We arrived in Ely, along with a steady supply of rain. Driving in on 169 to Ely from the west was through a nearly continuous heavy rain. Even putting in the Johnny Cash compilation CD didn't seem to lift the mood much. I thought that once we were that close to Ely the miles would fly by, but that stretch of road seemed to go on forever, like there was no end to it. Finally we arrive, get checked into our room at CCO, and they confirm that the weather report for the week has lots of rain in it. The good news is that the prediction for tomorrow, our traveling and camp set-up day, is supposed to be partly sunny. As has become our custom we have a pizza dinner at Sir G's, but they bring us pizza soup instead of a pizza you can hold with your hands. We literally resort to eating it with a knife and fork. Very disappointing. Over dinner we discuss our plan, which is to cross Snowbank early before the winds pick up, and reach the portage to Disappointment which we plan to basecamp on. We are a little concerned about finding a good site; since the lake is so close to a popular entry point we are afraid that all the good sites will be taken.

After a good breakfast at Brittons, which has also become our custom, we go back to CCO to get our gear, check out and have a final chat with the outfitter about fishing and the weather. He is kind enough to pull up a weather report on his laptop for us, and it is just what we had feared: much rain predicted for the week. Most irritatingly, it shows things clearing up on thursday and becoming nice after that, but that is the day we have to leave. But although the three full days we will be there are predicted to be all rain, at least our travel days in and out are supposed to be clear. (we have to leave one day earlier than usual, since my brother needs to be back home by friday night) I am amazed that in spite of a leisurely breakfast, final packing, the drive out to Snowbank Lake E.P., unloading the car and loading the canoe, we are still officially on our way before 8:00 a.m. !! Hooray!

I make the first use of the timer function and the camera tripod I bought for this trip.

We make our way across Snowbank with no trouble; although there is a bit of wind it is at our back and poses no problem. And it is only one portage in to our basecamp lake so we don't mind doing a triple portage.

My brother Ken with what is undoubtedly the largest rod tube the bwca has ever seen.

Our concerns about finding a campsite prove unfounded as the lake appears to be completely empty! We pass a few canoes on their way out, but every campsite we pass is deserted. We check out a few that had been highly rated on this site, but decide in each case to press on and look at the next one. We can always come back if the ones in front of us are full. We finally decide on the one at the southeast end of the lake, it is very open and has a couple of food hanging trees. We don't check out the north end of the lake, but we are very surprised to find that as far as we can tell, we have the entire southern leg of the lake to ourselves. On a weekend. At one of the most used entry points. In mid-June. Strange...

looking out over Disappointment Lake from our new home for the week.

We get to work setting up the tarp, and right away I get into trouble. In order to tie a rope to a tree I stand on a boulder so I can get higher up. That boulder rolls out from under me like it was a ball bearing, and I end up horizontal in the air and fall right on top of the boulder with the small of my back. My fear of being paralyzed proves unfounded, and the only price for a lesson learned is a sore back. Luckily I can give it a rest by laying on the couch all week... Oh, wait, I'll be spending about ten hours a day in a canoe seat turning back and forth to cast and paddle... Oh well. After setting up the rest of camp without incident, the day is still young so we go out on the lake to finally get in some fishing.

As usual, I pose with my first fish of the trip:

This fish is typical of the size of most of the fish we will catch this week. And oddly enough great numbers of them will be hooked in a similar way.

After catching some more tiny smallmouth and a hammer handle northern, we head back to camp to have our italian sausage dinner and enjoy a quiet evening relaxing.

We try shore fishing in the evening, but with no luck. I don't think we caught a single thing from camp all week. As a side note, the largest tree in this photo is where a bald eagle would spend a lot of his time while we were there. It seemed almost every time we looked, there he was sitting in his tree.

What follows below is BeaV's Trip Report from our last long day.....

Leaving Clove Lake camp at 2:45 am well ahead of our proposed itinerary, I gradually start considering when we might arrive at the South Fowl Portage (the next intended resting spot). The original plan had us arriving there at midnight, resting 5 hours, and then tackling the Fowl Portage late in the night and doing the Pigeon River and Grand Portage in the daylight (this is the gentlemanly way to tackle these last obstacles). A possibly unwanted thought starts forming in my head… we’re setting a real fast pace, faster than our goal. What if we push harder, hard enough to break 100 hours? If we push a little harder, we could break 98 hours (the time the Norwegians did the previous year, albeit a longer route they did). I am grasping for little tidbits to entice the team into agreement.

We stop at Little Rock Falls Portage to take our group photo at the same spot we always do.

We finish the Granite/Pine River area, into Gunflint Lake with a southwest wind blowing harder than preferred. If we stay on the direct line across, we will be battling unsettling rear quartering waves the whole way of 6 and ½ miles. We make the decision to paddle a longer route, cutting across to the south shore to find protection in the lee. It is a little bumpy making the crossing but we make it intact with bow paddlers wet from overtopping waves. Thru Gunflint (and the return of daylight), Little Gunflint, Little North, North, South, Rat, and Rose. Over the Long Portage, complete with a small beaver pond flooding over part of the trail, into Rove, Watap, and Mountain.

While paddling the lengthy expanse of Mountain, my mind returns to earlier thoughts of pushing it a little more. Doing the math…rough calculations of times I think we can make the lakes and portages ahead, the Pigeon River, and the Grand Portage. If we skip the next rest (camp) period on South Fowl, I think we can make it in 92 hours! Wow, what an opportunity! I finally couldn’t resist…I let MAKK (Kendra) in on my plan. I need allies in this idea and MAKK is a good one to start with. “Kendra, I’ve been thinking….if we push it and don’t sleep, I think we can make the finish in 92 hours”, I say. She quickly without any convincing says “great idea!” She adds, “I really want to at least break 98 hours”. Ha, we often think alike! A little more discussion ensues and she wants to know if we should let the rest of the team know now. I say “no, let’s wait until we get closer to the Fowl Lakes. It’ll be easier for them to accept if we are close to our proposed resting lake with daylight to spare”.

We finish those three tough, back to back to back portages into Moose Lake. The time is ripe for the plan to be sprung. We all launch into Moose and we gather for a drink and bite to eat. “Guys,” I say “we’re making really good time and the tough stuff is behind us. The next portage into North Fowl Lake is a cakewalk”. Pausing a little to let that positive report sink into sleep-deprived brains, “we have an opportunity to make a really good finish time, if we don’t stop to rest on South Fowl”. I scan their faces looking for expression- expression of support, anguish, or hatred. The statement mostly appears to have been well received…but there is some quietness- which I hoped was not a sign of unexpressed negativity. Quickly before it’s too late I add “we’ll stop briefly at Fowl Portage for a hot Mac & Cheese with Spam supper and a short nap” as additional enticement. In the prior year’s challenge, Mac & Cheese night was a favorite. JimmyJustice yells out “a nap, who needs a nap!” I knew I could count on JimmyJ to make a hard final push! With the promise of a hot supper and maybe short nap…who could say no....and none did. We are now pushing hard to get to that yummy meal- their tummies on my side. Everyone is happy and motivated, for now.

Earlier in the day, we were warned by other canoeists of impending bad weather coming in at 4:00 pm. And as warned, the rain moved in. Rain gear is put on and paddler’s moods started falling like raindrops. The portage to North Fowl is easy- it’s flat but it does have a huge amount of small boulders. Now wet, this portage paved with boulders became slippery. The entry into North Fowl is swampy and boggy…maybe some get wet feet again. As we neared the Fowl Portage, the guys in the MN 3’s put on a sprint race to the finish. All 6 guys paddle as fast and hard as they can as they challenged each other neck in neck to the beach. They race past MAKK and I pushing hard but with happy challenging words to each other’s boats. It is fun to watch’em go although I’m not sure what spurred them on….hope it wasn’t Mac & Cheese….

I know heading to Fowl Portage that there will be no cooking or sleeping with a steady rain coming down. On arrival there, I gave the bad news similar to what the crew of the Edmond Fitz Gerald heard “fellas it’s too rough to feed ya”. I push off the promised meal until it stops raining…likely spots being Partridge Falls or Fort Charlotte. The team’s tummies are not happy with this realization! Pushing onto the mile-long Fowl Portage, as usual, it’s a tough bugger with a passing thunderstorm for amusement. 85 logs to step over per JimmyJ’s count and deep slippery clay mud at the end for kicks (slips). The time between the first person to finish and the last to finish is concerning...it is a big gap. Thunder rolls away into the distance and the team is fighting to stay cheery as we enter the Pigeon River, and doing a good job of it given the circumstances.

The crew has been hearing from me for some time “how easy the Pigeon will be this year as we float over all the shallow class 1 rapids”. The water flow was very high when we launched a few days ago and it can’t possibly drop down to problem levels again…right? Right? We travel downstream on the Pigeon River and my paddle occasionally hits the bottom… I swear under my breath. Realizing my predicted promise of just floating over the rock-strewn rapids ahead may be wrong, I show the new team members how to do the draw and cross-draw paddle strokes, just in case. We enter the first shallow boulder field area that I promised would be a float over. It’s not and we take turns getting stuck on shallows and rocks. Some getting out freeing the boats and some staying in the boats hoping to keep feet dry (BeaV promised, right?). I apologize for my false hope and quickly hatch a plan. Darkness is falling and we’re not yet to the English Rapids where a little more challenging stuff will be found. “Stay back about 80 foot spacing and follow me thru the rapids” I say.

The first stretch of the English Rapids is the fastest. I pick a line and shoot in with headlamps on. MAKK and I make it thru this first 600 feet before we smack boulders and get hung up. In frustration, I jump out so fast I think MAKK thinks I’m going to capsize the boat. I free us and look upstream to see how the other 2 boats fared. I see headlamps and hear a lot of excited yelling. Then, in the beam of my flashlight, I see 2 canoe packs bobbing in the deepest fastest water coming at us quick. I yell “packs in the water!”. Someone lost 2 packs and they were coming down side by side, one too far out in the deep fast current. I quickly swing the bow of the boat out into that zone for MAKK to grab that pack as I grab the other. Not known to me at the time, MeatPuppet, McPipes, and Esteban got pinned sideways on a rock. The current quickly capsized them with MeatPuppet in a bad way under the boat. Powerhouse that he is, Esteban with one arm, grabbed MeatPuppet and pulled him free.

We continue on, bouncing into, over, around boulders. We can’t see far enough ahead to pick the good line before it’s too late and the dark stained water doesn’t reveal lurking boulders. Shouts from all canoes ensue “left, right, straight!!” 2 or 3 people all at the same time yelling to be heard over the noise of the fast water. MAKK and I smack twice really hard. Frustration mounts, I yell over the noise of the rushing water to MAKK “can’t you see the rocks?” My nice carbon canoe is taking a beating and she feels terrible about it…she quits talking to me. Nothing seems to be working- I can’t see far enough ahead to pick a clear route, rocks beneath the dark stained water don’t show themselves until it’s too late, and if seen, there’s not enough water depth to pull the canoe to avoid them. Our three boats at some point get close enough to hear each other. Deke throws up his arms and yells “this is comical, left, right, straight…I can’t see shit”! His statement is not meant to be humorous, but we all felt exactly the same way. MAKK relinquishes her vow of silence and yells “exactly Deke!!” as loud as her voice would allow. Stating this frustration, we move forward united to make it thru. I hear Whitewolf yell encouraging words, “we’re gonna make it thru this, it’s just taking a little more time.” He is right and that reminder was well received by me and probably the others.

Occasionally we stop to bail water and my canoe seems to be gaining water too quickly. We make it thru the rapids into slower water but I must continue to bail every few minutes or sink…I have a bad leak. Paddling the next 4 miles to Partridge Falls, 3 of us are wet from the neck down and the rest are wet from the waist down. Three or four of us are getting chilled and one would like to take a break at Partridge Falls to cook the promised Mac & Cheese and another wants to change into dry cloths. Unfortunately, both are time wasters at this moment and will just lead to others getting colder. I am adamant that we cannot stop there to cook- we will all get cold. Instead I say we finish the paddling and continue to Fort Charlotte where the trail head of the Grand Portage starts. There, it makes sense to dig out our dry clothes and then warm up as we walk. I am not feeling much love from the others right about now.

We paddle downstream seeing some wildlife in the darkness. We pass a large tree leaning over the river and see a lone swan hanging out with a merganser duck in the river. We get within 100 feet of them and they take flight…unfortunately, the swan came our way. The eight of us instinctively beamed our headlamps on this swan, like the bird was some superstar on a stage. We blinded it! It flies right into the branches of that overhanging tree crashing hard and falling down into the river. I cheered in amusement but I hear Deke shriek in terror as if someone had dropped a human baby from a second story window. Different reactions for sure but the big bird other than being startled appears to be OK.

We struggle thru pottery quality clay on the Partridge Falls portage. All our gear and packs are saturated and heavy. Progress is slow and moods are sour, I feel responsible… We’ve been pushing hard now for almost 20 straight hours, things are not going good, we’re tired and uncomfortable, and now many unexpected obstacles at a time when we least can handle them!

Making it to Fort Charlotte, everyone moves their gear to a campsite where we drain water from packs, put on dry clothes, and repack for the 9-mile walk ahead. Being this close to the end, I ignore requests for a little sleep and a campfire. The majority of the group wants to push forward, I think, so that is what we do. Nearby at the next campsite, a voice in the dark says “BeaV is that you?” I reply it is and a friend of the MN Border Route Challenges, Ben aka Nctry, emerges from the dark. Ben watches this frenzy of 8 people repacking noticing, as he later wrote, “how the guys were all sober faced at best…but Kendra? Yep, big smile like I got this!”

Most of the team changes into dry clothes- I don’t bother…I know how wet the trail ahead will be and know it is just a waste of time. I do dump the water from my boots, wring muddy water from my socks, and put wet socks and feet back into my boots. Seventy-five minutes later, we’re ready to commence walking.

Starting around midnight, we portage together but soon separate into 3 groups. JimmyJustice, MAKK, and Deke out front; MeatPuppet, McPipes, and Esteban in the rear; and Whitewolf alone (in typical lone wolf style). Everyone’s pace is slower than what we need to keep on pace for under 92 hours, but as I am about to pass the front group to move on, I realize I should not leave the group. Instead, I drop my canoe and wait for the last portagers to pass, giving them time to pull away from me before I shoulder my canoe and eventually catch up. And I always catch because the slowest four make frequent rest stops. Way too frequent and way too slow. It takes twice as long as it should to go the first 2 miles to the beaver pond boardwalk! And when they stop, they sprawl on the ground in apparent utter exhaustion. I know this is the easiest part of the portage…it will get muddier and hillier, with more slippery boardwalks to balance on- all obstacles to slow us down and cause an injury. MeatPuppet, McPipes, and Esteban appear to be physically done in. Whitewolf never did mentally get his head into this plan. I know this because every time I pass him he tells me so and about the 3rd time he confesses he really needed to have that Mac & Cheese meal. He is tired and maybe not thinking straight, I understand but can’t come up with any clever motivational words. When he rests, he starts taking what he is calling 2-minute naps where he collapses his body over his canoe pack in an awkward looking way.

I’m feeling worried for the others and somewhat helpless, 4 team members are hurting bad with little hope of going much further. The other 3 members have gone on ahead, who knows how far, and don’t know the dire straits we are in back here. I am not sure how to push any harder or give them encouragement. I ask Whitewolf and MeatPuppet to allow me to carry their packs…both refuse my request. Sometime after the beaver pond, I find myself following Esteban who is currently carrying their MN 3. His stride is baby steps and his footing is wobbly on the boardwalks and even on flat ground. It looks like a bad fall is inevitable. Passing him and then the three others, I get well ahead, drop my canoe, and turn around. This time, I decide, I will not let anyone turn down my help. Back up the trail without a load feels good. I am surprised to first come upon a briskly moving MeatPuppet alone by himself as he had been sticking close with Esteban and McPipes. I explain how bad I think Esteban is and he concurs and MeatPuppet also is concerned about his brother, McPipes. MeatPuppet agrees to go back with me and we will shoulder their load for a while. I am less worried about Whitewolf now…his 2-minute naps seem to be working to get himself back into the fight recently. We find MeatPuppet’s crew and I tell Esteban that I will carry his canoe for a while. He declines. I say more forcefully, “I’m taking your canoe, you need a break. Individually we all want to do our share but we are a team first and you need to accept help”! I bud-in under the front of him and took the canoe off his shoulders. MeatPuppet grabs the canoe pack off of his brother and away we go. Later, Esteban said he has no memory of me taking the canoe from him.

My exact memory of the next series of events isn’t completely clear- not that I have forgotten, it is just somewhat of a blur even while it was happening. The trail in pitch black feels like walking into a dark tunnel and my mind and body are tired... MeatPuppet and I do a couple leap frog carries- carrying our gear and then going back and carrying others gear. Esteban refuses to eat or drink at a time he clearly needed to do both. MeatPuppet becomes severely thirsty; I give him most of my fresh water. MeatPuppet warns me he is about done-in himself and needs water or else. I take a load down the portage fast enough to catch up with MAKK. MAKK is doing well. MAKK and I rest at mile 4.5 located at the first road crossing called Cowboy Road. Whitewolf catches up and I give him some of my remaining peanut M&M’s to eat. He promptly vomits them back up when he tries to slam them down. He tells us not to worry...ha? Not worry? MeatPuppet joins our resting party and MAKK gives him her water filter so he can make some water at Poplar Creek whenever he gets there. MeatPuppet goes back for another load, probably his last extra trip back, while MAKK, Whitewolf and I continue down. Whitewolf’s mood is better but his feet were really causing him pain now, he limps along gingerly. I pull away from the others eventually catching up with Deke.

Deke is doing well but I am surprised he is not long gone down the trail. The previous year, he was known to have run down parts of the Grand Portage with the canoe on his shoulders. I explain how bad things are behind us and asked Deke if he will be able to help leap frog other’s gear. Deke is absolutely willing to help. We drop our loads and return back up the trail. Deke needs water badly so as we intercepted MAKK, she gives him most of what she had left. Sometime later, MAKK, Deke and I meet up at the next road crossing, Old Hwy 61. Deke grimly reports coming across MeatPuppet lying in a canoe somewhat unresponsive and sleeping. Further up the trail, he found Esteban and McPipes sprawled on the ground refusing to get up. They were going to take a 10-minute nap. Days later, Esteban recounted that they did rest, but while in a dream (or delirium), he was awakened when he saw MeatPuppet throw McPipes on his shoulders and walk away. Seeing this, Esteban felt cheated in that he felt they still had 5 minutes left in their planned 10-minute break (none of this really happened…). It seemed now, even with Deke’s help, things were getting so bad that the group’s progress was grinding to a crawl.

I push forward as fast as I could with my canoe leaving it after the hilly area and turn back up the trail. Coming across MAKK again, I tell her she should take a break. I’m not sure she needed one, but I did take MAKK’s canoe pack for a spell to give her a boost (I kind of tricked her to get her pack). Dropping her pack, I once again turned and go back up the trail. JimmyJustice is still somewhere out in front of all of us making progress, followed by MAKK, Deke, and Whitewolf. By this time Deke is getting worn down and warns me that he is about done with double portaging. We part ways.

Suddenly, the stillness of the night is shattered! Someone screams out in pain at the top of their lungs! I stop in my tracks and try to figure out which way the sound came from and waited for an expected follow-up cry of help. I hear no further sound so I continue back up the trail for another dreaded load belonging to someone else. This is near the area that has the creek valleys with 72 steep wooden steps to climb at one particularly steep incline. I have already climbed these steps 2 times tonight and wasn’t looking forward to a third. And of more concern is the fact that MeatPuppet and Deke are now getting spent and the someone who screamed in pain must surely need medical assistance. I first intercepted MeatPuppet carrying a canoe and moving fast down the trail. Before going down the dreaded wooden steps, I intercepted Esteban and McPipes and am relieved to see them making good progress. To my pleasant surprise, MeatPuppet, Esteban, and McPipes had stopped and filtered/drank water and were rejuvenated enough to be moving again! With everyone now moving, I will stay behind them all until we reach Highway 61, mile 8.5. The plan was this would be our rendezvous place where we would all gather before making the final push to the finish at the Fort.

Later, I learned, it was Whitewolf who screamed in pain at the condition of his feet/ankles. MeatPuppet was the first to find Whitewolf who excitedly explained his “flesh was falling off his feet!” MeatPuppet, in a slight panic, hurried down the trail to get help, finding Deke, they both turned back to help extract Whitewolf. Upon further assessment of his feet, they found the flesh intact but painful blisters and a sprained ankle. The would-be rescuers were relieved but also a little upset given what seemed like an overreaction to pain all of us to some degree were dealing with. Deke and MeatPuppet had used up precious adrenalin and energy to come to his aid. Deke relieved Whitewolf of his pack, for a while, and they continue down the trail.

In defense of our team’s physical and mental conditions, we had started this day way back on Clove Lake, 60 miles back and over 24 hours ago; had already portaged 7 miles; been hot, cold, wet, capsized, fought thru boot sucking clay mud, rained on, walked thru a thunderstorm, multiple slips and falls on portages; and waded thru boulders in the Pigeon River. Everyone was tired and was finding new limits and everyone dealing with the exhaustion and pain in different ways. I myself felt responsible for our condition and that feeling likely helped me push myself a little harder trying to help where I could.

The whole group now moved forward slowly slogging thru the mud that was the trail, balancing precariously on the wet slippery boardwalks. I feel relieved that everything is calming down and I lose my nervousness. Without the need to help the others now, my adrenaline is spent and I grow really tired. We still have a couple miles to go to reach Highway 61. Staying in the rear, I catch up with someone and then drop my canoe to let them get ahead. When I stop, it is getting hard for me not to allow my eyes to close and sleep. On one such occasion, I feared I had closed my eyes and fell asleep sitting. For a long while, I couldn’t catch up with any moving headlamps and worried I really had fallen asleep and left my teammates waiting below wondering what happened to me. My headlamp is becoming increasingly dim as the batteries are nearly spent and my spare batteries given away to someone else earlier. But eventually I did catch up and I think all were relieved when we were finally reunited at Hwy 61. Together we pushed toward the end; encouraged by the fact we were almost done. For me, this last ½ mile of the trail is easier since the end is so near and the trail is firm.

At 6:39 am, we reach the now closed Grand Portage Fort and touch the gate together- the pain is quickly forgotten replaced with the feeling of accomplishment. Eight hours it took from the time we landed at Fort Charlotte to complete the Grand Portage. But we were done, beating our pre-event goal of 102 hours by finishing in 94 hours 33 minutes. I now know the answer to my question of “how fast can a group of 8 go?” We didn’t make my hoped for last minute adjusted 92-hour goal but with the seriousness of our exhausted condition, I was very proud of our accomplishment. Each member of Team BeaVer Fever is, I’m certain, also feeling this way. No one gave up even when maybe the urge to stop crept in. “94-33” by Jeff, Todd, Jim, Deke, Kendra, Chad, Troy, and BeaV.

Post Script- It is odd now looking back…this is the 7th time down the Grand Portage for me and this was the largest group I ever did it with. But this was the most time that I spent walking it by myself in my own tunnel of darkness, other than when I’ve been solo. If I wasn’t by myself bringing up the rear, I was by myself much of the time back and forth up and down the trail. Wow, what a night filled with challenges for us all! Not something I will forget. We struggled together and we overcame. It is these tough times together that will make our friendships stronger. Where I may have pushed too hard with someone, I have apologized.

On our second full day, morning breaks with the rising sun illuminating just the tops of the trees as we look across the lake. I like this one since it shows "eagle tree" top half in sun, bottom half still in morning darkness. Unfortunately the sun lasts for about several minutes, and then it is gone for the rest of the day. [paragraph break]

In the morning my brother catches a decent smallmouth, with our campsite visible in the background. [paragraph break]

Right after lunch we head out for the afternoon of fishing, this time heading for the northern part of Disappointment lake. I am looking forward to inspecting the northern island campsite. About 25 years before this we had stopped on that island for a lunch break before heading out to the lakes above and beyond that for a loop that would eventually lead us to a take out at Moose lake. I was wondering if anything at that campsite would trigger any 25 year old memories. Shortly after leaving our campsite the rain starts. At first I'm actually kind of happy about that, since I'm hoping that the rain will trigger the fish to start biting. Unfortunately this photo here is pretty typical of the afternoon's results.

We work our way up north, fishing the entire shoreline up to the island campsite, but unfortunately it is occupied so we are not able to land and check it out for old memories. We continue to fish our way north to the portage to Ahsub lake, noticing that the northernmost campsite by the portage is also occupied. During this whole time the rain has alternated between downpour and sprinkles, and I for one am starting to let it affect my mood. Especially since the fishing has been if anything, even worse than when it wasn't raining. In the pre-trip planning stages I had visions of daytripping to a couple of the lakes above Disappointment for old time's sake, but now that we are here and feeling like a couple of drowned rats neither one of us is much interested in the prospect of portaging to a couple of other lakes that will no doubt look as drab and gray as the one we are currently on. So we head back south, fishing as we go but catching nothing worth talking about, except a large sea creature that had my brother pretty excited till he realized he had hooked a turtle.

Up till now the afternoon had been merely dismal, but now we start to hear thunder, and see lighting that doesn't seem all that far away. So a knot of fear is added to the afternoon, especially since we are in an aluminum canoe. We haul ass back to camp, and make it without incident, glad to be safely on shore. We prepare dinner under the tarp as the rain has not let up one bit, lounge there a while, then go to bed with the rain still coming down. Prior to our trip I had sprayed my rainfly with a can of waterproofing my brother had given me, and am very thankful that I did since it will keep rain entry into my tent to a steady drip, rather than a steady pour. Normally I sleep like a baby, but maybe because of the constant rain I spend most of this night just lying there awake, or sleeping in tiny increments till the morning comes. Not once does the rain come to a complete stop.

We have to leave tomorrow, so this is our last full day. Since the rain from yesterday is still falling, we make breakfast under the tarp and decide to just stay in camp for a while, instead of the usual morning fishing. We are both actually a bit let down when the rain finally lets up shortly after noon, since that makes it only 23 hours of continuous rain instead of an even 24. We decide to hit the western end of the lake today because the outfitter and this website had said that the channel between the large island and the mainland was a likely spot for smallmouth and northerns. The wind today is truly obnoxious; although not terribly strong, it seems as if no matter which direction we are facing that is the direction the wind is coming from. There are a couple of occasions where when we change directions to go back to a spot or follow a shoreline, the wind literally changes within minutes so that it is once again in our face. What the ?#^$$@^?? But the channel does produce a couple of decent fish for us, we actually had these two fish on at the same time! Although my northern was pretty small, it was exciting to catch because he made two strikes at my spinner and missed each time, then came back and got it on his third try. Then when he got close to the canoe my rod tip snapped off; I really thought I had something there for a minute! I was kind of surprised when this little fellow finally came out of the water. [paragraph break] While we are here at the lake's western end, we check out the campsite that is high up on a ridge. Although a bit of an uphill climb, it does allow a nice view of the channel and the lake beyond. Apparently aware that we are on land, the wind stops completely and the lake turns to glass. Yet another tiny smallmouth head-butts my lure! [paragraph break] Unfortunately the time when we each had a decent fish on does not signal the begining of a feeding frenzy, but was instead an isolated coincidence. After that it is back to the 6" smallmouths that this lake seems to have an endless supply of. We fish our way along the northern shore of this arm of the lake as we head back to camp, but neither of us hooks into anything else interesting. We head back to our wet camp and have our final fish dinner of the trip. At least this afternoon was mostly rain free. But except for the 5 minutes of excitement in the channel, this day was pretty much a bust as far as fishing was concerned. Actually that could pretty much be said of the trip as a whole.

Today is our travel out day since we are leaving a day earlier than normal. What with all the rain and the poor fishing results I don't think either one of us is that bummed that our trip is one day shorter than normal. Of course today is the day the sun decides to make it's return. A bit breezy, but having the sun out makes things more cheerful somehow. There is no rush to get going since we are only one lake in, so we take our time over a final pancake breakfast and pack up camp at a pretty slow pace. this is a view from our camp facing the way we will travel back to the exit portage to Snowbank. [paragraph break] There has been a pretty steady breeze in our face as we paddled back towards the Snowbank portage, so we decide to cut through Parent lake instead, hoping that this will expose us to less of the famous Snowbank hazardous wind conditions. The portages are pretty wet; not surprising with all the rain we had during the week. We get to Parent, and cross it without incident. Here I am, exiting Parent. This next photo is a shot of portage conditions at some points. [paragraph break] After passing through Parent, we still have to cross Snowbank to get back to the E.P., although less of it than if we had crossed directly to it from Disappointment. Here is a look at the whitecaps waiting for us when we get to the end of the portage from Parent. Although probably no big deal to an experienced paddler, the waves and wind are big enough to cause us a bit of tension. First off, the waves are coming in parallel to the shore, so when we put the canoe in they hit it broadside and slop up over the side. We ship in a fair amount of water before we finally get the canoe turned and headed into the wind. Then we do a enough up and down and side to side motion to make me a little nervous, and very grateful to finally reach the windbreak of the nearest island. By the time we get around this island we are near enough to the far shore that the wind and waves are no longer much of a factor, and it is a simple paddle back to the parking lot. [paragraph break] In the parking lot we meet a man and his young (10-12 year old?) son, and he asks us about lake conditions and getting a site on the lakes above Disappointment. This seems wildly optimistic, as it is already approaching 3:00 in the afternoon, and he does not seem like an experienced tripper, to say the least. His son didn't look big enough to be a huge help in paddling, plus he was asking some questions that made me really question if he knew what he was getting into. With the wind conditions on Snowbank, I was seriously concerned with their safety, but other than warning them both to be sure to wear their life jackets and not underestimate the difficulty in paddling to Disappointment portage, there wasn't much else we could do. I never heard anything about anyone drowning on Snowbank, so I guess that thankfully they made it across just fine. It was on my mind that night though; I certainly wouldn't have taken my young son out on semi-dangerous waters without being more prepared. [paragraph break] After returning our gear to Canoe Country Outfitters, and taking a shower and putting on fresh clothes we walk over to the Ely Steakhouse. In the past we usually went to Sir G's for a farewell night pizza, but after our last experience we are not eager to go back there. It turns out to be a good call as right after we place our orders the waitress returns with our beers and a surprise plate holding a warm fresh baked loaf of rye bread with a cup of honey butter next to it. Now if you had asked me before we walked in what food I would ask for if I could have anything in the world, I would never in a million years have said fresh baked rye bread with honey butter. But once she put that plate down on our table I would not have traded it for anything else on the planet! It was heavenly, and I could have just eaten that all night and skipped dinner. Upon re-reading this I notice that for a fishing trip report, I spent an awful lot of time talking about our last night's dinner. Maybe that says something about the type of trip it was this year... ha, ha... [paragraph break]