Vicious rumors have been whipping around that in my latest trip to the Quetico, I acted in an aloof, cavalier, and idiotic manner, resulting in the endangerment of my trip to Guatemala, my idenity, my entire savings, and the lives of myself and five others. I deny this slander vehemently. But one cannot un-ring a bell - so I present to you, my lovers, the story of what would have happened if six voyageurs were to hypothetically act in an aloof, cavalier, and idiotic manner.
“15 Minutes to Quetico”
Day 1
Chapter 1 - 15 minutes, 9 packs, 6 people, 4-6 baseballs, 2 dogs, and 1 canoe
The cast of characters include:
Chris and Emily – my longtime college friends
Dave and Dan Sargent– brothers, Dave is a friend of mine and co-worker of Chris
Evan and Taryn – 'ice' buddies, traveling buddies, Taryn grew up in Stoughton, WI.
The second annual Quetico canoe trip was approaching, and we were unprepared as ever. The hopeful departure time of the trip was noon on Wednesday the 21st of May.
Wednesday, the 21st of May
11am – Chris calls Dave
Chris, “What's up”
Dave, “I'm finishing up at REI”
Chris, “will you pick me a compression sack”
Dave, “Sure, I'm looking at them right now”
Chris, “Sweet, what is their smallest one”
Dave, “Blue”
Chris, “No, idiot, not the color size, the size”
Dave, “Yep, whatever you want”
Chris, “huh?!?, what is the size of the smallest compression sack?”
Dave, “Yep, the red one holds maybe 4-6 baseballs”
Chris, “good, get that one”
Dave, “okay . . . be home in 15 minutes”
12:30 pm Chris calls Dave
Chris, “Where are you?”
Dave, “on my way home, be there in 15 minutes”
1:30 pm
Dave arrives at Chris' house with his brother Daniel. Car is packed with 9 packs, 6 people, 2 dogs, and 1 canoe (Taryn's Canoe “Big Red”). The crew departs Madison by 3pm.
Chapter 2 – I am just one man . . . and my brother
We arrive in Eau Claire, WI for food, supplies, and a dog exchange. We meet Emily's father in the Oakwood Mall parking lot and exchange her dogs for an ultrasonic mosquito killer, 6 pairs of gloves, a roll of garbage bags, an inflatable dining room set, and an overheated and dehydrated stuffed cat. Despite dropping off two dogs, we gain 86 lbs in dead weight during the exchange. The car begins to bulge at the seems. After ditching the dogs, we head over to Norske Nook for a greasy lefse lunch and a genuine Northwood's Micro brew. Service was slow, food was cheap, and beer was contaminated with Guava juice, but the Banana Cream pie was killer. Our last errand was to pick up some drinks for the night. We stopped outside of a target and asked a guy walking out of the supermarket exit if this Target sold boos. He raised his arm in triumph and responded enthusiastically, “Hell Yeah, I just bought some!”. Inspired by this stranger's enthusiasm, we rushed in and bought a a bottle of Scotch and Brandy.
Finally back on the road, we pushed the pedal to the medal, hoping to make it to Dave's cabin on Lake Vermillion near Cook, MN before it got too late to consume our recent purchase. One-half hour after departing Eau Claire, Evan wearies of Chris' 90's alt pop rock playlist and searches for his ipod only to discover that his backpack is missing. The backpack contains Evan's passport, ipod, backup wallet (including credit cards), diary, book, important documents, car keys, and head lamp. Chris pulls over and Chris, Emily, Taryn, and Evan rack their brains as to where the back pack could be. Dave and Dan throw the Frisbee. Within minutes, Chris and Emily's iphones have the phone numbers and directions to the four location we stopped in Eau Claire: gas station, oakwood mall, Norske's nook, and Target. All four business' are called and all four know nothing about a lost backpack. After much searching and scrutinizing, Evan makes the painful decision to turn back to Eau Claire to search for the backpack. Dave and Dan are instructed to return to the car. Dave defends himself for not aiding in the search, “I am only one man . . . and my brother.” The time is now 8:30, we are driving backwards, and Dave's cabin is four hours away. Ugghh.
The search in Eau Claire yields no results, but I still have all my camping gear and my driver license, which is enough to get me into Canada and back. The show must go on . . .
We left Eau Claire for the second time at 10pm, seven hours later than expected. My travel companion's patience and sympathy was palpable. The car went quiet for the rest of the trip, and Chris' 90's alt pop rock set list shifted to his 90's girly alt pop rock set list. We dozed on and off for the four hours to Dave's cabin, where we arrived at 2am and immediately passed out.
Chapter 3 – The Longest Day: Voyageurs in Vietnam
We stumbled awake to our alarms at 5:45 am after three hours sleep. We packed up and headed out after a yummy egg and sausage breakfast, thanks to Dave the early riser. ½ mile down the road, Dan realizes that he has left his ipod shuffle behind at the cabin. Consensus being that the shuffle was an essential piece of camping equipment, we turned around and retrieved it. We left Dave's cabin for the second time at 7:30 am, 15 minutes later than our rendezvous time with Zupp's outfitters at Crane lake. Once on the road, we realize that we do not know how to get to Crane lake. Luckily, the iphone strikes again. With 1 bar of coverage, Dave's GPS equipped phone leads the way to Scott's Landing, home of the infamous Voyageurs, on Crane Lake.
We loaded up our gear and canoe on Zupp's boat in the enduringly chilly morning. Jan Zupp, aka “evil Kineviel on a speed boat” raced her way the 52 miles to Lac La Croix, slowing only for customs and the two tracked portages.
We arrived to Zupp's outfitter's on Lac La Croix around noon and loaded our two Kevlar rental canoes onto the boat. We all shuffled inside to buy our fishing licenses and get some route advice. We showed Marc Zupp our planned route – a 40 mile loop through rivers and small lakes that started at the north end of Lac La Croix and ended at the eastern end. Marc was insistent that the river at the north end of the lake was unnavigable due to the strength of the rapids in unusually high waters. Our eyes glazed over, our heads bobbed up and down, and we thought to ourselves, “will this old fogy ever shut up about these rapids”. Marc Zupp then suggested a loop departing from the western of the Lac La Croix through a portage to Lake Thompson. Our eyes glazed over, our heads bobbed up and down, and we thought to ourselves, “will this old fogy shut up about the Lake Thompson portage, we are going over the rapids!”.
Dave signed away our credit cards and lives and we got ready to leave. Evil Kinievel taxied us over to a campsite on an island in the middle of Lac La Croix. As she helped unload our gear and canoes, she left us with some parting words, “Don't mess with them rapids”. But the Zupp's weren't the only ones with advice for us . . . An Indian who worked for Zupp's informed us that he lived on the river at the north end of Lac La Croix and that it was DEFINITELY passable. He said that the sturgeon fishing on the river was excellent and instructed us on how to find due south by looking at the branches a of certain kind of pine tree.
After Zupp's left us behind, we communed on the island to weigh our options. On the one shoulder was the cautious Zupp's. On the other shoulder was the wise Indian, with firsthand knowledge of the river conditions, who was telling us what we wanted to hear. The boys already had their mind made up – and they had had an Indian on their side. The muted objections of Emily were unheeded and a 'group think' decision was made to proceed down the river at the north end of the island. Before departing, however, Evan made an ominous warning, “I want us all to be on the same page here. We are taking a route that we were specifically warned against taking. We are going to a place where no one is expecting us to be, where there are no medical facilities. Before we proceed, is everyone alright with this?” Emily's objections were once again unheeded, and we proceeded in cavalier fashion to the north end of Lac La Croix.
Before long, we reach the river mouth at the north end of Lac La Croix. The downstream river canoing is smooth sailing.
We reach the portage to the first rapids in no time at all. Dave declares, “at this rate, we'll finish our route in three days!”. We hoist our canoes on our shoulders and sludge along the muddy, flooded river bank. After 20 minutes of carrying 100 lbs on my back, I see Chris has stopped ahead of me. As I approach him, he says, “I have some good news and some bad news . . . the good news is that I found the portage, the bad news is that I it starts here”. We all dropped our canoes on a fallen log and processed the fact that we just exhausted ourselves to carry the canoes a distance that we could have easily paddled in three minutes.
Chris and I summoned the courage to hoist our canoes back on our already weary shoulders and push on. Within ten minutes, we cross a road and the portage dead ends. We bushwhacked through the forest in search of the the trail to no avail. An Indian drove through and saw two white boys holding canoes on their heads in the middle of the forest. He took pity on us and directed us to the correct portage, which split off from our trail almost at the beginning of our trek. We backtracked and found Taryn, Dan and Dave at the fork in the road that Chris and I had neglected to investigate. They had already taken their gear and canoes to the end of portage, and, having not seen us there, decided they had gone the wrong way and hauled everything back to the beginning of the portage. All in all, we managed to carry our canoes about four times longer than the portage required. A nice, smooth start to our trip!
We lunched at the end of the portage and planned our route around the eddy's formed by the rapids. All the while, an upside down aluminum canoe is ominously swirling around the bay. Chris and Emily escaped the bay first. Surprised by the strength of eddy, Chris and Emily overcompensate their paddling, drop a paddle, and nearly tip. After Chris and Emily's near miss, the rest of us hug the shore until the current subsides.
Having successfully navigated the rapids, we leaned back in our canoes, paddled easy, and basked in the smooth sailing of a sunny day.
Our peaceful ride was soon interrupted by the distant roaring of water clashing with rocks. To our surprise, we had come upon more rapids. We consulted our map , and confusion grew about our location. Either these rapids were not marked, or we were not where we thought we were. Which ever was the case, though, we decided to push forward. The river split around an island into three sets of rapids, all impassable. We found a fourth rapid that cut through a peninsula, forming an island with a well worn portage. We decided to take it. As Taryn and I pulled our boat onto the shore of the newly formed island, a paddle slipped into the water and was quickly picked up by the current. We had already lost one paddle today, and had no more to spare. Taryn leapt like a fierce leopardess into the brisk 40 degree water and snatched the paddle. This was the first of many drenchings to come . . .
We portaged our canoes to the backdrop of roaring waters and bickering brothers. Dan was demanding not to be treated like a child by his older brother, Dave.
We dropped our canoes downstream from the rapids, consulted our map, and came to a consensus on our location. The good news is that we were confident about our whereabouts. The bad news is that the rapids we portaged around were not labeled on the map. Another ominous sign unheeded by the cavalier canoers.
According to the map, we were taking a river route that would avoid all subsequent rapids and open up into a nice, calm bay after about 1 mile of paddling. We push on. The water picks up speed and ripples at the surface. Our ears perk, but these are certainly not white water rapids, and we ease through two bottlenecks without incident. The river then opens up into a bay and takes a sharp 180 degree turn. Evan and Taryn take the turn sharply and pull ahead of the other two boats. The ominous, not so distant, roaring of rapids returns. The current has picked up pace yet again. Ahead of us is a sharp, blind turn with quick water of the right side. Taryn posits, “Maybe we should stop”. Evan surveys the water and the rocky shore and retorts, “Its too late”. One second later, Taryn is paddling hard on the right side and Evan is ruddering hard on the left in an attempt to take the turn wide. Around the bend, pounding white water and a sizable drop open up to Evan and Taryn. We catapult to the far shore and big red jams into two flooded trees. Perpendicular to the rapids, but upright and stable, Taryn and I focus our attention on the two boats following us. Chris & Emily and Dave & Dan shoot around the turn and slide safely into the shoreline, about 10 feet upstream from Taryn and me. Chris declares, 'perfect, there's a portage right here!'. But the canoes nor paddlers grab a foothold, and within seconds, the current swings them around and pulls them downstream. Chris grabs a hold of my boat as he passes, and Dave grabs a hold of Chris' boat. My canoe is still jammed in the trees, perpendicular to the shore and only feet from land. The other two boats are side by side, parallel to shore, and Chris' hold onto our stern is only thing preventing them from dropping into the rapids. Nevertheless, Chris confidently utters that we are stable and alright. One second later, Chris' 'crazy creek' chair dislodges from his seat and and the canoe slips from underneath him, dropping him in the water. Emily, in the front of the boat, is catapulted into the tree, where she remains, frantically balling, for the next few minutes. Dave maintains his grip on the now uninhabited canoe, which swings perpendicular to shore and is caught by a tree. Dave and Dan's canoe, still parallel to shore, submerges underneath Chris' canoe and buries its bow into some underwater brush, its stern held in place underneath the stern of Chris' boat. Momentarily, all six of us are dumbstruck. In a span of 15 seconds, our mental states evolved from “We're going a bit quick” → “We're losing control” → “bummer, shoes might get wet” → “our canoes are going under” → “we might die”. After a brief pause of disbelief, our minds revert into survival mode and we all take action. Taryn and I jump out of our canoe, unload it, and bring it safely ashore. A congo line is formed in the waist deep water to unload the three bags from Chris' canoe and retrieve the frantic Emily from her tree. Next we decide to attempt to dislodge Chris's canoe from the tree. Unfortunately, it is ¾ submerged and full of water – the strength of all six of us would not even budge the canoe in the rushing water. Before a new plan of action can be formed, the canoe buckles under the pressure of the water and crumples around the tree like a candy wrapper. Dave and I had no time for disbelief – we immediately moved our attention to Dave 's upright, but submerged canoe a few feet downstream. Chris was not so focused, and was convinced both canoes were lost and that we were completely screwed. Dan, the rookie camper, thought to himself, “wow, and this is only the first day”. Taryn was preparing herself to kiss her Guatemala travel plans away in anticipation of a fatty airlift rescue bill. Emily just wanted to go home!
Dave and I deliberated whether to go after the bags inside his submerged canoe. But our deliberations were in vain. Chris' crushed canoe was no longer pinning Dave's canoe down. The canoe shot up and barrelled downstream. The four boys watched with dropping jaws, frozen in disbelief. The number '1750' flashes through Dave's mind (price tag on a new Kevlar canoe: $1750).
The girls jump into immediate action, sprinting and bushwhacking along the shore, following the escaped canoe. After 30 seconds of inaction, the boys shake themselves back into reality, and take chase after the girls. Taryn catches up with the canoe downstream from the rapids and is tempted to swim after it. Emily discourages her, as she's not wearing a life jacket. Taryn's intensity almost convinces Chris to jump in with her, but Chris decides against it. A pit forms in our collective stomach as we watch Dave's canoe disappear around the bend.
We regroup and commune quickly on a rock. We take stock of our situation: we are down two canoes and three packs, including one of our two food packs. We are missing two of our six sleeping bags and 1 of our three tents. A frost at this time of year is likely. Our situation is dire, but not doomed. If we can retrieve and rehab the second canoe, the six of us might still be able to paddle out of here. We sprint back to the rapids and portage Big Red and our remaining six backpacks to calmer waters downstream. Dave and I plow through the woods with the canoe, slicing our numbed feet and legs on the unnoticed vegetation below.
Our gear is gathered and we decide the first priority is a campsite, as we are beginning to lose sun and chances of retrieving Dave's canoe is slim. Taryn and I jump in our canoe and hug the shore, sticking close to our four companions who are bushwhacking along an increasingly thick shoreline. Luckily, Taryn spots a campsite a couple hundred meters ahead, and we taxi four people and six bags in two shifts to the island campsite. On the first ferry over, Evan notices a yellow lump in the water, up ahead and around the bend. “Is that the canoe?” Emily runs ahead to the campsite and confirms the miracle! The canoe is within striking distance, caught in an eddy, making wide circles. Taryn and I ferry the rest of the gear and people to the campsite.
We pick up Chris and go after the errant canoe, which has now escaped the eddy and is floating away (if we hadn't spotted the canoe when we did, it certainly would have floated out of view of the campsite). The canoe and the two packs tied inside it (Dave's Pack and a food bag) are towed to shore, where the canoe is righted. The back end of the canoe is crunched and cracked, but not totaled.
Overjoyed, we tow the canoe back in. On the way to the campsite, Taryn spot's Dan's pack, floating near shore in an inlet. We pick it up with the cherry on the sundae. We bring the canoe and all three missing packs back to the campsite to a hero's welcome. Finally, something goes right today!
In our absence, Emily, Dan and Dave have built a fire and hung approximately 100 feet of clothesline to dry everything we have. Our campsite erupts into a giant sprawl of camping gear and clothing in what was later labeled 'the great drying debacle'.
We ate hamburger helper, partied with Cider and Brandy, and re-hashed the days events in humor as if the afternoon were some distant memory. Within an hour, it was as if nothing had happened - Dave was hatching plans to continue our trip into Quetico and Evan was fishing. We started the day in vacation mode and ended the day in vacation mode, with a brief intermission for a near death event.
The sun sets on the longest day of our lives
Day 2 - A new route, a new boat
Everyone sleeps in after one of the longest days of their lives. We wake up, with a hangover, to a disaster of a campsite – every single piece of food, all our clothing, and every piece of equipment is strewn about over the entire campsite.
We eat oats and slowly start putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. Evan, Chris, and Taryn take Dave's crumpled canoe (hereafter referred to as 'old shitty') for a spin to test its seaworthiness. To our great surprise, not a single leak is discovered. We loaded her down with another person and more gear: the only visible crack had about 4'' clearance above the water line. Everyone rejoices and the slow, arduous process of six people packing up begins. We load up our boats and pull out our map (thank god the map was in Taryn and Evan's canoe – we would have been truly screwed without it). Dave and Chris want to investigate the possibility of continuing our trip into Quetico as planned. The girls, wearied of the boy's cavalier decision making, nix the idea immediately, citing the length of the route and the presence of yet more rapids. The wisdom of their words is immediately recognized by all. We choose a more direct route: return to Lac La Croix through Thompson Lake (the route that Marc Zupp had originally suggested to us).
We set out with a new route around noon. As the six of us pull out in our two canoes, Dave's Crazy Creek chair is found in the weeds. No matter how careless we are, we can't seem to lose anything! The only things missing during the entire debacle are Dan's 'Crazy Creek' Chair and fleece (and of course, Chris' crumpled canoe). Taryn and I pull ahead quickly, as 'old shitty's stern is badly crunched and is working as a rudder. Chris paddles on the right, but the boat goes right regardless.
½ hour into the paddling, we pass the turnoff to Quetico - 15 minutes to Quetico - so close, so far away. We press on towards Thompson Lake. Another ½ hour later, Taryn and Emily spot a flooded aluminum boat on the flooded shoreline. We extricate the mammoth 3-seat, 22 foot, 125 lb. square stern fishing boat and tow it between our two canoes.
We find a solid piece of shoreline and park our boats. The aluminum fishing boat (hereafter referred to as 'tank') is flipped and drained of its water.
Tank looks battled, but seaworthy, and we load it up. Having commandeered Tank, we were now able to tow old shitty behind for the rest of the trip.
Before long, we make it to our first portage. With the extra boat, the portage had to be done in two shifts. First we carried the gear, and then came back for the boats.
The four boys hoisted Tank above their heads and trek about 100 feet before exhaustion sets in. We employed various means of transporting Tank, none even moderately successful. The heavy load was exacerbated by a steep hill and thorny bushes. We had a tick infested cheese and sausage lunch, a quick dip in the frigid waters, and got back on the water quickly, as we were once again battling the daylight.
We crossed a small lake and navigated a peaceful, beaver damed stream into No Name Lake, where we were greeted by a projectile shitting bald eagle. We were one lake short of Thompson Lake, our goal for the day, but the position of the sun dictated we find a campsite as soon as possible. A peninsula on No Name Lake offered a great fire pit and room for two tents. We set up camp and were fishing within minutes of our arrival. On Chris' first six casts, he had one follow and one miss and caught a nice Pike and a fatty walleye.
Unfortunately, butter fingers dropped the walleye back in the lake as he was getting ready to fillet the fish. Our hearts sunk. But the fish continued to attack, and Taryn soon reeled in an even larger walleye, which we promptly filleted.
Darkness moved in and hunger forced us to abandon the excellent fishing for the campfire.
Emily cooked up some killer Hamburger Helper and Taryn's walleye was the tastiest fish I have ever eaten. A few more Cider Brandy's. Dave struggles to hang a rope in a tree for a bear bag. Chris instructs Dave to tie a rock to the end of the rope to aid the process. Dave instead decides to tie a long, gnarled stick to the end of the rope. And thus began the great Bear Bag fiasco of 2008.
Taryn and Evan spend the night under the stars.
Day 3 – The life of Riley
The wind picked up early in the morning and persisted the entire day. The water was too cold to swim in and the wind was too strong to take the boat out fishing. So we had a lazy day.
Evan caught a pike early, and then the rest of the morning we were skunked.
Taryn inspired the best meal of he trip
Lunch was followed by a sheepshead game in which the Sargent brothers fell asleep. Afternoon naps for everyone – we were all waiting for evening so we could fish again. The nighttime fishing yielded several pike and another fatty walleye. Evan sharpened his skills at removing the Y-bone and Dave brushed up on his filleting skills.
Early bedtime due to the constantly annoying high winds. Evan and Taryn were rudely awakened by raindrops at 2 am and forced to snuggle into the Sarge's and Chris & Emily's tents respectively.
Day 4 – 15 minutes away
Slept in, packed up, and on the water around 11am. The creek into Thompson Lake was littered with beaver dams but nevertheless navigable, and a portage was gladly avoided.
Upon entry into Thompson Lake, Dave spotted some fool's gold and jumped in after it. After 15 minutes of digging through the rocky bottom to no avail, the irony of the situation failed to dawn upon Dave.
We canoe across the wide open lake in light winds and strong sun. Chris calls Dave out on his inability to string 10 paddle strokes together without a break. Dave retorts by taking a break to explain to Chris his 'Conservation of Effort' theory.
The lake is absolutely gorgeous, with smooth, majestic rock formations, perfect for lunching, sunbathing, swimming, and fishing.
We all wanted to spend the night on Thompson Lake. We stopped on an island to weigh our options . . .
The day is Sunday. Our rendezvous time with Zupp's was Tuesday at 11am. We were now only one portage away from Lac La Croix, but our rendezvous point with the Zupp's was eight miles from the end of the portage on Lac La Croix. The Sarge's push to camp on Lake Thompson, believing the portage and eight mile paddle across Lac La Croix can be easily accomplished the next day, on Monday. Evan is indifferent. Chris, Emily, and Taryn would like to camp, but vote to portage to Lac La Croix today, citing fears that the paddle across the massive Lac La Croix might be hellish if winds picked up.
Democracy reigns and we begin paddling for the portage. Winds pick up a bit. Dave declares we have a 15 minute paddle to the portage. One and ½ hours later, we pull our canoes up to the portage. The path was wide and well worn. We declared it the best maintained portage yet!
This was to be the longest portage of the trip – nearly a mile long to Lac La Croix. Once again, we were doing the portage in two shifts: gear first, and then canoes. 400 meters down the path, the route dead ends at a pond. Chris vaguely remembers Marc Zupp describing this portage as having two 'puddle jumpers', but our recollection of Zupp's advice and directions is fuzzy, as our eyes were glazed over at that point of the conversation. Confident that this was the first of the two 'puddle jumpers,' we hopped in our canoes and searched for the continuation of the portage. Chris and Taryn each found trails, but both were terribly overgrown. Chris' trail led steeply up a hill to a second 'puddle jumper'. Evan finds it strange that the trail that was so well maintained before the first puddle jumper would suddenly be overgrown, but group consensus is to portage up Chris' route to the second puddle jumper. The portage was short but steep, engulfed with brush, and littered with large boulders. The gear and first two canoes went up without incident but with great exertion. And then there was tank. We tied a rope to Chris' PFD and he dragged tank up the hill like a pack mule, while the rest of us pushed from behind. It was tough going but by far the most successful method of transporting tank yet.
The second puddle jump was actually a damed beaver lake. We paddled through and soon found an opening through the shoreline vegetation that led to a trail. Taryn jumped out to explore the well worn path, but it petered out after 15 meters. Taryn, the Sargent's, and Emily took lunch while Chris and Evan took old shitty out to find the portage. Eight more trails were discovered and explored, all petered out after 15 meters. These weren't trails, these were beaver runs. There was no portage to be found. We realize that the portage into this lake was most likely a beaver run as well. Suddenly, our situation was once again feeling a bit dire.
We prop ourselves up with the knowledge that we are not lost, and according to our map, Lac La Croix is 500 meters south, southeast from our position. Emily, Taryn, and the Sarge's head out into the woods with a compass in search of Lac La Croix. They form a yelling chain, so as to not lose each other or the route back to the second puddle jumper. Dan is at the end of the yelling chain, and after 45 minutes, has left earshot. Our stomachs crawl up into our throats – not only have we lost our way, we lost Dan. Then, in the distance, we hear a faint echo, “I see water”.
A collective sigh – we are not lost, Lac La Croix is close . . .
The group reconvenes at 6:00 pm. We are losing light. We have to find a campsite. The map indicates a campsite on the near shore of Lac La Croix that we are confident we can reach. Only problem is that we are weary of bushwhacking with canoe's on our heads. We simply do not have the strength to carry our gear and canoes in one go, and we do not have the time to make two trips. Despite Taryn's objections, we decide to leave the canoe's behind, with a plan of retrieving them in the morning. Taryn begins ripping up her underwear and handkerchiefs to flag our route through the forest to Lac La Croix. We follow our compass south southeast and leave an Hansel and Gretel trail of shredded underwear to mark our path back to the abandoned canoes from Lac La Croix. By 7:30 pm, we have reached water. Much Rejoicing. Taryn marks the end of the trail with a pair of pink and purple flowered panties. Wearied by a long day of exertion, we set out to find the campsite. After an hour of bushwhacking the shoreline with two packs on our backs, we concede that our map has once again led us astray: there is no campsite here. The sun is setting behind layers of purple and pink pluming thunderclouds, each layer more massive and sublime than the next. Thunder is echoing on the horizon. The entire forest is alight for seconds at a time by bright, piercing lightning. Dave begins work on a campfire – Emily scolds his stupidity and orders him to set up his tent before all hell breaks loose.
We pick the flattest area in sight and set up our tents in the bush. Seconds later, the sky is dark and the downpour begins. We all retreat to our tents for a dinner of PB and J pitas, Hershey chocolate bars, and wafers. By ten pm, the roar of six exhausted snoring voyageurs battles the thunder and pounding rain.
Day 5 - The resurrection of Tank
Evan and Taryn awake to drizzle at 7am and arouse the others with a screechingly off-key version of the children's classic, “It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood”. We dawn our most fashionable raingear and by 8am we're trekking the underwear trail. Twenty five wet minutes later and we arrive at the second puddle jumper and discussions begin as to the best method for getting the canoes through the woods. Despite Evan and Taryn's objections, the decision is made to bring tank with us. Chris and Emily lead the way with 'old shitty, Evan and Taryn follow with Big Red, and the Sargent's hold the rear position with tank. Everyone except the Sarge's are skeptical that tank is going to make it to Lac La Croix. The flags were pronounced in the dreary weather: we were not in danger of getting lost. The canoes were hoisted around trees, over boulders, through dense brush, and up and down hills. The tank was not carried, but rather pushed and dragged along the moistened forest floor by the Sargent brothers.
We were all in the zone, with only the singular goal of Lac La Croix in our minds. 2 hours after departing from the second puddle jumper, the exhausted campers reach the lake. We all touch the pink and purple panties in triumph. Everyone applauds Dave and Dan for their Herculean effort of tugging and towing their tank a mile through the thick forest. Dave gave all the credit to Dan, who was determined, at any cost and despite all the doubters, to rescue the tank. Dan later remarked, “Tank was like a Ouija board, I went where it took me”.
But we took little time to bask in our victory. We were all cold, and still had plenty to do today. We broke camp and ate a quick breakfast. Taryn warmed some water for Dave's cappuccino. By noon, we were back on the water. Our goal was Campbell's outfitter's, about 4 miles east of us on the northern shore of Lac La Croix. Tank had a big blue Campbell's sticker on it, and we thought they might appreciate getting their boat back. But the drizzle continued and the winds picked up. Despite three paddlers in each boat, it often required our full effort to hold our ground and maintain our direction in the stiff headwind. Our pace was dismal, but within two hours, we reached the calm bay where Campbell's outfitter's resides.
The kids running Campbell's were surprised to see us and asked us if we had been in the hail storm last night. Apparently, marble sized hail was dropped only a few miles from our campsite the night before. They inquired about our route and we informed them that we had come from Thompson Lake. They gave us the crook eye and exclaimed skeptically, “Thompson Lake? That Portage hasn't been done in ten years!”. We nodded, and replied, “Well, now it has, and there is an underwear trail to prove it!”
Campbell's advised not getting back on the water, as heavy weather and snow was predicted to continue for the next couple days. They radioed Zupp's to pick us up, and thus, the adventure of the voyageurs came to an end.
All in all, my emotions surrounding the trip are mixed. The decisions we made could have cost us our lives. But there is also a bright side to this story. There was more than one instance where our situation demanded nothing short of a calm, cool, and focused mind in the face of dire circumstances. Not once did we bicker or lose control of our emotions. Rather, we cooperated to make quick, safe, and intelligent decisions. We worked together as a team, never leaving anyone behind, and always making decisions as a group. In the end, we were all scarred and humbled by our cavalier decision-making, but everyone can come away from the trip proud of the way that they reacted.
PS A good Samaritan returned my backpack to the Oakwood Mall lost and found, with nothing missing. I picked it up on my way back to Madison. Don't listen to the news, people are good.
