The Boundary Waters: Report, Conclusion
To stretch our legs, we walked the portage trail that bypassed the falls, thankful that we didn't have to carry anything along the narrow track. Our portage trails had been wide and unobstructed while this one was just wide enough for one person at a time and was full of ankle-twisting pitfalls. Making it across and back, we sat on the rocks along the water's edge, eating our lunch and enjoying the scenery. A group of fly fishermen were trolling the pool below the falls- apparently it's a great spot, but I don't think they'd caught anything that day.
Walking back to our canoe, my friend and I were debating the likelihood that the wind had completely changed course and would blow us back to camp. Not likely, but we were hoping. While we were still in the protected area around the falls, we decided it would be a shame to come all this way and not cross into Canada. Paddling over the international boundary line, we pulled alongside an island on the Canadian side and touched rock.
Back to more strenuous matters, luck wasn't with us. We had a hard paddle into the wind the whole way back. A section that had taken us just an hour to get to the falls took us two and a half to get back. Tired of fighting the wind, I checked the map for a shortcut and found a nearby portage point, cutting a large chunk of paddling off our route and dropping us into a small, protected lake. I redirected towards the portage, which put us squarely into the wind and waves the size of our boat, and we pushed through. And then a miracle happened. As we were pulling into the portage, drained and aching, another group was doing the same thing. While we were chatting, they pulled out and shared around some vodka concoction they'd had the foresight to pack. Ah, lovely, lovely alcohol.
Fortified with new strength, we heaved our canoe up the track only to discover that it was even worse than the trail we'd walked earlier that day. There were lots of "rock", "mud", "puddle", and "tree" warnings pouring from my friend, and the canoe was set down on several occasions while we tried to figure out ways to negotiate the canoe through particularly tricky areas. The trail was so narrow that at times I was smooshed up against trees to maneuver the canoe around the next bend or over the next tree lying across our path. I nearly lost a shoe to ground suction and my friend just gave up and took hers off. With the end in sight, we paused while she removed leeches from her feet.
The instant we set the canoe in the water, the skies clouded over and opened up. More of the fat, slapping rain from the day before was pelting into us. Ponchos on, we started across the little lake, calm and out of the wind. But as we neared the junction with the larger Pipestone Lake, the water lost its cool and started bouncing us around. And then a thunderclap pealed immediately to our right. Heads down and feet dug in, we paddled like mad for our campsite. It took us another forty-five minutes to get there, and by then we had given up any hope of a fire around which we could dry off. Fortunately, the evening was warm. Wet and cold would have killed me, but as it was, I just needed a towel and some dry clothes. Just as our campsite came into view, the heavy rain broke and we were rewarded with an incredible rainbow that arched over the entirety of our lake.
Too tired to cook, we settled into our sleeping bags and finished off our sandwich provisions. Ten minutes later, the rain ceased altogether. Jumping on the opportunity, I hurried outside to make hot chocolate. As it turned out, it didn't rain again until we were asleep, and then only a misting.
In the morning, the clouds looked heavy and pregnant again, but the water was calm. We took our time making breakfast, cleaning up and packing our gear. Just for fun, and because I hadn't had a chance the last two nights, I started a fire in the grate. Though the morning wasn't chilly, the heat felt good and the snap and crackle of the flames made me feel as if I were properly camping.
Clean up accomplished, camp broken and the fire thoroughly doused, we set out to head back south. We had two and a half hours of paddling and two horrid portages, and we were hoping to get out before the rain hit. It never did, and we made it into shore safely minus the additional mosquito bites. I had wrapped my personal bag in plastic to keep it dry, but this prevented me from using the straps to carry it. Instead, I trucked it across in my arms. As the mosquitoes would bite, I couldn't get at them. I had one mozzie on my upper arm that I tried blowing off, but even in the wind tunnel I created he wouldn't let go. I could see his legs flying in the air behind him, but he was attached to me via his proboscis and just hung on. Those guys are gladiator tough. I had a particularly nasty one on my neck that I could feel as the sucker was biting into me. Not able to reach it with my arms full of equipment, I started shouting at my friend to slap me. She did with random abandon, even though she didn't know why until I showed her my neck. After she killed the mozzie, I commented that she might have enjoyed the slapping a bit too much. She just smiled. I guess a few days in the wilderness will have that effect on people. Or maybe it's just me.
Regardless, we made it back to shore, drove back to town, checked in and celebrated with a hot shower and clean clothes. Acting on the advice of the gentleman at the outfitters, we went to The Boathouse for dinner. It was an excellent choice. They brew their own beer on site and serve amazing, greasy, delicious food- just what a body needs after an adventure like ours. As a testament to how hard we'd worked ourselves over the past few days, we were still hungry after licking our plates clean, so we crossed the street for some homemade ice-cream. We walked up and down the main drag through town while devouring our cones. Ely, Minnesota, is an adorable little town with lots of tourist shops, a wolf center and live music serenading from bar balconies. It was perfect. And just to wrap up our little expedition, we grabbed a six pack and drove out to Moose Lake, about twenty miles out of town, to sit on the dock and drink the sun down.
Retiring into our bunkhouse for the night, it was a real pleasure to sleep on a mattress rather than a rock. And in an attempt to see Ely's other main attraction, I stepped outside around midnight, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights didn't show themselves that night, but the plethora of stars almost made up for it. It was a cold, clear, cloudless night, and the stars were giant globes of light compared to what we can see from the city.
It was only after getting back from the trip, once we were in the car actually, that I even remembered my phone. I hadn't had it with me for four days, and I found I didn't miss it a bit. I definitely need to get back to nature more often.
