It’s supposed to drop into the 20’s tonight so I don my Under Armour before the sun goes down, and then enjoy the spoils of my labors & the bounty God has graced me with this day. Basking in the luxuriant glow of a well-stocked campfire while consuming a hearty dinner.
There is a quote (I believe originating with Socrates?) my Priest used for an Ash Wednesday homily a few years ago that applies to one of the primary reasons I so cherish getting away to the BWCAW. “A busy life is an unexamined life. An unexamined life is rarely worth living.” Canoe country lends itself so ably to this sacred endeavor. As always, spending quality time alone with my Lord in this tranquil natural environment is a soothing salve for my soul.
SATURDAY MAY 7, 2022
My Under Armour pulls double duty as it not only kept me toasty last night, but now serves to hasten me out of the tent as the sun rises and quickly heats up the interior.
The one piece of new gear that I’d purchased this off season was a MSR Alpine Stainless Steel Camping Fry Pan which I use to cook breakfast in this morning. I’ve come to implicitly trust, the bwca.com member who goes by the screen name, “butthead” for my gear reviews. He recommended this, and it certainly performs up to expectations.
After my scrambled egg breakfast, I assess the weather situation. The wind is gusting out of the east. Pre-trip I had ambitious thoughts of exploring further down river but, the combination of the exceedingly pushy river current and a persistent, gusty wind is enough to dissuade me. I instead decide to explore Rice Lake more thoroughly but, first, I linger in camp for a while.
Of course, I make the obligatory climb up to the peak of the largest boulder to appreciate the rarified air & view. It looks like something had supper up here as there is a severed bird's foot near the top. This also provides another opportunity to spend some more quality time serenely reflecting.
Solitude can be a tricky thing, as it is a double-edged blade that has the propensity to cut deeply in either direction. However, I believe tragic fear of loneliness, (feeling alone) presents enough of an obstacle that most seem to completely disregard the abundant fruits of healthy solitude which throws open the gateway to contemplation. In his book: Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton writes persuasively, “Contemplation is the highest expression of man’s intellectual and spiritual life. It is that life itself, fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent and infinitely abundant Source. Contemplation is, above all, awareness of the reality of that Source.... To enter into the realm of contemplation one must in a certain sense die: but this death is in fact the entrance into a higher life. And for me, a quote from Blaise Pascal truly hammers home the benefit of solitude. “All of humanities problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” I refuse to allow these fleeting moments I have been graced with to go by without an acknowledgement of gratitude as I pull out my Rosary ring and soak in the blessings of the day until I am saturated.
Getting my head out of the clouds, I descend this granite perch and begin curiously exploring around the perimeter of camp.
Nearly a decade after the fact, the fire marred landscape surrounding camp is still easily explored. While it won’t get confused with Pompeii’s pillar, the camp and nearby area are all on an elevated granite knob overlooking a swamp. The devastation from the Pagami Creek fire is clearly still evident. Perhaps the very limited foliage of this late spring is a primary contributor but, it doesn’t seem like this area is coming back as fast as the areas affected by the big fires in the Gunflint region. I think Henry David Thoreau’s observation, “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” is especially pertinent here.
While some may look only at the charred, branchless, sunbaked pillars shaping the horizon in every direction; I see an understory of sprouting young Popple trees which, as evidenced by the 4 separate clusters of moose ‘plums’ within 50 yards of my fire grate, are facilitating a return of these iconic creatures to their one-time preeminence in this area.
While some may only look at barren landscapes; I see unique opportunities to contemplate long hidden panoramic vistas that will soon be concealed yet again.
While some may only look at jumbled masses of toppled trees and sparse ground cover; I see easily accessible exploration opportunities and unlimited, dried out firewood close at hand.
So, while I will certainly stand and be counted as one who would revel in the mystical enchantment of a mature pristine forest, I feel it is a unique blessing to be afforded an opportunity to witness this re-generation firsthand as this area is slowly restored to its former glory.
I’m definitely not going to complain about being granted another gloriously warm, sunny day. However, my Sawyer gravity water filter is hanging from one of the only mature trees in the area which means there is literally no shade. So, my bag of filtered water just sits utterly exposed to the sun and heats up throughout the day. I’d noticed a small alcove by the river that still has some snow stubbornly hanging on. So, before heading out, I fill my coffee pot with the sun warmed filtered water and bury it in that snowbank. In that way I’ll have ice-cold water upon my return from my exploratory paddle around Rice Lake.
No sooner am I out on the water than I get to experience the inconvenience of gusty winds swirling about the lake. With the Black Pearl’s cargo holds barren of any burden, my weight alone isn’t enough to prevent getting irrevocably blown off course from time to time. Attempting to identify the silver lining, I remind myself that I’m ever so grateful for my earlier decision not to head down river. As I enter the main body of Rice Lake, I am astounded by the sheer number of various waterfowl that take flight as the Black Pearl rounds each new corner. They disperse so quickly, that it’s impossible to get a photo that will do justice to representing the spectacle. Reminds me of Back Bay on Basswood Lake.
Another curiosity is revealed as I pull around to the north side of the peninsula jutting out from the western shoreline. There is a conglomeration of ice crystals softly chiming in the shallow water amidst the decayed shoreline reeds. I am fascinated by the phenomenon and reminded just what the water temperature will be in the event of a capsize.
It’s a week before the Minnesota fishing opener but, I could still legally fish for panfish; including crappies, which are in both Isabella & Bald Eagle Lakes. So, it would stand to reason that there is a possibility that they would also inhabit the river connecting the two lakes. However, I have left my fishing gear behind for this trip. Besides, I don’t feel the high, dirty water would’ve been conducive for success.
Even with the aid of GPS, I cannot locate where either of the 2 former campsites used to be. There is no evidence of a landing or anything. And, it appears the site that used to be on the peninsula would currently be underwater anyways. My curiosity satisfied; I have an epic battle with the wind, as I’m spun around a few different times attempting to trace the shoreline back to camp. It’s a vigorous workout that definitely helps prevents my paddling muscles from slipping into the atrophy stage anytime soon.
I don’t return to camp empty handed. Since I really didn’t have a good fire-pole in camp, I managed to grab a top-notch beaver stick from along the shoreline of Rice Lake. The level of contentment attained from the simple pleasures of poking at a fire with a good stick is inestimable.
With the immense shadow from the largest boulder beginning to stretch across camp, while busying myself with camp chores; a subtle, short, melancholic honk grabs my attention. I wander out onto the point by the riverside and discover I am not alone as a single trumpeter swan floats in the current just out from shore. Upon seeing me, he turns tail and begins a slow retreat back up river.
The encounter with the swan gets me pondering solitude yet again. As I eat my steaming supper, the ambient glow of my campfire is accompanied by the celestial luminosity of another star lit evening. It occurs to me that I am in one of the only areas of canoe country that currently provides access to a legal campsite. Presumably all the rivers up here are open but, precious few offer camping opportunities. The only other area I can surmise that is open, and has campsites is the Kawishiwi Triangle. As Ginny attested, there are certainly hikers out and about but, I think it’s safe to say that the Black Pearl is one of the few, if not the only, legally camped canoe in the one million plus acres that is the BWCAW. That’s a level of solitude I don’t think I’ve approached before.
SUNDAY MAY 8, 2022
Normally on travel days I usually just have a quick easy breakfast; pop tart, Clif bar or oatmeal. But this morning I take the time to cook some scrambled eggs. Maybe, subconsciously, I just want to use my new fry pan again?
Clouds moved in overnight and its noticeably colder this morning. Fortunately, it hasn’t rained yet but it looks like it wants to. I delight in the unhurried pace as I tear down and pack up camp.
I have to work a little extra to propel the fully loaded Black Pearl upstream in the strong current of this pinch point before entering Rice Lake. The same 2 beavers are still waiting out the flood waters as I paddle by approaching the 106-rod portage. While I cautiously paddle around the washout flume, I’m still quite wary as the backwater eddies can sometimes do strange things to a canoe. I pull into the landing, grateful for the uneventfulness of the moment.
Upon completing the portage, I can’t help but notice that the wind has kicked up. Providentially it's not on par with yesterday but, it's still concerning enough as, I don’t want it to gust and turn me around at the top of these big rapids. I keep the wood in the water and make it to where I determine is a safe distance up river before letting off the throttle a bit. On cue it begins raining.
Having just enjoyed two gloriously warm days, Mother Nature apparently doesn’t want to fail to recall her bitter, wintry breath just yet. It’s not a downpour but, the droplets are exceedingly cold. And, not knowing how long this will last or, wanting to compromise my currently warm countenance, I pull off to suit up in my raingear.
Just after passing by campsite #1930, I now enter back into the flood plain and the inimical moment is upon me. On my way in, I hadn’t seen a way around the extensive rapids that, once bypassed, will eventually lead back to the parking lot where my van is parked. A bushwhack didn’t look too enviable either. So, after a quick prayer, I take a vote. Since it’s just me, it’s unanimous! After I quick study of the map, I realize I should just be able to use the Pow-Wow hiking trail to get out. Or, if I’m incredibly blessed, Isabella Lake with be free enough of ice that I can paddle to that much shorter portage.
First order of business is the 20-rod portage into the Isabella River. Could’ve run this one had I been heading the other way but, it is an easy enough trail. There is a nice downstream landing, a very flat, user-friendly trail before a short little drop down to the river.
It appears the Island River is providing most of the flood water as this portion of the Isabella River, while flooded, doesn’t appear to be nearly as inundated. There are several large boulders in the river that I paddle past while battling the pesky headwinds.
At about the halfway point to the lake there is a nice little campsite on the northern shore. The fire grate is right on the water but, there are a couple of really nice tent pads. Jack pines dominate the backdrop, though none are large enough for tarps or hammocks. I can’t imagine this one gets a lot of use.
Initially I continue fighting the head wind as before but, am afforded a most welcome reprieve as I enter the wide expanse before the final portage into Isabella Lake. This is perhaps the best extended paddling conditions I’ve encountered on this trip and, I truly savor these invaluable moments.
I pull up to the exceptional downstream landing for 42-rod portage to Isabella Lake. I bring my first load to the intersection of the Pow-Wow hiking trail and veer off to inspect the trail to the bridge over the river. The water is high enough that it’s also coming down the off-chute channel where there is no bridge. The water here is only ankle deep but, even though it’s likely a fool’s errand, but I can’t resist the urge to check out Isabella Lake. So, I haul all my gear to the lake end where its open water as far as can be seen.
As I paddle out, it doesn’t take long before I discern a huge sheet of ice. However, there appears to be open water along the southern shoreline so I eagerly press forward. I paddle closer and discover that while there are indeed open water sections along the south shore, there are also sections of ice pressed tight to shore that I would have to cross. If I could guarantee that it was only the short stretch in front of me, I think I might go for it. But, as it is, while seeing the lake in this state is certainly a spectacle to behold and I don’t regret checking things out, the task appears to be far too daunting to safely undertake so, I retreat back to the portage.
The channel I need to cross is probably only about 25 feet across and, as mentioned, the water is only about ankle deep at the intersection. Furthermore, its only knee deep just downstream so, I’m not overly concerned about getting washed downriver but, I certainly don’t want to slip and get soaked in the icy water. There is a downed tree that aids in navigating my way across but, not wanting the Black Pearl to roll in the rapids I use one hand to steady my ship and end up slipping a bit. I bang my shins and some water floods in over my boots before gingerly hopping up on the other side.
The water is chilly but, it’s not concerning as long as I keep moving. Just across the bridge there is a very nice campsite where I stage my gear. This site is more situated for hikers of the Pow-Wow trail but, the with the flood waters I surmise it may have been more prudent to have tried to land here and bushwhack up to this site. Hindsight is 20/20.
It’s amazing that this site is virtually untouched by the ravages of the Pagami Creek fire, while only a stone's throw in any direction will get to a heavily burnt area. I juxtapose this phenomena to the current circumstances of my life.
It was nearly a year ago that my divorce became final. That fire severely ravaged my life but, it has not destroyed me. Much like this campsite, there are untouched sanctuaries of my persona that can offer comfort & rest while the surrounding area is slowly renewed and replenished. In a sense, not unlike the natives of generations past who purposely burnt this land to propagate a more bountiful furure crops of blueberries. If I don’t lose heart and abide in Him, I will also unlock the possibility of bearing much fruit.
The Pow-Wow trail shows unmistakable evidence of a trail clearing crew having just passed through. The better percentage of the trail could be driven down, as it resembles a road. In fact, I believe that is exactly what this trail once was. The ghost town of Forest Center was once located here so, while I now consider it a wilderness; this was once literally someone’s back yard. There are several fascinating threads on bwca.com discussing this area, complete with testimonies from people who grew up in Forest Center – which was abandoned in 1964.
Plodding along, I am compelled to wade through a few areas that are underwater. The depth here is also over the top of my boots so, once again looking for the silver lining, I feel a little better about having gotten soaked crossing the river. The wilderness boundary is about the half way mark so, this becomes my drop spot while I go back for my next load.
Light rain is falling on and off as I finally emerge at the empty parking lot. I ever so briefly contemplate bringing my first load with me on the mile long walk back to my van at the Island River entry point parking lot. Once there, I note that the water has risen slightly since I entered. If it comes up another 8-10 inches, it will begin flooding this parking lot. I drive back to the Pow-Wow trail/Isabella Lake parking lot and then finish portaging the rest of my gear.
I’m looking forward to a warm meal and cold drink but, most places in Ely are closed today so, I drive down to Neighbors BBQ just south of Tower right off highway 169. No sooner do I sit down, when a friend from church Jason (who was along on the infamous “Paddling with Padres” trip up to Crooked Lake a couple of years ago.) invites me to join him and his wife Katie. They’re indisputably a great pair and are thoroughly entertaining dinner companions. I am thankful they allowed this stinky camper to join them. Also, for anyone who likes smoked meats & craft beer, I think Neighbors BBQ will be to your liking.
As I write this there have been several harrowing stories of swamped canoes circulating. But for the grace of God, I could have been counted among their ranks. I really appreciate all the people who had the courage to share their tales of woe. I think it goes right to what I shared about Thomas Merton when he said, “in a certain sense, one must die.” The valor these people have shown in putting themselves ‘out there’ to share their stories for the benefit of others, opening themselves up to criticism and scoff (and thus, in a sense dying) exemplifies his point. I just want to say I’m thankful they’re ok and, once again, applaud them for selflessly sharing.
