Friday, May 26, 2023
One More Big Day
By now I’ve settled into my morning routine of pre-packing as much as possible the night before, then steadily breaking camp under the light of my headlamp in order to be paddling as the sun rises. This morning the first white throated sparrow breaks the silence just before 4 A.M., and I am paddling in chilly, calm air on the glassy waters of Hazel Lake at 5 A.M. The birds sing their morning chorus, and a fish or two splashes near the banks. I try my best to paddle quietly and smoothly, with the goal of limiting my waterborne footprints to a tiny ripple and the lightest of splashes as my paddle slices into the water. I of course fail as my paddle occasionally bangs the gunwale and the sound echoes like a rifle shot off of the opposite shore. But it’s fun to try.

All too soon I come upon the 140 rod portage out of Hazel, which is another straightforward walk in the woods. At the landing on the Knight side, with the sun now rising above the trees, a song sparrow cheerfully greets this warm morning. It is a positively idyllic start to this early summer day in the wilderness. Gazing at the still river winding through the bog, I am eager for the prospect of more wildlife encounters this morning. Less than 100 yards after I put in, I encounter an extended rock garden of boulders that require me to get out of the canoe to shuffle, slip, and slide my way through the rocks.

The rest of the river passes by uneventfully until reaching the narrow section just above Knight Lake. There is a beaver dam and a rapids here with an uncharted portage around it. Neither landing is clear, and both are slippery, rocky, messes, with a muddy bushwhack in between. Both “landings” are affected by the strong current flowing through the rapids. In short, this would be an easy spot for a soloist to turn an ankle, lose the boat, or both…It is easily the most difficult beaver dam of the entire trip. The fact that it came as a surprise to me just made it that much more fun…maybe?

Knight is an odd, marshy looking lake. I would’ve liked to check out the single campsite here, but it isn’t on the main route of travel, so I paddle on toward Phoebe.

The winds are still dead calm when I paddle into the wide open waters of Phoebe, its entire surface a perfect mirror of reflections. It is on Phoebe that I first notice thousands of tiny bugs that appear to be launching from the surface of the water, flying briefly into the air, then falling to the water again. They glimmer in the golden morning sunlight like fireflies, truly an unforgettable sight. Over the past couple days, I’ve noticed more black flies and mosquitoes in the evening and morning hours, and after witnessing this hatch, I suspect they are only going to get worse!
The portages through this section of the Phoebe River are uneventful, save for one tough landing near a rapids. One other portage walks along a series of powerful waterfalls that I pause to take photos of. As I reach the landing for the final river-to-river portage, I hear a rapid cackling above me and look to see two bald eagles land in a tree just above me, which again brings to mind my daughter Lucia. As I traverse the portage, I hear a great deal of splashing in the shallow, fast-running stream to my left. When I draw nearer to investigate, I am stunned by the number of large fish in the current, facing upstream, waiting for the next insect to make its way down the current. They look like trout to me (rainbows? Brook trout?) but I can’t be sure. I’ve never seen this kind of behavior from a fish before, but it helps me to understand the allure of fly fishing for trout in tiny streams!

I reach the landing on Grace Lake just after 9 AM. Grace is a perfect example of what I would call a “classic Boundary Waters lake.” In my mind, that means clear water, numerous islands and bays for exploring, and plenty of white pines. The lake is very quiet this morning, and I’d love to spend time exploring it further someday. However, I need to cover some more ground today, and I have a decision to make. I am certain that the route through Ella is more rugged and secluded, based on my research. But in all my time spent studying the map, I have always been intrigued by Wonder and Sunhigh Lakes just south of Alton, figuring either would make for an interesting, secluded final night of my trip, and would maybe even offer a chance of finally catching a northern pike. Each day, something has gotten in my way of reaching camp early in the afternoon, and the goal of “Wonder by one” begins echoing in my mind. I stop for my breakfast break at a campsite on the south shore of Grace, and by the time I finish my breakfast, I’ve settled on taking the long portage directly into Beth Lake in order to reach Wonder as soon as I can. Perhaps after a nearly a week of “The Long Way Around,” I’m ready for a bit of a respite.

The portage to Beth is certainly long with a few hills, but is well-maintained and the travel is easy. I cross paths with several groups going the other way, and the landing at Beth is the busiest one I’ve seen on this trip by far. Beth is nearly as lovely as Grace, just with a smaller overall size and far fewer interesting islands and bays. A light easterly wind blows in my face as I make steady progress to the east end. Once at the portage landing, I meet two older gentlemen (Brent and Rick) from Tennessee who are portaging and spending time checking out the cliffs near the landing. One of them is very talkative and we accompany each other back and forth as we double portage into Alton.
I haven’t had such a discussion all week, and this small instance of “re-entry” into normal social life is more jarring than I expected. Throughout my life, most would classify my personality as extroverted. Much of my time while home is spent surrounded by people and family, and there is always something to talk about, always another activity to do. At work, I meet new people nearly every day, and have little trouble interacting with people from all walks of life. However, especially since the pandemic, I am more and more comfortable with quietly spending time alone, exercising, reading, or going about the day-to-day business that is required to keep family life rolling along. Now, nearly at the end of my journey, I am astonished at how quickly the time has passed. Surprisingly, with all this alone time and “space to think,” I’ve hardly thought of my normal life at all during this trip. Instead, my mind has been fully engaged with the beautiful, simply engaging tasks that make up a wilderness canoe trip. Between feeble attempts at the perfect j-stroke, I’ve never stopped admiring the plant and animal life around me. The elegant beauty of navigating by map and compass is something I never tire of. While in camp, few tasks fill me with more sense of accomplishment than the sight of a beautiful pile of freshly split dried cedar and a well-pitched hammock. Quietly journaling next to a crackling fire as night falls has become the perfect end to each day in the wilderness. Why these things are so fulfilling to me, I don’t know, and don’t have to know. For now, I am at peace soaking up each and every moment exactly as it is.
The portage landing on the Alton side is also very busy, but soon I am on my way into the slightly choppy waters of this giant lake. I again become disorientated for a moment and turn one bay too early in my search for the portage to Wonder, but figure it out and press on. Once I reach the southeastern bay of Alton, I still can’t find the portage where it’s noted on my map, and remain puzzled. Fortunately, I meet Connie and Jim, who been to the Boundary Waters 35-40 times, and they are looking for the same portage. Eventually, we all find it in the southeastern corner of Alton. They are simply planning to walk the portage with their kids for a picnic excursion, so I remain hopeful that the Wonder campsite will be open. This portage is 200 rods and slightly overgrown with a gentle hill or two, but still quite easy to follow. Before I launch into Wonder, I pause with Connie and Jim and their kids to share details of our trips and family lives. While I’m still anxious to head for the campsite, the ginger snap they give me from their picnic basket tastes absolutely wonderful after covering 800 portage rods over the past 7 hours.
The afternoon winds blow directly in my face as I paddle to the long awaited final campsite of my trip. And then, surprise of surprises…it’s occupied. When planning my trip, I figured that the lowly 1 star site on Sunhigh might be a good spot to spend my final night, but I decide against paddling Plouff Creek into Sunhigh. I’ve been blessed with beautiful, wide open campsites on this trip, and greatly appreciate a nice view, strong hammock trees, and minimal brushiness. Also, I want to be on the road headed home tomorrow early in order to avoid a lengthy solo drive extending late into the night. With only a smidge of reluctance, I return to the portage to Alton, where I hope to find a tidy site much closer to my Sawbill exit point. “Done by one?” Foiled again. But maybe, just maybe, I can secure a site on Alton before 3 pm. I again hustle my gear across the Wonder portage, feeling surprisingly energized knowing that this truly is the final long portage of the trip, and of this day. And what greets me on the northern end but my old friends, wind and waves. With the canoe trimmed for another windy paddle, I make my way up the eastern shore of Alton, finding every campsite I pass empty. My goal is the site nearest the short portage to Sawbilll, and thankfully, it is also open.
After securing the canoe, it is a long uphill walk into a spacious site with multiple signs of overuse. There are virtually zero small branches in reach on any of the trees, as they’ve all been snapped or hacked off. This makes hanging the water filter a bit difficult, but eventually I make do. There are several spacious tent pads so I have little trouble finding a place for my hammock. With dry, warm conditions forecast for tonight, I choose to take a chance and don’t even put up my tarp tonight. There isn’t a great view of the lake from the site, but the kitchen and fire grate area offers plenty of open space to work.
Jesus said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure…”~Mark 6:31
When I set up my chair in a sunny spot with a marginal lake view for my afternoon lunch, I hear a sound I’ve never heard before. It seems to be coming from above me, in the trees: the unmistakable whining hum of many thousands of mosquitoes and black flies. After spraying on a bit of DEET, they fortunately don’t bother me much, though I do get to learn what it feels like to be bitten by a black fly for the first time. Just two mornings ago, I woke to freezing temperatures and wolves howling on Fisher Lake. From this sunny vantage point in the bright sun on the warmest day of my trip, with the insects whining above me, it feels like the very first day of summer. During this trip, the school year ended, and summer sports practices have already begun. There will soon be wheat to harvest, 4-H projects to help prepare, and summer camps to pack for. Each year is so different from the last, each one a blessing in its own special way. From this spot, it seems I am sitting “above the world” and watching time itself change before my very eyes. Perhaps more than any other reason, this is why canoe trips to the Boundary Waters are so important to me. Exploration and adventure such as this can’t merely be read about, listened to, or viewed on the internet. It must be lived, in its own time, at its own pace, and on its own unpredictable terms. With ever-increasing demands on my time, I can’t possibly know how many more times I will be able to take such a trip. But isn’t a week’s worth of simply contemplative moments such as this one worthy of the great sacrifice it takes to make it happen? For me, the answer is a positively resounding YES.
With lunch consumed and the choppy lake conditions, I briefly consider not gathering wood for a fire tonight. But with it being the last night, and the omnipresent horde buzzing above me, I know I will take comfort in one last campfire. Wood isn’t easy to find around here, but eventually I find a dead cedar on a nearby shoreline that will suffice.
After returning to camp to finish setup, split wood, and prepare supper, I hear a loud cackling nearby and look to see a vibrantly colored pileated woodpecker in a nearby tree. In mere seconds, it flies away, and does not return. So much of life is made up of these tiniest of moments. How many such moments do I miss, never to return again? As I journal by the fire in the darkness, this is something I keep coming back to. On this solo trip, I have been forced to live each moment to its fullest, simply because I am the only one around to deal with any situation that arises. Rather than worry about the future or what “might” happen, I’ve fully locked in to what “is” happening. And in doing so, each moment has been experienced to the greatest degree possible, treasured and cherished as one might value a seemingly insignificant trinket from their long-forgotten past. How can I take this attitude home, where the joys of today are so often clouded by the specter of tomorrow’s unknowable challenges? How can I give more fully of myself to each moment this year, and to my family with whom I share them with?
Night falls completely, and my final campfire is now ashes. Less than two miles away is my humble Honda Civic, my re-entry vehicle into “normal life” as I know it. I can’t help but feel a twinge of trepidation as I turn in for the night. But I am exhausted, content, and at peace in a way that only comes at the end of a long, difficult journey. Is there anything better in the world?

Paddle distance: 9.6 miles|Travel time: 10 hours
Portages: 9 + 1 awful beaver dam|Portage Distance: 1042 rods, 3.2 miles
Alton campsite: 3.5 stars
~Hazel Lake, Phoebe River, Knight Lake, Phoebe Lake, Phoebe River, Grace Lake, Beth Lake, Alton Lake, Wonder Lake