copyright Dan Thornberg
A Beginner’s Guide to the Boundary Waters
If you are raising children in Minnesota, it is your duty to take them to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness at least once in their young lives, but until last summer my husband and I couldn’t agree about the best approach.
A veteran of many rough portages into the back woods, he’s been pointing out which plants most closely approximate toilet paper since before our three kids were Cub Scouts, teaching them to pity the nervous families we’ve met on trips out west, ringing jingle bells to keep the bears away.
I, on the other hand, have nothing but sympathy for the jingle bell types, having had a too close encounter with an equally surprised moose on Isle Royale when I was a kid. Freakishly allergic to no-see-ums of the north woods, I once had an eyelid puff up, Rocky Balboa-style, on a paddling trip, leaving me with one working eye and no depth perception for the long portage back.
So while my husband hungers for a total wilderness immersion experience, I also like a quick exit strategy—with possible access to urgent care. Fortunately we found the perfect meeting place at Bearskin Lodge, a historic family resort on the Gunflint Trail, just a few paddle strokes from the million acre expanse of water, sky and mosquitos that make up Minnesota’s greatest natural treasure.
If you’ve been there, or if you’ve just seen the postcards, then you already know the Boundary Waters is one of the most beautiful ecosystems on the planet, deserving of every superlative the team from National Geographic bestows. While the B-Dub regularly makes the list of 50 places to see before you die, it’s no Disney World for kids, so on our drive north, we do our best to prepare our boys, ages 7, 9 and 11, for the hardships they may have to endure. Swarms of black flies and mosquitos, blistering hours of j-strokes, risk of sunburn, heat stroke, and hypothermia, trails tangled with ancient, toe-stubbing roots and rocks, and soggy sandwiches laced with the aftertaste of DEET—all the amenities Minnesotans have come to expect from the BWCA.
We didn’t mention the privation that would hit them hardest until we turned left at Grand Marais and heard a groan from the backseat.
“Hello?? Did you know the cell phone doesn’t even work up here?” the sixth-grader asks, incredulous. After five hours of Angry Bird he is finally forced to look out the window where he counts three hawks, a possible eagle, four deer, and a red fox that we really should have kept a closer eye on. That night she crept up on our cabin deck and stole just one of his brand new water sandals, adding to a growing collection of quality footwear that has earned her the neighborhood nickname “Imelda.”
Wildlife encounters like this are a big part of the Bearskin Lodge experience, where my mother still remembers watching a local woodsman gut and flay a black bear in front of a crowd of tourists when she visited here with her parents in the late 1940s. From our private dock, we hear wolves howl one early morning, and watch loons dive in the afternoon, and welcome our fellow lodgers back from their fishing expeditions in the evening, paying attention to all their advice about what’s biting (besides the obvious bugs).
Fifteen minutes after check-in, our kids gave up all hope of a wi-fi connection (before the new broad band connections started up the trail, “bandwidth” was exhausted by about 10 a.m.). Happily unplugged, they spend their days learning to paddleboard in the small bay on the west end of East Bearskin, tipping over and trying again until they are able to stride the water like Venetian gondoliers.
We might have been perfectly happy doing nothing but paddle boarding all week, were it not for an afternoon trip up to Grand Portage National Monument to remind us that we were here to travel like the Voyageurs. At the close of the 18th century, the beaver pelt boom turned an 8.5 mile portage along the Pigeon River into a profitable crossroads for international trade—a cultural moment you can see reenacted every August at the annual Rendezvous and Powwow. (This year it’s slated for August 8-10).
As we toured the Heritage Center, and watched interpretive films about the derring-do of these red-capped, chanson-singing super heroes, my middle kid decided that paddling up and down the same lake just wasn’t going to cut it. “If you want to tell people that you’ve been to the boundary waters, I think you actually have to carry a canoe,” he said.
Enough with the toe-dipping, we decided—it was time to take a deep breath and drive in. The next day, we rose early, slathered on the sunscreen, and packed an army’s worth of sandwiches, snacks and water and set out in canoes across East Bearskin. A light breeze across the water kept the 90 degree sun from bearing down, but it did nothing to break up the dark cloud of mosquitoes that chased us up the portage trail to Crocodile Lake, official BWCA territory. The boys ran straight up the hill with their packs, whimpering, while I calculated how long it would take to turn it all around go back to the safety of our cabin.
But by the time we carried the canoe up to next the launching point and reconnected, they’d already accommodated themselves to the blood payment required to reach this elevated cloud-mirror lake steeped in lily pads and pines.
“This is the worst!” the oldest one laughed, slapping a juicy one on his younger brother’s shoulder.
“Let’s get out of here!” the middle one agreed, surprising us by grabbing a paddle and climbing right back into the canoe.
They’re still just BWCA beginners, but they’ve already mastered one of the most important lessons for survival: The welts will eventually go away, but the memories last forever.
If you go:
Flinty characters: Don’t miss the wonderful little Chik-wauk Museum and Nature Center, near the southeast edge of Saganaga Lake. This interpretive center showcases the lives and legends of pioneering spirits like the late Justine Kerfoot, of the Gunflint Lodge, who didn’t give up portaging her wood-frame canvas boat until she was ninety.
Stretch your legs: To get your bearings in this corner of the Boundary Waters, take a mostly vertical hike up to Honeymoon Bluff, near the Flour Lake Campground. A 1.5 mile round-trip will take you to a scenic outlook over Hungry Jack, East Bearskin, West Bearskin and the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness and give you a great view when the sun sets.
Pack it in, pack it out: That’s the rule for keeping the Boundary Waters pristine for the people behind you. But if the burden of packing for your family is what’s keeping you on shore, consider hiring one of the many knowledgeable and reasonable outfitters in the area to pack for you. Outfitters can point you to the most rewarding passages among the BWCA’s 1,200 miles of canoe routes, and set you up with the permits you’ll need to gaze at the stars from one of the BWCA’s more than 2,000 campsites.
Malt and moose: Just four hours of paddling at a leisurely pace can burn more than 1,000 calories, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t refuel with one of legendary malts at the Trail Center Lodge, a community-building burger joint that still retains its 1938 logging camp vibe. After your burger and before bedtime, be on the look-out for trucks and minivans pulled out along the trail, a sure sign there’s a moose browsing nearby.
