Day 8: Tension To the End
Saturday, May 25th, 2024
At 3 AM, my alarm rouses me from another deep but short sleep through another rainy night. I packed up camp last night until 10 PM, so it doesn’t take me too long to tear down the hammock and triple check that I’ve left nothing behind before pushing off from the landing in near darkness at 4:40. I’m at the portage landing to Seagull at 4:45 carrying my pack across under the light of my headlamp.

By the end of this first carry, the light is sufficient enough to stow my headlamp, and I’m very pleased to discover that the portage is much easier to take in this direction. I make it across in 18 minutes, helped by the net loss in elevation, cool morning temps, and lighter load. On the way back for the canoe, I spy some marsh marigolds just beginning to bloom. But the real highlight is my first-ever recording of a Hermit Thrush, which may be my favorite bird song of all time. Also singing in the woods is an Ovenbird, which is the first bird I heard and recorded on this trip when I stopped at Sugarloaf Cove just outside of Grand Marais. It is a storybook ending to this final portage.

I’m paddling on Seagull at 5:40. There’s some wind out here, but it’s not too bad, and I’m optimistic that I will be able to find shelter in the lee of the multiple islands that guard the east side of this massive lake. That said, the wind is coming directly from the southwest, so when there is an area of open fetch, the waves have already built up to a significant height for such an early hour…and they’re coming at me from the side. As I pass between a couple of large islands, headed toward the large northeast bay, I can see a solid line of whitecaps marching across the bay from over a half mile away. They’re so solid, they resemble windrows of freshly swathed alfalfa hay like I’m accustomed to seeing back home on the farm. There will be no gentle, peaceful goodbye to the Boundary Waters this year. Mother Nature is going to challenge me all the way to the exit point.

While my target is Blankenburg Landing on the far northeast end of Seagull, I’m concerned, because it isn’t marked on my map. I am unable to see an obvious landing to shoot for across the wide bay that is filled with menacing whitecaps poised to strike me broadside. It’s not even 6:30 yet, and it seems I’m the only one out here on the lake. Even this close to civilization, a solo capsize out here in this bay at this hour would be a dangerous situation. While I’m confident in my position at this point, I don’t know for sure what I’m looking for, and where exactly on the shoreline to point the canoe. What I absolutely do NOT want is a repeat of Gabimichigami, dangerously paddling the shoreline looking for a landing in these dangerous conditions.

With the angle of the waves marching to the northeast, trying to punch through them bow first would only lead me out into the wide open expanse of Seagull to the southwest. My only logical choice is to keep following the shoreline of the bay to the northeast. And if I round the end of the bay to head back southwest toward Blankenburg Landing, I highly doubt I can even make forward progress directly into the mounting waves. No doubt about it, heading to Blankenburg just doesn’t seem possible, so I ride the waves deeper into the bay, with plans to stop at Seagull Outfitters, if I can see where it is. If I miss it, then I’ll make the turn toward Blankenburg and see how it goes. After about five minutes of frantic paddling with the waves on my stern, I spy a building flying the American flag with a mountain of Kevlar canoes stacked on storage racks. Whatever building this is, this is where I’m going now! With the waves continuing to hasten my journey, my canoe scrapes the promised land that is the gravel landing at Seagull Outfitters, and I toss my paddle ashore at 6:35 A.M. A staff member quickly assures me they’ll call Tuscarora for a ride and that I’m welcome to come inside to warm up and have a cup of coffee. I’ve made it. While the official end of a Boundary Waters trip is always met with some sense of longing for just one more night in the wild, the turbulent ending to this wet, windy, wave-ridden week finds me feeling more eager for shelter, a warm shower, and dry clothes than I’ve felt after past trips.

After unloading the canoe and organizing a bit, I meander about the store for a few minutes at Seagull, purchasing a few stickers and talking with the woman inside about the water levels on the Frost River, as well as about our shared hobby of birding and bird feeding. While I deal with keeping the squirrels away from my feeder back home, she has to deal with the black bears getting into her feeder up here! Soon my ride to Tuscarora arrives and I chat up the gentleman the whole way back, hearing some of his backstory while sharing some of my own. He encourages me to get my kids up here for a trip. After a week of interacting with virtually no one, I’m surprised by how easy and natural these social interactions feel.

After a shower at Tuscarora, I head inside to buy one more pint glass and more stickers. It’s busy in there, with at least a couple parties watching their entry videos. One group is a very fun-loving group of nine college-aged young men getting ready to head to the Larch Creek entry point for a long weekend of fishing. I can only imagine how much fun that trip was, albeit a completely different kind of trip than what I just had!

On the way back through Grand Marais, I try to drive back under my favorite road sign in the world that marks the entry to the Gunflint Trail, but it is closed off today due to a bike race in town. I’ve decided that the official tradition/superstition is to drive under the sign at the very start of the trip, and then to drive back under it after the trip ends. Next time! I continue to make my “soft re-entry” into society, not texting or calling anyone until I pass through Duluth, where I snag a much-needed cup of coffee. Out in the wild, I somehow subsist with less than normal sleep, fueled by the energy of the wilderness around me and the constant necessity to keep doing tasks around camp in order to be well fed and sheltered. With the weight of sleepiness upon me, I enjoy a long-overdue “catch up” phone call with my cousin, then switch back to more listening to podcasts and audiobooks.

I have been experimenting with how efficiently I can drive my Honda Civic on this trip, and while not fully intentional, end up stretching one tank of gas over 400 miles from Duluth to Des Moines, averaging over 40 miles per gallon. That was a bit more excitement than I wanted, so I switch back to catching up with an old friend or two then calling home to talk to my wife and daughter. Overall I had far fewer discussions with friends this year on the drive, but I rarely felt bored. Maybe my brain is thankful for the break and relishes the chance to just rest a bit.

Stats—>Lakes: 2|Paddle distance: 3.0 miles|Portages: 1|Rods: 209 (0.7 miles)|Travel time: 2 hours|Departure from Tuscarora: 8:25 A.M.|Arrival at home: 11:40 P.M.|Friends talked to: 3|Coffee cups drank: 3