First Boundary Waters Trip

Summer began on Memorial day with a rafting trip down Oregon's John Day river. On Labor Day we had ended up in Minnesota's Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW). We knew with Jamie's impending school schedule about to bog her down, we had to get of town. We hiked a trail at Angleworm lake about 15 miles north of Ely, Minnesota. The Boundary Water's did not dissappoint. Despite the fact that I had to pick up a permit at the ranger station where a booming ranger made me sit through a ten minute movie on the ethics of leave no trace, we made it to the trail ready for an overnight hike.

This is a place of true desolation. When the early pioneers spoke of conquering the "howling wilderness," I'd like to think this is where they were. Because the overwhelming majority of people in the BW canoe we saw only two parties of backpackers in close to 14 miles. Unheard of in western Oregon.

Despite a few areas with boardwalks the trail was primitive and in several places tough enough to follow that it required some common sense route finding. I had a guidebook for the trail with me (cheat sheet) that helped in the few confusing spots. It wasn't until I took a good look at the map, a few miles in at the first overlook, that I realized the size of the wilderness we skirted. My one map was one of many for the area. Looking out over the swell of endless woods and distant lakeshores it dawned on us that the entire sweeping expanse was still in the bounds of our single map. From then on each step gained a bit of gravity.

A few miles in we came to a narrow valley, crossing the outlet of a swamp on a weathered beaver dam. Steps later, as I ducked under tree I heard a p-crack! and realized instantly that I had snapped the tip off my fishing rod. A little inspection proved it true and the broken piece was nowhere in sight. A little while on we came to a gorgeous lakefront campsite where we filtered some more water (temps were in the upper 80's) and fished a bit with the broken rod that still worked fine. Within the next mile I lost the entire upper portion of my rod. I have no idea where it happened but it did. Hopes for a smallmouth dinner were dashed.

Turning from Angleworm Lake, the trail passes Whisky Jack Lake, a small secluded lake, with another great campsite surprisingly occupied. Our legs were feeling the ache and Whisky Jack looked like the place to make camp. The site of tents, orange and white against the usual greens and grays seemed almost intrusive or startling. No one was around however and we took a break to refuel for the inevitable two miles further toward the next shot at a site.

As it had been some time since our last outing, our feet had gone soft, and both Jamie and I were nursing either aches or blisters when we came across the first sign of moose. We had been passing many large pines, reminiscent of Oregon's Doug firs, along series of overlooks into swampy valleys when Jamie noticed a large pile of moose scat directly on the trail. We found another a little further on in some thick woods. Further still in a muddy stretch were the hoof prints of a moose capable of cradling a grapefruit. It was unnerving that an animal of such size and infamous crankiness was sharing the same trail as us. Chuck, plodding on behind us seemed a joke of a defense.

Near the shores of Home Lake we passed the group of the Whisky Jack site and claimed to have seen no other campsites on their walk. Despite the despiriting news there was a cairn not far ahead showing an old trail to the lake. The campsite there hadn't been used in over a year it seemed. A downed fir, lay across a ring of rocks and weeds that was the old firepit. However there was a nice bed of moss that would fit our tent perfect and a sloping granite face that led to a shallow protected bay. Jamie and I explored a little further just to make sure we weren't missing any obvious camps and eventually backtracked to put up camp.

Night came slow. The strong winds of the day couldn't penetrate our cove. We watched a couple canoes fight the wind down lake, and Chuck be tormented by boisterous chipmunks. We took a swim, relaxed and had a look around. Balsam fir took advantage of the sunlight on the lake shore growing dense enough to keep us in camp. To our right was a typcial low spot filled with cadaverous black spruce worming up from the muck, somehow keeping their sickly limbs. Our dinner of Thai noodles left something to be desired. Shortly after finishing the Minnesotas famous mosquitoes came out for a late season feast. After some time trying to find a suitable limb to hang our food from we retired to the tent for wine and scrabble.

The following morning we were quick to be on our way. A loon passed by our cove as we made some tea, definitely not holding its own against coffee, and ate a sludgy mixture of dried cranberries and oatmeal. Then it was on to more rocks, more quiet woods away from the lake as we made the turn South for the seven miles to the trail head. A few miles into the day Jamie replaced her boots with a pair of sandals she had brought along and gave a sigh of relief as her heel blisters recieved some much needed air. We topped a ridge after an expanse of woods with no water in sight. I was a bit turned around without a lake to use as a guide. After taking out the map it was clear the expanse in front of us was Northwest not south. We got our bearings, found Angleworm once again, ate lunch and readied for the home stretch.

As I came up a swell and out onto the parking lot I almost stepped on the lost piece to my fishing rod, most likely found by the group camping on Whisky Jack lake. They left it directly in my path. As soon as I picked it up I heard a voice say "ah your other half at last." It was a guy with a tree stand on his back and a compound bow in his hands. Naturally we asked him what he was going for. Bear he said.