Reflections On a Week in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area
Wolves howled as the sun rose.
A gradient of deep blue gave way to the warm orange horizon.
The water was still, and a blanket of mist hung over it winding its way through the pointed evergreens that densely packed the shores.
Macklin stood in our camp, bundled in a down jacket, warm coffee in hand. Rylee was in her sleeping bag on a relatively flat, protruding slab of granite. Me, I stood with my camera at the water’s edge.
One wolf howled.
My ears perked up.
Excitement rushed in.
That’s Mack.
I smiled and looked over at Mack with wide eyes.
He smiled and nodded.
Another wolf howled.
Then, what sounded like a dozen more.
A whole chorus broke the morning silence as the sun made its way over the treeline.
The Land
The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness is one of the most visited wilderness areas in the United States.
Running along Minnesota’s border with Ontario, Canada, this so-called canoe country is home to both famed explorers and revered northern animals like wolves, bears, Canadian Lynx, and moose.
It’s a remote region, dotted with lakes whose shores are densely packed with coniferous and deciduous trees, like pine, spruce, fir and birch. A staple is the Red Pine, or Norway Pine, which stands out in the horizon due to its towering stature and reddish hue.
Camp at Horseshoe Island in Newfound Lake.
To contrast the plant life in the region are the massive pieces of rock. Boulders sharply rise out of water or lie just beneath the surface, easily seen when hovering from above in a canoe. The shores are mostly lined with these sharp, set pieces of rock.
They ensure that you watch your step when clambering onto land with a canoe or kayak on your shoulders.
The defining feature of this area is the water.
On dark, cloudy days, the water will work with the wind against your journey. Choppy and rough, the water will squelch any argument in favor of traveling that day.
On calm, clear evenings, the water appears a deep blue and completely still.
We would often take the canoe out in the evening to fish.
Gliding across the water, you could see down for quite a ways before paddling over a stark drop off.
When the lakes behave in this way, they appear glassy.
They reflect everything.
Smoke from campfires ashore.
Trees.
Dragonflies.
Stone.
Everything.
Until you break that peaceful calm with paddle and canoe, it’s hard to believe that something as powerful and unpredictable as the wilderness can be so easy, so welcoming.
The Weather
In June, the weather can change rapidly.
It’ll rain on and off during the morning, finally giving way to the sun at night.
Or not.
During our trip, we started and ended on high notes.
Paddling Moose Lake, I got a sunburn in a matter of an hour or so. But, there were a few days of being sopping wet, cold even.
Temperatures fluctuated. Somedays felt like 80s, whereas rainy days could’ve been low 60s, perhaps lower overnight.
Flipping the trip on its head, Saturday was beautiful, Sunday was rain, wet stones, and soggy portages.
It rained nearly all day on Sunday, which was also our longest day.
We paddled 8 hours, covering about 10 miles.
The rain slickened the portages, making the landings slippery and muddy.
The rocks that stuck out of the trail were now an even greater hazard.
When I had the canoe on my shoulders, I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. Every step was like a chess move.
It had thought behind it.
Motivation to get to the other side.
With such a great contrast at the beginning of the trip slowly tapered into a very enjoyable morning sunrise during our final day.
The middle of the week started rainy, but ended quite pleasant. Windy but clear and sunny most days.
Paddling became tough when we started west into the wind.
But slowly and steadily, we dipped our paddles and pressed on.
We rented from Piragis. This is a kevlar canoe. Really light.
Campsites and Navigation
The biggest point of anxiety for me going into this trip wasn’t paying for it, the physical exertion, losing valuables to backcountry waters, or bears.
It was navigation.
We had detailed maps.
We had more than one compass.
We knew how to use these tools.
But, our initial route called for many portages into many lakes -- most of which live fairly far in.
Not to mention we’d be hitting multiple lakes daily, covering many miles of paddling between.
Another from Horseshoe Island
On a good day that could be a challenge.
On a day when you’re slogging through, tired and hungry, perhaps angry even, making a wrong turn is an all too real situation.
All this fear simmered for a while before I got out there. I explained it to the others.
We were all accountable for navigation. Not just me.
That alone made me feel better.
Once we put it and got our start, all that noise silenced and was then replaced by a slow methodical repetition of paddles hitting water and coming out again.
To navigate, we stayed left or right.
That’s all.
We looked at the map. We set out sights on a single section of our route.
One step at a time, we stayed left or right.
One section. Left or right.
Paddle. Paddle. Paddle. Portage.
Check the map. Next section. Left or right.
Paddle.
We fell into rhythm in a day or so, and with a keen sense of appreciation and purpose, we all scouted for campsites.
A cluster of sites would fill our section of focus. Folding the map away, we’d pick our heads up and scan the horizon.
After staring into walls of towering green trees for hours and days on end, you pick up on anomalies quickly.
We could spot portages from far away.
A break like that in the trees wasn’t natural, neither were the open spaces that were reserved for backcountry travelers.
Each afternoon, we’d swoop into camp and quickly delegate chores.
I brought gear.
Mack and Rylee brought food.
We’d get the tent situated. Then the tarp.
Then, Rylee would start on food.
Then, clean up.
Then, cards. Buck Euchre.
Many hands. Many defeats. Many mistakes and odd run-ins with weird combinations.
It all led to a nice evening in the wild with people you could count on.
Add in a pack of wolves howling at the sun, and it all made for an enriching experience in a place like nowhere else I’ve been.
I had nothing in my hand. And that’s a cigarette.
Our Route
If I’m right, we traveled roughly 35 miles. Most of it done paddling, of course. All of it done over just about 6 days.
What we decided early on was that we’d rather not break our backs to travel as far as possible.
Instead, we’d like to spend this time nourishing ourselves and enjoying the wilderness.
Our route took us from our starting point at Moose Lake to Knife, and then briefly southbound to Spoon, where we headed back to Moose through a series of lakes.
This trajectory gave us a big lake experience, a backcountry experience, and many experiences on portages.
This trip being our first canoe trip in the region, it was all about getting our feet wet and knowing what we were up against.
My thought process was that it’s better to plan for more and do less, keeping the possibilities and opportunities open without overdoing it.
When I travel, I like to have many options.
But, I don’t always do everything I want.
It’s almost impossible.
Plus, exhausting.
This trip, it was full. It had everything I wanted, and then some very unexpected occurrences that made it especially memorable.
The Importance of the Boundary Waters to Me
Mack and I talked about doing this trip for years.
It was the pinnacle of outdoor adventure in Minnesota.
A serious trip.
The real deal.
A rite of passage.
Planning seemed too big, though. Cost was also a factor. We started camping together in college, and money now isn’t what it was then.
But, I shouldn’t have let that stop me from breaking ground and trying to get there. Because really, it wasn’t that bad.
What’s more, the reward of this trip was far greater than any expense I could’ve paid.
I remember after a few days falling in sync with the wild.
Precise time wasn’t a factor anymore.
Emails, texts, social media -- left behind.
Work, bills, chores -- forgotten.
Stress, anxiety, frustration -- relieved.
What mattered were the bear essentials, and what I felt right then and there.
It’s wild places like this that force you into the moment.
It’s an experience that’s enthralling because for people like me who trap themselves in their own minds far too often, it’s a release from what could or would be and what was or what should’ve been.
Rapid thoughts and stresses about frivolous tasks, objectives and goals are replaced by a tuned sense of being and livelihood.
You’re hungry.
You’re thirsty.
You’re tired.
You’re hot. Cold.
You’re hurt.
And it’s all a part of something amazing.
This place brings out emotions and feelings, thoughts and ideas that you might not otherwise come up with.
The last night we spent on Knife Lake we watched one of the most beautiful sunsets I’d ever seen.
All of us, posted on a slanted slab of granite looking west. The sky lit up with a blend of warm colors -- pinks, oranges, reds -- that were the backdrop for the whimsical birds coasting in the sky. The waves lapped the shores lazily, and the treeline grew darker and darker. Great clouds came out of nowhere, traveling across one of the biggest skies I’d seen.
We didn’t talk for a while.
When we broke the silence, words fell out clumsily.
The scene was staggering.
This place, having changed so little in so long gave us a glimpse into an ancient way of life. It showed me what things were like, what they are like, what they can still be like if the threats facing areas like this are stopped.
Here’s that sunset I was talking about. I know. It doesn’t do it justice.
Certainly not every moment of our trip was a grand, philosophical awakening.
Much of it was tough, hardy work.
We earned those miles.
Nature didn’t relent at times.
It was not easy.
There were challenges.
But, with that, there is growth. That’s part of the reason I continue going on these trips.
I’ve found that simply putting myself into a situation that freaks me out helps me neutralize that fear -- at least incrementally.
My fear of navigating in this area quickly subsided when I took the map out, studied it, and paddled.
My ability to portage a canoe over slippery rocks and narrow, muddy trails wasn’t found until this trip.
Among many other first-time experiences, visiting this place gave me a greater sense of appreciation for what I’m capable of, as well as what the true benefits of natural places like this are.
The BWCA is a truly wild place that’s both imposing and inviting. It’s wild enough for the toughest of explorers, but kind enough to welcome in young people for their first ever wilderness experience.
Without places like this, I have a hard time imagining the world.
I mean, really.
Have you ever been to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area? If so, leave a comment below. I’d love to hear your experience, your tips, and meal recommendations.