We need to head south and time ain’t on our side anymore. I found myself in need to visit Ma Nature well before 6AM. I was fully awake, listening to the wind, and waiting for light. In September, it is pretty dark at this hour. But, I didn’t need light to know what was going on down on the water. I only had to listen.

The waves were beating on our northwest exposure which was the entrance to this camp site. It won’t be pretty out there. I switched on the flashlight and studied the maps. I was thinking that we could bush whack to the south side of the island, and then run south in the wind shadow to the 140r (SW corner) out of Little Saganaga (rather than face the waves to get to the two 19r portages that brought us in to Little Saganaga).

I was not the only restless soul that morning and it only took a bit of stirring around, to get Matt and Nate to holler over, "Ya getting up?". I said, "it don't sound good out there"........ "yeah, we know, been up most of the night......." The rain started to let up and we crawled from our tents to do a survey of the day and the past night. Simply put, the day sucked, and the rain was huge overnight.

Our coffee mugs (left around the fire) were filled to the brim and that amounted to at least 4 inches of rain. Little lakes were everywhere including the “bath tub floors”. For the most part, our bags were dry thanks to the thermal-rest pads. We picked up camp and as we were doing that, the wind seemed to let up, and damn if it wasn’t shifting too. It was “now-or-never”. We brewed a pot of coffee, fried some SPAM singles, topped the SPAM with cheese and we were ready for bear.

On the water at 7:30 and for the moment the angry waves had calmed. The 19r portages that were wet on the way into Little Sag were now a swamp. We cruised down Elton without much wind, but the cruise stopped at Makwa. The wind that was thinking of turning around, had made the u-turn, and now we faced it head on. It would be in our face for the next two days. The portage from Makwa to the no-name lake looked liked a small water fall. I was pretty sure that the water fall was our trail. Nate and Matthew weren’t so sure; “that ain’t the trail, it’s a creek”. In any event, we landed and followed “the creek” uphill.

Wind and rain were in our face as we came down tiny Panhandle Lake. The map showed that the portage was in the SE corner next to the drainage, and that is exactly where we spotted an opening. The portage should be a cakewalk. We were hugging the east shore and maybe we should have scanned the shore further up from the drainage. The spot where we landed looked on par with some of the lesser maintained (and lesser used) portages that we had been on.

It was not a super highway, but it was a trail. I shouldered the canoe and headed off into the brush only to find the trail get progressively worse with downed trees. When I got to the knee-deep drainage, I plopped the canoe into the stream as a bridge. The brush held the canoe tight, and I started back for another pack. I met Nate, Matt, and Dave. They said “Boy, this trail sucks”, and I said, “you ain’t seen nothing yet” With no further explanation I said, “when you get to the canoe, step into it to get across”. I knew they had no idea what I was talking about and that gave me a perverted sort of kick.

In our minds, the trail was in need of maintenance, and we wondered how this trail had missed being cleared. Naturally, we assumed that the trail crews had been asleep on the job, and they received countless profanities as we stumbled and hauled our canoes over dead fall. We reached Pan Lake. Nate and I surveyed the thick brush between us and water. Matt arrived with the Duluth packs, “Ok, how do you suggest we get the canoes into that lake”? We eventually noticed a clearing to our right, and looked at it dumbfounded. Nate: “What the hell is that”? Joe: “Uhh, that looks like a portage trail”. Matt: “What the hell is it doing over there”?

If we had a head of steam, you would have now heard it escaping in a long hiss….. We had used valuable time and energy for naught. The big question, how did we miss that trail and end up bushwhacking this portage?

There was not much said after we got all our gear assembled at the trail head. We were tired and sick of being wet, but what really bothered us was the simple-minded screw-up on the portage. I said, time for lunch, and we sat along the trail eating salami and cheese. Occasionally we looked down the “good trail” and over at the “bad trail”. We just smiled and shook our heads.

I think with every canoe trip, you learn something about yourself and your ability. The Panhandle to Pan Lake portage was the low of this trip, and it happened at a time when our patience was starting to wear thin. We pushed off, and headed south across Pan and Anit to Kivaniva. On one of these portages we crossed yet another stream. There was no lack of running water either on the trails or in the creeks.

Kivaniva has one campsite and we decided to check it out. It was now 2:30 PM, the site looked good, and we decided to stay put. Today, we did about 6 miles and 470r of portages on 8 trails. That distance took 7 hours! With the exception of lunch, we were working at the miles. I think the combination of muddy trails, wind, and one screw-up made for a long day.

Our evening fire did not come easy. The forest was dripping wet, but we got the fire started and little by little it grew to dry our pant cuffs. And, like the fire, slow but sure, the wind died and the sky cleared. Our evening Scotch was a little more tasty tonight as we gazed across Kivaniva and watched reflections of the forest under a half moon. Fog slowly crept in giving the opposite shore a surreal "Hollywood-Monster-Movie" effect. Time to call it a day, and to the sacks we went.

It is exactly one day shy of a year since I last heard the Kawishiwi wolves. As I went through the ritual of undressing and dressing for bed (pulling on my long johns and fleece and wool hat and socks), there came a sound like no other. And, as in 2006, the sound of the wolves penetrated to the bone. There is only a fine line between this "modern man" and primitive man. At night, the forest is dark and primitive man feared that dark because there were things out there that would eat him. I suppose we are not that far up the evolutionary ladder to totally separate ourselves from primitive fears. The call of the wolf is a primitive reminder of our past. The wolves rule the night, and we are only frail visitors to their land.

Hairs on my neck, knew what to do, come to attention, one by one. As fast as the serenade started, it stopped. There was silence in our camp. I whispered over to Matt and Nate, “did you hear that”? “Yeah”. And just like 2006, the fog on the Kawishiwi rolled in, and dampness penetrated. We rolled into our sacks, and called it a day to remember.

Photos show: 1) Nate and Matt SW bound on Makwa, 2) break time on the south end of the 60r out of Makwa 3) the "misplaced portage" between Panhandle and Pan, 4) Looking south over Kivaniva as fog rolled in and just before the wolves began to howl