Day 1: May 31, 2026 Our alarms went off at 5:15 a.m., and by 6:00 a.m. we were headed north from the Twin Cities in a loaded truck with two canoes and all our gear. The anticipation of this trip and good conversation kept us awake during the four-hour drive. Around 10:00 a.m. we pulled up to the T. Patten Café in the town or Orr for breakfast to get the energy we knew we would need for the day. Our next stop was Anderson Outfitters to pick up our permit and to grab a few lucky fishing lures. By noon, we were standing at the Crane Lake boat landing. Before paddling, we paused for a moment for a Native American land recognition, paying respect to the Indigenous peoples who traveled these waterways before us, and offered a quiet prayer for safe travels. Kevin, the designated driver, drove back to the Cities.

Pushing off in our canoes, we noticed the water’s surface was covered with yellow pine pollen that swirled with every stroke of our paddles. We canoed north across Crane Lake and navigated the King Williams Narrows into Sandpoint Lake, before turning south into Little Vermilion Lake (BWCA EP#12) and pushing into the Loon River. The river was beautiful, lined with tall trees on both banks and there were countless birds proclaiming their territory, like the sweet call of the White Throated Sparrow. Ryan kept us educated throughout the trip by pointing out distinct calls of our avian friends. Today, he taught us that the Chestnut-sided Warbler seems to say, “Pleased to meet you,” while the Northern Parula sounds just like a zipper being pulled up. At Loon Falls, we encountered our first waterfall and portage. It was fascinating to watch a mechanical boat-hauling operation running right in the middle of the wilderness—seeing motorboats pulled across the land on a rail mechanism is certainly not something you expect when you are in a paddling mindset. We pushed onward into Loon Lake, eventually claiming a campsite located on the east side of the first bay. We went for a nice cool swim and had tacos, beans, and rice for dinner. At night, I realized that I left my toothbrush at home and had to use young spruce needles instead. Covering 18 miles on our first day felt like a victory as our muscles felt strong, and we were excited for the days ahead. Campsite #31 5 Stars

Day 2: The morning air was crisp on day two as we fired up the camp stove for oatmeal and waited for Owen to wake up. He thought we were on vacation??. We left Loon Lake and headed north towards Beatty Portage. Like Loon Falls, Beatty offers a mechanical haul service for motorized boats and canoes. It was a hub of modern wilderness travel, and we counted at least 8 motorboats hauling canoes stacked on top of them. These shuttles can haul gear and canoes for up to 55 miles into the interior. As these motorized groups cruised past us, we exchanged friendly waves and laughs, glad to be earning every inch of the border route with our own shoulders and paddles. From the portage, we broke out into the open water of Lac La Croix. A cool wind was blowing directly from the east. While it was not a gale that stopped us in our tracks, it certainly did not make our lives any easier, forcing us to dig deep on every stroke to maintain our momentum. The islands on this big lake made it challenging to navigate around, which is what makes a trip like this interesting and rewarding. (btw, we used maps and compasses the entire trip, save for one time on day 10). As we paddled, I asked the group to sum up what they wanted to get out of this trip in a single word. Zach’s was Clarity, Ryan’s was Reflection, Owen’s was Wisdom, and mine was Solitude. By the time we pulled into our campsite at Fish Steak Narrows, we had clocked 23 miles. The evening was quiet, our stomachs full of the dehydrated orzo Ryan had prepared. As Owen and I taped up our blistered hands, our shoulders ached with that satisfying fatigue unique to a long day on the water. Campsite #163 2 Star.

Day 3: For breakfast on day three, we had pancakes fried in a pan greased with my homemade pemmican. While my pre-trip blend of fat, dried venison, and raspberries wasn't exactly a crowd-pleaser for eating, it worked brilliantly as a cooking oil throughout the trip. As we were breaking camp, I noticed something white and green under a bush. I bent down and saw it was a fairly new toothbrush left behind from a previous camper. I boiled it to sterilize it and was amazed how the Great Spirits gives you exactly what you need. Fully fueled, and with clean teeth, we paddled east from Fish Steak Narrows toward Irving Island. Here, we found the cliffside painted with ancient Indigenous pictographs. Painted in animal oils with iron oxide, the images of a moose, a warrior, and distinct handprints felt like a bridge across time. It was a humbling sight. Ironically, three different motorboats hauling canoes buzzed right past the cliffs, the passengers oblivious to the history staring at them. None of them stopped, which felt like a missed opportunity to connect with this magical place. Leaving the historic sites behind, we tackled the portages into Bottle and Iron Lakes, passing the miles by debating our NBA 'Mount Rushmore'—first arguing over the all-time legends, and then moving on to current stars. By early afternoon, we arrived at the roar of Curtain Falls, which we used for a swim and as our lunch spot. It was a beautiful setting, but also a solemn one. We took some quiet moments to reflect on those who tragically lost his life at these falls a few years ago. The power of the water was a reminder of how unforgiving the wilderness can be. We paddled into the island-dotted expanse of Crooked Lake and set up camp. Crooked Lake has to be one of the prettiest lakes in the BWCA. After a refreshing swim and with the tents pitched, we threw some lines in the water and caught three smallmouth bass and a medium-sized northern pike. We lost the northern pike as it chewed through the nylon stringer and made its escape. As we watched a Grackle build a nest in a cedar tree above our parked canoes, we had a delicious fish stew dinner consisting of fish broth, dehydrated vegetables, potatoes, and onion with seasoning. This meal used up our fresh onions and potatoes, getting rid of the heaviest food items in our packs. We fell asleep full after finishing 19 miles, happy that the gear would be a little lighter the next day. Campsite #1857 4 Star.

Day 4: We spent most of the fourth day navigating the maze of channels and islands on Crooked Lake, gliding over mirror-calm waters. Along the way, we paddled past the sheer cliffs of Picture Rock, marveling at the ancient pictographs painted onto the stone. However, the mood shifted to confusion when we reached Lower Basswood Falls. The portage was elusive. Maps can only tell you so much, and we found ourselves debating whether we were legally allowed to use the portage on the Canadian side of the border. After an hour of scouting, second-guessing, and studying the shoreline, Zach and I finally took the Canadian side which was clearly the well-traveled portage, while Ryan and Gooby bushwhacked through a campsite on the Minnesota side. The Canadian side turned out to be a blessing, resulting in a scenic route with a smooth trail. From there, the day was a gauntlet of moving water as we portaged around Wheelbarrow Falls and then a 320 rod / one mile “Horse Portage” around Upper Basswood Falls. That was a grind!! We enjoyed a southern wind most of the day, allowing us to cruise across the main body of Basswood Lake, but the moment we rounded “United States Point”, we were hit by a headwind that forced us into a grueling, one-hour slog into whitecapped waves. We stopped for a break at Washington Island (Campsite #1647, 4 Star) where Ryan and I discussed how the song of the Song Sparrow would be beautiful, if it wasn’t just a song sparrow. We continued across Basswood Lake as the wind died down, making travel very pleasant. Tired but triumphant, we finally made camp on the far east side of Basswood Lake, just shy of Prairie Portage. Zach caught a few small smallmouth bass that we consumed for an appetizer and played some hacky sack. This was our longest day, consisting of 25 miles! Campsite #1318 4 Star.

Day 5: A steady rain was falling as we unzipped the tents on day five, but we did not let it slow our momentum. We were packed, on the water, and passing through Prairie Portage by exactly 8:00 a.m. Although we portaged our gear on the Minnesota side, we learned that most travelers prefer the shorter route through Canada. Today was the first day that we had a true tail wind from the west, approx. 5 mpr. The day was a rhythm of paddling and portaging through a chain of smaller waters, including Sucker, Birch, Carp, Melon, and Seed lakes, before finally breaking out into the clear waters of Knife Lake. For lunch, we made a pilgrimage to the Isle of Pines, the historic former home of Dorothy Molter, the Root Beer Lady of the Boundary Waters. Today, the homestead has been reclaimed by the forest with just a few foot trails leading around the island where visitors have walked. Nothing of her cabin remains except for the famous Ribbon Rock, which looks just like a giant agate. Across the bay from Ribbon Rock were a pair of loons on a nest. Seeing them try to walk on land was a treat to see. We crossed paddles with some US Forest Service Rangers who informed us that a fire ban had just been put into effect due to dry conditions. While some trippers might have been devastated, we just shrugged it off. By the time dusk rolled around each night, we were so exhausted from our pace that we were usually in our tents by 9:30 p.m. anyway. Driven by a west wind, we moved into Ottertrack Lake and secured a beautiful cedar forest campsite by 5:00 p.m. It was perfect timing; we managed to pitch the tents, string up the rain tarp, and cook dinner just as the skies opened up and the rain came down. Our group worked seamlessly throughout the entire trip. For instance, as the storm approached this evening, everyone jumped into action without a word. Canoes were flipped, shelters secured, and dinner prepped in record time. Safe inside, we counted our blessings, listened to the rain pelt the tarp, and celebrated another 22-mile day. Campsite #1996 5 Star.

Day 6: Pemmican pancakes for breakfast with coffee followed by a quick jump in the lake. Our route on the sixth day took us out of Ottertrack on a wet, mucky "Monument Portage” into Swamp Lake, and onto the island-dotted expanse of Saganaga Lake. Big Sag is famous for destroying trip schedules with its waves, but today, the lake gods smiled upon us. We experienced almost no wind at all—just a gentle tailwind that let us glide across the sheet of water. We eventually turned south towards Maraboeuf Lake and the historic Magnetic River. Below the rushing water of Saganaga Falls, Zach and I decided to cast some lures and were rewarded, pulling up four smallmouth bass. A few minutes later, during a short portage upriver, the quiet woods suddenly exploded with activity. A male wood duck flushed from the shoreline brush, flying directly over our heads with a frantic flapping of wings that startled us. A beautiful sight to see. We finally pulled into a camp that had a beautiful vista view of Maribouf Lake and I realized that this was the same campsite we had used on a previous trip with Ashley and Courtney. We tried to get some evening fishing in from the canoes, but the wind picked up, making it a tough effort. I did land a 20-inch northern pike from shore and let it go. Found some beautiful Pink Lady Slippers on this campsite. We went for a swim and retired to the tents, where we were serenaded by the beautiful calls of the Eastern Whip-poor-wills all night long. 18 miles today!. Campsite #1949 4 Star.

Day 7: We left Maraboeuf Lake on day seven and headed toward Gunflint Lake as we portaged around 7 different rapids. At Little Rock Falls, we took our time to fish beneath the falls, had lunch, and took a quick dip into the waters to cool our bodies down. Emerging onto the big waters of Gunflint, it was a calm, glass-like day. We paddled over to the shoreline directly in front of Gunflint Lodge and floated there, hovering close enough to connect to their guest Wi-Fi. Zach had applied for a backcountry campsite permit for Fort Charlotte the previous week, and we needed to check his email to see if the confirmation had come through. There was no response. Knowing this was the only cell service we’d get during our entire trip, we resisted temptation and made a pact: no checking the internet for the Spurs-Knicks NBA Finals. We moved onward across a windless Gunflint Lake. At its far eastern end, we entered Little Gunflint Lake through a tiny opening where a log completely blocked the river. Balancing carefully, we had to step out and pull our loaded canoes over the timber. As we continued across the lake, I stopped my paddle stroke for five seconds to enjoy the beauty of my surroundings and Zach, in the stern of the canoe, yelled, “What are you stopping for?!” I had to remind him with a laugh that it was the first time I had stopped paddling in seven days. We tossed a few lures at the far east end of Little Gunflint lake and Zach, Owen, and I all hooked into some small northern pike. Nothing huge, but still fun to catch. Next came a short portage into Little North Lake, where we walked right over history, as the rusting metal tracks of an old boat portage rail were still visible embedded in the earth. From there, we pushed into North Lake and began searching for a place to sleep. I was getting hungry and asked the group if they would prefer a hamburger or pizza right now, thinking a campsite was close by and we would be eating soon. Strangely, all of the campsites that we looked at on North Lake were overgrown, as if they had not been used in years. In fact, we realized we had scarcely seen a soul for days. Finding no suitable sites on a calm, mirror-like North Lake, we were forced to dig deep and portage into South Lake. I was quickly reminded by my group how hungry they felt after I asked that food question!! We finally found a suitable campsite with two Canadian Shield rocks as tent pads around 7:00 p.m. Zach caught some smallmouth bass off the shore and we had a nice fish fry with rice and beans. It was an exhausting day consisting of 11 portages, 20 miles, and zero wind to cool us down. Campsite #603 2.5 Star (Zach gave it a 3.5 because of the fish he caught).

Day 8: Zach kicked off the morning by catching 2 small mouth bass from shore in his boxers, meaning we were eating pemmican fish for breakfast. We paddled out of South Lake with a strong east headwind, again, and had to wait at the portage for a group that was coming towards us. We portaged into Rat Lake and into Rose Lake where we canoed past some large, towering cliffs. On Rose Lake, we parked our canoes and hiked up to Rose Falls and the famous Stairway Portage just in time for a lunch of Clif Bars and beef jerky. The engineering of the wooden stairway built into the ridge is amazing. Rose Falls, tucked inland among mature trees, felt intimate and hidden—a contrast to the roaring border waterfalls we had encountered earlier in the trip. The peaceful vibe was made even better when Zach spotted a toad sunning itself on a patch of bright green moss right by the waterfall. Just as we were about to get into our canoes, Ryan remarked on how quiet it had been the last few days, barely seeing a soul. Right on cue, a couple came hiking down the stairs with their dog, Cedar, having just hiked the Caribou Rock Trail to see Rose Falls. They borrowed our water pump to refill their empty water bottles. After lunch, we faced the monster: the legendary 890-rod portage from Rose Lake to Rove Lake. Sensing the impending doom, I tried to lobby the crew to bypass it by looping through Duncan and Daniels Lakes—a longer paddle,but with shorter portages. A vote was cast, and I lost. The "monster" turned out to be an old railroad bed, which was flat and shockingly pleasant to portage on, even though it was long. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong. From Rove, we pushed into Watap Lake, where the landscape completely changed. Towering, sheer cliffs erupted straight out of the deep water. Ryan and Zach could not resist the urge, so they landed the canoes and scrambled halfway up the rocky face to catch the view. Looking up at them from the water, they looked like tiny ants against the stone. It was a perspective shift that made us truly realize just how massive those geological boulders really are. Owen and I tossed some lures as we waited and landed 7 nice-sized smallmouth bass. We pushed through the wind to finish the day on Mountain Lake, where nature rewarded our sore muscles with a sunset that painted the sky orange after completing four portages and 16 miles. Campsite #721 4 Star.

Day 9: The east wind refused to quit on day nine, blowing directly into our faces for the duration of the day. We paddled hard across Mountain Lake, into Fan Lake, Lily Lake, and into Moose Lake. Near the falls entering Moose Lake, we cast our lines into the currents and hooked into four bass and a northern pike. Even Ryan caught a fish, but the highlight was Zach's huge old looking bass. Hungry and excited, we pulled off at an empty campsite to hold an impromptu fish fry for lunch. Full and happy, we paddled through North Fowl Lake while Ryan gave us a crash course on haiku, the traditional Japanese poetic form structured in 5, 7, and 5 syllables. I forgot Ryan’s haiku, but here is mine: Paddling Swiftly Water drips off the paddle Every Stroke, Progress

Unfortunately, our arrival at South Fowl Lake could only be described in a less poetic way. The first campsite was flooded and the only other campsite was a total letdown—overgrown and littered with trash and toilet paper left by previous campers. It was a disheartening sight after four portages and 17 miles against the wind. Still, we cleaned up the site as best we could, pitched our tents, and reclaimed the evening with a swim, dinner, a game of hacky sack, and a well-deserved sleep. Campsite #745 2 Star (garbage, long grass).

Day 10: The tenth day was supposed to be a casual 10-mile cruise to Fort Charlotte, but it turned into the most punishing day of the entire trip. We arrived at the Fowl Lake Dam on the south side of South Fowl Lake. Our maps indicated a portage downstream from the dam that was supposed to intersect with the Border Route Hiking Trail. However, reality did not match the paper. The rapids below the dam were running high, violent, and completely un-navigable by canoe. To make matters worse, the riverbanks were nearly vertical walls of boulders and thick brush, meaning there was no visible way to haul our canoes and heavy packs up the side. We spent at least an hour searching up and down the shoreline looking for an opening to the portage. Finally, Ryan took the satellite phone (this was the only time we used GPS for navigation), scrambled up the boulder-filled hill, and plunged into the forest, bushwhacking 500 + yards through dense brush until he intersected the North Hiking Trail. We all joined him, and from there, we tracked it back to locate where the hiking trail connected to the portage, which was hundreds of yards downriver from the dam. Zach and Ryan carefully ferried the empty canoes down the rushing rapids, with their life jackets on, while Owen and I carried the packs climbing over the boulder-scree shore to where the actual portage started. Zach slipped once and drifted down the river a ways, and he also twisted his ankle in the river. We then had to haul the canoes and packs up the steep bank to the Border Route Trail, which is also the portage. Although the entire ordeal took four hours of hard labor, the highlight was hearing the distinctive sound of a Saw-whet owl calling out into the woods. Once on the trail, we tackled the 380-rod portage. After what we had just been through, these 380 rods felt like a walk in the park. We had reached the edge of our maps. From here on out, we were just following the river—portaging around waterfalls and lining our canoes through the rapids as they came. After the long portage, we launched our canoes into the Stump River which then connected into the historic Pigeon River. Our adventures weren't over yet; the high water and rocky conditions forced us to constantly jump into the current to line our loaded canoes through the rapids. During one break, we did a leech check and pulled at least five of them from our group’s legs and feet. The Pigeon River was absolutely beautiful!! We saw over 40 trumpeter swans, many bald eagles, and a myriad of warblers. We investigated a small red flag on the right shoreline and saw a road / trail. Since we were out of map coverage, we hoped it might lead to Fort Charlotte. The steep bank was slick and muddy, causing several of us to slip and get covered in muck as we climbed out of the canoes onto the shore. As we portaged, we came across the majestic Partridge Falls. Fearing we wouldn't find an open campsite at Fort Charlotte—especially since we hadn't heard back regarding our reservation—we decided to claim the spot right by the falls, just as others had clearly done before us. It was the best decision we could have made. Partridge Falls is one of the most beautiful waterfalls I have ever seen. The volume of water was breathtaking and mesmerizing. Owen even took a celebratory shower in the mist kicking up below the falls. We had only covered 12 miles today, but it was the hardest day that we had. Campsite: 10 Stars!

Day 11: We woke up on the final day with a mixture of exhaustion and determination. Breakfast was a mix of hot mashed potatoes mixed with the last of our pemmican. We struck camp, finished the rest of the portage, loaded the canoes for the final time, and paddled the short, quiet mile down the Pigeon River to Fort Charlotte, the historic western terminus of the Grand Portage. At 9:30 a.m., we hoisted the packs and canoes onto our shoulders and began the 8.5-mile march to the big lake. For the most part, the trail was relatively flat and well-maintained. However, we had to navigate around several freshly downed trees across the path since it was clear the trail crews had not made it out yet this year. It was a long, grueling march. Step after step, the weight of the canoes and packs pressed into our shoulders, but the thought of the finish line kept our legs moving. At 3:30 p.m., after six hours of hiking, the trees finally parted. Our family was waiting for us at the edge of the historic North West Company fur trading post, and the relief and joy were overwhelming. But we were not done yet. With our family cheering us on, we carried the canoes past the stockade walls, right down to the shore, and slipped them into the icy waters of Lake Superior. As our paddles dipped into the big lake for those final strokes, the weight of the 190 miles lifted, and we knew we had conquered the Border Route. Of course we had to do a celebratory dip into the big lake they call Gitchigumi.

The Second Leg of the Trans Superior Traverse Begins We stayed at the Grand Portage Lodge and Casino for two nights while Zach, Ryan and Owen washed their clothes and packed their backpacks, preparing to hike the entire length of the Superior Hiking Trail over the next three weeks. I stopped by the bar to grab a drink and “The Lift”, a Duluth news channel, happened to be playing on the TV. They were running a story about the TST boys finishing the canoeing portion of their trip—and suddenly, pictures of the four of us appeared on the screen! You don't see yourself on TV everyday!! On Friday, June 12th, we drove to the Superior Hiking Trail parking lot and walked to the northern terminus. From there, Zach, Ryan, Owen and Noah were set to begin the second leg of their journey: a 300+ mile hike to the southern terminus, which will take them approximately 21 days. Once they complete that portion, they will hop on their bikes and bike around Lake Superior, 1500 miles. Ouch.

Reflections on the Journey Reflecting on this journey, the entire expedition was nothing short of remarkable. While our days were often consumed by eight to ten hours of steady paddling into a headwind, the effort never felt like a tedious chore because the promise of reaching Grand Portage pulled us forward. The true highlight, however, was the fellowship shared with my son Zach, his friend Owen, and my nephew Ryan. Whether we were navigating open water in the canoes or gathering around the stove at camp, the depth of our conversations made the miles fly by. For our sustenance, Ryan and I had carefully prepared dehydrated meals before the trip, including seasoned ground beef for tacos, seasoned black beans, fresh-frozen dehydrated vegetables, couscous, and Orzo. After tasting the difference, I am committed to making my own trail food going forward, avoiding the high sodium content found in commercial freeze-dried packs. I felt physically strong throughout the trek and took a certain pride in keeping pace with these young lads, even if I was naturally the slowest member of the group on the portage trails. I am incredibly grateful to the three of them for shouldering the lion's share of the heavy gear during those long carries; their strength, and positive mental attitude, was a blessing to the mission.