The necessity for the tarp waned and we enjoyed that warm late summers’ breeze from the south. You cannot have a day like this without some sort of celebration, right?
I mean we were around 40 kilometeres from the border, we’d crossed Thunder Bay in some heavy winds without incident and we had an entire un eaten packet of no bake JELLO brand, Oreo desert stuff. (I swear we normally don’t eat this kind of product, but it was a purchase of desperation in Scriber). I, being the genius I sometimes am not, thought it would be great idea to eat said delectable dessert a few hours before sunset. 
“Oh, you know, no big deal, we’ll be able to fall asleep.” Yeah, six hours later lying awake, it is safe to inform the outside world that this was indeed a not-so-great idea.Day arrived with a sense of zest mixed with lethargia, totally not related to lack of sleep. The sky blue
Sun bright
Water calm
Shoreline dynamic and
BEAUTIFUL
We were on our way back to the states.
The land that exists between our little encampment and the gateway to the North Shore of Minnesota is truly an entrance into a different realm of reality.
Ducted between islands and the shoreline exposes a paddler to a multitude of topographical features, secluded beaches and cultural history which dates back to the Voyageurs. Undoubtedly a momentous day of paddling and that just landed us to the border. We continued beyond the mighty Pigeon River and paddled all the way to Grand Portage. WHEW! - Talk about mileage.Grand Portage turned out to be a blessing in disguise, despite the fact after landing we realized the campground which was advertised, did not actually exist leaving us to paddle across the bay to R.V. Land. Upon arrival we perched ourselves atop the site with the least amount of goose gifts. After setting camp we meandered into the small town to consume a meal we didn’t make on the whisperlite stove. A great serving of trout and pasta re-aligned our main objective and we waltzed up to the gas station/ general store/ casino/ post office to find… a phone and Hagen Daz bar-, which was found totally by accident.
The next morning we would do some running about. Eat a delicious breakfast in that same multi tasking building and then attempt to locate via payphone our next food drop box in Grand Marias. The preliminary results came back negative, which sent us into a frenzy, “we need to pick up some re-supply food”, luckily there was a grocery store in this multiville to host our caloric needs. Needs that upon a fifteen-minute delay and investigation would have saved us 15 dollars. On a whim I had walked into the Post Office, located roughly 16 feet from the payphone we were using, only to be greeted by one happy postal worker. “You must be a kayaker!” Apparently she’d been watching our box for the previous many days, noticing that it did not hop up and grow legs. As September wore on, this North Country native knew the lake would soon be donning its rowdy wear. She was relieved, as were we, when she was able to hand over the goods. Re-packed and reloaded we headed out into the mighty lake once again in attempts to keep on keeping on towards Wisconsin.
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