Boundary Waters 2003

Check out the photos!!
I woke up this morning thanking the wilderness gods for another opportunity to test myself in their heaven. After weighing my gear for the third time, I knew I was ready. That’s right, it’s time for another great adventure to the remote peacefulness of the Minnesota Boundary Waters and Canadian Quetico Wilderness Areas. This year, like every year with Sigord Olson’s abandoned son (aka Eddie Jr.), is going to be an adventure that will stick in my mind 'til I repack my bags again. No analogy is accurate enough to explain my anticipation. Road trip.

After a Saturday afternoon crew rendezvous at the outfitters, we dined and retired to the “bunk house” to get a final night’s sleep on a bed. Before closing our eyes, we spent some quality time packing our individual bags of personal belongings...not an easy task when you know that every pound you take adds to the weight of portages. The next morning we arose early, took our final hot showers, went to breakfast and loaded the van. A 45-minute drive later and we were all unloading seven 50 to 100-pound Duluth packs and four canoes at the Neenah-Moose River “put-in”. This was a good place to start our journey as it introduced our first timers to wilderness canoeing with a ½ mile portage. After putting in, we canoed for five miles, through wild rice patties, large open water expanses and a small river. We all tried the rice at John’s (a.k.a. “Instant Fish Dinner”, “World’s Best Canoe Partner”) recommendation. Ed liked it so much that he kept some of the shucks lodged in his throat for the next five days. Further along, Marie took her first of many unannounced private dips while John and I snorkeled for an hour. Unfortunately, the river monster had swallowed my brand new one-day-old pair of prescription sunglasses. Oh well, one less thing to pack and carry.

We camped the first night at Lake Agnes. This was a nice, well-established site with plenty of flat spots for laying tents. Nice cooking area, great western exposure, sunsets and plenty of flat rocks for easy disembarking. When the crew first arrived at camp, I was still back snorkeling. I surmise it safe to say that Marie was the first to find the latrine upon arrival. It wasn’t a bladder control problem; it was just that she had the hidden talent for finding the thing faster than anybody else. Throughout the trip, we all found our inner wilderness talents and made these contributions to the collective—each as important as the other. After cocktail hour, John caught some fish, the loons began to sing, Ed cooked the first of many wonderful dinners and we settled in for our first night in the bush. Before Ed crawled into his bedroll by the fire, he hung the food pack above Marie’s personal tent. He figured that this personal condo tent by itself would keep the bears from getting to the food. Monday morning started with us breaking down camp, grabbing some chow, and heading out about 10 a.m.

What a nice day on the water. After 3 portages, lunch, and a passage through Lake La Croix, we arrived at our new home. Our choice for camp this night was one of the best I have ever experienced. It was a south-facing site on a ¼-mile long island in the middle of Iron Lake. The island was long, narrowing at the middle like a lima bean, with a giant rock outcropping on the eastern side. After setting up camp and posting Kim’s lacy white undies on the “go-no-go” stick en route to the latrine, the girls (Kathy, Kim and Marie) jumped in for a swim while the guys played hunters and gatherers. Tonight, I hooked the first of three large northern pikes on this trip. It, like two more in the future never made it into boat. The canoe was just not big enough. Tonight’s dinner was fit for kings and queens. We each had 21-ounce porterhouses plus tons of carbs. Animal flesh never tasted so good. To be honest, all food tastes good on paddling days. Not a morsel was left in the pans. Ed retreated to John and Michael’s tent around midnight when the rain and wind got antsy. How the hell John slept through Ed’s imaginary battle with a wolf spider is beyond this writer.

Tuesday was a free day. John and Michael headed out to catch dinner in route to Rebecca Falls. After receiving Ren’s Irish “good fishing blessing”, we shoved off. Kathy (“Trip Vocalist” and “Spiritual Leader”), and Marie (“Latrine Scout” and “Olympic Diver”) set out for a quick canoe trip to Rebecca Falls and back. All good planning went array for the day when the wind picked up SUBSTANTIALLY and made sea travel strenuous and difficult....apparently for the girls, it complicated map reading as well. A little later, Ren (“Music Man” and “Jack Jerk Porter”) and Ed (“Jr.”, “the Man, the Legend”) played search party. Strange enough, all three vessels arrived at Rebecca Falls at just about the same time. The girls first, in time to chase the bears away.... imaginary or not. I figure the bear story was just a ploy to throw us off from the fact that it took them twice as long as they bargained for and they were still only half way done with their trip. Thank God they encountered that strange man from Texas or they could have been northern pike bait.

Note to Kathy and Marie: Three Island is not Four Island.

Now, back to the falls. Rebecca Falls, located in Canada, is beautiful and powerful. It has two whitewater shoots separated by a miniature hill-like island. The flow of water went from the US, through the falls, into Canada, eventually finding its home in Hudson Bay. Rebecca was definitely worth the effort on this windy day. I’m glad we all found and documented its beauty and fun with priceless photos. As we caravanned back to camp, Ren caught a lunker smallie that ended up in the frying pan along with John’s usual bountiful harvest. Steve (“Fire Starter” and “Calvin Klein Long John Model”) and Kim (“Master of All Things Sweet” and “Vietnamese Goddess of Morning”) were glad to see us all arrive safe and sound, though I think they enjoyed their private quiet time together back at the ranch more than they let on.

After filleting dinner, we put out our fish guts on the rocks and watched the eagles, seagulls, and a giant snapping turtle play our “above water” fishing game. When the giant snapper got a sweet tooth and made a pass at Kim’s dessert cooling on a rock on the water’s edge, the game was over. After seeing that giant snapper arise from the depths in front of our camp, I will think twice tomorrow when I bathe in the bay. I am the visitor! Fish dinner was splendid that night as Ed worked his magic on the filets. During and after cocktail hour, Steve (“Keen Eye for a Straight Guy”) started to note the first stars, counting them as they broke out. Once he got to 5212, we all headed to that giant rock outcropping I mentioned earlier. Imagine a 200 square foot protruding rock that was sliced at the perfect angle for lying on your back and gazing at the heavens. Mars was like a moon this night--so bright that it cast an orange reflection over the lake like a sunrise at midnight. All eight of us laid there with Kim pointing out the shooting stars, Ed and Steve counting satellites, and Marie and Kathy outlining our favorite constellations. Marie’s star chart and red head light were amazingly cool to have. Must get me one of those! Ed videotaped a star in the heavens. Who the hell knows which one—it did not matter—just to prove his cinematography talent. John, Ren and I were in charge of snacks and beverages. I realized that I was not serving/sharing enough when the stars all blurred together.

Wednesday came and it was time for us to move on in our journey. After a trendy late breakfast, we headed for Curtain Falls (which apparently looks like Rebecca Falls to women on windy days). Curtain is much different than Rebecca although it too drains north towards Hudson Bay. This is a single fall, spread out over a long and wide expanse. It is extremely rocky, with large boulders popping out of the moving water along its drop. At the base of the biggest drop is excellent walleye fishing, as evidenced by the number of fishermen trying their luck. Although a long uphill ½ mile portage from start to finish of the falls, this was a very scenic place to be. At the end of the portage, we took some family photos, tracked down Steve and Kim’s wayward canoe, and headed out on Sunday Bay’s portion of the massive Crooked Lake. As you canoe through Crooked Lake, you are driving on the border between both countries. We broke for lunch somewhere on the US side of Friday Bay on Crooked Lake, feasting on cashews, summer sausage sandwiches and Three Musketeers. No horse-n-goggles yet—Ed’s backwoods version of “Ennie, Meenie, Minie Mo” for left over food from a meal. Ed chose wisely for this lunch spot as “all feline” crew canoes passed us by—very refreshing for this single man. There’s hope for me yet to land one of these. Nature at it’s best.

Someplace in the middle of Thursday Bay, an official wilderness race took place. Three young bucks from Twinkie Town decided they wanted the same island in the middle of the lake for camp that night. Knowing whoever got to the “campsite” first got the island, the race was on. Everybody felt the immediacy of the moment. With John and I ahead of the pack, we dug in. It felt like we were pretty much even with the 3-man crew as we approached the north end of the island. Ironically, the damn park rangers put the campsite on the south end. We went left dodging a pissed off fat beaver; the enemy went right. Ed and Marie were several boat lengths behind John and I. Concerned that we might night win the race, Ed, in classic Saturn commercial form, jumped out of his canoe as he passed the north end after us and licked the nearest large rock.... thus “reserving” this island for us in case there was any dispute at the campsite. As John and I rounded the southern tip, clearly out stroking our foolish competitors and winning the race, we were disappointed to find an irritable French Canadian couple already set up on the coveted spot. All for naught--especially for Ed as had a sore throat for the rest of the trip.

We moved on and found a cove off of Thursday Bay to set up camp. Of course, Marie found the shitter within minutes of landing. Ed built a wall out of his rain pancho to provide privacy. After setting up our tents, Ren and Kathy set off for a fishing and wildlife excursion. They explored a huge beaver dam and the peacefulness of our new quiet cove. Ed once again set up the rest of camp with help from Fireman Steve. Kim made desert (with rum tonight) and then went snorkeling for tomorrow night’s hors d’ oveires. John caught three decent pikes and Michael added the meanest one-eyed smallmouth for the frying pan. Dinner was served as Steve stoked the fire and stirred the wild rice. After dinner, Ren played his magic on the guitar (damn he’s good), Kathy harmonized, and we all sang along.... minus the musically abstinent Marie. In her honor, we hoisted the food bag above her tent.

Sometime during the night, a big storm began to set in. We all crawled out of our tents in intervals with the thunder to make sure everything was secure around camp. Ed and Steve did the most scurrying—God bless them. It rained pikes and walleyes throughout the night til our camp was transformed into a series of drainage corridors—including a new mouth of the Mississippi right under my tent. In the morning, everything was soaked. In fact Ren and Kathy’s formerly dry tent was now part of a floating bog. Steve, Kim and Marie chose wisely the night before, rewards for arriving first at the campsite. After morning grub, John and I set out to fish in misty weather. After failing to land another super large pike, we befriended a kind southern gentleman named Ed Sr. (“Well-Equipped Guide Extraordinaire”) in order to borrow his net. Later that morning, Marie and Ed went fishing as well, braving the crappy weather and turbulent seas. Everybody, both on land and water, tested out their rain gear this day. Later that night, during happy hour, Kim served garlic fried wild clams prior to dinner. Scrumpdiliicious. God I’m glad Steve married her.

Friday, we packed our semi-soaked gear and left the wetland for dryer pasture. It turned out to be a beautiful day of paddling. About 10:30 a.m., we passed “Table Rock” and were taunted by that once considered nice guy, Ed Sr. At this juncture, we all were aware of rarely talked about (but truly significant) phenomenon of this region of the world.... the early bird gets the worm. That translates to mean that she/he who leaves early arrives earlier at their final destination, which is a coveted campsite in this neck of the woods. You see, the closer you get to the “put-ins”, the more competitive it is for sites since there are no reservations in “da bush”. Ed Sr. and his crew were a half hour ahead of us per the message on Table Rock. Documenting this harassment with a smirk and a photo, we moved on. We were making great time gaining on the opposition only to be stopped by a freak of nature. Two mid-sized snappers were floating in the middle of lake, totally entranced in each other. We proceeded to encircle these out-of-season horn-dogs, photographing nature in action. Our boats two feet from this passion, the lovey-dovey turtledoves were oblivious to our nosiness. With Ed Sr. and a primo campsite in mind for our last night, we wished them well.

We passed Warrior Hill, a place where the Native American males showed their strength and dedication 500 years earlier. We also passed “Picture Rock”, a 100-foot wall face on the water’s edge where these same people documented their history and prowess in petroglyphs. Finally, just shy of Lower Basswood Falls, we tracked the mocking competitor down. Knowing he was no match for our fleet, he stopped before the falls to pitch camp, short of Horse Lake. We hissed and heckled, moving on. We portaged this third falls, broke for lunch, and headed south. Once again, slowing to watch the wild in their element. This time, it was another bald eagle. Though not mentioned before, this has to be close to a dozen up close sightings of these majestic birds on this trip. We canoed down the weedy Horse River. Eventually this river changed into more of a large brook in spots. We now had officially entered “Rock Alley”. We continually bottomed out in these narrows, sometimes walking along the sides of the canoe, pulling it along with paddles to avoid portages. At one spot, I “pulled a Marie” and fell in the water. Worse yet, I capsized the canoe taking John and gear down with me. Luckily, recovery was swift and we managed to refill our once submerged vessel with floating gear before the cameras documented too much of the embarrassment. Michael One...Marie Three.

We finally arrived at Horse Lake, a very large and visited lake that once was the home to several resorts prior to the establishment of Boundary Waters Wilderness Area. The resorts were gone and the ten legal campsites looked full. After checking out each site, one after the other (basically canoeing most of the lake), we realized our predicament. Growing hungry and tired, we accelerated our plans and pressed on toward a different lake in search of camp. We traversed three small cramped portages, trying to dodge the ever-present “lawn chair couple” with every move. They still managed to delay our crew with their RV camping gear blocking the way, and took what looked like the last remaining campsite on Fourtown Lake. Eventually, we came upon an unoccupied site on the north end of the lake. It was not perfect for our large group, but it was available. Ed Jr. offered to go and search for a more accommodating campsite for our final night in the woods, but Steve said he would need a proctologist the next day to remove his worn out paddle if he did. I agreed with these words of wisdom--another one of Steve’s gifts to the group. We were tired, hungry and looking to stretch our bodies. By the time I had got my life preserver off, Marie had already found the latrine and a tree for our near empty food bag (right above her tent). Kim prepared another delicious chocolate pudding aperitif this evening. Ed’s spaghetti and peas never tasted so good. Somehow, we found space to get four tents on this very small site—the two couples tents were almost glued together. We settled in just in time for another gorgeous sunset.

Saturday, we arose, dined, packed and leisurely departed.... probably around 11 am or so. We headed south on Fourtown, portaging some really interesting rock formations and narrows. About two hours later, we hit Mudrow Lake. I could smell Chain Saw Sisters in the distance. I’ve never been there, but I knew in my imagination what it smelt like. The journey for this year was nearly over. It was time to relax and reflect. At Chain Saw Sisters, we drank skanky beer, played cribbage and ate the best tasting microwavable food in these parts. The van arrived and was loaded. We all looked at Ed Jr. and said, “Eddie, it’s time to go home”.

So what do I gain from a trip that I call a “heavenly vacation” in a place most people liken to the solitary trappers and ancient Native American Tribes of the 1800s. Well, I take a new appreciation for a set of backwoods bushwhacker friends that included women (a first time for me). I leave in my memory the terrain as gorgeous as I found it, the falls cascading to the north and the wildlife recreating itself for this Madisonian’s next visit. Ed Jr., you continue to amaze me with your wilderness skills and effort, never wavering in moments of adversity-who would of thought this out of a Southside White Socks fan. John, thank you for another year of “providing my engine with direction”. Class of ‘03, your company made my trip. Now, it’s back to a different reality...seven pounds lighter but fat with warm memories. Life is complete for another year.


Ed, John, Kathy, Kim, Marie, Michael, Ren, and Steve
BCWA/Quetico ATS Bushwackers, Class of 2003.