Slow and steady wins the race
by Gichimon
Trip Type:
Paddling Canoe
Entry Date:
05/22/2022
Entry & Exit Point:
Skipper and Portage Lakes (EP 49)
Number of Days:
7
Group Size:
2
Discuss Trip:
View Discussion Thread (6 messages)
Day 5 of 7
Thursday, May 26, 2022 It was move day again and I woke with apprehension heavy on my mind. I knew a few of the portages we would do today as we moved toward Omega Lake would test Krystal. Her dominant right leg was still not up to snuff from the blunt force trauma she endured during the accident. From what I read, the portage from Muskeg to Kiskadinna had a steep climb with big steps to Billy goat up. With her weak right leg, I wasn’t sure she could bear the weight of her gear as she made her way up.
I voiced my concerns as we slowly broke down camp and made breakfast. She felt confident she could do the portages at her own pace. I knew she would tell me if she needed any help, so we moved on with prepping for move until some company came over to our site.
Another lovely loon couple swam over to investigate us and the dogs. They preened and chirped and scanned the waters below. Dobby was in heaven again as he watched his feathered friends from shore. It was a lovely sendoff as we departed the site.
No rain was promised for the day as we slowly paddled under a dim grey sky to the eastern end of Long Island Lake. This was our first time seeing this part of the lake and the landscape was stunning. The mixture of burn and heavily wooded islands inspired awe at every turn.
Once we made it down the channel to the portage to Muskeg Lake, the work part of the day tumbled out before us. A boulder strewn landing greeted us and one by one, we pulled our gear and boats up onto the rocks. The only conceivable way through this portage that we could make out was through knee to thigh deep water. I had read on the BWCA site that this was basically a portage through a shallow stream. With the high water for this year, it was a not so shallow frigid stream that iced our feet and legs to numbness.
After the first trip across, we had to stay out of the water for a few minutes to regain feeling in our toes. Standing on piles of sticks from the beaver dam, our feet warmed up quickly. We then charged daintily back through the water to get the second load. This was not an easy portage, but we managed to get back to the beaver dam and haul ourselves up this wonderous work of engineering.
I made my way into the boat with gear and dog safely loaded, and floated out into the pool to wait for Krystal. I could sense the feeling coming back to my feet with no real worry. A short paddle awaited us to the steep portage to Kiskadinna, where I know we would warm up and then some. Krystal finally made it into her boat with Dobby and Rainy, and we were off.
Muskeg Lake was gorgeous. We remarked that this is exactly the type of lake we seek out during the busy Boundary Waters summer months. Solitude looked exceptional on this tiny little lake. We snacked on jerky and trail mix as we floated toward the portage, enjoying the views. There were two women on the portage before us so we stayed back, letting them have the trail to themselves.
When the fellow travelers had disappeared into the woods for about five minutes, we landed and unloaded. Krystal went first with her heavy portage pack, and I followed closely behind with my canoe and pack. It was up, up, up until we got to the steeps. This is where it got hard and due to the saturation of the thaw and the heavy rainfall from the day before, the gaping boulder steps squished and separated from the hillside as we went up.
Once Krystal made it to the top of that steep climb, we dropped our gear to the side of the trail. We drank a little water and caught our breath. She was doing fine. She said it was tough, but the only way forward was back and up again. Slow and steady wins the race, indeed!
Going down that steep climb was nerve wracking. Each stone seemed like it was on the verge of breaking loose and rolling down the hillside. This is the point where we were overjoyed that we were heading up this portage instead of down it with the gear. The clunk, grunt, clunk, grunt, thud, clunk of someone coming down the portage on our way back up it reiterated that belief.
I had one misstep on this journey and it always comes after eating my own words, per the rules of my life. I was so worried about Krystal slipping and falling that I must have said 100 times, be careful on the wet rocks, they are super slippery. As soon as we were on our way on the flat topside of this portage, I put my foot in it! I stepped on a rock and literally took a knee as my foot slipped down the large sloped boulder, while my other leg stretched long and awkwardly behind me, and plop, right on my rusty old knee. I thought for sure I was going to injure something. I stood up, checked my knee for soundness or pain, and all was well. As soon as Krystal knew I was okay, she said, “Be careful on the rocks, Tina. They are slippery.” as she smirked and walked on down the trail.
We had ran into an energizing group of younger people from an environmental school in Minneapolis at the apex of the portage steeps. We ended up chatting with three of the young women when we finally made it to Kiskadinna with all of our gear and dogs in tow. They loved the dogs and were eager to chat a bit and rest, as were we. We wished them well as they were graduating from high school as soon as they finished this week-long trip, and told them as they walked away, “Now the adventure really begins!”
We slipped onto Kiskadinna excited that that tough portage was over. Kiskadinna was gorgeous, with the looming cliffs and long secret stretches of water. Under the grey sky, the lake was hypnotic. Our paddles dipped slowly through the water as we soaked in the scenery.
When we neared the portage to Omega, both of us were thinking it would be a breeze, short and sweet. We were so wrong! Another crazy steep and slippery portage. We were cautious and slow, and made it through. Originally, we had planned to go to Gaskin or Horseshoe Lake for the next campsite, but deep in my heart I wanted to go to Omega Lake. The last time I had been there, my grandmother had passed away. The same day she had passed, I had a wonderful, yet mournful encounter with a loon on Omega. I will write about that trip someday. But I really wanted to come back to this lake while in a different mindset than I was that somber year. Visiting Omega again felt like visiting grandma again to me, so I secretly planned to tell Krystal we should stay there instead of going onto Gaskin.
As soon as we were on the water of Omega, I said to Krystal, let's camp here. Following the trying day we had had, she jumped right on the bandwagon. Instead of staying on the same site we had last time we were on this lake, we took the open-air site right off the Kiskadinna portage. What an excellent choice that was! Though the landing was a little sketchy, the big sky views were just what we needed after our rainy and darker site on Long Island Lake. And with warm temps and sunny skies promised for the next day, there would be basking in sunlight to be had.
After setting up camp, we noticed that the chimney to the fire grate had been basically dismantled. We spent a good amount of time relocating all the rocks that had been confiscated from the fire pit. Previous campers must have taken them to hold down tents because there were at least four rocks at every tent pad. We did a decent job of rebuilding the firepit, but not without a painful mishap. Just as I was plopping down the last largish rock, it bounced back up and plopped down right on my right middle finger. The tip of it exploded like a squashed grape.
My ex-EMT wife bandaged me up with as much care as possible. My heartbeat had moved to the tip of my finger so I held it up above my heart for a while presumably flipping the bird at everything in my line of sight. Though in my heart of hearts, I really wasn’t angry at the rock or me. The rock and I made up in the end, and the rock even did us a solid and blocked the wind during our fire that evening. All was well and right in the world.
The rest of the evening drifted by until a gregarious beaver decided to join us at our site. Upon my hunt for firewood earlier in the evening, I had discovered some fresh beaver chews. It would seem the beaver was not pleased that we had intruded upon their fresh stash of delicious small trees. The beaver had climbed up on the site, then noticed the dogs. With a resounding, “Nope!” it slipped back in the lake. Our beaver friend swam not more than ten feet off shore for a good 20 minutes or so. Tail slaps galore kept the dogs entertained. I tried to tell the beaver we would be gone in two days, but the beaver wasn’t having it. Eventually it swam off and cursed at us a few times from across the lake.
We finally had warm and cozy campfire after the exhaustion and the rainstorm of the last two nights. Crackling and snapping wood, calling loons, angry beavers, and singing birds carried us through the night. We stayed up until the fire burned out, and the sun set. With hues of orange and pink, the sunset was a promise of a warm and glorious day to come.
I voiced my concerns as we slowly broke down camp and made breakfast. She felt confident she could do the portages at her own pace. I knew she would tell me if she needed any help, so we moved on with prepping for move until some company came over to our site.
Another lovely loon couple swam over to investigate us and the dogs. They preened and chirped and scanned the waters below. Dobby was in heaven again as he watched his feathered friends from shore. It was a lovely sendoff as we departed the site.
No rain was promised for the day as we slowly paddled under a dim grey sky to the eastern end of Long Island Lake. This was our first time seeing this part of the lake and the landscape was stunning. The mixture of burn and heavily wooded islands inspired awe at every turn.
Once we made it down the channel to the portage to Muskeg Lake, the work part of the day tumbled out before us. A boulder strewn landing greeted us and one by one, we pulled our gear and boats up onto the rocks. The only conceivable way through this portage that we could make out was through knee to thigh deep water. I had read on the BWCA site that this was basically a portage through a shallow stream. With the high water for this year, it was a not so shallow frigid stream that iced our feet and legs to numbness.
After the first trip across, we had to stay out of the water for a few minutes to regain feeling in our toes. Standing on piles of sticks from the beaver dam, our feet warmed up quickly. We then charged daintily back through the water to get the second load. This was not an easy portage, but we managed to get back to the beaver dam and haul ourselves up this wonderous work of engineering.
I made my way into the boat with gear and dog safely loaded, and floated out into the pool to wait for Krystal. I could sense the feeling coming back to my feet with no real worry. A short paddle awaited us to the steep portage to Kiskadinna, where I know we would warm up and then some. Krystal finally made it into her boat with Dobby and Rainy, and we were off.
Muskeg Lake was gorgeous. We remarked that this is exactly the type of lake we seek out during the busy Boundary Waters summer months. Solitude looked exceptional on this tiny little lake. We snacked on jerky and trail mix as we floated toward the portage, enjoying the views. There were two women on the portage before us so we stayed back, letting them have the trail to themselves.
When the fellow travelers had disappeared into the woods for about five minutes, we landed and unloaded. Krystal went first with her heavy portage pack, and I followed closely behind with my canoe and pack. It was up, up, up until we got to the steeps. This is where it got hard and due to the saturation of the thaw and the heavy rainfall from the day before, the gaping boulder steps squished and separated from the hillside as we went up.
Once Krystal made it to the top of that steep climb, we dropped our gear to the side of the trail. We drank a little water and caught our breath. She was doing fine. She said it was tough, but the only way forward was back and up again. Slow and steady wins the race, indeed!
Going down that steep climb was nerve wracking. Each stone seemed like it was on the verge of breaking loose and rolling down the hillside. This is the point where we were overjoyed that we were heading up this portage instead of down it with the gear. The clunk, grunt, clunk, grunt, thud, clunk of someone coming down the portage on our way back up it reiterated that belief.
I had one misstep on this journey and it always comes after eating my own words, per the rules of my life. I was so worried about Krystal slipping and falling that I must have said 100 times, be careful on the wet rocks, they are super slippery. As soon as we were on our way on the flat topside of this portage, I put my foot in it! I stepped on a rock and literally took a knee as my foot slipped down the large sloped boulder, while my other leg stretched long and awkwardly behind me, and plop, right on my rusty old knee. I thought for sure I was going to injure something. I stood up, checked my knee for soundness or pain, and all was well. As soon as Krystal knew I was okay, she said, “Be careful on the rocks, Tina. They are slippery.” as she smirked and walked on down the trail.
We had ran into an energizing group of younger people from an environmental school in Minneapolis at the apex of the portage steeps. We ended up chatting with three of the young women when we finally made it to Kiskadinna with all of our gear and dogs in tow. They loved the dogs and were eager to chat a bit and rest, as were we. We wished them well as they were graduating from high school as soon as they finished this week-long trip, and told them as they walked away, “Now the adventure really begins!”
We slipped onto Kiskadinna excited that that tough portage was over. Kiskadinna was gorgeous, with the looming cliffs and long secret stretches of water. Under the grey sky, the lake was hypnotic. Our paddles dipped slowly through the water as we soaked in the scenery.
When we neared the portage to Omega, both of us were thinking it would be a breeze, short and sweet. We were so wrong! Another crazy steep and slippery portage. We were cautious and slow, and made it through. Originally, we had planned to go to Gaskin or Horseshoe Lake for the next campsite, but deep in my heart I wanted to go to Omega Lake. The last time I had been there, my grandmother had passed away. The same day she had passed, I had a wonderful, yet mournful encounter with a loon on Omega. I will write about that trip someday. But I really wanted to come back to this lake while in a different mindset than I was that somber year. Visiting Omega again felt like visiting grandma again to me, so I secretly planned to tell Krystal we should stay there instead of going onto Gaskin.
As soon as we were on the water of Omega, I said to Krystal, let's camp here. Following the trying day we had had, she jumped right on the bandwagon. Instead of staying on the same site we had last time we were on this lake, we took the open-air site right off the Kiskadinna portage. What an excellent choice that was! Though the landing was a little sketchy, the big sky views were just what we needed after our rainy and darker site on Long Island Lake. And with warm temps and sunny skies promised for the next day, there would be basking in sunlight to be had.
After setting up camp, we noticed that the chimney to the fire grate had been basically dismantled. We spent a good amount of time relocating all the rocks that had been confiscated from the fire pit. Previous campers must have taken them to hold down tents because there were at least four rocks at every tent pad. We did a decent job of rebuilding the firepit, but not without a painful mishap. Just as I was plopping down the last largish rock, it bounced back up and plopped down right on my right middle finger. The tip of it exploded like a squashed grape.
My ex-EMT wife bandaged me up with as much care as possible. My heartbeat had moved to the tip of my finger so I held it up above my heart for a while presumably flipping the bird at everything in my line of sight. Though in my heart of hearts, I really wasn’t angry at the rock or me. The rock and I made up in the end, and the rock even did us a solid and blocked the wind during our fire that evening. All was well and right in the world.
The rest of the evening drifted by until a gregarious beaver decided to join us at our site. Upon my hunt for firewood earlier in the evening, I had discovered some fresh beaver chews. It would seem the beaver was not pleased that we had intruded upon their fresh stash of delicious small trees. The beaver had climbed up on the site, then noticed the dogs. With a resounding, “Nope!” it slipped back in the lake. Our beaver friend swam not more than ten feet off shore for a good 20 minutes or so. Tail slaps galore kept the dogs entertained. I tried to tell the beaver we would be gone in two days, but the beaver wasn’t having it. Eventually it swam off and cursed at us a few times from across the lake.
We finally had warm and cozy campfire after the exhaustion and the rainstorm of the last two nights. Crackling and snapping wood, calling loons, angry beavers, and singing birds carried us through the night. We stayed up until the fire burned out, and the sun set. With hues of orange and pink, the sunset was a promise of a warm and glorious day to come.
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