My eyes opened. I could see that it was light outside. Quietly grabbing my clothes, I slipped out of the tent and left the others sleeping. I looked around the campsite. Most of the people were still sleeping, but I saw Grandpa down by the shoreline washing up. After telling him where I was going, I headed down the trail to the latrine. Nature was calling-no pun intended. Strolling down the trail of pine needles, I smelled the fresh air. A cool breeze was blowing from the northwest. The dew had settled on the trees and as it evaporated, it brought the scent of pine and cedar with it, combined with the woodsy aroma of the bracken. The sun had just finished working its way above the horizon, and I could see that there weren’t many clouds in the sky. It was a beautiful morning. After finishing up with my business, I returned to camp. Before doing anything else, I replaced the orange bandanna (our Boundary Waters version of a lock on the bathroom door) and toilet paper in the specified place. Someone else would need it sooner or later.

The others slowly drifted out of their tents. Becky broke out the stoves and started mixing up the powdered eggs and frying the hash browns. The girls were helping her. Seeing as there was nothing to do, Grandpa and I walked down to the shore and decided to try our hand at fishing from land.

“How did you sleep last night?” I asked Grandpa. “All right. How about you?” “I slept like a baby. I think I was tired,” I responded. “Thanks to my air mattress, I was actually quite comfortable.” “Which pole do you want?” Grandpa asked, surveying our nine fishing poles. “I’ll take this one,” I said. “Help me get the leech on.” I’m not much of a fisherman. Prior to this day, I had caught some sunfish and a baby small mouth bass. I tried again and again at Grandpa’s cabin to catch something worth talking about, but to no avail. Apparently I didn’t have the knack. Grandpa slipped a leech on my hook. I walked down to the edge of the rocky ledge and flicked the fishing pole. The leech, sinker and bobber sailed high into the air and landed about fifteen feet from shore. I could see my bobber bouncing up and down through the waves.

All of a sudden, I felt something grab the end of my line. I let him mess with it a little before watching the bobber dart under the water. “Set the hook!” Grandpa urgently called. He was as excited as I was. I set the hook, and the fight was on. My fish broke water as I began to reel him in. “Joe, that’s a huge smallmouth bass!” Grandpa exclaimed as he went to find one of our nets. Amy and Ryan ran down from camp to see the action. I finally got him up to shore. Grandpa swooped with the net and missed. I brought him up again, and this time Grandpa succeeded. Pulling the fish off of my line, Grandpa handed him to me. “This thing is a trophy fish, Joe. It’s at least a four pounder.” “Really?” I responded in disbelief. “If it was the last day, I would have brought it back and had it mounted.” I grabbed my bass by the lip and held it up. Whipping my camera out of my case, I handed it to Ryan, who took a picture. While my fish story isn’t half as impressive as others I’ve read about, I’m very proud of my bass. Holding up my first real fish was one of the greatest moments of my life, and I’ll never forget it.

“Hey, everyone, I caught a fish!” I called to those back in camp. “That’s great, Joe!” Becky called back. Ryan had seen enough. Grandpa got him all set up with a leech, and Ryan began to cast out in the same area I had. On his second cast, he got a bite. He too pulled in a small mouth bass. It was a little smaller than mine, but I complimented him all the same. As I can testify from personal experience, a fish is a fish. “Let’s filet these!” Grandpa said excitedly. When he gets a bee in his bonnet, there's no stopping him. I'm told that I'm a lot like him that way. Grandpa located our only wooden canoe paddle and set it down on a stump. Heading up to his tent, he returned with his filet knife and a pot to set the meat in. Laying Ryan’s fish down on the paddle, he began to slice through the scales. “Shoot!” he exclaimed. “I just cut my hand!” “I’ll keep an eye on everything,” I said, looking at his cut. “It doesn’t look too bad. Go get it fixed.” Becky spared a minute from her kitchen duties and helped Grandpa wash his cut and put a band aid on his finger. “Now, be careful, Tom,” she cautioned. “I will,” he responded. Returning to the shoreline, he resumed his filet job. Finishing up one side of Ryan’s fish, he turned the fish over and began to work on the second side. “Joe, you’re not going to believe this, but I just cut my hand again, and I cut it worse this time,” Grandpa said. “What happened?” I sighed. “The paddle slipped.” “Well, go take care of it. I don’t want any infections on this trip, Grandpa.” I kept an eye on the fish as Grandpa remorsefully made his way back up to camp. “Becky, you’re not going to believe this,” I heard Grandpa say, as he showed Becky his finger. “Oh, Tom, that’s really bad. You need to be more careful. Start applying pressure.” “Poor Becky,” I thought. “Breakfast is already taking a while, not that I care, but to have this on top of that would almost be too much.” Jared came over to investigate. “Look what I did, Jared!” Grandpa commented. Jared winced. “That’s pretty bad, Tom. It almost looks like it might need stitches, but let’s see what we can do.” It took Becky and Jared a couple minutes to stop the bleeding. They applied some Bacitracin and went through at least one bandage. Jared created a splint using a Popsicle stick and a stick he picked up from the ground, and then pressure wrapped Grandpa’s finger with bandages and duct tape. “That’ll do it,” he said as he finished.

Grandpa and I returned to finish filleting the fish, bringing a proper cutting board with us. “Now be careful,” I insisted. We finished up the fish with no further injuries, and I washed the meat out in the lake, leaving the carcasses for the turtles. Breakfast was ready at this point. We all gathered around, prayed a prayer of thanksgiving, and dug in. The hash browns were delicious. The eggs I ate, but they left something to be desired. “How did you sleep, girls?” I asked them as we all sat on the fallen logs around the fire pit. “We slept well,” Rachel said. “Good job catching your fish!” “Thanks,” I said. “I wish that Grandpa hadn’t cut his finger though. Did you sleep well, Ryan?” “You and Dad woke me up taking a leak in the woods,” he commented dryly.

Up until now, Mike had not emerged from his tent. He finally came out and ate some breakfast. I could tell that he wasn’t feeling well. He quietly whispered to me that he was having a migraine headache. “Oh, dear,” I thought, as I prayed for him. Becky graciously fried our fish for us in the pan. I took a generous helping, leaving some for Grandpa and Ryan. That bass was one of the best things I ever tasted. The void in my stomach left by the powdered eggs was filled comfortably, and I was set for the day. There’s just something wonderful about fish fresh out of the lake. “Thank you, Becky,” I said, giving her a hug. “The fish were delicious!” “I just threw them in with whatever was in the pan,” she responded. I could tell these mealtimes were really stressing her out. “I haven’t tasted anything that good in a long time,” I said. “You did great!” Cleanup took at least as long, if not longer, than it had the previous evening. “This is never going to work,” Becky stated. “We can’t take all this time every morning cleaning our dishes. We’ll have to re-evaluate our food supply and have bagels for breakfast tomorrow.” “And bread,” Amy put in. “We have plenty of that.”

When clean up was finally finished, we hurried to break camp. The tents went down and were placed in their bags. I helped roll the sleeping bags and mattresses up in tight wads. All of the kitchen equipment was put away in their proper packs as well, and we did a final walk over to make sure nothing was left behind. Some of us, including me, made the walk to the latrine. After about an hour, we were finally ready to go. With all of our equipment down on shore, we had a short devotional and prayer before loading up the canoes. Jared and I were paddling partners that day. Jared took the stern and I the bow. The others loaded our canoe, and we pushed off into Saganaga Lake. As we did, I looked behind at the spot where I had caught my first real fish. It turned out to be the only fish I would catch on that trip.

The Difficulties Begin

“Well, we’re off again!” I commented to Jared. It was about noon. “That we are,” he responded, “and it’s a great day too, except for this wind right in our face. We’re going to have a pretty substantial paddle today, not to mention our first couple of portages.” I didn’t want to think about that right then. It took about half an hour, for some reason, for everyone else to depart from the campsite, so Jared kept the canoe headed into the wind as we slowly headed northwest up the Saganaga shoreline. We passed the time talking and catching up, and I learned a lot about Jared and his family.

I thought about Jared. He was a calm and calculated leader, as the storm showed. Moreover, he was caring, understanding, and sympathetic. I could tell he was a great teacher and husband. Thus far on our trip, Jared had set an admirable example of a strong, emotionally stable, encouraging leader. Watching him taught me a lot about godly leadership. “You know, Jared, we all agree that you were the best thing that ever happened to Mandy and her family,” I said. “I’m glad that we can take this trip together.” “Thank you for your kind words, Joe. I’m grateful to be traveling with you, too,” he responded.

Finally, Mike and Rachel pushed off from our campsite, and we were really off. “Where are we headed?” I asked. “We’re headed for the narrows beyond that little island,” Jared replied. The wind was pretty strong, but we were both strong paddlers. In about forty-five minutes, we were the first ones to reach the narrows. I looked back to see how the others were doing. Grandpa and Amy were not far out from us, and Becky, Ryan, and Jesse were about thirty yards behind them. Surprisingly, you could barely see Mike and Rachel. They were quite a ways out and it didn’t look like they were moving too quickly. Jared and I sat back to wait just to the right of the small channel that connected the open sweep of Saganaga Lake with the first of Saganaga’s three bays. Grabbing hold of a cedar tree, we relaxed in our canoe chairs. We were drifting near a small campsite on the Canadian side of the lake.

Grandpa and Amy pulled in next. “How was that?” I asked. “It was pretty tough,” Grandpa agreed, “but not as difficult as yesterday. The wind’s right in our face. I’m looking forward to tomorrow when we change directions and start heading southeast again.” “How are you doing, Amy?” I asked her. “I’m doing fine, but that was pretty hard,” she responded. Amy was tough (as I would learn), but not afraid to be honest about the way she was really feeling. She was able to do this without being negative, though. I really admired this. Becky, Ryan and Jesse pulled in. I tossed my water bottle to Jesse, who was our official water bottle filler. “Fill me up, would you?” I asked. “Sure,” he said and immediately went to work. While the others paddled, he would use one of the hand pumps and fill up our water bottles as we went. The little things that would have been annoying for the rest of us to do were perfect responsibilities for Jesse. He loved having jobs on the trip. It made him feel like a man. I glanced back out at the lake. Mike and Rachel were gaining ground, but we had at least another fifteen minutes to wait. “I think we all need a little Life Saver power,” Becky commented as she produced the candy, handing a couple to each of us. Jared likewise produced his fan, and we all took a turn with it.

Finally, Mike and Rachel pulled in. We passed them some Life Savers. “Looks like you need a couple of these,” I said. “I think we need to turn around,” Mike said. “I’m not sure if we should go any further. I don’t know if it’s safe.” I was confused at this. A lot of thoughts ran through my head. There were so many lakes that I wanted to see, but I could clearly see that Mike was not feeling well “Well, I think we should go on, but I submit to your better judgment,” I informed the adults. They all looked at each other. “Let’s keep moving,” Becky decided, after glancing at the map. “We’ll have lunch once we enter this second bay.” We drifted through the channel and entered First Bay. I was still confused by conflicting feelings about wanting the route that I had planned, but yet concerned for Mike’s welfare. Knowing that the decision was not mine to make, I tried to take my mind off of it.

The wind was better in the smaller bays, and in about twenty minutes we had reached the spot where First Bay narrows into Second Bay. “Wait a minute!” Jared said looking at the shoreline. “There’s no entrance here!” “Oh, great,” I thought. “We’re lost again.” Remembering Grandpa’s adage about never getting lost in the Boundary Waters, I remained calm and asked Jared where he thought we were. “Let me see,” he said. “One thing that we didn’t do last time was backtrack. Let’s just look at our surroundings and get our bearings for a second.” Jared glanced at the map, the compass, and at the surrounding islands for a while. “Let’s try the other end of this bay. From where we were, it didn’t look like there was a channel there, but we could be wrong. Let’s lean on our paddles and check it out before telling the others to follow us,” he concluded after some thought. We stroked quickly to the north end of the bay and after a closer look saw that there was a passage. Jared blew his whistle and indicated to the others to follow us. “At least we weren’t bewildered as long this time,” I noted thankfully. It was clear Jared was a better navigator than I was. With that, Jared became our official navigator, and we were never lost again for the remaining four days of our trip. This was good, as we had greater difficulties lying ahead.

Entering Second Bay, Jared began to look for campsites to make sure we were still on track. We found a couple. “I think we need to have lunch now,” Becky called from behind us. “Let’s pull off at one of these campsites and bring one of the bear barrels up.” We found a campsite that sat high up on a peninsula jutting out into Second Bay. Beaching our canoes, we grabbed a bear barrel and made our way up to the fire grate, sitting around it. Becky began to make lunch. Mike lay down on the ground totally exhausted. “Let’s go look for a latrine,” Jared said to Ryan and me. “We may need to camp here since Mike’s not doing well,” Jared confided as we headed down the trail. We searched the woods, and while we could smell a possible location for a latrine, we never found one. It was obvious that other campers hadn’t either.

As Becky continued to make our sandwiches, I saw a rain cloud move over us. Several droplets bounced off my hat. “Uh, folks, I think we should get our rain gear on,” I suggested. We all got on our rain gear just as the rain started to pour down from the sky. Thankfully, no lightning or thunder accompanied it, and the solid breeze would blow it away in a few minutes. “Here, take a Slim Jim,” Becky said as she tossed one to me. “I love Slim Jims!” I stated as I mowed it down like a tree chipper. “You got another Clif Bar?” “We’ve got plenty,” Rachel said as she handed me one along with my salami sandwich. I put that away quickly too. The rain blew away quickly and the sun came out, illuminating the clearing with light. I noticed that we were sitting in a large clump of Norway Pines. The clear blue water caught the sunlight and shone brilliantly. “This is gorgeous country,” I exclaimed. “I don't know if I've ever been in a more beautiful place." I looked at Mike. His eyes were closed and he did not look well at all. I prayed silently for his full healing.

When lunch time was finished, I asked if we were going to keep going, looking at Mike, who had eaten a little. “We are!” Becky said cheerfully. Pulling me aside, she told me that Mike wanted me to paddle in front for him, and Rachel would join Jared. “Absolutely,” I agreed. I felt sorry for Mike and wanted him to enjoy himself a little more, so here was my chance to help take some pressure off of him. Mike stood up and followed us down to the water. Climbing across the packs and seating himself in the stern of the canoe, he paddled out and turned around. I hopped in the bow and helped push us off with my paddle. “I’m glad you’re feeling a little better,” I told Mike as we stroked off into Second Bay. The wind was still blowing strongly. “I’m feeling a little better,” he responded, “except I can’t take the medication that I want to take just yet.” “Yeah, that stinks,” I sympathized compassionately. “Listen, if you’re tired, need to drink some water, or need to rest, just keep us on course and I’ll paddle for the both of us. I’ve got endurance and can do that. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” he responded, “but I’m feeling all right now. You’re a good paddler, Joe.”

We wasted no time entering and crossing Third Bay. I paddled as hard as I could, keeping us moving at a good speed so Mike didn’t have to expend so much effort. I was grateful for all of my yard jobs back home, which fostered that endurance in me. I thought about Mike. Clearly, one of the reasons he had continued onward was to honor his father, even when it was hard. Even though he was hurting, he kept going and never said a negative word on the trip. I admired him for this. Reaching the end of Third Bay, we encountered our first portage, which was only a couple of rods long. (A rod, by the way, is the length of a canoe, about sixteen and a half feet.) The portage was essentially a low rock outcropping extending about twelve feet into the lake. A narrow channel ran on the left side between Saganaga and Swamp Lakes. “This really isn't even a portage,” Grandpa stated. He knew what was ahead. We didn’t.

Jared, Mike, Grandpa, Ryan and I hopped out. We moved some of the heavier packs out of the canoes and then with all of our might hoisted each canoe over the portage and set it in the water on the other side. A party came up behind us and waited very patiently for us to finish portaging. It only took about twenty minutes. In no time at all, we were back on the water and crossing Swamp Lake. After about ten minutes, I saw a narrow wooden dock protruding into the lake.

“That,” Grandpa announced, “is Monument Portage. It runs right along the border between Canada and the United States. It’s about eighty rods long, which isn’t too bad. Let’s get moving, everyone.” Pulling up to the dock, we all climbed out. “Give me a pack,” I said. “I want to walk the portage first and see what kind of ground I’ll be encountering with the canoe.” Becky helped me put a Duluth pack on my shoulders, and I strolled down the portage. The pack was heavy but I could handle it without too much effort. As I walked by, I saw a monument with “Canada” on one side and “United States” on the other, hence the name “Monument Portage.” “Neat!” I thought. For the first time in my life, I had left the United States. I then began to concentrate on the terrain. The trail was essentially a dirt path weaving its way through the thick woods. In spots the trail was quite muddy, so I looked for rocks or sticks I could step on to navigate through the puddles.

The trail headed gradually upwards, and then made a sharp drop down hill. I navigated my way down the hill, climbed over a fallen tree, and about ten minutes after first leaving the portage, I had reached Ottertrack Lake. Setting my pack down, I took a breather and helped Rachel take her pack off. We then made our way back down the portage, heading back for a second load. I shook off my shoulders as we crested the sharp hill, and began to smell the wonderful woodsy smells of muskeg and duff, tempered with pine and cedar. Birds were chirping to each other from the trees. “This is no picnic,” I thought, “but it’s absolutely beautiful.”

Passing by other exhausted portagers, we encouraged them, stopping to take pictures of the monument. Jared passed by us carrying the three seater canoe. Back at the dock, I decided to take a bear barrel next. This was much heavier than the pack and a lot more uncomfortable, but I managed it.

Ryan and I made our way back down the portage. “Do you want to take a canoe first, or do you want me to?” I asked him. “You go ahead,” he responded. “I want you to walk behind me with a pack in case I need help,” I said. Back at the dock, Grandpa lifted up the end of the aluminum canoe and I walked under it. The portage pads rested on my shoulders, and I slowly stood up. “Oof!” I grunted. “See you later, Grandpa!” “Good luck, Joe!” I waited for a second while Ryan grabbed a pack, and then started down the portage path once again. Walking through the mud on a gradual grade, I carefully watched my footing. While the canoe was pretty heavy, the awkward balance of the canoe was worse. “Whoa!” I said as the canoe’s weight began to shift forward. “I don’t know if I can do this by myself, Ryan, I might need your help.” “You can do it, man. Good job!” Ryan encouraged. I re-adjusted the weight of the canoe on my shoulders and continued onward. “Where are those canoe rests Grandpa always talks about when I need them?” I panted as I shifted the weight a little bit. Grandpa had talked about special places where a canoe camper could set his canoe and take a break. I didn’t see any as we navigated the trail, and neither did anyone else. The problem of balance was further accentuated as I headed downhill. I was sweating now and my shoulders were killing me. You might not think it was possible to hop over a fallen tree carrying a seventy pound canoe, but allow me to be the first to assure you that it is indeed possible. Ryan was a great team player and encouraged me the whole way.

When we reached Ottertrack Lake, Jared lifted the canoe off of my shoulders. “Whew!” I said, wiping my brow. “Well, the first portage is always the hardest. I’ll walk behind you, Ryan, and make sure you’re all right.” Heading back down the portage, we soon reached the wooden dock. I took a final look at Swamp Lake, grabbed the final bear barrel, and then walked along the portage behind Ryan. He struggled as much as I did. “This is a killer!” Ryan groaned as he headed up the hill. “This will probably be my first and last canoe trip.” “You’re doing great, man!” I encouraged. “Keep it up, you’re almost there!” Finally, we had all of our gear portaged.

The canoes were all loaded up, and we pushed off into Ottertrack Lake. This was a much more narrow and rugged lake with tall trees and a high rocky shoreline. By now, the wind had died down somewhat. As we paddled along, an ominous rain cloud drifted overhead. I put on my rain coat in preparation, as did Mike. A light rain began to fall from the sky, but after the portage we had just experienced, it was quite refreshing. My Dri Ducks kept my upper body and head dry. As we paddled along, I tried to think of ways that I could make portaging a canoe easier. I finally decided that, if Ryan walked behind me carrying a pack and helped balance the canoe, I could manage the weight of the canoe much better, shifting the load from my shoulders to my arms as needed. I would then do the same for him.

After about twenty-five minutes, we reached the beginning of the portage heading to Ester Lake. I climbed out of the canoe and looked at the portage. It was rocky and rough, but that’s not the first thing I noticed. It was headed straight up.