Tuesday, July 14, 2020 We got a later start than anticipated on account of the rain and packed up camp in overcast conditions but thankfully dry. We sat around and had one more round of biscuits and gravy, MountainHouse variety this time but personally wishing I had bought more of the PackItGourmet. As we ate, a fat mouse kept poking his head out of the stone fire pit to see if we had any offerings. Some of the biscuit had dripped onto a rock and he took up residence before we shooed him away. Feeding the wildlife was in poor form. We nicknamed him “Chonky Boy” and assumed he was the resident innkeeper. A final cup of coffee and we made our last walk throughs picking up small bits of trash that had been left, either by us or campers before us.

I made my way down to the departing canoes and was handed an almost empty bottle of pecan flavored whiskey. "We've done our part, last bit is yours", I was told by my companions. They assured me we couldn't depart until the entire bottle had been extinguished. Not the breakfast I'm accustomed to, but after a few heavy swigs later, we were on our way.

As if the lake didn’t want us to leave, the heavy east to west wind that had helped immensely yesterday now had reversed into a steady headwind. The hour or so paddle across Ensign was mostly silent except for various songs mostly of the classic rock or country genre with “Chonky Boy” substituted for some part of the chorus (imagine Toby Keith, "Should've Been a Chonky Boy"). Ten minutes after 11 am, we pulled into the portage and I did a quick load across to make sure the tow driver wasn’t waiting on us. He hadn’t arrived, but I was met by nice elderly gentleman in his late 70s starting the portage. John was his name and told me he routinely tripped alone after his son had made him a grandfather 8 years or so prior. I offered to give him a hand, but he said he had it under control and I walked with him instead trading stories about his past trips and future plans. He was sporting a “Boundary Waters Journal” ballcap and proudly told me he was published a year or two prior with a sizable pike he had caught. I tried to turn him onto bwca.com, but he said he wasn't much for technology or the internet. After I introduced him to Grant and Davis waiting at the other side of the portage, he packed up and shoved off. The guys told me he made it a ways out and promptly turned around. We assumed he had forgotten something, but when he pulled up, he asked Grant if he wouldn’t mind taking his picture. Tripping solo, he said he never had any decent photos of himself. Grant gladly obliged and I’m sure took more than several photos that he could share with friends and family.

As we unpacked and made our way across the portage, we saw the friendly tow driver pulling up as if on que. After a few quick photos, we were loaded up and back on the docks at Williams and Hall less than half an hour later. We thanked Dave once again for a great trip and as if he read our minds, handed us each a cold beer and towel.