2008: Bad overnight storms. Wave after wave came through while we were camped on an open knob of land at Ogish. Our tent floor became a water bed (however, no water came through the floor) and a gust of wind snapped one of our fiberglass tent poles. During a break in the rain we went out to do some emergency duct-tape repair to the pole and while out there a big bolt of lightning hit nearby. One of the guys in the other tent actually took this strike! So fortunate that he was uninjured other than a bruise on his tricep where the lightning arched from an aluminum tent pole to his arm

Ozarkpaddler. You Sir, are a Literary Artist.

In June 1992 me and my 16 year old brother pull into Murdoch Lake in Quetico late in the day. We want to get up early and travel so instead of setting up the tent we hang our rope hammocks for the night. We put on headnets and crawl ointo our down winter bags. Should be ok right?

Well, it's totally calm and hot and humid. The skeeters have now found us. We both spent the night cursing and sweating as the little buggers buzzed then landed two inches in front of our face. I remember getting out of ny bag in the morning with a dehydration headache, tired, and soaking wet in my own sweat. Live and learn, my friends.

quote BnD: "Ozarkpaddler. You Sir, are a Literary Artist."

+1
Nice work and a darn good tale to tell!

I too experienced a night of a full bladder. We spend 7-8 hours in the car to get up there. The dry air of the vehicle just sucks all the moisture out of my body. Since I get a blinding migraine when I get too dehydrated, I stave it off with Gatorade; 2-3 quarts are required. We spent the pre-entry night in the Lake Jeanette campground. I was up and out of my hammock 5 or 6 times to relieve myself. It was a blessing though. It was one of those clear nights that the stars seem to hover just out of reach. The beauty of that night has been topped only by some nights spent in the Rockies.

The following night was similar. Again I was awash with Gatorade from a day of paddling and portaging to get in to Shell Lake. I am usually a very sound sleeper unless there is a "new" noise. First there was the kerploosh of beavers in the lake. I categorized and got used to that sound. Then a new sound invaded that took me a while to define. It was those beavers again. They were using those big yellow teeth on tree trunks nearby in the woods. At least that is the explanation I landed on after calmly discounting the rampaging bear and marauding axe murderer theories. The sound of teeth chewing through wood was actually kind of soothing once I got used to it. However, as I was drifting off once again in my hammock, the CRAAACK of a large tree trunk popped my eyes open yet again with instant recognition of this sound accompanied by a vision of being squashed by a falling tree. Thankfully, that was the only night of our stay that the beavers were active.

Does my wedding night count?

quote OneMatch: "Does my wedding night count? "

Ha! That's either a very good or very bad night ;-)

My longest night story? I have a few but one stands out. One Washington State winter I had decided to set a trap line in a rather far flung watershed in a river valley in the Cascade mountain range. I knew I wouldn't be able to get in, set the line and get out in one day so I decided to sleep out overnight.

I had brought tent and sleeping bag but had neglected a pad. Dark by around 6 p.m. Didn't help and man it got cold. I got so cold that I stupidly stuffed my face inside my sleeping bag and promptly fell asleep. Several hours later I awoke frantically trying to get out of my sleeping bag. I had to stop myself realizing that if I got out it would only get colder. Morning didn't seem Like it would ever come and along with the sun I had one of the worst headaches ever.

One night I camped atop a tiny island and the wind blew so hard it flattened my dome tent, which went wap-wap-wap on my face all night.

Another night, a lightning strike melted my guy lines and the fly flapped all night.

Another night, a moose swam out to my tiny island and clomped about. It left when I yelled at it, but I still slept lightly after that.

"Hang it Right"

"What do we do if a bear comes into our camp?" The question was
posed by my partner, Bo Roberts, a Quetico rookie voyageur. The inquiry
was sparked from the three canoes gliding down the waterway connecting
Russell Lake with the Sturgeon Narrows. These were the same three I
expected earlier would nab the small island campsite, located at the
mouth, running into the narrows.
They began yelling, "Can you tell us where the closest campsite is
located? We were just run off of our last one by a bear." I retrieved my
maps from the tent and told them about the campsites across the narrows.
They thanked me and traveled on.
As the canoes departed, Bo asked the infamous "Bear in our Camp"
question. He was set to pack up and retreat. Looking back now, it would
have been a good idea. I went on to explain that if confronted by a
black bear, we will need to create as much noise as possible to scare it
off. Bang pots and pans together or other metal objects. I have even
heard of beating on the canoe. A loud whistle, yelling or screaming work
as well. If we keep a clean camp and hang the food pack, everything
should be fine.
I initiated my search for a sturdy limb, one about twelve feet off
the ground. I needed one that could support our ninety pound anchor...,I
mean food pack, which contained all our staples for the remaining nine
days of adventure. There was not much of a selection to chose from on
such a small island. I did manage to locate one with the correct height,
but the distant end of the limb was not strong enough. The rope slipped
closer to the trunk as the pack was hoisted to its resting spot for the
evening. I decided that would have to do.
After the fresh walleye had been gobbled down, the food pack hung
and the camp clean, it was time to fish again. Bo angled off the front
of the island, while I tested my luck in the back.
No more than ten minutes had passed, when I glanced up the waterway
to be- hold a black bear with a snout pointed in our direction. I
shouted out to Bo, "BEAR!". I scrambled to gather the personal gear
situated around the fire ring. We jumped into the kevlar craft and
paddled about ten yards off shore. Wanting to keep an eagle's eye watch
of the food pack, I positioned us transversely from it. The food pack
had the appearance of a mammoth piece of green cheese in a mouse trap,
anticipating the arrival of a three hundred pound black mouse.
A few anxious minutes went by until we heard the snapping of limbs
echoing from the tall timbers. The bear's keen sense of smell had lured
him to the destitute slab of granite adjacent to the island. Neither
Bo nor I had ever been this close to a bear and we marveled at the
majestic site of the bruin. This intrigue would soon turn to terror.
The intruder, on a mission, looked to the right and moved left,
portraying a football player determined to locate an opening in the
line. He slipped out of our sights to the opposite side. We maneuvered
the canoe around in an attempt to head him off before crossing over.
When we arrived at the other side, he was already swimming. I began
yelling and banging the paddle on the canoe. Bo followed with the same
procedure. The bear turned back to the mainland. Being the crafty
devil he was, the bear prowled to the back side of the island, out of
sight again. We bolted back around, only to discover the nuisance was
missing. One of two circumstances had taken place. He either high-tailed
it back into the pines or was on the campsite (I bet you can guess where
he was).
Scraping noises protruding from camp filled the air. I spied the
beast and he in turn the food pack. Within moments the bruin scaled the
jackpine and was knocking the pack around, resembling a kitten and a
ball of yarn. My yelling rapidly transformed into screams, as the bear
paws were shredding the outer surface of the pack. It must have startled
him because he descended from the pack attack. This did not last long though, as he concluded we were not a threat and straddled the tree once again. This trip up, perseverance paid off, the black bear managed to pull out the garbage bag. Being
content with the prize, he dropped down to earth. While the garbage was
being disposed of in the trash compacting bear, I began looking for a
distraction.
With the thrust of our paddles we shot towards the shoreline
which was littered with rocks. Bo filled the newly converted gravel
truck. We paddled back in range of our unexpected dinner guest and
started firing. The second rock catapulted by my partner nailed him in
the ribs. He glanced over and then continued to eat. We bombarded the
menace until he decided this snack was not worth the trouble. Bo sprang
from the canoe and sliced down the pack.
We proceeded to tear down and pack up the camp in minutes. I didn't
even disassemble the tent, just pulled the stakes and piled it upon the
gear al ready thrown in our kevlar craft.
It was close to midnight when we found our next campsite. The new
site was on Blueberry Island. What do those bears usually eat other than
food packs?
My travels have brought me through Quetico many times without an
incident with a black bear. Bear encounters only occur to those
wilderness visitors who are careless and are reluctant to keep a clean
camp. I carried the notion of bear problems only happen to the other
guy. I wrote this for people to understand, that on their next trip,
they may be the other guy. Do not be naive of the black bear's
craftiness. Hang your pack and hang it right!

Only one I can think of the trip in the first week of June to Ensign. Unfortunately this is the time the Whip-poor-wills are calling for a mate. I think they come back to the same spot year after year. You can set your watch when they will start calling. 9:30 PM to 4:00 AM of nonstop whip-poor-will. One calls, then the other ones call a ways away. It just about drove me nuts. I'm not sure if it's just this lake that has a huge population of these birds, or they just call like crazy during the mating season. Next trip I included a few sets of ear plugs, problem solved. We warn the new people in our group to pack earplugs also.

The July storm in 2014. Didn't take my weather radio but had printed the 10 day forecast. Hot, muggy day and calm evening. Little breeze picked up at bed time. Wind and thunder woke me about 2 am. Sideways rain, tent pushing in on the side from wind. I could hear trees falling.....one in camp. I knew tents were sitting in good spot. After the initial front it just kinda morphed into a plain old storm....but for a while it was a little dicey. I went back to sleep eventually and all was well in the morning except for the numerous down trees on all the portages coming out of Gaskin.
Got back to Gunflint and Mocha told us about all the rescues on Lady Boot and some other places. We were thankful for mostly dodging it.

I have definitely had a couple weather related night's awake. 2014, we had winds that sounded like a freight train coming in. You could hear the shaking in the forest and know about when the big wind would hit. It got to the point where we kept someone in the tent at almost all time to keep it from blowing too far away.

All that being said, once we identified the noise, I was good for the night. If I had been solo, it may have been different, but not too bad all things considered!

I almost never have a hard time sleeping when I camp. Of course now I have jinxed myself. LOL

quote 1bogfrog: "

quote BnD: "Ozarkpaddler. You Sir, are a Literary Artist."

+1
Nice work and a darn good tale to tell!"

Well, thank you for the kind words but unfortunately the couple of places I submitted it to didn't agree? I had submitted one story the year before that was published in the BWJ and thought maybe I had a knack for it? But when I submitted it, Stu was skeptical about it.

I feel like a broken record sometimes reiterating my opinion of that "Growling" noise. I'm no ursine expert, but have seen probably 3 dozen in the wild? Most were SILENT. A couple times I've heard them "Pop" their teeth, some "Huffed," and a few made more of a "Moaning" sound. This sounded like an amplified Pine Marten growl, or growl like a big dog. Never heard that sound before, never heard it since. Had I not had my wife and two others hear it, I'd have thought I mischaracterized the sound?

My longest night was on Fourtown when my buddy Mark had cabbage with his baked beans and walleye. Countries in the middle east that are trying to develop nuclear weapons but cant get ahold of enriched uranium should look into cabbage and baked beans because they have the same power as splitting an atom :-)

I've had several sleepless nights due to good company and too much booze in the BWCA. The one that most comes to mind was actually when my girlfriend and I were hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, outside of Estes Park. We were up in the Mummy Range and for the first time in my life the woods were completely silent at night. I grew up in WI, live in MN so there's always bugs, birds, wind, cars, SOMETHING making a little noise. At elevation there was nothing but an uncomfortable silence that I somehow couldn't sleep through. Bears are not a concern there but I don't know how many times I woke up convinced that the pots I'd placed on our bear container had been knocked over. Very strange experience.

The worst sleep I ever had was the first night in the boundary waters. Too thin of a pad and not used to camping. Mosquitos were terrible too and some made it into the tent and we had them buzzing in our ears all night long. I figure they either came in hitching a ride on us or when I took my boots off without bringing them into the tent. It was my dad's tent I borrowed at the time and his rule was no shoes on in the tent. The worst was when we spent 10 min trying to kill all the mosquitos just to lay down and hear them 3 min later.

Mosquitos drive me nuts more than anything else in the BW, you can scare off a bear or at least run away in your canoe and weather you can take shelter from, but mosquitos will constantly harass you even with permathrin and deet. They just keep coming after you regardless of how many you kill. With bees or flies, typically there are only a few so killing a couple not only provides immense satisfaction but immediate relief as well. Mosquitos seems to be endless though and killing dozens seems to make no dent in the harassment. Then at night when you are trying to sleep, even without any in the tent, sometimes you can hear them buzzing on the other side of the screen and you also itch from all the bites you weren't able to prevent. Mosquitos can make me a very unhappy camper when they are really bad.

quote A1t2o: "Mosquitos drive me nuts more than anything else in the BW, you can scare off a bear or at least run away in your canoe and weather you can take shelter from, but mosquitos will constantly harass you even with permathrin and deet.."

Any chance that the particular trip you're referencing occurred in 2013? I have never, in the 41 years I have been coming to the BW, seen mosquitoes like we did that year! We jogged the portages to get back on the water and "away" from them. We had no campfires but set up the tent as fast as we could to get back in it. In the mornings, the tent would have a bunch of the little beasts in it, all full of blood. We broke camp one morning and headed out onto Malberg on our way north, and there was one guy in an empty canoe, by himself in the middle of the lake just flailing himself with his hat! Unless we had drenched ourselves in deet and permethrin and then set ourselves on fire, I don't think it would have touched them. This is the only trip I have ever taken up there that I wouldn't choose to do over again. It not only made for long nights, but long days (and short tempers).

Our longest night was on our first trip when we stopped at a site on Saturday bay of Crooked lake. One of our scouts was extremely sick with vomiting and diarrhea. We got in our tent and heard the kid unzip the tent a couple of times and get out to go throw up. Then a while later he calls over and says "I'm out of water, I threw up in the tent, had diarrhea in my pants and I think there's a bear out there". My husband reluctantly gets out, gets him some water, gives him a towel to clean out the tent, and puts the dirty laundry in a bucket. He didn't see a sign of a bear, thankfully. Then he comes back and settles in and we start to see lightning. We realized we hadn't tied down the canoes, so we got out and pulled up the canoes between the trees and tied them down and got back in the tent as it started to rain. There was a massive lightning display for what seemed like a long time, but was probably about 30 minutes, and rain for about another hour and some big wind gusts that had us holding down the edge of the tent while it blew the top down low. It finally let up and we got to sleep the rest of the night. (this is in my trip report so some may have already read it if it sounds familiar).

I have to say one of the first things I pack is ear plugs. Work like magic. Sleep through thunderstorms, snoring tent mates, whiperwills, loons, beavers, bears, windy nights, etc...... Sleep like a rock. I prefer sleep vs. paranoia.

Back in the late seventies I had bought a huge amount of dehydrated food from Siedel. I had plenty for the next year too. But the second year after a big meal of beef stew we barely got the camp buttoned down for the night when a big storm blew in. It wasn't a tree dropping storm, but it was the type that had every window closed. Then wouldn't you know I learned that night you don't keep stuff with onions in it the second year. It's one thing to pass a little gas... but a little wasn't the word and gas? Well, let's just say that down pour wasn't looking so bad. We had four guys in a four man tent. To this day I've not smelled anything worse... and I had kids... whew! One long night. And do you think the rain would quit?

quote nctry: " Then wouldn't you know I learned that night you don't keep stuff with onions in it the second year. It's one thing to pass a little gas... but a little wasn't the word and gas? "

This quality hasn't changed in dehydrated food since the 70's. We learned the same lesson. I recall such a night on Burnt Lake. It was well for my husband that we had a rocky campsite or I would have been out digging him a shallow grave. Good lord...it made my eyes burn! I'm not sure if it was the age of the food, the additives, but I am darn sure there was onion involvement, and lots of it.

quote BnD: "I have to say one of the first things I pack is ear plugs. Work like magic. Sleep through thunderstorms, snoring tent mates, whiperwills, loons, beavers, bears, windy nights, etc...... Sleep like a rock. I prefer sleep vs. paranoia."

I totally agree with you. I put the ear plugs in and the outside world slowly disappears as the plugs get tight. Let the other guys worry about animals or weather. They will wake you up anyway if needed and you will be fully rested in the morning.

August 2000. Was guiding a family of 4 from Chicago who had zero experience camping much less canoeing. They just wanted to experience 1 night in the woods. We entered at Lake One and took the first campsite available. Got cam setup and settled in for the night. 2 kids in a tent near the water, the parents in another tent and I bed down for the night in my solo tent on the other side of the camp.

Around 1:00 I'm awoken by thunder in the distance. I stay awake as the thunder gets louder, closer and more frequent. Soon enough, it a torrential downpour, the wind is roaring and lightning is on top of us. At one point I looked out my tent door and a 3 pronged bolt of lightning strikes the island across the channel we're camped on. In short order my tent is practically floating in a pool of water. I get in full lightning posture, crouched on my folded up sleeping pad, and stay there for the next hour or so as the storm pummels our campsite. I have never experienced lightning that close, frequent, bright and loud as that night. After what seems like eternity (2 hours after I woke up), I exited my tent to check on my group.

As I approach the parents tent, there is not a sound. I shake their tent and ask how they are doing. The father responds and asks whats going on. Him and his wife slept through the entire ordeal, they had no idea it was even raining. I proceed to the kid's tent. Their rain fly is gone and I shine my headlight around looking for it. After surveying the camp with my light with no luck I finally shine it into the water and floating just off shore is the rain fly from their tent. The kids had been up for a while and despite their soggy tent, they thought the storm and lightning were "awesome". We fish out the rain fly, shake it off and get it back on their tent.

We all get back to our tents and try to rest for the remaining hours left in the night. I didn't sleep and was making coffee by 5 am. Everyone is up early. We make breakfast, get camp packed up and make our way back to the landing. After we exited the next morning, they were so excited about their night in the wilderness. The rookies who had never camped before were completely unphased. I on the other hand was traumatized from the whole ordeal. As a 22 yr old guiding my 2nd trip, it was by far the longest night I have spent in the BW. To this day, when I hear thunder or see lighting while out there I still get a little anxious. Luckily I haven't experienced anything close to that since.

Last year on Wood Lake -- eight months pregnant on our first camping trip with our 3-year-old son. When not being kicked by our tossing and turning son, or by our tossing and turning unborn daughter, I was hauling my myself out of the tent to pee or listening the wind picking up and worrying about paddling out safely the next day. All together I might have gotten an hour of sleep that night. Next morning was cold and rainy and we rushed to get out before the forecasted thunderstorm. About 20 rods into the 180 rod uphill portage our son was just done. I ended up carrying him the rest of the way while my husband double portaged to get the canoe and all the gear. On the upside though, our son can't wait to go camping again!

quote Basspro69: "My longest night was on Fourtown when my buddy Mark had cabbage with his baked beans and walleye. Countries in the middle east that are trying to develop nuclear weapons but cant get ahold of enriched uranium should look into cabbage and baked beans because they have the same power as splitting an atom :-)"

You got me laughing.

quote 1bogfrog: "

quote A1t2o: "Mosquitos drive me nuts more than anything else in the BW, you can scare off a bear or at least run away in your canoe and weather you can take shelter from, but mosquitos will constantly harass you even with permathrin and deet.."

Any chance that the particular trip you're referencing occurred in 2013? I have never, in the 41 years I have been coming to the BW, seen mosquitoes like we did that year! "

This was 2014, but it was on the lady chain. Last year we did have a time when the mosquitos got so thick that we were inhaling them, but it didn't last long after the bats came around and thinned them out. When you swat once and kill 3-5 mosquitos, you know they are thick. Going to have to bring more cigars next time.

quote Pinetree: "

quote Basspro69: "My longest night was on Fourtown when my buddy Mark had cabbage with his baked beans and walleye. Countries in the middle east that are trying to develop nuclear weapons but cant get ahold of enriched uranium should look into cabbage and baked beans because they have the same power as splitting an atom :-)"

You got me laughing."

That would be a long night.......

Some of it was at night - certainly the worst part.

one terrible awful, rotten half a day

I had a long night several years ago on a solo trip on Upper Priest Lake in the Idaho Panhandle. It's Grizzly Bear country and not too long before my trip a camper was killed by a bear across the border in Montana. The Forest Service has installed bear proof storage units on Upper Priest so there have not been many encounters in recent years, but strange sounds in the night can still be unnerving. Fortunately in my case the strange noise was just the lapping of water along the lake after the wind had shifted direction in the night. Those bear proof storage units make a huge noise when you open or close them. It occurred to me that every bear within a ten mile radius would know someone was there.

Bill

Had a real bad storm blow our rain fly away into the woods. We went a fetched it in the pitch black during the storm and got it back on the tent but of course that was plenty of time to drench everything in the tent. Very long night trying to not shiver let alone fall asleep.