Minnesota’s Boundary Waters- Ed Wisneski

After committing to camping and canoeing in early September in the remote Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota with my former Dartmouth College classmate Gregg Kelley, I thought of a quote from Socrates that best described my previous experience in those pursuits – “All I know is that I know nothing.”

It had been 48 years since I pitched a tent. That’s when Kelley and I embarked on one last road trip after graduation to camp in Yellowstone National Park.  As a student, he had extensively explored the wild, rugged 27,000 acres of the Dartmouth Grant that the New Hampshire legislature had bestowed upon the College in 1807.  I barely laid a foot there in four years. My future jobs in New York City, Los Angeles, Philadelphia and Dallas ossified my status as a city slicker.

Photo: The Author as outdoorsman

Still, I tried to at least look the part of a seasoned outdoorsman.  The extent of my “gear” was a sleeping bag from 1996 when my wife Susan and I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro. But I hadn’t slept in it since then.  Following Kelley’s list of suggestions, I bought a compass, headlamp, mess kit, portable power source, paddling gloves, sturdy carabiners (metal rings with one spring-hitch side) and lightweight pants that converted to shorts. My best purchase, an inflatable mattress that pumped up six inches off the ground, enabled Kelley to enjoy his comfortable 30-minute naps every afternoon.  I left it with him as a souvenir.

Photo: The Author at the Boundary Waters sign

Since moving to Minneapolis, Kelley had organized five excursions to the federally protected Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW), its official name, that lies within the northern third of Superior National Forest. It straddles the border with Ontario, Canada’s Provincial Quetico Park for 150 miles, creating the largest international area set aside for wilderness recreational purposes in the world.  There are 1,100 lakes and 1,200 canoe routes with islands and surrounding forests within BWCAW’s 1,090,000-acres.  National Geographic Traveler Magazine named it one of “50 Places of a Lifetime.”

Kelley planned our five-day route to include 27 miles of paddling and 11 portages over land connecting several lakes.

Obviously, he had not seen me in 48 years.  During that time, my 74-year-old body had absorbed an artificial hip and six knee operations, including both knee replacements, which made it excruciatingly painful to crawl out of our tent.  After the first day, when I tumbled out of the floating canoe into shallow water and crawled to our first campsite, Kelley wisely shifted to Plan B, about 10 miles in four days and the only portaging down a short hill from the parking lot to the BWCAW’s most popular entry point on Moose Lake.  BWCAW sets a daily quota of departures for each entry point to maintain the solitude that makes the area so popular.

I had visions of a sublime Shangri-la, paddling pristine waters amidst a soothing serenade from ubiquitous loons. No roads, no buildings, no cell phone service, no food or beverage cans or bottles.

BWCAW exceeded my expectations…except the first day.

Paddling against the wind and rain for two hours, we retreated to one of BWCAW’s 2,000 designated campsites that aren’t identified by signs.  The best clue is an accessible area on the shoreline with a visible grill.  Kelley, a veteran of this hit-and-miss system, spotted one. Most do not have dry landing areas.  You must step in shallow water to reach the campsite.

Photo: Kelley with the loaded canoe

I soon learned that setting up and breaking down camp often consumes more time than you spend on the water.  It can take at least an hour unloading backpacks, sleeping bags, dry bags, duffle bags, and bear bags before finding a flat spot for the tent, assembling it and beating the bushes to find the outdoor toilet. Kelley supplied the cooking “appliances” – backpacker’s stove, potholder, fire starter, hot pad, pots, pans, and a water filtration gizmo. The REI freeze-dried meals were surprisingly tasty. My favorite was Indian food drenched with curry on Friday night.  I declined Kelley’s health-conscious snacks of dried mango, beef jerky and a head of cabbage but welcomed a large bag of gorp (one of the new camping terms I learned that stands for good ole’ raisons and peanuts).  Ours also had M&Ms, which were highly effective sweetening my coffee. Camping inevitably leads to adapting stuff for purposes other than their intended use.

Kelley’s favorite “toy” was a bear rig with pulleys for hoisting all the food at night. The availability of any food on the ground and something as seemingly innocent as toothpaste can be targets for the black bears in the area.  Fortunately, we did not see any.

Kelley proudly announced that the bear rig system reflected his inner “Tom Sawyer.”  Why do it an easier way?   He patiently tossed each of the pulley ends to loop over the highest branches., often taking numerous tries. When one end got stuck, he climbed the tree to untangle it.  If the pulley ends did not hang evenly, he swatted one with a paddle to lower it.  Kelley performed all this in diminishing daylight as I occasionally assisted but mostly observed in astonishment.

There was also the opportunity to take advantage of some of the country’s finest fishing for walleye, northern pike and smallmouth bass.   Kelley brought his rod and lures but only landed a four-foot log.

On our second day, we paddled to the campsite near our projected destination for the first night on Sucker Lake (what can I say?). The site provided a rare small beach (I still stumbled out of the canoe) and a panoramic view east.  I decided to remain outside the tent and witnessed the quintessential Boundary Waters sunrise depicted in pictures with the rays poking through the clouds to cast a sparkling reflection on the water.

Photo: The Author and Kelley at the finish

Staring at all the gear and the prospects of packing it up to load on the canoe, we unanimously agreed to remain a second night and take a day trip.  With the motivation of sleeping in a bed somewhere in Ely, 20 miles from our outfitter, we broke camp on the cloudless last day and power-paddled five miles on relatively smooth water back to Moose Lake with memories of laughs, stories, reflections and, for me, aching, long-dormant body parts.