Superior Session

350 on the way

2009-10-07T20:30:00.000-07:00

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HELLO WISCONSIN!!! -Bustin to Bayfield

2008-11-17T05:22:00.000-08:00

Not biting hard into the previous dish ? Good, neither did we. That menacing Monday morning we departed from an additional undisclosed location headed off towards the Wisconsin break wall. Sweet Mother Superior forecasted some unrelenting winds from the Northwest as we began our journey on the south shore. The winds around time of departure foreshadowed a ‘not so fun’ potential, but once we reached the lake and paddled beyond the break wall the seas were calm muddy waters. Presumably from the heavy Northeast winds from previous days’ fury, sediment was stirred a muck and gave the water an irony inflection. Onward we paddled towards SANDY beaches. Once again we had entered a land sparse with human habitants and a multitude of possibility. Miles melted beyond blades and so did our sunshine, sweet sunshine turning the skies grey, increasing the wind and locking down a surf landing near the Amnicon River where we met our buddy Joe Ko. Reconnoitering rendezvous aside it was great to be in the company of a fellow paddler whom hadn’t experienced this stretch of shore yet and was all about adventure.

While consuming a mid day snack we watched as the Lake dun built some burly waves and ended up camping at our present locale that evening. The next day we would take to the lake in cooler conditions and make way towards the mighty Brule River. This place holds an iconic image for the area. Serendipitous sand beach greeting the mouth of the river where it meets the lake stretching on towards the horizon in either direction. Avid agate hunters may be greatly rewarded for their efforts and lush green foliage rises from the banks of the river to the forest canopy. We kept our hunker down for the luncheon hour and paddled some additional miles after the foods had settled.

Back on the water our scale of daylight availability/ time to set up camp seemed to wane slightly and we wandered up the Iron River to seek shelter, which we may or may not have found. The details are a little foggy in there. I do recollect tall grass though, a cabin of sorts on the banks. I also remember the next morning the wind was HOWLING, and eating a righteous breakfast at some little boat landing on near the mouth of the said river. The pattern of the wind that day was to be burly in the morning and kilter off in the afternoon… and you know what? It did. Cool. We paddled on to the land of Port Wing, which has a SWEET beach, and then onward to the hebran town of Herbster. Right about the time we arrived in Herbster the wind began to build again and we made for the campground. A place where all the tent sites are right by the water exposed to the wind and fury of weather. We set our tent up in a niche best we could to block the wind and get warm. Some fisher folks were attempting to outrun this temptuous weather pattern getting rocked by the oncoming waves. Luckily captain Adventure bounded down the beach in his dry suit to help them steady their boat on the trailer and get the heck out of there. They even offered us their only fish that did not escape from the stringer during the commotion of the early eve. We respectfully declined and headed into town for some pizza and adult beverages. At this infamous watering hole we met another friend whom had escaped the responsibility of the real world for a few days to paddle. There we were, a solid crew of four not more than an hour away by car from our final destination, willing to work with what the lake had to offer. Mariah and Joe went to get his truck so it was not sitting desolate at the end of some dead end road on the lake and Alissa and I joined Skip and Shirley (folks from the North shore) for another fire (they have an additional rental on the south shore) and eventually called it an evening.

Morning rose, much after the winds and we knew we’d be in for a treat. Bummer. It was fairly heavy for a while. Buddies went and ran shuttle of the vehicles in case Mariah had to duck out early. We watched the weather and waited. Upon return it did not seem so favorable. More time waiting, walking, talking and eventually eating some lunch. For whatever reason on the south shore the weather didn’t seem to subside until early afternoon, for a few hours and then ramp back up in the evening time. We pounced upon our opportunity to pound some miles in our afternoon window and landed at a delightful little beachside cabin just outside of Cornucopia near Romans Point. RIGHTEOUS (T. DOYLE rules!) There we had a marvelous dinner of veggie burgers, spirits and high hopes for the remaining part of the journey into our home turf.

Paddling by Cornucopia set us down memory lane towards the sandstone cliffs and caves we’ve known quite intimately over the previous many seasons. It was like being in the back yard. For hours we paddled over the teal colored water, admiring as if for the first time, the rusty color of the sand stone, the birch and pine stretching towards the sky and getting splashed by the caves from some rebounding waves. Very much familiar, yet slightly estranged, we had just paddled around the lake in its entirety and now we were back among familiar ground. Shore rather. We had lunch, somewhere on lunch beach and continued to paddle into the western realm of the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore, crossing Sand and Little Sand Bays. WOW! We were really here. The colors of the trees were just beginning to change, and after a short break facing York Island we headed around the tip of the horn beyond Frog Bay and crossing the channel to Oak Island. The water at this time was placid and pure. Of a sudden it didn’t seem so much that we were returning from a mighty journey, but just a brief jaunt in the islands we knew and love so much. Uncanny feeling really.

That nite we camped near the sand spit and had a campfire – the only one Alissa and I actually experienced on trail the entire time we were out. Temperatures dropped, providing good sleeping weather- stars shone brightly and the familiar sounds of the islands took the mind from spinning to unconscious bliss.

Our final day on the water we rose to sunny skies and southeast winds. Brisk at first, but they leveled off in due time. We were I think nine miles or so from Bayfield, 90 some days since we had left and an entire world of experience. The journey was so reminiscent of a return from guiding a trip I had begun to think in my head, now one of us can clean the dishes, the other can wash the gear, I’ll vacuum the sand out of the boats and so on… but not this time.

Meandering about the sandstone cliffs over the Fedora flooded the being with connection to this fascinating place. All that it emulates and how much more it needs to be explored. Alissa and I joked about this journey just being a scouting mission; the real adventure would begin later. We were greeted by a WELCOME BACK sign as Mariah and Joe hopped out in Red Cliff to organize the next, shuttling phase of the trip. Alissa and I paddled the remaining three miles or something like that back to Bayfield, to a world we could not even imagine.

We arrived in Bayfield amidst Apple Fest. GREAT GOOGALY MOOGALY!! So many people, so many apples, so little time. Luckily upon our inception back to the area the beach near the Cooperage was empty, save for a few floatplanes and passerbyers. WOW. We’d MADE it. A reality that would take a short while to settle in, but we’ were here, alive, well, grizzled – something no one could take from us. There we had it, ninety days from beginning to end, around seventy actual paddling days thousands of photos worth even more words, memorable moments, a heck of an endeavor coming to a close a mighty Session on Superior

2008-11-16T17:21:00.000-08:00

And just like that we arrived: SHIZAM Bayfield Wisconsin. DONE.

Navigating da' North shore: The Final Frontier

2008-11-15T17:19:00.000-08:00

The next morning we would do our best to get on the water before the wind (northeast to 15 knots picked up), however we eventually learned the harder you try to hurry the longer you have to wait. Some strange paradox that only seems to exist when you actually need to get somewhere. Anyhow, I digress. So there we, blue skies, sunny, lake doesn’t look too bad – we shouldn’t be in any trouble as long as we get our move on. After several trips of hauling gear to and fro to our boats the Hildebrandt’s dog decided to follow us over to the lake. A place that, I have been told, is ‘not for dogs’ without their owners. Luke is running about, being a yellow lab, because that is what they do. They also are very intrigued by anything that remotely resembles something to play fetch with. It’s Sunday, people are about enjoying the day and some young couple tosses a stick in the water. No big deal right? WRONG. The break wall is 15 ft above the water so when a large lab drops into the water it’s a trite hard for him to get his footing and back out of the water. I didn’t notice for a short while, but five minutes elapsed time I noticed the dog swimming in circles by the end of the break wall. “What the flipnasty basty is going on?” I had denoted in my mind. Do I take a kayak over there, do I swim, do I… well the water is cold, so immersion is out of the question. I ran over to the other side of the break wall and holler at this dog. People are around, presumably believing this is my dog and I am irresponsible for letting it plop into the lake. I have no time or tolerance to care about this notion though. I climb down to water level and holler more at the dog. He swims over, but unable to see where to get out swims away from the rocks. Rationally, I cinche up my sandals, pull my up my pants and climb into the water at thigh level so I am supported by the rocks. I call the dog again and he swims over, then away, then back, then I grab his blasted collar and pull him towards me. I crouch down and lift this K-9 er out of the water and place his paws on some solid ground, he seems obliged. Then not knowing where to go from there, he starts to meander back down to the water. Not on my watch though, so I pick him back up and hoist him to the next level of rock, eventually making it to the walkway. The walkway where a crowd has gathered, giggling and reinstituting my faith in human kind… The same human kind that threw the stick in the water in the first place, saw the dog could not get out and walked away. Anyhow our slaphappy lab buddy was then put on a towrope, a.k.a. leash and escorted back to his respective home on the other side of highway 61.

Nice, so we’re outty correct? WRONG. We shuttle the boats back to the landing at the harbor and begin to load up. At this time our DNR friend returns. He lets us off with a smile today and goes out in the building seas to check people’s registration (a.k.a. play in a powerboat in waves). He’s out for all of 15 minutes and then heads back into the harbor. People get paid for this. We head out. Paddle towards the ominous bluster of D town. Houses are constant and the waves are getting bigger. The mind peace starts to get a little knackered and the wind is pushing hard. By the time we are within a mile of the lift bridge we are in 4-6ft seas. We see one motorboat venture out and constantly monitor the banter from the lift bridge to see if any LARGE boats are coming in. We cannot see any on the horizon, but then again it’s rising and falling a four plus feet at a time. Within a half mile of the bridge it becomes apparent we’ve been blown off course. STRESS!! We fight the wind and waves to jockey back into position and get right on track to enter the burly break wall near the Duluth Lightbridge. As luck should have it there are no shortage of people on this break wall wondering what the whoo nasty, we are doing out there. COMPOSURE. We keep on fighting the good fight with the waves until a 45’ yacht comes screaming into the canal. To their credit they probably could not see us, as when the waves break they are white precisely the color of our boats. So this boat blazes us, creating more chaos in waves, and musters a bolstered ‘sorry’ as we get rebounded between their swell and that from the wall. In a matter of moments we are out of the insanity around the corner of that channel and watching a bustling Duluth do what it does…

Floating amidst a real concrete jungle we took some time to gather our thoughts, emotions and theatrical outbursts. People walking by above offered congratulatory remarks or absentee thoughts of “what a ride eh?” It’s consoling to know people acknowledge your existence and commend your efforts. It served as a reflecting point, actualization as it were, to process that this event was probably one of the more dodgy experiences on the journey. Take a constricted area, big water, rocky shoreline and what seemed like a myriad of spectators- add that to an area you can’t really make any mistakes in and ‘you’re in DULUTH’.

We kicked off towards Canal Park and found a beach allow our lower extremities to regain consciousness with gravity. Walking around never felt sooooo good. We changed attire and roamed across the same lift bridge that had served as an eternity moments previous (not before watching a MONSTROUS BOAT- the American Courage venture into port). From there we met up with friends, had a festive beverage and then planned the precise experience of parking our boats in a safe hold and spending the night on a real live futon. (Thank you friends formally from Bayfield living in Duluth) We are in the home stretch.

Navigating da' North shore: almost done...

2008-11-14T17:14:00.000-08:00

At this point we were roughly 26.2 miles or something like that from Duluth, which we held vaguely ambiguous excitement and fear for. Excitement because we would be in the home stretch and fear because Duluth is a BIG city, which does not really house many places to ‘camp’ and store a kayak. As luck would have it we would depart from Two Harbors a slight bit later than we would have liked. When you get into the later parts of September you cannot leave at two in the afternoon and hammer out 20+ miles before the sun goes down like you can in July. Regardless we knew of a few places en route to D-town that may serve our needs. Plus there was the mighty Duluth Tent n Trailer for any weary campers. We paddled toward the city as the sky went from azure to opaque in a matter of hours. Houses jogged by with a higher frequency and we pushed on past Knife Point to avoid any wryly waves, should they had arisen. Somewhere in that remaining stretch, appreciating the geology, changing colors, steam train that was flying by, we accepted the fact we would not make it to Duluth. No worries though, we could camp at the previously mentioned campground right? So we thought anyway.

Its right about here the story starts to get interesting so we’ll ensure it is well documented:

We arrive to the McQuade Safe Harbor, a new establishment created by the Minnesota DNR for boaters. This is a marvelous area for boaters and outdoor enthusiasts, no camping, but a dandy place nonetheless. We hop out at the boat launch and I make a pilgrimage across the highway to find a number for this ‘campground’. You know, make sure that there are sites, as we were entering the ‘fall color’ season. The first place I stop by had no vacancy. So I meander further down the way. A quaint little locale known as the Beachside Cabins, a locale where we would end up staying, informed me that the very campground I had desired to inquire about had, as it were, been bulldozed for condominiums the year before. BUMMER. However, it was better to hear that there, than have paddled an additional mile and a half down the shore get shot down in the end. Fair enough, they rented us a little camper for the evening, heat, electricity- all those things.

I skipped back down to the boat launch did a handspring over the guard rail by the highway… Just kidding, wanted to add a little zest to that. But really, back on track now. I am walking down to the boat launch to see what appear to be authoritative figures… SHOOST! I thought to myself. Not because we had anything illegal about us, but literally two days previous I made some joke about making it the entire way down the MN shore and not having to show our boat registration. (Something all boats must have in MN). But here we were 10.5 miles from Duluth and the law was on a mission, an investigating mission. Now this would not have been such an ordeal, however my boat, technically wasn’t registered. I had a license for my original boat, but since I had swapped that out in Marquette I wasn’t about to pay an additional $24 fee to register another boat. So I held my breath and now was going to pay for it. Alissa did all the sweet-talking she could, but at the end of the conversation I was still in handcuffs and getting finger printed. Then as luck would have it through the mandatory boat search, apparently it is illegal to carry Leinenkugel Honey Weiss in Minnesota. You following that? Well if it held any validity I would have some nice ocean front property in Colorado for you. Catch the drift? So we didn’t get busted for having the boat technically un-registered. Because we were good law abiding citizens and had gone through the trouble to get the registration in the first place they would merely flex their lawful muscles and let us off with a ‘warning’ of sorts. (E.g. you’d better pass along to all your other boating buddies to make not make haste with the boat registration business).

Wiping sweat from my brow I informed Alissa the GREAT news about the campground. As we had no real choice we proceeded to unload the boats, schlep gear, paddle the boat to the other side of the harbor, schlep some more and then carry our boats across highway 61. WEEEEEE!! (Why is it whenever we are really having fun we refer to ourselves in the plural? – thanks Mitch) All righty, so we’re staying in this trailer in some quaint little locale. Cool. We meander to the local eatery and retire to a festive campfire at the Beachway. Owners Skip and Shirley Hildebrandt are notorious for housing campfires every evening for their guests. An event that can draw a diverse crowd to share the warmth of flame and tales of their travels.

Navigating da' North shore: Grand Marais to Two Harbors

2008-11-13T17:06:00.000-08:00

Through the next week we would essentially take a fly-by tour of Minnesota’s notorious north shore. Learning that state parks are indeed a paddler’s safe haven due to the spacing of the sometimes-apparent primitive sites on the water trail. We would gain additional support of human presence tooling by highway 61, increased housing and towns that began to grow in population.

Those concrete jungle-esque formations aside (we denote formations because the towns there are small, but when you’ve been out a rambling for many months in the company of one generally a small town suddenly seems BIG) the north shore does contain some of the sweetest rivers a day’s paddle you could wish for. If these rambunctious waters ran year round it would certainly be a Mecca for those short boats (see post from November 4, 2008). Paddling by them via the lake route roused pangs of longing for some river running experience, but to no avail the weather didn’t produce days of rainfall to raise the mighty waters. Regardless they were appreciated nonetheless, watered or not.

Reflecting back on the North Shore, it seemed like a slight blurr, due to the travels, boondoggles and ensuing adventure perhaps this is why:

Leave Grand Marais, paddle to Cascade River State Park. Appreciate the close proximity to G town. Awe in wonder over the geological immensity of the shoreline. Arrive near large retaining wall and cobbled beach. Stash boats in an undisclosed location, shuttle gear and bodies into campground.

Depart Cascade River State Park paddle towards Temperance River State Park. WOW there are some HOUSES on the shore. Lay over at Lutsen for some lunch. See a short boat on a car, have strong desire to follow the flow to some moving water; break daydream, climb back into boats, hammer remaining miles to Temperance River. Fail to fight urge and paddle up the mouth of the river. Sweet rock formations enwalled in last little part of canyon. Paddle back out to beach, scope campsite. Find primitive cart-in site, get back in boats, paddle down to beach closer to campsite, and haul the goods up the bluff… Sleep

Watch burly waves crash into beach next morning. Figure we’ve gotta be making ground Set out towards Baptism. Unable to find primitive campsite (back up plan) as weather was getting a little rowdy. End up finding primitive campsite, which was totally exposed to wind and waves, entry move was timing land on sheer rock between sets of 3-4ft breakers. This type of landing probably would have eaten one of our boats. We hem and haw about camping on private property, in the end move on. Paddle, paddle, paddle a little more to State Natural Area-, which denotes ‘no camping’. Work out some deal with Naturalist of sort (this part, by the way could totally be hypothetical depending on who reads it) to stash boats in undisclosed location. Boats safe, cool. Reconvene with the Mom unit and seek shelter with some local Inn- they rent us a little house and we spend the night indoors out of the NASTY thunder storms.

Next day, attempt to paddle from this undisclosed hypothetical location, which may or may not be 14 miles from the Baptism River. Solid. Ok, so we haul all the gear down to the boats. The lake is ROWDY. South westerly ripping down the shore at 15+ knots. Darn. We debate. There is no place to land between this safe haven and the Baptism. Bag paddling that day due to wind. Haul all the gear back up to the car and head towards the baptism to camp. In ranger station meet some lady who is a business partner to the woman who wrote Deep Water Passage. Small world. Friends from the North Country arrive later that evening and we generate a plan for tomorrow’s paddle.

Wake early the next day. Break camp, load gear, head back to boats. Not thinking clearly we load the boats, realizing this could have been the SECOND time we could have paddled empty boats. (First time was when we paddled into Ontonagon for our food box). BLAST- missed opportunity. Anyway, we loaded the boats up and set out to paddle a delectable stretch of shoreline. Wind building slightly, no big deal. Witness the mighty Manitou Falls, a great blue Heron and continue along the shore. WILD big houses and really no where to get out. We get met by our friends near the Baptism and head into the river for lunch on a very unique sand bar. Fueled up and ready to go again, we paddled out into the lake towards Palisade head. WOW. BIG BIG ROCK. Little exploration in some sea caves/ stacks and keep on headed west down the shore to Split Rock State Park. There is an infamous lighthouse here. Definitely cool. Attack the landing rigmarole and load our gear into a cart for the cart-in campsite. Ahh home for the evening. Set up camp and head out to shuttle vehicles. Couldn’t help notice that there was a sweet restaurant between the campground and location of friends’ vehicle. Delicious food. Back to camp for sleep.

Fairly decent morning next day. Got quite close to a grouse in camp, exploded into the sky right in front of me. COOL. We make breakfast, break camp and then cart our goods back down to the boats. Load on up and kick off towards Two Harbors Minnesota. Great paddle. Lot of houses and sketchy shore line. The colors had begun to show a bit more of themselves and the presence of higher population became much more apparent. We stop on some island about six or eight miles out of two harbors and gain wind of heavy storm system moving toward our present location. Bummer. So we huff, and we puff and we blew the miles behind us. Arrived in Two Harbors Campground to find the last campsite had just been taken, (by my Mother) and began our daily ritual of unpacking, hauling boats and setting up camp. Knowing the weather was going to boost it up later, we set a solid camp and did the only responsible thing we could think of: go into town for pizza - way safer than cooking outside in a lightning storm. We then took advantage of a laundry mat w/ internets to clean our clothes for the first time in (mumbled) days. It rained, poured and kept the folks at the National Weather Service busy. The sound of thunder in the distance and patter of the rain eventually brought soothing closure to an event filled day.

2008-11-13T17:03:00.000-08:00

Righteous rock formations

Friends from the North Country, on the North Shore...

Sneaking through something...

Where the Baptism meets Superior

Grand exit of the Baptism River

Great Blue Heron, gellin', err I mean standing there on a rock...

Da' mighty Manitou dumps into Superior...

Navigating da' North shore: Grand Portage to Grand Marais

2008-11-12T17:01:00.000-08:00

As our day wore on waves bounced us up and down actualizing our reality of not making as far as we would have liked. With no definitive campground available we ended up seeking refuge in Horseshoe Bay amidst a public land trust. Twas a good thing too, the next day the wind picked up and we watched waves rise and fall from the comfort of under da tarp. The tarp pulled triple duty that day shielding us form wind, rain and hail – Cool.

Later in the afternoon we were visited by some locals whom tried to make it to Isle Royal in their much larger lake-going vessels, however they too were thwarted by Superior’s mighty seas. They shared stories, spirits and food to ease the world of weather waylay we had succumbed to experience there in Horseshoe Bay. Regardless of the weather, we were very much appreciative for the shelter the bay offered, we watched stationary as water toiled up and down capped in white for the remainder of the afternoon.

Our next morning we launched bright and early style with intent to make it to Grand Marais Minnesota, a fine destination in northern Cook County. There we would meet up with my (Brian's) mother and hop down the coast using state parks as our residency for the next week. Simple plan, simple lifestyle.

Once on the lake spirits of motion, the water rising and falling under the kayaks roused us. For it felt only natural at this point to paddle in seas of the 2-5 ft variety. Paddling down this stretch of shore re-emphasized the harsh reality of lack of landing zones. The rock, all very jagged in every which way did not allow for an easy take out, unless the conditions were quite calm. Combining the shoreline with an abundance of lakeside housing fostered a somewhat debilitating experience. On the water you were but a mere catalyst of travel trying to recapture that ambiance and independence of adventure one beach at a time. We paddled for just over seven miles before we were able to land, a mere skip in the big picture, but a quantum leap in reality of privatized shoreline adjoining our next many days of north shore adventure. Our acceptance beach was that bearing the name of Paradise and to hop out and work the legs thoroughly it was named rightly so. This place has a special connection for folks all over the lake, a devote refuge of rocks 13 miles north of Grand Marais; it is a perfect place to seek solace while traveling either way on highway 61 especially for those whom that break out their ‘agate vision’. In the short time we were there sixty minutes or so, Alissa produced a handful of agates which bore a unique marking to the world, you see Paradise beach has it’s own specific agate, which it shares with the world. Superior does her best to move the gem in and out of reach for the hounds, but ever so often one can be blessed to appreciate its’ intricate bounty.

While combing the beach for auspicious agates the wind began to build and waves shift the shoreline from the North East. No big deal though right, at least it would be at our backs. However, I will be the first to admit it was a slight difficult to motivate into a burly wind and breaking sea. People who were arriving by road would generally gallivant down to the beach and mill about for, oh perhaps 10 minutes and then bound back to the vehicle to allow their bodily cells to regain consciousness. We suited ourselves up for immersion of the upper body (big wave protection) and headed out into the maw.

On the water we rose and fell with the swell, saw the Coast Guard’s spiffy new boat, wondered what they were doing out a day such as this, and undoubtedly they returned the favor. Some hours later we arrived in Grand Marias, sneaking into the break wall we quickly sought out a place of luxurious camping at the Municipal Campground, which very much to our surprise was almost full. WOWSERS. We rendezvoused with my mom, set up camp and took on the Gunflint to eat, drink and be merry.

2008-11-11T17:01:00.000-08:00

Looking back towards the Susie Islands...

Passin on the entrance to the Pigeon...

Making a break for the states...

Sunrise in Minnesota...

Cruising outta Canada

2008-11-11T16:59:00.000-08:00

When the morn broke vibrantly the next day it brought with it some heavy winds south easterly- Yoikes! We spend the majority of our last full day in Canada under our trusty tarp listening to some apparent flight school student circle our peripheral vision for what seemed like days- yet it all reality it was just a few hours. Regardless we wanted to make our fleeting moments in Canada really count so I thoroughly accepted my fate as card game loser.

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.

Tunder Cape eh?

2008-11-10T16:54:00.000-08:00

The sun burst through the clouds the preceding morning declaring the notion of delightful productivity. We hauled our gear down the embankment with increased enthusiasm only to realize such energy would extend to a four- legged friend. One with a mighty rack… of antlers (*not horns, which as I once called them, but was trumped by logic and reason that deer, a BUCK rather can not play musical tunes from those formations atop its’ melon). Apparently we dun scared that deer and faced with the daunting choice of scampering back up in the woods un noticed vs. swimming across the open bay before us (a distance greater than a kilometer) it chose the latter in stride. Now until this point in my life, I had never seen anything so extraordinary. When Alissa hollered “ there’s something swimming in the water, I think it’s a moose, or a deer” – I had to respond in some mobster-esque monotone. ‘aaaaaaahhhh eeeeehhhh whaaaaddddyyyyaaaa meeeaaann? Theeeyyyrreee ain’t no deeeeaaaaarrr ooooowwwtttt theeeerrreee’- (Think bad mix between some intimidating character in the God Father and the T.V. character da Fonz). But sure enough there was a buck out there swimming away. Fascinating.

Some time after our black nosed, ambitious antlered friend had made it ashore safely we set ourselves underway for what he had hoped to be a momentous day on the water. The initial press was done in a 10kt headwind laying the foundation for a fairly debacle-ish day. The sky blue, clouds traveling well spaced and sun beaming down on 5 point something miles that separated us from the highly scrutinized island of pie. The folks we had talked to, accounts previously read, heeded a strong caution whilst dealing with this temptuous isle. The weather can change there in the bay of Thunder don’t you know? We could have had painted a picture with much more foreshadowing, but we’ll just cut to the chase and lay it out straight.

Paddling by Thunder cape inspired confidence, the water was calm, people were looking at birds or something, no large lake-going vessels were present and a lone sailboat motored aimlessly towards the city of Thunder Bay. This is what adventures are made of. Setting our sights on the monstrous land mass ahead of us we began to paddle, paddle like a demonic beast toward our destiny. However paddling with such primordial voracity seemed to put us in a class of watercraft, which we seldom experience, the ‘faster than the sailboat class’. This caused some minor traveling, routing rather, confusion as we overtook our sailing friend and he had to stand down to our course. Which, I am certain there are some folks out there shaking their noggins, but to our credit we did try to hail this vessel with the VHF radio – to no avail. (And yes, for those naysayers I did have the unit on…. This time). So we made the crossing in around an hour, which by fully loaded boat standards was fairly encouraging. Re-hydrating and snacking in the shadow of this topographically endowed island was quite a treat and made time for a small reflection upon keeping on…

And keep on we did for the remaining twenty plus miles of the day. Paddling around that east side of the island we began to feel the wind build in an unfavourable way. Not much else to do than paddle we held our own. This side of the island is fascinating. In places the rock (basalt?) raises right out of the water towering overhead in hexagonal type patterns that look stamped in. Add to this scaled effect (like some gigantic reptile) and cover it with vibrant orange lichen. We are hesitant to believe that there is much of anything on this here lake that makes you think ‘ho-hum, how disinteresting’. THIS STUFF IS COOL! Ok, so back to the water. We’re paddling the wind is getting heavy, the waves bigger and our opportunity to stop disappeared a while back. The south side of the island (south east-ish) met us will full out beam winds, burly breaking waves and a crux decision. I imagine this like some Indiana Jones scenario with a big bridge spanning a canyon, you know the ones with wooden planks, some missing etc; well yeah so there’s this bridge (a.k.a. crossing of a bay) we could do, looks a little dodgy, perhaps we could stay on one side (a.k.a. land in the bay) and wait to cross when conditions seemed a little less-oh how shall I say- Insane. But, if Indiana Jones, err- we don’t make this crossing the bridge (weather) could further deteriorate and we would be so stucks… And although wearing a fedora is cool, it’s usually more appreciated in the company of others, am I right?

We kept paddling. Made it across this bay, got fairly wet, and then faced the next challenge, even more mind boggling than the first, what flavour of cliff bar to have for a snack? Joking…. Still joking. There was the exit to Thunder Bay, broken into a few small crossings which we fought through in big seas and unrelenting winds. However, stroke after stroke we eventually made it to a little isle in the midst of a melee. Brief rest and we continued across the bay to another island, Flat Island as it were, to seek shelter. This island had a weird vibe, it was after all quite flat, there were an abundance of trees, but on closer inspection it seemed to be the host to several derelict structures, docks, etc. One place we investigated happened to have a pan sitting on a picnic table, like someone just up and left their cooking creation of a sudden and disappeared. To all we know this could have been a farce and those folks were watching us from the woods. Anyhow we did not seek residency on Flat Island. We paddled another mile or so crossing into the wind and sought out refuge in any uninhabited place with some beach… Luck and daylight seemed to run in unison that day and in the waning hour of sunset Alissa found a marvelous little bay to set up shop. At that point in the day after 23 some miles in the wind (the day hosted more miles than that) and waves, wet clothing, not much for sunlight we were ready to be done.

Settling into camp we hung all the wet stuff, got the tent up and began to appreciate the serenity and evidence of wildlife. A boisterous otter swam up to inspect our beings. “How cool is that,” or was it “how cute is that?” Alissa denoted as this little water lover swam by snorting. Well, when you take into consideration the snort is not so much a term of endearment, then it’s difficult to gauge the cute factor. The otter swam off and we thought nothing of it. That is until we were eating our dinner when FOUR more otters came back. He or she had left our little locale to recruit four of its buddies to come see what the heck was going on. They swam by a few times sticking their heads above the water, snorting, diving back down and eventually swam away. Who does that? Veer off and recruit buddies- Crazy. I half expected to wake up the next morning to find our hard goods bearing some graphic inscription bearing the notion “You otter be on your way or ELSE!!” – Sorry, couldn’t resist.

Two Toonies per boat Please...

2008-11-09T16:51:00.000-08:00

Black Bay was crossed in two sections, first to a small island for a snack and then over to the other side, where had the sun been setting we would have been in the shadow of the giant. We continued down the coastline, trying to decipher whether or not we would be able to make it to Pie Island (an area which held some slight anxiety due to others’ accounts which we read about). As the afternoon would progress we would not press on to Pie Island, but layover in Silver Islet to acquire some needed sustenance and as luck would have it, they also had ice cream. Something, when you are on trail is seldom smart to pass up.

After enjoying the said creamed ice we would make our mandatory donation to the Silver Bay Islet harbour. You see the town of silver islet exists for people boaters by boaters, provided they are mostly Canadian. As luck would have it, when we arrived to this shack-orific community hanging on the east shore of the Sibley peninsula, a large blue building reading the word ‘STORE’ hailed to solve all our future pangs of hunger. However while inside this provider of overpriced calories we would learn that it cost a whopping TWO toonies (roughly four dollars from the states of united unison) to use the boat launch-, as two other kayakers happened to enter the store and attempt to pay there. These fellow Canadians would not end up paying sufficient coinage, which as luck would have it, draw attention to our presence by one of the ‘Volunteer’ harbour masters. We had not even used the launch, nor were we on it at the time, but as her Majesty’s will would warrant, some guy, we’ll call him Peter hollered down to us as he explored the fee box.

“How’s it going? Is this your car up here? Did you two place your fee in here”
“Uh, fine. Nope not our vehicle. Not yet, we were fixing to break down our larger bills in the store”
“Right, so this isn’t you’re registration?”
“That’s correct it is not”
“Where are you headed?’
“Back to Bayfield Wisconsin.”
“Ah, Bayfield, well if that was your car I would tell you to move it up over there.”
“Yeah, no, not our car, these kayaks are all we have.”
“Say, what have you got, perhaps I could just give you change, then I don’t have to come back to the box later.”
“Uh, well I’ve got a $10 note, so if you’ve a toonie or a couple of loonies we should be set.”
“Yep, I can do that. You see the Ontario Government pledged to allow us to keep all the fees collected from this here launch and put it into restoring the dock out there; so in a sense, we’re all harbour masters.”
“Very well, glad we can be of contribution.”

You know being an honorary harbour master in a foreign country is certainly an honor. However it didn’t negate the fact that, the same government had no qualms restoring a dock on the shores of the lake while simultaneously identifying fifteen areas, prime enough to quarry rocks for road bed (which would utterly destroy the shoreline and deplete water quality, among other negative impacts on the Lake’s shores). There was some sort of mixed message in there. But there is a digression.

We were off from our blue building adventure to paddle down the shale-laced shores of the Sibley Peninsula towards Thunder Cape. The late afternoon hour did not warrant a successful window of time to cross over to Pie Island for desert, thus we settled for a nice niche on the western part of Tee Bay. In that particular location the land becomes topographically inclined to increase your feeling of insignificance in the terrestrial fashion. The forest and rock erupts from the lakeside creating some imminent compound of beauty and fear. Luckily though, this beauteous sight kept our fears at bay the next day when a ‘STRONG WIND WARNING’ kicked up some gnarly nor’ easter (that’s maritime speak for wind from the north east) in excess of 30kts. Needless to say twas a bit of a sitting around day. No matter, you’d have that.

Braving Black Bay, Searching the Sleeping Giant

2008-11-08T16:45:00.000-08:00

Our next jaunt of adventure, if portrayed through instructions via a scavenger hunt may read something like this:
Be ready to paddle like a yo-yo, retracing your previous paddling distance to locate a safe-haven should you need it.
Realize that said safe-haven will keep you further away from where you want to be, so actually head out amidst those surly seas.
Do not pass go, if go was to accomplish the twenty miles you desired to cover. – Whoa where did that Monopoly™ lingo appear?
Brave 4-6 foot seas in a beam wind for an additional rowdy crossing.
Have helmet ripped off boat, but fail to notice for a few minutes.
Admire white floating object in water that resembles a helmet.
Turn around in heavy seas to retrieve noggin protector.
Meander into unknown bay searching for place to camp, which is sheltered from wind.
Not locate a place like that.
Find a potential place with vertical beach style take out.
Hem and haw a slight bit.
Land diligently, and with grace.
Realize this place provides a glimpse into an abundant agate land.
Decide it is such a cool place it would be beneficial to stay an extra day; the extra day would have nothing to do with incorporative weather.

That there happened to be a simple prognosis of our existence, trying at times, but generally more rewarding than not. We moved away from these immense islands boarding the Black Bay Peninsula in search of a famed Sleeping Giant. En route to find this slumbering gargantuan geologic marvel we paddled vigilantly into a headwind for twenty-five miles. Debilitating as it were we continued on through a few isolated islands, past a fishing camp, which contained mismatched cabins mixed with some menacing maritime menagerie. We knew our locale certainly had to be closing in on the famed Edward Island, more so because that is what the map denoted. We paddled across the channel against a 15kt headwind and ducted behind an island to gather our bearings, this enabled us to better speculate as to where a blasted bay would be, one which would allow us a safe camping spot for the evening. Nestled in the bay we neurotically navigated through we found a perfect stomping, or lying ground rather. Sparse trees gave way to a few open flat areas surrounded by the tall grass where we pitched the tent in early evening light. We dined upon a fine cuisine of noodles and salmon beneath the rising moon, preparing for a hopefully prosperous weather the next day while crossing Black Bay.

Morning light rose providing splendid sunshine and bountiful blue skies. We were able to dry our waterlogged gear from the day before and enjoyed some energizing oatmeal (stay tuned for a special recipe). Before departing our protected bay of salvation Alissa noticed a sunken ship below the surface. Although we have no details on this wreck, it wasn’t on the map, we can neither confirm nor deny this one burned to the waterline then sank. It appeared as an elongated canoe of sorts, but the stern housed a large engine compartment. We pondered its story while we paddled though much calmer waters into a boundary water-esque array of islands when the small channel finally gave way to an enormous bay lined with an iconic geologic feature.

2008-11-04T04:11:00.000-08:00

Drop on down to your local place of polling & VOTE!!!

doesn't matter how you get there... you'll be glad you did.

health, happiness and laughter your way...

*photographed on location Lester River, downtown Duluth MN. Care of Joe K.

Interpreting island insight

2008-11-02T23:27:00.000-08:00

The next morning the differential between air and water temperature produced a luminescent fog, one that illuminated the channel paralleling our site in the early morning sun. This display of light and water vapor provided a new perspective in our Canadian canvas, it symbolized a simpler, safer sea to travel upon. We were shielded by the wind while we paddled through an archipelago in the south channel of Simpson Island. Paddling through the calm channel revealed a character of the lake that we hadn’t seen in quite some time. Mirror-esque conditions provided an optical illusion where verticality knew no limits; aside from the loon swimming by, creating ripples in the surface, a snap shot would not solve the puzzle between reality and reflection. We paddled on.

While we added additional strokes to the paddleometer (some fictitious creation in my mind which counts the total times the blades hit the water- roughly 36 to 54 hundred strokes per hour for those of you wondering…) the wind slowly added some speed of its’ own. The channel gave way to rugged coast, some littered with pieces of maritime history, other parts simply impressive enough with the simplistic natural history. Our caloric tanks eventually drained towards empty and it became essential to find a place to ‘snack’. Luckily we found a splendid space to consume lunch. What enticed us towards this place, without a doubt had to be the hatchet buried in a log near waters’ edge. Not too many places you encounter will come with a readily available woodchopper, which labeled this locale as a grade A winner. We however did not intend to stick around long enough to put said chopper of wood to use, as we had our sights on St. Ignace Island. An isle that boasted large exposed southern shoreline and hidden saunas (properly pronounced as I stood corrected; Sa-ow-naw) just waiting to be fired up. This excursion and search for the abandoned sweat haus would have to wait though, as no sooner had our lunch been consumed than we headed back out onto the water to find waves of mammoth proportions battering against the shoreline. It’s no wonder they were not wetting the leaves on the trees. In all actuality the waves in our protected window to the Lake Superior world were tipping off around four feet, (spraying water roughly ten feet into the air from the rocks bordering our escape route) the wind blasting around 15kts in the direction of: in-your-face- a mixture that did not warrant a successful ending to our daily tale of exploration. Luckily we happened to know just the place, complete with woodchopper and killer view; (no pun intended.)

The sun rose the next morning along with the wind speed, which due to a low-pressure entrance to the area was supposed to diminish and swap around directions later in the day. It provided an opportunity to enjoy some sweet blueberry scones for breakfast and further develop our plan to search out some saunas. By early afternoon we were on the water headed for the next large island en route when we spotted two yellow kayaks; kayaks that happened to belong to our friends (Outward Bound instructors on a short break). Unfortunately while we were headed out, they were headed back, so we exchanged tales of life on the lake, they of campsites to checkout and as soon as it began we both were off on our respective journeys; them back to making a difference amongst youngsters in the woods and us finalizing the remainder of our expedition. So we headed off to experience what St. Ignace had to offer.

Offerings of challenge greeted us from our initial crossing into the maw of island life. For whatever reason, as strange phenomenon seemed to exist denoting an awkward wind direction trumping our efficient travel plans. Perhaps that is just another day in the life on the mightiest lake of them all. We made the crossing diligently, and happened to duck from the wind beyond Armour island. This area played host to some remote settlements, which were only accessible by boat. We know not whom owned such houses, garages, Direct TV® supported ‘escape’ cabins, but surely wished to have found a key and tossed logs in the fireplace as the wind wore through our paddling layers, water wetting the next to skin layers. To our dismay we were unable to locate the slightly talked about ‘Nirivia’ (apparently as it was spelled though it read Nirvana) a mystical land of bountiless smoked salmon, warm quarters for sleeping and a constantly smoldering coals for a swanky sauna… Perhaps some of that was made up in my mind, our OB friends had told us of a place and once the wind picks up my mind just happens to take it where it deems enticing. Regardless, we found no such locale. We did find a campsite with a gorgeous view of the lake, perched atop rocks a sweet place to set up shop, which is most likely exactly what the little bear who lived there thought as well. One brief encounter and allocation of bear scat-o-rino down the beach…. BOI!!! Enlightened us to move back a mile in the direction we had just paddled from. This provided an additional ‘PICSTER’ experience, setting up after dusk amidst wind, wetness and dropping temperatures. Due to the Ursus factor we dared not cook anything for fear our fatigue wouldn’t suffice sufficient energy to shake a stick at any visitors entering the campsite. Thus we had a reprise of a lunch type meal and plenty of hope tonight would yield hours of undisturbed rest.

The next morn, we arose early on to advantageously make use of the sun’s brilliance and drying power of all that is nylon. While warming up our stove decided to go on a hunger strike and we again foraged for the non-cooked meal. No matter though we would paddle on and along the southern shore of St. Ignace Island through bays, amidst islands even get a wave and hollar from fellow Canadians. Near of the Southwestern portion of the island a gargantuan Canadian flag flapped slightly in the light breeze- denoting something of interest we ventured into a protected bay to discover the Canadian acclaimed CPR slip. A marvelous piece of land donated by a Thunderbayians for the use of the people of the lake. A volunteer group had erected a main building (including two bunk beds, a table, potbellied stove, cabinets, cooking supplies journals and few metric tons of character), sauna, fire pit, fish cleaning station and a locale that seemed to be a hot hub during the summer months. Fascinating place and uplifting to see all the communal effort and pride put into it. After consuming calories we set out, sans sauna (insert sad face here) due to a positive weather window providing potential to gain some much needed ground. This, surprising as it were, would change shortly after we got on the water providing a tireless headwind to paddle into on our way to Flour Island. Making the crossing wasn’t too bad, it was the actualization that in order to make our destination would put us at risk, paddling around severely exposed shoreline with no easy exits. Once in the near shore waters of Flour we ducked into a bay and found a potential sneak through the island in some wetland looking feature. Paddling between peninsulas the wind disappeared, the trees shot towards the sky and we once again would paddle atop mirror images of ourselves. We encountered a few otters whom snorted at our presence and ended up pushing into some tall grass until it tierra firma was discovered. This solid ground surrendered a ‘return to from whence you came’ card and we meandered back out into the open channel. This time we headed south in search of potentially promising beaches. Of which on our three options we quickly struck out. There was but one GRACEFUL looking beach. SAND. Actual sand back in this rocked out landscape, but upon close inspection it contained hoof prints. We’re talking monstrous moose tracks, larger than my head. The tracks spread the entire beach somewhat erratically, mixed with some bear prints right on the water line. Although desperate weighing the pros and cons set us back on the water as neither one of are fluent enough in moose lingo to attempt and negociate the use of their area for the evening.

Back on the water we had planned to back track a few miles to an area that had looked more promising. Sluggish were the movements to make that happen and as a wildcard I decided to scope out a beach adjacent to this moose highway. As luck would have it this area, looking rough on the outside, happened to be warm and fuzzy on the inside, figuratively that is. People had camped there before. There was an old tent platform and a few flat places in the forest to set up a tent. Salvation at last! We partook in the daily ritual and soon were on the rocks cooking dinner… AWAY from camp. A swirl of energy and ambition quickly arose in the air and informed Alissa (who desperately wanted to see some Moose) “Here comes your moose.” As if we were watching a dinner theatre a massive cow trotted out into our view across the small bay (on the beach we didn’t stay on). Sprinting across the beach away from the bull that was chasing her. Right there, where we had been perhaps an hour ago, huge animals now frolicked in some clumsy courtship. She would wander in the water, hop back on the beach and the bull parade around her. Back down the beach out of view, back across the beach into view a spectical that endured for minutes. During such spectacular sights of nature it seems that my camera devotedly enjoys playing hide and seek, this time inside the kayak, opposed to at my side. I slowly got up to at least fetch the binoculars to take in the seen a little closer. This consisted of rolling out of my crazy creek chair and crawling belly down on the beach, a rock beach mind you that made precarious noises as I did so.
Unfortunately this spectacle was all it took to raise the flag of caution. (I mean someone in a blue fleece and khaki pants crawling across a grey landscape is no need to fret right?) The cow sensed danger and abruptly turned off the ‘game of hard to get’ with her partner and they both trotted off out of view. No matter, I was assured they would be back. (Yet I did not risk creating a greater noise distraction by opening and rummaging through the kayak and solely returned with the binoculars). Moments later the moose seemed to be exercising their freedom of speech ~ which in all actuality, if I were to translate it sounded a bit for like some Issac Hayes style of music- if you catch my drift. No sooner had their song ended than they romped back into our field of view apparently ‘de-tensified’ from something and waded into the water. Deeper and deeper until their torsos were cooling off, Superior style. The meandered our direction… Amazing at first, then not so amazing. They gained more and more ground until it became apparent we would have to announce our presence to not have an up close and personal stand off. We hollered, tossed rocks into the water, hooted, waved, yet this just seemed to satisfy their curiosity as they strode towards us. Finally, in my calm, collected, inside voice I mutterd a “hey moose”. A phrase the cow apparently understood, her ears perked up and head turned away. She began to trot off quickly towards the cover of the tremendous trees she and her partner only knew so well. And like that, as suddenly as it began, they were gone.

Relaxing in Rossport?

2008-11-01T21:32:00.000-07:00

The quaint little town which housed our food box, a kayak shop-Superior Outfitters, the famed Rossport Inn and a viable presence of the Canadian Pacific Railway, several times a day.
In our minds Rossport had become the enchanted city. A definitive tangible representation of a distance denoting we were more than half way home. (And it only took us how long to get there?) We would even paddle through a culvert to bring the small town into certain view – how cool is that? Several friends and fellow travelers along the way had recommended this town to us. And as luck would have it we would meet some friendly folks from our realm of the world (Rick and Mary from Mason, WI) while experiencing one of the most delicious (and certainly expensive) meals of our lives. This was the one locale in which we had planned to stay at an INN, momentarily relax etc. However upon settling into this triumphant town we soon realized we’d missed some details in the appreciation factor. First, there is no grocery store here; you have to travel 15 miles back in the direction from whence you came. Second, small town does not denote small prices, due to the lack of abundant amenities, be ready to pay for it. Third make sure you lay in your bed before you commit to a room, otherwise when you flop down for a good nights’ rest, you may find that the mattress has been molded for a pear shaped individual leaving your feet slightly higher than your head while your bum hangs near the floor. (Kind of like a hammock, but not). Last, is there some type of amnesia vortex in this region where everyone you talk to forgets to tell you about the TRAINS? Bring ear plugs, because as natural as they are to existence, engineers seems to have no qualms about blasting the horn several times as they pass the one crossing in town…. You know, people are pretty observant, they see the warning lights, they hear that ‘ding, ding, ding’ noise and even witness thousands of tons of metal hurdling down those steel rails at ungawdly speeds- pretty sure you could go with out that blasted horn. But I digress…

After struggling through that night of sleep, or lack there of, we regrouped at Superior Outfitters. Where owner Dave Tamblyn had been sacredly guarding our food box like a bear, ok we don’t know that for certain, but he did keep it safe and no mice got into it so that was awesome, for a few weeks. While discussing our food issues, prep packing our boats, he even offered the most unprecedented random act of kindness we’d experienced province side… The use of his vehicle (actually it was his wife’s, which is why it may have not been that big of a deal) to drive into Schreiber and purchase some buffer food. How cool was that? Way cool! We experienced velocitation for the first time since the wedding (always a fun experience when twenty minutes in the car is the equivalent of three hours on the water) and loaded up on all those important essentials for quick meals and spiffy snacks. It was also on this journey into town, the grocery store, adequately named Costa’s (cause it was gonna costa you a lot) that I almost cried. Seeing that freshie produce: avocados, tomatoes, pears, kale, garlic, peppers etc and knowing it would not last a wink and a half in the cooler was the clincher in potential Canadian blues. So close to fresh food, yet so very far away. We made haste in the store, restocked what we needed, even paid $11.22 for one pound of cheese (darned conversion of grams to pounds) and were on our way.

Back to Rossport, back to packing the boats, we set off in the late day sun towards our new appreciated and highly praised surroundings, the Rossport Islands…

Our first destination landed us upon Wilson Island, great sand beach, lots of deer tracks - we scared Bambi's relative upon arrival, and even a nice tree stand for viewing the lake, (or shooting at some food if you're into that). We then set camp, made a marvelous meal and watched the moon rise in the indigo sky.

Searching for solitude, hoping for Rossport...

2008-10-30T21:13:00.000-07:00

The map denoted a harbour of sorts in a bay not too far away with few islands thrown in the mix. The daunting issue was the five to six mile crossing to get there, something that would mark as a bit of a challenge should the wind return at its burly forecasted 15kts and seas at two meteres. The next morning we rose early and made a break for it, probably some of the quickest miles we’ve paddled, and entered our archipelago safe hold just as the wind was sending the waves into whitecap mode. RIGHTEOUS! We would then paddled about for the next 90 minutes searching for a place to hunker down should excrement hit the rotating oscillator. After much noggin scratching, debating and weighing of pros and cons we settled on a rock island tucked back in a little calm water refuge. Paddling back in this here bay we might as well have entered an entirely different world. The wind fought diligently to touch us, but the topography and islands shielded us well. The passages between these islands were much smaller and more boundary water like than Lake Superior. I can’t really think of a time thus far where we have camped upon one solid island of rock surrounded by dense forest lined with a floor of sphagnum moss. This solid ground would serve as home for the next three days as the winds decided to ‘step it up a notch’ into the 20kt range from the south west, (largest fetch we could possibly have) then the west (forward momentum deterrent), northwest (somewhere between probable travel and shopping day) and finally east (triumphant escape). At one point we did try to make a break for it, paddled out in the five foot swells (no wind) only to find no tangible refuge, the daylight waning and reality of landing in big surf not so high on the ‘smart things to do’ list. We returned to the isle, re-set up camp and made the best of it, realizing it could be worse. That night after losing the last of our water weight Alissa denoted a display of shifting colours in the sky. Without clouds or light pollution we witnessed a most delectable display of northern lights. One of those moments you just have to experience to truly appreciate.

During our days on the island helicopters continually flew overhead. Generally the same one, and we could only imagine what they thought of us.
**Radio banter…. Helicopter Noises**
“Uh, Chuck do you see what I see?”
“ That’s a big ten fore Robby. Bunch of trees eh?”
“Negative moron. Paddlers, down on that island.”
“Ohhh right. Affirmative. The obviously didn’t get the memo from that local Canadian who knows these parts well. Over.”
“Roger that. Yeah, then they would have known the wind comes from the South. All of it, all of the time.”
“Affirmative on your, Roger that.”
“Uh, Chuck, do you don’t have to say, ‘Affirmative on your Roger’- Just Roger will do, eh?”
“Roger that, Robby.”
“Let’s go to Tim Horton’s™.”
“Support on Tim Horton’s™. Over and out.”
**Doppler effect of helicopter noise diminishing.**

Had we made it to day four on the island we certainly would have constructed a sign which read ‘doughnuts please’. As we’ve learned to not over stay our welcome, and that three is the magic number, we ducked off the isle on day four of its presence and paddled, paddled paddled towards Rossport. That day we would cover a multitude of shoreline taking us by some columnar jointing which seemed to have toppled over providing a unique view. We would see the infamous Slate Islands and paddle by Terrace Bay, which some folks use to gain their admission to this abundant caribou environment. That evening we came upon a beauteous beach with some make shift shelter looking thing, maintained by some hiking club. Figuring folks wouldn’t be out romping about at this hour we settled it down into our home and enjoyed a spectacular sunset after a sub 30-mile day. (Pretty rocking when you can cover in one day what you struggled through in the three previous (before the wind bound-age)). The next morning we would be at it again, hammering the miles away and paddling into our intended destination of Rossport.

En route we continued to explore some intriguing geological formations further deepening our understanding of the natural history in this stretch. This section also takes you along the Kings highway an experience that can be trying at times, facing the experience on the lake (which at this point happened to be in the wind) against those folks traveling self-contained in their motor vehicles. Quite close, yet far enough away to continue to stay removed from each other’s existence, a honk and wave the only momentarily connection exchanged between worlds.

Movin on from Marathon

2008-10-29T16:38:00.000-07:00

JUST KIDDING. Wanted to make sure you were still reading, ha! We did wander up into Marathon, which happened to, dare I say, seem like a bleak town. Not once did we run into someone who smiled. There was an interesting energy about the place and perhaps we just stuck out enough to not fire the ‘friendly synapse’ in the folks we met. We happened to stock up upon some essential foods; assuming we would be able to make it to Rossport, our next stop, in four days time. (Little did we actualize, this was the PRIME time to have those Nostradamus skills.) We had put the positive energy out there that would warrant this leg of the journey to flow smoother than the previous ten days to cover 122 miles. (Three or four of which were weather days). Until that point I had felt pretty good about our food selection, we planned, and prepared ourselves to eat boxed food- which in our neck of the woods came from a natural food section, meaning our boxed food, was not necessarily unhealthy. Buying ‘boxed food’ elsewhere enacted me to feel like Edward Abbey’s character Hayduke, enforcing me to mumble ‘chemicals, chemicals, chemicals….’ As we ate our meals over the following few weeks… Back at the boats, repacked and jonesing to go, a fellow Canadian, one whom knew these parts offered us some fish, unfortunately packed to the gills ourselves and not owning a fillet knife, (let alone possessing the knowledge of what to do with one) we gracefully declined. He told us of some camping places and informed us that the wind, “ALL OF IT ALL THE TIME, would now be from the South – good luck.” This of course would make perfect hypothetical sense as we were now on the north shore… Que Sera, Sera.

We camped on some swank sand abode facing Detention island, (little foreshadowing there) hoping tomorrow would be a more prosperous day. Yielding no such return we fought 4-6 foot beam (from the side) swells and 15 knot winds during our just under five mile crossing. Slightly gripped from that experience we hung out on Detention isle until later in the afternoon and made a break for it, still swells, but no wind, warranted our arrival to Pic Island just after sunset, where we would literally almost camp on the water. This would be a defining corner stone of the journey, gentle rolling swells up no wind until we reached the Pic-ster right as the sun was going down some blast of 10+ knot wind ripping over the isle into our faces giving that early evening chill. (We would later refer to late-day decisions with reference, ‘We don’t want o have another Pic Island experience do we? Thus recollecting a dark , wet, cold, windy creation of camp.) No worries though the next day would yield an early start. Banking on the pattern of the winds we should be able to at least make it to the provincial park before it kicked up. (Insert laughter here) How wishful we were in our thinking. By the time we rose, our reference buoys were registering some heavy wind from the southeast, no need for alarm though we were in the wind shadow from the island. We paddled out and positioned for the 1.5 mile crossing no big deal right? Except the wind was wrapping around the island causing the waves to crash over you one way while the wind pushed you another, exciting times. We fought through that only to never find the boat launch for the campground and got pressed deeper into this bay yielding no real safe ground to land. At one point we saw a small fishing boat, and I mean small, like the one Uncle Bob uses to catch bass on the weekend with his buddies, all of us thinking the same thing, “What the heck!?” Shortly after that a miraculous saving grace appeared in the form of a sail boat moored, unattended with a note that read ‘ If you’ve found this boat, it’s yours to keep for free… Really! There are instructions how to sail located in the cabin…’ ok so that didn’t happen, but we did stumble, upon a sandy beach with, bum bah daah baaaahhh…. A CAMPSITE!! A few of them actually. SWEET. Protected from the wind we watched the waves build and break all day and attempt to plot our route whilst staying warm in the sunshine.

Knowledge Enhancer

2008-10-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

We may be off trail, but there is no time like the present to keep enhancing knowledge of geography, ecology, pedagogy... all those things. Today feels like a special day so we will post a special factoid for those of you whom have been kept in the dark.

Now on our travels near and far we have never met anyone who did not have a liking to this famous 'huny' loving bear. As a youngster I knew this bear and his arsenal of amigos was out of this world, but I had no idea we would wallow through his home town during our extended travel. Did you know that Winnie the Pooh was from White River Ontario? Wholly haute dang, neither did we, until we passed on through.

So keep those synapses firing. Make sure to set your clock back, and if you are venturing out to celebrate Floyd's Birthday make sure you do so responsibly. Ralphie, certainly doesn't want to hear about any celebratory mishaps in the paper.

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are and keep those days filled with health, happiness and laughter...

Making it to Marathon

2008-10-27T16:26:00.000-07:00

Michipicoten to Marathon (entry four)

From here on out we explored through channels around small rock outcroppings and isles the reminder of the Pukaskwa. I continued a devoted mission to find the beach that featured a photograph of a biadarka on the back cover of Northland Magazine, but to no success I embraced the scenery we did experience. On our last leg of the journey we happened to find ourselves using that crux line, “should we stay or should we go… Now… If we go there will be trouble, if we stay there will be double… Ohhh chorus reprise”. But really, the wind was predicted to pick on up, the appraised location was somewhere between Picture Island and Playter Harbour which meant a fight to an unknown territory past the Pic river, but there was solitude in this bay. The bay, which at that point was actually behind us (probably due to our beastly paddling skills) meaning in all reality we were in Hattie Cove- not to say this locale is not beauteous in its’ own right, but we kept on keeping on, made it to some little break in the rock (really more of a retaining ground for drift wood and logs, supplied with some sand for prime tent pitching grounds) north of the Pic River and called it home for the night.

The next morning we would rise early style and paddle on into Marathon- bit of a shocker after completing the previous 122 miles. The land was littered with industry, sour smelling air and an abundance of Chevy trucks. (Censored inappropriate generalization about pickup gangs). Ahhhh, the great Canadian civilization. Our motivation for Marathon revolved around hope we had a food box there, which we were not in DIRE need of, but close. Actually who would we be kidding we needed more food. Upon looking for a place to take out, we landed possibly landed on paper mill land, although we can neither confirm nor deny this and come to think of it I can’t remember the exact date in which we may or may not have been there (as I have heard some terminology, I believe called ‘trespassing’), we found a beach, called the post office only to be informed they could not locate our food box…Which, translated into real life, meant the temp worker did not know where to look for our box- a task I can imagine could be quite daunting considering it probably was the ONLY one from the states that said ‘HOLD FOR KAYAKERS’ – but hey, (no worries) hang loose right? I joke around about this, for all the information was gathered from a conversation that went a little like this:
“Hello, is this the Marathon Post Office”
“Yes it is”
“Hello, my name is Captain Adventure, and hopefully your cavernous center of communications, bountiful boxes and lucrative letters houses a mighty cache of food for us in the form of a United States Postal Service flat rate box. My partner and I are kayaking around this mighty Lake and we sent the box ahead of time.”
“Wha-? Captain Adventure? Is this a prank call?”
“Look fellow maple syruping, took wearing citizen, the details of our presence concern thee not in the least, doth you have a box from the United States of America denoting the phrase ‘ hold for kayakers’?”
“I am really not certain, I do not believe so, but... I can check.”
-‘Oh CANADA’ plays in the background for hold music.-
“I am really not seeing the box which you seem to desire Capt. Adventure.”
Perhaps you are not looking hard enough. – Censored thought.
“The regular worker is not here”
“Have you kidnapped them? Where are they, did they make off with our food cache?”
“She’s on Holiday.”
“Ah, I see, holiday. Did she need an abundance of food for this for this extended leave? Well, anyway what time are you open until?”
“Actually, we closed half and hour ago; but you can call again Tuesday, because we Canadians also celebrate the day of Laborious recognition Monday, thus we are closed until then.”
“Interesting, so you are not seeing the box?”
“No. But you can call on Tuesday”
“Very well. Thank you.”
“Good Bye”
“Stomp on the weak ones.”
“Wha-?”
Click.

Ah, remorseful day and feeling. It was on the weekend before Labour Day. (Canadian style, you gotta add that extra vowel, make it count). I think Saturday, but as mentioned before we can’t be absolutely for certain due to that whole paper mill land thing. Anyway, Saturday to Tuesday for no absolute guarantee a food box was going to be there… No thanks; we’d been there before ‘Ontonagon –style’. We meandered up towards an actual boat launch and asked some locals where the town was.
“Marathon, you’re here, this is Marathon.”
“This seems like a boat launch to me.”
“The town is right up there, up that hill, you can’t miss it”
“About how far, less than 5 K? (That’s Canadian for 3.2 miles)”
“Oh, its right up there, you can’t miss it.”

Well guess what? We missed it…

Ursus Americanus, Wild Waves and Quartz intrusions Oh my!!

2008-10-26T14:52:00.000-07:00

Michipicoten to Marathon (entry three)

However that peaceful existence would be abruptly cut short by some Ursus Americanus exploration in the evening hours. Once you retire to your marvelous nylon shelter it is all but too easy to drift off and think everything that ends well shall be so throughout your slumber. Tonight though was a misconception. Whilst journaling we heard a noise in the nearby forest and shrubbery. To my wishful thinking, I kept saying ‘it sounds like a hoofed animal’- for no reason other than the shear wish that perhaps if I thought long enough it may go away, or be an actual hoofed animal- not so much the case. This animal was on a mission, a food-finding mission. A boisterous beast plopped out of the woods, right next to the tent. Absurdities, profanities, yelling, loud noises, flowed freely from the tent to scare said beast. To no avail, as this particular beast, we’ll call refer to it by it’s given name ‘a black bear’ would not back down. (Nothing gets between a bear and its’ desire for food!)

A bluff charge to the tent. A quick romp through the woods and an additional very sleepless night. Yippee! The next day we were awaken abruptly by some boat crunching noises. Alissa deemed it a bear on the kayaks. In my pre dawn-esque existence I imagined some bear dragging one of our loaded sea kayaks through the woods; in which case I wanted nothing to do with that bear. But sometimes you have to rise above that fear and rise above it we did as we tromped down to the beach in skivvies w/ driftwood in hand ready and willing to knock the bloody socks of anyone or beast messing with our lake exploring craft.

To no real surprise we found the kayaks tampered with. (EEEK!) Alissa’s got flipped over, pivoted 90 degrees counter clockwise to the way it had been and wedged underneath my boat. Adrenaline pumping, we made like a few trees and got the heck out of there (I know the proper response is ‘leave’, yet when that word is pluralized it doesn’t work so hot, eh?) knowing darn well there was some bear sitting just out of sight from us waiting for food. I could just imagine its’ thoughts as it witnessed us mowing (pronounced mah-oww-ing) down some Cliff Bars™ on the water, away from the immediate grasp of its inquisitive paw. “Aw geeze…. C’mon, I need that! Can’t they see I am so famished? (Emace-oed in the books of S.Domek.® terminology). They’re eating right out there on the water!? What type of world is this?” A world where we do not want to be the reason for habituating bears to food from humans, that’s what kind.

Off on the water we paddled into what seemed like a pleasant day. Nice. Due to our abrupt breakfast, we ended up cooking some brunch at a nice beach a few miles, (or was it six?), from where we started.
Back on the water, wind at our backs. Waves started to white cap. Then SHAzaMM!! (Think a word denoting EXTREME AWESTRUCK event.) We were in the midst of a melee. Not a for-serious melee, but one conjured up in my head. Waves easily became two meteres, and our minds… expanding to comprehend effective action. We quickly embraced the importance of not paddling through constricted areas. Soon we were in burly breaking waves, the horizon rising and falling 6-8 feet at a time (and on the slight occasion 8-10 ft YOIKES! –Think Shaggy from Scooby Doo). Now, had the shoreline not been so dern rugged, and boats not loaded the experience may have been more enjoyable and perhaps carefree; but this specific test with the boss (as locals on the south shore refer to Lake Superior) happened to be a bit much. Up and down, down and up, brace on the left, brace on the right, take a brief surf; quickly realize that is not in your best interest… If only we had those Nostradamus –esque visions to foresee our future for the next few days we’d have… Well, to be honest I don’t know what we would have done, but I am sure it would have been spectacular.

You can always go back and attempt to decipher what coulda, woulda and shoulda made a difference with your performance. But the reality of our situation happened to be the waves got HUGE and we were committed. So we held our own, sang songs, which for me usually works in waves three feet or larger, (the theme to Mario® seems to suit just fine, what with the rising and falling of the wave you can imagine yourself in one of the fastidious levels gathering coins, super powers or dodging those blasted mushroom characters- but I digress) or just gracefully kept the boat upright until we were able to duck into a bay out of the wind and get our bodies on solid ground just north of Oiseau Bay. We reveled in the remaining daylight feeling accomplishment and empowered. (Just about as empowered as Mario must feel at the end of the level when he jumps and slides down the flagpole, fireworks exploding all over the place… Yeah, that’s about right.)

This particular day and the next would be spent in this gallivanting granite landscape. Some intriguing intrusions just a hop, skip and jump away from our tent made it all worth it, even if it did rain like mad the next day, continuing to thwart our forward momentum with wind. Hanging out under our ‘white lightning’ tarp (muchas gracias Granite Gear!!!) we had sufficient time to really explore the reality of Lake Superiors’ Isostatic Rebound, which is when the land rebounds (e.g. bounces back from YEARS of glacial depression, or its’ weight upon the land). Currently the Western half of the lake is rebounding quicker than the eastern and due to the immensity of this Canadian Shield shoreline it’s not too difficult to understand why. Everything over here seems much heavier from the geology to the weather.

Rapid recollections - making it into the Pukaskwa

2008-10-24T14:21:00.000-07:00

Michipicoten to Marathon (entry two)

On one occasion we would endure an escape during the daily building of the wind, only to take off the water and wait out the weather an hour later. This particular occasion yielded us a SWEET place to stop, probably one of the most perfectly protected bays and beach campsites (multiple) that one could ever wish to encounter, yet we had to press on after the wind settled down in order to effectively keep moving.

Another time, we made it as far as lunch, which landed us in this hole of a bay, no beach, rocks, spiders, poison ivy, excitement, all those things. Upon departing from that ‘sanctuary’ we paddled an entire twenty minutes on the water before accepting the reality of 15-20kt winds we were not going to make it anywhere in such seas. We sought refuge on an island and waited out the wind. Patience eventually lead to calmness in the waters of the lake and we pressed on, towards an amazing view of Michipicoten Island and one heck of a campsite to boot! Nestled somewhere, between beauty and amazing-ness we had the perfect beach-protected bay combination, one begging us to partake in its’ imminent bounty of blueberries; HECK YES!! This locale bears the name of Les Petit Mort Rocks, which to our infinite knowledge of the French language (this is a joke) translates to “Little Rocks of Death”. Understandably so in heavy seas, that this here place could pose a problem for travelers, it also could serve a façade for berry-lovers that is to deter people and beast away from this locale on account of its name of demise. That next morning we foraged and made some delectable blueberry pancakes (pretty much the best ever). Fueled up for a glorious day of paddling, we traveled on until the Wheat bin where we did some lunch/dinner combination (you can do those sorts of things every now and again you know). A note to future travelers this place hosts one amazing beach, a great place to camp and a dank-o-rific place to chill out.

Alas, the Pukaskwa finally graced our presence after many anticipated miles and stories about its’ legendary allure. We paddled in around Pt. Canadienne to find an untouched, (as it appeared from several hundred yards out), beach blessed with a mighty maple leafed banner. Upon closer inspection, deductive reasoning skills determined this a campsite, one used several times before, sometimes by others much sloppier than ourselves; nonetheless it would suffice to call home for the evening. As the sun dropped beyond the western horizon and night encroached our surroundings a lone figure, (a paddler as it were), masked by dusk arrived to the beach to ask “If we minded he camp on ‘our’ beach.” ‘Our beach?’ There’s a preposterous thought. Whose beach is it anyway? Certainly not any of the travelers whom set foot upon it- regardless to avoid digression, and keep on a rambling, we gracefully told him ‘there were no worries,’ in his camping here.

We would later learn this fellow was from Ann Arbor Michigan (originally from Marquette) and out for his yearly solo pilgrimage to the Puck. Commendable for certain, as our pre-emptive impression had all but rattled our nerves and we were just trying to make due. The next morning, which was bloody cold, we exchanged information about campsites, we told tales of a fat blue berry cache, and he of some commendable campsites. We then made about finishing our breakfast and paddling out into the vast wilds. Upon departure we would see a few folks (from a far) enjoying a canoe excursion, (covered canoe this time), and find an infamous Pukaskwa pit. Although there is no exact certainty as to what these pits were used for; there is speculation that they served purpose in vision quests. Though we can neither confirm nor deny these postulations, the one we did encounter had a pretty glorious view; and given sufficient time, one could imagine that life would of a sudden seem much simpler and enchanting.

Through out the days journey we paddled beyond Deep Harbour and through Otter Island, where as luck would have it we would see not one, but two otters. Fancy that, certainly not false advertising. We enjoyed the geologically endowed shoreline and a brief jaunt passed the final plunge of the Cascade River into the Lake. Shortly after that twisting torrent of white we triumphed beyond Triangle Harbour until our arrival just north of Newman’s Bay, which was recommended by our new friend. A delightful place it was indeed, big beach, tucked back and away from the lake. A small river off in the distance and an obvious desired location by paddlers and hikers alike. We took the afternoon to re-group the thoughts, strategize for the upcoming days, and bathe in Superiors’ then, frigid water. Ohhhhh what a RUSH. We’d conclude that daily experience with a dank meal and glorious sunset. A peaceful end to a peace perusing day…

Canadian Chronicles

2008-10-22T13:18:00.000-07:00

Let the adventure begin. Or continue rather...

Michipicoten to Marathon (entry one).

Our minds still in a frenzy from the previous 72 hours we arrived back in Wawa, Ontario late in the afternoon on the 18th of August ready and poised to be back on the water. We wouldn’t depart until the next day after reveling in a full night of sleep (not on a bus) re-packing and organizing our lives back into drybags. The life out of the kayak seems so simple.

Departure from the beach near our boats’ safe hold at Naturally Superior (these folks are friggen AWESOME) provided a neutral initial entrance into the water, neutral with a hint of sluggishness. ‘Geeze were these boats this heavy before?’ Indeed they were, give a week off and start fresh with a food re supply packs on additional poundage to the vessel. Yet we paddled on, back into the rhythm, back into the lake, back into a headwind and approached one of the most exposed population depleted area of the lake. That Northeastern knuckle we all know and love as the Pukaswa. Rigtheous.

We would paddle a few days before obtaining entrance to the Puck (as some locals call it) due to some heavy weather and unrelenting waves. For all informative purposes we’ll think of this portion as the ‘Pre Puck’. The beginning of said journey took us in and out of a few islands, passed beauteous sand beaches, secluded, as they were, amidst a backdrop of the entire southeastern part of the lake. Still holding substantial daylight we were able to dine in the late afternoon and keep on kicking until dusk settled in; as was almost the case while jockeying for a campsite around the Dog River. The beach adjacent to the mouth maintained its existence as a monstrous gravel bar, warranting tricky landing in the surf, which at our rendezvous was breaking slightly. We were unable to reach the campsite up the river due to a conflict of interest between the waves meeting the current of the Dog, so we headed down the shore further to the False Dog harbour. It appeared to be a great place to camp, which is why the motor boaters whom zoomed in before us probably were fairly stoked. We ended up paddling back into another bay which had no view of the lake, (something we tried to avoid so we could keep an eye on the weather), so we returned to the gravelbar from whence we came and landed betwixt the wave sets on the gravely beach next to the Dog, river, just for clarification purposes, we had not found a K-9 friend.

Our next morning we galavanted up and out of camp to beat the wind forecast, a forecast that could induce nerve bending travel around Point Isacor (re-named for our journey point I so Scared – due to reading several accounts of harrowing experiences in the pinnacle of its presence). Paddling out and away from the beach by 7:50 A.M. we felt fairly good about life, the clouds, what bark was made out of on trees, you know the essentials in life; yet these warm feelings would briefly shift as we ducked into a seldom sought after campsite to potentially hole up for the day in accords with the wind. However, this place was literally a hole in the forest, some cleared trees large enough for a tent, horrible place to land, and not much area to stretch the legs. Seeing some other paddlers on the water elevated our confidence and friends from the Thunderbay Coast Guard a.k.a. weather radio, informed us the wind would not break us in two. With that, we finished a snack, re-precariously moved our boats from the rocks and headed back in the lake to paddled beyond IsoScared. This particular area preps ones mind for that total seclusion and isolation which can solely be experienced on this side of the lake. The highway and rural communities dip away from the shore leaving your thoughts, ambitions and spirit to wander with the animals, natural history and tales of the past.

While traveling this stretch of the lake we were reading a borrowed copy of ‘Teasing the Sprit’ (THANKS BRIAN AND NEYASHA!!) a manual, or user guide if you will, to that portion of Canadian coastline. The book, very detailed and rich with stories, also heeded warning to the Lake Superior traveler, denoting such phrases, as “Paddling Lake Superior is a risky venture High skill, endurance and self reliance are necessary when plying Superior’s sea. Be honest about your paddling skills. In sudden weather shifts, quickly paddle to shore and wait; and Remember, Lake Superior kills quickly.” which to the first time traveler of this region can all but inundate ones fear of the area. However, we heeded the cautions held our own and traveled with diligence and a safety conscious mind at all times.

The shoreline diluted its sandy depositions and traded the former existence for pebbles and boulders of granite, which just in case anybody out there was curious, is a trite harder to land on than that good ole’ quartzite. While bouncing about in the waves searching for the famed ‘kayak sanctuary’ we found a secluded sandy beach within a semi protected bay to keep our boats and spirits safe from the boisterous attitude of the Lake. Luckily we did find this locale, as we would spend the next two days perched against the tree line awaiting an escape back to the clear waters of Superiors’ ambiance. Our first day was well earned with heavy wind and waves lapping against leased perch on the beach. The next day we were abruptly awaken pre-dawn by a heavy thunderstorm, one that we could hear gain presence across the lake until finally it was right on top of us, less than a second between lighting shout and thunder response. People always talk about how lightning drills are bunk, they waste time, etc. But really, can such challengers tell us of a time when they felt more alive. I mean really, every cell in your body is ignited with adrenaline, awaiting fate and happy to hold that crouched position atop a therm a rest. We arose few hours later and thought there was a great opportunity to head out on the water as no waves were present. No sooner had our hopes risen than the simultaneous rise of the wind speed occur. The blue sea quickly turned white and we once again were watching the waves lap against our shoreline. Upon inspection of the high water mark from the previous night, it was confirmed the highest wave came within 22 feet of the tent. Good thing Marmot® products come with a waterproof coating. When we finally snuck away from this gem of solitude we sighted another paddler on the mighty seas of Superior. It turned out to be none other than some guy, (probably Canadian) in an open aluminum canoe, loaded to the hilt with stuff and paddling with a kayak paddle. He was grateful to see other forms of life as he had been holed up for the previous two days and thought he was a ‘chump’ for waiting out the weather. Mind you this is a guy in an OPEN canoe w/ no flotation or cover, telling us he thought he was a ‘chump’. The then proceeded to enlighten us that the waves around the point were not breaking, but gentle five to six foot swells or ‘rollers’ as he deemed them. This place would set as a foundation to reinforce the heaviness of the weather and Canada.

Bah dah bah dum da dum.... Charge!!!

2008-10-21T09:06:00.000-07:00

Whoah, whoah, whoah there young bucky!!!

No need to fret the land sharks!! The Canadian Chronicles will be updated soon; along with tales of the gnarly North shore and final frontier on banks of Wisconsin.

Back to your regularly scheduled parusing of the internets...

But before you go, here is a slight indulgence of a few of our random favourites, thus far... (We've several thousand photographs, certainly there will be more fav's to come.)

Health, happiness and laughter your way...

The hour that the ship(s) came in...

2008-10-08T17:52:00.000-07:00

Shortly after the hour that our ships came in... Cause we paddled them

Up close and grizzled, well I am, Alissa doesn't seem to pack on the burly bearded look like I do...

Frantic followers, regular readers and meandering mothers,

As of around 1 p.m. central daylight time on October 4th, 2008 within five nautical miles from, we the Session Crew Alissa and Brian hath landed in beautious Bayfield Wisconsin... Amidst an audacious apple fest. You know, we figured why not go for the culture shocker of the century.

So some of that is in jest, we did however arrive in the stupendous sun and abundant festivities of apple-ness Saturday afternoon. Our friends Joe and Mariah helped us sneak away under the radar with a borrowed ride (Thanks to the G squared team!) and slowy re-integrate into sometype of lifestyle for which I am lacking rock tastic terminology for.

We wanted to just drop this here shout and let you all know there is plenty more to come with stories (the Canadian Chronicles, if you will), photos and bountiful thank yous for everyone involved.

Until then, keep doing what you do, being who you be and keeping those days filled with health, happiness & laughter...

Knowledge Enhancer Round Eleven

2008-09-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

Do you like rocks too?

This glorious week, hope it has been fine where you're at, we thought it would be enlightening to inform you of the formation of such banded glory known as the 'AGATE'...

OOOOOO it gets exciting.

Take fire and ice, well maybe not ice, water as we know it in its liquid form, but fire...

Think of hot, ignious intrusion forming that bruly rock we know as basalt... As basalt forms, air pockets (or vesicles as I understand) are created prepping the foundation of one of the world's most precious gems. Now good quality O two (oxygen) generally needs a little action and sure enough when its powers combine with two hydrogens (a.k.a. water) it flushes into these air pockets. (thoroughly confused? so am I) These flushings of the water lead the depositional road for a hefty minerally load (that is minerals such as iron, quartz, etc) into these air pockets, where they then solidify. Add a little bit of time (another highly valuable resource-which we have come to appreciate) and appreciate the ambiance of intricate beauty we know as Agates...

Upon our travels through Canada's N. shore, we encountered beaches with so many agates you wouldn't know what to do with, they practically jumped up into the kayaks... Well, not really, but we've included a photo from this secret location where you can obeserve some amazing agate formations, which wouldn't fit into your pocket...

So if you're out there searching from the range to the shore, make sure you hollar out a Security for the boats hauling the iron ore, because if not Ralphie will read about you in the paper, and he doesn't want that.

health, happiness and laughter your way...

Some random imagery

2008-09-28T19:26:00.000-07:00

As we gain ground on internet availibility and free time we will do our darndest to keep the posts coming and educating you all of our experiences thus far. The near shore forecast should suggest somewhere in the near future once we've settled back on the mainland, time and space becomes availible we will produce a slew of updates, including stories and photos of where we've been and what we've been up to. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy the photos...

Health, happiness and laughter your way...

Knowledge Enhancer Round Diez or TEN

2008-09-23T08:42:00.000-07:00

Great googally Moogally, (GGM)

What a rush it has been through these Canadian waters beyond five nautical miles to from shore to the US/ CANADIAN Border.

And speaking of rush, did you know, in the 1800s the town of SILVER ISLET, held the title for richest silver mine in the WORLD for 15 years?

That is quite some time, and you can tell that the silver has been long gone though as the prices there were among some the highest encountered for foods fo delectable persuasion. And to Ontario residents, no worries, we did give our mandatory donation of four loonies for our two boats at the launch.

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are- and make sure not to get lost when you're out there looking for agates- Ralphie doesn't want to hear about you on the marine forecast...

*so we know this is not silver islet, but an old soul, resting and pondering- we like that.

Keeping the Lake pristine

2008-09-21T09:40:00.000-07:00

Friends,

Before we get back on the water we wanted to share with you some information about keeping the East Shore intact and pure. While we were in Wawa we were informed of a projected rock quarry proposed for the Michipicoten bay area... Although we like rocks too, this would deteriorate the shore, lower water quality, wipe down some fish population and industrialize the last pristine un touched area on the Lake. We certainly want to do what we can to inform others. Check out their website and get educated...

http://www.ccmb.ca/

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are...

Great Glory Grand Marais

2008-09-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

Who, no what, no where....

Here we go the first real post, tease all be it, for quite some time. We are briefly doing some resuppliage in G town here and then will continue to head down the shore towards Bayfield.

It has been quite a journey, especially thoruhg the Canadian land... Big winds, big waves, big donations to the Provincial powers at be of Ontario... YEEE HOWDY.

Hopefully though, we'll be able to do some updating over the week as we kick down the shore in and out of wifi land...

Thanks for reading and we look forward to giving you all the real 411 as we can...
until then, keep those days filled with health, happiness and laughter...
-Brian & Alissa

Knowledge enhancer round nine

2008-09-17T07:11:00.000-07:00

Water,water, water.

As the nights get cooler, days shorter, autumnal season approaches one can't help but start to feel the ambiance of some fall rains and river run off. Lake Superior is home to a bounty of righteous rivers making their way back into the inland sea. In fact Lake Superior has over 300, THREE HUNDRED rivers and streams that empty into its encompassing banks... That's a bundle and a half of slick days on the RIV...
Get out and enjoy dem!

*but as always make sure you've sufficient information on flows, put ins and take outs otherwise you could be in for a long one- take it from Ralphie, he's heard people's cantankerous tales...

Health, happiness and laughter your way...

Knowledge enhancer round eight

2008-09-10T06:49:00.000-07:00

Did you know that there have been approximately 350 shipwrecks on Lake Superior?

Some of these wrecks were infamous 'burning to the waterline - then sinking' events, but the majority seem to arrive from North Easters- generally a fall phenomenon when low pressure graces the Lake and gets things all riled up. They are capable of producing heavy winds and immense waves, largest recorded waveheight (by one of the Lake Superior Bouy stations) was 31ft! Dang that's big.

Make sure when you venture out into the inland waters of Superior you always have a float plan, inform others where you plan to be and you have a reliable vessel for the conditions. Ralphie doesn't want to read about you in the paper, or at the shipwreck museum.

Until next week keep those days filled with health, happiness and laughter...

Knowledge enhancer round seven

2008-09-03T16:08:00.000-07:00

On this fine first week of September we would like to share some local knowledge about the geologic history of this mighty basin... As it literally serves as the foundation to our enjoyment on the cool, pristine, fresh waters.

Were you aware?
Lake Superior rests mostly on Precambrian rock at the southern edge of the Canadian shield, the largest exposure of such bedrock on the planet.

Some of the world's oldest rocks, about 2.7 billion years of age, can be found on the Ontario shore of Lake Superior.

Lake Superior has its origins in the North American Mid-Continent Rift of 1.1 to 1.2 billion years ago, which produced a huge plume of hot mantle where the present lake sits. The crust tore apart, leaving an arc-shaped scar stretching form Kansas through Minnesota, then down to Michigan.

Within its borders, Lake Superior has both the thickest, and nearly the thinnest, crust found anywhere in North America not only that but it also is one of the earth's youngest major features, at only about 10,000 years of age--dating to the last glacial retreat. By comparison, the earth's second largest lake (by surface area, and largest by volume), Lake Baikal in Russia, is 25 million years old.

Gracias geologic glory!!!

Keep the knowledge enhanced, the appreciation for the lake fueled, along with days filled with health, happiness and laughter...

& Be sure on all your rock hunting excursions you take a map and compass. Ralphie loves rocks more than he loves lost people. Stay found and keep Mr. Schwartz Esq. proud...

Knowledge enhancer round six

2008-08-26T15:48:00.000-07:00

As the month rolls on, shorter days and cooler nights grace our presence from time to time... This weeks' fact is dedicated to Lake Effect, not the book about being a deckhand on the great lakes, but that glorious weather pattern which draws moisture from that deep fresh water, to lay down inches upon inches of white gold in the winter. (Or in some cases bountious precipitation in the spring/fall for another delectable pattern known as 'creeking/river running season').

Any lover of the winter season must appreciate that Lake Superior produces the greatest lake effect snows on earth. (Significant lake effect snows are a rare phenomenon, occurring--besides on the Great Lakes--only on the east shore of Hudson Bay and the west coasts of two Japanese islands.) Lake effect snows extend 20 to 30 miles inland, primarily on the Ontario shore southeast of Marathon, and from Sault Ste. Marie to the Wisconsin-Michigan border. Average annual snowfall in Michigan's Keweenaw exceeds 200 inches in places.

So before you lace up the mukluks, plop on the snow shoes, or drop that knee to the ski this winter, make sure you are well versed in the local geography/topography of your adventure land. That will ensure you enjoyment of the outdoors keeps you happy and far from being lost. Like Ralphie says, "there's no berry quite harsher than being lost in the wilds during the winter."

Until next time, keep doing what you do and those days filled with health, happiness and laughter...

Knowledge enhancer round five

2008-08-19T07:26:00.000-07:00

Wild world of factoid followers... This weeks' enhancement of knowledge is brought you with ever appreciated clarity of the clarity in Lake Superior...

If you've paddled these mighty waters, whether in the ambient Apostle Islands or in the stupendous shield of Canada, you know you can see down dare under the water quite a ways...

In fact, the average underwater visibility of Lake Superior is 27 feet, making it easily the cleanest and clearest of the Great Lakes. Underwater visibility in places reaches 100 feet. Lake Superior has been described as "the most oligotrophic lake in the world." (A great combination of letters to score you BIG in scrabble)

**(For an even greater enhancement of knowledge the word 'OLIGOTROPHIC'is an adjective of Ecology. (of a lake) characterized by a low accumulation of dissolved nutrient salts, supporting but a sparse growth of algae and other organisms, and having a high oxygen content owing to the low organic content.
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006.)**

Thanks for checking out the goods keep that health, happiness and laughter infused in the daily experience....& for Ralphie's sake, make sure you let others know where you are berry picking so you don't get lost...

Making of a Melee

2008-08-18T05:46:00.000-07:00

As the month has begun to wear on, our present locale much further delayed than we intended we began to realize that making it to our friends wedding come August 15 could induce a bit of an epic adventure to our current status. Our present lifestyle has involved greyhound buses, rental cars, friend visitation, car poolage, little children, more friends and a glorious union of Craigville and Schaeffer Nation.

This wild inducer of surreal actuality has been our reality:

8/11/2008
Arrive Wawa, Ontario at Naturually Superior Outfitters to pick up food box, logistisize our options. In this present locale we are treated with unpresidented hospitality, generosity, a delicious lunch and amazing accomodating energy. We figure out our travel options, plan for a Greyhound ride away from the eastern Lake Superior back towards the other side of the lake. We pack up our essentials and head store our boats on their rack. They've got a groovy concert going on, which we indulge upon and then a staff member takes us to his home to revel in the olympic games until we are dropped at the bus station around 1:30AM style.

8/12/2008
It's bloody early. No one is around here. The bus station = bench on sidewalk with a Greyhound logo behind us. Bus arrives late (after 3:00 AM). Due to nature of our travels we were unable to purchase a ticket before hand, on internets we are instructed to pay the bus driver. He seems slightly confused by all of this and takes some of our money, which he will then give to the other bus driver when they switch over and then at our final desitnation will walk with me to ticket counter and settle up the proper ammounts... Little sketched with this, but sleep deprived and needing to get on that bus we take what we can get.

Still early, but we stop (4:30AM) to swap bus drivers. I get pulled out by the man, and chat with the new lady bus driver. Seems all right and we board our transportation station on wheels. The next six hours are a blur of sketchy highway, bashing on Americans (bus driver and her sister-who, far as I could tell was just along for the ride, had lots of solid material against the good 'ol U.S. of A- good times). Ok so here we are on this bus, its cruising, sub consciously I am hearing all these 'great' things about the states, blah this and that, thinking, as awkward as this is, we are in the middle of bum diddly um nowhere so there is no way we are going to say we are from the states and have this driver (who may be a timebomb) leave us and our belongings on the side of the highway. Back to sleep for a little while.

Not so exactly sure, but I am quite positive our 90+ minutes of lateness was created largely in part by the several smoke breaks the 'bus' had to take. Despite the ridiculous nature and desire to get out move on I actually found myself feeling that anticipation of somehting amazing about to happen, like on that T.V. show where they hook people up with homes and mouthing "Move that Bus!". Very few times in my life will I say I was anxious to get to Thunder Bay- this was one of them.

We arrive in Thunder Bay, where our next objective was to get to Minnesota... I know what you are thinking, why didn't you just take the Greyhound? Good question, probably because it would have taken us BACK to Toronto, crossed at Buffalo New York and then journied for two days until it made it to Duluth. In Tunder Bay (as the locals call it, or maybe I just fell for it, "oh yah, you wanna sound like a Canadian eh, you'd better get rid of da H in Thunder Bay") there is this ironically named business called "Happy Time Tourism" which was recommended to us by the Tunder Bay tourism folks. They were reccommended because they have a bus that travels down to the Grand Portage Casino and service to Duluth... We were told folks use it all the time. So we're here thinking, well heck, its our best bet to get to Minnesota and then on our way to the glory land. Talking to this company (and I will refer to it as the company so not to disclose the individuals name), they made no mention on the phone that this bus was for CASINO customers only, that was told to me in a quite non professional, agitated profiling demeanor (denouncing the bus was for PAYING CUSTOMERS not TRAVELERS) after we took a 45 minute city bus ride over to their place by the airport. (sahhhwwwwheeeet!) I even offered to pay this place to take us on the bus, but to no avail she told me we could come back tomorrow and pay $75 each way to get to Duluth. We're sitting in the mid day sun, menacing what to do next, when I see an Avis car rental...

Long story short we went to lunch at this place 'Penalty Box', bar with a hockey rink in it- WILD, did some economical figuring and determined all things aside, plus convenience (as this was Tuesday and the bus would not leave until Wednesday) it was indeed cheaper to rent a car. Avis, of course did not have the kia rio they orgionally enticed me with, and provided us with a 2008 Red VW Jetta, which meant of course this car would be going the speed limit or slightly under. Ok, so we're cruising down to meet with friends in Minnesota to carpool to this once in a lifetime event, when BAM!!! Just kidding, nothing happend, wanted to make sure this story was worth your while... Got a little hasseling at the border, but that's to be expected eh?

Tuesday before sundown we are in Ely Minnesota with some friends and a bed to sleep in. For the next few days we would enjoy the North Country, learn about wildlife sounds, owls, a beaver and wolves before proceeding down to the Mason area for da weddin.

8/15/2008
Make that journey a down to the land we all know so well - clear skies, not much wind, sunny. Perfect day for a wedding. Don't exactly know how to bust out a play-by-play of our experience, but it was glorious. Perhaps we'll leave it at that. Some damn fine people making a damn fine couple fixing to spend a bountiful life together.

8/16/2008
Amidst the haute sun we clamber back into the car (eventually) after meeting friends, replenishing the caloric necessity, swimming in the lake and head to Ely to pick up the rental car for the next days' journey. Nothing too eventful on this stupendous Saturday, some travel, beautiful MOONRISE.

8/17/2008
Bid our Northern Minnesota experience farewell for now and retrace our steps back around that there lively lake to get in and PADDLE!!! Yowsa. Hopefully no issues at the border, and a plesant bus ride back to the land of WAWA.

So do we close this tale like a mastercard commercial?
Bus from Wawa to Tunder Bay: Canadian Dollars
Rental Car to Ely: More Canadian Dollars
Delicious Mexican food in Ely: US dollars
Seeing two amazing people commence and begin a glorious life together and getting to write a biligerant tale about the entire thing: priceless

As of this point in time we are thinking we will be out for another 3.5-4.5 weeks; weather dependent. Communication will probably be spotty, but you can always leave a messege, which we will check periodically.

Other than that, do what you do, be who you be and keep those days filled with health, happiness and laughter...

CONGRATULATIONS NEWLY WEDS!!!

2008-08-15T17:30:00.000-07:00

FELICICATIONES ALAN Y STACY!!!!

Just a brief shout to our friends and congratulations to thier union of lives!! Glad to have been able to be there - we weren't going to miss it for anyhting...

Bountious remainder of the summer your way and keep those days filled with health, happiness, and laughter...

You warm our hearts...

Kayak Cruising

2008-08-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

Most of the time when we get to a computer we're trying to make the most of the time, keeping the big picture in play; e.g. where we've been, what's been going on, what we're doing etc...

With lack of frequency do we discuss what its like on the water, what goes through the noggin, how amazing this experience has been...

We're out there paddling, floating admist this ambient azure power subsequently living the dream. A reality which no creative coreographed group of words can bring true appreciation out of.

People ask what we talk about on the water.

Most of the time we tell them we don't talk, which has pretty much been the case, on the water for me (Brian) there is an appreciated element of silence. Just existing, paddling, partaking in that perpetual motion achieved by bladed travel speaks volumes to the inner. That, I believe is what I have always loved about paddling, being one with your craft, your gear and moving silently through the geographic locales of your desire.

Sure, days exist when the wind is blowing its heart out, over the plains, down the valley, over the lake and right into your face. It feels intrusive, abrasive and down right mentally if not physically debilitating- but you keep moving, you keep paddling, making ground (even if just a little bit) because that's what we do, we paddle. We're paddlers. Time exists in a different realm out there. An hour can feel as though it is an eternity and several hours can flash by momentarily, its all perspective.

Usually when its hauling there is music flowing through the cerebral hallways up dare in the noggin. However it seems as though my RAM only holds the chorus of those popular songs which defined a generation, one which came a few before my own. Those words, feelings, meanings whether from the past or present entice the experience generate energy and fuel the forward motion...

Through that added energy determination, passion and prowess for what we are doing makes it all seem worth it. Worth it to endure this experience through whatever hardships we encounter we can press through to magnificent rewards. It is mind boggling to think of an entrancing re-occuring experience to be paddling though four or more foot waves... To feel the water flow by you, to watch the horizon disappear, to be high above all the other waves, to see nothing but water and crest in front of you, makes it all worth it. The blade bites into the incoming garuantee of cold liquid, pulls you and boat forward so the bow may break through that wall of water providing momentum so that you in turn with the rest of the boat may break through and continue on your way; ready for the next one in just a few moments. As miles melt beyond blades, the changing sights, it makes it all worth it. The journey, the experience, the stories...

It's all part of something. Something we'll continue to participate in so long as our bodies, boats and minds allow... For there isn't much more of a simpler divine pleasure than messing about in boats.

Creating Commentary

2008-08-15T10:18:00.000-07:00

So you wanna make a comment?

We've gotten some interesting emails, phone calls etc through the previous few weeks regarding the leaving of commentary on the posts... No worries, we'll try to break it down simple style right here:

Click on the "comments" dealy at the bottom of the post.
Once you do that it will take you to a screen where you may type your comment.
You will have to copy the jumble of letters for the security code.
You do not need an account
From there you may leave the comment as anonymous, or click on the little option which says Name/URL- that is where you may leave your name
Click publish

Badda bing, badda boom, you've exercised your right to free speech. WRITE ON!

2008-08-13T23:31:00.000-07:00

Just can't get enough or away from dis here type of shoreline, impressive and itinerary dictating... ROCKIN!!

Kickin beach located a few hops, not so many skips, a jump or thrice from our billy goating session...

Billy goatin' around some 'not quite soft' rocks making sure the legs still work after a burly battle through a 15+ kt headwind in the morning...

Paddlin towards the Pukwasaw

2008-08-13T23:24:00.001-07:00

This section of our journey would (thus far) turn into one of the most prolonged, powerfully historical and beautiful locales our two bladed travel has taken us through.

Not far from Montreal River Harbour we reached Lake Superior Provincial Park, which to describe can only really fall close to creating a burlier Quetico on a MONSTER body of fresh water. Not too far from the Park's mighty large beach, we ran into the infamous pictographs painted on the walls that drop right into the lake. We arrived in the late day sun which provided a warm light inflating the ambiance (it was probably at eleven!) and inducing an actualization that this lake has some cultural roots.

Paddling beyond that beautious area we were greeted with some late day swells, some of them 3+ foot (over a meter) in height. Slightly wild at the end of the day, but at least there was no wind and these waves were not breaking. Weaving in and out of various coves we've come to appreciate the lack of shoreline development in this region of Canada (there is no development in the provincial park, some islands have houses, otherwise its all wild). Before we reached the park one can contimplate the immense difference between stateside lakeshore property and Canadian lakeshore property. In the states you will most likely find a large chunk of land cleared of trees with a sizable abode looking out and over the lake. In Canada you locate a lakeside structure, but it will be fairly hidden, blending in with its surroundings and enjoying a peaceful coexistence with the forest. Anyhow I digress.

It seems the first night we made it to a presentable place called Sinclaire Cove, nice cobble beach landing with a view of some islands. Over the next few days we would hop from wind sheltered to area to wind sheltered area as the north/ north west wind began to blow. Some days it was a gamble, as the weather would sometimes stabilze toward the end of the afternoon, leaving a few hours of plesant paddling just before the sun went down and other days it would blow into the night leaving your options open to charge into some headwind practice and patience. Paddling through these areas makes one truly appreciate the dynamic nature of the Apostle Islands and all the options they tend to offer when the weather gets heavy. I have been amazed here how the wind can generage some sizeable waves with fairly small fetch (in some cases) to really make you work for your dinner. We made almost a full day to just past Gargantua Bay, then got some groove on towards Old Woman Bay until we got shut down by a tempremental thunderstorm. The two following days were spent battling burly 15+ knot winds and sizable seas. Through all that we were able to camp in some rocking places and redefine our perception of cold water. In short swimming over here entrances your entire body and just leaves you speachless.

Needless to say we soon learned our weathering capabilities as day six and seven (where we had thought it would take 3-5 days in this bountiful land) finally landed us within striking distance of our entrance to the renowned prowess of the north eastern part of the lake. All our things currently reside at the mouth of the Mitchipicoten river with the crew at Naturally Superior whom welcomed us with open arms, warm vibes, delicious food and kicking place on Lake Superior.

2008-08-13T23:24:00.000-07:00

Galavanting granite uphevaling its way into the world...

At sometime during the day frontal ridge located on a line NE to SW of where we were traveling... Fifteen minutes later, located quite further away...

Boats on the beach... Most likely of cobular stonage, somewheres near Gargantua bay...

2008-08-13T23:13:00.000-07:00

Giving it a go along rocky shores...

Rocks and lake, lake and rocks... Bit of a re-occuring theme in these here parts...

Crossing some bays into the next of the unknown in Lake Superior Provencial Park...

Getting set to leave the serenity on the back side of Sinclaire Cove...

Break out the Bi-foculars (close range binoculars) and have a gander at this: pictographs - one of the largest collections on Lake Superior, denoting the importance of the lake's presence to people for over 1,000 years...

Looking for adventure...

2008-08-13T23:12:00.000-07:00

Canada. Today we would fullfill my desire to have macaroni and cheese for breakfast. SCORE! When you are on trail you always talk about doing goofy stuff you may not ordinarily do, but I'll be darned if a hefty serving of some noodly concoction in the morning time is ever a bad idea...

So here we are, paddling in another country, having kayaks as our means of transportation and like a magical ficticious wave of a wand the shoreline goes from sand to ROCK- Burly rock just like that. There, I doubt will be a dull day of paddling on this here stretch of shoreline.

This section's journey took us from the south of some harbour we never found until we paddled by it the next day to Montreal River Harbour. Winds were at our backs SW with minimal wind and some slight waves eventually switching to SE. Our acclimation today was to the gigantic granite slabulature which just shoots from the azure depths below towards the sky. COOL! Mixed in will be some heavy style basalt encompassing the entire experience as canadian shield. Definitely no lack of things to look at. Our potential weakness here may connect with our ability to task manage, can't be day dreaming too much as to not miss landings- so a balance exists in paddling from point A to B and immersing oneself in the geological history along the way. We're able to fully appreciate the sortment of the rocks- the cobbles go from penny to melon size and in some rare occurances we found beaches with that perfect 'textbook' assortment. Big bowling ball type rocks, to melon size, to orange,pear, apple, right down to pebble - WILD.

As the day grew near its end we came upon our resting locale where we happened to meet some geological appreciating educators from the Grand Rapids (Michigan) area. They were paddling around some granduesque formation of granite emmerging from the Lake and convinced us (which wasn't too hard) to set up shop at the Twilight Campground right in Montreal River Harbour. We had a food drop waiting somewhere in the area so it all made sense. As day turned to dusk Alissa was able to show others whom understand much better than I of the rarity of her rocks. We kicked it around the campfire, they sang songs and even set us up with.... DRUM ROLL... South Shore NUT BROWN!! What a DAY!! Glorious paddling, righteous rock formations and a delectable drink from the homeland - doesn't get much better than that.

2008-08-13T23:01:00.000-07:00

Land abruptly meeting the Sea... The sea of inland persuasion with some sort of granite introduction...

You can tell we are not in Kansas anymore, mostly because we never were, they don't have large amounts of bountiful fresh water, and the shoreline here looks so, Canadian...

As we complete the 18+ mile, roughly 30 kilometer crossing we pass the baton from the United States to Canada...

Getting our calm crossing on, beyond five nautical miles from shore past the U.S. slash Canadian border...

Listen to the soothing sound of thunder rolling across the bay as you drift away in the warmth of the late day sun... Open your eyes and realize that's no thunder- but the mighty roar of an upbound frieghter... ZOINKS! (denoting an EXTREMELY surprised demeanor)

Cravin a Crossing

2008-08-13T23:00:00.000-07:00

It's once been said, quoted, announced- that "anywhere is within walking distance if you have the time" - much like I can not remember where I've heard that, we have taken its simple messege into "you certainly can cross 18 miles or so of open water if you're willing to wait..."

And ALAS- that wait will pay off in one way or another. We roused early on that this fine Sunday in our tripping history to be greeted with a partly cloudy sky (on the Canadian side of the lake), a slight wind, not from the origional predicted location and one lonely freighter heading upbound (I would not score any points with this one as I saw it before I heard it). As we adjusted our compasses to a bearing of 40 degrees (aiming with a slight extra northern inclination to compensate for the North West wind), we partook in a menacing streching escapade leaving all that lethargia from several days of not paddling. Somewhere in that mix of packing, eating breakfast, final checks to the chart the reality settled in as to our impending task.

Boats touch the water for the first time in days and the presence of paddling for the first six miles seems fast paced (adrenaline, anxiety, and shipping lanes add to this). Beyond five nautical miles from shore (for folks whom don't listen to a marine forecast all the time, this phrase may not be as funny for you, but worry not, we'll enjoy it extra style to increase the collective appreciation and humor), the wind begins to settle and ambiance of a calm crossing settle in. Out in such a vast expanse of open water one can truly appreciate that peaceful means of travel by human powered boat. Many a previous time we have heard the phrase, water, water everywhere... That was our chance, our experience, out existence for a few hours - everything having lead up to it, we'd have to concur it was pretty darn sweet!

The legs started to get a little antzy and some five hours since our launch we arrive on the otherside... CANADA! Becuase we gave ourselves extra buffer for travel we ended up landing a little further north, elongating our crossing slightly. Nonetheless it gave us some extra mileage to the northward side of things so we could take that gamepoint and make additional headway. Something we did do after we consumed our pre-made noodles and sacked out on a beach for 90 minutes. Attempting to assess our current local at that time proved we were somewhere north of Pancake Bay, the local Canadians could not be too sure, but they were sure there was a nice little harbour just a few miles (kilometers)down the shoreline- this however after two more hours of paddling would prove that everyone's sense of scale is not necessarily accurate. What is 3.2 kilometers (roughly 2 miles) can actually be like 10K (six miles or so) to another; plan accordingly.

Luckily we found a nice beach with sand (something which is to be cherished, we are told on this section of the lake) mixed with some cobbles and home to a perturbing population of Mosquitos. As we lay down to sleep we were too tired to process the irony of padding openwater to this vast land of wilderness and rugged shoreline to be lulled to sleep by the ambiance of jake brakes and travellers on the King's highway not more than a five minute walk away.

Quite a bountiful day though in terms of experience actually making some ground and entering an entirely different realm of reality...

2008-08-13T22:51:00.000-07:00

THE first lighthouse on Lake Superior... EVER!! & now serving as a ship wreck museum, how cool is that?

The actual bell from the helm of the Edmund Fitzgerald...

The suit used to retrieve the bell, and replace it with an identical bell acting as a memorial with the names of all 29 nine crew members whom eternally rest with the ship.

A small excerpt of information about the Fitz' final hours...

And how many days can you wait out... that ol' north westerly wind?

2008-08-13T22:50:00.000-07:00

*(I am humming that to the tune of Bobby D's 'blowing in the wind - which among other things is what we've been doing during our prolonged stay near Whitefish Point)

The quick and hopefully mildly entertaining scoop as our journey has come to a weather bound waylaying hault.

We arrived to Whitefish Point a few days behind our intended arrival to be shut down by some northwest winds barreling across 200 miles of open water for an additional four days. Luckily the imagination runs strong in this duo as well as ability to become sloth-like should conditions call for that necessity.

The first day we journied from our wind protected encampment to search out a dire answer to our question "Which way was the wind blowing when the Edmund Fitzgerald went down?" By reasoning of deductive nature my bets were on a North West or North wind. Other folks we encountered deemed North East, and more often than not, lots of folks hadn't the faintest idea; this ironically enough would be the case at the shipwreck museum. We'll get to that though.

Whitefish Point actually has some amazing iconical history. It happened to be the FIRST light on Lake Superior (built somewhere around the time Wisconsin became a state 1848 and first lit in 1849), complete with a lifesaving station. That is a crew of burly guys would go out in 25ft surf boats (not like the surf skis we're used to) row through some crashing waves and rescue ship wreck victims near the vicinity. How wild is that? So here we are, admiring this looming lighthouse, reading all about it, hearing from the history bearers and what do we find? That one of the main lightkeepers for the station was from the Bayfield Area... He along with his family served as light keepers on Sand Island, their children were born in Ashland, Wisconsin and they transfered to the Whitefish Point station to earn an extra $10 dollars a month. Small world eh? The light has been essential for over 150 years and guided ships to and from the Sault Ste Marie area almost failessly, except for the night the Edmund Fitzgerald went down when the automated system clicked itself off for some reason or another... *(Some additional information can be found here: http://www.exploringthenorth.com/whitefish/whitefish.html)

Meandering through historical buildings we able to appreciate the work and dedication which has gone into this facility, educating visitors and providing a glimpse into maritime life and history. The mannekins can be a little creepy, tourists a little pushy, but all in all its a worth while stop- especially if you get waylayed on account of the weather. Some of the informants though leave a bit to be desired; in this locale of maritime glory we were unable to locate a shipping schedule, the correct channel to contact frieghters to increase their awareness of our presence in the shipping lanes, and our million dollar question: "what direction the wind was blowing on November 10,1975... In the museum you'll find artifacts from boats dozens of decades old, mystical sea gulls plaquered from the cieling, hypnotic music- although Gordon Lightfoot's story will not tell you the wind direction, and more tourismos than you can shake a stick at. Everyone loves maritime history. After marooding through the main room, checking out a sweet film about the raising of the bell off the Fitz, paroosing the boat house; we journied into the the gift/book store where we put to use the Evelyn Woodhead speed reading skills we acquired in college to skim a half dozen books about this majestic 729ft frieghter, confirming speculation that the wind was blowing 290 degrees Northwest up to 90 mph creating waves greater than 30ft!

With that mistery set aside we strode back to camp in awe of the mighty power of this here lake. Luckily our friend NOAA was predicting a wind shift the next day, giving us a window to cross into Canada and experience an entire new set of unknowns. Through intermitent sleep that night the wind seemed to be building in a consisent direction to what it had been the previous day. Come day break the fog was so thick we could barely see the beach, except for the white froth washing upon the shore... Needless to say we did not journey onto the lake that day. During the day the bellow of fog horns doppler effected its way in and out of our presence as frieghters headed towards and from the St. Mary's River system. Late afternoon sun began to break through the fog and our new favourite sensory guessing game began:
Determining direction...

How to play Determining Direction:
Place yourself out of sight of passerbyers and the gigantic frieghters on the lake, once you hear one you have to determine whether it is upbound or downbound... As the ship draws nearer you may leave your post to confirm or deny the guesstimate you created not so long ago...

If you are correct you may revel in the glory that you pretty much are a big dork and can wait for the next ship to come through, if you are incorrect you'd better get back to your post and learn how to listen...

The next day we knew we weren't able to go due to wind direction and since that time the entire experience has melded itself into one conglomeration of sunrise, sunset, wind during the day, wind during the night, fog, people looking for rocks, waves, tall grass, dunes, some cards, a sweet book called 'Lake Effect' and some sleep.

Eventually though the fog would lift, the wind would die down, our minds would embrace what we were about to do, and the boats would move from their multiple day docile rest. The weather permitted the passage from our hidden dune village within the boundaries of near shore land, to beyond five nautical miles from shore past the U.S. slash Canadian Border into the crown lands of Ontario and up the coast for an entirely different shoreline and geologic history...

2008-08-13T22:41:00.000-07:00

So stoked, so not scared; to get back 'out-dare' and paddle on. Righteous... Alissa is giving the thumbs up here, just to clarify.

Checking up on the near shore forecast in real time...

Do you operate heavy machinery? Have you ever wanted to LITERALLY work on the beach? Well, if you can find nothing wrong with this picture, then have we found a SWEET job for you...

Have you ever seen a ball up in a tree? Down by the bay, down by the bay...

Paddling down the beach, on Superior in Michigan's Upper Penin su la...

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

2008-08-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-08-13T22:07:00.000-07:00

Blue water, warm sand, long shore transport, what else could you ask for?

Lush fern forestry just above the azure waters of a prevailing paradise...

Making the trek back through these uncrowded streets to the beach...

Water in the forest finding its way to a Superior resting ground, where it each drop will be retained for how long? That's right 191 (or up to 199) years! *(Thank you Ralphie for the information inspiration.)

We haven't seen no bears in this wilderness...

2008-08-13T22:06:00.000-07:00

A quick enlightenment to our Iowan family and friends... Although we've been braving the Canadian shoreline for the better part of this here month, we have not seen any bears. However, the inquiry did get me thinking (one of the many things one can do whilest munching on miles during the day) of this sweet song by Lyle Lovett; so kick back and enjoy these words as you think of your favourite ursus americanus:

Bears

Some folks say there ain't no bears in arkansas
Some folks never seen a bear at all
Some folks say that bears go around eating babies raw
Some folks got a bear across the hall

Some folks say that bears go around smelling bad
Others say that a bear is honey sweet
Some folks say this bear's the best I ever had
Some folks got a bear beneath their feet

Some folks drive the bears out of the wilderness
Some to see a bear would pay a fee
Me I just bear up to my bewildered best
And some folks even see the bear in me

So meet a bear and take him out to lunch with you
And even though your friends may stop and stare
Just remember that's a bear there in the bunch with you
And they just don't come no better than a bear

Thanks Lyle!

Knowledge enhancer round four

2008-08-12T11:56:00.000-07:00

We all share knowledge better when we retain it... Today's factoid is brought to you by the spirit of retention...

As it goes the Retention time of water in Lake Superior is a whopping 191 years! That means if you filter today you could have been drinking the rain from dern near two centuries ago. WOW!!

Health, Happiness and Laughter your way in this fine month of August... Keep Ralphie proud and pick those berries responsibly...

Knowledge enhancer round three

2008-08-05T11:52:00.000-07:00

Here it comes again, the third installment and three after all is the magic number.

Today we'll talk about depth. Depth of knowledge, depth of persistence, depth of water...

Did you know that the Average depth of Lake Superior is 463 feet?

With a Maximum Depth of 1,332 feet? That's down there!!!

Make sure those days are filled with health, happiness and laughter and remember to keep a map and compass handy when you're out picking them berries... (*don't disappoint Ralphie!)

Knowledge enhancer round two

2008-07-29T11:44:00.000-07:00

Ready or not, here is another rocking fact about the Mightiest Lake of them all:

Lake Superior is the Largest fresh water lake in the WORLD by surface area with a total square mileage of 31,700.

Also it's total shoreline including islands is 2,726 miles, of which we will only be covering around 1,300... Perhaps we can have a reprise journey for the remaining 1,426 - any takers?

health, happiness and laughter your way and as Raphlie would want us to say, "be careful not to get lost when you're out there berry picking!"

2008-07-26T20:30:00.001-07:00

Quick photo with the folks prior to departure- Thanks for the visit!!

Repacking all that stuff for the next round on the BIG lake...

Reinforcement work under a make-shift workshop to ensure the boats hold up to that Canadian Shield...

Neighbors from the Madtown Paul and Emma, join us for a few days in Grand Marais. Little did they know they would be volunteered for scavanger hunt and some late night boat loading... We certainly appreciated the company and helping hands!!

Big morning breakfast prior to a diligent search for a VHF antennae, everyone's spirits high and hopefull.

Food we don't have to cook, or clean up after? Sold.

Getting to Grand Marais

2008-07-26T20:30:00.000-07:00

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...

Portruding Pictured Rocks to Galevanting Grand Marais

2008-07-26T20:19:00.000-07:00

By the end of week three, or is it four now?
We are beginning to realize that Fridays are filled with a knackering amount of miles, the heavier parts of the day occur right at the end after we've thrown down a marathon of miles, and once we reach land- it usually hits the fan...

So here we are, fiddly-faddling about some intermitent internet connection, logisiticizing the next portion of the journey. What can we say? We made a haul from Marquette to Grand Marais betwixt the days of Tuesday and Friday. Near the weeks entrance we parused away from the S. side of Marqutte's Ore dock district, just kidding, I can't remember what the name of the beach was, but it was near the Co-op and by some rowing shells... Feeling the need for closed spaces we pitched the tent in a bramble of alders some 20 miles or so away from the swank city on Superior. The next day took us to Christmas in July, where we met the Reverend John Dopper and his Pitsburg people- thanks for the stories, socialization and rocking perspective on stuff (we would run into these folks yet again near Chappel Rock in Pictured Roks National Lakeshore) Those days became a blurr of iridescent shoreline, tucked away beaches and the frigging sand stone allstars... Great GOOGALLY MOOGALLY!!

From somewhere in the pictured rock realm we made the marathon+ four or five miles to G. Marais, which has been described to me on a T shirt as two miles from the end of the earth... It's easy to fall into that perception, but it is also hard to fall away from it, as G town is a hop, skip and gallop away from the Au Sable Dunes, 12 mile beach (pretty sure they got the mileage on this one right) and as previously mentioned the righteous rocks of picturesque persuasion - photos can not do justice, but we'll try with a little teaser...

After kicking around the Au Sable light the sky became blanketed in darkness as thunder bore down upon the land and through our boats... (sound. it's a moving experience) An experience which induced a melee-ic paddle (arse hauling, as it were) into the G. Marais break wall- did you know, little piping plover birds nest on that beach and it is filled with AMAZING rocks? Well we didn't either, but outsmarting a severe thunderstorm watch brought us into town, suited up to paddle ( locals love that type of stuff) and found our safe keeping abode. (MUCHISIMO GRACIAS DAVE + PAT!!!) *(there is a more hilarious story which will entail through this experience, but due to the time of day, and limited usage we have here, it will have to wait)

Friday evening brought familiar faces (Family and Friends) as we hauled our boats into safety in the wee hours after eating some great grub at Sportsmans (is that right?) We get by with a little help from our friends...

Saturday the wind beefed up and we continued to retrofit our boats, padding, minor glass work, reflective tape, you know the drill. Haute Dog, wild to have a day of no paddling, but a day of intensified labor - Que Sera, Sera

All in all we'd have to say, cool town, cool folks, great sites, magical beaches and more... *stay tuned...

MONSTROUS THANKS

2008-07-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

Before moving on I certainly do not want to let some behind the scenes helpers go un-noticed for their ambitiously awesome help to a complete stranger... Granted this stranger (me) is/am a paddler and us paddlers, well we all use two blades, paddle sleek craft through the water- but you get my drift....

I want to personally thank Jeff Stasser (man I hope that is your last name) from Down Wind Sports (DWS another three letter acronym for the list- SWEET!!) in Marquette for setting me up with a new boat to continue this journey, throughout my melee over the weekend. Words and dollars can not repay the gratitude this guy dished out, my support and praise for his lifestyle and business with ring proud for many many many more moon to come. If you are in the area, stop on in check out their shop, cool stuff, great staff. - Muchas Gracias

In addition I want to thank Mr. Sam Crowley, (and Nancy Uschold) for taking us under their prospective paddling wing(s) and getting us set up with repair materials and a dank locale for some boat fixings. We did what we could with what we had, and our boats should be bouncing off rock, err I mean avoiding the impact of local and afar geology for the remainder of the journey. Again, your graciousness and willingness to help is greatly appreciated and we look forward to crossing paths in the future...

We'll leave it at that...
Health, happiness and laughter your way...

Marauding through Munising

2008-07-24T10:25:00.000-07:00

Whoah- front page of The Mining Journal! We certainly did not expect that, but are way excited for the support, interest and dedication of the folks in the Upper Peninsula. For those of you who are not near a newstand up here you can check it out at:
www.miningjournal.net

Dispite our non smiling faces (we'll work on this for future photos) we were and are way STOKED about the experience, giving special thanks to Greg Peterson who gave a heads up to the paper, all his work with the EarthKeeper program (more on that later), Andy Nelson-Zaleski from the journal coming down to shoot us (with a camera) and finally Christopher Diem for putting words to paper. Looks great and we certainly appreciate it.

We are kickin out of Munising to experience some rocks of pictured persuasion and then on to Grand Marias. We'll keep you all updated where we can and until then may the days be filled with health, happiness and laughter...

**also, it has been brought to our attention that Keweenaw is spelled just like that, apparently I got a little too excited with the most popular vowel e in previous posts, also Gitche Gummee - I think that is correct...

Knowledge enhancer round one

2008-07-22T08:42:00.000-07:00

We want to light off this week with our knowledge enhancer series... Previously we mentioned the light and information shed on the greater Northland Community via a gracious author Mr. Ralphie G. Schwartz Esq. These weekly updates will surly put knowledge in your noggin and perspective on the plate. Think of all those times you've been spending time with loved ones or friends and really wanted to know the volume of Lake Superior... Well, now these posts will help keep those folks entertained and in the know...

Did you know if you drained Lake Superior you would be able to submerge North America under a foot of water?

That's 2,900 cubic MILES of Dihydrogenoxide H two ZERO. GREAT GOOGALLY MOOGALLY that is a lot of water!!! It even accounts for roughly 10% of the FRESH water on the PLANET!! Truly Superior.

Health, happiness and laughter your way...
*photos may be a random generated image or from an interesting post office we've experienced along the way*

Granduesque Gracias

2008-07-22T06:22:00.000-07:00

Dry place to sleep, festive locales to enjoy, priceless hospitality allowing us to save bank is dank...

Although this city has been an invigorating vivacious entourage of hospitality, delectable edibles an a rigamarol of boat repair, re-repacking logisticizing our time to rejoin the mighty Superior seems long overdue. We certainly can not leave this fair town though sans paying a duemendous (kind of like tremendous- but in the term of leaving dues- big ones of appreciation) to our hosts Alison and Alan. A grad student at NMU and your local Co-op dairy purchaser (for folks in marquette), these two splendiferous individuals kept our spirits high, bellies full and bodies well rested during our elongated stay in Marquette. Our dearest gratitude will flow your way timelessly and once we are not living in sheds, campers or tents we would certainly return the favor. May you have a righteous remainder of the summer, a blend of creativety and productivity and a crafty kayak to enjoy the Lake's beautiful bounty... health, happiness and laughter your way...

-Saludos
amigos!

Lake Superior Day!!!

2008-07-21T05:35:00.000-07:00

As luck would have it, we were able to visit with our friends Alison and Alan in Marquette around this festive time of the month. Hard to choose what to do in this active town; farmers market, sweet co-op, Hiawatha Music Festival...all those things...

We spread the word as much as we could about Lake Superior's Special Day and then ventured out to enjoy the bounty she continually offers. Around the area you could find folks on day hikes, kite flying exposes, swimmers, lake jumpers, and some clean up crew - after that festive musical experience (we did not go to the music festival, but drove by and it looked like it were bumping!)

Health, happiness and laughter to all you out enjoying Superior on the 20th and any other day for that matter!

We've been fairly blessed to be immersed in the Lakes' presence everyday for the past almost three weeks now. Bountiful, bountiful. Looking forward to many more great days and festive experiences to share.

Happy Lake Superior Day button sporting friendly Co-op workers ready to feed the community with good food and praise for their nextdoor neighbor, the mighty Lake Superior

Alison leads us to a legendary local to immerse your being in the cool Gitche Gumee

Brian and Alison make the locals proud by busting out a double jump off an elevated triangle at the Black Rocks in Marquette Michigan...

You know, the water really seems warmer than the air...

Meandering Marquette

2008-07-20T23:29:00.000-07:00

Well hi-diddly-ho reader-inos, (Ned Flanders inflection preferred)

After many harrowing days on the Sea of Inland nature we have arrived in Marquette Michigan!!! (EXCITEMENT INTENDED). We are being hosted by good friends and Chequamegon Bay transplants Alison S. and Alan F. Haute dog, they are some cool cats.

So the days really haven't been that harrowing, however it seems upon land fall I have been using that word quite a bit so it just happened to appear up there. After nearly three weeks on the water it seems our metabolisms are kicking in, we put down the calories and no longer scoff at 'just another 15 miles' it just flows. Pretty cool. Makes you think in alternate terms: if there was water everywhere I could just paddle to the Co-Op, I could eat sushi in my boat, etc... I have long been told not to start the stove in the boat though, as the saying goes, you can not have your kayak and heat it too... (Thank you Carl for all those continued years of jokes!!)

While living it up on land for a short while, we will be doing A LOT of walking, hiking, using our feet to write postcards... all those things. (I actually feel as though I sit an inch lower in my boat because my bum has shrunk) We'll be making sure our legs still work and do not disappear- so far so good. The walkable nature of this town has treated us well.

Also we are fixing to spread the word about Lake Superior Day (this Sunday, SUNday, SUNDAY) and find an event, or create our own to enjoy, benefit and appreciate that admirable azure agua.

Side bar experiences will be consuming swank delicacies made in a real kitchen with fresh greens- kale, chard etc. Mowing down on some blue berries, walking some additional mileage, cleaning some gear, and doing some boat repair... YEE HOWDY!!

Hope all is well and wondrous in you realm of the world and we'll be updating this to current status throughout the weekend....

2008-07-20T21:36:00.000-07:00

Alissa finds her way through the DENSE FOG ADVISORY

Feeling relieved for all the great scenery we take a look under the water to appreciate the colors and YEARS of history...

Granite Galore...

Waiting to see if this Elephant ever forgets...

One boat I don't reckon Brian will try to race with...

Making it to Marquette

2008-07-20T21:22:00.000-07:00

Departing after weather days generally induces an increased mph for the first part of the day - to our initial start this was no exception. Cruising on down towards L'anse we took full advantage of a six+ mile crossing to skip the tour into Pequaming...

The shoreline climbed toward the sky as sandstone topped with trees and the water under the sun (WAHOOO no clouds!!) bore a deep azure to teal color. Little wind prompted a warmer and very much appreciated paddling atmosphere. As developed houses came into the peripheral, we ducked into an appropriately named Sand Bay for lunch, devouring some quick calories we made the push around the Abbaye (spelling) Peninsula where the flies were more than happy to see us.

The day had drug on and miles were not yet menacing, however a revitalizing occurrence sprang into our presence as the Huron islands appeared on the horizon some many miles in front of our bows. We lucked out by finding a sweet campsite right on the point with some burly trees, which kept the heavy rain at bay during the night time hours.

The next morning, was comparable to the PUDs (pointless up and downs) on the CDT (continental divide trail) we powered 7+ miles down the shoreline to get into SKANEE to pick up a food drop, eat some lunch, then paddle another 7-10 miles of cliffed out shoreline out of the bay towards the famed Huron Mountain Club. The Mountain Club we were warned is renowned for its ginormous estates, sanduesque beaches and not so happy/joyous feelings towards folks who aren't really, really, really ridiculously good looking. Although feeling slightly uneased while consuming our noodle/frybread dinner we had to wonder what we would do if fog skewed our vision and we were unable to blend in with that ridiculously goodlooking crowd. We deciphered that our best plan of action was to make the most of our delightful daylight and kick on passed the HMC in a torrent of speed and paddling prowess.

Despite local reports, we actually nearly missed the HMC, but to no dismay paddled in and out of the bountiful coves which lined the shore. Beaches held the finest sand as more miles were put behind us than ahead. Through the sanded out beaches, and sand stone cliffs we encountered a Big Bay, appropriately named, BIG BAY. Sliding passed the breakwall, we arrived at an abandoned little shack with a fuel pump, and note for the harbor master. We called the magic number and within ten minutes were greeted with a kind lady from the campground to haul us and our goods to their fine camping establishment. Again my distance from the camping world, we were surrounded by large campers and folks with tent cities set up around Televisions and other homely commodities.

The prevailing downpour that evening prompted our early morning departure and paddle to within 15 miles of Marquette. The shoreline began to explode into a dynamic expose from beach to bedrock within feet. We hugged the shore and crossed the bays where we could because there was a slight bit of Fog, and by slight we mean HEAVY fog, this would be a re-occuring theme in our lifestyles as the day wore on. We eventually made it to Granite point, where you guessed it, everything turned to granite, ZANG ZA BAM- just like that. Impressive, and very much out of the ordinary for us Apostle Islands paddlers. The trucking heeded its way until thunder exploded from the clouds and white lightning struck from the sky. Ducking into the dense forest we sheltered up and made plans to hunker down for the night and rouse the paddling spirits once day broke...

Once day did break we saw our short proximity to Little Presque Isle Point, which to me signified within striking distance of Marquette. SWEET!! It would be a hop skip and jump if we could just cross some bays, duck around isles and make merry with the paddling. We thought this would surly rob us of magical miles of stretching shoreline and may take away from the experience. Thus we kept the shore at close proximity because that's really all we could see with the dense fog, and made headway towards Marquette. We immersed ourselves in a labyrinth of granite until we passed the famed 'black rocks' where a few folks were contimplating the leap of faith. The fog growing heavy again at this point ensured we stay close to the break wall near the functioning ore dock, where upon circling around it were greeted by a MONSTROUS ORE boat. We were glad to have enough vision to see that beastly boat and waited for it to harbor itself. The blast from its fog horn could be felt throughout the boat, bulkheads, and anything that was not in a dry bag, pots, pan, brain- you know the important stuff. A wild experience for a wildly foggy day. Crossing the shipping land there, we hugged the beach until we were able to find McCarthy Cove (spelling?) and crawl up on some warm sand where we waited for our Marquette buddy Alison...

Today's scale of excitement went to eleven!

S'More images

2008-07-20T21:21:00.001-07:00

Somewhere along the line we realized we had grahm crackers, hershey bars, but no marshmallows. What a TRAVESTY! So this one morning, near the Little Huron River, I had this, what I thought, brilliant idea for some morning calories. I have since learned Whisperlite stoves produce a little too much heat to effectively roast the 'mallow and gift you a high quality s'more. Nice treat, quick calories, but a quick bonk on the energy scale as well. Luckily all you folks have me out here testing this out so you won't have to make the same mistakes...

Parusing the Portage Canal a.k.a. Keeweenaw Waterway of Glory rd ii

2008-07-20T21:21:00.000-07:00

After our night stay in the Hancock Campground, we broke camp mid morning and set about to finish the Keeweenaw Waterway (I may be spelling that wrong, but we can address that later). This time on the water the wind was ripping from the West some gusts over thirty miles an hour, it felt like we were flying down the water way and upon checking the GPS we made speeds of 5.2 MPH sans much paddling. All good gusts must switch around though and once we entered Portage Lake, or Lake Portage, however it goes, we were battling the wind channeling through there.

The Lake, after being in that constricted waterway was disorientating, large houses, boats, jet skis flying about and a stiff headwind, we did our best to maintain composure and make some miles.

Eventually escaping the grasp of second home owners lake front properties and ecstatic motorboat enthusiasts we meandered down the sparsely inhabited southern part of the waterway. Dealing with some occasional winds we made due and ended up re-acquainting with Lake Superior, much sooner than we had anticipated. She was blustery whence we arrived, South West winds to 20+ Kts and waves 2-4 feet. Pushing out into the rebound zone by the breakwall, we knew we had to do something about these end of the day battles with the wind. Luckily the wall was less than a mile and after we rounded the light we were able to cruise into shore. A place, we can't be fully certain as it was not marked well, but were told by some locals it was referred to as White City, an absence of a community which used to exist a few moon ago.

We found a fanciful area beyond some tall grassy knoll and set our temporary living palace up along what looked to be an old main drag (a road of sand). We would be wind bound there the next day with ferocious Westerly winds, gusting to 35+ mph. We definitely were hit the previous night by gusts over 45MPH. Good to know the tent works! Needless to say, when we awoke the next day, (the previous Monday I believe) where the wind was not kicking we got it into gear and back on the water to make some mad miles before the barometer decided to throw another wrench lined with monkeys in the mix...

2008-07-20T21:19:00.000-07:00

Alissa flies (via wild westerly winds) by some deserted settlement, probably a smelting location from back in the day...

We are indeed on a trail, but just not in the right season...

Looming lights and magnificent markers all down the waterway...

You can surly bet there were some happy farm facilities pumping out production at some point in the not so distant past...

2008-07-20T21:13:00.000-07:00

No camping locale is complete with out a Scare Bear... hmmm, perhaps that was supposed to be a bear scare, you know like a scare crow, but for a bear...

Heading down into the eventual maw of the beasterly easterlies...

That's a big boat right there; the Ranger on its daily pilgrimage to Isle Royale...

The heaviest, widest liftbridge of its kind in the WORLD!!! -Shoot dang.

This is another big boat, for some type of sight seeing- the only sight I saw was a monstrous amount of steel and glass...

Parusing the Portage Canal a.k.a. Keeweenaw Waterway of Glory rd i

2008-07-20T20:36:00.000-07:00

It happens to be sometime three or four days later than we intended arriving at this point, entrance to the Portage Canal- perhaps it was the weather, or perhaps it was my zest for planning an ambitious first week. Regardless we made it. Barometer was on the fall, our food not quite sufficient enough to make the push to Copper Harbor, so we decided to roll on down, well paddle rather, through the waterway, opposed to going the distance, up and around.

Luckily this lesson in patience paid off, as the region within and beyond five nautical miles from shore, got hammered with some wicked storms. After our elongated day paddling from Misery Bay to the canal we were hit with some winds at days end that took that last bit of energy from our paddling prowess. Around the break wall and set for the evening we would be ready for the next days cruise into Hancock to secure another food box and more miles...

Yet, you can not get too comfortable with your daily plan, as the next day roused us from our damp Marmot sleeping palace of glory we were greeted with some east winds which built and built throughout the morning. By the time we reached Hancock it was just after noon leaving our four hours of effort and eight miles of travel in the humble zone. The post office situating itself uphill of the water we were able to stretch those sea legs and meander about this small, friendly town.

Although we can't be 100% absolutely certain, somewhere amidst a confidence interval of 98.6% we're fairly certain we met the friendliest people in town. They happened to be residing inside Jim's Family Pizza restaurant. Saying these folks were a 'hoot' would be an understatement, so I'll mention they were a hoot cubed. Food was great- and as we got to talking/questioning about the area, it was confirmed these were not your average yoopers. We were told of an eagle's nest that was damn near the size of a volkswagon, stories of the great Gichi Gumee, and even an offer to use their van to take a tour of da old mine. Now, where da heck are you going to find genuine friendlies like that? Throughout this entourage, Ma' the waitress kept our coffee cups full, which by stories end had amounted to roughly four rounds of that Arco gold. The walls were moving, the world humming and my determination to accomplish something, anything was through the roof. WHAAAA HOOOO WHEEE!!! Keeweenaw Co-Op here we come!!

The walk through town was a blurr, blur of crazy drivers, wind whipping through the trees, and some old guy staring at a roofing project. Twas an experience. By the time we reached the boats, fate had informed us we would not be heading any further east that day, rather back three miles from whence we came to the campground. Bummer on the spirits, but those were some of the fastest three miles we've thrown down thus far.

The campground experience was a real trip. Large campers, folks on cell phones, (ironic to be camping, but chatting it up with your best buddies) and little people on bicycles riding through campsites with a vengeance. (I must be getting old, but back in my day... Joking)

The wind thoroughly dried out all our clothing, but that privilege was also short-lived. A slight amount of time prior to our nightly journey to ZZZZZville the weather radio informed us of a torrential torment of rain, lightning, potential hail topped by some 50-70mph winds. Not a good nite to be on the Lake, patrons on the water were instructed to "put on your life jacket" - wowsers, that is the NEW standard for forecasting, if something is going down and you've to don your life jacket, well heck you'd better know its going to be a hum dinger. We promptly took down everything we had put up hours previous and waited for the storm to blaze its fury down upon us. As luck would have it, we received a mere scolding from the storm- heavy wind gusts, rain, thunder- but nothing too severe, our tent held strong and our spirits and bodies dry - YAHOO Marmot!!

A real, live, campground...

So really, what are we supposed to put down for our License plate numbers?

Stuff, stuff, stuff, we have stuff...

2008-07-20T20:21:00.000-07:00

Brian stoked about life while waiting for the wind to die down in, ironically, Misery Bay.

Barometric pressure on the fall, means something's gonna happen... Alissa testing the waterproofness of that dern Kokatat Paclite Gore material... Initial impression - "wow, it feels like the desert in here, well maybe not."

Watching the Water-fall near Freda, land of not many things...

Radical rock formations en route to the north entrance to the Portage Canal. Keeweenaw Peninsula- where we will later learn has the purest most vitalizing air on Earth.

Ease on up, ease on up, the banks...

2008-07-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

After finally escaping the mighty grasp of Ontonagon, where apparently once upon a long time ago a small girl accidentally dropped her bowl in the river, and subsequently named the town. As of this time, we can neither confirm nor deny the validity of that story, instead we moseyed on down the shore in search of new scenery and stories...

Little did we know once again we would let our sea legs out with an additional weather day in Misery Bay (appropriately named). A few miles passed fourteen mile point, this monstrosity of a bay is renowned for trapping travelers due to its large exposed shore to westerly/ Northwesterly/ North/ North Easterly winds... This of course, we learned through experience, which by now we have come to appreciate as the best educator.

Here we are again, hanging out in a new place, tall grass, more quartzite than you know what to due with, some stupendious sun and wild wind. Through this experience we furthered our skills working with cache lake pan breads and deletable oats of instant persuasion.

Once the small craft advisory had been lifted we made our break, heading north east up the coast in search of the mighty Keeweenaw and its land of vitally enriching air. The wind was variable and the shoreline dynamic. Through the various rock formations and monstrous mansions, winding waterfalls allowed that precious fresh to take that final plummet into Lake Superior's encompassing grasp. Once in a great while, after copious amounts of rain, you may encounter a few rivulets dropping into the Lake around the Apostles, but if viewing cascades of white into azure depths is your thing, then this stretch of shoreline may be for you. Especially if you are into mansions that appear out of nowhere and a random smokestack reaching to the heavens for no real apparent reason- the land, the locale it all has a story. One, if we were to guess has to do with an abandoned industry and now a realization of how much of a lure the Lake has for families to have a place to call home upon its' banks.

2008-07-20T20:15:00.000-07:00

We love history lessons...

Not so much of a guiding light here...

No particular place to go...

Red skies developing at night, means tomorrow will be really sweet...

Stacked out, totally stacked out...

Waiting on Weather

2008-07-19T06:22:00.000-07:00

Boats bask in a late nite sunset after a day of rest...

The guiding little light box that could...allow you to know the entrance to the Ontonagon River and elongated break-wall into the city...

It does not take very long to actualize reality on the big lake... You make a plan, then change it- that's what we tell folks on guiding endeavors and those words will live true throughout this excursion as well. Our first experience with said, concrete phrase hit us nilly willy in that fair town of Ontonagon after our Post Office experience, or lack their of.

So we rolled in on the 4th and did not end up leaving until sometime after that... All the days blur into one giant paddling conglomeration of miles, waves, winds and dank meals atop the whisperlite international. We paddled into town on the 7th with intention of picking up our goodies at the Post Office - GREAT SUCCESS!! After our box was locked down in our possession we skipped back to the beach to find that the NE wind, within/ beyond five nautical miles from shore on western Lake Superior had built to a blustery 20+ kts... Hard to stand, and trumped if we were going to try and paddle. Long story short, we got real acquainted with the Chamber of Commerce (thanks all three volunteers we met that day!) and got a bus ride to 1.35 miles of our hunker down location... a.k.a. Gurda Mansion (more will be revealed about that later). The boats got a night in the tall grass, we got to walk down a gravel road ridden with mosquitoes with a return trip via foot the next morning, prior to regaining our paddling momentum. Such is the life on the circumnavigation circuit...

Unlike the television waves always appear smaller on camera then when you are staring up into their beastly maw... These don't appear large and in-charge, but when those 4-sometimes 6 footers were slapping fat logs up and down the surf zone we thought it was a great day to find a bus service...

This cavernous cabin was where we called home for the few nights we were blessed with in Ontonagon. Thank you Gurda family for hooking us up in style...

Loons Loons LOONS

2008-07-19T06:20:00.000-07:00

Quick shout to CPT. S. Schaeffer!!!

-We have encountered several Loons all over the waters, within five nautical miles from shore, in numerous locales in the U.P. They do indeed speak the same language, however have referred to Loons from the other part of Michigan as Loppers (upon question one told us the phonetical pronunciation was Low-per). We can not be certain if this is some type of twisted joke, or a serious way of life. We will keep you posted...

Buddy Paddlers- Out

Public Service Announcement

2008-07-19T06:16:00.000-07:00

We do not want to lead anyone astray through our blogging endeavors or information we have created thus far. That being said for those who read our Pdf/printout brochure it claimed our journey would take us eight weeks. After paddling for just under three weeks, we realize that considering our current locale and mindset we have a new projected time frame. As of this point in time we reckon it will take us until we are finished- We figure that is a good place to stop...
-Thank you for your support

**And for those of you who do not personally know or have to interact with Brian in the real world, you can from here on our understand these type of posts are made with jest and hold little seriousness to them. He's a bit of a joker, and sometimes it takes folks a while to figure that one out...

Do you like Facts?

2008-07-19T06:05:00.000-07:00

As the miles fly by behind us at roughly 3.5-4.8 mph (dang add that one to the TLA list~miles per hour) We have time to think, and reflect upon this massive body of water; the stories it holds, and reality which it is. Both Graduates of Northland College, we appreciate people who are passionate about what they do, the rights and causes the stand up for and their ability to keep the greater community informed.

As a student, I recall reading articles published by an author who seemed to always be in the know of what was going on. The devote knowledge and analysis of a particular skill or concept was impeccable and inspiring. In honor of that wealth of knowledge we will be informing you all of facts pertaining to Lake Superior and some of the bounty she holds. These random slices of knowledge are dedicated to you Mr. Ralphie G. Schwartz Esq. and all the light you have shed to your readers on intricate subjects over the years...

**Did you know that on July 14, 2008 the Central Lake Superior Bouy registered a sea water temperature of 38 degrees F? That means that a mere six degrees prior, it was ICE...

Stay Tuned for more fun facts...

Truly Loving Acronyms TLA

2008-07-19T05:57:00.000-07:00

Some time ago in the not so distant past I was introduced to TLA (Three Letter Acronyms)-freaking sweet! Since that fateful, rather momentous day I have been slightly appreciative/obsessive to their ability to explain larger concepts with only three letters. Having said that, they may pop up from time to time in our posts. Below is a list to get you started thinking in TLA style:

CTD- Chasing the Dream
MPD- Miles Per Day
DOW- Days on Water
GGM- Great Googally Moogally
NFW- No Flipping Way
LTD- Living the Dream
FDF- Feeling da Flow
WNP- Whiff Nasty Plan
NFD- Not for Dogs (great when training your K-9 friends)
TRL- Truly Remarkable Loon
FRS- Feeling Real slow
YKI- You KNOW it! - (generally with a Will Ferril connotation)
TSR- Tele Skiing Rules (Free the heel, and your mind will follow)
MPH- Miles per hour
KPH- Knots per hour (depends how quickly you can tie rope)
SPH- Strokes per hour (how many times those dem dare blades touch fine quality H2O)

That should get the ball rolling, we'll probably add more as the journey continues and if you have any of your own, feel free to share, we dig that kind of stuff...

Boondoggle Report

2008-07-19T05:46:00.000-07:00

Once in a great while we are offered the ability to appreciate those little events which occur, seeming like a burden at the time, but being able to look retrospectively back on and laugh.

This post is dedicated to you outdoor professional to whom stuff does not always pan out pretty-style. Whether it is forgetting your sprayskirt/pfd at the base, client lunches in the van or even the porta-john @ the beach- we hear you and this post is dedicated your way...

At present gear malfunctions:
Dry bays w/ holes: 4 *
Non functioning paddle ferrules: 2 (first one happened day two)
Broken grump digger: 1
Cracked hatch cover:1 bordering on 3
Kinked skeg cable: 1
Skeg on hunger strike:1
Cockpits with mysterious odor:2
Paddlers really feeling great about neoprene smell:2
Leaky day hatch: 1
Jokes made about it: numerous

*I am sure this list may grow, although, knock on wood it doesn't; it seems the following would be best appreciated by humming some ridiculous tune in your head. For those of you in the Mad City I am thinking of that kooky soundtrack that Truly Remarkable Loon (the original TRL ** See TLA list) plays while spinning plates. You know, slightly circus style, but not full out Barnum & Bailey's.
-Enjoy

Photo Montage Three

2008-07-07T09:11:00.000-07:00

Photo Montage Round Two

2008-07-07T09:08:00.000-07:00

Locking it down on Lake Superior

2008-07-07T08:54:00.000-07:00

Followers of the journey,

Que Tal?

It has been a rousing few days on the lake. We started out in Sunny Bayfield, under immense heat and SW winds we had a shorter day. The first nite we managed to keep the tent staked down as some burly electrical storm rolled on through with a heavy wind or two.

The South Shore has been amazing. Glorious geology, rocking rivers and a mystique that warrants extended stays.

We are currently fixing to leave Ontonagon later this afternoon, we got a little waylayed around the 4th... The post office with our first box of food, was closed on the 5th... Guess everyone wanted a four day weekend. We took the rest day, as we hauled around 40 miles to get into Ontonagon.

The type right now is rushed. I apologize, we only have a limited amount of time on this here computer so I shall do my best.

Once we get this routine down we'll have more complete updates.

Also posted are some shots of the journey thus far... Commentary to follow...

Just a few quick shouts of thanks though:

Rob and Lynn Reimer- for allowing us to chase the dream of living in a driveway down by the shed!! For real, you folks rock, we appreciate everything you have done for us and look forward to holding weekly kayak support group meetings at your house when we return...
Cully Shelton- Man that Banana Bread was AWESOME!!!
Folks at the Beach - Thanks for sending us off safely
Astral Bouyancy- Haute Dawg the PFD's are SWEET!!!
Granite Gear- Your bags RULE, compact, lightweight, and they keep the goods in order...

Last but not least, for this post anyway, want to remind folks to mark their calendar for the third Sunday in July for Lake Superior Clean Up day... Most definitely certain you all want to experience the pristine shores as we have, and we can do what we can to keep it that way...

Until next time, may the days be filled with health, happiness and laughter...

Photo Montage Round One

2008-07-07T08:49:00.000-07:00

Itinerary Update

2008-06-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

We decided with such great weather to leave early.... just kidding! So really, weather permitting we intend to leave tomorrow 7/1/2008 - the only change we have made is to kick off from Bayfield. All our gear ,boats and ducks seemed to all be in a row up there so the logistics work quite smooth... We plan to depart from the beach behind the Cooperage building between 9:30 -10:00 a.m. so if you're in the area feel free to stop by and lift a sea kayak or two-free of charge! but really if you are around, drop on by and say hey...

Just a random shot from an earlier training run to Red Cliff Point...

Down to the Wire

2008-06-30T23:36:00.000-07:00

Alissa's magical packing skills turned the food drop boxes into a work of art and science...

Me getting distracted by some left over Mexican cuisine

Day before departure our world turns into a malstrom of intensity. Gear, bags, more bags, gear, a boat you know all that fun stuff to pack on up and make work for your during the next two months...

Education Station

2008-06-27T21:24:00.000-07:00

Recently we had the opportunity to share some Lake Superior trivia and factoids with our friends at the Bad River Boys and Girls Club. We covered size of the lake, imporant things to think about, and most important some cool stuff about the kayaks. The students hope to follow along by checking the blog, cleaning up on Lake Superior day and pledging an hour of hiking for every day we are on the lake...

At some point I had to explain that sometimes when you are paddling on the big lake, the conditions can drive you a little batty... For that reason we have students spin around the paddle a few times to simulate that life-like ambiance of scattered mind syndrom before one gets on the water...

Fueling on Fuel

2008-06-27T21:19:00.000-07:00

Food, food, food, gotta have it.

Initial stages arrive and we get acquainted with the goodies.... Divide it up so there are equal opportunity drop boxes and hope all the chaos pays off...

Fascinating...

Alissa being stoked as all get out, making sure the goods are here to sustain the caloric cause while paddling around the big lake.

Boat Work

2008-06-27T21:14:00.000-07:00

With every journey it seems as though there is some form of pre travel manual labor... Through out the previous few weeks we've been at it, fixing, glassing and making dern sure the boats float.

Juneau our malamute friend making sure the perimeter is secure from squirels, bears and other sources of shiny things while we work.

Intro to the Session

2008-06-07T21:56:00.000-07:00

As nomadic outdoor educators we feel it is important to instill a mission to our travels and outreach. The following posts essentially detail the, who, what, where, when, and why of our journey this summer.

Mission

2008-06-07T21:46:00.000-07:00

With our Session on Superior we aim to travel around the Lake with minimal to no impact while promoting conservation; thus blending exploration with awareness, we intend to bring forth the issues needed to protect the Lake Superior region.

Through our years in the North Country we have come to appreciate Lake Superior as one of the largest fresh water resources in the world. With enough volume to contain the lower four great lakes within its’ boundaries, it is certain this resource will be heavily sought after in our near future. The Session on Superior expedition aims to shed light on current threats to the lake and its’ watershed. Through articles and photo essays etc., we hope to provide a positive impact on local communities and the regions this affects.

What's Really Going On?

2008-06-07T21:32:00.000-07:00

During the months of July and August 2008, Alissa Weitz and Brian Castillo will commence a 1,300-mile kayaking expedition around the shores of Lake Superior, dubbed 'Session on Superior'. Their session, (or Seshwhan if you annunciate like Brian) is slated to take roughly eight weeks assuming the weather cooperates with their travels. They will be carrying all their goodies including camping gear, rescue and photographic equiptment, poetry, repair kit, and positive energy within the hatches of their mighty sea going vessels. They will travel with seven to ten days worth of food and resupply roughly every seven days through food drops along their route.

As outdoor educators they intend to make their mentors proud via demonstrating proper prior planning will produce a purly phun product. That and they actually have a solid menu planned out so they are not eating Snickers bars everyday. Both Brian and Alissa understand that an expedition of thie nature can be very influencial on a personal level, while also presenting an immense opportunity to share the beauties and importance on one of the most important bodies of water in the world. They plan to travel with minimal to no impact while educating people about the importance of this 'Greatest' Lake. Alissa and Brian are excited to work with Clean Wisconsin who has provided an empowering amount of information regarding the Great Lakes Compact, restoration and conservation issues revolving around Lake Superior as well as the Great Lakes.

Through their seasons of kayak guiding they are well aware that burly winds and wild waves can rapidly turn tranquil travel into an awe- inspiring display of natural force (literally!) With that understanding they will do their best to document their journey from the safety of local hotels and B&Bs... Just kidding, rather they will be doing what they can to best document their journey through the use of still photography, video and written accounts (RIGHT HERE) of the vivacious scenery and luxurious locations they encounter. Modern technology has outsmarted each of these adventurers on more than one occasion, but inspite of technological uncertainties they plan to keep the outside world informed about their travels (and where cookies+haikus can be sent) through this here WEB LOG...

When this is going down...

2008-06-07T21:19:00.000-07:00

Tentative Itinerary

July 1-5 Ashland, Wisconsin to FJ McLain State Park, Michigan
July 6-10 FJ McLain State Park, Michigan to Baraga, Michigan
July 11-17 Baraga, Michigan to Marquette, Michigan
July 20-24 Marquette, Michigan to Grand Marais, Michigan
July 25-29 Grand Marais, Michigan to Agawa River, Ontario
July 30- August 3 Agawa River, Ontario to Michipicoten, Ontario
August 4-8 Ontario to Michipicoten, Ontario to Marathon, Ontario
August 9-13 Marathon, Ontario to Mt. Saint Ignace, Ontario
**August 14-18 Mt. Saint Ignace, Ontario to Pigeon Point, Minnesota
August 19-23 Pigeon Point, Minnesota to Castle Danger, Minnesota
August 24-28 Castle Danger, Minnesota to West Side of Apostle Islands National Lakeshore, WIsconsin
August 29-September 3 Apostle Islands National Lakeshore, Wisconsin to Ashland, Wisconsin

*Dates and Locations are subject to change due to weather conditions, camping permits and community events which may be integrated into the itinerary

**This stretch may incur some additional days due to the glorious vow exchanges of two dear friends. (WAY TO GO CO-UNION OF CRAIGLAND and SCHAEFERNATION!!!)

Meet dem Paddlers rd i

2008-06-07T21:07:00.000-07:00

Alissa Weitz hails from Dubuque Iowa and grew up paddling the Big Muddy (Mississippi River). She has held an ambivalent appreciation for the outdoors and never seemed to mind the ‘corn husking’ slander. Through her youth she traveled near and far with family and friends exploring the wilds nature had to offer. Canoeing became her means of exploration in the waterways around southern Wisconsin, and the Midwest. Somewhere along the line she was drawn to Northland College where she graduated with a degree in Outdoor Education (with an emphasis in adventure education). After her sophomore year in college she was dared by some friends to become a sea kayak guide, one season on Lake Superior lead to another and she has been calling the south shore ‘home’ for the past seven summers. Alissa’s passion for teaching and outdoor adventure have lead her to work with various environmental programs in the North Country and share her knowledge of local flora, fauna and geology. She has taught under the British Canoe Union for several years as well with a local company in Bayfield. Somewhere between summer adventures and travels in the Quetico she shared her ambition to paddle around the lake. As seasons changed and dreams were put into action she and Brian will head out this summer to enjoy a truly superior experience.

Meet dem Paddlers rd ii

2008-06-07T21:03:00.000-07:00

Brian Castillo was reared in the Madcity, (Madison, Wisconsin); which for some reason doesn’t surprise most people. That city of five lakes has fed his fascination by water, whether it swell the rivers in the spring, or dump loads of snow in the winter. Little did he know one innocent day on vacation in Door County, Wisconsin, his parents would shove him off in a rental kayak and create a turning point in his pre-adolescent life. Kayaking has become a means of self- expression and geographical exploration for him. Over the years he’s paddled with world champion white water kayakers and learned from some of the top coaches who spend their days on the sea. Under the guidance of the American Canoe Association he has enjoyed sharing kayaking with people of all ages for several programs. His travels and instructional exploits have taken him to Alaska, Canada, the East Coast, all over the Midwest and most recently Mexico. Brian attended Northland College, in Ashland Wisconsin, where he received a degree in Outdoor Education (with and emphasis in therapeutic and universal design) and a deeper appreciation for Lake Superior. This summer he is taking a break from guiding to circumnavigate the lake, educating communities about clean water and the importance of that iconic body of water.

Inaugural Input

2008-05-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

After many hours milling about south of the border, through the states and finally into an area where abundant time on computers is available, we have joined bloggerville. Through the next few months this will be our electronic outreach to the outside world while journeying around Lake Superior's senic shores. So take a break from whatever it is you are doing and read about what's happening on or around the Greatest Lake of them all...

Down to the beeeeaaacchhh boi

2008-05-07T22:15:00.000-07:00

Where the land meets inland sea. It draws us in. Sometimes into the cold clear water, others to its elongated shores, searching for Agates or just enjoying glacial process and the sandy goodness betwixt the toes...

Ponderin the Paddle

2008-05-07T22:10:00.000-07:00

Its always a trip to explain to folks why Superior, why now...
The easier notion to take is, "why not?" - Over the previous few years of guiding I have fallen accustomed to the soothing sound of waves lapping at the beach, the flow of the waves in betwixt islands and the irreplacable/ sometimes unexplainable beauty which surrounds the Apostle Island National Lakeshore. However, utilizing a part time persona as a space case, I too see many more miles of shoreline to this lake. This body of water which holds all the other Great Lakes, plus a few extra Eries within its boundaries. Its that immensity, uncertainty and beauty which draws me out onto the water. Guiding is a glorious way to blend education with exploration, but sometimes you need to just get out and experience what greater power has to offer. For that reason along with several others, I gain increasing excitement to experience this Lake. After all the daily question shouldn't be if you're going paddling today, but when...

Devilish Caves

2008-05-07T22:09:00.000-07:00

Somewhere out yonderway, beyond the brink of those close-to-land islands you encounter Devils Island. Amidst isolation it holds some of the most magnificent sandstone sea caves sculpted by wind, waves and ice. Righteous!

2008-05-07T22:06:00.000-07:00