Getting to Grand Marais

It seems that once in a great while, or in our case quite frequently we encounter these boondoggle days which drag on down memory lane with the impact of a glacial parade... Making into our last food drop before the Canadian Border was no exception.

As noted some where in the not so distant past there is a tendancy to have monstrous mile days at the end of the week. The Friday we rolled, paddled rather, into G. town was no different. We had planned to meet family and friends later in the evening, which meant we had to pull 30 some miles from the heart of pictured rocks to the end of our daily shore in a secluded sect of the U.P.

We start out amidst the bounty and awe inspiring conglomeration of sand stone, geologic scouring and mineral deposits in the early morning fog; mile for mile we bid our cliffed out sand stone border adue as water drops from the sky (waterfall, then rain) and we enter beach country. Now, beach is always a blessing, however in some instances it, like the energizer lithium bateries, go on and on and on... Not much for diversity in scenery. We paddle our hearts out until lunch time, then paddle some more- knowing we've got a window before some possible thunder showers disgrace us with their presence.

Around 3:30 in the afternoon of this fine day we reach the Au Sable light with sounds of impending weather on the horizon. Paddling around the point the beach climbs to the sky in the form of extreme dunnage (not really a word, but would be pronounced something like 'dune- age' denoting the EXTREME presence and ambiance of STEEP SAND) So BOOM, just like that, the beach climbs towards the prevailing anvil shaped thunderheads, at which point we do not know what to be more impressed with, the shear presence of quartzite or the rapid formation of potential weather. No matter, the location is exposed so we've to move. Fellow dune appreciators meandering up and down this MASSIVE amount of sand (do you get the feeling we are talking about IMMENSITY here?) Looked like small insects, which are well known for farming in our formative years of youth... We found a patch of vegitation, something for piece of mind in case the weather got nasty, to stretch the legs and mow down an 'energy bar' that rhymes with biff- so not to cause any copyright infringement issues... Anyway, here we are, sky darkening, thunder rumbling, belly becoming happy, we pull out the marine radio, listen to the forcast which informs boaters of some sort of impending nautical doom should they venture from port... We're like five miles or so from G. Marais and will be darned if we are to get stuck out in this exposed land of potential melee. Out and away in the boats, no lighting, but thunder, lots of thunder, we haul everything we can (something that rhymes with bass) to our take out point, five miles at this point in a little less than an hour - righteous...

So here we are, or there we were at that point, somewhere near the Coast Guard station, some restaurant trying to figure out where we needed to be (not on a big beach with carbon fiber paddles waiting for a storm). For whatever reason I felt it necessary to take my paddle on a short walk up to the land prior to allocating proper instructions for our sweet abode. When it became apparent, by the lightning in the sky, I stashed this piece of equiptment in the local shrubbary. Heavy precipitation at this point we journey into town on a mission to find said, sweet abode. Locked down the location and pranced back down the beach (beautiful beach, long walk, storm passing, sun shining; times a changing) We climbed back in the boats and paddled back down the shore line to this burly boardwalk (thinking of that song about being under the boardwalk - more for the boats than me). Participate in our daily ritual of unloading the gear I wonder how it is possible for our stuff to increase in mass at the end of the day, strange phenomenon. Gear loaded in our bags, we saunter, not quite spent yet, back into town loaded to the gills up to our precious abode - cool.

Somewhere admist this walking, paddling, losing the antennae for my vhf radio, shleping, we made contact with my folks' whom were to visit during our passing through of the area, we determined to meet them sometime or another and reconoiter about the journey's progression, life, you know all those great facets of existence we share with each other- to have some dinner. (FOOD GOOD). We leave the house, I call the folks, no answer and who do we run into on the street, my neighbor Paul from Madison (he was up to visit as well with the folks on the way to thier cabin. NICE- familiar face. We boon doggle around a little more looking for the folks, find them, head off to dinner- hopping the days roller coaster of thrills is over- not quite.

Dinner consumed, we head back down to the beach with a mini van to move the boats to abode of appreciation. (A seasonal locale advised us it was not to be so wise to leave the boats unattended, hidden under the walk of boards- as it may attract un intended attention) ok, so no real worries here; its dark now, and we are loading 18 foot sea kayaks one at a time into a mini van to transport them like four blocks up to this house- its dark not- but on the retrospect it will make a good story later right? Paul and his knot tying prowess locked our kayaks of the sea into a stronghold for transport, two trips later we were all set for a night of much appreciated and needed sleep.

The next morning we would awake to BRIGHT SUN, BLUE SKIES and DEEP POWDER; the last one actually is a joke, it didn't snow, but running on the magical day theme and being a teleskier in my other seasonal life I had to roll with that. So this next day presented us with the task ot getting to the post office on time to pick up our food, doing a little boat re-inforcement, and admire in awe the westerly with some north persuasion winds that had built all morning and create 4+ foot waves on the mighty lake. Not the best day to paddle, and we wouldn't as our boats needed to cure, our crew Alissa and I, folks + Paul and his daughter went on a walk about retracing our (my and Alissa's) footsteps from the day before in search of a VHF antennae the size of a bic pen. After a few myriad of foot steps almost to the end of our meandering experience Paul, with his eagle eyesight, spotted the blue beast laying conspicuously placed in the white gravel a hundred meteres or so from the boar walk.... ooooooooooohhhhhhh- what a rush, or relief rather... The grand end to a mighty story, from a mighty lake, after a mighty long day on the water...