Day 0: Travel Day
June 11th-12th, 2026
In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines

Sprung from cages out on highway nine

Chrome wheeled, fuel injected, and steppin’ out over the line

Oh, baby this town rips the bones from your back,

It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap,

We gotta get out while we’re young

’Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run

~Bruce Springsteen, “Born to Run”

In spite of the late hour, striking out on our grand voyage fills us both with an energy that can’t be duplicated in everyday life. I’m surprised and further energized when Andrew’s discussion of his planned fitness routines for summer dovetail into a lengthy discourse on the virtue of discipline. While I know Andrew has grown taller and stronger over the past year, I am taken aback by the maturity of his thoughts as we riff back and forth on routine, discipline, and making right sacrifices in life for the greater good. After a few hours, the early excitement wears off and Andrew finally drops off to sleep just past midnight.

Left alone with my thoughts and the sound of the road, I turn on the audiobook I have for this year’s drive: The classic “Endurance” by Alfred Lansing, about Ernest Shackleton’s incredible Antarctic voyage. When I start to feel sleepy in Iowa, I switch to a few podcasts that also riff on the themes of discipline and routine…It’s amazing how quickly my kids have transitioned from looking to me for inspiration to inspiring me! After those, I listen to my BWCA bird calls sound tracks, hoping that I can finally get a better handle on those warbler calls (spoiler alert: I don’t…maybe studying them when sleep deprived doesn’t work too well!)

As the sun rises in north central Iowa, I take a call from Shawn, the friend that came with me on my very first trip four years ago. His call is soon followed by another old friend, Mike, a conversation that carries me all the way through Minneapolis. These calls save me during a sleepy time! I am so very thankful for my friends that take the time to catch up and help keep me energized on this drive and all throughout the year!

Andrew is still dozing off and on, but when he’s awake, we listen to this years “Birdament” on the Tumblehome podcast. After the stunning view of Superior as we roll down the hill into Duluth, we turn on to highway 61 and our energy really begins to flag. While Andrew sleeps, my fatigued mind slips into worry and anxiety about our trip. Andrew’s first trip last year was a resounding success, filled with lots of great fishing, laughter, and campfires where we truly connected with one another in a profound way. How could this year’s trip possibly beat that? What if we don’t catch as many fish? The weather looks like it could be tougher, how will we handle that? What if our increased amount of travel and length of the trip proves to be too much to handle? Every wilderness trip has that moment of angst, where you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the icy cold depths…except you somehow doubt the water is safe, or if it will even be there to catch you.

We pass through Grand Marais and arrive at the Hungry Hippie Hostel northeast of town at 1 P.M., so early that we have to ask ourselves “Now what will we do?” The hostel is clean, with a great view, and very comfortable. It will work just fine as a stopover before we head to the end of the Gunflint Trail for a shake out day trip tomorrow. The angst and worries are still there, but we busy ourselves with tidying up the car and prepping our gear for tomorrow’s trip. When that’s done, we head into town for a pack of brats to grill at the hostel, which is a treat compared to the dehydrated meal we were planning on eating. After taking our traditional photo by the Gunflint Trail sign, we take a quick walk around Artist Point in Grand Marais, where we marvel at the clear, aquamarine water of Lake Superior.

As we return to the hostel, Andrew keeps telling me as he looks out at the chop on Lake Superior, “I think we could paddle out to Five Mile Rock if we had to.” I tell him there is no way on earth I plan to paddle a canoe on Superior in any kind of chop and that I don’t think it would be much fun at all! He is so insistent I start to actually believe he’s not trying to be ridiculous. I tell him that considering the wind forecast for our entry day on Sunday, he’s likely going to be learning a thing or two about paddling in choppy waters this year. After our gourmet supper of three bratwurst apiece plus a couple handfuls of cheez-its, we play a game of chess in our room. In spite of intending to improve at chess for what seems like my whole life (and especially leading up to this trip), I don’t stand a chance against Andrew, even though he just picked up the game this year. I not only get beat, but I’m falling asleep at the board, in spite of the sun beaming through the window at this 6:00 hour. We will portage to Gulf Lake tomorrow at first light in order to allow plenty of fishing time before returning to Grand Marais for Mass tomorrow night, so it’s time for bed anyway. Aside from me talking in my sleep, we both sleep soundly, taking a few hours to disconnect our brains from the uncertainty and fatigue that has assailed them on this day. Tomorrow, we will rise anew.

Stats—> Miles: 964 | Drive time: 13:15 | Breaks: 1 hour