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.

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

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?

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...

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

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.

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.