Day 3- The eastern sky began to lighten up for the new day as I paddled on Rose Lake, a full 10 miles past that Gunflint Lake sandy beach. I felt satisfied and although I wasn’t thinking about what my finish time could be, I knew I was doing well and a new motivational thought popped into my head- “paddle harder now so I set a finish time that won’t get beat, so I never have to do this to myself again”!! Morning of the 3rd period of daylight had arrived as I hurried down the 2-mile “Long Portage”. At one point, I saw movement on the trail ahead of me, so I paused to see what was coming. Cool - two moose calves and a cow were making their way on the trail too. They stopped about 60 feet away and wondered what it was they were looking at. After a few minutes, the cow took the lead and came to within 30 feet before deciding to veer off the trail and lead her calves around this strange looking thing on the trail (me).

To Rove, Watap, and Mountain Lakes I paddled/portaged with noticeable headwinds renewed once again. For the first time on this trip, frustration mounted in me- the winds had been forecast to be southerly by now and should be broadside….”why are they always blowing in my face then as I travel east?” I whined. Mountain is another long lake comparable to the size of Gunflint going west to east. I set a straight-line route down the center of it to keep the miles to a minimum. But the winds slowed me down….I can tell how fast I’m traveling by the pace of my paddle stroke….and I knew I was going slow. I paddled harder to try to overcome the wind. Now on Moose Lake, the winds worsened, and I veered towards the southerly shore in the hope of finding some lee. But that didn’t help. I saw my finish time slipping and I couldn’t do anything to fix it. Finishing Moose Lake was a relief! But the present portage to North Fowl was not- my feet began to hurt from chaffing one of my heels and a few blisters on my toes, oh well.

North Fowl Lake was no relief to the headwinds and paddling hard to overcome them was lessoning in the wanted effect. But as I entered the last lake of the route, South Fowl, the wind did subside, and I felt the speed of my boat back up to where I expected. What a relief and a pick me upper!

When I reached the start of the Fowl Portage, I repacked my gear and threw away food that I wouldn’t need. There was no question that I would continue nonstop to Lake Superior now. But it was hard to throw away some of the treats that I had been saving. Stuffed my PFD into my canoe pack and now was prepared for the long portages ahead. Up the steep rocky slope I went, pausing many times to catch my breath. Then I turned right at the trail fork and ran right into a big fresh blowdown tree. Couldn’t see anyway around, or under unless I took off my canoe and pack, so I just climbed up and over it using it’s big branches to balance on. Phew, I made it! As expected though, there were over a hundred more downed trees to get over, thankfully most were from years ago and could simply be stepped over.

Down the Pigeon River I paddled despite the low water levels until reaching the rapids sections that now under these conditions are shallow rock gardens. I weaved with the main trickle of water trying to get through the maze of boulders, getting out of the boat to drag only when absolutely necessary. I took my hiking boots and socks off to keep them from getting any wetter than they already were, hurting my bare feet in the rocks. I used my carbon paddle as a push pole and the hull of the boat as a scratching board for the rocks- I didn’t care about abusing either, now was the time to sacrifice all for a best possible finish time. I must have jumped 80-100 trumpeter swans in the upper reaches of the river and it amazed me how badly they had the river mud stirred up from their feeding techniques. And the ducks jumped had to be 1000 or 2. The river is lined with ripe wild rice and the waterfowl were loving it. I thought back to photographs I’d seen of old-time commercial waterfowl hunters and imagined how I could have filled my canoe to overflowing with ducks, geese, and swans if I had a shotgun and enough shells.

Taking out at Fort Charlotte, I wasted no time with starting the Grand Portage, as everything was packed and ready for the nine-mile portage. The 3rd dark period was beginning but I refused to turn on my headlamp until absolutely necessary. I wanted to run some of the portage but was concerned about triggering another back pain episode plus I was just plain losing my agility. So, I decided to just walk as fast as I could, sometimes staggering side to side losing my balance a little bit. This was not at all surprising considering all the miles of portaging and paddling I had done since my last break on Crooked Lake. Crooked Lake!!!- that was forever ago it felt. (That was 38 hours and 140 miles ago without even a 10-minute rest). I continued to push hard and put extra concentration when walking on the 12” wide wood plank sections. I made good time at first but slowed later as I was forced by shoulder pain to take the canoe off my shoulders with increasing frequency. But I kept making progress and I felt pretty good considering. Not at all a hallucinating wreck like I was in 2017. Blisters and chaffing made for pain in my feet but I did my best to not give it much credence.

I purposefully hit “OK” messages on my Spot when I crossed the three roadways knowing my friend Lori would likely be watching and waiting for me at the Grand Portage Fort. I didn’t want her waiting unnecessarily too long for me. Sure enough, as I emerged from the woods at the Fort, Lori was there as well as my friend Marci. I hurriedly continued to the Fort gate (the finish line), touched the bow of my boat to the gate, and set it to the ground. Our watches read 11:47 pm. Hit my Spot “OK” for my official finish time. Lori and Marci had to do the math for me- 66 hours 47 minutes. A good finish time!

Only two things I wanted at this point- get my boots off and close my eyes.