Wednesday night, Jenni and I finally had a chance to sit down and pore over our BWCA maps. We developed a rough plan to break it down, day by day:
Day 1, Saturday: Put in at Poplar Lake, portage into the BWCA, camp at Banadad Lake
Day 2, Sunday: Banadad to Frost Lake, via Long Island Lake
Day 3, Monday: The Frost River; camp at Mora Lake or, preferably, Little Saganaga Lake
Day 4, Tuesday: Little Saganaga to the Kawishiwi River, camp along the Kawishiwi or on Alice Lake
Day 5, Wednesday: Alice to Lake Insula (a shorter, easier day)
Day 6, Thursday: Lake Insula to the popular Number Lakes; we'll likely camp somewhere in Lake Two or Lake Three
Day 7, Friday: Number Lakes to the North Kawishiwi River; camp at the last site on the edge of the Boundary Waters where the North Kawishiwi becomes Farm Lake
Day 8, Saturday: Farm Lake to Bear Island Lake and the finish of the trip
That final day is going to be a whopper. We have no portages - theoretically, anyway - but have to cross the "large and windswept" expanse of White Iron Lake and paddle up the Bear Island River. In total, we'll cover a good 15 miles - or more.
With the building excitement for the trip - just a week away now - I've been doing bits of spare-moment research. Wednesday evening I looked up a few of the lakes and rivers in various Boundary Waters guide books on the shelf at Barnes & Noble. Jenni and I know the Frost River route is going to be challenging, particularly if the water is low. It has frequent portages, some of them rough, and, from what I've read, a good number of beaver dams to negotiate. It's going to be a long, hard day...the kind that, according to one book, is capable of putting friendly canoe-mates temporarily at odds by the end of the day.
Well, nothing like a good test of the ol' marriage. Monday, the Frost River day, will be our first anniversary.
Another note: While looking up some information about forest fires, I learned that we'll be passing through part of the area burned by the Ham Lake Fire last year. That 75,000-acre blaze sent a finger of flame surging south of the Gunflint Trail, right across Rush Lake, one of the first few lakes we'll paddle. We'll also paddle through the locales of two 2006 fires: The Famine Lake Fire burned the forest around the eastern end of Long Island Lake, and the Cavity Lake Fire blackened Little Saganaga Lake's northern shore.
Most exciting has been a discovery I made earlier this week looking up Boundary Waters historic sites online. The Boundary Waters is home to the location of a number of pictograph sites (one of the finest examples is at Hegman Lake). These reddish rock paintings of animals, canoes, manitous, and maymayguayshi (man-like figures) were made by Native Americans. Most are estimated to be between 400 and 1,000 years old.
A couple of months ago, Jenni and I were visiting my grandfather, Otto Christensen, an avid outdoorsman who has taken many trips to the Boundary Waters. He asked if we were going to be see any pictograph sites on our voyage. "No," I replied, "unfortunately our route won't take us near any of them." Rotters, too, because coming upon this ancient art in the wilderness would be awesome.
How wrong I was! As it turns out, one well-known pictograph site is on a rock face rising from the waters of Fishdance Lake...just a short detour off our Kawishiwi River route near Alice Lake (I've added the location of Fishdance Lake to our map).
Just the name "Fishdance Lake" conjures up images of ancient spirits and total wildness. This is a place with history. And it's calling my name.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Contradiction: mosquitoes and a fire ban
Up in the North Country, certain things go hand-in-hand: A moose and a pond. Tamaracks and a bog. Blueberry bushes and a rocky outcrop. A bear and a dumpster. A portage and a steep hill - or waist-deep muck hole. One isn't quite complete without the other.
Two Boundary Waters regulars I never expected to see paired together, however, just hooked up last week: a bumper crop of mosquitoes, and a U.S. Forest Service-issued campfire ban.
Mosquitoes, of course, inhabit the wet-and-swampy places, which the BWCA and surrounding region have in abundance. Too bad the desert southwest isn't in the market for ponds, bogs, and swamps, or we could all retire millionaires.
The North Country - from the farthest reaches of the tundra all the way down to our beloved Boundary Waters - has a reputation for hella fierce bugs come summer. Mosquitoes are a given, but the BWCA also breeds noseeums, black flies, and my favorite, the horse fly. The horse fly is probably the most bad-ass of the bunch. Wikipedia explains why:
The bite from a larger specimen is extremely painful, especially considering the light, agile, and airborne nature of the fly. Unlike insects which surreptitiously puncture the skin with needle-like organs, horse flies have mandibles like tiny serrated scimitars, which they use to rip and/or slice flesh apart. This causes the blood to seep out as the horsefly licks it up. They may even carve a chunk completely out of the victim, to be digested at leisure.
It's every bid as horrid as it sounds. I've watched a horse fly land on me and literally rip a chunk of flesh right out of my skin.
None of the pestilence of these bloodsucking and flesh-eating insects are spared on the unwitting canoeist. (Once you've been out in canoe country in June, it's easier to understand why the voyageurs wore long-sleeved shirts and pants on even the hottest summer days. Or they probably did. At least that's what paintings portray.)
(Aside: I recently learned that black flies, apparently, are largely responsible for pollinating blueberry plants. No black flies means no blueberries. So the next time one takes a bite out of your arm and you ask yourself, "Why on earth did God create the black fly?" you'll know the answer: To pollinate blueberry bushes.)
Fortunately, the bug season is as transient as it is fierce. June is merciless, but the flies and mosquitoes dwindle by mid-July. Come the typical mid-August, the BWCA is practically bug-free.
But it's been a wet year. The Gunflint Trail received something like 20 inches of rain in two months last fall. Snowfall was back to normal levels - that's a good 100 inches - this winter. And the spring and early summer brought deluge after deluge. One particularly potent set of storms earlier this summer washed out parts of the Gunflint Trail and flooded downtown Grand Marais (the link is to photos, including a couple taken by my cousin, Kate Watson). Lake levels are 3+ feet higher than a year ago, and the USFS Smokey Bear fire danger signs in the Superior National Forest read "LOW" for the first time in many summers.
All of this moisture has had consequences. The mosquitoes have stayed long past their time. During a normal mid-August cabin trip, we might notice the occasional dim-witted, slow-flying mosquito during the day - easily snuffed in a slap of the hands - and a few more at dusk.
Just a week ago, however, mosquitoes were a nearly constant presence in the woods. Loose the breeze, and they were on you like sharks on a blood trail, whining in your ear and biting your neck. At sunset, clouds of them ascended from the woods. Even biting flies made late-season cameos over the weekend.
Well, fine. If a few more bugs mean the Canoe Country is safe from forest fires this year, that's a small price to pay.
Au contraire: On Wednesday this week, the Forest Service announced a ban on all campfires in the blowdown area of the Boundary Waters. This is not an unusual action: The USFS has been cautious about the risk of forest fires in blowdown area since 1999, and especially after 2006's Cavity Lake Fire and the devastating Ham Lake Fire of 2007 (click the link for photos; click here for even more). The Forest Service will enact fire bans whenever the weather turns dry. And while fall, winter, and spring were wet, much of Canoe Country hasn't seen more than the occasional rain shower or downpour since early July.
The ban took effect Thursday last week, until further notice. While it does not include propane stoves - like those Jenni and I will use to cook on the canoe trip - it does mean that we may lose the romance of a cheery nightly campfire. Nearly half our trip falls within the blowdown fire restriction zone as defined by the Forest Service.
Clouds of mosquitoes in the midst of a fire ban? That's a first.
A couple of weeks ago on the blog, I joked about snow in September. Now, consider the benefits: lower fire danger and no more mosquitoes.
Snow in September nearly sounds welcome!
Two Boundary Waters regulars I never expected to see paired together, however, just hooked up last week: a bumper crop of mosquitoes, and a U.S. Forest Service-issued campfire ban.
Mosquitoes, of course, inhabit the wet-and-swampy places, which the BWCA and surrounding region have in abundance. Too bad the desert southwest isn't in the market for ponds, bogs, and swamps, or we could all retire millionaires.
The North Country - from the farthest reaches of the tundra all the way down to our beloved Boundary Waters - has a reputation for hella fierce bugs come summer. Mosquitoes are a given, but the BWCA also breeds noseeums, black flies, and my favorite, the horse fly. The horse fly is probably the most bad-ass of the bunch. Wikipedia explains why:
The bite from a larger specimen is extremely painful, especially considering the light, agile, and airborne nature of the fly. Unlike insects which surreptitiously puncture the skin with needle-like organs, horse flies have mandibles like tiny serrated scimitars, which they use to rip and/or slice flesh apart. This causes the blood to seep out as the horsefly licks it up. They may even carve a chunk completely out of the victim, to be digested at leisure.
It's every bid as horrid as it sounds. I've watched a horse fly land on me and literally rip a chunk of flesh right out of my skin.
None of the pestilence of these bloodsucking and flesh-eating insects are spared on the unwitting canoeist. (Once you've been out in canoe country in June, it's easier to understand why the voyageurs wore long-sleeved shirts and pants on even the hottest summer days. Or they probably did. At least that's what paintings portray.)
(Aside: I recently learned that black flies, apparently, are largely responsible for pollinating blueberry plants. No black flies means no blueberries. So the next time one takes a bite out of your arm and you ask yourself, "Why on earth did God create the black fly?" you'll know the answer: To pollinate blueberry bushes.)
Fortunately, the bug season is as transient as it is fierce. June is merciless, but the flies and mosquitoes dwindle by mid-July. Come the typical mid-August, the BWCA is practically bug-free.
But it's been a wet year. The Gunflint Trail received something like 20 inches of rain in two months last fall. Snowfall was back to normal levels - that's a good 100 inches - this winter. And the spring and early summer brought deluge after deluge. One particularly potent set of storms earlier this summer washed out parts of the Gunflint Trail and flooded downtown Grand Marais (the link is to photos, including a couple taken by my cousin, Kate Watson). Lake levels are 3+ feet higher than a year ago, and the USFS Smokey Bear fire danger signs in the Superior National Forest read "LOW" for the first time in many summers.
All of this moisture has had consequences. The mosquitoes have stayed long past their time. During a normal mid-August cabin trip, we might notice the occasional dim-witted, slow-flying mosquito during the day - easily snuffed in a slap of the hands - and a few more at dusk.
Just a week ago, however, mosquitoes were a nearly constant presence in the woods. Loose the breeze, and they were on you like sharks on a blood trail, whining in your ear and biting your neck. At sunset, clouds of them ascended from the woods. Even biting flies made late-season cameos over the weekend.
Well, fine. If a few more bugs mean the Canoe Country is safe from forest fires this year, that's a small price to pay.
Au contraire: On Wednesday this week, the Forest Service announced a ban on all campfires in the blowdown area of the Boundary Waters. This is not an unusual action: The USFS has been cautious about the risk of forest fires in blowdown area since 1999, and especially after 2006's Cavity Lake Fire and the devastating Ham Lake Fire of 2007 (click the link for photos; click here for even more). The Forest Service will enact fire bans whenever the weather turns dry. And while fall, winter, and spring were wet, much of Canoe Country hasn't seen more than the occasional rain shower or downpour since early July.
The ban took effect Thursday last week, until further notice. While it does not include propane stoves - like those Jenni and I will use to cook on the canoe trip - it does mean that we may lose the romance of a cheery nightly campfire. Nearly half our trip falls within the blowdown fire restriction zone as defined by the Forest Service.
Clouds of mosquitoes in the midst of a fire ban? That's a first.
A couple of weeks ago on the blog, I joked about snow in September. Now, consider the benefits: lower fire danger and no more mosquitoes.
Snow in September nearly sounds welcome!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Finallly, canoe paddles in the water
So, last week I was feeling a bit introspective. This week, I'm going to skip the self-reflection blah blah and cut straight to the trip report.
It's a rare weekend at the cabin that doesn't live up to expectations, but this past weekend went beyond: It was perfect in almost every way. Bright sun, blue sky, ripe berries, warm days, and a lake that was begging for play.
We challenged ourselves - but not too much - with a couple of afternoon mountain biking expeditions. We cruised Clearwater's shore at dusk, our kayaks cutting neat Vs through the glassy water. We watched the full moon rise from behind the wooded ridge south of the lake.
And finally, we managed to get ourselves out of bed in time for the sunrise and the ethereal mist that envelops the water on chill mornings. We slipped our kayaks into the water as the fog began to fade. Yet across the lake, it was still thick...so heavy in some places that it muted the sun to a pale orb.
It's a rare weekend at the cabin that doesn't live up to expectations, but this past weekend went beyond: It was perfect in almost every way. Bright sun, blue sky, ripe berries, warm days, and a lake that was begging for play.
We challenged ourselves - but not too much - with a couple of afternoon mountain biking expeditions. We cruised Clearwater's shore at dusk, our kayaks cutting neat Vs through the glassy water. We watched the full moon rise from behind the wooded ridge south of the lake.
And finally, we managed to get ourselves out of bed in time for the sunrise and the ethereal mist that envelops the water on chill mornings. We slipped our kayaks into the water as the fog began to fade. Yet across the lake, it was still thick...so heavy in some places that it muted the sun to a pale orb.
We lazily chased the fog down the lake, paddling into heavy mist, only to watch the trees on shore gain definition and color as the sun began to burn through. By 7:30, the fog was lifting along the whole shore in ragged clouds, as though the sun had finally pulled back the curtains on the new day. We headed back to the dock refreshed - and hungry. (For a photo gallery, click here.)
Like I said...perfect.
And certainly enjoyable. But for the highlight of the trip, you only need read the title of this post: We canoed! At long last, our location, plans, and the weather aligned perfectly for a canoe day-trip. Friends of ours - two couples - joined us for the weekend. Saturday we set out to give them a taste of our rugged eastern corner of the Boundary Waters.
We packed a picnic lunch, then split ourselves by gender (that's usually how it works, isn't it?), three to a canoe, and set off down the lake. With a mile behind us, we landed at a crude trail head and made the sweaty 15-minute hike to the top of one of the Clearwater Lake palisades. Here, atop a windy cliff 400 feet above the water, we had a commanding view of the forested hills surrounding Clearwater Lake.
We quenched our thirst, munched on a few wild blueberries, and gazed at an eagle soaring on the wind currents above. Then it was back down the trail, through the hot woods with the annoying whine of mosquitoes, until we felt the breeze off the lake.
Back on the water, I took a turn in the stern of our "guys" canoe. My J-stroke was rusty, my experience with canoe steerage limited. (I much prefer to sit in front and motor along, enjoying the scenery without having to think about where we're going, or our angle relative to the wind). To my surprise, the nuances of keeping us straight ahead quickly came back. A bit of J-stroke here, a draw stroke there, and the periodic use of my paddle as a rudder kept us on course. Riding the wind, it was not long before the Mountain Lake portage came into view.
Ninety rods later, we were standing on the rocky shore of a quiet bay, exchanging pleasantries with a group just taking out of the lake for the portage to Clearwater. Tree-topped ridges with protruding cliffs towered above. As we paddled from behind the protection of a peninsula, we felt the stiff northwest wind sweeping down Mountain Lake. But our destination was in sight: an island that "may or may not have been in Canada" where we'd lunch. Lunch tastes so much better when you've been working hard in the outdoors.
By mid-afternoon, we were on our way back. Ever thinking ahead, Jenni suggested I shoulder one of the canoes across the portage. Sure, I thought, no problem.
It was easy all the way uphill. Halfway through the portage, the aluminum canoe's weight seemed to double (and it was the lighter of the two, I'll admit). It crushed more on my shoulders with every step downhill. It was never unmanageable, but by the time Clearwater came into view I was looking forward to getting out from under it. That was 90 rods...longer than many of our Gunflint to Ely Canoe portages, but far shorter than the 300-rod beast that would start the trip.
Jenni is planning to borrow a canoe for us through Wilderness Inquiry; I'm crossing my fingers that it will be Kevlar.
Back on Clearwater, I was again in the stern. This time we had the unforgiving wind in our face and whitecaps breaking against our bow. This time, there was no opportunity for me to question my lack of experience or doubt my abilities to get us safely through the waves - it simply had to be done.
We headed for the protection along the northern shore. Our whitecaps did not last long. An hour and a few miles later, we were tying up at the dock and ready for a well-deserved swim. Nearly every one of my muscles was tender the next day, but by our estimate we covered 12 miles - not much less than we planned to do per day on our trip. And it wasn't that bad!
Finally, Jenni and I can notch our first canoe adventure of the year on our belts. But it's probably going to be the only one until we launch for Ely, which is coming up in just two weeks!
We've still lots to do: meal-planning, shopping, packing. And Jenni promises crunch-time physical conditioning in the form of running and push-ups.
So, lots to look forward to in the coming weeks.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Reality kicks anticipation in the butt
I'm in an anticipatory mood this week. Anticipation, it is said, is half the fun of going anywhere, so I'll take my half now, thank you.
First, it's the cabin, coming up later this week. And it feels like the real deal this time: Jenni will be in tow; I'm not in the midst of a hectic month of work delayed until the last minute and then piled on in indiscriminate, unforgiving heaps; and we just might paddle a canoe. (I'm obligated to mention here that we have wonderful neighbors - with a large, intimidating dog - who keep a close eye on the place while we are gone.)
Then, it's Labor Day weekend. I'm not planning on going anywhere or doing anything...except, perhaps, for a kayaking adventure somewhere about town, and packing for the trip. Really, who cares if anything happens? It's a three day weekend, and that in and of itself is reason enough to await it with vigor.
It goes without saying that there is plenty of looking forwardness - on the part of both Jenni and I - for the G-to-E canoe expedition. After all, that's "half" the reason for this blog and associated web gadgetry...it's an excuse to let the excitement build 'til it overflows onto the digital page to be shared with you.
Anticipation is often misleading, but innocently so, because it always means well. Before I left for the cabin last month, I was salivating at the prospect that I'd soon escape to the shore of a Boundary Waters lake. I'd arrive ready to soak up the relaxing-and-refreshing cabin experience, take the mountain bike for a spin, fish, and photograph beautiful sunsets. Reality was somewhat different: I didn't get much sleep the night before the 300-mile drive, so I arrived tired and zombied through the first day. The wind never let up, so fishing was lousy. (The best part, if this says anything, was when I laid on the seat of our fishing boat and fell asleep staring up at the wind-whipped clouds.) I did kayak, but mostly I sat on my butt, read magazines, and chowed junk food while ruminating on the cloudy prospects on a long-term career in media.
This was not the idolized - nor typical, I might add - weekend at the cabin. The right ingredients were there, but they never quite came together in the usual life-is-bliss-as-long-as-I'm-here fashion. Don't confuse that for complaining...it's just squaring reality with expectations.
A similar destiny awaits in September. I have a golden image of our trek across the boundary country. I see the mist burning off the lake at sunrise while the yodel of a loon echoes off the shore. I hear the gurgle of water around our paddles, and the rush of rapids along the Frost and Kawishiwi Rivers as we portage. I feel the chill of the evening air on my back and the warmth of a campfire on my face. And I'm anticipating scattered pockets of fall color bursting out among the green-and-blue landscape. Of course, the trail will get us acquainted with the realities of the journey: blistered hands, sore shoulders, rock-and-root-stubbed toes, stream-clogging beaver dams, muddy portages that seem to never end, headwinds, waves, and - of course - rain. Heck, in September it could even snow.
But out of such a character-building litany are bound to come a few stories. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to having a few tales to spin - and stretch - upon our return.
Hey, maybe we'll have a run-in with a bear!
That's anticipation at its best.
First, it's the cabin, coming up later this week. And it feels like the real deal this time: Jenni will be in tow; I'm not in the midst of a hectic month of work delayed until the last minute and then piled on in indiscriminate, unforgiving heaps; and we just might paddle a canoe. (I'm obligated to mention here that we have wonderful neighbors - with a large, intimidating dog - who keep a close eye on the place while we are gone.)
Then, it's Labor Day weekend. I'm not planning on going anywhere or doing anything...except, perhaps, for a kayaking adventure somewhere about town, and packing for the trip. Really, who cares if anything happens? It's a three day weekend, and that in and of itself is reason enough to await it with vigor.
It goes without saying that there is plenty of looking forwardness - on the part of both Jenni and I - for the G-to-E canoe expedition. After all, that's "half" the reason for this blog and associated web gadgetry...it's an excuse to let the excitement build 'til it overflows onto the digital page to be shared with you.
Anticipation is often misleading, but innocently so, because it always means well. Before I left for the cabin last month, I was salivating at the prospect that I'd soon escape to the shore of a Boundary Waters lake. I'd arrive ready to soak up the relaxing-and-refreshing cabin experience, take the mountain bike for a spin, fish, and photograph beautiful sunsets. Reality was somewhat different: I didn't get much sleep the night before the 300-mile drive, so I arrived tired and zombied through the first day. The wind never let up, so fishing was lousy. (The best part, if this says anything, was when I laid on the seat of our fishing boat and fell asleep staring up at the wind-whipped clouds.) I did kayak, but mostly I sat on my butt, read magazines, and chowed junk food while ruminating on the cloudy prospects on a long-term career in media.
This was not the idolized - nor typical, I might add - weekend at the cabin. The right ingredients were there, but they never quite came together in the usual life-is-bliss-as-long-as-I'm-here fashion. Don't confuse that for complaining...it's just squaring reality with expectations.
A similar destiny awaits in September. I have a golden image of our trek across the boundary country. I see the mist burning off the lake at sunrise while the yodel of a loon echoes off the shore. I hear the gurgle of water around our paddles, and the rush of rapids along the Frost and Kawishiwi Rivers as we portage. I feel the chill of the evening air on my back and the warmth of a campfire on my face. And I'm anticipating scattered pockets of fall color bursting out among the green-and-blue landscape. Of course, the trail will get us acquainted with the realities of the journey: blistered hands, sore shoulders, rock-and-root-stubbed toes, stream-clogging beaver dams, muddy portages that seem to never end, headwinds, waves, and - of course - rain. Heck, in September it could even snow.
But out of such a character-building litany are bound to come a few stories. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to having a few tales to spin - and stretch - upon our return.
Hey, maybe we'll have a run-in with a bear!
That's anticipation at its best.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
On the hunt for Fisher Map F-3
Seems like it's been a long time since our last update! I guess it has been. We've been alternating between busy times at work, and trying our hardest to kick back and relax on the weekends.
We did do a bit of paddling last weekend, again in the kayaks...on Fish Lake and Rice Lake in Maple Grove. Fish Lake was another end-of-the-day paddle, where I discovered that it's not the most intelligent idea to attempt to navigate through weed beds. Now that we're well into summer, aquatic plant life in the lakes around the Twin Cities is going gangbusters. My kayak floated over the "weeds" with ease, but the rudder got a bit hung up and, worse, the plants seemed to be grabbing at my paddles. It was like venturing into the tentacles of a submerged creature that was hungry.
Jenni, smartly, stayed out in open water.
That was Saturday. Sunday we went for a short afternoon paddle on Rice Lake - the same waters where we first launched the kayaks. The water was of questionable quality even in June, but a month and a half later it was even more cloudy, smelly, and in some places nearly fluorescent green with thick algae at the surface. As we paddled past homes along the lake, the cause of this eutrophication was obvious: lush green lawns mowed right to the water's edge. Dipping our paddles in such muck was reinforcement that "buffer zones" of natural vegetation along lakes, rivers, and creeks are a must to preserve water quality.
Our launch countdown clock on the page caught my attention today. Only 28 days to go. We've been talking about the big canoe trip for so long that it still seems a somewhat distant and vague notion in my mind. But a month from today - September 9 - we will be three days into the wilderness! We still have a lot of preparation ahead...packing lists, menu planning, and detailing our day-to-day campsite goals along the route.
Until recently, we were also missing a map. We purchased wonderful McKenzie Maps of the Boundary Waters at REI in March. These maps are fantastic: they show a detailed overview of lakes, portages, campsites, and shaded topography of the land. Unfortunately, McKenzie's coverage doesn't extend much beyond the beautiful BWCA and Quetico. As far as our route was concerned, we would paddle off the edge of the world right halfway across White Iron Lake southeast of Ely.
We know there's not a giant waterfall into the infinite abyss here because we continued tracing our route in the Minnesota Atlas & Gazetteer (and we confirmed it thanks to Google Maps' satellite photos). But we can't truck a computer along in the canoe, and pulling out the newspaper-dimensioned map atlas with lakes the size of a thumbnail isn't practical.
The other (and perhaps foremost) authority on BWCA maps is W.A. Fisher Co. Fisher has been publishing maps of the U.S.-Canada boundary lakes region for a good 75 years. Fisher Maps are of a bit larger scale than McKenzie...and Fisher boasts a larger coverage area (the BWCA, Ely, Lake Vermilion, Quetico, and other lakes in Canada). Of course Fisher had a map that covered the remainder of our route. It would have been easy to order it online, but I didn't want to pay tax and shipping. So I searched for it in stores. The Bloomington REI had some Fisher maps, but not F-3. I tried Gander Mountain in Maple Grove: nada.
Frustrated nearly to the point of forking over shipping and handling, I was headed up to the cabin a couple of weeks ago when the ol' idea light bulb clicked on: I bet I could find said map Up North!
Few cabin trips are complete without a stroll down to the road to Clearwater Outfitters and Lodge, usually to buy a candy bar. (And the candy is even more satisfying when the trip to the lodge is via kayak.) This time, I went sniffing around the tall map shelf that sits along a log wall beneath a stuffed moose head. Alas, I was skunked again - while the lodge had a great selection of Fisher maps, especially for the eastern Boundary Waters, F-3 remained elusive. I asked the lodge owner about ordering a map, but she said she wasn't able to order single maps (and, admittedly, it wouldn't make a lot of sense for Clearwater Lodge to stock up on maps of the Ely area). She suggested a couple of websites - whoops, more S&H plus no instant gratification of a map-in-hand - or the Lake Superior Trading Post in Grand Marais.
Ah, yes - the Lake Superior Trading Post. A visit to Grand Marais isn't complete without stopping here. It's a fairly typical Up North Shop for Tourists, but bigger and better, and a literal stone's throw from the Grand Marais harbor. The usual suspects are in stock, from gifts to pricey outdoor wear to stuffed animals and books. (I admit I've bought many a regionally themed book here and enjoyed them all.) But LSTP also has practical camping equipment, knives and fishing lures, a great selection of hats, and yes, maps.
And not just your typical ratty, disorganized, forgotten shelf tucked in a corner. This was a whole section, with a complete catalog of McKenzie and Fisher maps, maps of the Superior Hiking Trail, detailed overviews of Isle Royale and some of the larger inland lakes, and Lake Superior navigation charts (not the laminated place-mat crap stamped "NOT FOR NAVIGATION" - these were the real deal).
There, tucked neatly on the shelf with the "F-3" label, was my map. White Iron Lake, in its massive windswept entirety. One Pine Lake. The northeast finger of Bear Island Lake. And the Bear Island River connecting them all.
When I brought the map to the checkout counter, I remarked that I'd been looking all over for it, including in the Twin Cities, and LSTP was the first place to have it.
"We have the most complete selection of Boundary Waters maps of anyone," the guy behind the counter replied. "Even anyone in the Twin Cities."
No kidding. If I need maps in the future, I know where to go.
Incidentally, while the time at the cabin was enjoyable, the weather was generally windy - gusty during the day, breezy all night, every day I was there. It made fishing difficult and canoeing unappealing. Plus, my canoe partner was back in the hot-and-humid Twin Cities, as her work schedule hadn't allowed for the time off.
Pathetically enough, we still have yet to set foot in a canoe this year. But we're feeling the countdown now, and we're headed Up North again next week. I'm sure the canoe will hit the water this time - wind and weather be damned!
We did do a bit of paddling last weekend, again in the kayaks...on Fish Lake and Rice Lake in Maple Grove. Fish Lake was another end-of-the-day paddle, where I discovered that it's not the most intelligent idea to attempt to navigate through weed beds. Now that we're well into summer, aquatic plant life in the lakes around the Twin Cities is going gangbusters. My kayak floated over the "weeds" with ease, but the rudder got a bit hung up and, worse, the plants seemed to be grabbing at my paddles. It was like venturing into the tentacles of a submerged creature that was hungry.
Jenni, smartly, stayed out in open water.
That was Saturday. Sunday we went for a short afternoon paddle on Rice Lake - the same waters where we first launched the kayaks. The water was of questionable quality even in June, but a month and a half later it was even more cloudy, smelly, and in some places nearly fluorescent green with thick algae at the surface. As we paddled past homes along the lake, the cause of this eutrophication was obvious: lush green lawns mowed right to the water's edge. Dipping our paddles in such muck was reinforcement that "buffer zones" of natural vegetation along lakes, rivers, and creeks are a must to preserve water quality.
Our launch countdown clock on the page caught my attention today. Only 28 days to go. We've been talking about the big canoe trip for so long that it still seems a somewhat distant and vague notion in my mind. But a month from today - September 9 - we will be three days into the wilderness! We still have a lot of preparation ahead...packing lists, menu planning, and detailing our day-to-day campsite goals along the route.
Until recently, we were also missing a map. We purchased wonderful McKenzie Maps of the Boundary Waters at REI in March. These maps are fantastic: they show a detailed overview of lakes, portages, campsites, and shaded topography of the land. Unfortunately, McKenzie's coverage doesn't extend much beyond the beautiful BWCA and Quetico. As far as our route was concerned, we would paddle off the edge of the world right halfway across White Iron Lake southeast of Ely.
We know there's not a giant waterfall into the infinite abyss here because we continued tracing our route in the Minnesota Atlas & Gazetteer (and we confirmed it thanks to Google Maps' satellite photos). But we can't truck a computer along in the canoe, and pulling out the newspaper-dimensioned map atlas with lakes the size of a thumbnail isn't practical.
The other (and perhaps foremost) authority on BWCA maps is W.A. Fisher Co. Fisher has been publishing maps of the U.S.-Canada boundary lakes region for a good 75 years. Fisher Maps are of a bit larger scale than McKenzie...and Fisher boasts a larger coverage area (the BWCA, Ely, Lake Vermilion, Quetico, and other lakes in Canada). Of course Fisher had a map that covered the remainder of our route. It would have been easy to order it online, but I didn't want to pay tax and shipping. So I searched for it in stores. The Bloomington REI had some Fisher maps, but not F-3. I tried Gander Mountain in Maple Grove: nada.Frustrated nearly to the point of forking over shipping and handling, I was headed up to the cabin a couple of weeks ago when the ol' idea light bulb clicked on: I bet I could find said map Up North!
Few cabin trips are complete without a stroll down to the road to Clearwater Outfitters and Lodge, usually to buy a candy bar. (And the candy is even more satisfying when the trip to the lodge is via kayak.) This time, I went sniffing around the tall map shelf that sits along a log wall beneath a stuffed moose head. Alas, I was skunked again - while the lodge had a great selection of Fisher maps, especially for the eastern Boundary Waters, F-3 remained elusive. I asked the lodge owner about ordering a map, but she said she wasn't able to order single maps (and, admittedly, it wouldn't make a lot of sense for Clearwater Lodge to stock up on maps of the Ely area). She suggested a couple of websites - whoops, more S&H plus no instant gratification of a map-in-hand - or the Lake Superior Trading Post in Grand Marais.
Ah, yes - the Lake Superior Trading Post. A visit to Grand Marais isn't complete without stopping here. It's a fairly typical Up North Shop for Tourists, but bigger and better, and a literal stone's throw from the Grand Marais harbor. The usual suspects are in stock, from gifts to pricey outdoor wear to stuffed animals and books. (I admit I've bought many a regionally themed book here and enjoyed them all.) But LSTP also has practical camping equipment, knives and fishing lures, a great selection of hats, and yes, maps.
And not just your typical ratty, disorganized, forgotten shelf tucked in a corner. This was a whole section, with a complete catalog of McKenzie and Fisher maps, maps of the Superior Hiking Trail, detailed overviews of Isle Royale and some of the larger inland lakes, and Lake Superior navigation charts (not the laminated place-mat crap stamped "NOT FOR NAVIGATION" - these were the real deal).
There, tucked neatly on the shelf with the "F-3" label, was my map. White Iron Lake, in its massive windswept entirety. One Pine Lake. The northeast finger of Bear Island Lake. And the Bear Island River connecting them all.
When I brought the map to the checkout counter, I remarked that I'd been looking all over for it, including in the Twin Cities, and LSTP was the first place to have it.
"We have the most complete selection of Boundary Waters maps of anyone," the guy behind the counter replied. "Even anyone in the Twin Cities."
No kidding. If I need maps in the future, I know where to go.
Incidentally, while the time at the cabin was enjoyable, the weather was generally windy - gusty during the day, breezy all night, every day I was there. It made fishing difficult and canoeing unappealing. Plus, my canoe partner was back in the hot-and-humid Twin Cities, as her work schedule hadn't allowed for the time off.
Pathetically enough, we still have yet to set foot in a canoe this year. But we're feeling the countdown now, and we're headed Up North again next week. I'm sure the canoe will hit the water this time - wind and weather be damned!
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