Day 3 Monday, September 04, 2017

I begin paddling Day #3 from near Lower Basswood Falls, quickly eating my last Poptart and slamming down some liquid calories. I accept the fact that I am further behind due to a damn alarm clock. I ponder, as is normal, where is my goal for today- how far? What lake will it be? I reach for my written itinerary and decide not to look. It is time for a new game plan- the clock didn’t matter yesterday and now I add the planned itinerary doesn’t matter. New plan- just get through the next lake, cross it off the list, and head for the next. When I feel exhausted, I will try for one more lake. After that one, I will paddle one more. Basswood is first on the list. Winds again are NW-ish and building by the time I round US Point- damn alarm clock. I take a longer route on my way to the English Channel because of the winds. I make it across Basswood without incident, mentally cross it off, and head for the next big lake- Knife. The small lakes in between are minor obstacles and I cross them off quickly. These lakes and portages are crowded with recreational paddlers. I pass them by and they say things like “do you have a motor on that thing?”. I just smile and say “I’m in a hurry”. Winds continue at around 15 mph with higher gusts. Now on Knife Lake rain clouds are closing in from the west and north. Periods of rain will continue the rest of today with some wind bursts associated with each passing little storm. I strangely don’t mind paddling in the rain-but portaging is made more dangerous as rocks and roots become slippery booby traps just waiting to catch the unwary. I think of the other paddlers behind me and hope they’re OK as they cross Lac La Croix, Crooked, and Basswood and am glad those lakes are behind me. A few more lakes and I’m heading out on the last of the big lakes, Saganaga. I am tentative as I start out on this big lake, it deserves respect.

Conditions surprise me- the wind is blowing strong (NW 10mph, gusts to 30) but the lake still allows me progress. I make American Point and decide to take the direct route to the mid-lake islands and begin crossing a vast open water area. Two thirds of the way across, fear starts growing in correlation to the size of the waves hitting me hard broadside. I feel small somehow, as what may happen next is not up to me so much as what the next gust of wind may send my way. I do not like this helpless condition but it’s much better than a hopeless one, so I put more power and speed to my paddle blade and make it to protection of the islands. I feel safe and relaxed again and think back 2 years earlier when my team camped here. Then I think of where my team camped last year- on Maraboeuf Lake and I will be heading there next. Each year my camp moves further east through here. I need to continue that trend tonight but darkness will fall when I make Maraboeuf. To go past there means traversing the Granite River area in the dark- an area which always seems to confuse me somehow even in the daylight. Sounds good- a new challenge to overcome, bring it on. My mind’s acceptance of this challenge is a good sign for I need something to push me beyond my physical body’s cries of pain and need for rest. Fight or flight they say, tonight I will fight. As expected, darkness falls hard on Maraboeuf. It is black and light rain falls. There is no distinction between the water, tree line, and sky. I paddle into a wall of blackness. Beaver splash their tails at me in alarm to this red glowing thing moving quietly down their lake. Then I scare something big out of the water- by the sound it’s a moose 50 feet away but by the time I get my headlamp on, it’s up in the new growth of the Ham Lake Fire. Wolves howl from a distant ridge top, loons cry on the lake, more beaver splash their displeasure and raindrops collide with the lakes surface- it’s a different way to paddle. By necessity, my sense of hearing is more important now than sight creating a different feel to the travel, one that most people find disconcerting and some just plain fear.
Not too far into the Granite River, I can’t find a portage. Rather than waste time and energy looking, I just try to run my canoe up the next two rapids. Rejected, this boat just isn’t suited for such duty. I ad hoc a portage at the first rapids carrying my gear and boulder hopping along the river. Rain, slimy boulders, and a poorly timed gust of wind cause me to slip. I choose to protect the canoe and instead sacrifice me. I smash my shin hard on a rock as I fall; hurting something terrible but there’s no time to worry about looking at it now. The next rapid is no better, but I don’t fall. This is taking way too much time and energy, my leg is pounding. “That’s right”; I think to myself, “this is supposed to challenge me- cross those rapids off the list and just move forward”.
Hours later, I work my way out of the Granite River and into Magnetic Lake. Then onto Gunflint. I’m worn out but decide one more lake and paddle across Gunflint. It is a long one and the wind and waves quartering from behind don’t help- where is the other end? My abused muscles are spent and my tired mind isn’t far behind. I struggle to concentrate on balancing in this skinny boat as unseen waves overtake me. My eyes lids are heavy and want to close. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I see a silver flash coming from behind in the wake of my paddle wash. Quickly, I jerk my head back to see who it is but when I look, it’s just a shimmering sheen of moonlight in the swirl. This happens many times and I can’t help but keep looking back each time to try to catch a glimpse of what I sense is there. I sense a presence to the flash but when I look closely I do not see. Sometimes the boundaries between here and the other place are blurred- some rest is surely needed. Finally the far shore comes and I don’t have anything left to give. No more lakes today. I have no idea of the time but it feels really late. I’m worn out, partially wet, temperatures are dropping into what must be the 40’s, and the wind is strong hitting this shore. I find a good landing and decide it’s best to make an emergency rest stop. I know I’m approaching my limits. I find an opening with flat ground, pull the canoe broadside to the wind, attach a tarp to the canoe so it breaks the force of the wind, and I crawl into this makeshift shelter. I add a fleece sweatshirt under my raingear and unzip my sleeping bag so I can use it like a blanket. I am too wet, too cold, and too tired to crawl in the bag. I just want to lie down so I do. I feel satisfied with today’s efforts- 3:45 am is when I went ashore, 76 miles and 23 portages traveled in 22.5 hours. A new hardest day ever achieved- grueling it was. I think I have made up for past oversleeping and lost time but at a cost of utter exhaustion. Some deep sleep would be good but is elusive as it’s near impossible to get under these conditions. After a way-to-brief 2-hour “rest”, I’m back on the water at 6:30 am. Not really sure when Day 3 ended and 4 started as they morphed together.