June 26, 2025

When I bought my solo canoe, almost two years ago, my goal was to do solo overnights. With decent weather forecasted and not being needed with our home building, the time had come.

I made the decision the day before I put in to the water. Living in the small room in the garage everything was in various tubs. Many items in the “Deb’s Backpacking” tub were inside their little light zipper bags that have never been culled. Hence I ended up packing duplicates like the three toiletries bags all containing the same items. You can image how helpful that was when at the end of a hard paddling day you’re trying to find thing,

I had announced my paddling intention. Terry wrote down the directions I gave him for my route. I would paddle on four different bodies of water starting with Little Long Lake connected to Burntside Lake by the only portage of the trip. Next I’d paddle into the Dead River which flows from Burntside and into Twin Lakes. I had my eye on a Twin Lake campsite for a couple of years. Finally, I was going to make it.

I got up at five and thought I would be on my way about seven but all the gear was a mess. So I frantically got things together by walking in circles and asking “What am I doing? why don’t I have a checklist?” Finally I threw all the gear I had on the bed, into two backpacks deciding that I’d figure it out when I got to the campsite. Not my best thinking.

I made PB&Js and grabbed a small container of leftover mac&cheese from the fridge. Since I couldn’t find a canister of gas for our Jetboil, I couldn’t cook. It was only one night. What the heck? If I had to layover owing to storms, I would not starve. I could pretend l was a contestant on the survival show Alone for probably ten days.

My walking in circles and lack of a checklist could not be remedied. It was too late. I threw everything I had on the bed into the backpacks. Now I was pressed with a 10:30 start time. I asked Terry to watch me put the canoe on the car and put the straps and ropes on to hold it down. I mostly had everything wrong. Glad I asked and he helped.

Once on the dock at the access to Little Long by myself, I realized I had no plan for loading my small super light canoe. How do I balance this tippy boat? I wrestled with my every decision until I made myself get in and take off. It was a small lake and a calm day after all.

At the portage I managed disembarking without spilling myself or the contents of the boat. I looked at the time and realized, if I didn’t pick up my pace, I’d be setting up my tent in the dark. I strapped on both backpacks one on the front the other on the back. Luckily the portage was short, but it had a fallen tree across the path. This obstacle was high enough that I had to take off the packs and straddle the branch.

Next how would I get the canoe off my head and over this obstacle? As I approached it with canoe overhead, I decided to walk up to the branch and drop the canoe’s nose to reach the ground on the other side of the tree and leave it sitting there while I crawled, boat free, over the branch and then crawled back under the canoe. Then I repositioned it on my shoulders. Success!

On the other side of the trail, I found a warm sand beach with easy loading for take off again.

I was paddling on beautiful Burntside lake. This is a large lake but I was only paddling a corner of it. It could turn up some big waves, but on this day the sun was shining and the water was still. It was warm and the water felt warm. I had yet to see another paddler. From this point to the camp I could not get out of the canoe. I could not stand, could not change my position, could not pee.

When I turned into the Dead River, it was the kind of peace and quiet that makes you feel still and shadowed with absolute calm. The “river” is a pathway without the rushing of a river or a creek. The path cuts through the lily pads that inch into high grasses and eventually tall trees. I decided to eat one of my PB&Js. I rested my paddle along side me. And it slipped into the water. My only paddle unreachable. I looked at the tangle of lily pads and assured myself I could not stand on them. I tried paddling with my hands. Nope. Then I grabbed the device I screw onto the canoe for padding to portage. Yup. I back paddled right to it. Not once did I feel uncalm.

By the time I entered the lake my paddling was slow and painful. My legs were stiff and painful. But the coming evening was so quiet and warm and soon the log steps to the campsite were in view. The boat drifted into the shallows. I could stand. It took me four hours of sitting but I arrived.

No one, no other person was on that lake. Just me.

Sunday, June 22, 2025

Thursday, I was invited to lunch at Anne’s cabin. She lives over an hour away. This is the first time I’ve been to this neck of the woods. I carefully followed her directions to the landing where she was waiting to pick me up and boat me to the island she lives on. I didn’t know what to expect of the lake, the island, the cabin nor her. I had only met her briefly twice before and that was last summer.

Terry and I were at one of Superior National Forest Service Visitor Centers. We were looking at one of their big maps and wondering aloud if it was possible to paddle from Rainy Lake in MN to Hudson Bay in Manitoba Canada.

Anne heard the question and told us that she had just come from the final leg of a paddling trip with two friend Deb and Deb. They were paddling from Itasca MN to Hudson Bay, which is a long paddle approximately 2,400 miles. They only had one leg left of this voyage when they hit a rock going through a rapid. The boat flipped, they dumped and all sustained injuries. Anna broke some ribs. Their only option was to return home and finish the paddle the following year 2025. One of the Debs was not going to continue.

“Would I be interested?”

Now, a year later, here I am speeding with Anne on her boat toward a cabin on an island on a gorgeous summer day. Wow what a place and day. In the past year we have developed a plan via text, email, zoom and phone for the paddle trip. The second Deb had also resigned. So it was just the two of us. We would be paddling for 14 days from Oxford House Manitoba to York Factory, Hudson Bay on the Hayes River. We would drive to Thompson Manitoba because it’s the end of the road. Then catch a fight to Oxford House.

During the past year, Anne found a guide service, Wild Loon, in Winnipeg that was making the same trip. We signed up. We will be joining six other paddlers and two guides.

This makes it seem much safer, but I have not paddled any whitewater. And we will have many rapids to navigate. I’ve got work ahead. We’re leaving on Aug 4th.

June 18, 2025

It ‘s hard to believe the progress of building our home in Ely MN. Terry and his brother Steve have worked from breakfast to supper every day for three weeks.

A couple days ago they anticipated our four-inch deluge and flew through every job trying to seal the frame up to protect all their work.  Even I was out with Terry in the dark bailing water out of the boat that had been left at the wrong angle. More rain is predicted for several days.

May 14, 2025

“Get behind me, Woman. It’s become an invasion”

That was Terry’s morning, but mine was all about eyedrops. Instructions read: Add your three important eye drops to the left eye. Time them exactly three minutes apart. Have someone drive you to the surgery center.

“Terry, it’s time to go.” He put the gun down

and we were on your way.

Fifteen quick miles and we turn into the parking lot. I order, “Slow down and let me read this to you. I have instructions here. Go around to the back, look for the black sandwich board sign, and call the number on the board. Or you can knock three times on the door.”

There was no need for either. A nurse was waiting to get me in and out of my second cataract surgery in 40 minutes. Race is On. Ten minutes to start and IV give five more eyedrops. Then drop some Versed in the IV. The bed is pushed next door, my head is taped still, and I’m told not to blink, and it’s over.

The nurse calls Terry. He makes it back to the center in 16 minutes. We take second.

Terry says it’s our lucky day. We might stop the rat invasion today. “We? Don’t count me in, I think the rat is cute”. From Terry: “Hey, those are wood rats eating the birdseed, and multiplying!” My fancy gun is only a pellet gun, and I’m shooting through an open window!”

May 11, 2025

I committed to a whitewater paddling trip in August. This has been in the works for almost a year now. It’s still 3 months away, but only three weeks until my departure from here to MN. I’m vacillating between finding and packing the myriad and necessities for four months of building a house and preparing for a 14-day paddle on the Hayes River in the wilderness of Manitoba. Both enterprises are foreign to my bailiwick.  

But all the details of shutting this house down and getting ready to resume our house building project are daunting. At least we’ve worked on this for the past two years and I have some knowledge of place and duties. Whereas the Hayes and whitewater canoeing is new to me.

I’ve read a couple dozen books, and watched many more You tubes on paddling Wilderness Canada. I run with canoe adventure audiobooks being read to me through earbuds. I love all this stuff: canoeing, camping, wilderness, the Arctic. So I’m absolutely thrilled to have an opportunity to paddle here.

A couple days ago, the book Riverman ended just as my run did. What to listen to next? And Deliverance came to mind. When I read it, I’m thinking in the 80s, I loved the writing, and it takes place on a river. Now I’m past the middle of the book, and it’s a terrific read, but I’m wondering if Deliverance might not have been my best idea.

May 3, 2025

I’m emerging from a long hibernation of sorts. I was set to abandon this blog and just use Facebook to do some photo journaling. But more and more, I have a hard time wading through all the reels and advertising to follow my friends. I believe others must have the same experience.

The impetus to blog now is that I feel I’m entering unknown territory, unsure of how to navigate. I’m labelling this Terry-tory. You probably know we’re building a house. The we is composed of Terry. Mostly, I’m of no help. Terry always says “we.” But that’s far from the truth.

Last year we left MN in early October to beat the cold by returning to our house in CA. Terry had our crawlspace/foundation (the culmination of months of work,) covered in multiple tarps impervious to every possible condition and varmint. Hopefully that is.

This year, he’s leaving on May 18th two weeks ahead of me. Then he will face the consequences of the winter.

Then he’ll continue where he left off. Proceeding will be a test and a testament to every decision HE makes. it’s a nail biter.

Hopefully by the end of September, we’ll have a warm envelope—walls up, doors and windows in, heat and plumbing functioning. Then we can continue with the interior.

I would love to share this process and progress with you.

Below Zero

Terry sacrificed his puffy for me because I had all the clothes I brought on already and was snug in my sleeping bag yet still shivering. I felt vindicated when I exited the tent in the morning to a frosty world.

We headed into the Moose River. So narrow now it was barely a stream. I’ve been listening to the audiobook, Beaver Land by Leila Philip. I feel more amazement for these animals and their work. Yet I’ve never seen one at work. We saw a number of them swimming with their V wake trailing them. But all of their dams and lodges were abandoned leaving us many opportunities to negotiate rounding and plowing through their work. We were just here seven days ago but didn’t recall all the these obstacles. Sometimes we could rush a small break in the sticks as we pushed off with our paddles.

Other times we needed to evacuate the canoe standing atop the dam or in the knee deep water pulling the canoe as it raked and rasped the gnawed boards of these bridge builders and then caught and released our boat.

We were in and out of the small 25 rod portages and then it was the last 160 rod portage to reach the hole in the forest that dumped us into the parking lot.

Back in the car we don’t need the heat on. Maybe we never did.

We were back on the Echo Trail with wilderness in the rear view mirror.

Time to warm up

It’s time to reverse our directions to return to Ely. I rose to the “rosy fingers of dawn” and once again recited the adage, red skies at morn sailors take warn. Instead of the rosy cheeks of morning we left behind, we were shrouded in ominous clouds.

Terry proclaimed it was hard to beat Minnesota for her clouds. So much comfort in those words. If needed the clouds could be the highlight of the day. The reflection of these dark clouds in the water made the lakes more angry than the clouds. And the clouds came in many shapes and arch-chromatic shades.

We head back to Agnes Lake. We were lucky to find the obscure entrance to the portage. Our plan was to camp on Agnes. But we slipped by camps that were taken. Soon we were at the opening to Nina Moose river. Nina Moose lake was calling us. Putting us home a day early is welcome when you have been bloody cold for days.

I started to envision getting into Terry’s car and blasting the heat. We found a campsite with a lawn. It was a if they rolled out sod. There was even a dandelion. Crazy. As soon as we finished Mushroom Stroganoff it was getting dark and wouldn’t you know it? Red skies at night sailor’s delight.

Swim coach, Jim Booth’s moto is a ‘little progress everyday’.

I know he was referring to swimming and I am referring to building a house, but whatever it is for me if there’s growth it’s slow. Speaking of slow, has anyone been in a race and you’re so far back that there’s a cop car behind you with their lights flashing. AKA last place. It’s hard to concentrate on the house project when I’m staring down LP this Saturday in the Ely marathon.

It was a beautiful day in Ely MN. I was sorry to be inside this morning. I had to complete the application for our St. Louis County Land Use Permit. They don’t require anything too fancy. Nevertheless it was time consuming. I had to complete it on my phone because we have no internet. I’m not complaining because I completed it with the help of my good friend Skyler in Duluth who works in the planning and development department for the county. I had to call her for help this morning. It was the first item on my To Do List. Luckily, she has a lot of patience and kindness. Picture a youngish women with a MN accent saying, “Sure, I understand why you would see it that way.”

We were on the phone together for some time, and it was mighty successful. The computer accepted our application. You may think this is kind of late in the game to, after several months of knowing we’re going to build a house, to just now be applying for a building permit. Well I’ve had several calls into the number for Ely’s inspector, he left a message to let me know I was calling the wrong person. I told him it was his name and number online.

“Well, that may be, but it’s wrong.” He said.

He asked me some questions and determined that we are not in the city of Ely and we were under the jurisdiction of the county.

Terry and I have adopted the role of newcomer bumpkins.

Next step, agreeing on our building site. We have progressed on that too. With the sheds gone we learned our site was a bit small. I poke around the ledge rock stymied by too many rocks and trees. I’ve been clearing and poking now that the bugs have abated. When Terry came home today I had moved the building site stakes to extend the property to meet our needs. This will take hauling in more roadbed gravel, building up, grading. Time to get the man with his heavy equipment back. And I want all the trees in front of our property gone. Right now we have no view. And Terry agreed on all of that. Progress.

An ominous date and morning sky

I rise at 7:10 to an early morning without a visible sun and check the camp to make sure things are secure. At tentside I capture a bit more heat from Terry. A glance eastward, surprises me with a ribbon of pink below a cloud. As I ready my phone to take a photo, the pink is gone. The last evidence of sun for this day. In early afternoon we decide to cross the open choppy water. The breeze turns stiff as we brave the headwind. We make it to the high cliffs in Canada. We paddle slowly, hugging the cliff in the lee of the wind. We are looking for pictographs on these walls. Terry spots the first one and I the other two.

Our friend Diana provided us with this information (from someone-else’s blog) answering a number of our questions about the pictographs.

With the majority of painting done at the water level and the Ojibwe being skilled canoe makers, it makes sense that painters were likely in canoes when creating the pictographs. That makes sense for most of what we saw. But, it doesn’t satisfy all the imagery we encountered. A few paintings were high above the waterline in areas that seemed impossible to climb. While one could logically come to the conclusion that climbing, some sort of scaffolding, or rappelling was involved in making the pictographs, the truth is that no one really knows. Whether the paintings were made a couple or several hundred years ago, it’s incredible how well preserved they are. Considering the relentless conditions they are under—sun, waves, rain, wind, snow, water freezing to ice and later thawing—it’s impressive they’ve survived centuries. The paint the Ojibwe used is the key. The exact ingredients aren’t known, but enough is known to explain the paint’s durability. The paint was a mixture of red ochre and a binder of sturgeon oil, bear fat, or both. The result was a paint that has bonded with the rock face it was painted upon at a molecular level that draws modern backpackers, campers and other visitors from around the world.

We were thankful we braved the waters which turned out to be fun not dangerous. The adage “you can’t be too careful” doesn’t fit me at all.

We reached our campsite as the wind and rain drove us into action. We felt quarantined and incarcerated in our less that small closet-space for at least 15 hours. Terry said that he enjoyed the howling wind and driving rain. And he was proud of our little tent.