Day 5: Crazy Day
Wednesday, May 22nd, 2024
I wake at 6:00 but lay in my hammock until 7:00, listening to the wind, which actually doesn’t sound too bad. Usually I wake up in the morning feeling better about whatever problems face me in the coming day, but that isn’t the case today. With my camp perfectly tidy and my journal completely caught up, I simply don’t quite know what I will do with another day of waiting out the weather in camp.

I eat my breakfast under the tarp while watching the wind-agitated waters of Little Sag. My campsite is in a fairly exposed area of the lake, so I feel that what I’m seeing represents the worst-case scenario in terms of wind and whitecaps. The more I watch, the more antsy I get. The wind and rain just don’t seem to be as bad as forecast, and there’s very few if any gusts. I turn on my old friend the weather radio in hopes that the forecast has changed for the better. But it hasn’t, with winds from the west at 15-20 with gusts to 40 mph today. It just doesn’t line up with what I’m seeing, which is some wind and rain, but zero whitecaps, even out here on my point with plenty of open water to the west.

At this point, no matter what route I take, I’m about as far from the exit point as I can be. The prospect of an extremely long paddle day to reach Grandpa tomorrow in order to have time to fish on Friday just doesn’t sound like much fun to me at all, especially when I consider that I would be paddling the wide open waters of Seagull Lake during the late afternoon, putting me at high risk of dealing with dangerous waves due to afternoon wind gusts. While I’ve become more confident in my abilities to deal with whitecaps on this trip, I know that Seagull is not a lake to be taking any chances on.

I took a walk in the rain one day
On the wrong side of the tracks
I stood on the rail 'til I saw that train
Just to see how my heart would react
Now some people say that you shouldn't tempt fate
And for them I can not disagree
But I never learned nothing from playing it safe
I say fate should not tempt me
I take my chances
I don't mind working without a net
I take my chances
I take my chances ev'ry chance I get
Mary Chapin Carpenter “I Take My Chances”

After another five minutes of pacing and waffling, the rain completely stops, and almost immediately a White-throated Sparrow defiantly sings its distinctive, carefree song as if to say, “The storm is over!” I respond with a hearty and only half-joking “Hell yeah, bird!” The die is cast. I’m going to pack up and give this a go today. I figure if I pull onto Gabimichigami and it’s too much to handle, I can find a site there, and still have made significant progress. If Gabi isn’t an issue, I should be able to make it to Ogishkemuncie or even points beyond, which would be a game changer regarding the distance left to cover to get to Grandpa on Thursday.

I pack up the tarp, then the hammock, then clean up the rest of camp, regretfully dumping out my IKEA bags full of immaculately split cedar beneath the shelter of one of the cedar groves. As I do this, I notice the waves are progressively building in size, but still with very few whitecaps. At 10:00, I don my rain gear and launch, promising myself to stop and call it a day if it gets sketchy. I take a few extra moments to review my maps and portage notes on shore in hopes of avoiding any navigational faux pas while out on the choppy water.

Right off the bat, even though I knew it would be a bit tricky to see, I miss the portage landing to Rattle Lake. I run a tiny rapid with zero issue, but the next is one looks far worse, so I now have to find my way to the portage via bushwhack. Fortunately it doesn’t take too long to sniff it out, and aside from dealing with the brushy makeshift landing, this one is uneventful. I make quick work of Rattle, now firmly in the burn area of the Cavity Lake fire. The portage to Gabimichigami is also uneventful. The southern bay of Gabi is filled with plenty of rollers but few whitecaps. I snag a few heavy rocks nearby for the bow of the canoe and push off, knowing that my first major decision point lies just ahead. If the wide open waters of Gabi are too inhospitable, I hope to be able to use the highly rated campsite at the south end of the lake for the night. But if the waters aren’t too rough, I plan to make the crossing, circumnavigating the shoreline if needed.

Once exiting the southern bay, there’s plenty of whitecaps parading across the lake, but the large campsite is open, and it looks like a good one. However, as long as I’m taking the waves right on the bow, the canoe handles well and decent progress. I decide to make the crossing. I cross to the western shore across from the campsite, which is the worst part, with the waves steadily marching from the northwest. Given the fetch at this part of the lake, I know that this is the worst the waves will be. I choose to turn directly into the somewhat gusty wind to take the waves as directly as possible, and turn up my effort level a notch to get across as quickly as I can. Progress continues at a steady pace, though I’m working hard. Occasionally a wave creates a bit of spray to go along with the light rain showers, but overall I am happy to dig deep and keep grinding my way along. The crossing itself takes 30 minutes, and I’m comfortable with how this has gone so far, especially as the waves begin to abate near the north shore. I begin working my way back to the east along the shore toward the portage, searching for a campsite that is supposedly located near the portage. But I never find it. In fact, I end up paddling for quite some time along the shoreline until I realize I have certainly bypassed the portage. While I’m not exposed to the big waves in the middle of the lake anymore, by no means am I in a place where I need to be out here longer than necessary. I can still see the large southern campsite, and spend several minutes taking compass bearings to try to draw a bead on the precise location of the portage. I end up paddling a solid 30 minutes back to the west, and still can’t find it! What gives? Really, there’s only one place it can be at this point…a small notch that I noticed earlier, guarded by cedars in a small nook of the north shore. While I’d seen this notch earlier, I discounted it because I never saw the corresponding nearby campsite, and so I paddled right on by, a short distance away. Now, as I near this notch, it’s very clearly the portage, and easily the most relieving moment of the trip so far. This misadventure added a taxing 1 hour and 10 minutes of paddling to my day.

The weather radio had warned of flooded, slick portage trails, and this would be the first of several such trails today. This one is flat and unremarkable, save for the fact that the entirety of it is submerged ankle deep or higher. Wet feet never felt so good…on to Agamok I go.

Agamok is an oddly shaped lake but fortunately even I can find a way to keep my bearings here. The sites appear relatively unused but in decent shape. Soon I’m at the longer portage to Mueller, which is predictably wet and muddy, with multiple spots where one needs to watch their footing. While I’m already thinking of making time to quickly reach a suitable camp on Ogishkemuncie, I decide there’s no way I can skip a short side trip to Mueller Falls. It’s a 7-8 minute one way walk to reach the falls, but with all the rain, they are quite the sight. After a few moments taking in the view, snapping some photos and video, it’s back to work, carrying the canoe to the landing on Mueller. Even though Mueller is smaller, I am immediately forced to shore by some small winds and waves, where I scrounge up some rocks to put in the bow again. The portage to Ogishkemuncie is located just to the west of the northern campsite on Mueller. Aside from the daily special of mud and water, this one has more than a few rocks, with some rolling hills, before a big steep descent to Ogishkemuncie.

Initially, I figured “If I can just get to Ogish today, I’ll have really helped my cause.” With my later start and navigational issues plus tough paddling conditions, it’s around 3:00 which is later than I usually start looking for a campsite. That said, even though I’m tired of traveling, tired of being wet, tired of dealing with waves, and just plain tired, I feel like getting to one of the lakes east of Ogish would be set me up to tackle the big Seagull paddle early in the morning, so I plan to keep pushing onward if I can keep making steady progress. I have little trouble making my way northeast along Ogish’s jagged shoreline and am for the most part well sheltered from the worst of the waves. When I pass through the narrows in the middle of the lake, the highly rated campsite there is available and looks very inviting. Though I know I’m pushing a bit at this point, I choose to continue on my way, targeting Jasper or perhaps even Alpine. In order to avoid setting up camp too late, I know I need to avoid any further navigational blunders or portage shenanigans, but once I’m moving, I find it’s just easier for me to keep on going rather than stop.

The portage to Kingfisher takes me by surprise, and I realize it when I hear the rapids leading into Kingfisher. I frantically scan the shoreline for a portage landing, but see none, so I turn the canoe around and begin paddling furiously back up the shore. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t out-paddle this current. When I look down, the water looks shallow enough, and without a second thought, I bail out of the canoe into 2-3 feet of icy water so I can walk it to shore against the swift current. I take a stumble or two on the rocky bottom and at one point am submerged up to my thigh, but I plow ahead to landing. In spite of the conditions, I’ve been relatively comfortable all day long, but this moment is when I begin to feel quite wet and cold, and realize that perhaps I should have taken my chances on running the rapids versus getting my legs so wet. When I review my portage notes, it appears that I would have had no trouble running them. In spite of what most would consider maniacal preparation for these trips, it’s amazing to me how it’s usually the portages that I’ve taken for granted that have given me the most trouble. The portage is thankfully a dry one and has an easy landing on the Kingfisher side.

It’s 4:30 and in spite of being cold, tired, aggravated, and hungry, I’m in “hammer down” mode. If that decent Jasper site is open and offers some shelter from this wind and rain, I intend to check it out. I quickly paddle straight across Kingfisher and hump my sopping wet gear and self across the easy portage. With another quick check of the map, I’m paddling on Jasper. The singular “good” Jasper site has been claimed, which makes my decision to continue on an easy one. The person I see in the site battling the wind to hang a tarp high above the lake is the first sign of humanity I’ve seen since Sunday on Frost Lake. I paddle right by the other sites on Jasper, which appear to offer little in the way of protection from the wind.

A Spotted Sandpiper greets me at the portage landing to Alpine. Reaching this final portage of the day fills me with relief. It cannot be overstated how weary I am of messing with zippers and buckles at this point. Everything has its proper, secure place to be, and each of those places requires dealing with a zipper or a buckle. I’ve made a much more concerted effort to take care of my hands on this trip by using bag balm lotion and gloves each night, but still, my fingers are quite tender. In addition, my hands have always been quite susceptible to losing dexterity when cold, which doesn’t help.

This travel day has been one unlike any other I’ve experienced in the Boundary Waters. Not the most fun one to be sure, but no less exhilarating and memorable. The falls into Alpine are raging, and I again take a short break to snap a few photos. In spite of my fatigue and the gnawing cold that seems to be seeping deep into me, the thought of settling into a sheltered campsite on Alpine with a warm meal fills me with hopeful expectation.

It’s 5:00, the latest I’ve ever been paddling in the Boundary Waters. I’m concerned about navigation given the trouble I’ve had before navigating island and bay filled lakes such as Alpine so I thoroughly review the map one last time before pushing off. This is time well spent, because no sooner have I pushed off the landing when I realize this lake is a maze, moreso even than Little Sag was. I keep checking and re-checking the map, struggling to make it all make sense. To top it off, I forgot to put a rock in the bow at the landing and have to beach the canoe to snag a couple in this wind.

Oh please believe me I'm more scared than not
That oh now this isn't the way
And please be there I can barely hang on
But oh I wait til I break
LP, “Into the Wild”

My target is a couple campsites just west of the portage to Seagull, and I manage to stay just unlost enough to find them after a hard-earned 45 minutes of paddling. The first site is claimed, which worries me due to my increasing cold in this slowly fading light on a lake that is more heavily traveled. However, I am elated when I reach the second campsite to the east and see it is open! In retrospect, the fact that the first campsite was taken was a blessing in disguise, because it allowed me to know my position on the map with absolute certainty.

My elation quickly fades when I land and begin exploring the site. It’s a highly rated spot, and I can see why, because it is very unique. This elevated site is situated on a gigantic elevated field of loosely-grouped boulders, and has enough open space to set up 10 or more tents. On a warm, lazy summer day, this would be an amazing spot, with access to the water from both the north and south of the site. But all this openness comes at a high cost. There are very few mature trees anywhere in this site, so hammock hanging options are sparse. Not to mention, the wind off the lake is absolutely whipping through here. On a day when I already arrived cold and wet, this is a decidedly bad place to be. But it’s 6 PM, and the next site requires significant paddling over harrowing and tough-to navigate waters away, so if I can make this one work at all, I’m going to do it. Priority one is getting my tarp and hammock set up so I can have some semblance of a dry and warm shelter. But I need to get going, fast, because I’m getting colder by the minute.

I begin madly setting up the tarp, desperate for any sort of reprieve from the unrelenting wind and rain. Of course, the tarp whips about like a wind sock, causing the lines to tangle up in a multitude of snarls and knots. This puts increased stress on my tender hands and fingers, which have lost much of their dexterity due to the cold. Each delay only leaves me more exposed, and I realize that while I thought the most dangerous place to be was on the water, I could easily go hypothermic right here in this campsite if I don’t find a way to set up and get dried out, pronto. This situation is exactly why I had initially planned to stay put on my whimsical cedar-sheltered haven of a campsite on Little Sag. I also think back to that inviting site on the narrows of Ogish, but the siren song of a short travel day across Seagull to try my hand at catching pike on Grandpa was just too much for me to resist. Now I’m here, and I simply must figure this out, now. When I finally untangle the lines and try to attach them to a stake, my hands simply don’t have the strength to cinch the pre-tied knot.

Without a campfire actively burning, my sole source of heat is my camp stove. While I brought plenty of cheap Bic lighters, I know that my hands will be unable to make those work, especially in the rain. I reach for the single mini blow torch that I bought on a whim for $5 the day I left home, which is much easier for my hands to operate. It fires, the stove is lit, and I’m able to warm my hands to finish setting the tarp up. Praise the Lord, who takes care of fools like me, and thank God I bought that lighter!

Once the tarp is set, I miraculously manage a perfect hammock set on the first try again. Somehow, it’s all coming together. In spite of my industriousness, I have yet to get warm, and I know I have to get in some dry clothes. I have worn most of my clothes while paddling in the tough weather today, but thankfully I do have a dry pair of socks, a lower base layer, basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and a fleece I can put on. It’s not much, but combined with my hammock insulation, it will do for tonight.

Even before I crawl into the hammock, I feel instantly better. I cram most of my gear under the tarp, and take special care to set up all of my necessary food/cooking gear within reach of the hammock. While I know it’s a generally bad idea to eat in or near the hammock, there is no way I am venturing out in this tempest anymore tonight. My thermos lunch is cold, but still satisfying. I follow it up with a piping hot bowl of tomato soup that I rehydrate, easily the most comforting bowl of soup I’ve ever eaten, anywhere. Aside from prepping tomorrow’s thermos breakfast and lunch, tidying my cooking gear, then stashing the bear bag, I never leave the warmth and shelter of my hammock. As chaotic as this day has been, I’m now safe, warm, and comfortable. Even with my late arrival, I am asleep at 9:00, my earliest bedtime yet for this trip.

Stars are dancing on the water here tonight
It's good for the soul when there's not a soul in sight
This boat has caught its wind and brought me back to life
Now I'm alive and well
Kenny Chesney (with Dave Matthews) “I’m Alive”
I awaken at 2 AM to use the latrine, and for some reason I am unable to get back to sleep. Perhaps there is still a bit of adrenaline running in my blood from this eventful day, or I’m just eager to get an early jump off of this inhospitable rock and on my way to the shores of Grandpa, which I envision as tranquil and loaded with fish with a perfect campsite. I switch on my old friend the weather radio to see if the forecast will be any better for the coming day. No significant rain chances, and still windy, but not as bad as this past day was. I toss and turn a bit more, then I need to use the bathroom again.

When I exit the hammock, I see the full moon, shining bright as a spotlight from a police helicopter. It is so bright that a sharp black shadow is cast behind me. After 2-3 days of nothing but gray clouds and rain, the skies have cleared, and even the wind has noticeably calmed down. The beauty of this solitary moment in the middle of the night is so majestic, it borders on the mystical. Who could have ever imagined that when I pulled into from this campsite not more than six hours ago, I would feel the indifferent violence of Mother Nature, soon followed by a tranquil beauty so pristine, it defies description?

There is something innate in humanity that seeks these contrasts between rugged beauty and life-threatening violence, that sees deep, abiding beauty in this “edge” that simply isn’t felt in everyday life. When we stand close to this violent edge, it’s like looking Mother Nature Herself in the eye. Usually, She goes about her daily business, seemingly oblivious to our presence. At other times, she snaps back with authority, scolding us for growing too comfortable, too cavalier in Her presence. And once in a great while, She allows us one single moment of seeing a mere fraction of Her beauty and love. There have been better campsites, more scenic portages, and more tranquil moments on this trip. But this moment feels like a sign from God, delivered via His creation, the wilderness. On a barren rock in the middle of the northwoods night on Alpine Lake, God, via Mother Nature tells me: “You drew too near today. You forgot the unfeeling power exists in this majestic, wild world that I have created. You had to suffer, because you had to learn. But you have learned. You are my son, you are never alone, and I love you.”

Stats—>Lakes: 9| Paddle distance: 10.1 miles|Portages: 9 + 1 rapids run|Rods: 394 (1.2 miles)|Travel time: 8 hours

~Little Saganaga Lake, Rattle Lake, Gabimichigami Lake, Agamok Lake, Mueller Lake, Ogishkemuncie Lake, Kingfisher Lake, Jasper Lake, Alpine Lake