BWCA Entry Point, Route, and Trip Report Blog
June 27 2024
Entry Point 29 - North Kawishiwi River
North Kawishiwi River entry point allows overnight paddle only. This entry point is supported by Kawishiwi Ranger Station near the city of Ely, MN. The distance from ranger station to entry point is 15 miles. Access the North Kawishiwi River through Ojibway Lake and Triangle Lake using two portages.
Number of Permits per Day: 1
Elevation: 1249 feet
Latitude: 47.9543
Longitude: -91.5641
North Kawishiwi River - 29
Number of Permits per Day: 1
Elevation: 1249 feet
Latitude: 47.9543
Longitude: -91.5641
North Kawishiwi River - 29
One to Seagull, one-way
by noodle
Trip Report
Entry Date:
June 03, 2023
Entry Point:
Lake One
Exit Point:
Seagull Lake (54)
Number of Days:
6
Group Size:
1
Trip Introduction:
Day 1 of 6
Saturday, June 03, 2023 [paragraph break] Couple years ago, I was talking with a friend who often camped at Trail's End, up by Seagull Outfitters, and we got on the topic of one-way trips. All of my prior trips had been loops or simple out and backs, and the logistics of managing a one-way were always difficult. Either I'd have to find someone else happening go the other direction and arrange to swap keys in the middle of the BWCA, or I'd have to drop my car off at one end and get shuttled all the way back around, and nothing was really feasible ... until he said, hey, if you want to paddle up to our campsite at Trail's End, we'll drive you and your gear back to your car, just show up sometime the weekend we'll be there. That was that. [paragraph break] I put in at EP 30, Lake One, bright and early. The forecast called for there to be near-zero wind the first two days, so I wanted to try to safely eat up as many miles as I could. I had 9 days to get to the end, which had plentiful buffer, but given that I was going to be by myself I didn't want to do anything exceedingly stupid. I've made dumb mistakes in the past -- everyone makes mistakes -- but it's humbling and humiliating to know that sometimes, your mistakes are cautionary tales for other people. So I didn't want that to be the case with anything here, and with the peaceful winds, I was off. 
[paragraph break] I've gone through this Lake One entry so many times I can do it in my head. Launch, turn left, around that corner, angle over, turn left through that channel, watch out for the rocks in the middle when there's low water. Down through One, over to the portages to Two. 
[paragraph break]I got to the first portages between Lake One and Lake Two. There's two of them, about 30 and 40 rods in quick succession with a small pond in between. Rods, those freedom units that separates us from our metric brethren. 16.5 feet, approximately the length of one canoe, so 30 rods? 30 canoe lengths. I have never managed to judge a portage based on that, though, but I have found that my average stride can be a rough metric, too. As I walk, I count every time my left foot hits the ground, every set of ten. One, two, three... ten; two, two, three... ten; three, two, three... ten, and so on. A 30 rod portage will take me about 10 sets of 10 strides. I absolutely need this distance measurement, especially on the 200 rod portages that are over half a mile, where I'm heading over terrain like this and watching the ground to avoid twisting an ankle and have no real sense of how close I am to the other side. Knowing I just have to count up to 65-70 sets of ten to get across is a psychological boost.[paragraph break] I made my way through One, through Two, into Three, and across to Four, where I stopped for a sandwich. The lakes were glass, and I had been paddling consistently, just with my thoughts. I used to run long distance (how do you know if someone ran a marathon? don't worry, they'll tell you) and other people would talk about how meditative it was, how they could think through their frustrations and challenges, but when I ran all I could do was count my breaths and try not to trip. The same thing happens for me when I'm paddling; I struggle to pay attention to my surroundings, to enjoy where I am, and I find myself counting steps on a portage, counting strokes with my paddle. Eyeballing a landmark, guessing that'll take 100 sets of 10 strokes, and seeing how accurate my estimates are. Those of you who are able to stop and smell the roses, so to speak, I envy you. [paragraph break] The sandwich was not great. Ham, cheese, wrapped in foil, taken out of the motel fridge that morning, it was maybe 10 am, but it was the easy lunch that I wanted. From there I got to the series of portages to Hudson, and as I crossed the second portage, I stopped and looked ahead. The water flows east to west there, and there was significant current coming in, leading to the rapids that flowed from Hudson to Four. I stopped here for a while, watching that, thinking about what I'd do -- because see above, I didn't want to do anything stupid. As I sat on a log off to the side, another group overtook me from behind, four guys in two canoes. I watched as they loaded up, paddled out, and the first canoe was turned sideways in the current and one of the paddlers had their paddle snap and get carried through the rapids. They made their way back to the portage to regroup while I thought, jfc, there's no way I'd manage to fight that current if two of them couldn't, and began carrying my gear and canoe about 100 yards through the marsh and muck on the side of the lake to try to get ahead of the danger. By that time the group had found the splintered paddle in an eddy back on Four and had taped it back together, and also opted to slog through the marsh rather than go uphill against the current. [paragraph break] Through Hudson, and at this point I started thinking, maybe I stop here? It's only early afternoon, and Hudson is still a mess from the 2011 wildfire, so I pushed onwards, getting to the Insula portage. 93 rods, uphill and down, and I ended up triple portaging this one. On this trip I split my gear across two bags for better trim, and I was now getting tired enough to not want to do a pack and canoe at the same time, so I crossed that portage five times, twice empty-handed on the way back. But better to take it slow and be safe. See above about not wanting to be a cautionary tale. [paragraph break] At the other end of the portage I caught up to those four guys from before; they had made better time than me due to the extra (and younger) paddlers, but the hastily-repaired paddle was slowing them down a bit. Part of the reason my portages were slower was because of the backup gear. Two is one, and one is none, and I still had the Garmin clipped to my PFD for just in case. But even the start of Insula is still impacted by the fire, and I took my time pushing off from there. 
[paragraph break]By the time I got onto Insula we were solidly in early afternoon, and the winds were beginning to pick up, and I was beginning to tire. I hugged the early islands and got to site # 1351, which paddleplanner GENEROUSLY rates 1 star. For a solo camper for one night, it did the trick, but the facilities left a little to be desired. Dinner was some beef jerky and granola bars, and I was asleep well before sunset. 
[paragraph break] Total distance: 15.9 miles, 12.5 paddling, 3.4 portaging.
[paragraph break] I've gone through this Lake One entry so many times I can do it in my head. Launch, turn left, around that corner, angle over, turn left through that channel, watch out for the rocks in the middle when there's low water. Down through One, over to the portages to Two. [paragraph break]I got to the first portages between Lake One and Lake Two. There's two of them, about 30 and 40 rods in quick succession with a small pond in between. Rods, those freedom units that separates us from our metric brethren. 16.5 feet, approximately the length of one canoe, so 30 rods? 30 canoe lengths. I have never managed to judge a portage based on that, though, but I have found that my average stride can be a rough metric, too. As I walk, I count every time my left foot hits the ground, every set of ten. One, two, three... ten; two, two, three... ten; three, two, three... ten, and so on. A 30 rod portage will take me about 10 sets of 10 strides. I absolutely need this distance measurement, especially on the 200 rod portages that are over half a mile, where I'm heading over terrain like this and watching the ground to avoid twisting an ankle and have no real sense of how close I am to the other side. Knowing I just have to count up to 65-70 sets of ten to get across is a psychological boost.[paragraph break] I made my way through One, through Two, into Three, and across to Four, where I stopped for a sandwich. The lakes were glass, and I had been paddling consistently, just with my thoughts. I used to run long distance (how do you know if someone ran a marathon? don't worry, they'll tell you) and other people would talk about how meditative it was, how they could think through their frustrations and challenges, but when I ran all I could do was count my breaths and try not to trip. The same thing happens for me when I'm paddling; I struggle to pay attention to my surroundings, to enjoy where I am, and I find myself counting steps on a portage, counting strokes with my paddle. Eyeballing a landmark, guessing that'll take 100 sets of 10 strokes, and seeing how accurate my estimates are. Those of you who are able to stop and smell the roses, so to speak, I envy you. [paragraph break] The sandwich was not great. Ham, cheese, wrapped in foil, taken out of the motel fridge that morning, it was maybe 10 am, but it was the easy lunch that I wanted. From there I got to the series of portages to Hudson, and as I crossed the second portage, I stopped and looked ahead. The water flows east to west there, and there was significant current coming in, leading to the rapids that flowed from Hudson to Four. I stopped here for a while, watching that, thinking about what I'd do -- because see above, I didn't want to do anything stupid. As I sat on a log off to the side, another group overtook me from behind, four guys in two canoes. I watched as they loaded up, paddled out, and the first canoe was turned sideways in the current and one of the paddlers had their paddle snap and get carried through the rapids. They made their way back to the portage to regroup while I thought, jfc, there's no way I'd manage to fight that current if two of them couldn't, and began carrying my gear and canoe about 100 yards through the marsh and muck on the side of the lake to try to get ahead of the danger. By that time the group had found the splintered paddle in an eddy back on Four and had taped it back together, and also opted to slog through the marsh rather than go uphill against the current. [paragraph break] Through Hudson, and at this point I started thinking, maybe I stop here? It's only early afternoon, and Hudson is still a mess from the 2011 wildfire, so I pushed onwards, getting to the Insula portage. 93 rods, uphill and down, and I ended up triple portaging this one. On this trip I split my gear across two bags for better trim, and I was now getting tired enough to not want to do a pack and canoe at the same time, so I crossed that portage five times, twice empty-handed on the way back. But better to take it slow and be safe. See above about not wanting to be a cautionary tale. [paragraph break] At the other end of the portage I caught up to those four guys from before; they had made better time than me due to the extra (and younger) paddlers, but the hastily-repaired paddle was slowing them down a bit. Part of the reason my portages were slower was because of the backup gear. Two is one, and one is none, and I still had the Garmin clipped to my PFD for just in case. But even the start of Insula is still impacted by the fire, and I took my time pushing off from there. [paragraph break]By the time I got onto Insula we were solidly in early afternoon, and the winds were beginning to pick up, and I was beginning to tire. I hugged the early islands and got to site # 1351, which paddleplanner GENEROUSLY rates 1 star. For a solo camper for one night, it did the trick, but the facilities left a little to be desired. Dinner was some beef jerky and granola bars, and I was asleep well before sunset. [paragraph break] Total distance: 15.9 miles, 12.5 paddling, 3.4 portaging.
Day 2 of 6
Sunday, June 04, 2023 [paragraph break] I woke up early with sunrise and the birds. On this trip I remembered to install the Merlin bird app on my phone and download all the data in advance; you can press record and it'll identify the birdsong around you. Over 30 seconds at 4:25 am, it picked up a song sparrow, yellow warbler, common loon, adler flycatcher, and white-throated sparrow, along with my shuffling in my sleeping bag as I tried to breathe as quietly as possible. I was sore, I was tired, I wanted to sleep in, but I also knew that winds would be between 0 and 2 miles per hour all day, and there would be no better day to cross Insula, Thomas, and Fraser. I was maybe 25% of the way through the miles on the first day alone -- that's fantastic. But I wasn't sure if I really still wanted to do this. I could turn back; the current would be in my favor through the narrow bits, I could take a few days and really lounge. If the weather had been rougher, maybe I would have? I really don't know for sure. But the lake was glassy, the forecast called for near zero wind all day, and I had more big water to cross of lakes Insula, Thomas, and Fraser. And with things looking like this, once I was on the water at 6:30 am, I knew I had to keep going, and was greeted with this glassy silence: 
[paragraph break]Did I make breakfast? I did not. I brought twelve packets of maple & brown sugar oatmeal, intending to have two each morning with coffee. I ate zero. I didn't make a single cup of coffee. I barely ate on the entire trip, which had its pros and cons. On a family trip, when it's mealtime, I'll gather firewood, I'll cut and trim it, I'll get the fire going, I'll cook the meal, we'll eat, I'll wash the dishes, and it's a social activity. But doing all of those steps, when alone? That's just too much. Even using the stove to boil a few cups of water, that's still a few minutes to get it out of the pack and set up, a minute or two to boil the water, and a few minutes to let it cool and put it away again. Or, I could just eat a breakfast bar or two and call it good. I have no real explanation for it, other than camping meals are a social activity, and without the social aspect, I had no interest in it.[paragraph break]That began to worry me a little. With the physical exertion, I knew I needed to eat, but I had no desire to eat -- not just no desire to cook, but no desire to eat. I had no hunger at all, and even forcing myself to eat more than a few bites was a chore. But I kept telling myself, when I set up camp for the night, surely I'll be hungry by then, right?[paragraph break]I crossed Insula, and had a 164 rod portage into Kiana Lake. The mosquitos were bad, I didn't get the camera out, but the portage started with a steep incline and a deadfall across that, enough that it'd make it a challenge to get under it with a canoe on your shoulders. This portage sucked. Triple portaging meant 2.5 miles of total hiking here, across uneven ground, swarmed by mosquitos, and flicking ticks off of my pant legs. I was less sure I wanted to do this. I felt a little confident -- not once did I have that anxiety of solitude that had happened on previous trips, but that was because I was either constantly pushing or physically exhausted -- but as I then portaged from Kiana to Thomas, I knew that I could detour to the west here. Head out through Ima, Disappointment, Snowbank, and I'd get to an entry point only about five miles on dusty gravel back to my car. I could be a coward, I could give up, I could come up with any excuse -- claim the some injury flared up -- and just give up. I'm still not sure why I didn't.[paragraph break]Stopped at a site on the east end of Thomas, slung the hammock, climbed in, set an alarm on my phone for 45 minutes later. I was tired, but it was a beautiful day, and the waters were still so still and quiet. I hated to give up the good weather in exchange for a rest, but ... I was still halfway to convincing myself to leave. And if I took a short nap, and the wind picked up, and I had to say that I had to change my plans because of the weather; well, that wouldn't be my fault, would it? 
[paragraph break]It would. Fifteen years ago I decided, out of nowhere, that I wanted to be a marathoner. Not a competitive one, but just someone who runs marathons. And I trained all spring and summer for my first, but also had no real idea what I was doing, and when race day came I ran and bonked and walked and the sweep bus came and passed me and I kept going on the sidewalk, finishing after the six hour limit. A DNF in the official records, but I still crossed the finish line with friends and family waiting for me. That came unbidden to my mind when I was in the hammock there on Thomas, that I could quit, I could come up with any excuse, people wouldn't question or press me on it, but I would still know that I gave up when I wasn't forced to. 
[paragraph break]I pressed on, got to the north end of Fraser, and set up camp for day two. I pinged my wife on the Garmin, she messaged back to EAT SOMETHING, and so I boiled two cups of water and dumped them into a package of Backpacker's Pantry lasagna, and realized too late that I thought I had packed Mountain House lasagna. If you like Backpacker's Pantry, skip the next sentence or two, but it was just awful. No taste of seasoning, or tomato sauce, or even recognizable noodles. I forced myself to eat it, not just forcing because of the comparatively low quality of the meal, but also because I just felt like I had no room in my stomach. At all! The physical exertion had suppressed my appetite so much that even the sight of food was unappealing.[paragraph break] Daily distance: 13.2 miles, 10.1 paddling, 3.1 portaging. Total 29 (22.6/6.4).
[paragraph break]Did I make breakfast? I did not. I brought twelve packets of maple & brown sugar oatmeal, intending to have two each morning with coffee. I ate zero. I didn't make a single cup of coffee. I barely ate on the entire trip, which had its pros and cons. On a family trip, when it's mealtime, I'll gather firewood, I'll cut and trim it, I'll get the fire going, I'll cook the meal, we'll eat, I'll wash the dishes, and it's a social activity. But doing all of those steps, when alone? That's just too much. Even using the stove to boil a few cups of water, that's still a few minutes to get it out of the pack and set up, a minute or two to boil the water, and a few minutes to let it cool and put it away again. Or, I could just eat a breakfast bar or two and call it good. I have no real explanation for it, other than camping meals are a social activity, and without the social aspect, I had no interest in it.[paragraph break]That began to worry me a little. With the physical exertion, I knew I needed to eat, but I had no desire to eat -- not just no desire to cook, but no desire to eat. I had no hunger at all, and even forcing myself to eat more than a few bites was a chore. But I kept telling myself, when I set up camp for the night, surely I'll be hungry by then, right?[paragraph break]I crossed Insula, and had a 164 rod portage into Kiana Lake. The mosquitos were bad, I didn't get the camera out, but the portage started with a steep incline and a deadfall across that, enough that it'd make it a challenge to get under it with a canoe on your shoulders. This portage sucked. Triple portaging meant 2.5 miles of total hiking here, across uneven ground, swarmed by mosquitos, and flicking ticks off of my pant legs. I was less sure I wanted to do this. I felt a little confident -- not once did I have that anxiety of solitude that had happened on previous trips, but that was because I was either constantly pushing or physically exhausted -- but as I then portaged from Kiana to Thomas, I knew that I could detour to the west here. Head out through Ima, Disappointment, Snowbank, and I'd get to an entry point only about five miles on dusty gravel back to my car. I could be a coward, I could give up, I could come up with any excuse -- claim the some injury flared up -- and just give up. I'm still not sure why I didn't.[paragraph break]Stopped at a site on the east end of Thomas, slung the hammock, climbed in, set an alarm on my phone for 45 minutes later. I was tired, but it was a beautiful day, and the waters were still so still and quiet. I hated to give up the good weather in exchange for a rest, but ... I was still halfway to convincing myself to leave. And if I took a short nap, and the wind picked up, and I had to say that I had to change my plans because of the weather; well, that wouldn't be my fault, would it? [paragraph break]It would. Fifteen years ago I decided, out of nowhere, that I wanted to be a marathoner. Not a competitive one, but just someone who runs marathons. And I trained all spring and summer for my first, but also had no real idea what I was doing, and when race day came I ran and bonked and walked and the sweep bus came and passed me and I kept going on the sidewalk, finishing after the six hour limit. A DNF in the official records, but I still crossed the finish line with friends and family waiting for me. That came unbidden to my mind when I was in the hammock there on Thomas, that I could quit, I could come up with any excuse, people wouldn't question or press me on it, but I would still know that I gave up when I wasn't forced to. [paragraph break]I pressed on, got to the north end of Fraser, and set up camp for day two. I pinged my wife on the Garmin, she messaged back to EAT SOMETHING, and so I boiled two cups of water and dumped them into a package of Backpacker's Pantry lasagna, and realized too late that I thought I had packed Mountain House lasagna. If you like Backpacker's Pantry, skip the next sentence or two, but it was just awful. No taste of seasoning, or tomato sauce, or even recognizable noodles. I forced myself to eat it, not just forcing because of the comparatively low quality of the meal, but also because I just felt like I had no room in my stomach. At all! The physical exertion had suppressed my appetite so much that even the sight of food was unappealing.[paragraph break] Daily distance: 13.2 miles, 10.1 paddling, 3.1 portaging. Total 29 (22.6/6.4).
Day 3 of 6
Monday, June 05, 2023[paragraph break] Onto day 3. The night prior I had broken up the rest of the trip into short hops, each only 3-4 hours instead of the 6-8 hour days I'd had so far. Up to Kekekabic, then over to Ogishkemucie, then over to Alpine, then out to Seagull. That'd get me out on Thursday, with some time to spare. It's all reasonable, with plentiful time for breakfast, right? Oatmeal and coffee? No. Still no appetite, even in the morning. A granola bar just so I have some carbs to digest, and off I went. 
[paragraph break]Fraser to Gerund, then Gerund to Ahmakose. You know how portages are usually easy to see; a path leading into the trees, a rocky spot on the shoreline, but this one had rivulets of water coming down it which, generally, is not the case! I paddled past, just in case this wasn't the right spot, then came back and gave it a try. The runoff didn't go the entire length of the portage, but that's also because it really, really started to make its way upwards. These are the portages where I was glad I was triple portaging; having a heavy pack on my back while balancing a canoe on my shoulders while making sure I have steady footing with no one else around for hours in any direction would not be the best way to handle these.[paragraph break]Through Ahkamose, and through another portage to Wisini. I ran into my second group of people, coming the other way. It's another truism of solos that when you run into another group on a portage, a day's worth of words can come gushing out; I talked about my buddy the garter snake I saw on all five trips over the Ahkamose-Wisini portage, I mentioned the mosquitos, I asked about what site they were coming from, I asked where they were headed, and once that was done... I was good. I did my talking for the day. Back onto the lake, and onwards.[paragraph break] Through Wisini to Strup, through Strup to Kek. I got up to a site right at the armpit of the lake, before it bends eastward for some three miles, and decided to keep pushing on before the winds got unmanageable. I found a site, elevated on the north shore, with enough of a breeze to keep the bugs down and slung a hammock to nap again before setting up the tent. Two canoers came by; I heard them approach, heard them say "dang, the site's taken", and then stuck my head up to watch them move on. 
[paragraph break]I was hoping to find a good pic of a jack pine when crossing the burn area. The pinecones are fun to play with around the campfire, setting them on the edge of the grate and watching them unfurl as they're exposed to heat. I wouldn't have minded getting a picture of them at various stages of that, except there weren't any around the ground, and I didn't want to start pulling them off a tree just for pictures. 
[paragraph break]Resting in the hammock with the bird app listening, I caught a Canada jay, red-eyed vireo, broad-winged hawk, magnolia warbler, American robin, blue jay, and northern waterthrush. You could show me pictures of most of those birds and I'd have no idea what they were, but everyone's gotta start somewhere. There's no shame in being ignorant -- I'm ignorant about so, so, so many things -- but being willfully ignorant is something I try to avoid. So, while quietly swaying in a hammock, let's learn a little bit about the birds around me. And maybe I'll forget about all of them by the morning, but there's still some curiosity. [paragraph break] Daily distance: 8.7 miles, 5 paddling, 3.7 portaging. Total 37.8 (27.6/10.2).
[paragraph break]Fraser to Gerund, then Gerund to Ahmakose. You know how portages are usually easy to see; a path leading into the trees, a rocky spot on the shoreline, but this one had rivulets of water coming down it which, generally, is not the case! I paddled past, just in case this wasn't the right spot, then came back and gave it a try. The runoff didn't go the entire length of the portage, but that's also because it really, really started to make its way upwards. These are the portages where I was glad I was triple portaging; having a heavy pack on my back while balancing a canoe on my shoulders while making sure I have steady footing with no one else around for hours in any direction would not be the best way to handle these.[paragraph break]Through Ahkamose, and through another portage to Wisini. I ran into my second group of people, coming the other way. It's another truism of solos that when you run into another group on a portage, a day's worth of words can come gushing out; I talked about my buddy the garter snake I saw on all five trips over the Ahkamose-Wisini portage, I mentioned the mosquitos, I asked about what site they were coming from, I asked where they were headed, and once that was done... I was good. I did my talking for the day. Back onto the lake, and onwards.[paragraph break] Through Wisini to Strup, through Strup to Kek. I got up to a site right at the armpit of the lake, before it bends eastward for some three miles, and decided to keep pushing on before the winds got unmanageable. I found a site, elevated on the north shore, with enough of a breeze to keep the bugs down and slung a hammock to nap again before setting up the tent. Two canoers came by; I heard them approach, heard them say "dang, the site's taken", and then stuck my head up to watch them move on. [paragraph break]I was hoping to find a good pic of a jack pine when crossing the burn area. The pinecones are fun to play with around the campfire, setting them on the edge of the grate and watching them unfurl as they're exposed to heat. I wouldn't have minded getting a picture of them at various stages of that, except there weren't any around the ground, and I didn't want to start pulling them off a tree just for pictures. [paragraph break]Resting in the hammock with the bird app listening, I caught a Canada jay, red-eyed vireo, broad-winged hawk, magnolia warbler, American robin, blue jay, and northern waterthrush. You could show me pictures of most of those birds and I'd have no idea what they were, but everyone's gotta start somewhere. There's no shame in being ignorant -- I'm ignorant about so, so, so many things -- but being willfully ignorant is something I try to avoid. So, while quietly swaying in a hammock, let's learn a little bit about the birds around me. And maybe I'll forget about all of them by the morning, but there's still some curiosity. [paragraph break] Daily distance: 8.7 miles, 5 paddling, 3.7 portaging. Total 37.8 (27.6/10.2).
Day 4 of 6
Tuesday, June 06, 2023[paragraph break] Morning of day four. I was wishing I had taken more photos, but I kept the phone in a ziploc bag inside the breast pocket of my PFD, and when paddling it was a multi-step process to get it out for a photo. Make sure I'm stable, not being blown by the wind. Stow the paddle safety. Unsnap the pocket, fish out the phone, get it out of the bag and tuck that securely so it won't blow away. Take a photo. Reverse all those steps, being cautious not to drop. It was used primarily for photos, but also for the Earthmate app, which I used to interact with the Garmin inreach on my PFD without having to fiddle with the user-unfriendly interface. If I dropped the phone, I'd have been pretty reasonably upset. But it wasn't essential for navigation, just the tertiary backup. Paper maps and compass? Yup. Garmin GPS? Definitely. Phone? That's just there for pictures and easier messaging. [paragraph break] On to the Kek ponds. I had been told they had the clearest water in the BWCA, and that wasn't wrong. It felt like I could see ten feet straight down. I wish I had taken more pictures here, but my goal this day was Kekekabic, the ponds, a detour to look at Eddy Falls, then through Eddy, Jenny, Annie and onto Ogishkemuncie to end the day. I got to Eddy, and at this point remembered to start taking higher-resolution photos; I don't know if they'll show up huge here but they're detailed as heck. 
[paragraph break]On Eddy Lake I turned west to head to the portage by the falls. This was a mistake. It was the first time the wind was at my back, which felt great, but it also meant that I'd unnecessarily have to paddle back into the wind... and by now I was exceedingly sore, not just from the day's effort, but from everything compounding. I took a picture from the top of the falls, but also, had no desire to try to get a better one. Other people have good photos looking up from the base of the falls. Some other trip I'll portage downhill just to see that point of view and then slog uphill again. 
[paragraph break]At this point the Garmin chirped, and I looked to see a message from my friend who'd meet me at Trail's End. I gave him the link to follow me, so he'd know in advance before he got to the campsite if I was coming or not. He'd have no cell service there, and so the plan was that if he arrived and I wasn't there yet, once a day he'd drive down the Gunflint Trail until he got service to see if he had a message from me, but he hadn't yet driven up and was just following my progress. His message? "Dude, you're going the wrong way!"[paragraph break]Eddy Lake to Jenny Lake, and ... another deadfall right there across the path. It's not a new one; you can see how some of the limbs have been trimmed off, and you can get past this if you try hard enough. And you can; if you're five feet tall you can walk under that without issue, but if you're over six feet and have a canoe on your shoulders ... you just have to try harder. 
[paragraph break]Through Jenny to Annie, through Annie to Ogishkemuncie. The winds were strong out of the east, and the lake was beginning to whitecap, and there were only a few sites on the west side of the lake (which also runs about 3.5 miles southwest to northeast). More discouragement here; should I go back two lakes? There were sites on Jenny; I knew I could get one of them, and I knew those lakes were more sheltered by the wind, but backtracking to any degree also felt like failure. There were two island sites very near the portage, surely one of them would be open.[paragraph break] Not the first. I paddled out to it, rounded the corner, and swore loudly when I saw a tent already there. The second was clear, though, and after I set up camp and crashed in a hammock for a while, while seeing what bird calls were around me. Common loon, ovenbird, northern waterthrush, black-throated green warbler, white-throated sparrow, Nashville warbler, blue jay, red-eyed vireo, northern parula, Canada warbler, ruby-crowned kinglet, yellow-rumped warbler, Philadelphia vireo, American robin. Nice to end on a simple one I know I can recognize.[paragraph break] Daily distance: 8.1 miles, 6.2 paddling, 1.9 portaging. Total 45.9 (33.8/12.1).
[paragraph break]On Eddy Lake I turned west to head to the portage by the falls. This was a mistake. It was the first time the wind was at my back, which felt great, but it also meant that I'd unnecessarily have to paddle back into the wind... and by now I was exceedingly sore, not just from the day's effort, but from everything compounding. I took a picture from the top of the falls, but also, had no desire to try to get a better one. Other people have good photos looking up from the base of the falls. Some other trip I'll portage downhill just to see that point of view and then slog uphill again. [paragraph break]At this point the Garmin chirped, and I looked to see a message from my friend who'd meet me at Trail's End. I gave him the link to follow me, so he'd know in advance before he got to the campsite if I was coming or not. He'd have no cell service there, and so the plan was that if he arrived and I wasn't there yet, once a day he'd drive down the Gunflint Trail until he got service to see if he had a message from me, but he hadn't yet driven up and was just following my progress. His message? "Dude, you're going the wrong way!"[paragraph break]Eddy Lake to Jenny Lake, and ... another deadfall right there across the path. It's not a new one; you can see how some of the limbs have been trimmed off, and you can get past this if you try hard enough. And you can; if you're five feet tall you can walk under that without issue, but if you're over six feet and have a canoe on your shoulders ... you just have to try harder. [paragraph break]Through Jenny to Annie, through Annie to Ogishkemuncie. The winds were strong out of the east, and the lake was beginning to whitecap, and there were only a few sites on the west side of the lake (which also runs about 3.5 miles southwest to northeast). More discouragement here; should I go back two lakes? There were sites on Jenny; I knew I could get one of them, and I knew those lakes were more sheltered by the wind, but backtracking to any degree also felt like failure. There were two island sites very near the portage, surely one of them would be open.[paragraph break] Not the first. I paddled out to it, rounded the corner, and swore loudly when I saw a tent already there. The second was clear, though, and after I set up camp and crashed in a hammock for a while, while seeing what bird calls were around me. Common loon, ovenbird, northern waterthrush, black-throated green warbler, white-throated sparrow, Nashville warbler, blue jay, red-eyed vireo, northern parula, Canada warbler, ruby-crowned kinglet, yellow-rumped warbler, Philadelphia vireo, American robin. Nice to end on a simple one I know I can recognize.[paragraph break] Daily distance: 8.1 miles, 6.2 paddling, 1.9 portaging. Total 45.9 (33.8/12.1).
Day 5 of 6
Wednesday, June 07, 2023[paragraph break]Morning of day five. Still no appetite. I'd probably averaged under 1k calories per day, not great in any circumstance, especially not great when on a trip like this, but this wasn't a conscious effort, I just ... didn't feel like eating. And even if I held food in my hand, it didn't feel like there was room in my stomach to eat it. I was still cycling liters of water through me every day, most of it coming out as sweat, and knew I had comfortably ten days of food just in case... but wtf? It wasn't just the lack of social ritual of eating food, it was completely different. I spent more time thinking about this than I did about the solitude, because I was either breaking camp, paddling, portaging, resting on a portage, or setting up camp. [paragraph break]Another big day crossing Ogish. Today I had to get to Alpine, because Thursday was another no-wind day, and Seagull lake was another some miles across, and crossing open water on a windy day was something I'd always want to avoid. One portage up and past the small rapids between Ogish and Kingfisher. 
[paragraph break]Kingfisher to Jasper, then paddling north on Jasper looking for the portage that'd get me to Alpine... and I could hear the roar of water ahead of me. And then I saw that there was a very, very distinct horizontal line beyond which the water disappeared. And that, being unfamiliar with this area, I wasn't sure if I missed the portage because I started to feel a little more apprehensive here; maybe later in the season this would be more trivial. Getting this close to the end of the trip, maybe 90% of the way, the last thing I wanted to do was something exceedingly stupid here, too. 
I thankfully landed at the portage, made it down, and took a picture of the falls from the other end. All the way down the portage, still triple-portaging, and onto Alpine. I got to the site on the east end, by the long portage to Seagull, and it wasn't even noon. I napped, I woke up, I moved to the shade, I napped, I woke up, I moved to the shade. It was a perfect afternoon. [paragraph break] Daily distance: 7.8 miles, 6.2 paddling, 1.6 portaging. Total 53.7 (40/13.7).
[paragraph break]Kingfisher to Jasper, then paddling north on Jasper looking for the portage that'd get me to Alpine... and I could hear the roar of water ahead of me. And then I saw that there was a very, very distinct horizontal line beyond which the water disappeared. And that, being unfamiliar with this area, I wasn't sure if I missed the portage because I started to feel a little more apprehensive here; maybe later in the season this would be more trivial. Getting this close to the end of the trip, maybe 90% of the way, the last thing I wanted to do was something exceedingly stupid here, too. I thankfully landed at the portage, made it down, and took a picture of the falls from the other end. All the way down the portage, still triple-portaging, and onto Alpine. I got to the site on the east end, by the long portage to Seagull, and it wasn't even noon. I napped, I woke up, I moved to the shade, I napped, I woke up, I moved to the shade. It was a perfect afternoon. [paragraph break] Daily distance: 7.8 miles, 6.2 paddling, 1.6 portaging. Total 53.7 (40/13.7).
Day 6 of 6
Thursday, June 08, 2023[paragraph break]Day six. One last big portage, only 100 rods, so not BIG big, but ... the last one I'd have to do. Well before this time I stopped being foolish with the portages -- most of the time I wore water sandals, which were great, but on repeated portages the straps would rub against my feet and lead to blisters if I wasn't careful, and since I told myself that I am in zero rush ... well, when I landed at a portage, I'd pull my wet sandals off, dry my feet with a camp towel, put on dry socks and camp shoes, portage, and then switch back to wet shoes before pushing off. Sure, on most portages it doesn't matter, but after miles and miles in wet sandals I decided to start taking the extra few minutes for warm, dry feet. I crossed that, launched onto Seagull. 
That was flat. Another perfect day to cross a larger lake. Two hours of paddling across that got me to the exit, over into the motorized section, carefully down some quickly moving water into the little bay with EP 54, and then, well, not quite done YET. I still had to get up to campsite #11, about 115 rods from the landing, then back to get another pack, then back to the landing, then ... no, not back to get the canoe. It can stay there off to the side for a little bit. When my friend arrives, I'll teach him to portage. I got there on Thursday, a little before they arrived, and then we proceeded to spend the next four days lounging, feasting, and sleeping. I ate more that night than I had in any two days combined. 
[paragraph break]We had planned to do it again this year. He would drive up with his dad, grab a site at Trail's End, I'd paddle across and join him. Maybe the same route, maybe go up through Knife, maybe through Little Sag and Gabimichigami and Paulson and the 409 rod portage into Seagull from there. But our faithful old dog was in his last few weeks, and the last thing I wanted was to be gone for a week, wondering all the time how he was doing, and knowing that I would be 24 hours at least from getting back home if things turned for the worst. So there's no 2024 solo yolo, but at least I can make up for it by recapping last year's.[paragraph break]Be well, learn from your mistakes, walk with humility. I know I make too many mistakes. I hope I make fewer.[paragraph break]Daily distance: 6.5 miles, 4.9 paddling, 1.6 portaging. Total 60.2 (44.9/15.3).
That was flat. Another perfect day to cross a larger lake. Two hours of paddling across that got me to the exit, over into the motorized section, carefully down some quickly moving water into the little bay with EP 54, and then, well, not quite done YET. I still had to get up to campsite #11, about 115 rods from the landing, then back to get another pack, then back to the landing, then ... no, not back to get the canoe. It can stay there off to the side for a little bit. When my friend arrives, I'll teach him to portage. I got there on Thursday, a little before they arrived, and then we proceeded to spend the next four days lounging, feasting, and sleeping. I ate more that night than I had in any two days combined. [paragraph break]We had planned to do it again this year. He would drive up with his dad, grab a site at Trail's End, I'd paddle across and join him. Maybe the same route, maybe go up through Knife, maybe through Little Sag and Gabimichigami and Paulson and the 409 rod portage into Seagull from there. But our faithful old dog was in his last few weeks, and the last thing I wanted was to be gone for a week, wondering all the time how he was doing, and knowing that I would be 24 hours at least from getting back home if things turned for the worst. So there's no 2024 solo yolo, but at least I can make up for it by recapping last year's.[paragraph break]Be well, learn from your mistakes, walk with humility. I know I make too many mistakes. I hope I make fewer.[paragraph break]Daily distance: 6.5 miles, 4.9 paddling, 1.6 portaging. Total 60.2 (44.9/15.3).
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