And...we STILL haven't updated the website

OK, this is becoming rather broken-record-ish and probably getting annoying for those of you interested in hearing about the trip. We expected to put an update online by Christmas and, obviously, it didn't happen. But the build-up to the holidays is always a bit crazy and unfortunately the website updates suffered as a result.

BUT...

I'm pleased to announce that I've finished the first draft of the entire trip report (all 30+ pages of it). I'll be editing it in the next few days and you will see updates to the website very soon. And for those of you drooling over a detailed story of the journey, I promise you will not be disappointed. So please, check back soon!

'Gaah! Why haven't you updated the website?'

A valid question, no doubt. I know that some of you keep checking back to find out more about our trip, and, frankly, you're getting weary of the fact that nothing is ever updated on the site or our blog.

Well, yes. Poo on us for having not posted so much as a single lousy picture! "Busy" is a crappy excuse, but that's just how our fall has been.

But the update is coming soon. I'm finally going through the trip diary now and composing an expansive and windy narrative all about our adventure. Reviewing each day, it's quite amazing how much happened. I won't fall into the trap of giving myself a deadline - too many of those to deal with at work all of the time - but I will tell you that the Greatly Anticipated Trip Report should be up and live on GunflintToElyCanoe.com sometime in the next couple of weeks - absolutely before Christmas. (I'd love to devote 100 percent of my time to it now, actually, but gosh darn it, I gots to earn a livin' too and that kind of gets in the way of website hobbies.)

Seriously - thanks for your patience. The full trip report is coming soon...

P.S.: Trip report teaser - which you might have gathered from reading the last post about a guy with the gun in his truck - Gunflint to Ely Canoe did not end how, or where, we expected. Stay tuned!

We survived

Eight days.
Rain.
About 8,300 rods* of hiking and hauling gear.
Rain.
More rock scrapes on the canoe than we'd care to admit.
Rain.
Too many dam beaver dams.
Rain.
The stink of mouldering socks and hiking boots.
Rain.
A few precious moments of blue skies, sun, and Boundary Waters beauty.
Thunder, lighting, and rain.
Hitching a ride from a guy who had a gun in the front seat of his pickup.
And rain.

[*Because 1 rod equals 16 feet, we portaged - and hiked back to the start and hauled more gear and the canoe across on a second round - more than 25 miles. No kidding. Small wonder my ankle feels like it's been trampled by a moose.]

We made it. We're home. You heard it here first.

And we have stories to tell. Check GunflintToEly.com for updates. We'll be posting the story of our adventure, day by day, in the coming weeks.

As always, we will keep you abrest of our updates via the blog. Stay tuned!

Packing up and heading out

After more than 100 days of anticipation, it's expedition time!

I'd planned to update the blog more frequently this week, but as usual life got in the way. Run errands and go shopping, clean house, go back to the store because I didn't get enough stove fuel the first time, pay bills, get haircut, and pack in fits and starts throughout the week. A week of vacation is better than a long weekend, but it's harder to prepare for it. You have to make the house - and the pet fish and parakeets - ready for you to not be around for seven or eight days. Complications inevitably ensue, but that's par for the course.

We finished packing yesterday. Or mostly finished. What baffles me is that we've been packing, in one form or another, since Sunday. To make matters worse, Jenni's had the obligatory pre-vacation hell week at work, where everything's needed to be done now and the inbox fills twice as fast as she can empty it. But we finally hit it hard last night and now are, more or less, packed. Our tent, sleeping bags, equipment, clothes, sleeping mats, and food are all sheathed in garbage bags - keeps stuff dry, dontcha know - and stuffed into three Duluth Packs.

No packing could be complete without the inevitable argument or two, and Jenni's incredulous expression: "You're taking what?" Yes, I'm bringing a weather radio; it might be nice to know if there's a severe thunderstorm bearing down on us. Yes, I'm lugging along my big tripod, because it's essential to getting good photos. No, you won't have to carry either. Stop worrying.

Jenni rolled her eyes at both: "So unnecessary." Yeah - in her world.

This will probably get me into a lot of trouble in years to come, but the wife is not always right. There, I said it. Ninety-nine percent of the time? Absolutely, without a doubt. But I reserve that other 1 percent for situations just like this.

Besides, how would we get a picture of ourselves, together, on our anniversary, without the tripod?

Exactly. I'm glad you understand.

I posted in the BWCA.com Trip-Planning Forum a couple of days ago to see if the regulars there had any advice for the trip. Sounds like we're in for a beautiful journey from what they've said. We were cautioned about the Frost River - not to be attempted at low water levels. (The question du jour is, everbody now, "How low are they?") And if attempted, it will take all day. Start early.

That was our plan. Good to know we're on the same wavelength as the veterans.

Forum member highplainsdrifter also gave us some good advice regarding campsites and portages. Notably:

The little string of lakes south of Little Sag are pretty (but time consuming with portages). For heaven's sake, don't screw up on the portage out of Panhandle into Pan. We did and others have, too. The real portage trail is not in the cove where the drainage is. Look to the right and you will see a well-maintained trail.

He is referring to this. You can read all about that little misadventure here; scroll down to "Part 14 of 16":

We eventually noticed a clearing to our right, and looked at it dumbfounded.
Nate: "What the hell is that?"
Joe: "Uhh, that looks like a portage trail."
Matt: "What the hell is it doing over there?"

Note to self: Remember to look to the right of the cove. Thanks, highplainsdrifter!

Also, great news: Earlier this week, the Forest Service lifted the fire ban on the blowdown zone! So we'll be able to enjoy a campfire every day, and cook our hot dogs on Banadad Lake tomorrow night.

So, that's it. Jenni will be home soon with the canoe. Tomorrow we're off to Grand Marais for a stop at the USFS ranger station to pick up our permits and be re-educated by the proper BWCA camping techniques video. Then it's off to the Trail Center for hamburgers, and finally, to the waters of Poplar Lake, where the journey begins...

Down to the final week

Can't believe we have just four days to go! The summer has really gone fast.

Jenni and I decided we had to do something fun and adventurous for the holiday weekend. Might as well work in one more chance to get our paddling arms in shape, I surmised, so I planned our excursion...a half-day kayaking on the St. Croix River upstream from Stillwater. We paddled along heavily wooded banks, tree-topped cliffs, and ducked behind islands to avoid the powerboat traffic. Several miles upriver, we landed at a beach for lunch in the shadow of this:

The Soo Line High Bridge is a fantastic but little-known landmark. It's a 100-year old railroad bridge that spans the entire St. Croix River Valley in five graceful arches. Towering 184 feet above the water and spanning nearly 2,700 feet, it's every bit as big as it looks, and it still carries train traffic. Stand underneath, look up, and you get dizzy.

The bridge has obviously been a popular spot for a while because, etched into the cliff below the bridge, we saw that Jack, Jean, and Florence had been here in 1931.


After lunch, we headed back downstream to the public access - into a headwind, of course. But all in all, it was an awesome day on the river.

After we got home, we started packing. First, we set up our tent. It's a Kelty tent, a wedding gift from Jenni's parents.

And it has Storm Trooper-ish vestibules to keep our shoes and gear dry! (That's Lily, the doggie we are fostering, coming toward me.)

I've never had a tent with vestibules, so I can't wait to try it out.

Then we tested our stoves, and started dragging camping gear out of the closets and garage.

We were in better shape Sunday. After Jenni finished fine-tuning our menu, we went grocery shopping. Then we pulled our food out of its packaging and double-bagged it in plastic bags, for maximum spillage protection and minimum weight and bulkiness.

I discovered that being the menu-coordinator's helper in the kitchen meant sampling leftover snacks. M&M's, peanuts, chocolate-covered raisins. Sign me up for that job again!

Last night, Jenni combined our respective first aid kits into one super first-aid kit and folded and bagged our maps. The living room is awash in gear and Duluth packs. Now, we only have to tie up a few loose ends, pack our clothes, and fill the Duluth packs.

I just checked the Canoe Country forecast and the 10-day outlook says we can look forward to a mix of sun and rain, with highs in the 50s and 60s and lows in the 40s and even the 30s! Good early fall weather.

Look for more updates later this week.

Allure of the ancients at Fishdance Lake

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.

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!