Serenity, Solitude And Soggy Socks In The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness
Gusty blasts that shook our tent during the night blew away thick clouds and rain showers, bringing morning sunshine that sparkled on Cherokee Lake when my son Tom and I crawled from sleeping bags last week.
This was our third day of a five-day paddle in the fabled Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, a million-plus-acre pristine expanse of lakes, streams, bogs and woodlands within the vast Superior National Forest of northeastern Minnesota.
This chilly morning – frost coated the moss at our island campsite – intensified one of the days’ most challenging moments: tugging soggy, icy neoprene socks over bare feet.
“I’m saving that for the last possible moment,” I told Tom as he untied a line we had rigged the night before to hoist two large food bags 15 feet off the ground, away from red squirrels, chipmunks and most important, hungry bears.
“Me too,” Tom said, firing up a backpacking butane stove to prepare our breakfast of oatmeal infused with peanut butter.
Around camp, we shuffled around in winter parkas, fleece pants, wool socks and felt slippers, but launching an 18-foot canoe laden with more than 100 pounds of gear over jumbled rocks required stepping knee-deep into bone-numbing water. We therefore found it more comfortable, after the initial shock, to wear neoprene socks under sandals or running shoes while paddling, as well as shedding long pants for shorts to avoid soaking cuffs.
Shadows receded as the sun slowly rose above a dense canopy of white cedar, pine and spruce, allowing a beam of light to spread over a flat granite slab near the shore – a perfect breakfast nook. Sufficiently nourished 15 minutes later, we rolled up sleeping bags, dismantled the tent, jammed gear into half a dozen large, rubber dry bags, and lugged them close to the launch site.
“Moment of truth,” I said. Tom nodded.
The frigid shock of wet neoprene gradually dissipated once we carried the 42-pound Kevlar canoe to the water, clipped dry bags to thwarts, clambered aboard and started paddling – furiously at first to generate heat and then at a more relaxed cadence as we steered deeper into the wild.
Though the Boundary Waters comprise the most visited wilderness in the country, Tom and I had them largely to ourselves in early October. Not only had most humans left for the season, bugs also had virtually disappeared.
A cerulean sky accentuated the glow of birch leaves awash in autumn gold. The canoe’s bow sliced through clear water as we skimmed past tall grasses and lichen-covered cliffs. A fish jumped. A tern swooped. A scoter dived. In the distance a woodpecker rat-tat-tatted.
I pulled off my balaclava and unzipped a nylon shell beneath my life jacket.
“Like old times,” I mused, reflecting on all the adventures Tom and I have shared over the years. We’ve climbed together all 67 of New England’s mountains that rise above 4,000 feet; hiked Vermont’s 272-mile Long Trail from the Massachusetts to Canadian border; and kayaked Lake Champlain. We even both ran the Boston Marathon the year of and after the infamous bombing – though it would be inaccurate to report that we competed together, since Tom is a much faster runner.
He also just finished a season as a certified kayak guide on Minnesota’s Lake Superior and has led cross-country ski, snowshoe, hiking and rafting trips.
I was happy to have Tom take the “pilot” seat in the canoe stern for much of our journey, and also that he served as navigator. As Wordsworth observed, my heart leaped up; the child is father of the man.
Tom relied on old-school skills: a compass and map rather than a Global Positioning System and other modern technology that serves many outdoors adventurers well – until it doesn’t.
The Boundary Waters are an exquisite national treasure, but like all wilderness areas, can be unforgiving. Minnesota is the Land of 10,000 Lakes, and most of them must lie in this huge region that extends across the nearby Canadian border well into Ontario and beyond.
Visitors must be prepared not only to paddle, camp and sever ties with civilization – motor boats are prohibited, and there are no hotels or cellphone service – but also to portage canoes and gear between lakes and streams over rocky, hilly and muddy trails for distances ranging from a few hundred feet to several miles.
Maps show portage distances in rods (one rod measures 16½ feet) and our longest carry, which we broke up into two trips, extended 180 rods, or more than half a mile.
For the most part Tom, bless his heart and strong back, hefted the canoe onto his shoulders using a built-in padded yoke, while I lugged gear in a backpack and in my arms.
We also had to drag the canoe over and around several beaver dams inconveniently constructed across marked waterways. In all we paddled more than 40 miles of lakes, ponds, rivers and streams, and tramped back and forth on about 5 miles of portages.
Not surprisingly neither of us had much problem wolfing down enormous quantities of food. During the day we snacked on apples, peanuts, energy bars and peanut butter sandwiches. Our evening meals, cooked over an open fire, included combinations of couscous, bouillon, Spanish rice, chili, tempeh, kale and miso soup. We also polished off a box of cookies.
This is the first of a two-part account. Next week, I’ll write about the animals we encountered and reflect on the subtle attitude shift we experienced delving deeper into the wilderness.
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