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Published: August 6th 2010
Initial Island
One of many out there! Upon awakening at Temperance State Park, located on Lake Superior in Northern Minnesota, it was time to turn my attention to the granddaddy of all lake areas: The Boundary Waters. Yesterday, I had secured my permit necessary for legal entry ($16) at Sawtooth Outfitters, located in Luften. I had yet to pack, and, needing electricity in all forms (camera batteries were the main priority, as these were the only ones to be taken on my initial foray into the canoe/camping realm).
However, I still needed to pack, and it was starting to rain, so I quickly struck the camp, forgoing my morning swim in Lake Superior. I had to hightail it over to the bathrooms, my (still seeming!) new electricity accommodations. I made a big production of it, pulling out all 5 plastic bins, looking through each one, and organizing piles in public display right in the 3-space bathroom parking lot.
Now, the advantage to canoe camping as opposed to, say, backpacking and camping, is that in a canoe, technically since the campsites are all established and
right on the water, and the adding of 25-35 more pounds of weight to one’s load, provided one has the room in the canoe, is advantageous. Standing outside the bathroom, looking (and examining) each individual potential piece of equipment, to decide which items would make the final cut, I was asking myself, “Of what use might this be under any condition on the water” was replayed 100s of times, as the Toyota Tacoma and its accompanying camper top holds quite a bit (in addition to the bins, I also have a bike, a guitar, 2 cat litter bins for Sophie, a square cooler, the camp stove, a backpack, and a waterproof backpack containing 2 tents and a sleeping bag).
I ended up taking quite a bit, which I’ll list in a separate entry as a potential checklist for folks considering this activity.
As previously discussed, this was to be my first attempt of this type of “outdoor activity,” the adrenaline was on high—a final burst of mental sensory overload (much synapses activity agoin’). I assembled the materials, placing them together in a separate pile in the truck and drove the 4 miles over to Sawtooth Outfitters.
Ask the Right Questions… The (probably owner) there was very nice, and I was completely up front and honest as to my experience level and desires/goals (not too many miles, only 1-2 lakes, etc.). He offered advice as to how to use this fancy-ass supercanoe, the 16-foot Kevlar, superlight, sleek flotation device. In my naïve state regarding water sports (umm…not that kind!), I initially assumed that the Outfitter would drive the party and the canoes to the 1-per-lake put-in point. Not so. The canoes are transported by the adventurer (Hey…more stress!). A quick lesson and co-strapping helped to secure the canoe to the top of the truck.
Two subtle comments, one from the small store/permit issuer young woman (“And you’ll need this permit when the Ranger asks for it.”) and the owner/boat guy (Be careful with the canoe…there very light and can blow away fast, don’t tie it to rocks and leave unattended; we’ll be checking for scratches, like this one…”). I knew the reasons why they were saying these things (most will follow…), but I didn’t know how seriously to take them, especially the Ranger comment.
On the Waterfront…
The 40-mile drive east and
mostly north to Brule Lake was both calming and exciting. A forest service road, neatly groomed, takes one deep into the woods—some sort of pine trees lined each side the entire way there. I passed 2-3 signs for other lakes, then Homer Lake, and finally, Brule Lake. There were about 20 vehicles parked in the dirt parking lot, but no one else was in sight. I unloaded the boat, parked the vehicle, cognizant enough to hide my keys near the truck, thus preventing the unfortunate situation of “losing them at sea.”
Brule Lake was cool and crisp, the sun was out and wooded islands were in the foreground, nothing but wooded shoreline in the distances. There were not buildings, structures, or power lines. Very encouraging.
At this point, I realized that the actual size of the lake was quite large. Regarding the trick of successful and safe adventure sports, the questions asked of the Outfitter/Ranger are of the upmost importance. Of the many questions posed to Sawtooth Outfitters, never once did I ask, “What if the canoe tips over while I’m in the middle of the damn lake?” (I’m not leading up to anything here, having never
tipped over). However, it was a major concern, now actually on site. I did have Sophie to worry about in case of a tipping-over, and I was well aware that there are no others, on shore or in nearby canoe proximity to assist us should something happen.
In leaving the safety of shore, I felt comfortable in the canoe, and once the materials were loaded, Sophie jumped right in (an experienced dog passenger, she quickly adjusted to her tight 14”-wide “front of the canoe spot”). Map in hand, I had one initial goal at this relatively late hour (1:30 p.m.): to find a campsite. Brule Lake is a desired and well-used entry point, as there are several opportunities for portages (physically carrying the canoe and all materials over land to another lake). With the permit system, one only needs to be on the water at the permit date—there’s not state exit time (with the governing agency, not the Outfitter; they were expecting this canoe back sometime Thursday, two days hence.). In addition, because of my “walk-up” status, as opposed to having booked a spot on a lake, I possessed one of 3 “camp at Brule Lake only passes,”
restricting me to this lake only. I had to find a spot, and quick. It was my intention to get a spot today (Tuesday), freely paddle around Wed., and then paddle around again with all the camping supplies for the exit two days hence: Thursday.
Lost on the Water I did not anticipate being lost 5 minutes into the trip. Several factors contributed to this: I was having trouble unfolding the map on the windy and rocking canoe (one loses control as soon as one stops paddling). 2. Being 43 years old , I’m forced to wear glasses, which each time had to be found and pulled out of my Sierra Club bookbag, And 3: Reading a map is one thing; actually matching the date with the actual scene is a different story. For instance, the map might show a small, green circle, indicating an island. In my actual on-water view, there’s 4 islands of approximately equal sizes right in front of me. From the water, the shoreline also tends to have “one front” at long distances, and it’s difficult to determine where one land mass ends and another begins. I won’t even
mention the idea of small bays/inlets, which can easily be mistaken for the end of a landmass.
The landing was out of site almost immediately. I cautiously canoed to the right, as my official map revealed more campsites; plus, the Sawtooth owner had suggested that I stick to the eastern end of the lake, as the winds on the west could become quite fierce. It was both exhilarating and scary to be out in the middle of the water, land masses at quite some distance. In my “personal challenge” of the sleek canoe (the “sleekest” of three types of Kevlar canoe offered), I was doing well. In addition, the kayak paddle that I had chosen, as opposed to a traditional canoe paddle, was working well, and I was making good time moving around land masses looking for campsites.
Since I the map and the terrain were not matching up to me, the search for a site was somewhat of a “needle in a haystack.” I was randomly paddling and searching. Another unforeseen issue was the fact that since there is no signage in the BWCA, a campsite might have just a short break in the shoreline;
a subsequent trail leads up to a small (but no doubt comfortable) camp location. The point: It was very difficult from far away to determine what might actually be, or not be, an official campsite. There were several times when I thought to myself, “That looks like it might be something over there (a ¼ a mile away).” Alas, after paddling for 15 minutes, I would see that it was actually just a short break in the inaccessible shoreline, no resting there.
Also, I would pass campsites, canoes cinematically tied to the shoreline, comfortable and inviting campsites occupying the point of land jutting into the pristine lake. Folks casually lounged, reading, swimming, or preparing complex meals. They avoided eye contact, smugly moving about their (relaxing) business of serenity. Try as I might, I still could not match the existing campsites to the map!
After 4 hours of simultaneous enjoying the scenery and frantically searching for a place to hang my REI garage sale hat (a bargain at $15), I was facing my first tough decision. It would take a while to set up camp, and sunset was only a couple of hours away. The choice was made:
Disperse camp. This means to set up in an unofficial campsite. I was greatly conflicted at this decision, as there would potentially mean a minor impact on the environment. However, safety dictated that I do what was necessary, for at least one night.
Barriers One thing that I quickly learned about the Boundary Waters and its area: it’s very inaccessible. By canoe, travel is easy, but in general, the shoreline/surrounding woods are sans trails, and thick with thousands of trees. To further complicate things, in 1999, a rare extended blasting of wind 60 miles wide knocked down millions of trees (and subsequently injured and killed a number of campers in the area). These trees are still there, dead and lying on the ground. In addition, the type of tree has many, many short, sharp thin limbs, which double as poking sticks. On hands. On feet (through rubber river shoes). On top of head, side of face. There’s a reason why canoes are the overwhelming manner in which to travel.
I
finally found a spot in a small bay (I was careful not to be directly in sight of anyone else, both for the “view” aspect, but
Ordinary View
An island in front of a land mass. more so that they might tell the Rangers that someone was “camping over there”).
It was a confining space, with three distinct levels: one by the riverbank (a little slanted, as I found out the next morning by slipping off the rocks, haven been soaked from hiking boots to ass), one 10 feet up (a 15x5 mossy and enjoyable space), and the tent space (inches larger than the footprint of the Marmot 3-person tent—why didn’t I bring the backpackers tent?!).
It was my overnight home. Tomorrow, I would rise early, beat those other M.F’ers (sorry—I decided against the cursing! Use your F’in imagination!) to a spot, and take short jaunts around the lake. Tomorrow…
I schlepped the canoe up the embankment, sliding it behind some bushes on the side. I covered my bright-orange tent with a second, more subdued rainfly. I squatted on the bank and watched for the Federalis (Sp.?).
Soon after dark (I can’t recall if I ate dinner—I think that I did), I batted around mosquitoes and joined Sophie in the tent (and got a puncture wound on the bottom of my foot). Although I should have been more nervous about not knowing
specifically where I was, I knew that I had 2 more full days, and even if the lake is 8 miles long and 2 miles wide, I had plenty of time, beginning tomorrow…
Tomorrow...
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jeff
non-member comment
i paddled this and it sux