BWCA Trip 2004
Trip Report
The seeds for this trip were planted in December 2003 with an innocent email from Pyker inquiring if I was interested in a BW trip for the coming year. After a lengthy 20 or 30-second debate I replied with an affirmative. Let the obsession begin.
Through the ensuing months we assembled a crew of resolute beginners (myself included) to go along with Pykers veteran skills in the wilderness. The final manifest included:
Pyker a.k.a. The Admiral
SteveB a.k.a. Pack Mule
RickG a.k.a. Wine-bearer
Wesd a.k.a. Humble Scribe
The Crew was assembled from various locales, Lansing MI, Binghamton NY, Knoxville TN, and Pittsburgh PA. Amazingly we all had common interest and absence of mind to accept the invitation in good faith. A fine adventure with potential for life-long stories and calamities worthy of speculative novels
.(the Donner Party).
The first challenge was one of logistics. RickG and myself determined to meet via driven vehicle at a point in Indiana common to both our routes. SteveB and Pyker rendezvoused at the Lansing airport and proceeded the Ely, MN from there. Despite the eschewed outlook of modern communication the two groups used cellular phones to eventually meet in Ely at the Chocolate Moose on the morning of September 11 for breakfast before the final staging of the trip.
The remainder of the day was spent as tourists in the Mecca of paddling. We checked into Smittys on Snowbank for the night and with the help of some local micro-brews managed to consolidate all gear required for the next six days without more than 40% redundancy. This was in itself an accomplishment. Certainly if the local authorities had looked in on our bunkhouse they would have ascertained we had sacked the nearest Cabelas and arrested us on the spot. We set the shuttle for a take out approximately a 10-minute drive from the entry point. It occurred to me at this time that we intended to haul two vehicles worth of gear, boats and crew from this take-out with one vehicle barely large enough to haul two-persons and gear, once again my inexperience would manifest itself six days later.
Day 1:
The decision had been made to accept the tow across the entry point at Snowbank Lake to avoid a five-mile open lake crossing at the initiation of the trip. This proved a wise decision as we were met with 20+ mph winds and whitecaps at the launch point. The tow proved to be more of a lift. The procedure being to load the canoes across the gunnels of the 14 deep v, 25 HP fishing boats and throw the gear in where it could fit. Add to this the additional load of passengers and the stage was set for the first potential disaster.
My partner RickG and I are both around 210# and with unknown intention the Admiral stowed the provision bag in the bow of our towboat. With Rick and I in the bow along with the 70# food bag and a cross-wise canoe the trek across Snowbank was tenuous at best. Consider that a 14 boat, bow-heavy with an underpowered motor plowing into 2 whitecaps can be an exciting ride, the fact that we were dressed for something less than a storm at sea resulted in a thorough soaking before a paddle touched the water. Some 20 minutes after the Admiral had disembarked, the Wine-bearer and Humble Scribe arrived at the initial portage only after assisting the lift operator via paddling off the rocks guarding the route to the landing. What took you so long? said the Admiral. A side note to this needs mention. With the heavily front loaded boat, plowing though the waves resulted in the DRENCHING of those aboard. This was not merely bow-spray this was indeed waves over the bow. I repeat, not yet a canoe on the water
Upon disembarking the tow-boat the driver wished us good luck with a touch of smugness and a bit of a sneer, this seemed lost to the other crewmembers. We moved across a 50-rod portage to an unnamed pond, which was no longer than the portage. After successful disembark we discovered that the waist packs of RickG and me were left at the trailing end of the pond. The Admiral commandeered my bow paddler RickG and backtracked to fetch the missing packs with admonishment that nothing more would be left behind.
We then portaged a short 30-rod distance to Boot Lake. The paddle across was uneventful and no more than a mile in distance. The following portage was 220 rods. This was something the crew was unprepared for. The mathematics of the distance = 320 rods = 1 mile. This equates to 0.69 miles. The Admiral wisely omitted this information from the pre-portage talk. Approximately 7 miles into the portage the Pack Mule and I had a brief verbal exchange regarding the hallucination of a perfectly passable waterway on our right. This proved to be uncanny in that we both had the same hallucination within less than half a minute. We followed our infallible leader and of course landed at the correct put-in. Ensign Lake lay before us.
After a nice paddle across Ensign we portaged a mere 180 rods to Vera Lake and paddled another distance to a vacant campsite where we took lunch. Lunch consisted of hard tack and pemmican with rations of water. As a reward the Admiral allowed dried grain with a modicum of honey. This proved to be a huge buoy to the crews morale. From Vera Lake a mere 200-rod portage to Knife Lake and some 5 miles of paddling would reach our intended campsite. But alas, interlopers no doubt intent on creating mutiny within our foray occupied the intended sites. Within minutes it was decided to take on another portage to an infrequently used lake. Bonnie Lake was a 33-rod portage and we found a suitable and fairly spectacular site after the long forced march.
Most of this day spent traveling I was privy to a curious site. The Admiral had somehow managed to stow all the gear for his boat and the community food and kitchen into three large portage packs. The largest of these appeared to have its own set of LEGS! This was astonishing for the first two long portages then I learned the truth. At the end of the portage the large pack lay down on its side and from behind it strode the Pack Mule. SteveB was under the damn thing all along but with the size of the pack I never saw anything but the legs.
We set up camp and began dinner preparations. Pyker proved to be the consummate camp chef and soon we feasted on fire-cooked chicken and sausage with sliced potatoes and onion (al dente). The Wine-bearer produced a small cask, which he had secreted in his pack and we filled our cups with cabernet sauvignon and basked in the glow of the campfire and the days travel.
Day 2:
We woke to a brilliant day and after a breakfast of skillet toasted bagels and coffee we set about breaking camp. With loaded canoes the plan was to fish Bonnie Lake for a while before moving to the next portage. We all caught some pike and after an hour or so crossed the 25-rods to Spoon Lake. We noticed a fair chop on the lake and a good breeze in our face. This proved to be a prevailing theme for the day. We fished the lee side of Spoon for another hour and then another 25-rod portage to Kekekabic Lake. Upon arrival we were greeted with 1 to 1-1/2 foot rollers and whitecaps. Kekekabic is a fairly large lake and the portage was directly across the largest north to south dimension. The Admiral held discussion regarding this open water crossing and it was decided to load the boats and test the waters for 50 feet or so before committing to the crossing. We paddled directly into the wind and waves making for the lee side of a large island. 30 minutes of solid paddling to cover the ¾ mile stretch to the island and we took a break. The remaining distance to the south shore was perhaps a third as far and with far less wind and waves to contend with we crossed in good time. A lunch break was called at an unoccupied site and we discussed the rest of the day.
By this time we were off the beaten track and saw no one else for the remainder of the day. After an 85-rod portage we crossed Strup Lake still contending with wind and whitecaps. Then after a short 10-rod portage to Wisini Lake, we scouted the closest site and chose to move the next site. Again battling headwinds we found the most incredible site. Elevated some 20 or 30 feet above the lake with rock shelves to climb up this site provided a breathtaking vista in every direction and great level tent sites. We soon set up camp and spread gear out to dry. The sun was hot even with the persistent wind and we all managed to dry wet boots and socks. Firewood was gathered from across the narrow channel formed by the point of our site and its opposing jetty. Dinner was cheesy chicken enchiladas with rice followed by chocolate pudding. Fishing was the next order of detail and we launched with the two boats going opposite directions. About an hour before dark we all ended back at the site where we hauled the boats to the top level and secured them for the night. The wind kept blowing and began to increase in strength. As the sun set cloudbanks settled in and we erected a fly with the first raindrops falling. With no campfire the Admiral produced rations of single malt scotch and sour mash bourbon. This improved the mens spirits immensely and tales were told well into the night. During the night the winds howled and the rain pelted down. Tucked into tents and sleep bags the sound of the storm was the Boundary Waters singing us to sleep.
Day 3:
We awoke to cloud cover but reduced winds and broke camp with our next destination set as Alice Lake. A short paddle to 90-rod portage took us past huge rock falls on Wisinis SE shoreline. The falls looked recent (within a hundred years) and some of the boulders were as big as boxcars and nearly as square. We covered the portage and crossed Almakose Lake then 30-rods to Gerund Lake and 15 rods to Fraser Lake. Once on Fraser we set out lines and trolled lures during the lengthy paddle SW across Fraser. At the lakes SW tip we had a narrow passage guarded by bluffs on each side into Thomas Lake. Another mile or so to the portage leading us to Lake Cacabic, 240 rods, by this time the crew was accustomed to such tasks but remained perplexed as to why all portages were uphill. With only topo maps to reckon with, we determined we had increased elevation relative to sea level by some 400 feet. Sooner or later we had to go DOWN hill otherwise we would be paddling alpine lakes. Across Cacabic and 10-rods to Lake Alice. We had a lengthy paddle SE down Alices eastern arm and became entranced with the scenic surroundings. Along the way we navigated small islands and rock outcroppings as well as barely submerged boulders, which we came to call scenery stoppers.
We passed through a channel and into the main body of Lake Alice. The day had turned fair and sunny and we landed on an incredible sand beach at the site we would call home for two nights. Along the beachs edge was a cedar and pine grove, which provided great seclusion and some protection from weather elements yet to be experienced. Once again a fishing expedition was scheduled after setting up the camp to be followed by a late dinner. We all managed to land pike and some small mouth bass and returned in anticipation of Pykers chicken chile with black beans and mashed potatoes on the side. After dinner we had a picture book sunset and took many photos before settling around the campfire to enjoy further libations and fish stories.
Day 4:
This was a scheduled layover day to be spent fishing and exploring. The skies greeted us with heavy cloud cover and a promise of rain. Nature rarely breaks her promises. A fishing trip was first on the agenda and we headed out sans raingear only to find ourselves wishing for it by mid morning. Feeling somewhat squishy we headed back to camp for some hot lunch and a change of clothes. The rain continued and the crew decided on a paddle/fishing voyage to view the pictographs found on a cliff face in a nearby lake. The wind and rain rose and fell through the day but the wonder of viewing 400-year-old painted graphics of moose and war canoes was far more the focus of our attention. We returned to the camp through the waves and seated ourselves under the fly for dinner and the requisite tales of the day.
Day 5:
No rain this morning but the wind was howling. Looking out across Alice we were in for a good hard day of paddling. Our goal was to reach Lake Insula with her myriad islands and reputation as the best fishing on the trip. The wind was from the NW and we needed to nearly due south to reach the Kawishiwi outflow. The plan was to strike out to the west, quartering the whitecaps as far as was comfortable then turn downwind and surf to the south lakeshore. The plan was followed and what a ride! We then had to turn NW again and paddle into the teeth of the wind to make it around a point and reach the outflow. At times we were nearly stalled but finally managed to ferry crosswind around the point and into the shelter of the Kawishiwi. A short 10-rod portage and we were on Lake Insula. A mile or so of paddling and we went through a narrow slot and into the main body of the lake. Once again greeted with whitecaps we set our sites on the lee side of Williamson I island. From there we headed west to a sheltered sneak through and the relative calm on the south side of a large island and peninsula. We island hopped the rest of the way to the chosen campsite. The Admiral had been here before and chose the premier site on the lake. Complete with boulder sheltered tent sites and an elevated fire grate this was a place to stay for a week not a night. The skies had cleared and the wind died promising an afternoon and evening of supreme enjoyment.
We decided on a bit of a late dinner and set out fishing with the plan to supplement our diet of various gruel and reconstituted gourmet dinners with fresh fish. Sometime later we returned with this mission accomplished. RickG did a fine job filleting three nice pike and I finished up by removing the Y bones. Pyker dredged the fillets in biscuit flour and pan-fried them in margarine and oil. THIS is living. With the pike appetizers consumed we were treated to cheesy dirty rice and sausage ala Pyker. The campfire was very fine that evening and the talk of the days travel found the waves cresting at four feet and surf rides stretching to a quarter mile. The single malt supply was exhausted during the evening, which may account for the amplification of the days deeds. Plans were made for an early morning to catch the sunrise.
Day 6:
A clear cold dawn and the party hit the deck for coffee and gruel before the sun made the horizon. Yesterdays fish carcasses were left across a cove on a rock point for forage by the local critters. We were rewarded with the sight of a Bald Eagle making his morning repast of the freebies. Soon another Eagle espied the easy meal and the two moved to another stone outcrop for a loud discussion of the matter.
The sunrise as promised was remarkable and the photos will surely hold stirring memories. We broke camp and headed for North Wilder Lake as the days destination. Clouds began gathering and soon the skies were overcast. We crossed Insula and the 105-rod portage to Hudson Lake. Paddling east we headed for a marsh crossing to reach North Wilder. The crossing was poling with paddles through a narrow channel and sea of marsh grass, if ever there was a moose habitat this would be one. No moose were willing to show themselves this day however. We reached a campsite on North Wilder by 1100 and decided to travel a bit further to lessen the next days exit from the wilderness. We portaged the 105-rods to harbor lake and the rains returned. Some discussion was held and since we were packed up dry the plan became to head for the take out point on Lake One. The promise of a shower, soft bed, a feast at Cranberrys and an early start for the long drive home decided the matter. We stowed the fishing gear and set about making miles.
Across Harbor, 60-rods to Brewis, 85-rods to Horseshoe, 20-rods to Lake Three, paddle through to Lake Two then 40-rods across a pond and 30-rods to Lake One. We paddled the last miles leisurely and about 1630 arrived at the take-out point. Somewhere between Horseshoe and Lake Three the Admiral demonstrated the merits of Teva sandals versus hiking boots for rocky portages. Upon disembarking his canoe the Admiral hoisted the boat on his shoulders and with significant force kicked a rather large rock. The rock, surprisingly, did not move and with a crew of engineering types pondering the paradox of irresistible force and immovable objects the Admiral explained that the open sandals allowed the resultant blood to escape freely. This was of course preferable to the nasty mess of wool socks and enclosed boots. Without dropping the boat and with only a trace of a limp the Admiral proceeded on the portage having made his point.
Pyker had given fair warning of the foibles we would witness whence approaching the portages near civilization. The advice was taken to heart and in the course of the final days journey were presented in all their glory. The next to last portage we landed and set the packs aside to leave the area open for the crowds. Gray-dog was doing her usual job of leading the portage and falling back as necessary to encourage the men along the way. Ahead of me there was a ruckus and by the time I arrived a fearsome sight awaited. The Admiral had dropped his boat and was hoisting Gray high up to his shoulders. There disguised, as a gentle therapy dog was a large Rottweiler hell-bent on getting a bite of Gray-dog. Pack Mule was helping to fend off the unrestrained beast and the apparent owner was admonishing him not to hurt the dog, she wont bite, she just wants to play, about this time the Wine-bearer came rushing by me having dropped his pack and grabbed the offending therapy dog and flattened it to the ground. All the while the owner screaming not to hurt her shes really gentle. Evidently this was lost on the dog and the owners significant other who was unable to restrain the animal in any way. Eventually things were brought to control and we proceeded with the portage.
I mention the previous incident only to savor the eventual outcome. As I turned to go back for the second load, there on the trail were a bundle of greenbacks. I picked it up and quickly queried the folks at the near end of the portage as who may have lost this stash. No one made a claim and after proceeding to the far end and getting similar negative response the bundle became found booty. Later that evening the crew enjoyed a fine dinner with pitchers of Summit Pale Ale courtesy of the owner of the therapy dog.
We arrived at the take-out and my vehicle (2-door Ford Explorer) was parked and waiting our arrival. I set out to the car while the crew finished organizing the gear for the return shuttle. As mentioned earlier I had little faith we would fit the two boat, six days of gear and four grown men in this smallish SUV. Oh me of little faith. Amazingly, all gear was stowed; both canoes fit on the racks and all four plus Gray-dog were tucked into the car for the short ride back to Smittys. We opted for a bunkhouse at the Red Rock store and after showers and schlepping gear around headed to Ely for a well-deserved dinner.
The next morning we had one last meal at the Chocolate Moose and bid farewells with the promise of when not if the next journey would take place.
For the Record: 80 miles total with 6.5 miles of portage (one way). This includes all the side trips and fishing. If you figure double portage the mileage becomes 19.5 foot miles.
Despite the tale I tried to convey, Pyker was an incredible guide and camp cook. The crew greatly appreciates the efforts and the experience.
SteveB, your energy and attitude are something to be admired. Nothing was a chore to you and your diligence and steadfast demeanor made for a terrific partner for the week.
RickG, my good friend, as always your strength and confidence were a delight. As a bow paddler I could not have asked for better and hope my stern antics were adequate for the purpose.
Cheers
Wes
