Sunday, November 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Navigating da' North shore: The Final Frontier
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.
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.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Navigating da' North shore: almost done...
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.
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.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Navigating da' North shore: Grand Marais to Two Harbors
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.
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… SleepWatch 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.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Navigating da' North shore: Grand Portage to Grand Marais
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.
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