Another beautiful morning! We breakfasted, and checked the weather - yes, rain expected today, so we had best prepare camp for wind and rain. We had a variety of options including lightweight tarps, and a nice sized bug shelter that would do nicely for a hang-out location as long as it was set up strong and protected from the wind. Fortunately we had a whole area at the back of our campsite that was perfect: blocked from the wind on 3 sides, and a variety of trees to tie off for support. We set up another tarp to hang over most of our camp gear and food, and everything else was stashed in our tents.
Jeff came out from his tent area with something he had brought, but he had no idea what it was. He explained that one of us had given it to him to bring along. We all shook are heads, both to confirm that we hadn't, and to laugh at Jeff's folly! We unfurled the large covering and after a few minutes realized it was a tent rainfly, likely from one of Jeff's tents at home. We laughed while Jeff explained it away by blaming his kids for using his gear and not putting it back properly. OK maybe, but we still razzed Jeff for not checking his gear beforehand! But hey, the rainfly made a great cover for our stash of firewood, so there ya go.
With camp secure and cleaned up, we headed out together for the NW part of Argo, and once again into the narrows of the "Soybean" River. The river flows into Roland Lake, but the passage requires a short portage. Jeff and I decided not to drop a line in the Siobhan and instead head straight to the portage, after which we'd break out the rods on Roland. The other two canoes were taking their time fishing along the way. We floated closer and closer to the dense covering of the outflow, and at the very end we spotted a take-out spot about 20 feet to the left. Pulling up and walking the path confirmed that yes, this was the short portage into Roland (but not the only one, as we would learn!). The portage was so short (10 rods?) that Jeff and I decided to haul the canoe full of our gear up and over the portage in one trip. The path was a bit steep up and down, but it didn't take us long at all. Then, we plopped the canoe in the water, climbed in, and started fishing.
We had OK luck with the bass that morning, enough to keep us occupied and happy. But as we worked the bank structure with our surface lures, we noticed a loon pop up along the bank ahead of us. Crap - we knew the loon was also fishing, and likely scaring all the bass into hiding. So, Jeff and I decided to paddle out around the pesky loon, then back towards shore to continue. This was fine for awhile, until - Crap! - another loon was messing with our "virgin territory" Jeff's name for the waters we hadn't fished yet). We were about to perform the same maneuver around this loon until we saw a peculiar thing - the loon was bobbing its head up and down on the surface of the water. Upon closer inspection we could see that it was playing with a big bass. We couldn't tell if the bass was dead, or the loon was trying to tire it out. Well, this was just too interesting to ignore, so I broke out my video camera and started filming. For the next 5 minutes I filmed while Jeff maneuvered the canoe as close as the loon would let us. The loon continued to play with that fish, until....well, the video segment tells the story of what happened next! What an incredible piece of footage! (Later that evening, the bandits would gather around my camera 2x3 inch view finder to watch the replay!)
After a couple hours of fishing, we decided to head back towards the portage area because we hadn't seen the other canoes on the lake yet, and it might be time to consider lunch. The whole ride back we were surprised that they hadn't come through yet. We finally found them all, but at a different portage spot than the one that Jeff and I used. They had uncovered a longer portage than ours. Oh well. As long as they were there, and there was a bit of an opening to share, it was a good time to break out lunch.
After that, we all hit the lake and started fishing the banks in the same area. After a few minutes I was casting with the others, and my line went up and over a tree branch about 15 feet up, the lure still landing in the water. As soon as the lure hit - bang! - fish on, and a nice size one to boot! With my line draped over the tree branch I wasn't quite sure what to do. So, what the heck, I started reeling it in - or "up" as the case may be. Jeff canoed me closer until the fish was hanging right about eye level with me. No need for a net to land this baby! After removing the fish, I was still faced with the possibility of snagging my lure on the branch above, and tugging on the branch was not going to bring it down. To avoid snagging the branch, a smart man would just remove the lure from the leader/swivel, reel the remaining line up and over the branch, reattach the lure, and continue on fishing. Let's just say this is exactly what I did, and move on with the story. Ahem..
It didn't take us long to all spread out across the lake, Jeff and I choosing to fish the shallows of the big island in the middle of the lake. Even though it had threatened rain all day, it finally began lightly raining consistently by this time. We held off donning raingear as long as possible because it gets damn uncomfortable canoeing/fishing in raingear. But we could no longer avoid it.
The fish could not be found along the island, so we sought out the northern bank of the lake where information from Zup noted the greatest chance of good fishing. We headed to the far opposite end from the portage location and immediately had good luck, working our way back closer towards where we would eventually leave the lake. We couldn't see Chuck and Joe, but we could see Gary working the northern bank farther down. After a couple hours we arrived together, and Gary regaled us with a story of a big fish that had taken his lure and tangled the line in some fallen branches. Gary was convinced it was a biggie, so he was almost ready to climb out and wade through the brush to rescue his line and capture the fish. Alas, his line broke and that was the end of that idea.
Jeff and I left Gary to fish a big longer, then headed across to a campsite on an island to get out of the canoe, strip off our raingear and outer layers, stretch our backs and rest our butts. The rain had stopped, the winds were calm (non-existent!), and the temps were mild but muggy. It felt good to strip down and walk around. We assumed Chuck and Joe had gone back through the portage for home, so we decided to wait for Gary to finish fishing and paddle by. Plus, we could help Gary with his canoe across the portage. Jeff and I were done fishing for the day, and it would be a nice calm paddle back to camp.
The portage was quick, and the Siobhan was like glass. No, it WAS glass. I've seen calm winds and water before, but this was different. A heavy haze covered the nearby banks, the water reflecting the vegetation and trees on both sides and ahead of us. It was the same when we reached Argo - pure glass. This was a big change from yesterday when we were paddling against a heavy headwind. Today we could glide through the water with ease, our canoes and paddles the only ripple on the water. It was a quintessential moment for me, a memory I'll not soon forget. I used the opportunity to film alongside Gary as he quietly paddled by, his reflection on the water a perfect mirror image, the peace broken only by the crack of a whip from the stern of my vessel: "OK Kevin, you can paddle now." My, but SOMEONE was HUNGRY!
We quickly paddled across the lake to camp, where the other canoe had already landed. With the threat of rain very real now, we set up shop in the bug shelter, with Chuck and Jeff cleaning fish, and Joe acting as cabana boy, dolling out slurps of beer and shots of booze. With fish guts in hand, Jeff headed off to the woods to dispose of the carcasses. Upon return he told us how the pesky new forest growth had thrown the fish guts back in his face as he tried to toss the remains into the shrubbery and small trees. "Fish Face" was the apt nickname given Jeff that night.
We cooked, cleaned, and retired to the cozy confines of the shelter as the rain became steady. There was very little wind, and we were quite pleased that we had prepared the camp earlier in the day for this eventuality.
At about 11:30 I headed to bed, and was met with a horrible surprise - Gary's tent was leaking water on to our sleeping bags, pads, and gear. Ah! How could this happen?? His tent was only about 5 years old, and had been trail tested all over the U.S. The coating on the rainfly was flaking a little, and this must have been the cause. When Gary arrived we soaked up the puddles that had formed on (and in!) our sleeping bags, then set out to figure out what we were going to do. Hey, wait, don't we have a spare rainfly covering our firewood? Gary and I jumped into action, moving the wood to a spot underneath the supply tarp, then quickly rigged Jeff's spare rainfly over our tent. Fortunately we had set up the tent in an area surrounded by 3-4 nearby trees. We stretched and sloped the rainfly to hover above us, and it worked beautifully. No more rain, no more leak. However, I was really worried that I'd be climbing into a wet, cold sleeping bag, and since my bag is down (not synthetic), that stuff never dries. I was quite surprised that I slept warm and comfortable, and my bag never really retained any water. Whew! That could have been a bad deal all around.
Gary of course was majorly bummed that a major item of his gear had failed. For an avid outdoorsman, you can count on one hand the gear that you most depend on, the gear you don't compromise on, the gear that MUST work because it is impractical to bring multiples, the gear that can be a lifesaver in extreme situations. Sleeping bag and tent are two of them. But thanks to Jeff and his much maligned extra rainfly, we survived this damp experience.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Monday, June 1, 2015
Fishing the Siobhan
The day broke sunny and very breezy, but the temps were reasonable. With Gary's weather radio, we dialed in to learn that today would be beautiful, but starting tomorrow night and into the following day there would be rain. This concerned the bandits enough to discuss our upcoming itinerary. Starting tomorrow we planned to pack up camp and move on to Darky Lake, spend a couple days there, then we'd have to begin our Quetico exit via the nasty Gratton Death March portage. The portage led from Gratton Lake on to McAree, and was known to be steep, muddy, rocky, boggy - in other words, a real bear. And with rain in the forecast, it could get dangerous. Some bandits were willing to move on to continue our full loop tour of Quetico, others were hesitant. In the end, we all agreed that it was best to alter our plans, not move on from Argo, but instead day trip from this spot for the next 3 days, then work our way back the way we had come. There was one big problem with this: our agreement with Zup's had them picking us up at an exit point several miles from where we were dropped off. It was imperative then that we get a hold of Zup's to let them know of our change in plans. Fortunately we had rented an emergency satellite phone, which gave us a chance. But these things can be spotty, and not very reliable. We tried to get a signal and call Zup's for a while that morning, but we had no luck. So, we agreed to head out fishing and try again upon our return later that afternoon.
After reviewing maps, four of us decided to take two canoes and head across Argo and into the entrance of the Siobhan (aka "Soybean") River to slay some bass, but Gary decided to take his solo canoe and head the opposite way. He would explore more of Argo, its giant Basswood Island, and see if he could catch any walleye. Gary told us he'd be back at camp late, so he told us not to worry and not to send out a search party if it got dark. He had map, compass, GPS, and light, so he'd be fine. We all shrugged, like "oh, ya, uh, sure, OK", like we really cared what he did.
So, after a good couple hours of rigging our multiple poles, we hit the water and headed north and west. Fishing along the banks of Argo was not very productive, but once we reached the narrows of the river the action started picking up. Joe and Chuck worked one bank while Jeff and I worked the opposite. The action was still pretty slow, but the "structure" of rocks and fallen timber was promising. After passing some time in the narrows, the river opened up to a small lake, where we fished more, and found a large rock overlook to stop for lunch. We each had caught a couple nice size bass, but "Bass Ass" (Chuck) already had a nice haul going. For his part, Joe had caught the first fish (worth $50 from the Joe Oberle Fishing Pool that nobody ever contributes to), as well as a monster 19" bass that was over the limit and he had to let go. We shared a lunch of meats, cheese and crackers, as well as the sweet treats for dessert which was very new to our bandit menu thanks to Lori. The rock ledge was sunny, the temps were reasonable, and a slight breeze kept it from getting too warm.
After a nice break, we hopped back in the cramped canoes and continued to fish this large area, each working our way back into the narrows that would lead us back on to Argo. The fishing was good, and we each had to throw back some really large bass. That was really fun, catching the big 'uns, and helping our canoe mates haul in theirs!
While fishing a particularly heavy structured area with his son's favorite rod, Jeff got a snag in his line. I maneuvered the canoe at different angles so he could try and work the snag free. At one point Jeff lowered the entire rod in the water and was about to give it a mighty yank when the rod slipped free of his hand and floated to the bottom! OMG, what did you do??? Now, the water was clear as air, and the sun was at a pretty good angle, so we could see the rod on the bottom in 10 feet of water. Unfortunately there was no where to land the canoe for Jeff to swim for it, and I was VERY nervous about his suggestion to jump out of the canoe - I was certain he would tip us from either exiting or entering! I handed Jeff my rod and he spent about 10 minutes trying to snag the rod with my lure, while I expertly and deftly maneuvered the canoe in and out, left and right. He finally brought the rod to the surface, happy in knowing that he wouldn't have to buy his son (an avid fisherman!) a new rod. Tyler would certainly have demanded top of the line from his old man.
The wind continued to build in the afternoon, but we were quite protected in the river narrows - that is, until we hit the entrance to Argo! A strong wind was blowing directly in our faces from our camp about a mile away. There was no hope of following any shoreline that would protect us from the wind - we had no choice but to head out on the big lake and take the wind directly off the bow. For the next, I don't know, 30 minutes? we paddled our asses off, until we finally reached the quiet water on the backside of our island campsite. After a brief rest we skirted the island into the wind again to land in the protected bay next to our camp, where we unloaded our gear and fish, and pulled the canoes safely into camp. It had been a good day fishing, and we were back in camp with plenty of daylight to clean fish and still have time to swim/bathe and relax.
It was a surprise when not long after, Gary pulled up from his adventures around Argo. He had not spotted a soul, nor did he catch any fish - but then he was probably not trying all that hard. Once again we attempted to contact Zup's, and we succeeded! Yep, they'd pick us up at the same spot they dropped us off. Sweeeeet! We now had plenty of time to explore the area, and still have 2-3 days to work our way back. Being that we all loved our campsite, we decided to spend the next 3 nights here, and avail ourselves of the great day trips that surrounded Argo Lake. Well, if we were going to spend some time here, we best collect some firewood and have some bonfires! Not 100 yards due south was a small island with loads of timber, so we took a couple canoes and headed over with a couple saws and started collecting boat loads (literally!) of firewood.
With those duties out of the way, it was time to get down to a serious fish supper. Chuck and Joe managed most of the cleaning, Jeff did the fillet rinsing, and Joe manned the stove and oil, cooking our fish to greasy perfection. (Hmmmm...what did Kevin do, that load.) While prepping the menu for the trip, we agreed that we would dispense with "shore lunch" (flour/bread seasoning for fish fillets). We would make due with just oil, which would be much easier to clean up. The bass was excellent, but we struggled to find our stash of garlic mashed potatoes. We had brought enough garlic mashed to have some every night of the trip. We had one large barrel of rations for the trip, and no matter how many times we rummaged through that barrel and other gear, we could not find our beloved potatoes! It would remain a mystery (until we returned to our cars).
No matter - we drowned our sorrows with a variety of alcoholic libations, and topped it off with Backwoods cigars and a nice bonfire. With Zup's informed, we all were quite comfortable knowing we'd spend 4 nights total in this idyllic location. We retired that night looking forward to more days of light canoe travel, heavy fishing, and bandit companionship. Now, off to bed you drunken sots - we have a big day tomorrow!
After reviewing maps, four of us decided to take two canoes and head across Argo and into the entrance of the Siobhan (aka "Soybean") River to slay some bass, but Gary decided to take his solo canoe and head the opposite way. He would explore more of Argo, its giant Basswood Island, and see if he could catch any walleye. Gary told us he'd be back at camp late, so he told us not to worry and not to send out a search party if it got dark. He had map, compass, GPS, and light, so he'd be fine. We all shrugged, like "oh, ya, uh, sure, OK", like we really cared what he did.
So, after a good couple hours of rigging our multiple poles, we hit the water and headed north and west. Fishing along the banks of Argo was not very productive, but once we reached the narrows of the river the action started picking up. Joe and Chuck worked one bank while Jeff and I worked the opposite. The action was still pretty slow, but the "structure" of rocks and fallen timber was promising. After passing some time in the narrows, the river opened up to a small lake, where we fished more, and found a large rock overlook to stop for lunch. We each had caught a couple nice size bass, but "Bass Ass" (Chuck) already had a nice haul going. For his part, Joe had caught the first fish (worth $50 from the Joe Oberle Fishing Pool that nobody ever contributes to), as well as a monster 19" bass that was over the limit and he had to let go. We shared a lunch of meats, cheese and crackers, as well as the sweet treats for dessert which was very new to our bandit menu thanks to Lori. The rock ledge was sunny, the temps were reasonable, and a slight breeze kept it from getting too warm.
After a nice break, we hopped back in the cramped canoes and continued to fish this large area, each working our way back into the narrows that would lead us back on to Argo. The fishing was good, and we each had to throw back some really large bass. That was really fun, catching the big 'uns, and helping our canoe mates haul in theirs!
While fishing a particularly heavy structured area with his son's favorite rod, Jeff got a snag in his line. I maneuvered the canoe at different angles so he could try and work the snag free. At one point Jeff lowered the entire rod in the water and was about to give it a mighty yank when the rod slipped free of his hand and floated to the bottom! OMG, what did you do??? Now, the water was clear as air, and the sun was at a pretty good angle, so we could see the rod on the bottom in 10 feet of water. Unfortunately there was no where to land the canoe for Jeff to swim for it, and I was VERY nervous about his suggestion to jump out of the canoe - I was certain he would tip us from either exiting or entering! I handed Jeff my rod and he spent about 10 minutes trying to snag the rod with my lure, while I expertly and deftly maneuvered the canoe in and out, left and right. He finally brought the rod to the surface, happy in knowing that he wouldn't have to buy his son (an avid fisherman!) a new rod. Tyler would certainly have demanded top of the line from his old man.
The wind continued to build in the afternoon, but we were quite protected in the river narrows - that is, until we hit the entrance to Argo! A strong wind was blowing directly in our faces from our camp about a mile away. There was no hope of following any shoreline that would protect us from the wind - we had no choice but to head out on the big lake and take the wind directly off the bow. For the next, I don't know, 30 minutes? we paddled our asses off, until we finally reached the quiet water on the backside of our island campsite. After a brief rest we skirted the island into the wind again to land in the protected bay next to our camp, where we unloaded our gear and fish, and pulled the canoes safely into camp. It had been a good day fishing, and we were back in camp with plenty of daylight to clean fish and still have time to swim/bathe and relax.
It was a surprise when not long after, Gary pulled up from his adventures around Argo. He had not spotted a soul, nor did he catch any fish - but then he was probably not trying all that hard. Once again we attempted to contact Zup's, and we succeeded! Yep, they'd pick us up at the same spot they dropped us off. Sweeeeet! We now had plenty of time to explore the area, and still have 2-3 days to work our way back. Being that we all loved our campsite, we decided to spend the next 3 nights here, and avail ourselves of the great day trips that surrounded Argo Lake. Well, if we were going to spend some time here, we best collect some firewood and have some bonfires! Not 100 yards due south was a small island with loads of timber, so we took a couple canoes and headed over with a couple saws and started collecting boat loads (literally!) of firewood.
With those duties out of the way, it was time to get down to a serious fish supper. Chuck and Joe managed most of the cleaning, Jeff did the fillet rinsing, and Joe manned the stove and oil, cooking our fish to greasy perfection. (Hmmmm...what did Kevin do, that load.) While prepping the menu for the trip, we agreed that we would dispense with "shore lunch" (flour/bread seasoning for fish fillets). We would make due with just oil, which would be much easier to clean up. The bass was excellent, but we struggled to find our stash of garlic mashed potatoes. We had brought enough garlic mashed to have some every night of the trip. We had one large barrel of rations for the trip, and no matter how many times we rummaged through that barrel and other gear, we could not find our beloved potatoes! It would remain a mystery (until we returned to our cars).
No matter - we drowned our sorrows with a variety of alcoholic libations, and topped it off with Backwoods cigars and a nice bonfire. With Zup's informed, we all were quite comfortable knowing we'd spend 4 nights total in this idyllic location. We retired that night looking forward to more days of light canoe travel, heavy fishing, and bandit companionship. Now, off to bed you drunken sots - we have a big day tomorrow!
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Push on to Argo Lake
We awoke to a cloudy morning, dawn breaking as early as 4 am up here! The nights are clear and cold, but the days warm up nicely. We rolled out of our tents at 8 am for breakfast of bacon and rice pilaf left over from last night. Unfortunately we threw out the eggbeaters before leaving Crane Lake because we were told that Canadian Customs would confiscate them anyway. Don't worry though, nobody would starve on this trip! We took our time hanging out and packing up, leaving camp around 11:20. Our first stop would be Curtain Falls and the Curtain Falls portage, but first we canoed around a large island to check out campsites there for future reference. The island, and the Curtain Falls portage, are actually on the U.S. side of the border. Mark Zup suggested we not canoe up towards the falls to the canoe landing there, but instead disembark around the corner in quieter waters. It added 20 rods to the 120 rod Curtain Falls portage, but it would be free of any water flow that might tip us with our full loads.
The portage was uphill most of the way because we were going up to the falls, which was in earshot for the entire length of the portage. Towards the end the trees opened up to the glory of Curtain Falls itself and expansive views of Crooked Lake. On each trip we would pause at this point to gawk for a minute before continuing on another 5-10 rods to a large flat rock outcropping with calm waters away from the falls. With Gary's instability, we made sure he took it easy, and by taking 3 trips nobody had to overburden themselves. Actually, this was a pretty nice portage as these things go - nice and wide, with hardly any obstacles to trip us up.
Once done portaging, we plopped down at the falls for lunch of sausage (aka, "horse c*ck"), hard cheeses (aka "clog ass"), and crackers. While eating, another group came portaging through, going the same direction we were. They told us they had a lot of gear though, so they would stay out of our way as we launched from the rocky put in. Gary recognized the group leader as a well-known BWCA trip leader and outdoor writer, Stu Osthoff. Gary had consulted with him a few times, and traveled once with him as well. Stu is a no-nonsense canoer and trip leader, and can't understand why people wear those stupid hiking pants with all those dumb pockets. Stu swears by his jeans. We were sure to hide our legs from sight as Stu portaged by each time.
By this time the skies had cleared, and the falls were beautiful (and loud!). After lunch we loaded up the canoes and pushed off across Crooked Lake about 2:30 pm. We headed mainly east, following the northern shoreline for about an hour in search of the inlet for the portage from Crooked up into Argo Lake.
Along the way Gary spotted a sandy beach tucked away in a deep bay, and swung in to check it out while we continued on. Gary could easily outpaddle us in his single canoe, and he never took long to catch up when he ventured off. Also, he was easy to spot because a) his solo canoe was bright yellow, b) Gary festoons himself with neon shirts and headbands, and c) sticking up in the back of his canoe was a bright red fishing rod bag! Each canoe had maps and compasses, and Gary and I each had GPS units that worked really well. I really loved looking at our location on my GPS, much to Jeff's chagrin. The poor sop was left to paddle solo while I took my time getting a bearing on our next destination. "Kevin, you can paddle now" was a common utterance from my sternman, while at the same time from across the lake came the constant cry from Joe, "Hey! How much farther??"
We found the inlet, unloaded, and started portaging about 4 pm. This was definitely the hardest (and longest) portage of the 3 we had done so far: 160 rods starting in mud for a few rods, then the first 3/4 was a never-ending uphill grind, peaking at what I called "Pinnacle Rock", a slippery ridge of rock about 5 feet high that was nearly impossible to climb up and over without unloading, working your load and yourself over, and loading up again on the other side. Others proffered more graphic names for this obstacle. Along the way we encountered wolf scat and moose tracks in the mud. The last 1/4 of the portage was a steep, somewhat dangerous downhill to the end, but what a glorious end it was - Argo Lake! You could only see a small section of it from the put-in site, but what we saw was beautiful.
After portaging everything across, we dropped down for a much needed rest, cracked a beer, and broke out some snacks. As bad as the portages had been, the temps were nice and cool, there were no bugs, so we really couldn't complain. We imagined these portages in the heat of the summer, with the bugs and intermittent rain/mud to deal with. The bandits were lucky to count a real life weather shaman amongst their party.
Knowing we still had some paddling to do to find a campsite on Argo, we pushed off about 6:30 to check out some highly rated campsites that were located near the middle of the lake. Argo is quite large, with many islands, inlets, bays, and peninsulas of land. Some consider Argo the gem of Quetico, and we were there! After breaking out into the larger lake, we followed the shoreline of a couple islands in search of their desirable campsites. The first we encountered looked to have an OK landing, but the campsite was up a steep hill with what looked like excellent views in all directions. Gary stopped to check it out while we paddled on to another campsite on a nearby island only a couple hundred yards away. This site was glorious, with multiple flat, rocky landing spots, good protection with trees, and plenty of tent pads strewn around a big open interior that also sported a big firepit and benches. Sweeeeet! Gary came by and tried to convince us that the other site was MORE glorious than this one, that once you got to the top of the hill you could see forever in all directions. How do we decide? Our reply: "Well, we're all here now." And that was that.
We pulled our canoes out, unloaded, and quickly set up camp. By this time the wind had picked up from the east, and while the site was mostly protected, the firepit and seating area were somewhat exposed. But the views of the rising full moon over Argo, and the growing twilight from that location were simply incredible. And we were staying here for two nights! We got the normal camp stuff going (like water and alcohol), and broke out our food and Backwoods cigars. Tonight's dinner would be cooked pork chops, cold but still tender. They were soooo good, almost like thick pieces of ham on bone! Perfect to have with the bandit favorite Garlic Mashed Potatoes!
We were all tired and sore, but we also knew that we were "out there". Once we hit Argo, we never saw another soul any where on the lake. It seemed we had paradise to ourselves! Tomorrow would be our first fishing day, but tonight we ate, drank, smoked and laughed ourselves to bed. But really now, that pretty much describes every night with the Bandits.
The portage was uphill most of the way because we were going up to the falls, which was in earshot for the entire length of the portage. Towards the end the trees opened up to the glory of Curtain Falls itself and expansive views of Crooked Lake. On each trip we would pause at this point to gawk for a minute before continuing on another 5-10 rods to a large flat rock outcropping with calm waters away from the falls. With Gary's instability, we made sure he took it easy, and by taking 3 trips nobody had to overburden themselves. Actually, this was a pretty nice portage as these things go - nice and wide, with hardly any obstacles to trip us up.
Once done portaging, we plopped down at the falls for lunch of sausage (aka, "horse c*ck"), hard cheeses (aka "clog ass"), and crackers. While eating, another group came portaging through, going the same direction we were. They told us they had a lot of gear though, so they would stay out of our way as we launched from the rocky put in. Gary recognized the group leader as a well-known BWCA trip leader and outdoor writer, Stu Osthoff. Gary had consulted with him a few times, and traveled once with him as well. Stu is a no-nonsense canoer and trip leader, and can't understand why people wear those stupid hiking pants with all those dumb pockets. Stu swears by his jeans. We were sure to hide our legs from sight as Stu portaged by each time.
By this time the skies had cleared, and the falls were beautiful (and loud!). After lunch we loaded up the canoes and pushed off across Crooked Lake about 2:30 pm. We headed mainly east, following the northern shoreline for about an hour in search of the inlet for the portage from Crooked up into Argo Lake.
Along the way Gary spotted a sandy beach tucked away in a deep bay, and swung in to check it out while we continued on. Gary could easily outpaddle us in his single canoe, and he never took long to catch up when he ventured off. Also, he was easy to spot because a) his solo canoe was bright yellow, b) Gary festoons himself with neon shirts and headbands, and c) sticking up in the back of his canoe was a bright red fishing rod bag! Each canoe had maps and compasses, and Gary and I each had GPS units that worked really well. I really loved looking at our location on my GPS, much to Jeff's chagrin. The poor sop was left to paddle solo while I took my time getting a bearing on our next destination. "Kevin, you can paddle now" was a common utterance from my sternman, while at the same time from across the lake came the constant cry from Joe, "Hey! How much farther??"
We found the inlet, unloaded, and started portaging about 4 pm. This was definitely the hardest (and longest) portage of the 3 we had done so far: 160 rods starting in mud for a few rods, then the first 3/4 was a never-ending uphill grind, peaking at what I called "Pinnacle Rock", a slippery ridge of rock about 5 feet high that was nearly impossible to climb up and over without unloading, working your load and yourself over, and loading up again on the other side. Others proffered more graphic names for this obstacle. Along the way we encountered wolf scat and moose tracks in the mud. The last 1/4 of the portage was a steep, somewhat dangerous downhill to the end, but what a glorious end it was - Argo Lake! You could only see a small section of it from the put-in site, but what we saw was beautiful.
After portaging everything across, we dropped down for a much needed rest, cracked a beer, and broke out some snacks. As bad as the portages had been, the temps were nice and cool, there were no bugs, so we really couldn't complain. We imagined these portages in the heat of the summer, with the bugs and intermittent rain/mud to deal with. The bandits were lucky to count a real life weather shaman amongst their party.
Knowing we still had some paddling to do to find a campsite on Argo, we pushed off about 6:30 to check out some highly rated campsites that were located near the middle of the lake. Argo is quite large, with many islands, inlets, bays, and peninsulas of land. Some consider Argo the gem of Quetico, and we were there! After breaking out into the larger lake, we followed the shoreline of a couple islands in search of their desirable campsites. The first we encountered looked to have an OK landing, but the campsite was up a steep hill with what looked like excellent views in all directions. Gary stopped to check it out while we paddled on to another campsite on a nearby island only a couple hundred yards away. This site was glorious, with multiple flat, rocky landing spots, good protection with trees, and plenty of tent pads strewn around a big open interior that also sported a big firepit and benches. Sweeeeet! Gary came by and tried to convince us that the other site was MORE glorious than this one, that once you got to the top of the hill you could see forever in all directions. How do we decide? Our reply: "Well, we're all here now." And that was that.
We pulled our canoes out, unloaded, and quickly set up camp. By this time the wind had picked up from the east, and while the site was mostly protected, the firepit and seating area were somewhat exposed. But the views of the rising full moon over Argo, and the growing twilight from that location were simply incredible. And we were staying here for two nights! We got the normal camp stuff going (like water and alcohol), and broke out our food and Backwoods cigars. Tonight's dinner would be cooked pork chops, cold but still tender. They were soooo good, almost like thick pieces of ham on bone! Perfect to have with the bandit favorite Garlic Mashed Potatoes!
We were all tired and sore, but we also knew that we were "out there". Once we hit Argo, we never saw another soul any where on the lake. It seemed we had paradise to ourselves! Tomorrow would be our first fishing day, but tonight we ate, drank, smoked and laughed ourselves to bed. But really now, that pretty much describes every night with the Bandits.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Journey into Quetico
When we awoke, little did we know that the day would be a "Trains, Planes and Automobiles" type of day. What we did know was that we had a long boat ride through many lakes to drop us off at a portage entrance into Quetico Provincial Park - Gary had told us a bit about it. But there were modifications to the route that surprised even him.
All but Gary went down for breakfast (included at Voyagaire Lodge because we were guests of Zup's Resort), then back up for final packing. We watched a snow squall blow across the lake while we ate, making us wonder aloud what dunderheads would actually bother to leave the warmth and comfort of Voyagaire for that. Gary had a great deal more to do to ready for the trip, and Chuck and Jeff packed a solid lunch for us.
We loaded the vehicles, checked out, and drove down the road about 1/8 of a mile to Scott's Resort where our boat journey would begin. We were to be there at 9 am. Zup's Resort was our host for the trip, but they are located on an island in the middle of nowhere (OK, just on the Canadian side of the border on the large and long Lac La Croix). They contracted with Scott's Resort to boat us all the way to Zup's - or so we thought.
We parked our vehicles for the week after unloading them onto the dock, then waited for our driver to signal that we could load the jet boat with our gear, as well as Gary's solo canoe (we would rent two others from Zup's when we got there). We also had to wait for 3 bass boats (laden with provisions, beer, and heavy set gents from Arkansas) to get ready, because they would follow us as far as their boats would allow.
We knew the forecast for the next couple days - near freezing temps overnights but 50 degree days, but no precip. Now, who could ask for anything better up here at this time of year! The boat ride was pretty cold, but we were somewhat enclosed on 3 sides so the wind wasn't blowing on us. With 3 bass boats on our tail, we whipped across Crane Lake then on to Little Vermillion Lake. Since Gary didn't get any breakfast, he began munching on some left-over bbq ribs that he had stashed away from the night before. Now, I'm partial to my bacon and eggs, but there was something intriguing about the way he devoured his make-do breakfast that had me wanting for something a bit more tangy.
Our first stop on this long journey was Canadian customs, located on another remote island in the middle of nowhere:
"How long you boys in Canada?" 7 days in your lovely country.
"Got any firearms?" You mean these handguns? Ha ha, aren't we Americans so funny..... Ahhhh OK, no. Please sirs, put your pistols back in their holsters now.
"Any alcohol?" Is Gretzky Canadian?
"How much alcohol ya have?" Oh, I'd estimate 7 liters for the 5 of us.
The two Canadian border agents looked at each other, then said, "You're allowed 1 liter for each person, and the fines for anything greater are pretty stiff..........but we'll overlook it."
Well, let me tell you, I was this close to handing over Joe's craft beer, Chuck's wine and (Jeff's) brandy, but OK, we can live with that. Just keep your bloody hands off my .44 Magnum.
After customs, we were back on the jet boat to continue our journey, fat Razorbacks still on our tail, but now entering tighter quarters where the bass boats had to be careful and follow the jet boat exactly through more narrow straits lest they drop a prop or lose a skeg. All of a sudden we stopped at a random boat landing...again in the middle of nowhere....where a rickety van pulling a canoe trailer was waiting for us. Hmmm, what gives here? We helped them unload our stuff into the van, strapped on Gary's canoe, left the Scott's Resort jet boat and 3 heavily laden bass boats behind, and began a 40-minute overland journey across the Canadian wilderness. Our van driver was a handsome young Aussie (complete with Crocodile Dundee hat) who explained that the boat route to Zup's was too shallow, and that maybe when we come back this way in a week we can skip this detour. Joe the Aussie (I'm sure he had a last name) was quiet at first, but we finally got him to talk, primarily to listen to his accent, which is so fun to hear. "Roight, you booys headin inta Quetico, ahy? Roight then..." I've been to Australia, and in my book, the brits got nothing on the Aussie's when it comes to accents. Shreemp ahn the bahbee, fowstahs beeah an' ohl tha Mayt. Could listen to it for hours.
The van ride was pretty good at first, 45 mph on a nice road, but then deteriorated into a pot-holed, 5 mph slog that had us bouncing around the van like kids in an inflatable bounce house at a birthday party. We finally arrived at another boat landing, this time on Lac La Croix, where another jet boat - this one from Zup's Resort! - awaited us. We offloaded our stuff onto the new boat, said goodbye to Joe and hello to Jan our boat driver, who explained that before going to Zup's Resort she was taking us to the Quetico Ranger District office to pick up our Quetico permit first. "If we don't get them before they go to lunch, you never know when they'll be back." I gather things up here run on Native American time, which was confirmed when we arrived there.
The Quetico Ranger District is a remote outpost on Lac La Croix. We paid our hefty Quetico permit fee to the plodding Native American woman, who tried multiple times to run our credit cards through those old fashioned swipe machines that use carbon copy papered forms. Imagine this setting. Are we the only people in the last, oh, 5 years that have been through here to purchase Quetico permits with credit cards? I would quote her words here as she struggled with this financial transaction except, well, she didn't utter a word. So, the one-sided conversation went something like this:
"Hi. Quetico Permits please. I gather by the inquisitive look in your eyes that you are maybe looking for a name? Or maybe some form of payment. Which? Johnson party of 5. Good? You want a form of payment? Do you take credit card? No? Yes? Here, take this rectangular piece of plastic. Do I get it back? I suspect by that glance at the clock that it must be lunch."
That painful step taken care of, it was back on the boat to Zup's Resort island. Zup's dock area is a busy place, teeming fishermen and jet boat traffic coming and going. The resort building is wonderfully quaint, with a variety of northwoods furnishings and wall hangings. We were greeted by Kathy Zup with coffee, lemonade and cookies. Gary ironed out the details of our itinerary with her, including the rental of 2 Kevlar (lightweight) canoes and a satellite phone in case of emergency. Being it was Saturday, other paddlers were coming in from their jet boat pickup, and the reception area was getting pretty busy. We were promised some one-on-one time with Mark Zup about our proposed route, what to avoid, where to fish, etc. Mark and Kathy are a busy couple, but Gary is a repeat customer so he was afforded a little TLC!
Mark gave us some good info, especially as it related to some of the side trips we were considering on our layover days. Our route alone was aggressive, and Mark dismissed some of the other side lakes we wanted to visit as unattainable on a day trip. He also eliminated an alternate route that we were considering which would allow us to avoid one very nasty portage, generally referred to as the "Gratton Death March", replacing it with small portages along a narrow river channel. Mark stated that blowdown from the storm in July 2014 still clogged the narrow riverway - the Death March was the only portage available to us on our loop route. We even met another young group that had just come through there yesterday, and we asked how bad the Death March was. "It is what it is, it wasn't too bad", really meaning, "You gotta do it if you want to go that way, so suck it up, strap on your big boy pants, and get to portaging ya lazy ass old timer." Well, I never...
OK, with 3 canoes and all our gear on the boat, we were off again on a long boat ride across a long expanse of Lac La Croix, this time with Wesley our Native American driver. As is typical with Zup employees, language is at a premium for individuals like Wes. You can't help but ask yourself what their lives are like in these northern locations. It's like when you drive through a remote town and ask yourself, "What do all these people do?" We knew what Wes was doing at this moment, but really, what do Wes, Joe, and Jan do when they aren't driving us city slickers around? Their silent, knowing eyes are so intriguing, are they not?
Or maybe they're all just hung over like us.
It was about 2 pm when we were finally dropped off on a rock outcropping, with still another 100 yards of water to the actual beginning of Bottle Portage into Quetico (the boat couldn't get any closer). So, we unloaded the jet boat, said our goodbyes to Wesley (which was acknowledged with a silent "fare thee well" or so I imagined), and then decided to GET BUSY - at which point we plopped down for lunch. With all that sitting around for hours, I was famished!
The morning snow squall was long forgotten as we enjoyed a beautiful, clear, sunny afternoon. I really couldn't help but comment on my self-proclaimed position as the group's weather shaman, and declare to all within earshot, "My work here is done." I mean, from 20-degree blustery morning to clear skies and light spring breezes? Damn right.
We finished lunch, loaded up the canoes, floated across the little bay, unloaded, and started the portage. Mark Zup had warned us that the portage had two routes - a shorter low road that is terribly muddy, and a longer high road that is a bit more difficult, but worth it. As would be our typical portage process going forward, Jeff, Joe and I portaged the 3 canoes first, then all would participate in the multiple trips (usually 3 total) it took to get all our gear from one end to the other. As I said, we were blessed with cool weather and no bugs, and once everything was across we launched on to Iron Lake for an hour long paddle in search of a campsite. We had a few to choose from on both the US and Canadian side, and struck out for a small island site very near Rebecca Falls. We found it unoccupied and perfect, with a nice flat access to land and launch from, log benches and a big stone fire pit! We unloaded, set up camp, and hung around to nap and fish. Gary and I roomed together in his 2-man Marmot, Joe and Chuck were roommates in Joe's REI Half Dome, and without Steve along, Jeff was alone in my REI Quarter Dome. After some relaxing, we canoed over to Rebecca Falls, which was so near that we could hear the constant roar from our camp.
Rebecca Falls is actually two falls that flow on either side of an island. Mark Zup was clear on this point: head directly for the middle of the island to land your canoes, and don't dally lest you get sucked into the falls to the left or the right. Once we landed, we walked a short path to the falls on the left, which ran down from our Iron Lake into McAree Lake. We took some pictures, enjoyed the beauty, then walked across the small island to view the falls on the other side, which were a bit more exposed. We lingered here for about an hour, and with darkness setting in we headed back to the canoes to return to camp. While untying our canoes, Gary discovered that he had laid his hiking poles in a patch of poison ivy, and then wondered if the rest of us had actually tied our canoes off in the nearby shrubs. Thus would begin the PI (poison ivy) saga - which ropes had touched PI, which ones needed to be destroyed, and who would develop a PI rash (Jeff). For his part, Gary was pretty bummed about this, and spent several minutes scrubbing his hands and poles and anything else that he could think of that might have come in contact. The problem with PI is that it takes a couple days to really develop a PI rash, so you never really know whether you have cleaned yourself, your clothes, your gear well enough. Gary was taking no chances.
Back at camp, we lit a charcoal fire and dug out the huge steaks which would be our supper. We always eat fresh food the first night of a trip because we can pack it very cold or even freezing, knowing it won't spoil on the first day. We ate (and drank*) by the light of our dorklights, and the rising moon which was only a couple days away from being full. The waxing moon was joined by Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn, which made for a beautiful evening sky the entire trip.
*And by drink, I mean both our purified water stash and the many aluminum containers (we used to call SIGGs for the brand) that accompanied us. For our water purification process we had two gravity filters working for us in camp: Fill a plastic container with lake water, attach it to a tree or branch as high as possible, hook it up to a hose that runs the water through a filter via gravity to an empty clean water container on the ground. Walk away, come back in 10 minutes, repeat as often as necessary. This works well when base camping, but it's not practical if you are on the move - or in Utah where there are no trees!
As for the liquids of the distilled sort, we had a plethera of choices for the discerning Quetico explorer. First and foremost, we always travel with some high octane (e.g., 124 proof) bourbon, and while not the smoothest, it sure does the trick when weight is a concern. Lately we have been partial to Knob Creek Special Reserve, and Gary likes to bring along its little brother, plain ol' Knob Creek. Next, we are happy to accommodate Joe who has an issue with bourbons and whiskeys, but adores tequila - especially when limes and salt can be found in the vicinity. "I'm carving boys, who's with me?" brings joy and gladness to my heart at the end of a long day. In addition, Joe loves his beer, and while it isn't the most practical thing to travel with, we all agree that splitting a Surly fill-in-the-blank (Hell, Furious, Cynic...) is a great way to toast a campsite or a portage well done.
Now, Chuck likes to bring his own stash of brandy and wines (little juice boxes like your kids used to squeeze and spill all over). And last but not least, we were introduced to a new distillation this year, Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey. Remember those hot little cinnamon candies from our youth, "Red Hots"? Leave it to someone to capture that exact flavor in liquid form, and throw in some alcohol to boot. Delicious! Let's see, did I miss anything?? Whew, get to bed you drunks...
All but Gary went down for breakfast (included at Voyagaire Lodge because we were guests of Zup's Resort), then back up for final packing. We watched a snow squall blow across the lake while we ate, making us wonder aloud what dunderheads would actually bother to leave the warmth and comfort of Voyagaire for that. Gary had a great deal more to do to ready for the trip, and Chuck and Jeff packed a solid lunch for us.
We loaded the vehicles, checked out, and drove down the road about 1/8 of a mile to Scott's Resort where our boat journey would begin. We were to be there at 9 am. Zup's Resort was our host for the trip, but they are located on an island in the middle of nowhere (OK, just on the Canadian side of the border on the large and long Lac La Croix). They contracted with Scott's Resort to boat us all the way to Zup's - or so we thought.
We parked our vehicles for the week after unloading them onto the dock, then waited for our driver to signal that we could load the jet boat with our gear, as well as Gary's solo canoe (we would rent two others from Zup's when we got there). We also had to wait for 3 bass boats (laden with provisions, beer, and heavy set gents from Arkansas) to get ready, because they would follow us as far as their boats would allow.
We knew the forecast for the next couple days - near freezing temps overnights but 50 degree days, but no precip. Now, who could ask for anything better up here at this time of year! The boat ride was pretty cold, but we were somewhat enclosed on 3 sides so the wind wasn't blowing on us. With 3 bass boats on our tail, we whipped across Crane Lake then on to Little Vermillion Lake. Since Gary didn't get any breakfast, he began munching on some left-over bbq ribs that he had stashed away from the night before. Now, I'm partial to my bacon and eggs, but there was something intriguing about the way he devoured his make-do breakfast that had me wanting for something a bit more tangy.
Our first stop on this long journey was Canadian customs, located on another remote island in the middle of nowhere:
"How long you boys in Canada?" 7 days in your lovely country.
"Got any firearms?" You mean these handguns? Ha ha, aren't we Americans so funny..... Ahhhh OK, no. Please sirs, put your pistols back in their holsters now.
"Any alcohol?" Is Gretzky Canadian?
"How much alcohol ya have?" Oh, I'd estimate 7 liters for the 5 of us.
The two Canadian border agents looked at each other, then said, "You're allowed 1 liter for each person, and the fines for anything greater are pretty stiff..........but we'll overlook it."
Well, let me tell you, I was this close to handing over Joe's craft beer, Chuck's wine and (Jeff's) brandy, but OK, we can live with that. Just keep your bloody hands off my .44 Magnum.
After customs, we were back on the jet boat to continue our journey, fat Razorbacks still on our tail, but now entering tighter quarters where the bass boats had to be careful and follow the jet boat exactly through more narrow straits lest they drop a prop or lose a skeg. All of a sudden we stopped at a random boat landing...again in the middle of nowhere....where a rickety van pulling a canoe trailer was waiting for us. Hmmm, what gives here? We helped them unload our stuff into the van, strapped on Gary's canoe, left the Scott's Resort jet boat and 3 heavily laden bass boats behind, and began a 40-minute overland journey across the Canadian wilderness. Our van driver was a handsome young Aussie (complete with Crocodile Dundee hat) who explained that the boat route to Zup's was too shallow, and that maybe when we come back this way in a week we can skip this detour. Joe the Aussie (I'm sure he had a last name) was quiet at first, but we finally got him to talk, primarily to listen to his accent, which is so fun to hear. "Roight, you booys headin inta Quetico, ahy? Roight then..." I've been to Australia, and in my book, the brits got nothing on the Aussie's when it comes to accents. Shreemp ahn the bahbee, fowstahs beeah an' ohl tha Mayt. Could listen to it for hours.
The van ride was pretty good at first, 45 mph on a nice road, but then deteriorated into a pot-holed, 5 mph slog that had us bouncing around the van like kids in an inflatable bounce house at a birthday party. We finally arrived at another boat landing, this time on Lac La Croix, where another jet boat - this one from Zup's Resort! - awaited us. We offloaded our stuff onto the new boat, said goodbye to Joe and hello to Jan our boat driver, who explained that before going to Zup's Resort she was taking us to the Quetico Ranger District office to pick up our Quetico permit first. "If we don't get them before they go to lunch, you never know when they'll be back." I gather things up here run on Native American time, which was confirmed when we arrived there.
The Quetico Ranger District is a remote outpost on Lac La Croix. We paid our hefty Quetico permit fee to the plodding Native American woman, who tried multiple times to run our credit cards through those old fashioned swipe machines that use carbon copy papered forms. Imagine this setting. Are we the only people in the last, oh, 5 years that have been through here to purchase Quetico permits with credit cards? I would quote her words here as she struggled with this financial transaction except, well, she didn't utter a word. So, the one-sided conversation went something like this:
"Hi. Quetico Permits please. I gather by the inquisitive look in your eyes that you are maybe looking for a name? Or maybe some form of payment. Which? Johnson party of 5. Good? You want a form of payment? Do you take credit card? No? Yes? Here, take this rectangular piece of plastic. Do I get it back? I suspect by that glance at the clock that it must be lunch."
That painful step taken care of, it was back on the boat to Zup's Resort island. Zup's dock area is a busy place, teeming fishermen and jet boat traffic coming and going. The resort building is wonderfully quaint, with a variety of northwoods furnishings and wall hangings. We were greeted by Kathy Zup with coffee, lemonade and cookies. Gary ironed out the details of our itinerary with her, including the rental of 2 Kevlar (lightweight) canoes and a satellite phone in case of emergency. Being it was Saturday, other paddlers were coming in from their jet boat pickup, and the reception area was getting pretty busy. We were promised some one-on-one time with Mark Zup about our proposed route, what to avoid, where to fish, etc. Mark and Kathy are a busy couple, but Gary is a repeat customer so he was afforded a little TLC!
Mark gave us some good info, especially as it related to some of the side trips we were considering on our layover days. Our route alone was aggressive, and Mark dismissed some of the other side lakes we wanted to visit as unattainable on a day trip. He also eliminated an alternate route that we were considering which would allow us to avoid one very nasty portage, generally referred to as the "Gratton Death March", replacing it with small portages along a narrow river channel. Mark stated that blowdown from the storm in July 2014 still clogged the narrow riverway - the Death March was the only portage available to us on our loop route. We even met another young group that had just come through there yesterday, and we asked how bad the Death March was. "It is what it is, it wasn't too bad", really meaning, "You gotta do it if you want to go that way, so suck it up, strap on your big boy pants, and get to portaging ya lazy ass old timer." Well, I never...
OK, with 3 canoes and all our gear on the boat, we were off again on a long boat ride across a long expanse of Lac La Croix, this time with Wesley our Native American driver. As is typical with Zup employees, language is at a premium for individuals like Wes. You can't help but ask yourself what their lives are like in these northern locations. It's like when you drive through a remote town and ask yourself, "What do all these people do?" We knew what Wes was doing at this moment, but really, what do Wes, Joe, and Jan do when they aren't driving us city slickers around? Their silent, knowing eyes are so intriguing, are they not?
Or maybe they're all just hung over like us.
It was about 2 pm when we were finally dropped off on a rock outcropping, with still another 100 yards of water to the actual beginning of Bottle Portage into Quetico (the boat couldn't get any closer). So, we unloaded the jet boat, said our goodbyes to Wesley (which was acknowledged with a silent "fare thee well" or so I imagined), and then decided to GET BUSY - at which point we plopped down for lunch. With all that sitting around for hours, I was famished!
The morning snow squall was long forgotten as we enjoyed a beautiful, clear, sunny afternoon. I really couldn't help but comment on my self-proclaimed position as the group's weather shaman, and declare to all within earshot, "My work here is done." I mean, from 20-degree blustery morning to clear skies and light spring breezes? Damn right.
We finished lunch, loaded up the canoes, floated across the little bay, unloaded, and started the portage. Mark Zup had warned us that the portage had two routes - a shorter low road that is terribly muddy, and a longer high road that is a bit more difficult, but worth it. As would be our typical portage process going forward, Jeff, Joe and I portaged the 3 canoes first, then all would participate in the multiple trips (usually 3 total) it took to get all our gear from one end to the other. As I said, we were blessed with cool weather and no bugs, and once everything was across we launched on to Iron Lake for an hour long paddle in search of a campsite. We had a few to choose from on both the US and Canadian side, and struck out for a small island site very near Rebecca Falls. We found it unoccupied and perfect, with a nice flat access to land and launch from, log benches and a big stone fire pit! We unloaded, set up camp, and hung around to nap and fish. Gary and I roomed together in his 2-man Marmot, Joe and Chuck were roommates in Joe's REI Half Dome, and without Steve along, Jeff was alone in my REI Quarter Dome. After some relaxing, we canoed over to Rebecca Falls, which was so near that we could hear the constant roar from our camp.
Rebecca Falls is actually two falls that flow on either side of an island. Mark Zup was clear on this point: head directly for the middle of the island to land your canoes, and don't dally lest you get sucked into the falls to the left or the right. Once we landed, we walked a short path to the falls on the left, which ran down from our Iron Lake into McAree Lake. We took some pictures, enjoyed the beauty, then walked across the small island to view the falls on the other side, which were a bit more exposed. We lingered here for about an hour, and with darkness setting in we headed back to the canoes to return to camp. While untying our canoes, Gary discovered that he had laid his hiking poles in a patch of poison ivy, and then wondered if the rest of us had actually tied our canoes off in the nearby shrubs. Thus would begin the PI (poison ivy) saga - which ropes had touched PI, which ones needed to be destroyed, and who would develop a PI rash (Jeff). For his part, Gary was pretty bummed about this, and spent several minutes scrubbing his hands and poles and anything else that he could think of that might have come in contact. The problem with PI is that it takes a couple days to really develop a PI rash, so you never really know whether you have cleaned yourself, your clothes, your gear well enough. Gary was taking no chances.
Back at camp, we lit a charcoal fire and dug out the huge steaks which would be our supper. We always eat fresh food the first night of a trip because we can pack it very cold or even freezing, knowing it won't spoil on the first day. We ate (and drank*) by the light of our dorklights, and the rising moon which was only a couple days away from being full. The waxing moon was joined by Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn, which made for a beautiful evening sky the entire trip.
*And by drink, I mean both our purified water stash and the many aluminum containers (we used to call SIGGs for the brand) that accompanied us. For our water purification process we had two gravity filters working for us in camp: Fill a plastic container with lake water, attach it to a tree or branch as high as possible, hook it up to a hose that runs the water through a filter via gravity to an empty clean water container on the ground. Walk away, come back in 10 minutes, repeat as often as necessary. This works well when base camping, but it's not practical if you are on the move - or in Utah where there are no trees!
As for the liquids of the distilled sort, we had a plethera of choices for the discerning Quetico explorer. First and foremost, we always travel with some high octane (e.g., 124 proof) bourbon, and while not the smoothest, it sure does the trick when weight is a concern. Lately we have been partial to Knob Creek Special Reserve, and Gary likes to bring along its little brother, plain ol' Knob Creek. Next, we are happy to accommodate Joe who has an issue with bourbons and whiskeys, but adores tequila - especially when limes and salt can be found in the vicinity. "I'm carving boys, who's with me?" brings joy and gladness to my heart at the end of a long day. In addition, Joe loves his beer, and while it isn't the most practical thing to travel with, we all agree that splitting a Surly fill-in-the-blank (Hell, Furious, Cynic...) is a great way to toast a campsite or a portage well done.
Now, Chuck likes to bring his own stash of brandy and wines (little juice boxes like your kids used to squeeze and spill all over). And last but not least, we were introduced to a new distillation this year, Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey. Remember those hot little cinnamon candies from our youth, "Red Hots"? Leave it to someone to capture that exact flavor in liquid form, and throw in some alcohol to boot. Delicious! Let's see, did I miss anything?? Whew, get to bed you drunks...
Friday, May 29, 2015
Voyagaire Lodge, Crane Lake
Our boat shuttle journey would begin Saturday morning at Crane Lake, located not far from the Canadian border near....well, it's not near anything really. How about this: it's 1.5 hours north of Virginia, MN. Anyway, most of us headed up the day before so that we could gather all our stuff and finalize our packing strategy.
Chuck and his wife Lori had volunteered to plan the menu, so by the time we left the Twin Cities they had already packed our food into one large container. Done! Amazing really. Left to our own devices, we bandits would simply eat jerky and mashed potatoes (and Mountain House Chili Mac with Beef of course), suffering severe cases of scurvy (and constipation) by weeks' end.
Each of us was given one Duluth pack (large square-ish canvas bags that fit well in canoes and have straps for portaging) for our personal gear. Well, except Gary. He was given special dispensation to employ 2-3 personal packs, but that's expected of our beloved "Gear Daddy." And who of us would dare cast the first stone? We all benefit from the extra gear that Gary brings.
So, the major decision left was what group gear to bring, including what we would bring for spirits. As for that, we had several options, from tequila to bourbon and beer, and one newcomer to the Bandit repertoire: Fireball cinnamon whiskey! Turns out the world in general has been turned on to this stuff for quite awhile now, but we Bandits live in an obscure world where craft beer rules the day. Alas, copious amounts of craft beer would be impractical for a trip such as this, but that didn't stop us (Joe, specifically) from packing some Surly craft beer in a special lightweight cooler. In the end, we brought it all, or more accurately, we brought whatever we could fit in the various metal containers we had. That also included Chuck's personal supply of boxed wines and brandy. Now, Chuck can have his wine, but he had to remember from our BWCA trip that his brandy was a personal favorite of Jeff's. Seeing how Jeff liked to unwind in the evenings, I wonder if Chuck had any intention of tasting his own brandy stash!
All but Jeff took off from the Twin Cities about noon on Friday, heading north to Voyagaire Lodge on the shores of Crane Lake. (Jeff would arrive later that evening.) Voyagaire is a beautifully refurbished resort hotel, and we arrived about 5 pm after a quick stop in Cook, MN to pick up our BWCA permit. Why BWCA? I thought we were going to Quetico! Yep, but since we would be paddling along the US/Canadian border for part of the time, we wanted the option to nab the best campsite on either side of the border, and still be legal about it.
After a bite to eat and a couple beers at the bar, we retired to our rooms to pack. One of the rooms had a large open space, perfect for laying out group gear. Gary and Chuck did most of the deciding/packing, except for the alcohol. That's where we all lent a hand, "researching", comparing notes, and further researching the various alcohol options, and in the end declared that it was ALL coming with us. Er, whatever was left that is.
Chuck and his wife Lori had volunteered to plan the menu, so by the time we left the Twin Cities they had already packed our food into one large container. Done! Amazing really. Left to our own devices, we bandits would simply eat jerky and mashed potatoes (and Mountain House Chili Mac with Beef of course), suffering severe cases of scurvy (and constipation) by weeks' end.
Each of us was given one Duluth pack (large square-ish canvas bags that fit well in canoes and have straps for portaging) for our personal gear. Well, except Gary. He was given special dispensation to employ 2-3 personal packs, but that's expected of our beloved "Gear Daddy." And who of us would dare cast the first stone? We all benefit from the extra gear that Gary brings.
So, the major decision left was what group gear to bring, including what we would bring for spirits. As for that, we had several options, from tequila to bourbon and beer, and one newcomer to the Bandit repertoire: Fireball cinnamon whiskey! Turns out the world in general has been turned on to this stuff for quite awhile now, but we Bandits live in an obscure world where craft beer rules the day. Alas, copious amounts of craft beer would be impractical for a trip such as this, but that didn't stop us (Joe, specifically) from packing some Surly craft beer in a special lightweight cooler. In the end, we brought it all, or more accurately, we brought whatever we could fit in the various metal containers we had. That also included Chuck's personal supply of boxed wines and brandy. Now, Chuck can have his wine, but he had to remember from our BWCA trip that his brandy was a personal favorite of Jeff's. Seeing how Jeff liked to unwind in the evenings, I wonder if Chuck had any intention of tasting his own brandy stash!
All but Jeff took off from the Twin Cities about noon on Friday, heading north to Voyagaire Lodge on the shores of Crane Lake. (Jeff would arrive later that evening.) Voyagaire is a beautifully refurbished resort hotel, and we arrived about 5 pm after a quick stop in Cook, MN to pick up our BWCA permit. Why BWCA? I thought we were going to Quetico! Yep, but since we would be paddling along the US/Canadian border for part of the time, we wanted the option to nab the best campsite on either side of the border, and still be legal about it.
After a bite to eat and a couple beers at the bar, we retired to our rooms to pack. One of the rooms had a large open space, perfect for laying out group gear. Gary and Chuck did most of the deciding/packing, except for the alcohol. That's where we all lent a hand, "researching", comparing notes, and further researching the various alcohol options, and in the end declared that it was ALL coming with us. Er, whatever was left that is.
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Prologue
It had been two years since the Burrito Bag Bandits had gotten together for a high adventure trip. The previous trip to BWCA kept us in our home state, but still gave us the freedom of being out in the wilderness with just our planning and skills to keep us alive and safe. For our next trip, it was suggested we do something a bit more exotic to take us further into the BWCA, deeper into the wilderness than a couple of portages provided. Our trip leader, Gary, knew of a handful of resorts on the west end of the BWCA that would jet boat a group, their gear and canoes along the Canadian border (where boats are allowed, not on the U.S. side), and drop off at locations that give a group flexibility to enter BWCA (or the adjoining Quetico Provincial Park on the Canadian side) from a few different spots. These locations would take days to portage to from various entry points in the U.S. and Canada, so these boat shuttles get you deep in to "the shit" where humans are scarce, fish are abundant, and paddling and exploring are at a premium. In addition, a bonus was dangled in front of the unsuspecting Bandits - no portaging! From the boat shuttle drop-off point, we simply canoe a few yards across the border into the lakes of western BWCA!
Well, call it the ol' "Bait and Switch" (Joe does). In the early stages of planning, Gary decided to up the "wow" factor and take the Bandits into Quetico Provincial Park, which is even more remote and exotic than the BWCA. Need proof? Ask a Minnesotan about the BWCA, and you will get 100% acknowledgement. Ask them about Quetico Provincial Park, and most will look puzzled: "Quetico? Must be a cross between Quaaludes and Costco." Even if they know what it is, most people have no idea where it is. That included me and the other Bandits, complaining that we refused to ingest mind-altering drugs administered by a warehouse chain.
So, over the winter of 2014-2015 the planning conversation changed from "no portaging" to "a few portages", but still included the boat shuttle. The Bandits were still on board, knowing that our aging bodies were, well, only getting older, and if Gary could pull it off in his condition (recent cancer remission), we were too ashamed to back down. Except Joe, who jokingly laments to this day, "Where was I when these plans changed???" Must have been on one of his frequent visits to the beer frig.
All 6 of the 2013 BWCA Bandits were in, but there were some scheduling conflicts. Just like 2013, the best time was the week after Memorial Day, when visitors and bugs would be scarce, and fish would hopefully be biting. Weather? That's always a crap shoot in MN/Canada. In the end, Steve-O had to back out, leaving the remaining 5 Bandits to fend for ourselves. Steve is an animal when it comes to portaging - and fishing. We may not miss his fishing as much, but we would surely miss his portaging prowess.
That left Gary, Joe, Jeff, Chuck and Kevin to plan and execute the trip from May 30 - June 6, 2015.
After pouring over maps of Quetico, we decided on a circular route that would have the boat shuttle drop us off at one Quetico entrance point, we camp and portage through 8-10 incredible Quetico lakes over the course of a week, and have the shuttle pick us up at a different exit location.
Listen......there, did you hear it? Way off in the distance, a faint cry still echoing through the universe: "WHERE WAS I WHEN THESE PLANS CHAAAAAaaaaaaa........"
Well, call it the ol' "Bait and Switch" (Joe does). In the early stages of planning, Gary decided to up the "wow" factor and take the Bandits into Quetico Provincial Park, which is even more remote and exotic than the BWCA. Need proof? Ask a Minnesotan about the BWCA, and you will get 100% acknowledgement. Ask them about Quetico Provincial Park, and most will look puzzled: "Quetico? Must be a cross between Quaaludes and Costco." Even if they know what it is, most people have no idea where it is. That included me and the other Bandits, complaining that we refused to ingest mind-altering drugs administered by a warehouse chain.
So, over the winter of 2014-2015 the planning conversation changed from "no portaging" to "a few portages", but still included the boat shuttle. The Bandits were still on board, knowing that our aging bodies were, well, only getting older, and if Gary could pull it off in his condition (recent cancer remission), we were too ashamed to back down. Except Joe, who jokingly laments to this day, "Where was I when these plans changed???" Must have been on one of his frequent visits to the beer frig.
All 6 of the 2013 BWCA Bandits were in, but there were some scheduling conflicts. Just like 2013, the best time was the week after Memorial Day, when visitors and bugs would be scarce, and fish would hopefully be biting. Weather? That's always a crap shoot in MN/Canada. In the end, Steve-O had to back out, leaving the remaining 5 Bandits to fend for ourselves. Steve is an animal when it comes to portaging - and fishing. We may not miss his fishing as much, but we would surely miss his portaging prowess.
That left Gary, Joe, Jeff, Chuck and Kevin to plan and execute the trip from May 30 - June 6, 2015.
After pouring over maps of Quetico, we decided on a circular route that would have the boat shuttle drop us off at one Quetico entrance point, we camp and portage through 8-10 incredible Quetico lakes over the course of a week, and have the shuttle pick us up at a different exit location.
Listen......there, did you hear it? Way off in the distance, a faint cry still echoing through the universe: "WHERE WAS I WHEN THESE PLANS CHAAAAAaaaaaaa........"
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