I woke up the next morning shortly after sunup, although I saw no sunrise due to the thick clouds that covered the sky. Leaving my tent, I quietly dressed, put on my rain coat, and made a trek to the latrine. Mounting the Forest Service throne, I swatted away the bugs and let it all out. We were camped on the southeast shore of Ester Lake on a large slab of rock that descended down to the water’s edge. It was large and roomy, and had several good tent sites that we had utilized. Trees of various sizes had worked their way into the rocky soil over the years. Due to the rain that had fallen, the air was fresh, and a chilly breeze blew in off of the lake. It wasn’t raining.

I sat down on one of the fallen logs that lay around the fire grate and looked out over the lake. On the other side, I saw a rough and craggy cliff that I assumed was the “Mount Ester” that Grandpa had always talked about. Although I felt better than I had the previous evening, I was still a little low. I decided to have my devotions while I was sitting there. My Bible was buried in my pack somewhere, so I began to quietly recite Scripture from memory. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is Your name in all the earth….” I began, quoting Psalm 8. I continued to work through various psalms before a verse came to mind and surprised me with hope. “Though sorrow may last through the night, joy comes in the morning,” I murmured, feeling the impact of every word. I got the urge to sing a song. Humming a C sharp, I began to quietly sing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” acapella. From there, I went on to sing other hymns, such as “I Need Thee Every Hour”, and a couple of psalms. The words lifted my spirits and brought me joy and hope.

I saw the guitar sitting in its case at the other end of the clearing. I glanced at my watch. It was about seven. “Well, if I play quietly, no one will hear me,” I thought. Quietly strumming a couple chords, I sang a couple more songs before putting the guitar away. My burden was now completely gone and I was ready to face the day knowing that I had put the Lord first. Despite the fact that there were still clouds overhead threatening to rain on us, I trusted that God had heard me and would answer my prayer.

The others slowly emerged from their tents. Becky whispered good morning and began to start up the stove to make the morning coffee. Grandpa likewise emerged from his tent all ready for the day. Jared made an appearance shortly after. “Sleep well?” I asked Jared as he sat down near me. “Not really,” he responded. “There’s something about Tom’s snore that sounds like a thunder clap, a bear walking into camp, and someone unzipping the tent.” Becky laughed. What Jared didn’t tell me (but I found out later), was that, at the minute he had finally started to drift off to sleep, I had started my little praise and worship time over at the other end of camp, which wasn't as quiet as I thought it was. Sorry, Jared!

“What’s on the menu for breakfast?” I asked Becky. “We’ll be having bagels for breakfast. There’s a couple different varieties for you to choose from, and we have cream cheese, jam, and peanut butter. I don’t want to deal with dishes this morning,” Becky responded. “Good idea,” I said. “Let’s see if we can’t get an earlier start today!” “Here’s your cup and your Emergen-C,” Becky said handing me my plastic mug and a packet filled with the drink I would consume in lieu of our vitamins. Walking over to Jared’s filter bag, I filled up my mug and poured in the contents of the packet. Mixing the drink with my finger, I downed it in a couple of gulps. Picking up a bagel, I spread cream cheese on both sides and wasted no time putting it away along with a Slim Jim or two.

The others slowly emerged from their tents. Jesse received his vitamin drink and, not having a spoon, used his Slim Jim to stir it up. “That’s really funny, Jesse,” Jared commented. “You’re our little MacGyver.” “Huh?” I asked. “Back in the seventies, there was a TV show hosted by a survival expert named MacGyver, who would use ordinary things to make bizarre creations. He would make bombs out of things like Windex and superglue.” Ryan and I cracked up. “Rachel has a tick just over her eye,” Amy informed us. “Really?” I said. “Does she know about it?” “No, she’s still sleeping.” Becky walked to the girls’ tent and returned shortly. “I just pulled the tick off. She didn’t even wake up,” she said. “That’s really funny,” Ryan said. Rachel woke up and was informed of her tick.

Mike was the final one to make his appearance. He looked much better than he had the previous day. “Feeling better?” I asked him. “Yes, very much so,” he said. “I don’t have a headache today and actually slept all right.” “I'm glad to hear it!” I responded.

“The hot chocolate is now ready,” Becky said, “so come and get it!” We all filled up a mug with hot water and mixed up the hot chocolate. I sat holding my warm mug in both my hands and waiting for it to cool off. Everyone seemed to be in a better mood today.

“This really tastes good,” Grandpa said. “Hits the spot on a morning like this, eh?” I responded. “Absolutely. See that rocky cliff over there?” “That’s Mount Ester, right?” “Yep. I used to always climb that with my students. Do we have time to do that this morning?” “No, we have to get loaded up and leave. We have a long day today,” Becky informed him.

Jared had been examining our map. “We have five portages today,” he reported. “Five portages?” Ryan exclaimed. “The first one is our longest and is about a hundred and twenty rods long. The other four are really short compared to it and shouldn’t take too much time. We’ll be paddling from here to Hanson Lake,” he finished. “We decided to keep the same paddling partners as yesterday,” Mike said, “seeing as all of the strength is now equally distributed.” We all agreed that that was a good idea. “Let’s start breaking camp, then!” Grandpa announced.

Finishing our breakfast, we began to pack up our gear into our packs. I rolled up our sleeping bags and mattresses and left them in a pile underneath one of the trees, where they would eventually find their way into one of the packs. Ryan and I then began to dismantle the tents. “They’re still wet,” Ryan commented. “We’ll have to dry them out when we get to camp this evening. Hopefully it won’t be raining,” I returned. After about an hour of packing, we had our gear pretty much ready to go. Ryan broke out the camera for another entry in his “vlog”, taking a short video of the campsite and the walk to the latrine. He had filmed several entries the previous day. Amazingly, the camera had not experienced any water damage.

We hauled all of the gear down to the shoreline where Mike, Grandpa, and Jared arranged them in the canoes. After we all made our final trips to the latrine, we pushed off into Ester Lake, leaving our campsite behind and heading southwest. Jared was leading the way with Rachel. Grandpa and Amy followed them, and Becky, Ryan, and Jesse followed them, with Jesse busy filling water bottles. Mike and I brought up the rear. The wind was still coming from the southwest and at a fairly good clip. “Too bad we can’t rig a sail up,” I said. “Yeah, right,” Mike responded. “Look at that sandbar!” We were passing the sandbar where Grandpa and his students had gone swimming on one of the canoe trips many years before. “That’s really incredible up here,” Mike said. “Most of the shorelines, as you can see, are rocky, so a sandbar up here is really rare.” “Neat!” I said. “I can tell already that you’re feeling better. Did you take the medicine that you wanted?” “I sure did.”

After about twenty minutes of paddling, we reached the narrow channel that connected Ester and Hanson Lakes. We stroked through the reeds and soon arrived at the north end of Hanson Lake. It was a straight shot to the portage. “Would you mind not saying anything for a while?” Mike asked. “I want to have my quiet time.” “Absolutely,” I responded.

As I paddled, I began to look at the shoreline. I noticed that the forest was mixed, with cedar, fir, spruce, and various deciduous trees. The trees made their way right down to the water, so that you couldn’t even see the shoreline. It was still cloudy. Occasionally, I saw a patch of blue sky, but the sun didn’t show its face. “I’ll bet it’s even more beautiful when the sun is shining,” I thought. When Mike was finished with his quiet time, we began to talk and joke, exchanging silly comments, as we brought up the rear of the party. All told, it took us about an hour to stroke across Hanson Lake.

The lake finally started to narrow, so we knew that we were getting close. Mike looked at his map. “The portage should be right there,” he said indicating a spot about fifty yards away. “We can’t miss it,” I looked. The trees formed a solid wall of green. “I don’t see it, Mike.” We had caught up to Grandpa and Amy. “I’m really mad that they took down the signs that identified the portages,” Grandpa stated. “They must be trying to make it more difficult to keep it as close to a wilderness as possible,” Mike replied. “I know, but those signs were really helpful. So were those canoe rests. You'd just walk under them, set the canoe down, step out, and rest your shoulders. That really took the edge off of the portages,” Grandpa said. In the meantime, Jared persistently worked the shoreline as we continued to keep our canoes headed into the wind.

Mike was also studying the trees. “I think I see it,” he said. Jared must have too, because he made for the exact spot that Mike indicated. "I can't believe that's the portage," Mike said. "Take a picture of that, Rachel." We followed, paddling under some low-growing trees and navigating our way over submerged logs. We finally saw a trail headed into the forest. “Let me go in and make sure this is it,” Jared said. After disappearing down the trail for a few minutes, Jared returned and declared that we had reached our first portage for the day. “This is retarded,” Mike said. “You would never know that this was the portage if you were right on top of it.” “Well, here we are,” I announced. Climbing out of the canoe, I hopped on shore. Taking a bear barrel, I pulled it on my back and started down the portage towards Knife Lake.

Portage After Portage

At the beginning, the Hanson-Knife portage headed up a steep hill before leveling off somewhat. It then hugged the shore of a small pond for some distance before re-entering the thick woods. I adjusted the weight of the bear barrel on my back and continued down the trail with a paddle in each hand. It was clear that this would be a challenging portage. I headed down several sets of log steps, and then carefully worked my way down a rocky hill. I watched the ground ahead of me carefully for sticks and loose stones that could cause me to lose my footing. Thankfully, I never slipped.

Hearing the sound of running water, I realized that the portage was near a rushing stream. The sound was music to my ears. Then, I heard a roaring sound up ahead. “There’s obviously a waterfall in here somewhere,” I thought. “I hope I get close enough to see it.” I wasn’t disappointed. Reaching the top, I could see that I was standing right near the top of a waterfall that descended about thirty feet to a rushing stream down below. Carefully making my way down the steep hill, I reached the bottom, pausing for a moment to look back. It was a beautiful sight. Clear pure water cascaded through a bed of solid, mossy rock and into a rushing creek down below. Fallen, mossy logs lay across the creek. Deciduous, fir, and cedar trees grew in abundance. I couldn’t stop for long, though, as I had a bear barrel on my back that was feeling heavier every minute. I headed down the portage, following the rushing creek, which eventually slowed into a quiet stream. Reaching the end, I set down my barrel and stretched for a minute, looking out over the south arm of Knife Lake.

Rachel had left Hanson Lake shortly after I had and was the second one to reach the landing. I helped her with her pack, and then we both started up the trail together. “Did you see the waterfalls?” I asked. “I sure did!” she said. “They were awesome!” “We’ll stop on the way back and take a few pictures,” I decided. As we headed up the trail, Rachel spoke again. “I really love the walk back on the portage,” she said. “You can just enjoy the beauty of the forest.” “Yeah, and rest your back,” I added. Reaching the waterfalls, we took some pictures of the beautiful cascade and then continued to head back to Hanson.

We passed many of the others along the way. Jared passed us carrying a canoe. He was taking two canoes every portage, and Ryan and I were each taking the other two. Grandpa and Mike passed me with their arms full. Ryan and Jesse passed us next. Both were loaded up, and Ryan was taking a video as he walked along. “Good job, Jesse!” I encouraged as we passed.

Reaching the landing again, I took a second bear barrel, and Rachel took the stove pack. We headed back down the trail. About halfway through the portage, I panted my way up another hill. “I need a break!” I thought. Then a clever idea struck me. I saw a fallen tree lying near the edge of the trail. Walking over to it, I rested the bear barrel on it and sat down, relieving some of the tension on my shoulders. I sat there for about two minutes before standing back up. Amy passed me all by herself headed the other way. Dropping the bear barrel at the other end, I headed back with Ryan to get one of the canoes. “This is a long portage, so let’s relieve each other periodically on this one,” I suggested. “That’s a good idea,” he said.

Amy, in the meantime, was strolling near the pond carrying a pack that we had christened the “evil tent pack” for obvious reasons. As she strolled along, she lost her footing and slipped. Sliding down the bank towards the pond, she was stopped by some of the saplings that were growing on the slope. It’s a good thing, too, or she would have landed in that pond with that heavy pack on, and no one would have heard her because of the waterfall. She tried to get back up but couldn’t, so she left the pack there on the trail and headed back to get something lighter.

Ryan and I reached the landing, and I loaded Ryan up with one of the canoes. Then, we headed down the trail, handing off the canoe to each other every five minutes or so. In this way, we carried both canoes over. I breathed a sigh of relief as we set the last canoe in the water. Ryan headed back to grab Amy's pack and soon returned with it. Becky tossed me an oatmeal bar, which would give me energy until we had lunch after the next portage.

As I ate it, I looked over Knife Lake and the deep green shoreline. The sky was clearing now, and the sun finally came out. The forest was unbelievable. “This is great country here,” I said to Grandpa. “I’ve paddled through Knife Lake several times, but I never realized how beautiful it really was,” he agreed. “You were sure right, Jared, when you said that 'such sights as this are reserved for those who are willing to suffer to behold them.' We’re working hard, no doubt about it, but just look at this setting,” I commented. “I’m sure glad my friend gave me that quote,” Jared replied.

“Where are we going from here?” Ryan asked. “Eddy Lake,” Jared responded as he produced the map. “Once we hit the wide open expanse of the lake, we head straight south to the portage. We can’t miss it.” “It shouldn’t be that too hard of a paddle either,” Grandpa added, looking out at the lake. “I’ve had some killer paddles on Knife Lake, but this doesn’t look all that bad.”

With that, we embarked. As we pushed off, I glanced at my watch. All told, the portage had taken two hours, and I had walked a total of three miles. “Look at that,” Mike said, admiring the beauty on both sides of the water. “Take a picture of that, Joe!” I pulled my camera out of the waterproof case and snapped a couple of pictures. The rugged shoreline of Knife Lake was a sight to behold. Craggy rock faces and cliffs lined the waterside. The timber was tall and thick, and tough white and Norway pines managed to thrive rooted in the rock right up to the water’s edge. As we paddled along, Mike and I saw a gull sitting on a rock out in the middle of the lake. We got close enough to where I could snap a picture of him. He then took off and, flying right into the wind, headed off in the opposite direction. To our right, an enormous rocky cliff loomed fifty feet above the water. Small saplings were growing right out of the rock. “How do they do that?” Mike asked, completely in awe. “I think they work their way into small crevices in the rock, and then slowly break apart the rock with their roots,” I answered. “It’s pretty incredible.”

We finally reached the open sweep of the lake. Mike and I were bringing up the rear. This was just fine with us, since we were getting all the good pictures. Producing the map, Mike glanced at it for a while and then pointed south. Becky looked at her map. “We’ve gone too far down. The portage is this way,” she called back indicating another direction. “Let’s see what Jared does,” Mike responded. Jared, a little ways up from us, studied his map for a while and then began paddling in the direction Mike had indicated. “Jared knows where he’s going. Let’s follow him,” I called. With that, we headed south across the wide open sweep of Knife Lake. The sun was shining, and white clouds were rolling across the sky. I couldn’t have picked a better day for paddling. The Lord had answered my prayer from the previous evening, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves a little more now.

After passing a small island, we approached the far shore. I started to hear the sound of another waterfall. “There must be a waterfall by this portage as well,” I said. “There is. See those people there?” he replied. Two people were fishing out of their canoe near the mouth of a small creek, which I assumed was fed by the waterfall. I saw one of the folks pull in a good sized fish. “If we get to camp early enough tonight, that’ll be us,” I told Mike. Mike nodded as he took another drink from his water bottle.

After a short while, we reached the landing for the portage to Eddy Lake. “How many rods is this puppy?” I asked. “About twenty-five,” Jared replied looking at the map. “This should be a snap compared to the one we just finished.” As always, I picked up one of the packs and headed off to survey the terrain. I followed the trail a little ways up the steep hill. The trail then hugged the side of the high hill heading sideways to the top. As I walked along, I continued to hear the thunder of the waterfall, passing the top of it just as I reached the crest of the hill. From there it was only a short walk to the landing. Setting my pack down, I started back to the landing, pausing to take a picture at the top of Eddy Falls. I passed the others, pack and barrel laden, as I headed down the side of the steep hill. “You’re not going to believe how short this one is. We’ll have this one conquered in no time,” I told Grandpa as I passed him. Short does not necessarily mean easy. Heading up a steep hill with a canoe can be rather treacherous, but with Ryan helping with the balance of the canoe, I executed the maneuver without any twisted ankles.

With all of our gear portaged, Becky opened one of the bear barrels and began to make lunch. I walked with some of the others back down the portage to take another look at the waterfall. Rachel, Mike, Jared and Grandpa climbed onto a fallen tree log that lay across the rushing creek just at the top of the falls. Jared stood on a second log just behind the first one to take a picture of Mike and Rachel. I bush-whacked down to a place where I could get a clearer picture, and captured the rushing water as it crashed its way through the forest down to Knife Lake. “That’s real safe,” Ryan commented looking at the others perched on the log. “I know it’s not, but it makes a great picture,” Mike said.

Returning to the landing, we started in on a hearty lunch. That afternoon, summer sausage sandwiches were the main course. As we ate, we relaxed on the shoreline looking off over Eddy Lake, which was much smaller than Knife Lake. “Look at those two loons,” Amy said. A pair of loons was swimming a little ways off shore. Periodically, they would dart under the water, re-emerging after a few minutes. They provided us with free entertainment as we finished our meal. “We’d better hurry up and keep paddling,” Mike said. “I think there’s a rain cloud approaching us from behind.” We all pitched in and loaded up the canoes. Grandpa, Amy, Jared, and Rachel started off in a southeasterly direction. Mike and I pushed off next, and waited for Becky, Ryan and Jesse to disembark. Mike had been right. A gray cloud was coming up from Knife Lake, and it was definitely a rain cloud. I pulled my rain coat on in anticipation. “Let’s not paddle too fast now,” Mike said to me. “I don’t want to let Becky fall too far behind.” “Got it,” I said. “We need to beat this rainstorm though.”

Leaning on our paddles, we continued to work our way through Eddy Lake. All of a sudden, we saw a commotion off to our right. It was another loon, and he was putting on a real show for us. Dancing across the water, he darted underwater and back up, and then tore off through the water like a jet ski, flapping his black and white wings. “I think he’s got a fish,” Mike said, “and it’s too big for him. He could be taking a bath, too. Isn’t that cool? “It really is. He’s moving too fast to take a picture though,” I said watching him.

“Speaking of shows,” Becky called from nearby, “I need to take a picture of you two. You look like twins in your matching rain coats, and you both have sun glasses on too, even though it’s cloudy.” We did have matching brown rain coats. Mine were Dri Ducks, and Mike’s were Frogg Toggs, made by the same company. They were essentially the same coat, and the difference was not that significant to most. “Get rid of those Frogg Toggs, man,” I told Mike. “Dri Ducks are way better. In a toss up between the two, I’d go with Dri Ducks every time.” Mike laughed. “It hasn’t rained yet, thankfully, but it sure looks like it’s about too,” Mike said glancing behind us. “Let’s get moving here.” “What are you rushing me for?” I protested. “I’m not Russian, I’m Swedish,” he responded with a straight face. At this, I roared for about two minutes. “At least somebody laughs at my jokes,” Mike commented.

We finally reached the end of Eddy Lake and found a small waterway that took us right to the Jenny Lake portage. This portage was steep, but thankfully it was short. Since there was a deep gully on the left side of the portage, we had to hug the right side of the trail. This portage was completed in much the same way as the previous one. Mike and Becky had taken up two key roles on our portages. Mike would unload the canoes at one end, and Becky would re-load them at the other end. This would take pressure off of Jared, who had to carry two canoes on every portage. It still, praise the Lord, had not rained, although the gray cloud still loomed behind us. Without further ado, we loaded the canoes and pushed off into Jenny Lake, another small body of water that we crossed without too much effort. Another loon watched us from near the shoreline.

We promptly reached and conquered the Annie Lake portage, which was even smaller than the Jenny Lake portage and, although much flatter, was also quite muddy. “Whew, I’m getting tired,” Ryan said as he set his canoe down. “Just one more to go, man,” I encouraged. As we stood at the landing looking across Annie Lake, the sun came out behind us, illuminating the opposite shoreline with an intense burst of light that caught the trees and enhanced their color. I could see dark and light shades of green and everything in between. “Have you ever seen so many different shades of green?” Mike asked. "That’s really neat,” I responded. “Look at that other cloud, though. Another dark rain cloud is looming over the horizon on the other side of the lake,” Becky observed. “We’d better get going, then,” I said.

I had one more thing to tell the girls first. “Grandpa was camped at a site on this lake.” I told Rachel and Amy, “when the bear walked into his camp site.” “We didn’t have to know that,” Rachel replied. “Aw, we’ll be fine,” I said. “Our food is in bear barrels anyway.” As we stroked across Annie Lake, I suddenly grew hopeful. “We’re riding right between these two rain clouds,” I pointed out. “The wind is blowing in the right direction, so hopefully neither of them will rain on us,” “Let’s hope that that’s the case,” Mike responded.

As we reached the portage to Lake Ogishkemuncie, the rain did start to fall, but only a little bit. After about half an hour, we had hauled all of our gear over the portage and re-loaded the canoes. “Finally!” Ryan said as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Where are we camping tonight?” I asked. “I think we’ll shoot for something in this area here,” Jared answered, indicating the north side of the lake on the map. “We definitely have to find a camp site soon.” As we pushed our canoes off into the water, we fought a strong wind that was blowing right in our faces. At the other end of the lake, I could see a dark rain cloud that was already dumping its contents on the other shore. It was headed right for us.