Tuesday, June 29, 2021 The morning dawn found me searching Escanaba for a breakfast joint. “The Family Inn” didn’t disappoint: big portions served hot and fast.

It was six a half hours to Two Harbors. I listened to The Mayflower audiobook, struck by the audacity and perseverance of the early Pilgrims, saddened by the plight of the native peoples. All the familiar touch points counted down the miles: Crystal Falls, the old buildings stacked up the hillside. Ashland and that great view toward the Apostle Islands. Duluth and the best bridge in the midwest. The North Shore and the fantastic Lake Superior vistas it regularly offers. I always get my license and a sub in Two Harbors. The drive flew by; the shortcut around the endless Grand Marais construction broke me from my daze, adrenaline pinching me as I climbed over the Laurentian Divide. Rain chased me up the Gunflint, overwhelming the wipers with great buckets that forced me to pull off.

Voyageur Canoe Outfitters was busy, which suited my “get the permit and get out” mission. The staff was efficient and pleasant as always. I scarfed down the sub and dumped the road snacking trash, backtracking to the Round Lake entry. It is the quintessential BWCA entry lake, gorgeous with an overloaded aluminum canoe flipping bass tubes at the shoreline.

As I pulled up, a paddle board skimmed out from Tuscarora Outfitters. The young woman turned around the point, rolled up a sweatshirt pillow, and gracefully laid down for a nap in the quiet bay. I am in Minnesota!

I organized gear the rest of daylight. I thought of the hours I spent dreaming, pouring over maps, chasing down exact gear that I probably didn’t need, scanning endless threads on message boards. Any time I needed to slow the mental mechanism, the idea of a full boat and a J stroke never failed to quiet the noise. I realized it is a skill to be here while you are here. The rock. The water. The green blanket of the shore. The freedom of solitude. The solitude in this freedom.

At dusk, boomers were building in the west, and I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of bugs. However, as I enjoyed the camp chair, my head lolling back without the daily weight of home and hearth, I noticed great plumes of bugs high in the air. Suddenly, a huge dragonfly swooped in; the audible smack confirmed its purpose. BWCA dragonflies should have to file flight plans.

I slept in the truck again. The challenge of the next day kept me up. Would I rise to the occasion? Would I let myself be disappointed? Wilderness endurance is a mental muscle.