BWCA Entry Point, Route, and Trip Report Blog
August 20 2025
Entry Point 12 - Little Vermilion Lake
Number of Permits per Day: 6
Elevation: 1150 feet
Latitude: 48.2995
Longitude: -92.4268
Little Vermilion Lake - 12
Duncan to Gunflint
Entry Date:
July 27, 2014
Entry Point:
Duncan Lake
Exit Point:
South Lake (58)
Number of Days:
4
Group Size:
2
[paragraph break] We had checked out the new Voyageur maps while in Ely and read that "the long portages in the northeast corner of Map 3 receive infrequent maintenance and are quite challenging." They did their homework. In spite of the long-dead and newly-fallen trees which require amazing feats of agility to maneuver over, under, around, and through the snagging branches and enormous trunks (downed by vengeful beavers or recent winds), and aside from being pretty overgrown, the first 75 rods or so of the trail is fairly distinct. [paragraph break] Then the trees thin, bare rock protrudes, and a multitude of paths appear. Eric's gone ahead with the canoe and I struggle to find his trail. I try to tap into some dormant, primeval tracking skills that early man surely possessed. My ancestors obviously did not stalk the elusive canoe-carrying Minnesotan. Lacking skill, I go for the trial and error method instead. I start off in a couple of different directions before I spot a stone cairn marking the path. [paragraph break] We're trying out the portage-and-a-half method for the first time so I drop my gear in what I hope is an obvious place (bonus if it's actually the portage), and start back for the second load. Eric and I meet in the middle (miraculously finding the first load of gear) and he brings the joyous news that there is actually a river at the other end of the portage. There are no pictures of this 200-rod portage. We load up the canoe, have some mint chocolate cookies, and continue up the river. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] We put into practice our "river = overgrown lake" theory of navigation. Instead of tediously tracking each bend in the river, we just assume the trees are on islands in a grassy green lake. We paddle on and on. And on. River travel is very relaxing in a grassy, crooked sort of way. [paragraph break] Our theory begins to break down, or at least trees are beginning to grow in unexpected places. All the anxiety from the night before comes flooding back--we think the portage should be here somewhere, but how on earth are we going to find it when the "shore" is one big mass of undifferentiated swamp grass? [paragraph break] I see and dismiss from mind a log jutting out of the water--where is the portage? Is that it? No, that's another game trail. There? No, just another inlet. We paddle on until Eric says, "Huh. That log sticking out of the water had a sawn-off end. Let's go back and take a look." Ok, sure, why not? Maybe we've already paddled past the portage. [paragraph break] 
See that log just to the right of my shoulder? Now, see the portage? Yeah, we wouldn't have either without that log which turned out to be part of an old submerged dock. We shove back out onto the river (the bugs really are terrible this year) to have lunch before attempting the 376 rods. [paragraph break] Muck. Mud. The portage is pretty easy to find--just follow the mucky mud. And the downed trees. If you stray from the path, look for a downed tree. If you're sinking to your knees while looking at said downed tree, you're on the portage. After helping Eric shove the canoe through one particularly dense downed pine, I fall behind. The paddles and fishing pole are catching on everything and I probably should have changed out of my sandals for this one. Oh well. About a third of the way across, the muck gives out as the land begins to rise. We're doing the portage-and-a-half again so I drop the gear and head back through the mucK TO SLOG THROUGH IT ALL OVER again with the food pack. [paragraph break] 
We finally make it to Little Trout and almost push the canoe right through a perfect little bird's nest. We paddle to the island to take a quick dip and rinse off the portage grime. While pulling off 10 or 15 ticks each, we discuss our options. The discussion goes something like this: "There's at least 510 rods of portaging before we get to Buck." "Looks like the clouds are piling up again." "Let's camp here." [paragraph break] Picking a site that looks breezy, we set up the tent and head out to try and catch dinner. This is the first year I didn't buy a license. I've finally made peace with the fact that I don't enjoy sitting in a canoe holding a fishing pole. I'm much more happy paddling Eric around while he trolls--I can let my mind wander and not have to jerk back to reality too late to catch whatever was nibbling at my untended line. [paragraph break] ="index.cfm?fuseaction=photos.display&img=PRETTYPADDLE%2D280708%2D165649%2EJPG&name=TripReport">2Ejpg&name=TripReport">3E649%2EJPG&name=TripReport">
[paragraph break] It's pretty windy and Eric's not having much luck so we head back to camp and eat dinner while watching the clouds build. It starts to sprinkle so we scurry to all the chores then retreat to the tent to watch the sun go down. We are both asleep before it has completely set. [paragraph break] 
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[paragraph break] Mystery unsolved, we continue on into Pine Creek. There are plenty of water lilies and even some of their tubers floating on the surface (pulled up by wind or wave action? uprooted by some animal?). The portage into Chad is easy to spot, but we're headed for Pine Lake today. [paragraph brea739%2EJPG&name=TripReport">k] 
[paragraph break] There's a very closed-in, private feel to the little creeks and rivers we've been paddling on this trip. I suppose there could be twenty people on the water but we'd never be able to see them with the sedges blocking our view and the zig-zagging bends shortening our line of sight. We know there are birds here though--lots of birds. We can hear them everywhere. Not just the Little Annoying Bird (which I just learned is actually a White-throated Sparrow), but lots of, um, Other Birds too. The only other one I could identify was a Red-winged Blackbird, but really, there were lots of birds. [paragraph break] We're nearing Pine Lake when, from a hill on our right, we hear something scrambling in the bushes. We stop paddling and watch a little fawn come prancing down the hill into the creek. Instead of crossing to the other side like we thought, the fawn starts swimming down the middle of the channel not ten feet from us. We drift to the bank and watch as it swims (and wades) right by us, around the bend, and out of site. After checking out the REMAINS OF AN OLD BRIDGE, WE continue to Pine Lake. [paragraph break] 
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[PARAGRAPH BREAK] THERE ON PINe Lake we smell campfire smoke and, halfway through our third day, see our first person. Of course I didn't take a picture of the guy, but after posting pictures of all the other unusual things we've seen on the trip, I am feeling the intense urge to document this rare Homo sapiens canoeus fishermanas sighting with a photo. As we pass, Eric asks how the fishing is. The guy responds but is clearly not as enthralled with us as we are with him. We paddle on and start scoping out campsites. [paragraph break] The western site on the island is beautiful--lots of Norways and a few white pines--so we claim it as ours. Stopping this early is nice. We finish our lunch, set up the tent (looked like rain again), and break out the hammock for the first time this trip. Eric had been skeptical about the whole hammock idea, but swinging in the gentle breeze while looking out over the lake he hAS BEEN CONVERTED... I WISH I'd made him one of his own. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] Eventually I'm able to drag him out of the hammock with the prospect of going fishing. Eric catches a little northern but throws it back. He catches a nice log too but we leave that for the beavers. We troll around awhile longer and he has a few nibbles, but when he snags on another log, he's not as lucky as the first time and loses his lure. I'm getting tired and we're both getting hungry so we head back to camp to start dinner. [paragraph break] A light rain begins to fall. The gentle patter intensifies and our noodles are starting to get a little soupy. By now we have the get-camp-cleaned-up-quick-because-it's-going-to-rain drill down pat. But the darkest clouds pass us by and we enjoy a calm, quiet evening. There's a nice little point where we watch the sun set and are entertained by three loons showing off for two others farther up the lake. A couple of guys paddle by and, grinning, apologize for catching a whopping Northern in front of our site (Eric is gracious, but I can tell he's also jealous). We skip some rocks when they've gone. Eric's pretty good considering the granite chunks he's trying to work with. [paragraph break] 
The Height of the Lands portage was as described to us, a muddy mess, with a river heading down the trail into South Lake. It was still neat to see the monuments, and I mounted a camera on the canoe to film the entire portage.[paragraph break] After completing the portage, we stood in the waters of North Lake, and completed our Voyager's ceremony - sprinkled each other with a wetted balsam branch, vowed to do this ceremony with another newbie when we crossed over, vowed to never kiss another voyager's wife (unless she asked), and then took a swig of rum. We didn't have guns, so we couldn't do the gunfire :)[paragraph break] The crossing of North was nice - 68°, sunny, and little wind. We took off left, which led us into confusion as the bays of North are deep. We eventually ended up in Canada as we tried to determine where the channel to Little North Lake was, and saw the boundary markers: 
We finally settled into a decision, and found the right channel, gliding up between the banks and listening to the birds. [paragraph break]I wondered how we would identify Little North Lake, but it was really apparent to see, as there was two peninsulas of weeds separating.[paragraph break] The rapids between Little North Lake and Little Gunflint lake seemed to be navigable (with an experienced team), but we took the portage, which was an old boat transport rail system for most of the portage: 
Since it was wide and short, we unloaded, pulled the packs across, then luggage-carried the canoe over. [paragraph break] We ran into a few Scout groups going across Little Gunflint, and eyed the thunderstorms brewing in the north. As we got across Little Gunflint, the storms began in earnest, and we paddled hard to get off the lake, stopping at the beach on the west end of Gunflint while watching the weather cross the big lake (and, of course, joking that we have a beach vacation as well, with boat drinks. 
[paragraph break] After the weather broke, we headed to our final campsite - Camper's Island, which was right aside of Bridal Falls. This was an awesome campsite, with even a picnic table! 
We spread out a tarp to handle the inevitable rain, made dinner, and generally relaxed on this little oasis. Even the latrine is fun, since it sat in a circle area of dense pines, with the path directly to it (we called it the Throne Room):
The campsite is evidently popular, since 2 other groups decided to come by later. Dinner, and a bedtime chase by the mosquitoes.
Waking up early, I got a few shots of the sunrise over Gunflint, with the morning mist hovering between the islands: 
Packing up and launching early into the calm water, we anticipated a smooth paddle back to Gunflint Northwoods Outfitters. Well... [paragraph break] the winds on Gunflint did not cooperate, and were fetching straight from the west, making 1½-2ft waves. Of course, this was right in our face too, so progress was slow. We took to a strategy we called "dock hopping", where we would rest periodically by holding the end of the cabin docks on the southern shore..
2 hours later, we arrive at Gunflint Lodge, and portaged our way back:
