The sun reared his head and sent his rays all over the canoe country, marking the beginning of another day, shining his head for the umpteenth time in the six-thousand-year history of the ground that we were camped on. The sleeping bag lost its staying power, and I quietly slipped out of the tent. After making a trip to the latrine, I was ready to face the morning. The breeze was strong from the northeast and the sky was somewhat overcast. There wasn’t any rain in the air.

Grandpa and Becky were also up, and Becky was setting up breakfast. I downed my vitamin drink and, with Grandpa, headed down to our fishing spot to make another attempt. With a leech on my hook, I began to work the shoreline. “This tangled mess is impossible to fix,” Grandpa said, indicating the fishing lines that were hopelessly intertwined. “I’m just going to cut the lines. We can set them up again later if we need to.” “Sounds good,” I said. “Are we going to shoot for that campsite on the northeast side of Seagull that our outfitter recommended?” “We’ll see,” he said. “It depends on how hard of a paddle we have today.” “How’s Becky doing?” I asked glancing back up at the camp site. “She’s doing all right now. Did you hear what happened last night?” “I did hear about the leech. Poor Becky! She was pretty upset,” I responded “Have you talked to her this morning?” “I did. I guess she spent a lot of time in prayer last night. She was feeling the burden of caring for us, and the pressure got too much for her. The Lord spoke to her and said, ‘Why are you carrying that burden? It’s not yours to carry. Give it to Me. It’s Mine.’ I think she has done that,” Grandpa stated.

“That’s good. I hope she feels better. I heard her sobbing last night and really felt sorry for her. This trip’s been pretty hard on her. Hasn’t Jared just been amazing?” “He really has, Joe. He’s emerged as the leader of this trip. We’re having no navigation problems now, and he’s fantastic on the portages. I feel bad that he has to carry two canoes every time.” “I know you could carry a canoe,” I encouraged. “I could, but Mike and Becky don’t want me to, so I don’t try to argue,” he said, somewhat remorsefully. “That’s probably a good idea. Isn’t Ogishkemuncie beautiful?” I asked, changing the subject. “Those beautiful high hills covered with trees are gorgeous. You know, we haven’t had a bad camp site yet, either." “This site is really awesome. Wasn’t it just great last night when Rachel and I were airing out the tents in the breeze? That was a classic.” “I’ll never forget that, Grandpa. That was sweet.”

Jesse walked down to join us. Grandpa got him fitted up with an orange rapala, and he began to work the shoreline as well. All of a sudden, his bobber darted under the water. “I’ve got a fish!” he yelled. He reeled it in to find a small mouth bass hooked under the lip. “Good job, Jesse!” I encouraged. This was his first fish ever. We took a picture of him proudly holding his catch, and then he released it. It wasn’t big enough to eat.

Putting the fishing gear away, we headed back up to camp and ate more bagels for breakfast. Then, we began the task of getting our camp site packed up. We were much more efficient by now, so it only took about an hour to get everything torn down and stowed safely in the packs. Ryan pulled out the video camera again, which was completely fogged up due to the temperature and the moisture that it had been sitting in. “Something is seriously wrong with this lens,” Ryan stated, as he shot a view of the lake. “It’s actually a really nice day.” “I have something to say,” Mike said, as Ryan turned the camera on him. “When going to the Boundary Waters, previous proper planning prevents poor performance.” “Right. You have anything to say, Jesse?” “Can I canoe on the Canai River?” Jesse asked with a straight face. (Get it?) Heading up to camp through the trees, Ryan reached the main part of the camp site to film everybody else. “Got anything to say, Joe?” “Well, I’m having a blast, but I’m glad that I have my boots on, though,” I said. After three days of portaging in my sturdy sandals, my feet had blistered up and, while not excruciating, were somewhat painful. As a result, I had decided to take my boots out for day four. “This has been a really interesting experience, and I don’t think I’m ever going to do it again!” Amy said. “I understand the title of Grandpa’s book: Growing Inside, Outside,” Becky said to the camera as she worked on one of the packs. We all laughed. We all later agreed that the trip was much better looking back on it from the other side. “Let’s all head down for devotions before we disembark,” I said. “Joe!” Mike said as we were headed down to shore. “Take a picture of that random rock right there. That’s a great picture.” It was just a loose rock sitting on top of the enormous slab of bed rock that we had camped on, but I snapped a picture anyway. We all gathered around near the canoes. Before Grandpa could say anything, Becky spoke. “I’ve got a word, Tom.” “I’ve got a word, too,” Rachel added. “Me three!” Amy chimed in. “All right!” Grandpa said. “Rachel, you go first.” “This has been a really hard trip, and we’ve had to work hard,” Rachel shared. “I was thinking yesterday about the Bible verse that says, ‘when I am weak, then I am strong’. I think that really sums up how we’ve endured this trip, because God is our strength in our weakness.” “That’s really good, Rachel,” I commented. “What do you have to say, Amy?” “It all started back at the first day when I saw the storm coming," Amy said. "I prayed, ‘God, show me that you’re here in this storm.’ Right after that, I saw two loons flying overhead, and during the storm, we heard a loon calling." "I'll never forget that," I stated. "It doesn’t stop there, though," Amy went on. "At the end of the hardest portage, there was a loon just sitting there. He didn’t move at all until after we had left. Yesterday, there was a loon on every lake. For me, the loons represent the fact that God is watching over all of us.” “Wow,” I said. It was all I could say.

“Becky?” Grandpa asked, looking towards her. “We have all endured the wilderness in a different way, and I for one am so appreciative of the grace we all have for each other,” Becky said. Her voice cracked a little and she started to cry. “Good grief, Becky, do you have to make me cry like that?” Grandpa said, wiping away a few tears of his own. “I can’t pray like this. Joseph, could you?” “Sure!” I assented. “Bring it in, you guys,” Jared encouraged. We all gathered in a huddle there with our arms around each other, and I prayed. To be honest, I don’t remember what I said. What I do remember was, as I walked to the canoe, I knew that we had just experienced the turning point of our trip. We were united as a team and had overcome the adversity. I knew that from that point on things would be different. My heart rejoiced. The trip was quickly becoming everything that I had wanted it to be.

We pushed off into Ogishkemuncie Lake and began to paddle towards the western end of the lake. The wind was blowing hard from the northeast, but it did not bring any rain clouds with it. A layer of hazy clouds drifted across the sky, keeping a good portion of the sun’s rays at bay. Neither Mike nor I spoke for a while. We continued to keep the canoe headed into the breeze. “You know, this is a great paddling day,” Mike said, breaking the silence. “If we didn’t have that thin cloud cover, the sun would be beating down on us.” “That’s right,” I said. “Wasn’t Amy’s thing about the loons just awesome? I can’t believe that I didn’t see that.” “Amy’s word was great,” he responded, as he returned to his quiet time. Seeing a couple of loons swimming thirty yards away, I again thought of Amy’s words. While I didn’t need a sign that God was watching over us, I was still amazed by the way that He had confirmed first her faith, and now mine, through these birds. I love loons. Their beautiful black and white coloring and ruby red eyes depict the infinite creativity of our Creator. Living their lives in the waters of lakes and rivers, they feast on water plants and fish. Their rollicking laughter fills the night air with joy, excitement, and peace. In my mind, the common loon will always represent the spirit of the North Woods. Now, because of this experience, loons also represent to me the watchful care of God over all of his creatures.

Calling to Becky, Mike broke the reverie of my thoughts. “How are you doing?” “I think I want to nickname this lake Ogishy-ishy!” she said. “We’re not too far from that portage now,” I said, laughing. “Those campers we passed a little while ago said the portage was just up that way.” It was slow going, but we continued to make progress against the wind. I then began to notice that we were re-entering the burn area. I could see the exact place on the shoreline where the old forest stopped and the charred trunks began to tell the tale of the forest that once was. I took a picture. “We’re in the burn zone now,” I told Mike. “I see that. It’s amazing how much damage the fires did." “Joseph!” Becky called, pointing to Jesse in front of her. I smiled, a little enviously, as I took a few pictures. My little brother was sound asleep in the middle of the canoe, leaning back against one of the Duluth packs. He was really filling a key niche in the trip with his water duties. I was impressed with how tough he had been during our tough experiences. He hadn't cried once on the trip, nor had he said a negative word. I was so proud of him.

We finally reached the narrows of Ogishkemuncie and paddled up to the landing. I scrambled ashore. Becky helped me put a pack on my back. “I don’t need that pack belt around my waist,” I protested. “Just put it on. It’ll be easier for you.” After fastening the belt in place, I started off down the trail towards Kingfisher Lake.

The Good Portages Without a doubt, we were in the burn zone now. I headed up a gravel path with tall grass on each side. I could see fallen logs everywhere, and many tree trunks still standing, whitened and bare. The portage hugged the shore of Ogishkemuncie for a while before turning to go over the hill to small Kingfisher Lake. Ryan was behind me with the stove pack. “This ground looks like it’s a lot better than the other portages we were on,” I said. “It’s much firmer and not as muddy."

Arriving at Kingfisher Lake, I glanced over the burnt shoreline briefly before dropping my pack and heading back for another. Back at the landing, Mike, who was unloading all the canoes as usual, loaded me up with a bear barrel. Grandpa and I then made the trek over the portage together. Grandpa was a real trooper, but he was red in the face when he got to the other end of the portage. Becky made him sit down and drink some water. He protested, but did as he was instructed. The rest of the portage was uneventful. I carried my canoe over again, with Ryan walking behind me and periodically balancing me on the steeper hills and helping me make the sharp turns. It was getting easier each time, and I actually felt pretty good.

Mike and I were the first ones in the lake. We waited there in our canoe while the others loaded up. “Hey, Ryan,” Mike called. “It looks like the death marshes of Mordor in here.” I laughed. Lord of the Rings fans understand each other. We pushed off into Kingfisher Lake, opening up the portage for two other campers who were waiting for us. It was Saturday morning, and all of the weekenders were beginning to show up.

We promptly arrived at the Jasper Lake portage, and the same process happened all over again. The ground was much the same as that of the previous portage. I hauled a bear barrel and a few other things over, and then my canoe. My boots really helped my feet, and I inwardly wondered why I had not taken them out sooner. Standing at Jasper Lake, I glanced around to see what still needed to be done. “What’s back at the other end?” I asked. “A whole lot of little stuff,” Becky responded. I volunteered to go get the remaining things. Walking back to the landing, I passed Mike, who was carrying the final pack. A lot of life jackets, two paddles, and the leech bucket were the only things left. I managed to grab everything, took one final glance to make sure I had left nothing behind, and returned to the others waiting at the other side.

“Here, take an oatmeal bar,” Becky said, tossing me two along with a bag of peanuts. “We’ll have lunch at the next portage.” I sat down by Amy and wolfed my oatmeal bars like a tree chipper, followed by the peanuts. Jared was sitting close by. “I think this is our best day yet,” I said to him. “I’d have to agree, Joe. There’s not any rain in the air, and while the wind could be better, I’ll take wind over thunderstorms any day.” “So this is your favorite lake, Grandpa?” I asked. “My favorite camp site is on this lake,” he replied. “This lake looks nothing like it used to, though. In the old days, the forest on these shore lines was so majestic and tall. It’s sort of sad to see it like this.” “I’ll come back in thirty years and see it how it is supposed to look,” I assured him.

We all began the paddle through Jasper Lake. The wind had died down a little, so we didn’t have to work as hard. “You’ve been to Jasper Lake, right?” I asked. “Yep," Mike replied. "Dad brought me here with your mother, his good friend Dick Abramson, Dick’s two sons, and my neighborhood friend. Everything that we saw back then, though, is completely fried now.” “Do you have any memories of that trip?” “Well, for one thing, your mother cut her foot on this next portage because she was wearing thongs. Grandpa was a little upset with her.” “Really?” I said. “She’s never told me that.” “You’ll have to ask her. Has she told you about the buckwheat pancakes?” “I have heard about that,” I laughed. “Apparently they didn’t agree with her and she barfed all over the packs. Grandpa kept telling her to lean over the side of the canoe, but she didn’t.” “I remember that very well,” he said. “Well, at least I can say that I saw untouched wilderness,” I said as I continued to look at the desolate shoreline of the lake. “You sure did. Wasn’t Knife Lake beautiful?” “It was fantastic! That was one of the highlights of the trip.”

We passed the campsite that Grandpa always used to stay at, only to see that it was occupied. Continuing on, we paddled past a beaver lodge. “See that beaver lodge there?” Mike pointed out. “That’s really cool,” I said as I snapped a picture. “You know what they say, one dam project after another.” Becky, who was paddling close by, shook her head, as I laughed. “Look at that duck!” I observed. “I’ve never seen a duck like that before.” It had a white body and a brown head with a tuft of feathers at the very top. I later learned it was a merganser of some sort.

I began to hear the sound of Jasper Falls from up ahead. The crashing noise of the water grew progressively louder and louder. Then, I saw the portage. This portage had lots of space, with a good thirty feet or more of bed rock for us to land on. We all pulled in, not getting too close to the falls, and pulled the canoes onto shore, leaving room for others to portage through. Becky began to make lunch.

I strolled a little ways down the portage and tried to find a good picture spot. Jared walked a little closer to the falls, and then, hopping from rock to rock, sat on a large rock that looked over the very top of the falls. He posed for a couple of pictures. “Anybody want to join me?” he called. I was the natural volunteer. Pushing my way through the brush, I worked my way down to the shore line. I hopped onto a small rock in the stream, and then took a leap across the rushing water to join Jared on the large rock. Sitting on the slab, I looked over the white water as it crashed its way across the rocky riverbed, twisting, turning, and laughing down the hill until I could see it no more. “You guys are being really stupid!” Ryan called from shore. I didn’t listen to him. After a few minutes of relaxation, I made the treacherous walk back to the others, who were starting into their sandwiches. In the process, I got one of my boots wet, for the first time that day

“That was really smart,” Ryan said sarcastically. “Oh, don’t worry about me,” I assured him. “I came here for moments like that.” Becky handed me a summer sausage sandwich, which I made short work of. “Do we have any more bread?” I asked, half jokingly, as I made another sandwich. “There’s six loaves; are you kidding me?” Becky said. “We’re going to have to give some of it back to the outfitters, I’m sure.” “Well, it’s always better to have too much than too little,” I stated.

“I have lots of special memories about these falls,” Grandpa reminisced. “I had a student who jumped down part of it once. He was a little bruised but turned out all right.” Becky winced. “The fishing beneath these falls is just great. The bass gather here to feed in the daytime. When night falls, the walleye move in and chase the bass away. My student Chris landed a huge northern here once.” “Too bad we don’t have time to fish,” I said a little regretfully. “I’ll come back someday and land some monsters here.”

Loading up, we began the trek to Alpine Lake. The portage ran next to the falls for the entire length, a dirt and gravel trail weaving through the head-high young trees. It ran slowly down hill and passed the bottom of the falls before ending on a large slab of bed rock. In terms of carrying, this portage was as uneventful as the last. After about an hour, we were all gathered at the foot of the portage, with all our gear. Another party sat waiting for us to push off into the lake. It looked like another family, with a grandpa and his sons and grandsons. He looked at least ten years older than Grandpa. “That’s encouraging,” I thought. I wondered if that grandpa was half as good as mine. I'm sure he wasn't. I have been blessed with a grandfather who makes a special point of investing in his children and grandchildren, both materially and spiritually. Grandpa has lived his life investing in people, and has impacted many as a result, but I still am convinced that his greatest impact is found in the ways that he touched the lives of his children and grandchildren. This trip was a special testament to that fact.

After getting the others on their way, Mike and I began to work with our canoe. “It doesn’t want to go,” Mike said. “Pull, Joe!” "Well, I guess my boots are going to have to get wet," I thought. I jumped in the water, carefully navigated my way over the slippery rocks beneath the surface, and pulled with all my might on the end of the canoe. It finally responded to my touch and glided off the rocks. We both hopped in and headed after the others. “Look, there’s Big Sir!” Mike said pointing towards a large rocky cliff that stood about fifty feet away on the shoreline. “Your mother and I, and a lot of Grandpa’s students, jumped off that rock.” “The whole thing?” I asked, referring to the cliff. “No, just that rock right there,” Mike said, pointing with his paddle to a craggy rock that stood about ten feet above the water, a little ways out from the big cliff.

I took a picture, and then we began to leisurely follow the others. Looking at the map, I saw that there were many camp sites on this lake. “Are we going to try to camp here?” I asked. “I don’t know. We’ll see what the others do ahead of us,” Mike said, after taking a drink from his water bottle. “Are you staying hydrated?” “I am,” I said as I sipped from my own bottle.

Alpine Lake was a large lake with many inlets. The sun began to break through the haze, and the air started to warm a little. Fortunately, there was a nice breeze on the lake that kept us all comfortable. It was clear from watching the others that we were headed to the Seagull Lake portage. Arriving at the landing, we all jumped out and pulled the canoes on to shore.

“Last portage of the trip, everyone! We can do this!” Becky said enthusiastically as she began to pull packs out of the canoes. “We’ve got a nice camp site waiting for us on the other side.” Grandpa turned to me and winked. “Doesn’t Becky look just great out here, Joe?” he said, quite loudly. "Her face is simply glowing." I caught on. “Absolutely. You look fantastic, Becky. You could easily pass for thirty,” I added. “Oh, stop it, you guys,” Becky said smiling. A true Proverbs 31 woman is beautiful no matter where she is or how tired and sweaty she may be. She does not need any make-up, nor does it matter how fancy her clothes are. When a woman has a beautiful spirit touched by God, she will be more externally beautiful as a result.

“How long is the portage?” Ryan asked. “It’s about a hundred and ten rods, but the outfitters have marked this as a ‘good’ portage,” Mike responded. “In my opinion, a good portage is five rods or less,” Jared put in. “Good portage, huh? Well, we’ll see what that means,” I stated as I grabbed a pack and headed off down the trail. Like all of the other portages we had taken that day, the trail was dirt and gravel, and felt good compared to the rocky, treacherous portages I had endured earlier. It also headed through a forest that was quickly returning after a burn. Most of the young trees were deciduous, but I saw some pines making a comeback as well. Best of all, the portage was incredibly flat, with just a few mud puddles to go around. “Those outfitters weren’t kidding,” I said to Rachel, who was behind me. “Yeah, this is a 'good' portage,” she said. “I think this is the easiest one we’ve had yet, probably because it’s so flat.” “You know when the Red Duffers were singing ‘squish-thump-thump through the portages’ in Grandpa’s book?” I asked. “I know exactly what they meant now.” I squished and thumped in my wet boots all the way down the portage, which had some long steps down the final stretch. Setting my pack down at the other end, I returned for another load. As I headed back, Jared passed me carrying one of the canoes. I knew he’d rest well tonight knowing he had portaged his last canoe. The way he executed that task with strength and fortitude set a great example for the rest of us on the trip. Jesse walked by with a load of water bottles and life jackets, and Rachel and I encouraged him. After hauling another pack over, I helped Ryan carry his canoe over the portage, and then he helped me with mine. I stopped for a few breaks, but actually carried the canoe the full one-third mile by myself, without switching off to Ryan. After the canoe was lifted off my shoulders for the final time, I looked around. “What’s left?” I asked. “Mike is at the other end with one more pack and a couple little things,” Becky stated as she re-loaded the canoes.

I passed Mike, who was carrying the final bear barrel, near the beginning of the portage. Grabbing the rest of the gear, and taking one final glance at Alpine Lake, I headed down the portage and soon caught up to Mike. “You’re doing great on these portages!” I said. “This is the last one!” “I know,” he responded. “Won’t the cabin feel great after this?” “Are you kidding me?” I said. “Although I’ll miss the wilderness, it’s going to be great. Just think about Grandma’s fantastic caramel rolls.” “Stop it, you’re making me hungry,” he said. “Are your allergies any better?” I asked. “They’ve improved a little bit. It’s crazy that they’ve waited until today to show up. How are yours?” “To tell you the truth, I’m not thinking much about them right now.” Arriving at the other end, we placed Mike’s bear barrel in one of the canoes and pushed off into enormous Seagull Lake. The haze was all burned off now, and the sun was starting to head its way towards the western horizon. After twenty minutes of paddling, we saw an empty campsite sitting atop a large rocky island. “Mike and Joe, you go south a little ways and see if you can’t find another vacant camp site. We’ll watch this one and make sure no one takes it. Since it’s a weekend, we may need to take what we can get,” Jared stated. We paddled southwards and saw at least one occupied camp site before Jared whistled to us to come back. As Mike and I headed back, two more loons popped up in the lee of a small island. They bobbed through the waves, keeping a careful eye on us. As quietly as we could, we paddled closer and I took a couple of pictures. I couldn’t help but think of Amy’s words again. It was clear that the Lord was watching over us.