Third Generation Adventure
Leaving civilization behind, one paddle stroke at a time.
I spent this past weekend paddling and camping with my two adult children and my daughter’s partner in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW). If you know me, you know I’ve written about my history in the area via my book Dirty Shirt: a boundary waters memoir. It’s been 10 years since I last visited the area, so when my daughter repeatedly mentioned she wanted Sam to experience the Boundary Waters, I finally pulled the trigger and scheduled a 3 night/4 day “easy” trip for the old guy and the first-timer.
For those who don’t know, the BWCA is a million-acre wilderness accessible only by canoe, and travel from lake to lake requires portaging gear and canoe. It is rugged, rustic and breathtakingly beautiful. It comes with hardship and hard work but is 100% adventure that fuels the desire to return. (Or not, if you’ve had an awful experience.)
Where we’ve been
Anyway, it is hard to explain the overwhelming emotions this trip evoked. Our family now has a three-generation history in the area. My father was a frequent visitor to the region before it was designated as a protected area and given the name BWCAW. In the late 80s, my brothers, friends and I made several trips up. Then in 2009, my two brothers and I brought our kids up, starting a tradition that brought us all back again in 2012 and 2015.
So after a long breathtaking drive, we rented canoes and a “bear barrel” for food storage from Seagull Outfitters located at the end of the Gunflint Trail and launched. Our ¼ mile portage came about 2 hours later and was fairly flat and well-marked. If you’ve never portaged a 50-lb. pack or a canoe or both simultaneously, as my son and Sam did, you may experience hallucinations, channeling of an inner will-to-live, visions of the Virgin Mary, Buddah, and Jim Morrison. It is sweaty, hard, character-building work. It is not for the weak or infirm, but the rewards are great. To my daughter’s credit, she did an amazing job without complaint.
After our portage, we struggled to find a campsite that wasn’t either taken or of a decent quality. We eventually settled for what we called a “1-star” campsite; a real “fixer-upper.” I can honestly say that of all my trips up there, this site was the worst. We were tired though, so made it into a temporary home with the thought that if a better site opened up, we’d move.
As bad as it was, that first night at the campsite, there were a couple of moments I will remember forever:
My two kids laughing and cooking a kielbasa, potato and pepper dinner together over the Coleman stove.
Stargazing under the perfectly clear night with the four of us on a flat rock overlooking the lake. As we sat in awe, there were some great conversations about the endless expanse of the universe and how problems like a fascist takeover of our government seem much smaller in comparison.
It’s all about the fish
The next morning we slept in, had breakfast and set out fishing. My son had the first luck catching a couple bass. The rest of us had nibbles but no joy. On our trip back to the site, we found a site that was a 5-star site, so we quickly moved our location a short way across the lake. The new site was better by a factor of ten. Flat rocks, a beautiful view of the lake, a grassy area for tents and trees to hang hammocks, packs, etc. It had everything but room service.
When we landed at this new site, I experienced a totally numb left foot that kept rolling at the ankle. I’d never experienced something like this so was a walking liability for the first half hour while I worked on it. I’ve had neuropathy in both feet for a few years, and this was like a terrible case of it. I immediately went into full worry and existential dread mode about navigating the rest of the trip, especially the portage on the way back, full of rocks and roots.
I didn’t want it to ruin the trip though, so told my kids about my condition and I decided I would stay committed to this precious time with them. I’d come over 400 miles to be here with them and I wanted to stay “in the moment” with two of the three dearest people in my life (and Sam, of course!). So I gimped around for the rest of the trip like an old guy, but it did not ruin my joy. I refused to let it drive me into a funk.
On the last night, we went out fishing before dinner and were driven back home by distant threatening clouds,thunder and lightning. We quickly battened down the hatches and prepped for the rain that never happened. The three kids cooked an amazing dinner of macaroni and cheese with bacon and summer sausage cooked in. Don’t knock it till you try it!
Celebrating those who’ve gone before
After dinner, I mentioned to the kids that today (August 30th) was the 14th anniversary of my brother’s death from cancer. He and I took several trips together and he loved the area and all its adventure. I pulled out a half pint of Jim Beam, the whiskey of choice for many of “the brothers” trips of so long ago, and we all had a shot in his memory. It was a touching, emotional moment and a reminder again of how lucky I was to have this time making lifetime memories with my kids, but also honoring our collective past with Rob. I miss him every day.
Thankfully, the storm stayed to the north of us, and we were treated to a spectacular light show, much of which we got on video or time-lapse photos. It seems Rob or God or the Great Spirit of the Boundary Waters was looking over us, because we had perfect weather the whole weekend.
As we were packing to leave, I was taking down the tent with Ben when he pointed skyward and said, “Wow!” As I looked up, a golden eagle flew through our camp literally 6 feet over our heads and perched in a nearby tree. We attributed it to Rob’s presence as a spirit animal or something. Maybe it was just pure chance. Or maybe not. I choose the latter. It was a majestic, spiritual moment that I choose to think as heaven sent.
After a long paddle back, we showered and made the long trip back to Duluth for dinner, a sorrowful parting with Sarah and Sam, and then home from there.
Gratitude Central
I don’t want to sound like a sentimental sap, but frankly, I am one. Don’t judge. As you may know from recent posts, I’ve had a lot of family and friends dealing with serious sickness and health setbacks these past few months. These were directly responsible for my continued focus on how fortunate I was to be in such a rugged environment at age 63 with kids who WANTED to be there, WANTED to fish with me, WANTED to experience the hardship because of the joy and beauty at the other end. I never had this kind of chance with my father who also loved the area, so it is a legacy I want to leave with my own kids. Their zest and zeal for adventure, fishing, and family time only reminded me that my mission is accomplished. They are outdoor lovers, just like their father, grandfather and aunts and uncles.
Looking back, there were some additional moments I will always remember.
Ben’s technology-free navigation throughout the whole route. I know I’m a map guy, but he’s been to the area three times with his friends in the past three years and is pretty dang good with a compass and a paper map.
Laughing so hard one night around the fire at the resident mice that were determined to infiltrate our food and packs. At one point, a mouse was sitting on Ben’s “spork” with its butt on the fork, licking his spoon. We had a good laugh as Ben scared the mouse away and then raced to the lake to rinse his spork.
Watching Sam navigate his first Pack+Canoe portage; no easy feat! Afterward, at the end of the portage when I asked him how it went, he said, “It wasn’t my favorite.”
The group dynamic of everyone carrying their weight. If you’ve camped you know that something always needs doing; getting fresh water, gathering firewood, organizing supplies, cooking, dishes, etc. As adults, these kids have shifted from their dad and uncles doing all the camp chores to realizing they have to pitch in. It was a great synergy, as much as I hate that term.
A sunset that speaks for itself.
History repeated
After getting home, my son thanked me and said he had learned a few new things for future trips with his friends. Then, my daughter texted my wife and said she got a little verklempt as she was paddling back to the outfitter. She was sad to be leaving. She also said Sam really liked the experience.
Their collective sentiments made my heart sing and my soul grateful that I’d made the trip.
Maybe there’s a sequel book in my future: Dirtier Shirt: BWCA revisited
View my Dirty Shirt Book Trailer
Jim, thanks for a great story. Glad to hear you success with connecting with the next generation and enjoying every moment. We never know which trip will be our last until long after the fact.
Loved your story Jim, you old sap!