Friday, June 05, 2026

Our goal for the first full travel day was to make it to Moose Lake. That meant a long paddle across Clearwater, several miles on Mountain Lake, and a handful of portages before finally reaching Moose. The forecast had been calling for rain most of the morning with it clearing out around 8:00. Our plan was to take it easy around the lodge, let the weather pass, and then really put some miles behind us. That plan changed in a hurry.
John woke up around 4:30 and peeked outside. Instead of rain, he saw clear skies and the first light of the morning creeping over the trees. A few seconds later we were all scrambling around the bunkhouse like kids on Christmas morning. Nobody wanted to waste a minute of good weather. After loading the canoes and packing everything up, we were just about ready to shove off when I realized I couldn't find my rain jacket. With the forecast calling for rain over the next few days, that wasn't something I wanted to leave behind. After a couple minutes of searching, Kev spotted it laying on one of the top bunks where I had tossed it during the morning chaos. Crisis avoided.
We officially pushed off around 5:20. Clearwater Lake looked like a sheet of glass. There wasn't even enough wind to wrinkle the surface. It felt like the whole wilderness was still asleep. I started trolling a big spoon right away, hoping to pick up a lake trout and keep my hopes alive for a grand slam on the trip. Before long Kev and I noticed the canoe kept pulling to the right. Neither of us had any coffee yet, but somehow we were both convinced the other guy was paddling wrong. We each defended our side until I reeled in my line. Instantly the canoe tracked perfectly straight. Turns out the lure had been steering us the whole time. We looked at each other, laughed, apologized, and went right back to talking about anything and everything. As we paddled past the Palisades, we couldn't stop looking up. Those cliffs rise out of the lake like giant stone walls guarding the wilderness. We found ourselves talking about everything from how tall they really are to what the view must look like standing on top. We even drifted into conversations about creation and just how incredible a place like this is. It's pretty amazing that something this beautiful is right here in our own state. As we neared our first portage, the clouds started building and a light sprinkle began to fall. We figured it would probably blow over. The plan was to single portage and keep making good time. John and Ryan took off ahead like the pack mules they are and made it across without breaking a sweat. Kev and I weren't quite as graceful. It didn't take long for both of us to realize we had packed way too heavy. I started with the canoe on my shoulders, but about twenty rods in I was completely gassed. I leaned the canoe against a tree and kept going with my pack instead. John passed me on his way back and, without saying much, grabbed my pack and carried it the rest of the way. I was grateful because I was already feeling the weight of the day, and we had barely gotten started.
By the time we pushed out onto Mountain Lake, that light sprinkle had turned into a steady downpour. One lake into the trip and we were soaked. Not exactly the start we pictured for a four- or five-mile paddle. Thankfully, about a mile later the rain let up and patches of blue sky started breaking through. The sun felt like someone had turned the heater back on. Our clothes slowly started drying, our spirits picked back up, and we settled into a rhythm. Before long we had crossed Mountain Lake and were making quick work of the portages toward Moose. Near the end of Mountain I figured it was my last real chance to catch a lake trout, so I spent some time dragging a line. I had several bites and even hooked one for a few seconds, but it came off before I could get it to the canoe. That was probably my best shot at a laker for the trip. Oh well. There will always be next time.
Then we reached Moose Lake. What a gorgeous lake. The sun was shining, the wind had disappeared again, and the water stretched out in front of us like polished blue glass. This had been our goal for the day, so we started looking for a campsite where we could at least stop for lunch and decide what to do next. Kev paddled while I picked up my rod and started casting, hoping to put our first fish dinner together. On about my second or third cast my rod doubled over.
"IT'S A MONSTER! IT'S A MONSTER!"
Somehow I managed to land it, and before long we had a healthy bass on the stringer. It wasn't the lake trout I had been hoping for, but after a morning like that I wasn't about to complain.

When we pulled into the campsite, though, the excitement faded pretty quickly. The whole site was covered with small jagged rocks, there wasn't much room to spread out, and the mosquitoes were absolutely relentless. They swarmed around us like tiny helicopters and seemed completely immune to bug spray. They even bit right through our shirts. It didn't take long before we all looked at each other and came to the same conclusion. The weather was finally cooperating, we were feeling strong, and none of us wanted to spend the night there.
So we packed everything back into the canoes, pushed away from shore, and kept heading east. We finished crossing Moose in what felt like no time and rolled into North Fowl Lake feeling pretty good. Every lake we paddled seemed more beautiful than the last. I think all four of us probably said, "This might be the prettiest one yet," at least once on every lake we crossed. North Fowl welcomed us with a light headwind that didn't seem like much at first, but once we rounded the first peninsula it was like somebody flipped a switch. That gentle breeze turned into a full-on wall of wind, and from that point on it was time to put our heads down and paddle. For the next couple of hours, we earned every inch across that lake. Kevin and I still managed to laugh and talk through most of it, but by the final stretch we'd both run out of things to say. The only sounds were our paddles digging into the water and the wind pushing back like it had something to prove. Somewhere along the way we also realized we'd forgotten to bring a second map. Rookie mistake. The funny part is we'd spent so much time helping first-timers get organized on our last few trips that we forgot to organize ourselves. Since everyone on this trip already had the gear and experience, we got a little lazy with our own planning. Kev and I became convinced John and Ryan had to be going the wrong way. We even talked about stopping to wait for them to realize it and come back, which, looking back, would've been a pretty embarrassing decision because John was exactly where he was supposed to be. At this point I've learned it's usually better to trust John's navigation than my own confidence.

Eventually we reached the next portage and were relieved to know it was supposed to be our second-to-last of the day. We still had the Royal River to paddle and one final portage into John Lake before camp, but at least the finish line finally felt like it was getting closer. By then I was running on fumes. The inside of both my elbows were screaming, and I found myself changing my paddle stroke every few minutes just to give different muscles a break. Even so, everyone's spirits stayed high because we knew the hardest part had to be almost over.
The Royal River was absolutely gorgeous.
As the sun started dropping lower, the water reflected the evening light like liquid gold. After fighting the wind all afternoon, it felt like the wilderness was finally cutting us a break. Near the end of the river we spotted some rapids spilling into a pool that just looked fishy. It was exactly the kind of spot where you'd want to throw a line, especially after a day like we'd had. A fresh fish dinner sounded about perfect. So we reached for our rods...and they weren't there. We looked around the canoe a second time, hoping maybe we'd just overlooked them. Nope. Then all four of us realized the same thing at once. The rods were still sitting back at the start of the last portage into the Royal River.
That one hurt.
We came up with a plan. John and Ryan would keep heading to John Lake, find a campsite, and start getting settled while Kev and I hauled our gear across the portage, grabbed our water bottles, and jumped back in the canoe. Naturally, paddling back down the river meant heading straight into another headwind. By that point it honestly felt like the wind had been following us around all day, just waiting for another chance to slow us down. I was completely spent. When we reached the portage, Kev offered to go the rest of the way himself while I sat down for a few minutes and caught my breath. I wasn't about to argue. After I'd recovered a little, I walked down the trail to meet him halfway, and before long we had the rods back in the canoe. Somehow that little victory was enough to lift everyone's spirits. We even celebrated with a little whiskey before turning around and heading back toward John Lake. The funny thing was we'd been looking forward to finally having a tailwind on the paddle back. Instead, the sun slipped behind the hills, the air settled down, and the wind disappeared completely. Figures. All we could do was laugh and keep paddling.
Eventually we made it back to the last portage and crossed into John Lake. We were almost done...assuming John and Ryan had actually found us a campsite. Small lakes don't leave you with many options, and there was always the chance every site was already taken. Our backup plan was simple. If they couldn't find one, they'd meet us back at the landing. As we climbed the last hill on that final portage, I could feel my heart pounding. After everything that had happened that afternoon, I wasn't sure I had another setback left in me. When we reached the landing, nobody was there. Oddly enough, that gave us a little hope. Then I spotted a canoe out on the lake with someone wearing what looked exactly like John's bright orange hat. My heart sank. We climbed into the canoe and started paddling toward him, already convinced they hadn't found a campsite. As we got closer, we realized it wasn't John at all. Just another guy wearing an orange hat. We both laughed, looked toward where we remembered the campsites being, and way off in the distance I thought I saw Ryan. Sure enough, it was him. The relief hit us like a wave. Kev and I were so exhausted we started quietly singing Luke Combs as we paddled into camp. I think the lack of sleep and miles of paddling had finally started catching up to us.
After what was one of the longest travel days I've ever had in the Boundary Waters, we finally pulled into camp. The mosquitoes were every bit as bad as they'd been all day, but by then none of us even cared. I jumped in the lake for a quick rinse, changed into dry clothes, ate dinner, helped hang the food pack, crawled into my sleeping bag, and was asleep almost immediately. Even though I was completely worn out, sleep didn't come easy that night. Between what sounded like a thousand mosquitoes buzzing outside the tent and thinking about my family back home, I found myself missing the comfort of my own bed.
It had been a brutally long day, but looking back, it's also one of the days I remember most.

~Clearwater Lake, Mountain Lake, Moose Lake, North Fowl Lake, Royal Lake, John Lake