BWCA Entry Point, Route, and Trip Report Blog
December 04 2024
Entry Point 38 - Sawbill Lake
Number of Permits per Day: 11
Elevation: 1802 feet
Latitude: 47.8699
Longitude: -90.8858
Sawbill Lake - 38
The Long Way Around-First Solo on the Louse River
Entry Date:
May 21, 2023
Entry Point:
Sawbill Lake
Number of Days:
7
Group Size:
1
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Preparation [paragraph break]
This was to be my first solo trip. Having never paddled a solo canoe, estimating my ability and choosing a suitable route which met my goals in the time I had was a very difficult thing for me to wrap my head around. I sought out advice from the message boards here, and was warned of the dangers of taking on too much for my first solo, especially in May, with no solo paddling experience. I felt conflicted, because I didn’t want to do anything unsafe or foolhardy, and had no means to gain any meaningful solo paddling experience near where I live. That said, I was in decent shape, and life is uncertain. I was nearly 40 years old, and family life was getting more frantic with each passing year. How many more chances would I have to take on a challenging solo trip? I chose to go for it, resolving to turn back or cut the route short if it proved to be too much to handle. [paragraph break]
For a month or two, I planned on traveling the Frost River, since my late-May trip footprint would likely provide favorable conditions for this iconic Boundary Waters route. However, after reading a trip report or two and more time spent gazing at the maps, I chose to enter at Sawbill Lake and travel the Louse River, which appeared to offer more time in some of the most secluded, rugged areas of the park, as well as several challenging, minimally maintained portages. It also linked up nicely with an area on the map that intrigued me, the smaller lakes north and west of the Kawishiwi River, with a return to Sawbill via the highly-regarded “Lady Chain.” While I was a bit apprehensive at taking on this route as my first solo and only my second trip, I was also very intrigued by this route, and used that tandem of enthusiasm and apprehension to ignite a drive to prepare my mind, body, and gear for the trip. [paragraph break] My daughter began junior high sports in the fall of 2022, and while running with her cross country/track teams at practice helped with my fitness, it was clear that I needed to be more diligent about vigorously exercising daily whenever possible. I purchased a rowing machine for our home and began using it faithfully, rowing 45-60 minute hard workouts most mornings after dropping the kids off at school on my off days, and occasionally during breaks at work. This dramatically improved my overall fitness and endurance, while strengthening many core and back muscles that would be heavily taxed during my solo trip. It also provided a means of keeping up my fitness routine during a long, cold Kansas winter. The rough, rocky portages that the Louse River was notorious for concerned me. I didn’t want to injure myself out there. To prepare for this, I added about 20 minutes of balance exercises on a BOSU ball after my rowing workouts whenever possible. These workouts were tailored for trail runners that needed superior balance and injury resistance to run quickly over the type of ground I would be traversing. Finally, I incorporated a 20 minute medicine ball workout 2-3 times per week that focused on building core strength. Whenever I didn’t want to push through a difficult workout, I would think of a difficult portage that awaited me on the Louse River, and how I needed to do all I could to be ready. [paragraph break] The portages on this route provided me with a great deal of “homework,” as well as a bit of angst. I scoured this site and compiled every single comment I could find on the Louse River portages into a single laminated document that I carried with me in the park. There is a certain excitement to not knowing what to expect while on a canoe trip, but I knew that I needed to stack the deck in my favor as much as possible for my first solo, especially when traversing the portages of the eastern section of the Louse River. I am very thankful to those that provided strong intel to me via their trip reports and portage notes, in particular straighthairedcurly and cowdoc, as well as Mike McSweeney’s YouTube videos. [paragraph break] Gear-wise, I needed to think differently than last year. The most significant change was to my food prep. Last year, we used a standard food pack which we filled with mostly “real food” and hung in a tree for bear resistance. This year, I dehydrated and vacuum sealed all of my own meals, and kept them on the ground in a bear-proof Ursack. I was amazed at how much work it took to get my dehydrated ingredients “pantry” up and running, and spent much of January-February prepping a multitude of ingredients for my trip meals, all of which came online from “The Backpacking Chef” Glen McAllister’s e-books. I chose to bring two “food king” thermoses, in which I prepped my morning breakfast the night before by pouring in boiling water to soak overnight, and did the same for the following day’s lunch each travel day, in order to save time cooking and cleaning. I left my rainfly and large fry-bake pan at home. I purchased a carbon fiber paddle from GRB Newman. I drastically reduced my fishing gear, though I still chose to bring it. I also chose to bring a camp chair, albeit a much smaller, lighter one. Since I love campfires and wood gathering, I still brought my Boreal 21” saw and a 17” Fiskars pack axe. By mid-March, my pack was ready to go, save for a few last minute snacks. This was a huge improvement over last year’s frantic last minute packing experience that I swore to never repeat. [paragraph break] Mentally, I had heard that solo trips can be very challenging when in the park, but for me, the toughest time mentally were these final days before the trip. Work-wise, I had to work many consecutive days in the early part of May, which led to less time at home. When at home, I had plenty of last minute prep to do for the trip, but I also needed to spend quality time with my family, and make sure the house was in ship-shape before my departure. After a hectic, yet wonderful school year in which our four kids participated in 10 different sports seasons, several of which we coached or volunteered, in addition to various other extracurricular activities, it was hard to believe I would really be leaving, alone, in just a few days. As I watched my daughter perform in her junior high musical performance of “The Little Mermaid,” I was moved to tears. She and her brothers were growing up so fast. I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about leaving for my solo trip soon…in spite of having done all I could to “be there” for everyone during the course of this entire year. Why did I so deeply feel the need to go on this solo trip? Should I go at all? The answers I found to those questions were, essentially: “Who knows?” and “It’s too late to back out now!” This mental angst was very similar to the stir-crazy self-doubt that I had faced in the closing days before other life events that I had prepped a great deal for, such as job interviews and work evaluations. And now, as it had been in the past, those feelings meant one thing: It was time to go. [paragraph break] Final pack weight: 60 pounds, including 12 pounds of food|Meters rowed since last trip: Over 1.5 million
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Travel Day [paragraph break] I choose to attend my daughter’s softball game the night before I depart home, and find myself packing the car and running through my packing checklist until 1 AM. With tomorrow’s departure slated for 5 AM, this isn’t ideal, and I will have to rely on the “spirit of the woods” as well as eager phone calls to many friends to provide me the energy I need to get through the 14 hour drive to the Sawbill Campground. In spite of my late bedtime, I wake before my alarm at 3:15 AM to finish my final preparations and head out the door. After hugging my wife one last time, I am on the road at last! As I accelerate down the on ramp to the highway, I roll down the window and shriek a raucous “YEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAW!” Into an ink-black prairie sky. I’m on my way!
These pre-dawn hours are the most challenging to get through. After an extended morning prayer, I begin listening to an audio book called “The Untethered Soul” which emphasizes the beauty and practice of living in each moment fully, as well as how being loved provides us with an energy source that is nearly bottomless. This is a different kind of book than I usually read, but hearing these ideas energizes me and gives me much to ponder over the course of my trip. [paragraph break] Before leaving home, I contacted many friends and relatives that I hadn’t talked to in some time, letting them know that I wanted to catch up with them as I made this long trek to the north country. I spend most of my time on the drive through Missouri, Iowa, and Minnesota re-connecting with these people whom I love dearly. Indeed, receiving this love and support fills me with the energy I need to stay alert despite my sleep deprivation. Most of my friends are middle-aged men with demanding careers and busy family lives just like myself, and it has become more and more difficult to take the time to catch up with and encourage one another. These phone calls add a profound sense of purpose to what is otherwise a tedious day of driving. [paragraph break] After one last call to my wife, I turn north onto the Sawbill Trail and spend this closing portion of the drive in silence, soaking up the beauty that surrounds me. After 14 hours total travel time, I arrive at the Sawbill Campground just after 7 PM. Most of the campsites with views of the lake are taken or reserved, but I do manage to find a smaller site with a wooded view of the lake that suits me just fine. After setting my hammock and processing firewood, I enjoy a hot bowl of spicy shrimp chowder by the fire, then sleepily update my journal as the loons crank up their nightly chorus, accentuated by a barred owl. [paragraph break] Tomorrow I plan to pick up my canoe from Sawbill as soon as they open to allow plenty of time for a test paddle and daytrip in the area. I’ve rented a We-no-nah Prism, but may switch to a Wilderness if the Prism proves too challenging for me. My concerns prior to starting my trip are: [paragraph break] **How well can I handle a solo canoe?** -Have I packed too much for the route I’ve chosen? -How well will I manage the rugged portages of the Louse River? -Will I be able to avoid getting lost in these wild, secluded areas? -I feel psychologically prepared for going solo, but am I mentally cut out for this? [paragraph break] After months of planning and a frantic past few weeks, I am finally back in this place that soothes me. A wilderness that allows me to leave my commitments behind, and yet demands more attentiveness and engagement than any other. My sleep is deep and satisfying. [paragraph break] Drive: 14 hours, 881 miles|Friends and family talked to: 9
The paddle up Handle Creek is magnificent, hauntingly beautiful, and easy to follow, with many fun twists and turns as it turns north toward Handle Lake. [paragraph break] I arrive at Handle Lake at 12:30. I had wanted to paddle the perimeter of this small lake trolling for some of those northern pike, but I am ready for a lunch break. I also need to attend Mass at St. John’s in Grand Marais at 5:00 this evening, and I don’t have much extra time in my schedule given my hi-jinx on the water this morning. Fortunately, the entry to Handle features a lovely large slanted rock landing right at the south entry, which I decide is a perfect place to sit, cast a line, and enjoy my lunch. As soon as I unload my pack onto the shore, the boat takes off for the great beyond, and I jump in up to my knees to wrangle it. I throw a few Rapala casts into the southern arm of handle with no luck, then spend 30 minutes rigging up a leech beneath a slip bobber due to knots, tangles, the wind, and snagging a tree. Finally, I sit down for lunch with the perfect view of Handle Lake and my slip bobber. Soon my lunch is finished, and with zero interest from the pike, I pack up the gear to return to camp. It’s about 1:45 and I know I have my work cut out for me to make it back to my car for the one hour drive to town for Mass.
[paragraph break] Paddling with the current from Handle makes for fast travel down the creek to the beaver dam, and after lifting over, I am headed back toward the Sawbill canoe landing. Somehow, I am again paddling into a headwind, which increases the time pressure I feel to reach my car in time to drive into Mass. I do my best to put the “hammer down” with my strokes, and see my kayak friends Gary and Grant approaching from the south. I again thank them for their help this morning in passing, and then Gary says “Have you ever been instructed on how to stroke a bent shaft paddle?” Aside from YouTube, I have not. He patiently takes the time to demonstrate the stroke to me, and this is greatly appreciated. These men (and the good Lord) have really been looking out for me today. The right canoe and the right stroke are both direct results of their advice, and I will spend the rest of this trip (and hopefully many other trips to follow) practicing what they have taught me today. [paragraph break] I secure the boat at the Sawbill Landing at 3:50 and dash quickly into the Sawbill store to thank Matt and let him know that the new canoe performed perfectly for me, as well as to pass on a short synopsis of the day trip to Handle Lake for future day trippers. After changing out of my boots and making sure I don’t look completely awful, I barely make it to Mass in time in Grand Marais. After Mass, I head back to Sawbill and make my final call home. There is so much excitement to catch up on, between the last day of school, kindergarten roundup, birthday parties, and basketball games that the kids have played in, all while dealing with spotty cell coverage along the north shore. I long to hear so much more, but I also know that I have many final prep and camp chores awaiting me back at camp, so I tell my family that I love them, will check in with them via InReach texts tomorrow, and to pray for me, as I will for them during this exciting time of year. [paragraph break] Similar to the final push leaving home, these last goodbyes to family and civilization are more challenging to manage than I had expected. For me, the wilderness is a place where I live without appointments, time commitments, and obligations. My Catholic faith is my life. My family is my most beautiful and important witness to my faith. However, it is very difficult to balance the necessary, beautiful scheduled demands of family and faith life with the demands of a wilderness experience that seemingly operates outside of time itself. Today was a truly wonderful day, in spite of these conflicting feelings stewing deep inside me. [paragraph break] I eat, clean up camp, and turn in around 11 PM. Too late for my planned sunrise departure tomorrow, but it will have to do. Tomorrow I begin my trip at last! [paragraph break] Paddle distance: 7.5 miles|Travel time: 4 hours, 30 minutes [paragraph break] Number of portages: 2 beaver dams|Portage rods: 40 rods, 0.1 mile [paragraph break] ~Sawbill Lake, Handle Lake
Tonight’s supper is unstuffed peppers with ground beef, one of my favorites, but I can’t resist taking a couple casts off the landing with a slip bobber and leech. Soon I realize that I won’t be able to enjoy a campfire, cook supper, and fish all at the same time. I reel in and choose to forgo fishing to relax by a warm fire with my feast. This is one of the best decisions I make all day. A wise surfer once told me that “The best surfer on the water is the one that is having the most fun.” Taking time to relax, have a fire, and to double portage is just more fun to me. Is that “the best way” to do it? I know it is for me! [paragraph break] Paddle distance: 6.8 miles|Travel time: 8 hours, 15 minutes [paragraph break] Portages: 4+1 beaver dam|Portage distance: 532 rods, 1.8 miles|Wine campsite: 5 stars [paragraph break] ~Sawbill Lake, Kelso River, Kelso Lake, Lujenida Lake, Zenith Lake, Frederick River, Frederick Lake, Wine Lake
When driving up, one of my friends I talked to mentioned how if I could get through the first two days of paddling, I would likely feel very confident about the remaining portion of my trip. In reply, I said “Yes, that will be true. And when one gets confident, that’s when everything REALLY goes haywire!” I had no idea how right we both would be. [paragraph break] One way I prepared for this year’s trip was by researching bird songs I was likely to hear in the wilderness. This was a joy of my late grandma, Boots. Growing up, Grandma Boots taught me how to fish, how to slow down and have a conversation, and how to love nature. After constantly hearing the song of the white throated sparrow last year, I became enamored with knowing what birds were singing all around me. I’m sure Grandma Boots is part of that, too…she continues to influence my life in ways that surprise me. One of the advantages to breaking camp so early is the wildlife are more active during the quiet early morning hours. Being late May, the morning bird songs are simply magnificent during these mornings on the water and portage trails. On these first few portages of the day, I recognize the ethereal song of a Hermit Thrush echoing through the woods. Whenever I hear a new, interesting, or unidentified bird song, I make sure to pause and record it on my phone to research at a later time. [paragraph break] There are active beavers on this portion of the river. I see several of them swimming back and forth in front of me, and hear a few others ker-plunking into the water from shore. The river travel here is wider and easier to follow than yesterday, however there are many large rocks just below the surface in the section east of the Louse river rapids. I run through a little beaver dam riffle in this section, and I let out a little “Whoop!” As I feel the canoe pick up just a bit of speed going through. In addition to the beavers, I spy a dark eyed junco hyperactively flitting about near the shore. [paragraph break] On one of the portages along the river just west of Trail is a steep 18-24” step down off of a boulder, but otherwise these portages are relatively straightforward. On another portage, I find a large clump of sweet gale and crush a few leaves in my hands to inhale its pungent aroma. [paragraph break] [paragraph break] The landing for the portage around the Louse River “rapids” noted by McKenzie is located on the left (east) side of the rapids, and is a bit rocky. With the higher water levels, I carefully paddle to a suitable spot before disembarking and beginning to portage. The portage requires a walk through some shallow but rapidly moving water over a smooth but not too slick rock. After a short river paddle, the portage into Boze is up next, which is another portage experience that has been “enhanced” by beaver activity. I encounter a gigantic beaver swamp early on in the portage, and follow my notes which say to expect a longer paddle through the swamp. I run through one beaver dam that likely requires a lift over in low water conditions. The landing to exit the swamp is to the right of the large beaver dam at the west end, and is quite difficult, as it is in some current near some large boulders that sit in the swamp just after passing a sheer rock face. [paragraph break] After the swamp, the portage is a lovely one next to several sets of rapids on the river. I’m feeling energetic and confident as I feel the sun shining and hear the rapids churning far below. When I come across a deadfall jack pine across the portage, I take the time to clear the path with my saw. I also spy a colony of Ground Cedar Clubmoss on this portage. It’s not even 9:00 A.M. and I am making good time through these “goodbye” portages on the Louse. On the Boze end, the landing is also a rough one with deep water and some trees that make maneuvering the canoe into the water more difficult. Fortunately by this point, I am quite used to wet feet. Ahead I plan to stop on Boze to investigate the lone campsite and enjoy my breakfast. All is quite well. [paragraph break] On Boze, the portage is to the left of the rapids, and one could easily land just north of the campsite to avoid portaging through the campsite if occupied. Today, the site is open so I stop to eat my breakfast and snoop around the site. Aside from being right on the portage, the site is open and airy with good tent and hammock potential, and the fire grate has an excellent view of the lake. I’d be happy camping here. The portages to the pond and then into Frond are uneventful. I am able to run the 6 rod beaver dam lift over into Frond. Frond Lake ends up being a beautiful surprise. There are so many different birds I hear and see as I paddle west, including more mergansers and a spotted sandpiper bobbing away on shore. The narrow northwest arm of Frond takes quite some time to paddle through and bears more resemblance to a river than a lake, but I am fortunate to only have one short portage around some deadfall to deal with. [paragraph break] All at once, the waters open up before me, and for a moment I feel quite disoriented. Then I realize after spotting a campsite that I have entered Malberg. My confidence soars even further, having officially completed the Louse River! From this point, a logical route is heading south toward the lady chain, making for some lighter travel days to close my trip. But as early as it is in the day and how well I’m feeling, I choose to stick with the more challenging “plan A” of paddling northwest to Fisher Lake for two nights, doing some fishing in the area tomorrow, then heading back to the lady chain for my Sawbill exit. This will make for some long travel days to finish my trip, but the twin siren song of seclusion and fried largemouth bass filets (a fish I actually know how to catch) on Fisher is too strong to resist. [paragraph break] “Well, I fought with a stranger and I met myself… [paragraph break] Guess I could've made it easier on myself [paragraph break] But I, I could never follow [paragraph break] No I, I could never follow” [paragraph break] ~The Chicks, “The Long Way Around” [paragraph break] I approach the northwest corner of Malberg and begin searching for the portage to River, but am greeted with nothing but a wall of alder. After studying my map, I decide I’m too far south and paddle north around a point to discover more of the same…absolutely nothing. Now I’m really befuddled. I tie the canoe up and investigate the point on foot to search for any possible portage opening. Not here, either. I keep taking compass bearings off of a campsite to the east and simply cannot understand how my maps or my mind could be so wrong, especially after a very determined hour of searching. Eventually, I stumble upon another unoccupied campsite that I hadn’t expected to find. From this, I finally deduce that I turned north into the central part of Malberg, not the western part. I’ve been searching the wrong bay all along! At this point, I’ve come to accept that becoming a bit disoriented is part of the experience. Getting lost eats up valuable time and energy, but the feeling of accomplishment and joy that comes from getting “unlost” sure is exhilarating! I paddle back down the bay, then back to the north toward the portage, and am immediately greeted by a fine sandy landing. Once I exit the canoe, I raise my arms in victory at having found it!
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The adrenaline rush is short-lived. About 25 rods into this 65 rod portage, I come to…yet another beaver swamp. Just when I thought I was done with these! I consult my portage notes, and yep, surprise, this is indeed a swampy one. No problem, I load up for another short swamp crossing, and soon am back walking the portage to Kawishiwi River. At the landing, the river looks a lot smaller than I anticipated, but I check my compass bearing and head north. Within just a few strokes, I have a strange feeling and look to my left to find the continuation of the portage trail again! After getting disoriented, then being surprised by the first swamp, now I’m going to have to unload/load AGAIN to navigate the rest of what I was so sure was going to be the first of several blissfully easy portages! The sheer hilarity of all of this truly makes me laugh out loud. What an adventure this one has been.
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Fortunately the landing to River is very straightforward and I am again on my way. The wind is picking up a bit now, and I sure wish I had that time back I spent lost on Malberg when it was less windy, especially on this wide open section of river. After spending the last few days on much smaller water, the Kawishiwi River looks huge, and is not a place I would want to be on a windy day.
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After my Malberg misadventure, I took the time to read through my portage notes for Trapline and Fisher Lakes. Most said that the portage into Trapline is totally unnecessary, and I expect that to be the case today, given the higher water levels of early spring. I bypass the obvious portage landing and keep paddling north into Trapline, dodging a rock or two below the surface. Ahead is a tiny, insignificant riffle to paddle up to gain access to Trapline. But as I draw nearer, it’s clear that I’m not making much headway. “Watch this!” I proclaim to my audience of no one at all as I begin furiously paddling up the riffle. Sure enough, I get right to the middle of the heaviest current before realizing (like some old looney tunes character about to go over a waterfall) that I am making zero progress while paddling with all of my might. Finally I give up my heroic attempt to run the almighty riffle into Trapline and float back down to take a very uneventful 26 rod portage, laughing at myself the entire way. It’s likely I could have just stepped out of the canoe and pulled it over, but that thought never occurred to me. So, two “easy” non-Louse portages down, and both have been total bloopers. And to think, only an hour ago I had raised my arms in mock “victory” thinking the world was my oyster!
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Trapline is a surprisingly lovely, secluded paddle that reminds me a bit of paddling down the long arm of Frond earlier. I spy a pair of goldeneyes here as well as a large painted turtle basking in the afternoon sun. I consider stopping at the lone campsite to eat lunch, but decide to push on in hopes of making my camp for the night. The portage into Beaver is blissfully uneventful, offering a much needed respite from my comedy of errors. When I pull out onto Beaver, the afternoon winds have the lake whipped up into near-whitecaps. While I’m quite tired and had thought I might spend the next two nights here on Beaver, the southern campsite doesn’t look at all special from the water, and I choose not to investigate further. The portage to Fisher is a bit difficult to find, as there is a false landing exactly where the portage is indicated on my maps, but I had read that this was the case, so I wasn’t too surprised. After briefly investigating the false portage, I place some “X” sticks on it for anyone who might be coming by after me. The actual portage landing is about 1/2 mile paddle further west, on the south shore of Beaver near an island or two. With the chop on the lake and a very long day of travel bloopers behind me, my energy is flagging. I know that portaging into Fisher with its lone campsite is a risk, but the seclusion and bass are calling me in. Immediately, there is a waist high jack pine to deal with across the portage. Too large to walk around, too thick to saw, and too high to portage over. So, I roll my misshapen pack under the log, horse the canoe through the same way, and continue on my merry way. While an inconvenience and another reason to laugh, I see the deadfall as a positive sign that Fisher probably hasn’t seen much traffic recently. After the deadfall, the rest of the portage is easy enough to follow and not too difficult.
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Fisher Lake is a sight for sore eyes. The shores are littered with beaver chews and this bay is protected from the north winds that had Beaver rocking and rolling. I can see the campsite just across the lake, and it looks open! Again energized, I dip my paddle into the clearest waters I have seen this entire trip and begin to make my way toward the site. But wait! Multiple largemouth bass of decent size are following the boat, right there, clearly visible! I hurriedly pull off to shore to launch a few casts with my Rapala, a plastic tube, and a Jitterbug top water lure. The bass keep swimming around acting interested, but I get zero bites. Since I’m already on shore, I spend some time gathering firewood here to take to camp. Right away, I find a mother lode of dry cedar, and spend an hour in the woods sawing up a prodigious pile of firewood. This has been a long travel day of misadventure, and I will be comfortable in camp tonight! But the park is not done with me yet. There is one more test yet to come. [paragraph break]
“Does anyone know where the love of God goes, [paragraph break] When the waves turn the minutes to hours?” [paragraph break] ~Gordon Lightfoot, “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” [paragraph break] My pack has been riding up front in the bow of the canoe for this whole trip, which offers the best stability when traveling with or without a wind, while sacrificing a bit of speed. Since my pack is too wide to lay flat, it sits upright. I load my firewood stash behind the pack, just ahead of the portage yoke. In doing so, I have made two serious miscalculations. One, the wind is blowing much stronger out on the lake than it is in my fishing bay. Two, the firewood is significantly heavier than my pack, moving the trim of my canoe significantly aft. Eager to finally reach camp, I paddle straight for the open site across the lake, yet another error. Once out in the open, the tailwind doesn’t push me toward camp. Instead, it keeps turning the boat broadside to the waves. The aft trim is the culprit, but I don’t know that. I think that if I can slide my pack just a couple inches further back, I will have more steering control. Carefully I reach forward and move the pack back a bit. As I sit back down, the canoe lurches to one side, exacerbated by my heavy pack that is standing upright in the bow. By the grace of God, I avoid tipping over by mere inches. It’s still probably 1/4 mile or a little more to camp, and I paddle with every ounce of survival instinct I have in me. The boat is still extremely difficult to control, but out here, I have few other options. At some point, I gain a small degree of shelter from the wind from a nearby point of land, and paddle madly all the way to the landing. Once there, I frantically toss gear, pack, and firewood out of the canoe, eager to safely set foot on dry land. I am wet. I am exhausted. I am shaken (and shaking). And I am ALIVE. In some ways, more alive than I’ve felt in years. [paragraph break] By the looks of it, I am the first visitor to this campsite this year, since the fire grate has plenty of pine duff in it. The site’s openness and clear view of the lake is a blessing and a curse, since it faces directly into the chilling easterly wind blowing off the lake. With the temps cooling and the skies showing signs of impending rain, I choose to forgo my arrival lunch routine to set up camp. After setting up my hammock, processing firewood, and organizing, I am finally ready to sit and eat my lunch of “Reuben soup” (pastrami, sauerkraut, and grated potatoes). Shockingly, this spartan lunch is delicious! I choose to save half of it, which I then integrate into a hot bowl of chili for a truly soul-warming supper. Dessert is pumpkin spice apples. In spite of a roaring fire and hearty warm food, the wind and drizzle make this the coldest night yet, a far cry from the blissful conditions experienced last night on Trail Lake. Tomorrow I am taking an off day, which my frazzled nerves desperately crave.
[paragraph break] Paddle distance: 8.3 miles|Travel time: 9 hours, 15 minutes [paragraph break] Portages: 10+1 beaver dam+3 beaver swamps|Portage distance: 404 rods, 1.3 miles [paragraph break] Boze campsite: 3 stars|Fisher campsite: 4 stars [paragraph break] ~Trail Lake, Louse River, Boze Lake, Frond Lake, Malberg Lake, River Lake, Trapline Lake, Beaver Lake, Fisher Lake
Paddle strokes: 0|Pen strokes: Countless|Axe strokes: Many|Bird songs: Innumerable [paragraph break] ~Fisher Lake
The sun rises as I paddle through Beaver, where I’m briefly accompanied by a croaking raven. I make short work of Trapline, and am able to paddle down the sneaky riffle that vexed me going upstream two days prior. It’s a beautiful morning for paddling, but I am eager to make time while the winds are favorable, especially through the wide open expanses of Malberg, Koma, and Polly. Right away, I feel the headwind slowing me down on River, but I soon reach the dreaded double beaver swamp portage to Malberg. Now that I know what’s coming, I make quick work of it, though the cold morning air has my hands working just a bit slower this morning when loading and unloading. On Malberg, I speak to another human for the first time in four days. Some men are set up on a southerly campsite above the lake, enjoying their morning coffee by the fire, and hail as I pass. They say they caught a few walleyes last night, the first of their trip. It’s been over two hours since I left Fisher, and my stomach is positively rumbling as I dream of supplementing my evening meal with a fried fish filet. Even though my eyes are glued to the map, I battle a bit of confusion in finding the correct bay to turn south toward Koma. But after a few minutes I figure it out, and once at the landing, spend a few moments taking in the waterfall rushing into Malberg.
After a very straightforward portage, I reach Koma Lake, and another paddle across wide open water awaits me. The winds remain light, so I make steady progress. At the landing, I wait to let a group of 2 or 3 canoes pass, then continue down the portage to the first of the Polly ponds. I’m very hungry by this point and want to stop to eat my breakfast, but one look at my map shows that Polly is the last of the big water I’ll face today, and I want to keep moving to avoid dealing with too much wind there. While the prospect of windy paddling keeps me moving, I nearly always find something interesting on each portage, especially during my empty handed walk back for the canoe. On the portage from Koma to the first pond, I see a tree that is thick with white flowers, which I later learn to be a Saskatoon. I also snap a quick photo of an interesting plant that I later learn to be a twinflower.
Also, somewhere in these pond portages, I spot a lovely little common blue violet in full bloom. This portage also “features” a huge chest high tree that required crawling under. I watch with amusement as another canoeist deftly balances the canoe on top of the tree, scoots under, then easily mounts the canoe back onto his shoulders to continue, and attempt to do the same.
The ponds themselves don’t have any remarkable features, though a two foot garter snake suddenly slithering across the path between the two ponds jolts me from any lethargy I’m feeling. After the ponds, I reach Polly and notice the wind is blowing steadily from the south, but not too strongly. I’m thankful that my route toward the Phoebe River takes me down the more sheltered eastern end of the lake, and hug the shore as much as possible to lessen the impact of the wind and waves. All of the larger stretches of water today (Kawishiwi, Malberg, Koma, Pollly) have surprised me with how vast they are, and how quickly the wind can negatively affect my travel. I am very, very glad I didn’t paddle away from Fisher yesterday in the gusty winds of the late afternoon!
As I paddle south down Polly, a couple calls out to me as they pack up their campsite to ask where I’m headed, and I say I’m going to Hazel today. The portage into the Phoebe River has a rocky landing and an uphill start, and then another (even longer) garter snake startles me as I carry the pack across. Otherwise this is a relatively easy path, but I am very happy to return with the canoe and finally allow myself a well-earned breakfast break to the side of the landing. As much as I love the beauty of Boundary Waters lakes, traveling solo as a rookie in the wind has given me a great appreciation for river travel! The couple I saw on Polly portages into the river, also bound for Hazel. They probably sensed a bit of weariness on my part and offered to share their campsite on Hazel if need be when I got there, which is so kind of them. We chat for a bit about our trips before they paddle onward down the river.
The four short sections of the Phoebe River between Polly and Hazel are wide and easily navigable. The portages, however, are a bit rough. The first portage on the river is short but features a challenging landing on a sloping rock right beneath a large rapids with some current to deal with. Portage number two also has a rocky landing, and some rocky areas to deal with near the end, which is merely a prelude to the nasty landing that drops you off in a significant current with multiple large rocks to dodge. This would be difficult walking in lower water, though it isn’t much fun in high water either. The third portage isn’t too bad, but also has a rocky landing. The final portage for the day into Hazel is unremarkable for a change, and I am very eager to reach a campsite and rest. Of course, I’ve arrived just in time for my afternoon tussle with the wind. The couple I met previously is settled in the site nearest the portage, so I need to make my way safely across the increasing whitecaps to the eastern site, which appears to be open. The presence of my portage friends from earlier in the day eases my anxiety just a bit, though I know I’ll likely have an audience for this final leg of today’s journey. Within four strokes of paddling away from the portage, I know I’m in for a rodeo. Unlike my experience on Fisher though, I know the problem and resolve to fix it, immediately. In calm morning waters, I had been traveling with my canoe pack further aft near the yoke for improved speed. But in these windy conditions, I knew it needed to be as far forward as possible for stability. I paddled near the shore and hopped right out into knee deep water to re-adjust the load, then continued across the lake, staying close to the shore until I felt confident enough to make my run for the site. The paddle goes smoothly, and I can’t help but feel accomplished at how much I’ve learned about paddling in the wind as a solo canoeist.
My home on Hazel features a lovely smooth sunning rock by the water, which I quickly take advantage of, enjoying my afternoon limeade and lunch of chicken curry quinoa while my bare feet dry out. After lunch, I struggle to find much firewood in spite of paddling to several secluded shores near the site. But I am able to make it work and soon return to set up my hammock in an open area between a spruce and a cedar. Overall the campsite is a bit rough and brushy with a mix of cedar, spruce, and jack pine. But the fire grate is nicely situated near the lakeshore offering a panoramic view of Hazel, which scores high in terms of seclusion. This is the buggiest site I’ve camped at so far, but fortunately sleeping off the ground in my hammock helps avoid the worst of the ants and other insects. After another evening journaling by the fire, it’s time for bed. When gazing at the map, I am surprised to see that while there will be fewer portages tomorrow, it will have more portage rods and paddle distance than any other on my trip thus far. This necessitates another early departure to avoid wind and to arrive at the more trafficked areas near Sawbill early in the afternoon on the Friday of Memorial Weekend. Good night, sweet wilderness.
Paddle distance: 10.8 miles|Travel time: 9 hours, 55 minutes [paragraph break] Portages: 12+2 beaver swamps|Portage distance: 675 rods, 2.1 miles [paragraph break] Hazel campsite: 3.5 stars [paragraph break] ~Fisher Lake, Beaver Lake, Trapline Lake, River Lake, Malberg Lake, Koma Lake, Polly Ponds, Lake Polly, Phoebe River, Hazel Lake
All too soon I come upon the 140 rod portage out of Hazel, which is another straightforward walk in the woods. At the landing on the Knight side, with the sun now rising above the trees, a song sparrow cheerfully greets this warm morning. It is a positively idyllic start to this early summer day in the wilderness. Gazing at the still river winding through the bog, I am eager for the prospect of more wildlife encounters this morning. Less than 100 yards after I put in, I encounter an extended rock garden of boulders that require me to get out of the canoe to shuffle, slip, and slide my way through the rocks. [paragraph break] The rest of the river passes by uneventfully until reaching the narrow section just above Knight Lake. There is a beaver dam and a rapids here with an uncharted portage around it. Neither landing is clear, and both are slippery, rocky, messes, with a muddy bushwhack in between. Both “landings” are affected by the strong current flowing through the rapids. In short, this would be an easy spot for a soloist to turn an ankle, lose the boat, or both…It is easily the most difficult beaver dam of the entire trip. The fact that it came as a surprise to me just made it that much more fun…maybe?
Knight is an odd, marshy looking lake. I would’ve liked to check out the single campsite here, but it isn’t on the main route of travel, so I paddle on toward Phoebe. [paragraph break] The winds are still dead calm when I paddle into the wide open waters of Phoebe, its entire surface a perfect mirror of reflections. It is on Phoebe that I first notice thousands of tiny bugs that appear to be launching from the surface of the water, flying briefly into the air, then falling to the water again. They glimmer in the golden morning sunlight like fireflies, truly an unforgettable sight. Over the past couple days, I’ve noticed more black flies and mosquitoes in the evening and morning hours, and after witnessing this hatch, I suspect they are only going to get worse! [paragraph break] The portages through this section of the Phoebe River are uneventful, save for one tough landing near a rapids. One other portage walks along a series of powerful waterfalls that I pause to take photos of. As I reach the landing for the final river-to-river portage, I hear a rapid cackling above me and look to see two bald eagles land in a tree just above me, which again brings to mind my daughter Lucia. As I traverse the portage, I hear a great deal of splashing in the shallow, fast-running stream to my left. When I draw nearer to investigate, I am stunned by the number of large fish in the current, facing upstream, waiting for the next insect to make its way down the current. They look like trout to me (rainbows? Brook trout?) but I can’t be sure. I’ve never seen this kind of behavior from a fish before, but it helps me to understand the allure of fly fishing for trout in tiny streams!
I reach the landing on Grace Lake just after 9 AM. Grace is a perfect example of what I would call a “classic Boundary Waters lake.” In my mind, that means clear water, numerous islands and bays for exploring, and plenty of white pines. The lake is very quiet this morning, and I’d love to spend time exploring it further someday. However, I need to cover some more ground today, and I have a decision to make. I am certain that the route through Ella is more rugged and secluded, based on my research. But in all my time spent studying the map, I have always been intrigued by Wonder and Sunhigh Lakes just south of Alton, figuring either would make for an interesting, secluded final night of my trip, and would maybe even offer a chance of finally catching a northern pike. Each day, something has gotten in my way of reaching camp early in the afternoon, and the goal of “Wonder by one” begins echoing in my mind. I stop for my breakfast break at a campsite on the south shore of Grace, and by the time I finish my breakfast, I’ve settled on taking the long portage directly into Beth Lake in order to reach Wonder as soon as I can. Perhaps after a nearly a week of “The Long Way Around,” I’m ready for a bit of a respite. [paragraph break] The portage to Beth is certainly long with a few hills, but is well-maintained and the travel is easy. I cross paths with several groups going the other way, and the landing at Beth is the busiest one I’ve seen on this trip by far. Beth is nearly as lovely as Grace, just with a smaller overall size and far fewer interesting islands and bays. A light easterly wind blows in my face as I make steady progress to the east end. Once at the portage landing, I meet two older gentlemen (Brent and Rick) from Tennessee who are portaging and spending time checking out the cliffs near the landing. One of them is very talkative and we accompany each other back and forth as we double portage into Alton. [paragraph break] I haven’t had such a discussion all week, and this small instance of “re-entry” into normal social life is more jarring than I expected. Throughout my life, most would classify my personality as extroverted. Much of my time while home is spent surrounded by people and family, and there is always something to talk about, always another activity to do. At work, I meet new people nearly every day, and have little trouble interacting with people from all walks of life. However, especially since the pandemic, I am more and more comfortable with quietly spending time alone, exercising, reading, or going about the day-to-day business that is required to keep family life rolling along. Now, nearly at the end of my journey, I am astonished at how quickly the time has passed. Surprisingly, with all this alone time and “space to think,” I’ve hardly thought of my normal life at all during this trip. Instead, my mind has been fully engaged with the beautiful, simply engaging tasks that make up a wilderness canoe trip. Between feeble attempts at the perfect j-stroke, I’ve never stopped admiring the plant and animal life around me. The elegant beauty of navigating by map and compass is something I never tire of. While in camp, few tasks fill me with more sense of accomplishment than the sight of a beautiful pile of freshly split dried cedar and a well-pitched hammock. Quietly journaling next to a crackling fire as night falls has become the perfect end to each day in the wilderness. Why these things are so fulfilling to me, I don’t know, and don’t have to know. For now, I am at peace soaking up each and every moment exactly as it is. [paragraph break] The portage landing on the Alton side is also very busy, but soon I am on my way into the slightly choppy waters of this giant lake. I again become disorientated for a moment and turn one bay too early in my search for the portage to Wonder, but figure it out and press on. Once I reach the southeastern bay of Alton, I still can’t find the portage where it’s noted on my map, and remain puzzled. Fortunately, I meet Connie and Jim, who been to the Boundary Waters 35-40 times, and they are looking for the same portage. Eventually, we all find it in the southeastern corner of Alton. They are simply planning to walk the portage with their kids for a picnic excursion, so I remain hopeful that the Wonder campsite will be open. This portage is 200 rods and slightly overgrown with a gentle hill or two, but still quite easy to follow. Before I launch into Wonder, I pause with Connie and Jim and their kids to share details of our trips and family lives. While I’m still anxious to head for the campsite, the ginger snap they give me from their picnic basket tastes absolutely wonderful after covering 800 portage rods over the past 7 hours. [paragraph break] The afternoon winds blow directly in my face as I paddle to the long awaited final campsite of my trip. And then, surprise of surprises…it’s occupied. When planning my trip, I figured that the lowly 1 star site on Sunhigh might be a good spot to spend my final night, but I decide against paddling Plouff Creek into Sunhigh. I’ve been blessed with beautiful, wide open campsites on this trip, and greatly appreciate a nice view, strong hammock trees, and minimal brushiness. Also, I want to be on the road headed home tomorrow early in order to avoid a lengthy solo drive extending late into the night. With only a smidge of reluctance, I return to the portage to Alton, where I hope to find a tidy site much closer to my Sawbill exit point. “Done by one?” Foiled again. But maybe, just maybe, I can secure a site on Alton before 3 pm. I again hustle my gear across the Wonder portage, feeling surprisingly energized knowing that this truly is the final long portage of the trip, and of this day. And what greets me on the northern end but my old friends, wind and waves. With the canoe trimmed for another windy paddle, I make my way up the eastern shore of Alton, finding every campsite I pass empty. My goal is the site nearest the short portage to Sawbilll, and thankfully, it is also open. [paragraph break] After securing the canoe, it is a long uphill walk into a spacious site with multiple signs of overuse. There are virtually zero small branches in reach on any of the trees, as they’ve all been snapped or hacked off. This makes hanging the water filter a bit difficult, but eventually I make do. There are several spacious tent pads so I have little trouble finding a place for my hammock. With dry, warm conditions forecast for tonight, I choose to take a chance and don’t even put up my tarp tonight. There isn’t a great view of the lake from the site, but the kitchen and fire grate area offers plenty of open space to work. [paragraph break] Jesus said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure…”~Mark 6:31 [paragraph break] When I set up my chair in a sunny spot with a marginal lake view for my afternoon lunch, I hear a sound I’ve never heard before. It seems to be coming from above me, in the trees: the unmistakable whining hum of many thousands of mosquitoes and black flies. After spraying on a bit of DEET, they fortunately don’t bother me much, though I do get to learn what it feels like to be bitten by a black fly for the first time. Just two mornings ago, I woke to freezing temperatures and wolves howling on Fisher Lake. From this sunny vantage point in the bright sun on the warmest day of my trip, with the insects whining above me, it feels like the very first day of summer. During this trip, the school year ended, and summer sports practices have already begun. There will soon be wheat to harvest, 4-H projects to help prepare, and summer camps to pack for. Each year is so different from the last, each one a blessing in its own special way. From this spot, it seems I am sitting “above the world” and watching time itself change before my very eyes. Perhaps more than any other reason, this is why canoe trips to the Boundary Waters are so important to me. Exploration and adventure such as this can’t merely be read about, listened to, or viewed on the internet. It must be lived, in its own time, at its own pace, and on its own unpredictable terms. With ever-increasing demands on my time, I can’t possibly know how many more times I will be able to take such a trip. But isn’t a week’s worth of simply contemplative moments such as this one worthy of the great sacrifice it takes to make it happen? For me, the answer is a positively resounding YES. [paragraph break] With lunch consumed and the choppy lake conditions, I briefly consider not gathering wood for a fire tonight. But with it being the last night, and the omnipresent horde buzzing above me, I know I will take comfort in one last campfire. Wood isn’t easy to find around here, but eventually I find a dead cedar on a nearby shoreline that will suffice. [paragraph break] After returning to camp to finish setup, split wood, and prepare supper, I hear a loud cackling nearby and look to see a vibrantly colored pileated woodpecker in a nearby tree. In mere seconds, it flies away, and does not return. So much of life is made up of these tiniest of moments. How many such moments do I miss, never to return again? As I journal by the fire in the darkness, this is something I keep coming back to. On this solo trip, I have been forced to live each moment to its fullest, simply because I am the only one around to deal with any situation that arises. Rather than worry about the future or what “might” happen, I’ve fully locked in to what “is” happening. And in doing so, each moment has been experienced to the greatest degree possible, treasured and cherished as one might value a seemingly insignificant trinket from their long-forgotten past. How can I take this attitude home, where the joys of today are so often clouded by the specter of tomorrow’s unknowable challenges? How can I give more fully of myself to each moment this year, and to my family with whom I share them with? [paragraph break] Night falls completely, and my final campfire is now ashes. Less than two miles away is my humble Honda Civic, my re-entry vehicle into “normal life” as I know it. I can’t help but feel a twinge of trepidation as I turn in for the night. But I am exhausted, content, and at peace in a way that only comes at the end of a long, difficult journey. Is there anything better in the world?
[paragraph break] Paddle distance: 9.6 miles|Travel time: 10 hours [paragraph break] Portages: 9 + 1 awful beaver dam|Portage Distance: 1042 rods, 3.2 miles [paragraph break] Alton campsite: 3.5 stars [paragraph break] ~Hazel Lake, Phoebe River, Knight Lake, Phoebe Lake, Phoebe River, Grace Lake, Beth Lake, Alton Lake, Wonder Lake