First, unrelated to post title, an update: The kayaks arrived on Friday. Had a great tour of the factory thanks to the wonderful folks at Current Designs and Wenonah Canoe. Jenni and I hit the water for the first time Friday evening. Our Storm GTs are fantastic. I started to wonder if I'd died and woken up in paddling heaven.
More on that soon. First, since the blog was created to jaw about canoe tripping, I want to call deserved attention to two young men whose recent paddling accomplishment far out-paces our little September pleasure cruise.
Some background on this: Minnesota is associated with three epic paddling trips.
(1) Down the Mississippi from Lake Itasca to New Orleans.
(2) Circumnavigation of Lake Superior.
(3) From wherever Up North - a.k.a. Minnesota - to Hudson Bay.
We'd nominate our cross-BWCA paddle to the list at No. 4, but let's be frank: Adventure it may be, our trip is small potatoes compared to these titans. The first two receive lots of press, mainly because they're attempted often. Several books have been written about them. You’ll find books about No. 3, too, notably "Distant Fires" by the late Scott Anderson and, more famously, "Canoeing with the Cree" by Eric Sevareid (who, it should be noted, is also "the late"). But the great 2,200-mile voyage north to Hudson Bay - the domain of large white bears, don't forget - doesn't pop up in the news often. Especially not these days.
Until now.
Colton Witte and Sean Bloomfield are living an adventure of which us cubicle slaves can only dream. They cut short their senior year of high school - don't worry, they still graduated - to set off on a canoe trip of their own. In late April, they launched right from their hometown of Chaska and began canoeing up the Minnesota River...upstream, against strong spring currents. Following Sevareid's route, Colton and Sean paddled up the Minnesota, down the Red River of the North, and across Lake Winnipeg, which I can only imagine must have seemed like the sea. From there, it was north-by-northeast through the lakes and river systems of remote northern Manitoba.
Yesterday, they arrived at York Factory, Manitoba, an outpost at the mouth of the Hayes River. Hudson Bay. They did it in just 49 days. Sevareid and his friend Walter Port took nearly four months.
There are no permanent residents at York Factory, just some Parks Canada employees during the summer months to watch over the grounds and the weathered 177-year-old former Hudson’s Bay Company headquarters building. Darkness falls for just six hours each night this time of year, but permafrost never leaves the ground. And somewhere not far away, out of sight of the eye but not the imagination, polar bears roam.
From the Twin Cities to Hudson Bay. By canoe. In less than two months.
Remarkable.
Awesome, in fact. And not just for distance Sean and Colton covered. I love that these guys decided to attempt (and complete!) the journey, doing it now instead of thinking back later and wishing they’d gone. Perhaps I sound a bit too wistful. I do hope that Gunflint to Ely Canoe will be just the first of many great adventures for Jenni and me. But oh, to have those post-high-school pre-responsibility summers back...how I'd plan them differently now. Maybe that's part of growing up and navigating the quarter-life crisis; you figure stuff out that you'd wish you'd known, and you try to remember for later it so you can pass it on to your kids. Maybe I'll pass along a copy of Canoeing with the Cree, too.
Cheers, Sean and Colton!
You can read all about the their adventure, and how they made it home from Hudson Bay - sounds like a chartered seaplane was waiting Sunday for weather to clear to pick them up - here.
Tuesday update: Nick Coleman's latest column in the Star Tribune offers a taste of what the duo experienced during the final leg of their trip through the Manitoba wilderness. Rapids, waterfalls, exploding bear spray, and ice at Hudson Bay. Read it here.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Picking up paddles
Jenni has been working a lot lately, even on weekends. It's the time of year when the "trail staff," as they are known, come on board at Wilderness Inquiry for the summer. There's been plenty to keep Jenni busy as far as training and helping the staff get into the swing of day events.
Often, those day events involve group canoe trips in W.I.'s voyageur canoes that seat up to 12 people. I'd never seen one in person, so Jenni prodded me to accompany her to a day event on Sunday at St. Paul's Lake Phalen. The event was focused around the celebration of the 75th anniversary of the Civilian Conservation Corps, and W.I. was there to provide free canoe rides to anyone who wanted to get out on the lake. This is where W.I. shines: anyone who is interested in paddling can go - even those with disabilities. While we were there, I watched the staff take a family of three out in one of the canoes: mom, dad, and their son who was in a wheelchair. Up until Sunday, I'd wager that was an experience the three of them had never shared.
We arrived early for setup on a humid, gray morning. Lake Phalen was practically glass. Birdsong echoed from the trees. Plenty staff members on hand meant I was most useful staying out of the way, so that's what I did...explored a little bit of the park, sat on the seawall along the shore, and snapped a few pictures of W.I's three beautiful canoes tied up at the dock.
The canoes surely would be appreciated by any paddling enthusiast (photo here). At 24 feet long, they're quite large, and constructed of cedar strips - incomparable to any other watercraft I've seen.
By the time Jenni was ready to take the staff on a proving run on the lake, the steely layer of clouds was pockmarked with brightness, hinting at the promise of a sunny afternoon. Jenni showed the staff their canoing route by manning the stern, while nine of us piled into the rest of the seats. My seat was starboard, last row before the stern.
Despite its size and the number of us weighing it down, the canoe slid through the water with grace. Jenni piloted us up the shore, under a couple of bridges, and through a narrow canal around an island picnic area. It was marvelous to cruise the canal, just a stone's throw from families on the shore and fisherman hoping for a bite. Our course included weaving around a couple of bobbers.
Paddling necessitated a bit more effort: Since I was sitting in the back, I had to coordinate my strokes with the girl ahead of me, who had to paddle in sync with the person ahead of her, and so forth. And being wedged next to someone who's paddling on the port side of the canoe made this operation tricky...I couldn't swing my elbows about as I am wont to do in a normal tandem canoe. This took some getting used to, but eventually I fell into a rhythm - sort of, anyway.
That's about when I started to recall muscles I'd forgotten. It dawned on me just how much preparing I ought to be doing for a solid week of canoing that is now less than three months away. I suppose it's never too late to get started, right?
Fortunately, a remedy should be arriving tomorrow if all goes according to plan. I've already mentioned the kayaks that Jenni and I ordered from Current Designs. Tomorrow, I'm heading to Winona, in far southeastern Minnesota, to pick them up. And, if luck is with us, we should be able to hit the water in our new boats sometime over the weekend.
Often, those day events involve group canoe trips in W.I.'s voyageur canoes that seat up to 12 people. I'd never seen one in person, so Jenni prodded me to accompany her to a day event on Sunday at St. Paul's Lake Phalen. The event was focused around the celebration of the 75th anniversary of the Civilian Conservation Corps, and W.I. was there to provide free canoe rides to anyone who wanted to get out on the lake. This is where W.I. shines: anyone who is interested in paddling can go - even those with disabilities. While we were there, I watched the staff take a family of three out in one of the canoes: mom, dad, and their son who was in a wheelchair. Up until Sunday, I'd wager that was an experience the three of them had never shared.
We arrived early for setup on a humid, gray morning. Lake Phalen was practically glass. Birdsong echoed from the trees. Plenty staff members on hand meant I was most useful staying out of the way, so that's what I did...explored a little bit of the park, sat on the seawall along the shore, and snapped a few pictures of W.I's three beautiful canoes tied up at the dock.
The canoes surely would be appreciated by any paddling enthusiast (photo here). At 24 feet long, they're quite large, and constructed of cedar strips - incomparable to any other watercraft I've seen.
By the time Jenni was ready to take the staff on a proving run on the lake, the steely layer of clouds was pockmarked with brightness, hinting at the promise of a sunny afternoon. Jenni showed the staff their canoing route by manning the stern, while nine of us piled into the rest of the seats. My seat was starboard, last row before the stern.
Despite its size and the number of us weighing it down, the canoe slid through the water with grace. Jenni piloted us up the shore, under a couple of bridges, and through a narrow canal around an island picnic area. It was marvelous to cruise the canal, just a stone's throw from families on the shore and fisherman hoping for a bite. Our course included weaving around a couple of bobbers.
Paddling necessitated a bit more effort: Since I was sitting in the back, I had to coordinate my strokes with the girl ahead of me, who had to paddle in sync with the person ahead of her, and so forth. And being wedged next to someone who's paddling on the port side of the canoe made this operation tricky...I couldn't swing my elbows about as I am wont to do in a normal tandem canoe. This took some getting used to, but eventually I fell into a rhythm - sort of, anyway.
That's about when I started to recall muscles I'd forgotten. It dawned on me just how much preparing I ought to be doing for a solid week of canoing that is now less than three months away. I suppose it's never too late to get started, right?
Fortunately, a remedy should be arriving tomorrow if all goes according to plan. I've already mentioned the kayaks that Jenni and I ordered from Current Designs. Tomorrow, I'm heading to Winona, in far southeastern Minnesota, to pick them up. And, if luck is with us, we should be able to hit the water in our new boats sometime over the weekend.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Reservations - we're officially official
So, it's probably not a smart idea to plan a trip and then start crowing about it on its very own website without officially securing the necessary permits to make the trip in the first place. Right? Right. Well, with 95 days to go the permit is now in place: We punched in the info on the National Recreation Reservation Service web page last night and locked in our entry date: Saturday, September 6.
I admit I wasn't worried about getting a permit, because Entry Point #49: Skipper & Portage Lakes is not a terribly popular jumping off place to begin a BWCA trip. It probably has something to do with the 320-rod portage gateway into the Boundary Waters at Skipper Lake. No grand cliffs, picturesque islands, or easy paddling to mark the passage into wilderness. Instead, it's grunting under the weight of a canoe through a sweaty mile of hot, still, mosquito-infested woods. Or at least that's how I imagine it at this time of year. Actually, I've read that the portage isn't that bad - a gradual uphill for the first 80 or so rods, then relatively flat until Skipper Lake emerges through the foliage.
Why have we chosen such a difficult entry? My Uncle Dan pointed out that we could aim at Long Island Lake from the north, starting from Ham Lake (the origin of 2007's large and destructive forest fire) and entering the Boundary Waters at Cross Bay Lake, eliminating a few lakes and several hundred rods of portaging. True, true. But it's as much about the journey as the destination. Besides, that's a popular route, judging by the fact that its quota of entry permits is already maxed out for a number of days this summer. However, looking at the BWCA reservation website, relatively few canoeists are planning to enter via Skipper Lake this entire year. During vast bouts of Googling earlier this chilly and dreary spring, I learned that the route from Skipper and on through Banadad Lake is lightly traveled and thus makes for a truer wilderness experience. This is the sort of place where wolves howl in earshot of the lucky camper. I hope we'll be as lucky.
We also like starting at Poplar Lake and portaging into Skipper because it's the closest feasible entry point to my cabin. Driving another 10 or 15 miles up the Gunflint Trail for a more accessible put-in feels like slacking. Plus, I love the idea of exploring secret places where few people tread. (Hence our plan to tackle the Frost River, too.)
Jenni and I debated where to pick up our permit. During the reservation process, you have to specify a specific location for permit pick-up - a ranger station or one of a number of resorts and lodges. An outfitter close to our starting point would certainly be convenient. But we settled on the U.S. Forest Service Gunflint District ranger station in Grand Marais for a couple of reasons: One, we figure that the USFS folks will have the most comprehensive set of updates and advisories for our trip, given its breadth. Two, we can brief the rangers on our route. This is not because we want the rangers to think we're special - despite the whole elaborate website-about-the-trip thing - but rather so they know where to look for us in case of an emergency. If, God forbid, another monster windstorm should steamroll through the BWCA during the second week of September, it would be comforting to know that the Forest Service will be looking for us - not unlike the flight plans pilots file with the FAA. This was the suggestion of my grandfather, Otto Christensen, a veteran Canoe Country paddler - and a very good idea at that, especially because our trip will take us through some lightly traveled regions.
Knowledge is power, that's for sure. But at what point do you pass it up to experience the thrill of discovery? Jenni and I debated this last night. I'm a studier, a researcher, an information-looker-uper. I suppose it's my training as a journalist. I like to know as much as I can about a situation, lest I blunder into it unprepared. Fortunately for types such as myself, excellent guidebooks to the Boundary Waters (like the one at right) are readily available. They cover every entry point, describe most lakes, point out the best campsites, and offer warnings about which portages are likely to make even the most docile canoeist curse like a sailor. Already, I've paused in Barnes & Noble and REI to glance through a couple of these books, each time mentally downloading a few tidbits that might be helpful for our trip.
My most recent Barnes & Noble diversion was yesterday. Later, I asked Jenni if we should pick up a book in the interest of more thorough preparation (which, by the way, has a bonus: I don't ever need to stop and ask for directions!).
Jenni's response: "I don't like books like that." What?! Because, she continued, it takes all of the fun out of discovering things for yourself.
Hmmm.
Well, maybe. I suppose Jenni has a point. It's good to go out and have an adventure without knowing everything about the place you're going. Maybe there's some peace-of-mind while packing if you already have the prime campsites circled and the steep portages denoted. But then, the day of, does that lead to dread of the awful carry ahead, or disappointment knowing the best campsite on the lake is already taken? There might be some wisdom to Jenni's lack of consulting books. (Who am I kidding? She's my wife! Of course she's wise.)
Anyway, what do you think? Is it better to read the guide books and know your route, or to follow the map and discover it as you go?
We invite you to leave us a comment and share your thoughts.
I admit I wasn't worried about getting a permit, because Entry Point #49: Skipper & Portage Lakes is not a terribly popular jumping off place to begin a BWCA trip. It probably has something to do with the 320-rod portage gateway into the Boundary Waters at Skipper Lake. No grand cliffs, picturesque islands, or easy paddling to mark the passage into wilderness. Instead, it's grunting under the weight of a canoe through a sweaty mile of hot, still, mosquito-infested woods. Or at least that's how I imagine it at this time of year. Actually, I've read that the portage isn't that bad - a gradual uphill for the first 80 or so rods, then relatively flat until Skipper Lake emerges through the foliage.
Why have we chosen such a difficult entry? My Uncle Dan pointed out that we could aim at Long Island Lake from the north, starting from Ham Lake (the origin of 2007's large and destructive forest fire) and entering the Boundary Waters at Cross Bay Lake, eliminating a few lakes and several hundred rods of portaging. True, true. But it's as much about the journey as the destination. Besides, that's a popular route, judging by the fact that its quota of entry permits is already maxed out for a number of days this summer. However, looking at the BWCA reservation website, relatively few canoeists are planning to enter via Skipper Lake this entire year. During vast bouts of Googling earlier this chilly and dreary spring, I learned that the route from Skipper and on through Banadad Lake is lightly traveled and thus makes for a truer wilderness experience. This is the sort of place where wolves howl in earshot of the lucky camper. I hope we'll be as lucky.
We also like starting at Poplar Lake and portaging into Skipper because it's the closest feasible entry point to my cabin. Driving another 10 or 15 miles up the Gunflint Trail for a more accessible put-in feels like slacking. Plus, I love the idea of exploring secret places where few people tread. (Hence our plan to tackle the Frost River, too.)
Jenni and I debated where to pick up our permit. During the reservation process, you have to specify a specific location for permit pick-up - a ranger station or one of a number of resorts and lodges. An outfitter close to our starting point would certainly be convenient. But we settled on the U.S. Forest Service Gunflint District ranger station in Grand Marais for a couple of reasons: One, we figure that the USFS folks will have the most comprehensive set of updates and advisories for our trip, given its breadth. Two, we can brief the rangers on our route. This is not because we want the rangers to think we're special - despite the whole elaborate website-about-the-trip thing - but rather so they know where to look for us in case of an emergency. If, God forbid, another monster windstorm should steamroll through the BWCA during the second week of September, it would be comforting to know that the Forest Service will be looking for us - not unlike the flight plans pilots file with the FAA. This was the suggestion of my grandfather, Otto Christensen, a veteran Canoe Country paddler - and a very good idea at that, especially because our trip will take us through some lightly traveled regions.
Knowledge is power, that's for sure. But at what point do you pass it up to experience the thrill of discovery? Jenni and I debated this last night. I'm a studier, a researcher, an information-looker-uper. I suppose it's my training as a journalist. I like to know as much as I can about a situation, lest I blunder into it unprepared. Fortunately for types such as myself, excellent guidebooks to the Boundary Waters (like the one at right) are readily available. They cover every entry point, describe most lakes, point out the best campsites, and offer warnings about which portages are likely to make even the most docile canoeist curse like a sailor. Already, I've paused in Barnes & Noble and REI to glance through a couple of these books, each time mentally downloading a few tidbits that might be helpful for our trip.My most recent Barnes & Noble diversion was yesterday. Later, I asked Jenni if we should pick up a book in the interest of more thorough preparation (which, by the way, has a bonus: I don't ever need to stop and ask for directions!).
Jenni's response: "I don't like books like that." What?! Because, she continued, it takes all of the fun out of discovering things for yourself.
Hmmm.
Well, maybe. I suppose Jenni has a point. It's good to go out and have an adventure without knowing everything about the place you're going. Maybe there's some peace-of-mind while packing if you already have the prime campsites circled and the steep portages denoted. But then, the day of, does that lead to dread of the awful carry ahead, or disappointment knowing the best campsite on the lake is already taken? There might be some wisdom to Jenni's lack of consulting books. (Who am I kidding? She's my wife! Of course she's wise.)
Anyway, what do you think? Is it better to read the guide books and know your route, or to follow the map and discover it as you go?
We invite you to leave us a comment and share your thoughts.
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