Going the distance... from Grand Marais to White Fish Point

Tis always a surprise when you hop back in the boat from a delayed land experience. Luckily though, we've been blessed with the visitation from folks w/ enough gumption to get out and about, all over the place, allowing us to use them there legs...

Back on the water, along the seemingly endless coast we envision, well actually see, not so much envision, appreciate rather, the variety and well sortment of sands, pebbles and smaller cobbles. The shore climbs from the lake up sand embankments into the low canopied green forest above. Every now and again we see what look like black bears on the beaches, but as we draw nearer we realize that unmistakably is no longer a bear of the imaginaion, rather a rock picker with intensified agate anticipation... On the serious these folks are dedicated, determined and set to find the precious geologic jewel - rock scoops and all. We even encountered some dedicated patron snorkeling near this bay we paddled on into... No lie, we're paddling along, scanning the horizon, nothing, start to hook off to the right behind some well sorted pebbular action and *breathing sound*, we see this tube on the surface of the water and this guy emerges from the abyss... He's talking slow- probably because the water is bloody cold and he's been under there for who knows how long- but manages to muster this beach he's been exploring has grown every year for the previous many moon. Last year alone it advanced 700 feet along to the east. Long shore transport combined with lower lake levels can do a wonder for local deposition of sands...

Paddling on towards the eastern horizon we come to a fine stop along the Blind Sucker River, that is after passing the Two Hearted river and finding the communial cooler empty - bummer! Anyhow at this BSR (blind sucker river) we basked in the late day sun, enjoyed a monstrous meal and Alissa found a potential wolf track. Definiatively K-9 too big for a dog and Coyote; cool stuff for a semi secluded locale.

The next day we set our course towards Whitefish Point the gateway to the lower lakes, or Lake Superior, depending on which way you journey from. We holled up one more night near the Crisp Point Light awaiting a menacing storm of fury hauling across the open water. During this time of reflection, intermitent lightning, and torrential downpour we rejoined the feelings of immense appreciation for our trusty tarp- yee haw white lighting! The storm passed, the wind built and we kicked it into mid range gear with some sweet surfing along the way towards our hopeful crossing location.

As we grew nearer to Whitefish point the presence of the shipping industry came into our preipheral... From beyond five nautical miles from shore to darn near a mile away some 700+ foot behemouth appeared out of some fog bank. Large, quite in charge, it had to be cruising faster than we could cognitively outsmart it that late in the day. With our then current NW wind of 15 knots, four hours of daylight left we opted to not push for the 18+ mile crossing from the United States into the land of the maple leaf flag. Probably a good desicion for that day, it would however set us up to get quite aquainted with the area over the next little while. (slight foreshadowing) Little did we know that terms such as "upbound" and "downbound" would become second nature as boats arrived and departed the area- this would allow for some granduesque guessing games to pass the time... We'll get into that though a little later in the not so distant future...