Highlights
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Highlights
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This collage of events took place over
the period of eighteen years. it describes the highs and the lows, the drudgery
and serenity, the extremes of weather, the camaraderie, the bizarre and the fun
that only the boundary waters can provide. For
those just starting and those near the end of their sojourns , may the waves lap
gently and the campsite be unoccupied.
It all began back in the early seventies
when I bought a canoe kit and spent some midnight oil between working in a
factory and running a restaurant part time. It was a kit that required a
good bit of messy fiberglass glue but it didn't end up looking too bad and best
of all it didn't leak. I took my two youngest sons into an easily
accessible area of Clearwater Lake not being familiar with the more remote
accesses. We had a pup tent, some dried rice, some bouillon, pancake mix
and high hopes of eating fresh caught fish. The time of year was June and
the mosquitoes had a reunion which we were cordially invited to every minute.
On our way up it grew late before we could find our turnoff so we decided to
sleep under the canoe as it was raining pretty hard. This was not a good
idea and constituted a very bad start.
It was now the eighties and a friend at work gave me a book by Pat
McManus entitled "The Grasshopper Trap" and from that came the first
Grasshopper expedition to the BWCA. It was planned to a fare thee
well with a food list that required a 70# food pack, a chef's array
of utensils, saws, axes, bed rolls, air mattresses, waterproof
matches, towels, biodegradable soap, a K-Bar, bushels of gorp and an
admonition to pack light. We crossed Vermillion towed by a friend's
blue smoke special and reached the first portage into Trout Lake with
enthusiasm, the smell of two cycle oil in our lungs and a huge cargo
to carry over the 16 rod portage. Our destination was Pine lake which
has a portage that seems all uphill with a final 1/4 mile of peat bog
that cools your feet and produces the healthiest black flies and
mosquitoes on the planet. I can still taste that first handful of gorp as we rested in the launch area into Pine Lake.
Pine lake had some of the finest walleye fishing we ever experienced. We always had fish to eat (no more rice and bouillon) and an occasional turtle. Plus we had the voluminous food pack that produced such gems as hoe cake, beef Romanoff, spaghetti, chili, cheese soup, scalloped potatoes and the treats of hot cocoa, coffee, tea, granola bars, candy bars and of course gorp. One trip produced a northern so big that we measured it to figure the weight and it tallied out at 32 pounds. That is a lot of fish to land from a canoe. We taped the release and watched as it recovered and swam away awaiting the shock of some future angler. We swam in Pine Lake in May (most of our trips were in May about a week after the ice went out). And when it was time to leave sometimes we would float down Pine Creek to avoid the drudgery of the portage to Trout. There is a warm shallow bay where Pine Creek empties into Trout lake and one especially warm sunny day we waded and wallowed for half a day in this bath water. Most of Trout Lake is deep and cold and motors are allowed so we seldom stayed but one night on our way out. There was a time we traversed down Trout on our way to the portage to Vermillion that the weather turned nasty. We were heading south into a wicked cold Northwesterly wind and the whitecaps were growing with each stroke of the paddle. Norwegian Point was our destination and it was barely visible as we embarked. It was head down and dig with the paddles as we bounced and swayed in the waves that slapped our gunwales and faces. We were wet, cold and sure that the throws of death were imminent. Somehow we arrived at the point and pulled into the relative calm of the protected shore sure that we should have waited for calmer seas. Not all of our trips were just base camp trips. We also planned and
executed several circular voyages that tested us in several ways. We
got lost, we fought winds and waves, we damn near froze one morning
on Moose Lake and ran rapids, climbed Devil's Cascade, trekked to
Back to Pine lake. On one memorial day (and it as HOT). My nephew and I traveled over the hated portage to Trout lake to meet my son and his wife who were to arrive around noon. They had never been to the portage but I was confident my directions had been adequate and at the least we would have done our part to meet them. The warm weather had hatched those huge black flies that look like mutants, the ugly little black flies were everywhere gouging into your ears and eyes and the mosquitoes managed to elbow in between the other critters attacks. We were sweating as the sun reflected from the lake onto our faces and the steady hum of the insects was maddening. Off in the distance almost at noon I thought I saw a canoe . Given the conditions I could not discount an illusion. I looked again and could not see it. Yep had to be an illusion. A few minutes later from around a point I saw my illusion had reached reality. They were arriving as planned. As the canoe slid onto the log my son opened a cooler in the center of the canoe and lo and behold there in a sea of ice, rested 12 of the most delightful looking frosted cans of Keystone Lite ever seen. We gleefully scampered over the portage and paddled to our island camp where my long time companion Paul was informed we had confiscated the forbidden cans that just happened to be ice cold. We toasted the arrival of this unexpected refreshment and queried whether the Swedish Skydivers would soon be dropping into our midst. I can still taste that brew. We paddled St. Johns', Crane, Moose, Mountain, Pine, Vermillion,
Trout, Clearwater, North Fowl, Caribou and Little Caribou,
Dale Netherton copyright 2006 Dale Netherton http://www.canoestories.com/fiction/18years.htm |
