Saturday, July 12, 2008 [paragraph break] On a plane bound for Minneapolis there is, as one pilot put it, a "sporting breeze" which makes the landing exciting to say the least. Eric--supposedly connecting through Detroit--gives me quite the shock by walking onto my flight to Duluth. Due to weather he was re-routed and by some strange coincidence ended up in the seat next to me. What a wonderfully surreal way to begin the trip. [paragraph break] Another wild flight lands us in Duluth where we're met by his folks for the drive up to Ely. The lakes we pass are rolling with white caps. When we arrive at the house on White Iron, we're informed by his visiting sister's family that a couple of poplars have blown down. These will not be the last downed trees we encounter.

Sunday, July 13, 2008 [paragraph break] Packing day. We pick up our permit at the new ranger station and Ranger Tom assures us the water is about three feet above normal right now--good news for a trip on tiny rivers. [paragraph break] In town we buy three new Fisher maps (we want to make sure we're covered since we have several contingency plans). Three brand-new maps equals an entire trip of brand-new territory for both of us. We get some groceries at Zup's and then it's back to the house to assemble our gear. [paragraph break] Eric, bless his heart, is much more likely to wander away to play with his niece and nephews or to sit in the midst of the chaos tinkering with some gadget than to actually put anything in a bag. He takes a moment to show off his pirate headgear. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] We lay out the maps and show Eric's folks the rough plans: Plan 1--Little Indian Sioux all the way to Cummings and exit Crab to Burntside. Plan 2--LIS to Trout, then make our way through Chad and Buck to Cummings or Lunnetta and exit through Burntside. Plan 3--LIS to Trout and exit Vermillion.
His dad thinks we're crazy but his mom knows we want adventure.

Monday, July 14, 2008 [paragraph break] Day 1--Little Indian Sioux River--Little Pony River--Bootleg Lake [paragraph break] After two days of cool weather and rain, we begin the trip with a bright blue sky and mild temperatures. The river is postcard-perfect. And also quite wide which relieves some of my anxieties about our proposed route. The river dwindles to a single line on the map so a narrow river at the put-in (where the river is depicted as quite wide on the map) would have meant it was impossibly small farther south. We wave goodbye to his parents and start to wind our way up the river. [paragraph break] A couple of miles in there's a sign marking our entry into the Boundary Waters. Shortly after that we investigate some yellow squares nailed to trees and discover a section marker. Township 65, Range 15, between Sections 13 and 14. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] With the water so high we figure we might be able to paddle through the first portage. Not quite. Sioux Falls is a very impressive little water fall. Its water has carved out a pool free of grass and ringed by foam. A short carry, a little beaver dam (the first of many), and we're paddling through monster hair. Waving in the current the stuff looks seriously like the hair on the back of some great beast. It's mesmerizing to watch. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] We're able to find the Pony River easily enough (we had worried) and it wasn't as tiny as we had feared. With clouds piling up we get out the rain gear and have lunch on the river. Have I mentioned the bugs? The mosquito hoards make time on shore into a windmilling, swatting dance (when we can actually find solid ground to get out on that is). We're traveling on a tiny river surrounded by swamps. Maybe we really are crazy. [paragraph break] A light shower puts an end to lunch and we continue on the ever narrower river. The beavers have been busy. With the high water we're able to paddle over most of the dams. Until we reach the granddaddy of all beaver dams--the Boover Dam. This busy beaver had made himself quite the little pond; no wonder since a good two-and-a-half feet of dam sticks up above the water. It takes some doing, but we're still able to just lift the canoe over. More winding river, a couple of pretty short portages and we're at Bootleg Lake. We choose the southernmost campsite and, with the skies threatening, quickly set up camp. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] We wait out a passing shower in the tent. When the sky clears we take a quick dip and start a fire for dinner. Thunder rumbles in the distance. A light rain starts up. I urge Eric to eat more quickly so we can do the dishes, hang the bear bag and hide in the tent. The storm is on top of us now. Wind, rain, lightening. We--ok, I--cower. Eric very reassuringly points out that the tent is far enough from the trees that they won't blow down on top of us but close enough that we're not the highest point around. Ok, we can do this. It's just a little rain. And wind. And lightening. [paragraph break] Huddled in the tent we watch the storm. Before my eyes the far end of the lake is blotted out by grey. It was there, and then it simply wasn't. The nothingness eats away at our lake and, as fast as I can point it out with wild shouts, hail is pounding down around us. Inside the grey curtain we can see the lake again and it's boiling with hail. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] Being a good Midwestern girl, I know that hail presages Bad Things. Having lived in California for the past six years, and having seen nothing more sinister than a thick fog, I am Scared. We have a Nylon Tent for protection. We are in the Middle of Nowhere. We have seen No One all day long. What if a tree falls on us? What if we're struck by lightening? What if a tornado tears through camp? [paragraph break] Eric may not be much of a help when it comes to packing, but he sure is a comfort (and a good man-shield) in a hail storm. And all my fears were unfounded: the hail passed, the sun came out and a double rainbow arched from one end of our lake to the other. We survived! [paragraph break] %2D091840%2EJPG&name=TripReport"> [paragraph break] Another storm rolls through in the night. Lightening very effectively illuminates the inside of a nylon tent. Too exhausted to worry about another storm, we both roll over and go back to sleep. [paragraph break]

Saturday, July 12, 2008 [paragraph break] On a plane bound for Minneapolis there is, as one pilot put it, a "sporting breeze" which makes the landing exciting to say the least. Eric--supposedly connecting through Detroit--gives me quite the shock by walking onto my flight to Duluth. Due to weather he was re-routed and by some strange coincidence ended up in the seat next to me. What a wonderfully surreal way to begin the trip. [paragraph break] Another wild flight lands us in Duluth where we're met by his folks for the drive up to Ely. The lakes we pass are rolling with white caps. When we arrive at the house on White Iron, we're informed by his visiting sister's family that a couple of poplars have blown down. These will not be the last downed trees we encounter.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008 [paragraph break] Day 3--Little Trout Lake--Trout Lake--Pine Creek--Pine Lake [paragraph break] Awoken at an unseemly hour by a little red squirrel making a big racket, we lounge in the tent awhile longer. Then: a wolf howl! Off to our left there's a wolf howling! And another wolf answers from off to our right! We're in between two howling wolves! How cool is that?! We sit there grinning at one another until the howls die out and then begin our day. [paragraph break] We have some oatmeal and hot chocolate, break camp, and head out into the overcast morning. The creek into Trout Lake is tiny, rocky, and choked with weeds. No wonder the motorboats we can hear in the distance don't come into Little Trout. Several of the rocks now are little more green, but we are able to float (and scrape) our way through the creek and in to Trout. A large part of our time on Trout is spent staring at a little bump way out in the lake--we can't tell if it's a seagull on a rock or if we're seeing our first person of the trip. [paragraph break] [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 break] [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] [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]

Saturday, July 19, 2008 [paragraph break] White Iron Lake--Farm Lake [paragraph break] Another relaxing day. We take the kayak out for a leisurely paddle to Farm Lake and when we return we finish stowing the camping gear and packing our bags. After a nice steak dinner, we head out for a night on the town with Eric's brother and his friends. When closing time rolls around, we go back to the house and sit on the dock watching the moon and stars shimmer in the lake until the mosquitoes drive us indoors.

Friday, July 18, 2008 [paragraph break] A gloriously lazy day. We eat breakfast and I take a nap. We play board games, we chat with the family and show off our trip pictures. We go sailing on White Iron and laze in the hammock by the shore. I have not been so decidedly lazy in a long time. The perfect way to spend the first day back in civilization.

Saturday, July 19, 2008 [paragraph break] White Iron Lake--Farm Lake [paragraph break] Another relaxing day. We take the kayak out for a leisurely paddle to Farm Lake and when we return we finish stowing the camping gear and packing our bags. After a nice steak dinner, we head out for a night on the town with Eric's brother and his friends. When closing time rolls around, we go back to the house and sit on the dock watching the moon and stars shimmer in the lake until the mosquitoes drive us indoors.

Sunday, July 20, 2008 [paragraph break] One last look at the lake, then we gather our things and head to the airport. We had wonderful trip. Simply being together is amazing for us (we currently live 2,000 miles apart). Add the beauty of the Boundary Waters to that and, really, who could want more?