The Boundary Waters: Report
Not knowing much about the vast expanse of the Boundary Waters, my friend and I were at a loss when trying to pinpoint where exactly we wanted to go. Looking for a relaxing weekend of canoeing, camping and perhaps some fishing, our requirements didn't narrow our choices at all- everywhere in the Boundary Waters is purportedly good for all three.
After reviewing several websites of companies listed on the Boundary Waters Trip Planning Guide provided by the National Forest Service, we settled on Canoe Country Outfitters. They've been in business for 65 years, are centrally located to the region and are reasonably priced. Feeling lost and not knowing where to begin, it took just one phone call to the company and we had everything sorted. After inquiring as to our planned activities and how much we wanted to portage (as little as possible, thank you), they suggested we drop in at Fall Lake, canoe across, portage for about a quarter mile, paddle a bit further, and portage again for about a city block, which would drop us into the international waterway shared by the US and Canada. Setting up camp in the area would give us easy accessibility to several waterfalls and other attractions while minimizing our portage time. Canoeing is one thing. Carrying a sixty-five pound canoe loaded down with the extra weight of our gear (including stove, food, tents, personal luggage, sleeping bags, etc.) overland is something else. Being that it was just my friend and I on the trip, we thought the phrase 'minimum portage' sounded great.
Our plan was to make the six hour drive up to Ely on Friday and check into a hotel for the night, wanting to wake rested and refreshed for an early morning start. It sounded so simple.
Instead, my friend called early Friday to tell me she was going to be delayed due to some last minute running around. We finally left three hours late, which put us into rush hour as we got into the Minneapolis / St. Paul area (referred to as 'The Cities" in these parts). And, typical to Minnesota summers, we hit road work, adding to the traffic jam. That was another hour. Finally making it to Duluth, a town on Lake Superior that was mildly reminiscent of the Seattle I-5 corridor, we had to make another stop to replace a forgotten swimsuit. By the time we got back on the road, night was falling. At a nearby gas station, we received directions and a warning to watch out for moose on the road. Looking out at the darkness, then at each other, we decided to stay in Duluth for the night- the remainder of the drive would be on a two lane unlit stretch of wooded road. And my car doesn't come equipped with a moose catcher. Sadly for us, there was a county fair in the area and all decent hotels were booked out. We wound up finally finding a room at a scary motel where we had to wedge a chair under the door to keep it shut and do a closet and under the bed check for dead bodies. Not a good omen for the upcoming trip.
Waking up in the morning (quite a feat, considering), we finished the drive and checked in with our outfitter company. Or tried to. When we first walked in to the shop, everyone was sitting around eating lunch. Asking for some help, we were told to come back in five to ten minutes so they could finish eating. Shocked and a little annoyed, we waited the appointed time and then tried again, this time with more success. They walked us through the rules and regs of the area, showed us the gear they were providing, and had us select life jackets and paddles. They also provided us with an extra large rucksack to stow our personal gear in, minimizing the number of back and forth trips on the portages. Then they mentioned the bears. Cute black bears, not grizzlies, but bears nonetheless. We weren't likely to run into them, but the shop could provide a bear-proof food barrel if that would make us more comfortable. Yes, please.
All of this was sent over to our drop in point at Fall Lake, and we were on our way. Much delayed by the day before, we finally got on the water around two in the afternoon. We figured that would be enough time to make both portages and set up camp roughly in the same spot we'd previously planned. We were late, but we could make up the time.
Getting into the canoe and pushing off, I dipped my paddle into the calm water and realized I hadn't been in a canoe since the bygone days of summer camp. Two strokes in and it all came back to me. My friend and I got into a nice rhythm and before we knew it we were at the first portage.
Unloading the oversized bags, we each strapped one to our backs and one to our fronts, and wound up looking like strange pack animals. Aside from the weight, the bags were surprisingly comfortable. Off we marched to the entry to Newton Lake, only a quarter mile away according to the shop. I think that needs to be re-measured. Maybe it was the strain of carrying our heavy bags, but I'm pretty sure it was closer to half a mile. And we still had to get the canoe across.
We did luck out on the canoe though. We had paid for a sixty-five pounder, but they took pity on us city girls and gave us the lighter version instead. At only forty-five pounds, we stood a chance of actually being able to carry it. There's a nifty cross bar in the middle of the canoe with cushioned shoulder supports, allowing one to flip the canoe and lift the load over your head. I tried it for the first portage and wound up with a strained back. We each took an end and carried it right-side up after that.
Finally having moved everything from one lake to the other, we decided to stop and smell the roses. Actually, to look at the cataract between the lakes which had made the portage necessary in the first place. They were beautiful. And my aching arms decided they probably wouldn't be all that difficult to navigate, so why did we have to haul everything over land? In reality, they would have been very dangerous to attempt in a canoe, but I couldn't convince my body of that at the moment.
As we were making our way back to the canoe and the next lake, a couple of fishermen came out of the woods. We exchanged pleasantries, and then they warned us of a nasty thunderstorm that was supposed to set in by six o'clock. As much as we wanted to get the second portage out of the way, we decided getting caught out on the lake during the storm would probably be unpleasant. We set camp for the night about half an hour further up Newton. Basically, we found the first available campsite and battened down the hatches.
The Boundary Waters has a certain number of permits allowed each day for each entry point, but there are no campsite reservations. While groups must stay at an official campsite consisting of a fire pit and latrine, demarcated on the map by red dots, you won't know which specific site you'll be taking over until you get there. It's first come, first served. My map showed only two red dots in the area we were in, and, afraid the other site would be taken, we decided to take the first spot we could and ride out the storm. Pitching our tent and hurriedly getting our gear stored inside, we made a fire, boiled water and snacked on gorp and sandwiches. We didn't know how long we had until the storm broke, so we weren't looking to go gourmet. Who wants to do dishes in a downpour?
(Read the continuation of The Boundary Waters: Report in next week's blog)
