Day3

I was up again before dawn, but was well rested. No rain, but a damp fog had set in and there was condensation on the tarp: I’m glad I did put it up. No frost, but It was chilly. I lit a fire and made coffee and some hot oatmeal breakfast. The morning twilight began and was spectacular as the fog slowly lightened in hue to gradually reveal more and more of the world beyond my campsite. First the tops of some jagged pines were silhouetted against the lightening sky, then I could begin to make out ripples on the surface of the water, and finally the sun breaching the horizon gives an explosion of colorful definition to the sky and water and far shore. I had the camera out the whole time waiting for the sun and was packing up camp between shots.

I still managed to get an early start out Friday morning and was on the water before 8. My route had an entire day of paddling with zero portages as I snaked north on Crooked lake, further away from the entry. I was really alone this morning and didn’t see anyone else. It might have helped that some of

the thick fog was still hanging around in the deeper valleys of the border lake where the sun hadn’t quite risen enough to reach down to the water. It was extremely serene, quietly paddling the invisible line with USA on the left and Canada to the right. The land all looked the same to me and I was suddenly taken to a time several hundred years ago when there was no international border:

I knew to look for the pictographs, but not exactly where or what they looked like. I spotted the bird first and was pretty excited. I took my time and photographed the cliffs, but then I saw more, and more, and more of the ancient drawings linking this place to the past. My magic canoe was

floating in a fog amongst the spirits of people who had been here long before me, and I could feel their presence at this place. The limited sight distance made it very intimate, and I spent much time near the rocks, imagining the native people who had canoed in the very same place I was at that moment; and later the voyagers who must have been familiar with this route as a highway of trade. I sat quiet and still, with the lake gently rocking the boat, and had a realization of my own un- importance in this world. I came away with a strong notion of respect for all those who had come before me. Their whole existence, too, was just a passing blip on the timeline of this planet, and part of something much larger than any person. I said a quick prayer, and paddled on north as the sun again began to catch up with me.

I was fishing on-and-off: trolling a few favorite lures as I paddled: though not catching much. I had a rod-holder clamped on the thwart in front of me, and it was easy to troll or just keep my pole contained and ready. To make it secure for portages I would rotate it forward and tuck the rod tip in the bow just under the front carry handle of the canoe. It worked well. I passed a group headed the opposite direction and gave a friendly wave. Everywhere on the shore, Crooked lake looked to be about 18-24 inches below the high-water marks, which I suppose was normal for that time of year. Somewhere on Crooked I noticed something bobbing in the water along the shore. It was not-quite natural looking and I went closer to investigate. To my surprise I found a double-blade kayak paddle. Aluminum shaft and fiberglass blades and it was in excellent condition. How does someone lose something so large and well... important to a paddling trip? Weird. I broke it down and stowed it next to the other kayak paddle I wasn’t using but would carry the remainder of the trip.

I took a break at Table rock, and shed some layers as it was getting warm. Inspiration struck for a self-portrait here: holding up the magic canoe and stopping down the camera until the sun became a big starburst. I wouldn’t have been able to manage it with any sort of wind, but I think the photo turned out kind of neat and really captures my spirit for most of the trip. I could do ads for Northstar Canoes.
The next landmark I passed (somewhere around noon) was a bronze border survey obelisk on a Canadian point. It was labeled #719 and painted silver.

I studied this with curiosity and made notes to read about it later. It was a border survey monument placed 1914, based on the treaty of 1908. The survey teams traveled by canoe caravan- taking bearings from the few known landmarks and high points. They placed several monuments at various places along the border. Due to war, the final survey results weren't published until 1931. Prior to that there were many border areas and islands between the northwest angle and lake superior where the exact nationality was unknown.

I didn’t spend much time here as I wanted to keep moving. I kept heading Northwest on Crooked, looking to camp somewhere on Friday Bay. I had wanted to try and find the old car up in the Cadillac Narrows, and thought that might be a good place to rest for lunch. I didn’t know exactly where to find it- just some hints at where it might be. I ended up paddling the shoreline for quite awhile searching the woods. It was fun, like a wilderness treasure hunt- except I was getting tired in the sun- and hungry. As I was about to give up I saw what was quite clearly a shift control lever basking in the sun on a rock. It was rusted to only a hairpin of steel. I got out of the canoe and excitedly began exploring and soon found the hulk of an old Buick in the trees facing the lake. It is not known for sure why or how the car came to be here, but once again my magic canoe had delivered me to a different time:

The Buick actually had quite a bit of beauty for being garbage left out in nature. The soft brown of oxidized iron hosted green and blue lichens with an occasional patch of bright orange rust. Pine needles littered the cast cylinder head, though I could hear the clicking pushrods of the heavy old straight-six motor. I thought of the cold moonlit nights when this car may have ran cases of Canadian whiskey over the ice to teetotaling America. The valve springs now frozen for eternity tell stories of

how thick the oil was in the cold. The hardened steel of the ring gear in the rear axle still looks ready to again shuttle a heavy load across the border and through a land too rough for G-men to give chase. Metal strapping surely once held a suitcase full of cash to the running board- part of which was used to pay off the loggers who would deny the car’s existence. The word ‘Buick’ is visible in the pitted side of the block; still proudly screaming a testament to the engineering of the 1920’s. In contrast, the exposed crank humbly reveals its archaic cast-in-place bearings and wired

castle nuts that might very well have been the pernicious reasons for the car becoming stuck in this place forever. The chassis and drivetrain are crumbling where they meet the ground as the earth slowly reclaims even the toughest of manmade materials.

I photographed the car for a while then sat in the sun to eat lunch- foil pack tuna wraps and m&ms. It was around 2:00 or so. I examined the map and how far I had paddled and how I was almost at the mouth of Friday bay. Back in the canoe I headed off to find a campsite. I was trailing a deep jointed rappala and had a monster hit that almost ripped my rod from its mount. The 30lb braid was tight as the drag spun open. I played the fish for a few minutes and saw it once- an enormous pike. Sadly, it slipped off the hook and I never landed it.

The wind picked up a little and paddling became harder work, though the boat handled well with the wenonah paddle I’d been swinging all day. As I came around the south of the island site I saw a bright tent and a single person sitting on shore. A friendly wave and I changed course south across the bay towards the other campsites. I was really tired at this point, and wishing I was in camp. I grit my teeth and pushed on down the western shore. The first site was a collection of large boulders on a gentle slope of Canadian shield that reminded me of a florida beach, but made of solid rock. I explored the camp for a bit, which might have worked well for a group, but for whatever reason I had a bad feeling about it. I’m not sure if I can explain why- there was a place to hang my hammock and a good cooking area. Maybe it was an irrational fear of bears? No northern exposure to possibly witness the aurora again?- I can’t remember exactly. I might have felt different if it was raining, but even though I was ready to stop I decided to look at the other two sites south of here.

I arrived at the middle one and this was instantly home. It was a small perch 6 feet over the water among cedar trees and well-sheltered from the west wind. I really wasn’t feeling well at this point and realized I had allowed myself to get dehydrated paddling all day in the sun. I pumped and drank a nalgene of water, hung my hammock and promptly took a nap.

Waking up sometime around 6 I felt much better. I prepared a fire for the next morning, found a place to hang the food bag, and heated some water for for dinner: Peanut pad Thai. I sat in my chair at the edge of the lake and again felt content. I sipped whiskey and recounted the day in my journal. When it became too dark to write, I again heated water and sipped hot tea and ate m&m’s as I watched the twilight fade into stars. I was carrying my iphone in the pack- not for connectivity, but to use the gps as an offline backup navigation tool in case I became turned-around. I pulled it out to test it as I hadn’t really tried it in true “no-service” conditions before; and it found my location easily.

I knew the one guy was way up at the island site on top of the bay, but otherwise I felt very alone here. I started to have some of the dreaded thoughts of solo insecurity, but I was able to squash the fears relatively easily before they got out-of-hand. I could swear up-and-down that I heard the road- noise of trucks passing on a distant highway to the south; even though I knew the nearest road wasn’t for maybe a hundred miles I could not find a better explanation for the noise I was hearing- or at least thought that I heard. Time for bed. Into the warm hammock with a bugnet tonight as this site had a few ear-buzzers. Sleep came easy and without disturbance, though it was a good feeling to have the DeLorme closeby.