My Under Armour pulls double duty as it not only kept me toasty last night but, now serves to hasten me out of the tent as the sun rises and quickly heats up the interior.

The one piece of new gear that I’d purchased this off season was a MSR Alpine Stainless Steel Camping Fry Pan which I use to cook breakfast in this morning. I’ve come to implicitly trust, the bwca.com member who goes by the screen name, “butthead” for my gear reviews. He recommended this, and it certainly performs up to expectations.  

After my scrambled egg breakfast, I assess the weather situation. The wind is gusting out of the east. Pre-trip I had ambitious thoughts of exploring further down river but, the combination of the exceedingly pushy river current and a persistent, gusty wind is enough to dissuade me. I instead decide to explore Rice Lake more thoroughly but, first, I linger in camp for a while.

Of course, I make the obligatory climb up to the peak of the largest boulder to appreciate the rarified air & view. It looks like something had supper up here as there is a severed bird's foot near the top. This also provides another opportunity to spend some more quality time serenely reflecting.

Solitude can be a tricky thing, as it is a double-edged blade that has the propensity to cut deeply in either direction. However, I believe tragic fear of loneliness, (feeling alone) presents enough of an obstacle that most seem to completely disregard the abundant fruits of healthy solitude which throws open the gateway to contemplation. In his book: Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton writes persuasively, “Contemplation is the highest expression of man’s intellectual and spiritual life. It is that life itself, fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent and infinitely abundant Source. Contemplation is, above all, awareness of the reality of that Source....To enter into the realm of contemplation one must in a certain sense die: but this death is in fact the entrance into a higher life. And for me, a quote from Blaise Pascal truly hammers home the benefit of solitude. “All of humanities problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” I refuse to allow these fleeting moments I have been graced with to go by without an acknowledgement of gratitude as I pull out my Rosary ring and soak in the blessings of the day until I am saturated.

Getting my head out of the clouds, I descend from this granite perch and begin curiously exploring around the perimeter of camp.

Nearly a decade after the fact, the fire marred landscape surrounding camp is still easily explored. While it won’t get confused with Pompeii’s pillar, the camp and nearby area are all on an elevated granite knob overlooking a swamp. The devastation from the Pagami Creek fire is clearly still evident. Perhaps the very limited foliage of this late spring is a primary contributor but, it doesn’t seem like this area is coming back as fast as the areas affected by the big fires in the Gunflint region. I think Henry David Thoreau’s observation, “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” is especially pertinent here.

While some may look only at the charred, branchless, sunbaked pillars shaping the horizon in every direction; I see an understory of sprouting young Popple trees which, as evidenced by the 4 separate clusters of moose ‘plums’ within 50 yards of my fire grate, are facilitating a return of these iconic creatures to their one-time preeminence in this area.

While some may only look at barren landscapes; I see unique opportunities to contemplate long hidden panoramic vistas that will soon be concealed yet again.

While some may only look at jumbled masses of toppled trees and sparse ground cover; I see easily accessible exploration opportunities and unlimited, dried out firewood close at hand.

So, while I will certainly stand and be counted as one who would revel in the mystical enchantment of a mature pristine forest, I feel it is a unique blessing to be afforded an opportunity to witness this re-generation firsthand as this area is slowly restored to its former glory.

I’m definitely not going to complain about being granted another gloriously warm, sunny day. However, my Sawyer gravity water filter is hanging from one of the only mature trees in the area which means there is literally no shade. So, my bag of filtered water just sits utterly exposed to the sun and heats up throughout the day. I’d noticed a small alcove by the river that still has some snow stubbornly hanging on. So, before heading out, I fill my coffee pot with the sun warmed filtered water and bury it in that snowbank. In that way I’ll have ice-cold water upon my return from my exploratory paddle around Rice Lake.

No sooner am I out on the water than I get to experience the inconvenience of gusty winds swirling about the lake.  With the Black Pearl’s cargo holds barren of any burden, my weight alone isn’t enough to prevent getting irrevocably blown off course from time to time. Attempting to identify the silver lining, I remind myself that I’m ever so grateful for my earlier decision not to head down river.  As I enter the main body of Rice Lake, I am astounded by the sheer number of various waterfowl that take flight as the Black Pearl rounds each new corner.  They disperse so quickly, that it’s impossible to get a photo that will do justice to representing the spectacle. Reminds me of Back Bay on Basswood Lake.

Another curiosity is revealed as I pull around to the north side of the peninsula. There is a conglomeration of ice crystals softly chiming in the shallow water amidst the decayed shoreline reeds. I am fascinated by the phenomenon and reminded just what the water temperature will be in the event of a capsize.

It’s a week before the Minnesota fishing opener but, I could still legally fish for panfish; including crappies, which are in both Isabella & Bald Eagle Lakes. So, it would stand to reason that there is a possibility that they would also inhabit the river connecting the two lakes. However, I have left my fishing gear behind for this trip. Besides, I don’t feel the high, dirty water would've been conducive for success.

Even with the aid of GPS, I cannot locate where either of the 2 former campsites used to be. There is no evidence of a landing or anything. And it appears the site that used to be on the peninsula would currently be underwater anyways. My curiosity satisfied; I have an epic battle with the wind, as I’m spun around a few different times attempting to trace the shoreline back to camp. It’s a vigorous workout that definitely helps prevent my paddling muscles from slipping into an atrophic state anytime soon.

I don’t return to camp empty handed. Since I really didn’t have a good fire-pole in camp, I managed to grab a top-notch beaver stick from along the shoreline of Rice Lake. The level of contentment attained from the simple pleasures of poking at a fire with a good stick is inestimable.

With the immense shadow from the largest boulder beginning to stretch across camp, while busying myself with camp chores; a subtle, short, melancholic honk grabs my attention. I wander out onto the point by the riverside and discover I am not alone as a single trumpeter swan floats in the current just out from shore. Upon seeing me, he turns tail and begins a slow retreat back up river.

The encounter with the swan gets me pondering solitude yet again. As I eat my steaming supper, the ambient glow of my campfire is accompanied by the celestial luminosity of another star lit evening. It occurs to me that I am in one of the only areas of canoe country that currently provides access to a legal campsite. Presumably all the rivers up here are open but, precious few offer camping opportunities. The only other area I can surmise that is open, and has campsites is the Kawishiwi Triangle. As Ginny attested, there are certainly hikers out and about but, I think it’s safe to say that the Black Pearl is one of the few, if not the only, legally camped canoe in the one million plus acres that is the BWCAW. That’s a level of solitude I don’t think I’ve approached before.