BWCA Entry Point, Route, and Trip Report Blog
July 08 2025
Entry Point 14 - Little Indian Sioux River North
Little Indian Sioux River (north) entry point allows overnight paddle only. This entry point is supported by La Croix Ranger Station near the city of Ely, MN. The distance from ranger station to entry point is 32 miles. Access is a 40-rod portage heading North from the Echo Trail.
Number of Permits per Day: 6
Elevation: 1364 feet
Latitude: 48.1466
Longitude: -92.2103
Number of Permits per Day: 6
Elevation: 1364 feet
Latitude: 48.1466
Longitude: -92.2103
Southern Reaches of Little Indian Sioux
by prettypaddle
Trip Report
Entry Date:
July 14, 2008
Entry Point:
Little Indian Sioux River (south)
Exit Point:
Trout Lake (1)
Number of Days:
4
Group Size:
2
Trip Introduction:
With Eric finishing his thesis and both of us preparing to move to Chicago in November, we had thought a trip to the Boundary Waters would be out of the question this year. Then May rolled around and we decided to go for it. It would have to be a short trip to allow time for visiting with Eric's family during our week in Ely, so we broke out the maps and checked the permit availability. There it was, calling to us--the Little Indian Sioux South entry point. With a quota of one permit every other day and the whole month of July wide open, we were sold. Four days seemed perfect for exploring this little orphaned piece of the Boundary Waters.
Part 1 of 9
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.
Part 1 of 9
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.
[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.
Part 2 of 9
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.
Part 4 of 9
Tuesday, July 15, 2008 [paragraph break] Day 2--Bootleg Lake--Little Indian Sioux River--Little Trout Lake [paragraph break] Sunlight through the tent. Now that's a nice way to wake up after an eventful evening. The tent and tarp dry out while we eat breakfast and pack the rest of the gear. We decide, based on the shallowness of the Little Pony River, that we won't follow the length of the Little Indian Sioux upstream to Cummings. Even with enough water to float a canoe, it would be a long, curvy paddle to the first campsite. For now we'll head to Little Trout and see where we can get after that. [paragraph break] We're on the water pretty early, but make up for it by our inability to find the portage. As we nose into the fourth or fifth likely opening, a beaver plops into the water and slaps his tail at us. He probably knows we got past the Boover Dam and is saying, "Good luck, suckers! Wait 'til you see what I've been up to!" [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] We had checked out the new Voyageur maps while in Ely and read that "the long portages in the northeast corner of Map 3 receive infrequent maintenance and are quite challenging." They did their homework. In spite of the long-dead and newly-fallen trees which require amazing feats of agility to maneuver over, under, around, and through the snagging branches and enormous trunks (downed by vengeful beavers or recent winds), and aside from being pretty overgrown, the first 75 rods or so of the trail is fairly distinct. [paragraph break] Then the trees thin, bare rock protrudes, and a multitude of paths appear. Eric's gone ahead with the canoe and I struggle to find his trail. I try to tap into some dormant, primeval tracking skills that early man surely possessed. My ancestors obviously did not stalk the elusive canoe-carrying Minnesotan. Lacking skill, I go for the trial and error method instead. I start off in a couple of different directions before I spot a stone cairn marking the path. [paragraph break] We're trying out the portage-and-a-half method for the first time so I drop my gear in what I hope is an obvious place (bonus if it's actually the portage), and start back for the second load. Eric and I meet in the middle (miraculously finding the first load of gear) and he brings the joyous news that there is actually a river at the other end of the portage. There are no pictures of this 200-rod portage. We load up the canoe, have some mint chocolate cookies, and continue up the river. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] We put into practice our "river = overgrown lake" theory of navigation. Instead of tediously tracking each bend in the river, we just assume the trees are on islands in a grassy green lake. We paddle on and on. And on. River travel is very relaxing in a grassy, crooked sort of way. [paragraph break] Our theory begins to break down, or at least trees are beginning to grow in unexpected places. All the anxiety from the night before comes flooding back--we think the portage should be here somewhere, but how on earth are we going to find it when the "shore" is one big mass of undifferentiated swamp grass? [paragraph break] I see and dismiss from mind a log jutting out of the water--where is the portage? Is that it? No, that's another game trail. There? No, just another inlet. We paddle on until Eric says, "Huh. That log sticking out of the water had a sawn-off end. Let's go back and take a look." Ok, sure, why not? Maybe we've already paddled past the portage. [paragraph break] 
See that log just to the right of my shoulder? Now, see the portage? Yeah, we wouldn't have either without that log which turned out to be part of an old submerged dock. We shove back out onto the river (the bugs really are terrible this year) to have lunch before attempting the 376 rods. [paragraph break] Muck. Mud. The portage is pretty easy to find--just follow the mucky mud. And the downed trees. If you stray from the path, look for a downed tree. If you're sinking to your knees while looking at said downed tree, you're on the portage. After helping Eric shove the canoe through one particularly dense downed pine, I fall behind. The paddles and fishing pole are catching on everything and I probably should have changed out of my sandals for this one. Oh well. About a third of the way across, the muck gives out as the land begins to rise. We're doing the portage-and-a-half again so I drop the gear and head back through the muck to slog through it all over again with the food pack. [paragraph break] 
We finally make it to Little Trout and almost push the canoe right through a perfect little bird's nest. We paddle to the island to take a quick dip and rinse off the portage grime. While pulling off 10 or 15 ticks each, we discuss our options. The discussion goes something like this: "There's at least 510 rods of portaging before we get to Buck." "Looks like the clouds are piling up again." "Let's camp here." [paragraph break] Picking a site that looks breezy, we set up the tent and head out to try and catch dinner. This is the first year I didn't buy a license. I've finally made peace with the fact that I don't enjoy sitting in a canoe holding a fishing pole. I'm much more happy paddling Eric around while he trolls--I can let my mind wander and not have to jerk back to reality too late to catch whatever was nibbling at my untended line. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] It's pretty windy and Eric's not having much luck so we head back to camp and eat dinner while watching the clouds build. It starts to sprinkle so we scurry to all the chores then retreat to the tent to watch the sun go down. We are both asleep before it has completely set. [paragraph break] 
[paragraph break] We had checked out the new Voyageur maps while in Ely and read that "the long portages in the northeast corner of Map 3 receive infrequent maintenance and are quite challenging." They did their homework. In spite of the long-dead and newly-fallen trees which require amazing feats of agility to maneuver over, under, around, and through the snagging branches and enormous trunks (downed by vengeful beavers or recent winds), and aside from being pretty overgrown, the first 75 rods or so of the trail is fairly distinct. [paragraph break] Then the trees thin, bare rock protrudes, and a multitude of paths appear. Eric's gone ahead with the canoe and I struggle to find his trail. I try to tap into some dormant, primeval tracking skills that early man surely possessed. My ancestors obviously did not stalk the elusive canoe-carrying Minnesotan. Lacking skill, I go for the trial and error method instead. I start off in a couple of different directions before I spot a stone cairn marking the path. [paragraph break] We're trying out the portage-and-a-half method for the first time so I drop my gear in what I hope is an obvious place (bonus if it's actually the portage), and start back for the second load. Eric and I meet in the middle (miraculously finding the first load of gear) and he brings the joyous news that there is actually a river at the other end of the portage. There are no pictures of this 200-rod portage. We load up the canoe, have some mint chocolate cookies, and continue up the river. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] We put into practice our "river = overgrown lake" theory of navigation. Instead of tediously tracking each bend in the river, we just assume the trees are on islands in a grassy green lake. We paddle on and on. And on. River travel is very relaxing in a grassy, crooked sort of way. [paragraph break] Our theory begins to break down, or at least trees are beginning to grow in unexpected places. All the anxiety from the night before comes flooding back--we think the portage should be here somewhere, but how on earth are we going to find it when the "shore" is one big mass of undifferentiated swamp grass? [paragraph break] I see and dismiss from mind a log jutting out of the water--where is the portage? Is that it? No, that's another game trail. There? No, just another inlet. We paddle on until Eric says, "Huh. That log sticking out of the water had a sawn-off end. Let's go back and take a look." Ok, sure, why not? Maybe we've already paddled past the portage. [paragraph break] See that log just to the right of my shoulder? Now, see the portage? Yeah, we wouldn't have either without that log which turned out to be part of an old submerged dock. We shove back out onto the river (the bugs really are terrible this year) to have lunch before attempting the 376 rods. [paragraph break] Muck. Mud. The portage is pretty easy to find--just follow the mucky mud. And the downed trees. If you stray from the path, look for a downed tree. If you're sinking to your knees while looking at said downed tree, you're on the portage. After helping Eric shove the canoe through one particularly dense downed pine, I fall behind. The paddles and fishing pole are catching on everything and I probably should have changed out of my sandals for this one. Oh well. About a third of the way across, the muck gives out as the land begins to rise. We're doing the portage-and-a-half again so I drop the gear and head back through the muck to slog through it all over again with the food pack. [paragraph break] We finally make it to Little Trout and almost push the canoe right through a perfect little bird's nest. We paddle to the island to take a quick dip and rinse off the portage grime. While pulling off 10 or 15 ticks each, we discuss our options. The discussion goes something like this: "There's at least 510 rods of portaging before we get to Buck." "Looks like the clouds are piling up again." "Let's camp here." [paragraph break] Picking a site that looks breezy, we set up the tent and head out to try and catch dinner. This is the first year I didn't buy a license. I've finally made peace with the fact that I don't enjoy sitting in a canoe holding a fishing pole. I'm much more happy paddling Eric around while he trolls--I can let my mind wander and not have to jerk back to reality too late to catch whatever was nibbling at my untended line. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] It's pretty windy and Eric's not having much luck so we head back to camp and eat dinner while watching the clouds build. It starts to sprinkle so we scurry to all the chores then retreat to the tent to watch the sun go down. We are both asleep before it has completely set. [paragraph break]
Part 5 of 9
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.
[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.
Part 7 of 9
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.
Part 4 of 9
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.
Part 5 of 9
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.
Part 7 of 9
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?
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