Boundary Waters, MN

After the tents were set up and the gear was organized, we brewed some coffee and unpacked the fishing gear. Luck was with us, and soon we were feasting on fresh walleye from a gin-cold lake. Even so, it didnÂ’t take long for the evening's chill to set in. Tired from the day's paddling, we soon found ourselves nodding off in front of the fire. After repairing to my tent, despite some aches and pains, I slept more soundly than I had in months. Waking up to a chorus of wolves in the night was icing on the cake.

Dawn the next morning was clear, but the temperature had dropped and there were expanses of water that were covered with fog. As the earth warmed and the morning breezes began to blow, spruce-studded islands drifted in and out of view in gold-hued banks of sunlit fog. Toward the mainland a tremendous amount of splashing was taking place, and we guessed it was probably a lovesick moose looking for some company.

Once back in our boats, we ventured near foreign shores as we paddled along the invisible boundary marking Canada's version of the Boundary Waters-Quetico. Technically, paddlers must have Quetico permits to explore Canadian waters, and the same holds true for fishing licenses. The Quetico is managed a little differently than the BWCAW in that portage trails are largely unimproved and paddlers may camp anywhere they wish. The wind had begun to blow hard out of the east, and the air took on a penetrating chill as the humidity increased and the temperature dropped-there was little doubt that some weather was headed our way, and soon. Wanting to see as much water as possible, we took advantage of the increasing wind and headed west. By the time we got close to American Point, a series of strong squalls caught us, engulfing our boats in a bone-chilling mix of snow and rain. Mimicking the onslaught from the clouds, the water turned gray, and what had been a well-lit playground was now somber as a cemetery. There wasn't anything to do but hunker down, paddle, and look for a campsite that would offer the best protection possible. Setting up camp was a wet, cold, and muddy experience and a far cry from the day before. Even though we had plenty of food and warm clothes, it was a wet, cold night. The next morning we cooked our breakfasts in the vestibules of our tents while we took stock of our situation. The squalls had passed, but a biting north wind was freshening by the minute, portending some very cold temperatures.

Since we had little interest in being ice-bound and waiting for the next thaw (which might come sometime the following May), the decision to cut our trip short was a necessary one. Our camping gear was still wet and stiff with the cold, but we managed to get the boats loaded, albeit with aching fingers. To say the paddle back was "bracing" would be correct in more ways than one: the icy wind came hard, catching us on the port beam, and it was even tough to keep the paddles under control. We tried to take advantage of wind shadows near islands, where we could relax and thaw out a bit. Once we turned south and caught a tailwind, the last leg of the trip went fast, and we got back to the van around dusk. I don't know if it was the whistling wind or my imagination, but as we bade the Boundary Waters good-bye, I thought I heard a chorus of wolves.