Boundary Waters Canoe Area
June 26 - July 4, 1988
"The singing wilderness has to do with the calling of the loons, northern lights and the great silences of a land lying northwest of Lake Superior. It is concerned with the simple joys, the timelessness and perspective found in a way of life that is close to the past. I have heard the singing in many places, but I seem to hear it best in the wilderness lake country of the Quetico-Superior, where travel is still by pack and canoe over the ancient trails of the Indians and voyageurs."
"I have heard it on misty migration nights when the dark has been alive with the high calling of birds, and in rapids when the air has been full of their rushing thunder. I have caught it at dawn when the mists were moving out of the bays, and on cold winter nights when the stars seemed close enough to touch. But the music can even be heard in the soft guttering of an open fire or in the beat of rain on a tent, and sometimes not until long afterward when, like an echo out of the past, you know it was there in some quiet place or when you were doing some simple thing in the out-of-doors."
Sigurd F. Olson, introduction to "The Singing Wilderness"
A need to be in northern Illinois on family business created an opportunity to canoe the Quetico-Superior country on the Minnesota/Canada border. We were there once before, about 12 years ago. The distance from Rochester (we put 3100 miles on the car this trip) makes it unlikely that we will go again in the near future.
The Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA), on the US side of the border, is over one million acres of wilderness, extending 200 miles along the border. Quetico Provincial Park, adjacent on the Ontario side, is about the same size. It is tempting to ignore the border and consider the two parks as one large wilderness area. However, bureaucracy and politics have made this very difficult. You need at least four, sometimes five, sets of documents to canoe both parks starting in the US: 1: BWCA travel permit, from a particular US Forest Service office which controls the particular area through which you will enter; 2: Canadian immigration and customs inspection. They will charge you duty on any food beyond a two days supply, based on standard outfitters food prices unless you have receipts; 3: Quetico park camping permit; 4: some routes from the US into Quetico require spending a night in Ontario forest land outside Quetico Park. This requires yet another camping permit from a different office; 5: US customs when you reenter the US. Note that each of these five steps has to be done in person, at one of five different offices, located hundreds of miles apart by road, and at least two hard days of canoeing apart by the shortest combination of road and water. For example, Canadian Customs and the Quetico Park Rangers both have offices in the park on the border, but one is on Namikan Lake and the other is on Lac La Croix - about 35 miles by water, less by float plane, no roads.
As a result of all this, we decided to stay on the US side, smuggling ourselves into Canada only for one afternoon side trip to see a pair of impressive waterfalls.
Visiting this area, or even just studying the maps, induces a strong sense of history. The long chains of rivers, lakes and portages were in use by Indians thousands of years ago, by French and English voyageurs and fur traders 250 years ago, and by Canadian and American settlers up until the early 1900's, after which the railroads provided a more convenient route. Even during the busy summer months, much of the area may now be the least populated it has been since the glaciers retreated 9000 years ago. And it probably doesn't look much different than it did a few thousand years ago.
Since the whole region was useless for farming and mining, it was simply a path to somewhere else or a place to visit briefly for hunting food. The Indians left paintings on the cliffs, faded but still visible. A few hunting and fishing lodges were built in modern times, and have mostly been removed since wilderness status was legislated. Some areas were logged, but the trees have grown back.
So for the most part, you can travel for hundreds of miles with no signs of "modern" civilization. The worn portage trails and campsite clearings are civilization of a sort, but were created by a Sioux civilization 3000 years ago and have been little changed since.
The large lakes right on the international border are excepted. An Indian reservation on the Canadian side is exempt from the usual wilderness restrictions A few commercial resorts, which will be phased out at some time in the future, are also along the Canadian shore. Because of the long distances involved, there are commercial ferry services - small outboard runabouts (restricted to 10 hp) which will take you and your gear along the border from one of the few roadheads to the beginning of your trip into the interior.
We arrived at the Forest Service ranger station in Cook early on Sunday, June 26, and had breakfast across the street, watching to see if a line would form as opening time approached. We had no reservations, and our intended entry point had a quota of 8 groups per day. We obtained our wilderness travel permit (free!) without problem, then bought maps at Anderson's in Orr. We intended to buy fresh bagels and cheese for several trail lunches. This was our first mistake. Did you ever try to buy a bagel in rural Minnesota? We finally found some reasonably compact firm rye bread which looked like it might survive packing.
Our entrance to the BWCA was via the Little Indian Sioux River where it crosses the Echo Trail about 25 miles northwest of Ely. Water levels seemed close to normal for this time of year, and everything was green, in contrast to the severe drought further south. The trip began with an immediate 40-rod portage from the parking lot to below a rapids. The river is often just a narrow channel, flowing through wide fields of wild rice. We imagined coming back in the fall to harvest some rice in the Indian fashion - bending the stalks over the side of the canoe and beating rice grains off the stalks into the bottom of the canoe. Much of the wild rice we buy in Rochester is indeed harvested by Indians in this manner, although mechanically harvested California wild rice is starting to erode the price, and will probably eliminate this traditional source of tribal income.
The white and yellow water lilies were already in bloom, and we frequently passed through wide areas covered with them. Unfortunately, the predominant white lily here was the non-fragrant variety. Along the swampy shores we saw a small blue orchid and some pitcher plants in bloom. The first night was spent on Little Loon Lake, near a sand beach. The weather was unusually warm for the entire trip, and swimming in the cool lakes was delightful. The second day involved a chain of small lakes and seven portages, adding up to 522 rods. (After getting used to yards in New York and meters in Canada, you have to get used to yet another measure in Minnesota. A rod is 16 1/2 feet, and makes some sort of intuitive sense if thought of as one canoe length. Portages sound fairly short measured this way, but I calculated it out to be 1.6 miles on this day. With eight days of food on our backs, it felt longer. During the day, the fiberglass reinforcing patch peeled off the shoulder yoke on the canoe, and I spent half an hour cutting a splint and lashing it under the yoke to ensure it would survive the rest of the trip. Never, never, never, use polyester resin to put fiberglass on wood! I have forgotten this lesson several times, and regretted it each time
Eugene Lake has a nice waterfall near the portage. We saw a pair of loons with two half-grown loonlets. We spent the night on Bear Trap Lake. There were ripe blueberries here (in June??!), and we picked about 1 1/2 cups for breakfast. There were also ticks here. This was quite a shock, after just having read all about the Lyme Disease outbreak. We had never seen a tick in our many years of backwoods travel, but after finding one, we found several more during a careful inspection of each other. After getting home we discovered these were not the tiny Deer Ticks which carry Lyme Disease, but were a much larger, easier to see variety.
The next day started out rainy, but it stopped quickly - no problem. This was the only rain of the entire trip. We paddled Thumb Lake, Finger L. and Pocket Lake (who names these lakes?), then down a river to the huge Lac La Croix This day included five portages, 335 rods, about a mile. We have seen no people in the two days from Loon Lake to Lac La Croix, but now we are back in civilization, with float planes taking off a few miles away across the lake, and outboards ferrying canoes and baggage back and forth. The first two campsites we pass are occupied. The third is vacant, but has what appears to be a luxuriant patch of poison ivy in the center of the site. The next suitable site appears to be some distance away and we are tired, so we gamble and set up camp.
Day three started out with a lazy morning of sleeping late and puttering around camp. At noon, we set off down the lake to visit some Indian pictographs, which are only a couple of miles from our site. An overhanging cliff has sheltered the drawings from the worst of the weather and they have survived for hundreds of years, although faded and in some places barely visible. A drawing of a moose stands out clearly. Some Indian kids apparently had some spare war paint and had a contest to see who could reach highest without tipping the canoe over - so there are a series of hand prints about an arms reach above the water. Various other drawings are hard to decipher.
We went on from here to Warrior Hill - a steep granite outcropping with a fine view from the top. Legend has it that young Indian men proved their bravery and stamina by racing from the water up the steep slopes.
From here we went on to Rebecca Falls, getting dive bombed by gulls as we passed their island nesting site. Rebecca Falls is well into Canada, so we are technically illegal immigrants at this point, but the view seems worth the risk. The water volume is impressive, and passes down two nearly straight chutes perhaps 10 feet wide and a few hundred yards long, on each side of a small island. The slope is continuous, and steep enough to create solid, fast moving, white water for the entire length. At two gentle bends, the water piles up high against the side before sliding off into its new direction, creating a couple of huge standing waves. There were no visible rocks underwater, so it might actually be possible to run it in a kayak.
It is now 6:10 PM and we are a long ways from camp, but seeing Curtain Falls is too good an opportunity to pass up, and it is only a few miles further, so we move on, arriving at 6:50. This is more of a real falls - one hundred yards or so wide, dropping perhaps 30 feet, with a high water volume and a roar that made it difficult to talk.
It is now 7:12 and we are 8 miles and an 80 rod portage from camp. We are counting on the high latitude and being only a few days from the summer solstice to give enough daylight. The sun went down at 9 PM. We arrived back at camp at 9:34, with just enough light left to distinguish the gross features of the surrounding islands and identify our site. We watched the moon come up while eating our multi-bean soup.
The next day was devoted to laziness. We read, swam, explored the nearby forest and dozed until evening, then set off in the canoe to find a swampy area and watch the evening wildlife show. Not much success - a pleasant paddle, several kinds of ducks, two duck families with numerous babies, one white tailed deer, but no moose or beaver or bear. We have not yet seen a moose on this trip, nor have we heard the timber wolves. In bed at midnight.
Friday morning, July 1, we packed up and moved on. We went south on Lac La Croix to Lake Agnes. We walked the short route to L. Agnes, a 115 r. portage, without gear, then returned and paddled the long route, a two mile narrow winding channel ending in a 24 r. portage to the lake. On the way, we passed through an area recently burned by a forest fire. The smell was awful. One huge pine had fallen across the creek after burning, and we had to drag the canoe through the blackened mess. At one point we could clearly see where the fire started - a tall pine shattered by lightning, with the burned area heading off east (down wind).
From a distance we saw a small animal swimming, and then saw it again on land. It was low slung and long, with a long bushy tail, carrying something in its mouth (a baby?). It could have been a martin. We stopped for lunch on Lake Agnes at 3 PM. Dave snoozed while Helen picked blueberries and Juneberries. We moved on, up the Nina Moose River, hoping not to miss the junction of the Oyster "River", really a rather small creek. We found it, portaged 20 r., paddled several narrow twisty miles, and portaged 60 r. into Oyster Lake.
We made camp on the south shore at 7:10. The map shows two campsites along this shore. We missed the first, searched unsuccessfully for the second, and then set up camp in a grove of mature red pines where someone else had previously left a stone fire ring. The forest here is very open - almost no brush. Subsequently, while collecting firewood, we found the official site, only 200 yards away, but unattractive and overlooking a swamp. As usual, we have seen many loons and ducks, several grey herons, a turkey vulture, and a couple of large hawks. There are bald eagles in this area, and we might have seen one, but never close enough to be sure. We watched a beautiful red sunset while drinking our evening tea.
The next day we portaged 240 r. to Hustler L., 10 r. to Ruby Lake, 280 r. to Lynx L., setting up camp on Lynx L. at 2 PM. We then portaged over to Heritage L. without gear and explored a small stream at the north end. We searched for some time for the portage from here to East Loon Bay, and never did find it. It is either nonexistent or at least half a mile from its indicated position on the map. We were just exploring and didn't really care, but next day we saw a large heavily loaded group heading that direction. I hope they had more success than we did. We returned to our camp by late evening, eating after dark. About 10:30 we heard much loud heavy splashing from the nearby swamp, but couldn't see anything. A moose fight?
Next morning, while preparing a leisurely baked corn bread/egg/salami breakfast, a party of ten teenagers went by - five in each of two Grumman aluminum canoes, all paddling, all singing. On a command from the leader, they gave us a carefully choreographed raised paddle salute. Later, we left our gear set up and headed off to find the hiking trail which the map indicated as passing between Shell and Little Shell lakes and eventually joining the Souix Hustler Trail. We found the trail, and hiked it for a mile or so, but it was in terrible condition. The trail itself had been rarely used and was nearly invisible. There were many windfalls across the trail. Markers were just frequent enough to allow following it with careful attention. So much for a pleasant day hike. The afternoon was spent relaxing in camp. A muskrat swam in to visit, climbed up the rocks to within ten feet of us, and sat and watched us for a long time. I experimented with miniature sailboats: carved wood hull, thin triangular rock keel, birch bark sail, fixed rudder. I finally got one to sail a more or less straight course on a broad reach, and it disappeared out into the lake. I hope some canoeist got an interesting surprise.
On the 4th of July we rose early, got on the water by 7:20, and pushed hard to get back to the car. Two short portages put us in Shell Lake, and then a 216 r. portage to Lower Pauness L. completed the circle. All that remained was retracing our path up the Little Indian Sioux River. We arrived back at the car at about 11 AM, and drove all the way down to Wisconsin Dells, one of the world's most touristy tourist traps - but that's another story. The direct canoe route was 60 miles, done in 5 1/2 easy days of travel with three lay days. Day trips on the lay days probably added another 30 to 40 miles.