Man Trip 2008: Border Route Trail

A year ago this week Tim, Justin, Nick and I set out on what was deemed, in an excited fit of chauvinism, The Man Trip. Now 2008: The game has stayed the same only the players have changed. With an anniversary coming quick, I had no people to turn to. Jamie is in school and not a man. As of yet I have only acqaintences here in Duluth. I turned to the only other willing male I know-Chuck a.k.a Chuck D., Chuck Dizzle, Dizzle, Diz, Chuck Delicious, Licious, Diz-bomb and an assortment of other alias's that probably account for his poor listening skills. Despite the fact that he had no say in the matter, he was a fine companion for the job.

As you can see Chuck was ready and waiting while I got my act together. It wasn't easy. I chose northeastern Minnesota's Border Route Trail because it is rugged, little used and remote. Out of the 65 miles of the Gunflint region it stretches, we attempted a modest 22 miles over 3 days. I'm happy we didn't try for more. Simply getting to this sign was work like I haven't had to experience on any trail yet. After leaving the truck at a specified drop off point, and getting our packs in order we started out on an old logging road that wound through the charred remnants of a fire from the previous year. I had no idea the trail would continue to narrow and obscure to the point that it did, although the guide book did use those exact words. For the first time I found myself maybe a mile in, orienting my compass to my map. I set a bearing and feeling slightly more confident began pushing through the brush on what seemed awfully like a game trail. We slogged through mud, over downed trees, uprooted stumps, alder thickets and chest high grass for nearly two miles.

The above photos give a sense of what the "trail" was like. I hate when cliches work, but this was no walk in the park. On the flip side, I knew it was highly unlikely that anyone had walked this in the near past. That alone was alluring. At the same time it required skills I hadn't entirely relied on before: feeling the indentations of the trail with your feet, noticing the avenues where no trees were present, keeping an eye out for logs and snags, however old and moss covered, that had been cut at one time for a trail, and finally realizing if you could walk somewhat easily you were probably on a trail. What it did offer was good insight into how quickly a year old burn revegetates. A fire is not the calamity it often seems.

Once on the Border Route, little changed except for the incline. We began to climb up to a high ridge with a couple good vistas and some views above the brush into the tall pines.
After much bushwacking and a fair amount of early frustration we made it to our camping destination on Sock Lake. It was a little early for heading to camp, just before three. But the next site wouldn't be for another four miles and we had just finished six. I was ready. On the way down to Sock Lake on a spur trail I noticed a lot of the vegetation was ruffled and some weeds snapped as if some one had come before us. I hadn't seen anyone all day, and began to dread the idea of the camp brimming with tents, when I realized Chuck wasn't behind me. I heard him crashing through the under brush and called to him a few times. Peering through the bushes and cursing the fact that I had to take my pack off to crawl after him I saw him just standing there. When I got to him his legs were sunk in the cavity of a rotted out trees, his pack caught up around his legs and genuinely stuck to the snag. I had to take off his pack and carry it the rest of the way to the camp passing some bear scat on the way. The camp was empty, no people no bears.

It was time to relax and nap. I have never seen so many chattering red squirrels hanging from limbs and jumping through the trees. Chuck's ears were perked and his leash taut the entire time I rested. I hated to leash him out there but letting him go could be disastrous. Sure enough, just as my dinner of rice beans and mash potatoes was finished he lunged for a squirrel, tearing the tent stake he was attached to from the ground, and began his run amok. Within 30 seconds he had made a wide bounding circle of the camp and disappeared into the thickets above camp with his leash still connected. I wouldn't have cared so much if it wasn't for the leash. Anyhow we've heard these stories before. Ten minutes and still no sign of him. I imagined him stuck to a tree foolishly thinking I would come and unfree him as happened on his last sojourn. Sure enough, in the middle of a dense thicket, calling his name, I heard crashing in the brush and some deep grunts. It thundered my way and I hoped like hell it was Chuck. There he was, tongue lollygagging, panting and bleeding from a toe, looking like a kid running down the ramp from an amusement park ride. Bastard.I was surprised that night to hear none of the familiar bumps and rustlings associated with camping. Instead the night's silence was complete. My ears at one point were hissing with the lack of sound.

We rose early that morning to a reluctant sun. I made the only fire we would have on the trip and went about eating breakfast and packing up. Nine miles would be hiked today. And if it was anything like yesterday it would be work.

Early on we made it to the first lookout, which was a primer for what was to come. We dropped back into the muddy basin of Mucker Lake, a moose hangout for the ages. We saw only the moose trail identified in the guide book. It looked a lot like the one we were following.

Around 11:30 and ready for lunch we reached the pinnacle of the trip, literally. A series of lookouts extending toward the Canadian sheild, across the Gunflint region and into, as my father would say, the great blue yonder. This might be Chuck's most bad ass moment. I think he could perceive the heights we were at. He would walk up to the edge, arc his girraffe neck to look over and have a zen moment before turning back to follow me.

That was our spot for lunch. Tuna and trailmix did the job.

Our next destination was two more miles of ups and downs with some nice cedar groves and stands of leaning pines. The wind was really blowing, and at one point, we were trying to decipher the trail when I heard a series of cracks and groans culminating in a swooshing crash as a seemingly large invisible tree went down.

On a little further I met the first people I had seen in a while. They seemed a bit overwhelmed with the trail, having been paddling before they attempted the cliffs. I reassured them that it was coming soon and talked for a few minutes as I was starved for some conversation. Heading towards the Stairway Portage, which marked the halfway point for the day, was a crossroads in every sense. Doing this trail alone I was somewhat excited at the prospect of seeing people. Usually it's just the opposite.

This photo taken just before the portage.

Finally a place to replenish our water. The portage falls is an oasis with a dark grotto of mosses, cedars and ferns reminiscent of Oregon. A half an hour and it seemed we were ready for the second leg. Chuck went to stand up and showed a bum front leg that he hung and limped on. It's bothered him in the past so for the rest of the day I put his pack in mine. Nothing like adding weight halfway through the day. Being a crossroads, the area was a little tricky to follow. A German guy I met tried to follow my directions to a lookout and I found him a little while later ambling up the wrong trail. Moments later I turned on to what I thought was the Border Route and followed it a half mile before a lake in the distance just didn't seem right. We turned around.

Back into the thickets we went, passed more lookouts and into more brush. As we entered into the clearing I was startled by the scrappy bark of a small terrier and noticed a woman in her fifties I think, squatting in the trail. She looked at me and said, "Oh good, a second opinion! I fell here on this old stump," she pointed behind me, "and cut my ear pretty good. Do you think I need stitches?" I'm of course no expert on such matters, but she pulled back the bandaid revealing a half inch gash ripped vertically in the cartilage of her inner ear lobe. She was going to need stitches and she wasn't happy to hear about it. She cursed a little, spinning on her heel. "And I'm not due back till Saturday. Think that''s too long to wait?" I kind of shrugged the obvious. I noticed she didn't have too much gear with her. A dry bag, but no backpack, no walking sticks. It seemed odd all the way out here. As we parted ways, her dog followed us for about a hundred feet but she eventually called it back.

Maybe forty minutes later or about a mile, we were topping a rocky outcrop and resting with a bit of an overlook of where we had been, when I was startled by the barking again at the bottom of the incline. The dog barked a few times and then went silent. I figured she must have turned and was returning in my direction. This homestretch was a long slog over and under deadfalls, some requiring me to inch along on my belly. It became evident by some muddy spots that a moose was near. Huge prints had been pressed deep into the mud, disrupting the ground all around it. I noticed no leaves or needles in the prints, no water had saturated them. They were minutes old. We followed the trail seemingly scaring the moose off in front of us. We came by more prints and fresh droppings. I talked aloud to Chuck so as not to startle anything that may be around the corner.

Upon reaching camp I noticed a tent set up and a canoe pulled ashore and tipped over. I figured it must be the lady with the cut ear. I rested for some time snapped some photos and eventually set up my tent as well a little ways away from the other. Time began to pass and still no sign of the lady. How far back could she have been. Her dog was close, shouldn't she be? Shadows were growing and a solid two hours had passed. Still nothing. I began to be genuinely worried for this lady whom I didn't even have a name for. Making dinner I could see my breath. Chuck was put in the tent as he was shivering and tired. On a downed pine across camp, the final rays of sun began to creep. It was like watching mercury fall on a thermometer. My eyes kept darting to a spot some twenty yards away where the trail enters camp. No one came. My mind was working now, the way it does when there is no one to ask advice, when the onset of night resurrects instilled fears buried under civilized modernity. I stirred my supper. A loon called from the lake. Would I head back up the trail come morning to look for her? How far would I go? Could I afford to spend the time and energy climbing back up that ridge with a tired dog, only to play the just around the bend game? But was she merely cursing her clumsiness a half mile up, sitting by the trail with a sprained ankle and a dumb dog? There were too many uncertainties. I didn't know which way she was traveling. I could tell people at the lodge tomorrow, but would that be too late? I could have sworn she was heading the opposite direction from me so turning around to take of her ear would bring her here. Such was my plight when I through the monotone shadows of evening I made out an animal approaching. Four legs. I gave a hollar, something was behind it. A man called back. He was just returning from a long dayhike with his dog Wenonah. He was camped right beside me. There was his canoe.

He was as Minnesotan as could be, blond hair and mustache, a sweatshirt with a picture of a monster truck that read "Radical Overtime" in bold lettering. He was an affable guy. He Smoked cigarettes while I told the story of the lady and my relief. We shared bear stories, fishing tales and other Minnesotan topics from Minnesota Nice to ice shacks. Stars were turning on, the skies were clearing with my conscience. A puzzling scenario mixed with solitude and nightfall brought expectations of the worst case. I only included this story to reiterate to myself and the few who read it, that a healthy dose of fear isn't such a bad thing. I'm talking about atavistic fears, bumps in the night, being lost and alone in the woods. Elemental situations breed gut decisions. Some people fall apart and some get it together. It's good thing once in while to find out where you stand.

A nice clean trail for the five remaining miles the next day. We hammered them out in two hours. Chuck and I were ready for that other world again.