Monday, July 14, 2008
Day 1--Little Indian Sioux River--Little Pony River--Bootleg Lake
After two days of cool weather and rain, we begin the trip with a bright blue sky and mild temperatures. The river is postcard-perfect. And also quite wide which relieves some of my anxieties about our proposed route. The river dwindles to a single line on the map so a narrow river at the put-in (where the river is depicted as quite wide on the map) would have meant it was impossibly small farther south. We wave goodbye to his parents and start to wind our way up the river.
A couple of miles in there's a sign marking our entry into the Boundary Waters. Shortly after that we investigate some yellow squares nailed to trees and discover a section marker. Township 65, Range 15, between Sections 13 and 14.

With the water so high we figure we might be able to paddle through the first portage. Not quite. Sioux Falls is a very impressive little water fall. Its water has carved out a pool free of grass and ringed by foam. A short carry, a little beaver dam (the first of many), and we're paddling through monster hair. Waving in the current the stuff looks seriously like the hair on the back of some great beast. It's mesmerizing to watch.

We're able to find the Pony River easily enough (we had worried) and it wasn't as tiny as we had feared. With clouds piling up we get out the rain gear and have lunch on the river. Have I mentioned the bugs? The mosquito hoards make time on shore into a windmilling, swatting dance (when we can actually find solid ground to get out on that is). We're traveling on a tiny river surrounded by swamps. Maybe we really are crazy.
A light shower puts an end to lunch and we continue on the ever narrower river. The beavers have been busy. With the high water we're able to paddle over most of the dams. Until we reach the granddaddy of all beaver dams--the Boover Dam. This busy beaver had made himself quite the little pond; no wonder since a good two-and-a-half feet of dam sticks up above the water. It takes some doing, but we're still able to just lift the canoe over. More winding river, a couple of pretty short portages and we're at Bootleg Lake. We choose the southernmost campsite and, with the skies threatening, quickly set up camp.

We wait out a passing shower in the tent. When the sky clears we take a quick dip and start a fire for dinner. Thunder rumbles in the distance. A light rain starts up. I urge Eric to eat more quickly so we can do the dishes, hang the bear bag and hide in the tent. The storm is on top of us now. Wind, rain, lightening. We--ok, I--cower. Eric very reassuringly points out that the tent is far enough from the trees that they won't blow down on top of us but close enough that we're not the highest point around. Ok, we can do this. It's just a little rain. And wind. And lightening.
Huddled in the tent we watch the storm. Before my eyes the far end of the lake is blotted out by grey. It was there, and then it simply wasn't. The nothingness eats away at our lake and, as fast as I can point it out with wild shouts, hail is pounding down around us. Inside the grey curtain we can see the lake again and it's boiling with hail.

Being a good Midwestern girl, I know that hail presages Bad Things. Having lived in California for the past six years, and having seen nothing more sinister than a thick fog, I am Scared. We have a Nylon Tent for protection. We are in the Middle of Nowhere. We have seen No One all day long. What if a tree falls on us? What if we're struck by lightening? What if a tornado tears through camp?
Eric may not be much of a help when it comes to packing, but he sure is a comfort (and a good man-shield) in a hail storm. And all my fears were unfounded: the hail passed, the sun came out and a double rainbow arched from one end of our lake to the other. We survived!

Another storm rolls through in the night. Lightening very effectively illuminates the inside of a nylon tent. Too exhausted to worry about another storm, we both roll over and go back to sleep.