Day 1: I woke and ate my customary doughnuts and frappachino for breakfast before packing the canoe and getting on the portage trail just after 8. I’d never entered LIS before, and I began the winding paddle north in a damp September morning fog. The company was just me, a shy beaver, and a couple of trumpeter swans. [paragraph break]

The funniest thing happened on the river: I came silently up on a lone Canada goose floating along the shoreline. I was about 20yards away when it first noticed my presence, and it immediately took off to fly away from me downriver. The only problem was that in its haste it did not see the dead log bent out over the water about 12 feet in front of it. The goose flew head-on straight into the log with a loud “smack” before falling over backwards into the water. I thought for a moment that I might get to eat fresh goose for a first night meal, but after a minute it did right itself in the water and spent some time shaking itself out. The poor goose looked downright bewildered and it no longer seemed to care about the human so close. It was just slowly regaining its composure as I paddled on by. Incredible. [paragraph break]

Upper and Lower Pauness lakes each held one party I could see: a quiet sleepy tent on the former, and a group of scout-age boys fishing from shore on the latter. As I paddled toward the portage to Loon lake, I imagined that one of the boys in the large group is the quiet, introverted boyscout I once was. He sees the sleek solo canoe glide through the lake mist- and off to an adventure scripted only by the whim of the man paddling it with quick switching strokes in an unbroken, practiced rhythm. The boy never before realized that there are canoes made for only one person, and he will remember that moment- tucking it away to later influence his future adventures silently exploring wild places. [paragraph break]

The water table was not especially high this time of year, and the Devil’s cascade was no roaring falls. It was a very scenic portage though; descending through the shaded gorge. Once out onto the main basin of Loon lake the sun began intermittent appearances through parted clouds and drove the fog away: signaling that midmorning had begun. I was feeling good in open water, and upped the pace as I happily paddled northwest across the lake. I followed the Canadian shore north to Beatty portage, and up into the western side of Lac LaCroix. I had paddled by here previously, but never stopped to look for the pictographs. I did find some faded images at the base of the big cliffs, but not nearly as spectacular as the ones on the eastern side of the lake. [paragraph break]

I snacked on my lunch as I went north on Lacroix, and the sun came out more and more to make for a fairly nice afternoon. Wind was moderate from the northwest, but no big waves to contend with. Once I turned the corner to head east, I was in the best part of the lake. I love the north part of Lacroix- with the dozens of islands holding mature white pines: all with exposed rock ringing the shoreline. The motorboats of the Canadian side are far enough away not to bother you, and the camps are remote enough that you rarely see another paddler. I was planning to camp somewhere up here tonight, to make an early crossing of the lake and enter the Namakan river tomorrow morning. An east wind was starting to build and while I was relatively protected amongst the islands of Lacroix, my internal weather radio was going off, “nothing good ever comes from an east wind” I thought. Time to find camp. [paragraph break]

The site I chose was right on the border just north from Takumich lake. I circled the small island with the red dot twice without seeing any sign of a camp. I pulled the canoe up on shore and began exploring. The island is shaped something like a budding yeast cell, and as it turns out, the campsite is located in the middle of the island at the isthmus where the two cells are dividing. The camp is accessible from either side, and it appeared to be used little. It was not a large camp, but was perfect for my needs. It was just after 3:00 and I thought I could hear distant thunder from the west, so I didn’t waste time in putting up the hammock and tarp- choosing a sheltered spot that did not involve the tallest trees on the island to give me some peace of mind. I had water and a snack, and was happy with the 22 miles I had put in today. I sat in my chair with the camera tripod pointed out west over the lake, and shot long exposures of the horizon, hoping to catch one of the strong bolts of the approaching electrical storm. As the rain shadow closed in, I retired to the hammock for an afternoon nap beneath the pitter patter of rain on the tarp, glad I had chosen a good spot out of the wind. [paragraph break] I awoke around 7pm to a bright sun low in the western sky that was illuminating the towering thunderheads that had moved off to the east. The air was still and peaceful, and I rehydrated my dinner. I sat on the lakeshore with the camera as I sipped bourbon and watched the sun set over the islands of Lacroix. As darkness closed, I again curled up into my hammock, falling asleep after hearing the very distant sound of wolves across the lake somewhere south of me.

Got up at 03:00 and left St. Cloud by 04:00. Dad did the uneventful drive and we stopped in Cloquet for some sausage, egg, cheese, and bacon biscuits. Made it to the Kawishiwi Ranger Station at 08:30 and then did the long portage to Wood Lake (EP 26).

Dad and Royce had been this way before so finding portages to Hula and into Good was no problem. Did miss having water though that first day because our water filter system is a gravity fed sawyer filter and bag which we hang up upon getting to camp. So we didn't have water for the paddle to Good. We also figured out our preferred portaging plan. We typically "double portage" which is really triple portaging, but we had packed lightly enough that only one person would need to go back for more so at each portage Royce would carry the canoe across, Dad would carry his frame pack and i took the small gear pack. I'd take this to the halfway point and drop it then go back for the food pack. I would get back to where I dropped the first load and Royce would be there picking it up. This way it only takes as long as 2 times across vs. 3.

So here's where things began to go awry. on the portage into Good Lake we realized that the lid for one of the nalgeen bottles was missing so we decided Dad and Royce could go see if the other site on Good Lake was open (the site at the north end of Good Lake was occupied). I went back and looked at the two spots the bag had been set down but found no lid. Royce then came up looking for me because it had started raining. We got to camp and set up the rain fly quick and waited out the rain. Once it quit we set up camp. This was at the campsite in the middle of the lake where it narrows which was fantastic since that's where we ended up catching fish.

We went out fishing and Royce caught his best fish ever a 34" 11lb Northern. Dad used the net from the middle seat after the fish dove a few times. The Heddon Lucky 13 only got one hit this trip, a pike on my 3rd cast that jumped clear out of the water after it like "Air Jaws" from Sharkweek.

Oh yeah and I forgot to mention, while we were paddling from the portage to camp on Good Lake, in the rush to get going I left my sunglasses clipped to my T Shirt and they fell in the damn water. Later in the day we suffered 3 more mishaps. My watch died, Dad's carabiner watch died and my reel started making horrid, ominous noises. Luckily there we had a spare reel along.

We had a dinner of velveeta cheese shells and hamburger which Royce tried to serve to me without the cheese, Dad and I went back out. I caught a few northerns on my red and white dressed Mepps No.5. All were released, only one was of decent size. We went to bed, it was a plenty long day and I wasn't happy about dropping ANOTHER hundred bucks into a lake but the fishing was good when we were able to get out on the water.   

On the water at 7:30 and into the south wind that had not relented overnight. It was a bit of work heading south on Sand Point lake. My plan was to get as far as I could before the storms. The new forecast had pushed them out until evening, but it sure would be nice to be in camp and in a warm hammock when they did arrive. My good friend and his father and two other friends were due to enter the Moose river north today and planned to camp on Oyster Lake. I had planned to at some point meet up with them for a night or two. I thought I might camp tonight on Loon lake and make my way over there tomorrow, but as the day went on my plan evolved into possibly trying to get to Oyster lake tonight. [paragraph break]

I paddled the winding trail of the Loon river, and most features were familiar from a trip I had done here the year before. Just after the eastward turn, I overtook a green olde town canoe with a man and woman that was heavily loaded. They were friendly, and had never been on this route before, so I gave them some beta about the approaching loon rapid. They asked about my canoe and if I was a part of the watertribe group. I said, no, why do you ask?” and they explained that they had just started the Crane lake voyageurs challenge that day (a day early). I told them my name and that I had paddled the challenge last year and it turns out they had read my trip report and were all excited about the route. I matched their pace for awhile and we had a nice chat. [paragraph break]

When we reached Loon falls, I portaged my load over to Loon lake, and then went back to help them carry stuff. I briefly marked some route features on their maps, and wished them good luck before padding off into Loon lake. By now the sun had come out and gave a good solar beating for a mid-September day. After the fairly long portage east into Heritage creek, I was pretty hot and going through a lot of water. I was thrown a twist when the portage crossed the Sioux Hustler trail and I wasn’t expecting any forks or intersections. I rightly assumed it must be the trail and I made my way just fine, without any errant turns. [paragraph break]

The low water had left plenty of barely-submerged rocks to dodge in the still Heritage creek, but I was slow and careful and didn’t hit any as I traveled through. There were two parties on Heritage lake: one in camp and one out fishing. Then an uneventful portage east to an easy crossing of Lynx passing by a few more campers out enjoying the sun, and then the long portage to Ruby, where I again paused to re-fill water bottles. [paragraph break]

Hustler lake was next, and I almost wished I had stopped to camp, but I was at this time excited to see my friends only a few miles away- and to make a solid camp for a few days of storms. Hustler lake seemed really cool with the varied terrain on different arms of the lake- It is definitely on the ‘need to return sometime’ list. The portage from Hustler to Oyster was long, with a good amount of climbing and descending, but it was a pretty trail. I landed on Oyster lake around 5:30pm and I knew the lake well from previous visits. This was my longest day at just over 32 miles. [paragraph break]

My rendezvous strategy was just to paddle past all the campsites until I spotted someone familiar. I didn’t take too long and I found my friends hanging tarps and making dinner at their site. I was hot and smelled like fitness, so I took a swim in the lake while it was still light out. I rehydrated dinner and set up my hammock. I took a fair amount of time seeking out a more protected hang and received couple comments in jest for ‘taking so long when there are all these good trees around’….but my careful consideration would payoff later. We shared drinks and snacks and good conversation into the night around a fire, and eventually retired to bed. [paragraph break]

About 5 minutes to midnight, I was awakened to heavy sideways rain and near constant lightning. I clicked on my headlamp and saw that the bottom edge of the tarp ended in a curtain of horizontal water blowing clear underneath my hammock. The ground beneath me had become a river of mud and pine duff swirling downhill. I stayed good and dry, though, and the low-pitched tarp performed well (yay DIY tarp!). [paragraph break]

Off to my right was a friend who- on that very night- had been persuaded to try hammock camping for the first time. His borrowed hex tarp was 90degrees to mine, and the wind must have been blowing right in through the end. I saw his light come on for a minute or two as he assessed the situation, and wondered what in the world he must have been thinking. What a night to try hammocking for the first time! After a few minutes he turned the light off and I reasoned that he must be okay. [paragraph break]

I could tell that another of my friends who was hanging further across camp also had a light on, but when I started to see it outside his tarp and walking around I knew that something was amiss. His tarp had doors on each end, but was hung closer to the lake, and with a bit more exposure to the wind. There may have been some shouts of frustration coming from his direction, but the storm was loud enough I couldn’t really tell. With my low-pitched shelter, I couldn’t directly see over there, but it was about ten minutes before the activity settled down and he also turned off the light. [paragraph break]

I lay awake for an hour or so listening to the storm. The sensory input was rich all around. Even though it was dark, the strobe of lightning flashes dazzled my eyes. The deafening sound of sheets of water hitting the tarp and the woods all around. The wind both swaying the hammock and shaking the trees that were holding it up. The big, deep thunderclaps that you can feel rattling around your insides. I was perhaps a little afraid with thoughts of whether trees could fall if it intensified- but overall I enjoyed the exciting show from my warm nest. Eventually, the rain slowed to a constant patter and I again drifted to sleep.

The next day we picked up the soggy camp that had been blown to a mess and we had plenty to talk about how each man had fared overnight. The first-timer had gotten slightly wet feet at the windward end of his hammock, but didn’t seem fazed by it at all. The friend who was up said that his stakes pulled out and while the tarp was flapping around uncontrollably, he was forced to get up and find some other rock or log or something to tie it back down. He had quite a few things to hang up and dry out the next day! [paragraph break]

We basecamped for three nights and enjoyed fires, food, whiskey, lake trout, naps, photos, and exploring. There was one more night of storms and heavy rain, though maybe not as intense as the first. I noticed a little 1/2" tear in the middle of my tarp and reasoned it must have been a branch that came down in the storm. I was going to gorilla-tape it, but my friend had some gear-aid tenacious tape; and I cut a small piece for inside and outside the tarp- and you can't even see the repair unless you look closely. It will likely be a permanent repair and I have since added the tenacious tape to my kit. Among our party was a rabid Packer fan, and one sunny afternoon with an improvised antenna were able to pull in the Packer-Viking game on a crackling FM radio as we sat and played cribbage. It was a departure from my normal wilderness quiet, but with the company it was a splendid time. [paragraph break]

I was disappointed to see the “rock porch” campsite on Oyster lake had lost the large white pine that shaded and protected what was previously one of the better campsites in the BWCA. The first night I had ever camped in the BW was at that site, and at home I have a sunset photo featuring that tree that is printed on canvas and hanging in the guest room. It had fallen a different direction than the wind from the other night, so it must have been down before the present storm- but not long. [paragraph break]

Just as my paddle in a few days ago was in a grey fog, the paddle out was on a grey day that threatened a wet September mist. There were a few trees down across portage trails that my friends said were not there on the way in. We exited through Moose river north, and I was shuttled back to my car at LIS. We stopped for beers in Ely with a toast to good friends, and headed our separate ways home. [paragraph break] [paragraph break]

I think I really was able to combine a long solo trip with a group basecamp trip. I enjoy covering distance when solo, but I probably paddled longer and harder than intended during the first few days. I was glad to be stationary in camp before the storms came, though. My gps total was just over 100 miles for the trip. It was fun to see the Namakan river and the Loon river back-to-back and think about the challenges that each route would throw to fur-trade voyageurs. The multiple permits needed for this trip were a little tricky to manage, but I was able to make the border crossings and BW entries legitimately.