Minnesota!
A Taste of the North Woods, BWCAW

June 2007 - With the time I had off before embarking on the southbound Appalachian Trail trek, I took off to Minnesota to get a "taste" of the North Woods, as they call it. Maybe I can get to know this area for a future longer trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness (BWCAW).

I stopped at Land Between the Lakes to meet up with a buddy, Clark. We paddled from Sugar Bay to Jones Creek Campground for a weekend, then I made my way up to Ely, Minnesota with a stop in Wisconsin to sleep. When I got to Ely, I was so excited I couldn't stand it. It's beautiful up there! Yes! After running back and forth between my car and my 17-foot long sea kayak, I packed up the tackle I had painstakingly studied from A Boundary Waters Fishing Guide, capped my head with a wide-brimmed hat, and paddled across Farm Lake to the northeast entrance to North Kawishiwi River of the BWCAW. It was stormy and rainy. I was in for reality... This area is rugged. No signs of humans. Literally, no signs declaring campsites or portage trails. The rain did taper off and the sun came out. I was scanning the rock-rimmed banks for the first campsite while looking at my compass and map. Confused, but refusing to panic, I told myself I just didn't have my bearings yet.

Sure enough, I found a fire grate held up by rocks on the north bank of North Kawishiwi. Because of the fire conditions around Gunflint Trail, you could only have a fire between 7 pm and midnight. At 7:05, I had a blaze going and was getting my fishing lure wet. My amateur casts retrieved nothing.

Sitting there listening to the weather radio, I wondered about the bugs. The NOAA weather man forecasted a nice day tomorrow with storms brewing on the following day. I was so glad I got the weather radio, especially after backpacking with a friend who always brought one. Knowing the weather and being prepared is a smart thing to do, especially here on the water. While rubbing the back of my neck, I felt big welts. I looked at the fire and noticed the bridge of my eye looming in my peripheral vision. Good grief! The bugs are out and I just couldn't feel the bites! That night, my eye swoll closed. What would I do if they got the other eye? I seriously considered bailing this solo trip if the eye didn't open by morning.

My courage came back and my vanity came out the next day while I paddled up North Kawishiwi past a group of day canoers. I could see a little bit out of my right eye, but I knew my face was distorted by bug bites and tried not to paddle too close. The wide lake-like river narrowed and I explained my face to a father and son fishing. They suggested that maybe I was allergic. I wondered if it was because I didn't take enough precaution. I portaged two 10-rods ahead of them. After fishing the mouth of the rapids before the big 210-rod portage, I got two bites of my lures of which was probably the toothy Northern Pike because they snatched my lures without a fight. After the long portage, I found out after talking to an ex-professional bass fisherman that you should have high-pound leaders to prevent the pike from biting through. Good to know. "How'd you get that thing out here anyway?!" He had pointed to my out-of-place kayak. "I took everything out and put in the boundary bag backpack, then dragged it." I beamed at him. He laughed. "Hey, you make do with what you got, but you know, I won't come back next year without a canoe."

The sun was setting and most of the campsites were taken. By that time, I had my bearings and could tell where I was at with my compass and map. Two brothers from Indiana invited me to stay at their campsite at the junction of North and South Kawishiwi. Their hospitality was warm and I was thankful to get to know them. The younger brother was a retired Marine and enjoyed spending time with his older brother fishing. They were both appalled at my food fare being finicky eaters. Nothing wrong with a little barbecue salmon, dirty rice, and homemade chocolate oatmeal balls.

The South Kawishiwi was beautiful - especially the area around that 30-rod steep portage. At the base of those rapids, I hooked a smallmouth, but failed getting it into the boat. I was on the right track though using those rubber-bodied purple jigs since the sky was getting dark. I pushed on to Clear Lake wanting to get through the portage and to camp before the storm hit.

After the rain petered out a bit, I heard a swish in the water. It was after 8:00 pm. I grabbed the fishing pole and flung the lure out. Nothing. I casted again. Bang! Smallmouth out of the water and in my hand. Yes! However, this is where I confess I broke the rules by not keeping myself informed. You can't keep smallmouth bass out of Clear Lake. You can out of the Kawishiwi though. So after gutting, fileting, and frying my first fish by myself with my brand new filet knife my brother Nick bought me, I perused through the fishing regulations to look at the pictures of Northern Pike and Walleye. That's when I noticed specific lakes and rivers having different regulations. Ugh.

After leaving the Boundary Waters, I drove through the Superior National Forest and slowed down to a huge grey wolf crossing Route 1. Being the first time I had ever seen a wolf out in the wild, I have to say my mouth was open.

About four years ago, I drove Route 61 from Memphis from New Orleans and was tickled about Mississippi River history of America. The drive on Route 61 to Duluth was wonderful. Known as the Blues Highway, this road was a major north/south route before our country's interstate highway system. Remembering listening to Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters when we went through Clarksdale and Tunica, Mississippi, I hummed Visions of Johanna by Bob Dylan who was born near Duluth.

On the way back to good ole Tennessee, I stayed at Amnicon Falls State Park in Wisconsin, and I took the time to investigate the Namekagon River in Trego. Maybe a future float on the Namekagon and/or St. Croix? This area was a beautiful part of the north woods. I can see why people spend their time here...

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Which side is not a reflection?
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Two Smallmouths




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