There is no place like this anywhere on earth.
Just before 5 a.m… as seen from a one-man canoe on the still waters of Round Lake in mid-July, the sun is nothing more than a tiny dot of auburn light on the horizon. Here in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area – a million acres of wilderness and more than 200 lakes that stretch for 150 or so miles along the border with Canada – night gradually gives way.
For thousands of people each summer, this journey into the Boundary Waters, known as the B.W.C.A., is a rite of passage that can be traced to the 1880’s, when Ely (rhymes with steely) was nothing more than an undistinguished ore-mining town. Its streets were so muddy, said one visitor at the time, that they were “not passable, not even jackassable.”
My first visits to the BWCA were thru Ely. Now I prefer the smaller lakes (and crowds) off the Gunflint Trail out of Grand Marais.
I was blessed to enjoy a 4 day get-a-way to the Tuscarora Lodge and areas around the Cross Bay area of the BWCA.
Heading up the Gunflint Trail from Grand Marias, the cocophony of honking horns is replaced by the cornet call of the loon – the state bird of Minnesota – and the gentle sound of a canoe paddle plunging into the icy, clear water.
Tuscarora has been our home-away-from-home for over 20 years. Ownership has changed… but the attention to detail and the perfect location has not change.
We entered at the Cross Bay Lake Entrance. This is a quiet stretch of the BWCA, a perfect get-a-way spot to find some peace and quiet.
Despite its vastness, the Boundary Waters wilderness is a tightly controlled environment, most of it off-limits to motorized boats. To prevent crowding, the United States Forest Service issues only 250 or so overnight paddling permits per day. Each permits allows a maximum of nine people in a group… so you can do the math.
Each corner unveils a new jewel. Each end of a lake is often greeted by a bubbling rapids.
Our first portage… we officially enter the BWCAW (Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness)
A typical portage.
Each of the 2,000 secluded campsites includes space for, at most, nine people, a fire pit with a grill and a latrine without walls or a roof.
Spires of conical trees
reflect on the tranquil lake.
hints of evening mist
float above the camp.
asleep in our tents
loons wail their phantom song.
my hope swims with
a lamenting tremolo.
solitary dream-weavers
plant a seed as I sleep.
Morning walk on the shore.
swimming by, a loon.
The saying goes if you hear a loon at night your dreams will come true if you see the loon the next morning.
Outside the tent
Darkness and giant trees swaying in the wind.
The lake is moaning in it’s troubled sleep.
And far across the lazy lapping waves,
Above the crooning of the wind,
I hear a wild loon crying,
Like a weary soul alone in the dark water.
An extra little bonus… a video (4 Minutes) of a reading of the “Cry of the Loon”
This is a special place… one to not be ruined. I applaud the news from this year of the reduction in permits… the number of people that plunged into the wilderness spiked during COVID – 165,918 in 2020 up from 143,140 in 2019.
With all the people also came a high amount of resource damage, that, according to the Forest Service, included “cutting of live trees, human waste not being properly disposed, trash left in campfire rings, illegal entry, food not properly stored, disruptive and oversized groups, lack of BWCA permits, improper food storage and campfires left unattended.
Let’s keep this special place special.