BWCA Entry Point, Route, and Trip Report Blog
April 03 2025
Entry Point 23 - Mudro Lake
Number of Permits per Day: 5
Elevation: 1166 feet
Latitude: 48.0356
Longitude: -91.8301
On the Water- Monday July 20th-
On the water late considering how far we need to go today. Up the Horse river to the falls by 6pm. Started raining and NO campsites available. Mudrow-Alruss-Tin can Mike-Horse Lake-Horse River-Basswood. 13 miles by water. (not counting portages)
Tuesday July 21st-
Rain all night, all morning and all day. Went north by petroglyphs, table rock and the the Crocked Lake Narrows across Thursday bay to campsite. Basswood-Crooked Lake-Wednesday Bay-Thursday Bay. 11 miles in the rain.
Wednesday July 22nd-
Up early and calm winds to take advantage of, considering the big water we have to cross. Found beaver dam to lift over and did a portage from hell between Pandos lake and Chippewa Lake. VERY steep and slippery after rain. Many mud holes. Then the mile portage after Wagosh Lake to Gun Lake. Never saw another soul in a canoe or campsite the entire day! Thursday bay-Friday Bay-Pandos Lake-Chippewa Lake-Wagosh lake-Gun Lake. 11 miles by water.
Thursday July 23rd-
Finally had a dry night. got everything dry!!! A few portages today to Fourtown Lake campsite. Easy day by comparison. Gun Lake-Fairy Lake-Boot Lake-Fourtown Lake. 6 miles. Put the long miles at the first of the week for a buffer for contingencies!
Friday July 24th-
Last day. Stormed last night bad. A few portages today with one bad one between Fourtown Lake and Mudrow lake. To entry point by 1pm. Ready for a hot shower! 4 miles
Total-
45 miles by water
13 miles by portage (3 trips each)
58 miles total.
The Magic Trip _ A Short One
Entry Date:
September 27, 2012
Entry Point:
Bower Trout Lake
Exit Point:
Ram Lake (44)
Number of Days:
5
Group Size:
1
Lakes: Brule, South Temperance, North Temperance, Sitka, Cherokee, Gordon, Long Island.[paragraph break] 18 miles paddled 350 rods portaged
Some trust the wolf they have kept since birth not to turn on them.[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] I had read the weather forecast but decided to not quite trust it. The day had called for minimal wind and warm temps – but I had a lapse of faith I suppose. As so, I was awake in the dark and packing up my gear before light eased its way over the water. I had a few almonds and dried blueberries with a slug of water for breakfast, knowing I’d stop at some point for another wee snack or two that morning. The sky lightened and there was a mist on the water as I left my campsite. I love paddling into the mist. I always half hope I'll disappear -that the mist may be some portal into an infinite lake and woods and I can spend my days being part of it all, the water, the sun, the mist. The mystic. Into the Mystic - our man Van had it right. I wanted to paddle Brule before the day warmed and the wind came up. And oh, but wasn't it brilliant? The water was glass and calm and I sliced my way quickly down the lake – not pushing so much as paddling with intent. Can they arrest you for that, do you think?[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] I stopped once about midway to eat a clif bar (I don't much like them) and have a drink but was then on my way again quick as a wink. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break]I saw a pair of nesting eagles near Jock Mock point, one sitting higher than the other in a tall pine. I suppose they were looking at me too, disappointed that I was a person and not a fish. Join the club. I paddled across the larger stretch of open water and made the length of Brule in just under 2 hours, pulling over to the creek linking to South Temperance without so much as a whisper of wind. I’d never been on a Brule that calm. Someone was smiling on me that day. I hoped she was pretty.
On South Temperance I saw a pair of fisherman in an aluminum canoe. They’d cast their lines into a snag and said they normally fished that way. They may have been Welsh, but more likely Iowans. I left them to their tangle and continued on my way.
It’s pleasing to be on the move. I’ve always liked it. I spent my time criss-crossing paths with the sun and paddled my way through North Temperance and Sitka, picking my way along the rocks and root strewn hills of the portage and came into Cherokee. I stopped for lunch and took the sun at the peninsula campsite mid-way up the lake. [paragraph break]
[paragraph break]Lunch was tuna fish with mustard, relish and pepper in pita bread. Pita bread is fine when it's fresh and abysmal when it's not. Mine was moving towards not. I took off my boots and socks, my shirt and stood and sat and had a lie down over the next hour, enjoying the sun. I heard but did not see a loon, saw, but did not hear wood ducks and in general enjoyed what was being given to me. I saw no one else on the lake and thought it strange. It was a Friday after all. None of the campsites I’d passed appeared to be occupied. When I got back on my way and paddled up the narrows of Gordon Lake, the feeling of solitude continued. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] The portages and put ins to and through Gordon lake were rocky and I’ve a few new scratches on my canoe now. As I expected, a raven waited for me at the portage into Long Island Lake looking at me with its ancient eye. I looked back, wondering if it would go get me a beer. [paragraph break] I paddled then not quite halfway down the lake, noting no other canoes on the water or at camps and put out at a nice site with a southwest exposure just behind an island. I like islands - they're proud. It was early and I could easily have made it to Kiskadinna yet that day but I decided to spend time exploring Long Island Lake instead. I set up camp and then paddled up and around the largest mass of land on the lake, jumped the 35 rod portage and paddled back to camp. I had a bit of a scare when it seemed I’d left my hammock back at last night’s campsite. Eeejit! Are you kidding me? I was giving out to myself and pissed. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] I decided to sleep on a groundcloth beneath my tarp and began setting camp for that when I realized my hammock was only snuggled up next to my sleeping bag in another pile I’d made when I unpacked my pack. Exclamations of relief ensued but I still felt myself an eejit! I did NOT want to retrace my steps from today and changing my route but was prepared to do so if I’d indeed forgotten the sling. I gathered enough firewood for an hour or so of burning, changed clothes and spent 11 minutes making dinner. Tonight's feast was dehydrated chili made at home with fritos gone stale in the ziplock but once added to the chili softened and tasted just fine. There was still only the smallest of breezes while I washed out my pot (a snowpeak 900 cup – my 700ml cup, trangia, matches, spoon and fork all nest inside) and put it all away – deciding I didn’t need to bother with a hot chocolate later that night. I just ate some more of the Cadbury bar I’d brought along. I’d rationed 4 thick squares for each of the nights – which turned out to be enough even though I’d worried it mightn’t be. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] And then it was dark. The moon had not yet risen, there was blackness on the water to match that of the trees and the stars began to unveil themselves for me. I sat for awhile before making the fire and thought some of the things I yet wanted to do with my life, the things I want for my children, for myself, for others. All those desires. I looked into the sky and realized that it’s always there, never exactly the same, but for the most part unchanged by time, by us, by desire. The air cooled then a bit and though I was dressed for success I made my small fire, ate some more chocolate, drank wine and water from my chalice and decided it had been a good day. I let the fire burn low to just embers before giving it a stir and a douse and climbed into my warbonnet with a book and read awhile before deciding on sleep. 
Lakes: Brule, South Temperance, North Temperance, Sitka, Cherokee, Gordon, Long Island.[paragraph break] 18 miles paddled 350 rods portaged
Some trust the wolf they have kept since birth not to turn on them.[paragraph break] [paragraph break] [paragraph break] I had read the weather forecast but decided to not quite trust it. The day had called for minimal wind and warm temps – but I had a lapse of faith I suppose. As so, I was awake in the dark and packing up my gear before light eased its way over the water. I had a few almonds and dried blueberries with a slug of water for breakfast, knowing I’d stop at some point for another wee snack or two that morning. The sky lightened and there was a mist on the water as I left my campsite. I love paddling into the mist. I always half hope I'll disappear -that the mist may be some portal into an infinite lake and woods and I can spend my days being part of it all, the water, the sun, the mist. The mystic. Into the Mystic - our man Van had it right. I wanted to paddle Brule before the day warmed and the wind came up. And oh, but wasn't it brilliant? The water was glass and calm and I sliced my way quickly down the lake – not pushing so much as paddling with intent. Can they arrest you for that, do you think?[paragraph break] [paragraph break] I stopped once about midway to eat a clif bar (I don't much like them) and have a drink but was then on my way again quick as a wink. [paragraph break] [paragraph break]I saw a pair of nesting eagles near Jock Mock point, one sitting higher than the other in a tall pine. I suppose they were looking at me too, disappointed that I was a person and not a fish. Join the club. I paddled across the larger stretch of open water and made the length of Brule in just under 2 hours, pulling over to the creek linking to South Temperance without so much as a whisper of wind. I’d never been on a Brule that calm. Someone was smiling on me that day. I hoped she was pretty.
On South Temperance I saw a pair of fisherman in an aluminum canoe. They’d cast their lines into a snag and said they normally fished that way. They may have been Welsh, but more likely Iowans. I left them to their tangle and continued on my way.
It’s pleasing to be on the move. I’ve always liked it. I spent my time criss-crossing paths with the sun and paddled my way through North Temperance and Sitka, picking my way along the rocks and root strewn hills of the portage and came into Cherokee. I stopped for lunch and took the sun at the peninsula campsite mid-way up the lake. [paragraph break] [paragraph break]Lunch was tuna fish with mustard, relish and pepper in pita bread. Pita bread is fine when it's fresh and abysmal when it's not. Mine was moving towards not. I took off my boots and socks, my shirt and stood and sat and had a lie down over the next hour, enjoying the sun. I heard but did not see a loon, saw, but did not hear wood ducks and in general enjoyed what was being given to me. I saw no one else on the lake and thought it strange. It was a Friday after all. None of the campsites I’d passed appeared to be occupied. When I got back on my way and paddled up the narrows of Gordon Lake, the feeling of solitude continued. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] The portages and put ins to and through Gordon lake were rocky and I’ve a few new scratches on my canoe now. As I expected, a raven waited for me at the portage into Long Island Lake looking at me with its ancient eye. I looked back, wondering if it would go get me a beer. [paragraph break] I paddled then not quite halfway down the lake, noting no other canoes on the water or at camps and put out at a nice site with a southwest exposure just behind an island. I like islands - they're proud. It was early and I could easily have made it to Kiskadinna yet that day but I decided to spend time exploring Long Island Lake instead. I set up camp and then paddled up and around the largest mass of land on the lake, jumped the 35 rod portage and paddled back to camp. I had a bit of a scare when it seemed I’d left my hammock back at last night’s campsite. Eeejit! Are you kidding me? I was giving out to myself and pissed. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] I decided to sleep on a groundcloth beneath my tarp and began setting camp for that when I realized my hammock was only snuggled up next to my sleeping bag in another pile I’d made when I unpacked my pack. Exclamations of relief ensued but I still felt myself an eejit! I did NOT want to retrace my steps from today and changing my route but was prepared to do so if I’d indeed forgotten the sling. I gathered enough firewood for an hour or so of burning, changed clothes and spent 11 minutes making dinner. Tonight's feast was dehydrated chili made at home with fritos gone stale in the ziplock but once added to the chili softened and tasted just fine. There was still only the smallest of breezes while I washed out my pot (a snowpeak 900 cup – my 700ml cup, trangia, matches, spoon and fork all nest inside) and put it all away – deciding I didn’t need to bother with a hot chocolate later that night. I just ate some more of the Cadbury bar I’d brought along. I’d rationed 4 thick squares for each of the nights – which turned out to be enough even though I’d worried it mightn’t be. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] And then it was dark. The moon had not yet risen, there was blackness on the water to match that of the trees and the stars began to unveil themselves for me. I sat for awhile before making the fire and thought some of the things I yet wanted to do with my life, the things I want for my children, for myself, for others. All those desires. I looked into the sky and realized that it’s always there, never exactly the same, but for the most part unchanged by time, by us, by desire. The air cooled then a bit and though I was dressed for success I made my small fire, ate some more chocolate, drank wine and water from my chalice and decided it had been a good day. I let the fire burn low to just embers before giving it a stir and a douse and climbed into my warbonnet with a book and read awhile before deciding on sleep.
[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] I paddled east into the sun down the rest of Long Island. The east end still shows signs of the blowdown but is a fun paddle all the same. Muskeg. What a useless excuse for a portage. I think a bushwhack would be better. 20 rods of boulders and then a beaver dam followed by a short, mucky paddle and another beaver dam pull over. If I could have got going fast enough I think I could have jumped the thing. The paddle through Muskeg was quick and fine. Not so the 185 rod portage into Kiskadinna. It's not the worst portage I’ve done, but I’ll wager they’re cousins. Rocky, a shower of choked roots, and steeper than an Amsterdam staircase, its only forgiving quality is that it is in the woods. These woods. In the Dub. You’ll do well to be part billy goat. Even if you’re just the little goat gruff. It does level out after you reach the top and then has a longish slight descent with just a bit of grade down at the end. I cursed nearly everyone I dislike while picking my way through this one. [paragraph break] Kiskadinna. It was my first time on it despite being close many other times. I like it. Long, narrow, with enough hills and trees to frame it and keep it well. I paused in the bay just after the put in to treat a liter or so of water and drink it down. I don’t like to carry water and so just “camel up” occasionally and then steal the odd sweep of a cup or two from the lake while paddling. [paragraph break] The portage from Kiskadinna to Ogema was perhaps even steeper than the climbs previous, but it was short. Ogema is a nice wee bit of water and I paddled its outline thinking of a girl named Olicia I knew as a kid back home. She was Irish and Spanish – and we all called her Orlaith (Orla) because it was the closest Irish name we could think of. I was that in love her when I was twelve and she ten I think. She of the dancing dark eyes and hair – even though Orla means golden princess –the name seemed to fit her. She was born in Belfast, her ma was Irish and from the Falls Road but her da from Spain and I remember thinking that Spain must bE A REAL SHITHOLE FOR HIM TO COME TO BELFAST HOPING FOR SOMETHING BETTER. BUT WHO KNOWS THE WAY OF THE WORLD ANYWAY? I BARELY REMEMBER A TIME IN BELFAST BEFORE THE TROUBLES – THE BLESSING OF MY GENERATION. HER FAMILY WAS BURNED OUT IN ONE OR MORE OF THE RIOTS AND STOMPINGS WE OFTEN TOOK IN THOSE DAYS. I REMEMBER SEEING HER ON THE BRICK AND BROKEN GLASS STREWN STREET THE MORNING AFTER, WEARING HER BLUE AND GRAY CHECKED SCHOOL DRESS AND A JUMPER, A SETTEE STILL SMOLDERING BEHIND HER, HER DARK HAIR STANDING EVERY WHICH WAY AND SHE HOLDING HER YOUNGEST SISTER IN HER ARMS, ONLY ONE SOCK ON HER FOOT AND STARING WILD-EYED OUT ACROSS THE WAY. SHE WAS STILL BEAUTIFUL EVEN IN THAT HURT WAY. MAYBE MORE BECAUSE OF IT. I FELL IN LOVE WITH HER AGAIN BUT LOVE IS HARD TO HOLD WHEN YOU’RE YOUNG, HUNGRY AND FAIRLY HOPELESS. I’M SURE I SAW HER AFTER THAT BECAUSE I KNOW THEY STAYED ON THE FALLS AND I DIDN’T LEAVE FOR ANOTHER YEAR OR SO WHEN I MADE 18, BUT I'VE NO MEMORY OF HER AFTER THAT. THINKING OF HER NOW MAKES ME THINK OF VAN MORRISON AND THE CHIEFTAINS SINGING RAGLAN ROAD. HTTP://WWW.YOUTUBE.COM/WATCH?V=DOBTE0RRKUA&FEATURE=RELATED YOU'LL NEED TO COPY AND PASTE THAT TO HEAR WHAT I'M THINKING. [PARAGRAPH BREAK] 
[paragraph break] I tried for 20 minutes to find the portage from Ogema to Phalanx lake – I’d heard there were beautiful, moss covered rock outcroppings there and I wanted to see them. Sort of like the Raphaels and Bellinis in Rome. But I couldn’t find the damned thing. Too much windfall at the shoreline and even when I got out of the canoe in two different places and searched a bit I couldn’t find the portage trail. Not meant for my eyes I suppose. I suppose I hadn't earned it. I paddled back down Ogema’s throat and then hiked over to Henson with the canoe on my head. Henson was grand so, much like Kiskadinna – and I stopped for my lunch of nuts and berries, cheese and salami and some peanut m&m's at the second campsite in. A group of seven in 3 canoes passed by and I watched them. They didn't wave. Nor did I. I sat in the sun with the lightest breeze to keep me company. I treated the water I’d pulled from the lake with my steripen, had a drink, added some Gatorade powder just for something not quite sweet and looked around for a raven or two. There weren’t any. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] What else of note had I seen this day? Saw bear scat and a bear print. Saw wolf scat, and the print of a bob cat I think, Saw a loon, Saw an airplane. [paragraph break] I rose, stretched, got back into the canoe and paddled the rest of the way down Henson and over the wee hill to Gaskin. Well, I didn’t paddle the hill – I portaged that and was the better for it. Gaskin is quite a beautiful lake. It has a couple of nice bays and is dotted with lovely small islands. It was empty. Well, there was water in it to be sure, but no people that I could see. I took the peninsula campsite with the three islands in front of it and a very sweet site it was. Very large, open -it would suit a large group very well. Even though it was only afternoon, I left the light on in case a group of Canadiennes might need last minute shelter, knowing how they can be. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] I did what I always do in the afternoons, change out of my wet shoes and any clothes, pull out my gear, allow anything damp or wet an attempt to dry in the sun and the breeze, gather a bit of firewood, set up my hammock, have a bit of drink, sit and read, review my maps, think about the day, and tomorrow and anything else that crosses my mind. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] The last of the day passed quickly. I had my dinner (repeat of day one), washed my fork and cup, watched the stars come out to play and when it chilled I made a fire, and sat there, staring into past, eating chocolate and drinking wine, thinking of a story to tell myself. I went to my bed that night, lying in the dark, the slight sway of the hammock – my tarp pitched high for the fine weather and watched the moon arc its way from the vee of my feet up across the sky. An owl called out a great many times and I stayed awake for all of it, a long time, looking and listening and thinking of where I’ve been.
[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] It was still only noon and so I decided to explore a bit more before heading to Misquah. I paddled the east arm of Vista, left my pack in the woods at the portage and then looped my way through Jake, Lux, Carl, Morgan and Jake Lakes. They were all looking fine in the autumn gold of the tamaracks just as Mocha said they would be. Very pretty – and the portages in between were easy, only the one between Morgan and Jake had any bit of a challenge to it and that was only from the muck at the take out(lots of moose prints though). I added some downed logs to the take-out area in an effort of improvement. After crossing Jake and the portage into Vista, I reclaimed my pack and paddled back through and down Vista - very pretty in its southern half – and by 3:30 was on Misquah.[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] The portage was rocky but relatively easy and the view across Misquah was gorgeous though moose free –shimmering in yellows and light orange and bits of green. I was close and could well have paddled out – the exit at Ram Lake being only a few miles away - but I had food, drink, the weather was fine and promised to be dry so I decided to keep the night for myself. I’m happy I did. I let the day linger in me as I set up camp. I prepared my packet of soup, had a sip and promptly knocked it over. I made another and this time got all of it in me then sat by the fire as the night darkened and thought about what brought me here and how this place has saved me. I rely on it yet to keep me well. [paragraph break] The fire burned out and was doused. I spent some time looking at the stars and the silent water. I drank the last of my wine, tied off my ursack and took my time falling asleep, feeling too content to have a worry in the world.
[paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] The next three portages were about as rocky but shorter, and the lakes were all nicely done up in the glint of the morning sun which glared at me like a scar in the cool morning. I saw paddlers across the way on Ram, and someone’s gear at the take out. The final portage to the parking lot is actually pleasant – the crest of the hill affords a beautiful view across the Misquah Hills – which shimmered in yellows and golds. It looked like god kept her autumn home just there. I regretted packing my camera so deep in my pack. [paragraph break] I left my pack and canoe at the end of the portage and walked the mile or so to my vehicle at the Bower Trout entry. I changed out of my paddling clothes, into the clean clothes I’d left in the car and drove back to Ram to load up and be on my way. I was nearly finished loading when Dennis from NW Canoe made his way off the portage. We had a quick chat, he went back to collect his wife and gear and I was on my way. I drove slowly along the forest road on my way to the Gunflint – it always takes me a while to get back to driving speed after savoring paddle speed during a trip. I had music on in the car, didn’t stop in Grand Marais, nor Duluth but in Moose Lake for gas, a soda and a sandwich. I arrived home just as the family was finishing dinner and gave them all whiskery hugs and kisses. After some time giving them the quick report on my trip, I went out to unload, clean and hang the canoe, unpack and hang gear to be cleaned and dried, packed a few things away, tossed the trash, got the clothes into the wash. I showered, shaved, drank two beers and went to bed next to my wife, feeling strange to be inside. I thought about my next trip, whenever that may be. [paragraph break] Silly Data that some might enjoy: Pack weight at end: 26lbs Canoe: 32lbs + paddles, yoke, pfd etc. = approx 68 total weight at end[paragraph break] Total Miles paddled: 52 miles est. Total rods portaged: 2,314[paragraph break] Casualties of the Trip: 1 lost Hat 1 broken strap on my floatie for my sunglasses 2 sporks [paragraph break] Things that worked well: Trangia Stove - Ursack (lighter than the bear vault) Hammock and UQ Reflectix Tuna in the foil packet [paragraph break] Things that didn’t work as well: Some slipping and sliding.