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Chapter 13 - Goin’ Solo
I love all my trips into the backcountry. Most are taken with friends or family. Sometimes one, sometimes two or more of us might get together. Sometimes it’s a day trip, many times more. The comradery and sharing the effort of making portages, cooking meals and exploring new country is always a joy. However, occasionally I feel the need to spend time with the boreal forest on just my own terms.
I make many solo trips every week. I take a daily walk where I am by myself or in the company of my dog. My dog doesn’t bend my ear while out and seems to relate to traipsing through the woods as much as I do. Quite often I’ll hike an old portage, bushwack off a compass bearing to a small lake or swamp or follow a game path, serendipity in my heart and camera in my hand. I spend many days looking for orchids in season or warblers during the migration. I’m not above paddling my Souris River El Tigre to a known fishing spot, or an unknown explore.
The forest is medicine to my soul. When life becomes hectic or the world has just gotten a bit crazier, immersing myself deep among the trees, waters and wildlife is the best sedative I can take. Within minutes I can feel the tenseness leave my shoulders, the tightness in my belly relax and the cobwebs in my brain get swept away. Complex problems become easier to solve. Irritations that may arise between myself and someone else can be eased before they evolve into something I might later regret. It can scratch an itch that has pestered me for months – a lake I’ve never seen, a rumor of an artifact from the past, a visit to a piece of water I haven’t fished for a decade. For me, going solo can be the solver of many of life’s bumps in the road.
I’m not a “loner”. My life’s vocation was as a teacher and a coach. I spent 33 years in the classroom and on playing surfaces that ranged from volleyball courts to baseball fields. To football fields and gymnastics mats. To sheets of ice and golf courses.
I would teach six classes a day with classrooms that contained anywhere from eighteen to thirty-five students. My days and weeks were filled, spending time with those students and athletes, as well as parents, administrators and co-workers. My days would start shortly after 7:00 a.m. and many times wouldn’t end until ten or eleven o’clock at night after returning home from a contest on the road. I like people. I enjoy people. I loved my job. And yet, some time alone would balance the hubbub of my everyday life.
There are times when a few hours or a day of just me and the outdoors isn’t enough. Extended trips take place every year. Backpacking, canoe trips and camper sorties all come into the picture.
Bringing my camper deep into the Superior National Forest and “boondocking” for three or four days gives me time to explore with my camera, clear my mind for writing and just plain unwind – along with a few of the creature comforts of home to boot. Solo canoe and hiking trips challenge not just my mind and psyche, but also my physical well-being. A few come to mind.
In 1997 I traversed both the Quetico and BWCA from top to bottom by myself. I had gotten the permit with the intention of it being a group trip. In January I had many takers. By the time the July permit came around, other plans and family commitments had reduced my party to just one me. I could either skip it or go on my own. That was a no-brainer!
I did have help from a couple of friends. Dan Conder graciously let me borrow his Wenonah solo canoe and Sue Ferguson drove my truck back to Ely after I disembarked at the Beaverhouse entry point. Most of this was new country for me – especially the first three days in the northern part of the park. It was a trip that included solitude – I met only two parties after leaving Beaverhouse Lake – adventure, wonder and peace.
During this trip I ran my first rapids by myself – not without coming sideways into a rock and having to exit the canoe to get loose. I got lost once and had to depend on digging the map and compass out to get straight again after a couple of hours paddling in the wrong direction. I stayed on one of the most beautiful campsites I’ve ever seen on Darky Lake. I came across abandoned trapper cabins and sawmill sluiceways, barges and long forgotten cable systems that pulled logs across short portages along Bentpine Creek. I stepped into a mudhole on “Pig Portage” up to my hip and was fortunate to get my boot back. I saw wonderful pictographs on Darky Lake, tucked back in a hidden cove.
Had a black bear sow and cub check out my pack at the end of a portage. Luckily, I’d taken the food pack across on the first trip.
Came nose to nose with a pine marten between Argo and Crooked as it clambered from behind a tree to look me in the face. Found an eagle feather on one campsite on the Canadian side. Legal to pick up and photograph there – not so on the American side.
Found most of a moose skeleton – including antlers - on the north side of Crooked Lake. Sun-bathed “au naturale” on the table at the Table Rock, while camping there my last night. And made it out to the Chain Saw Sisters Saloon on my last day, only to meet friends Ross Petersen and Doug Furnstahl. It happened that it was Ross’ birthday and I joined him for a couple of beers! Quite a way to end a solo trip!
Another trip was shorter.
Three days into Gun Lake. It was a last-minute decision and I left late in the afternoon. By the time I arrived, every campsite on the lake was taken. I’d never seen that before. I figured to fish until dark, go to the Wagoosh Portage and set my tent up for a single night – all under the rules provided for by the USFS. Not ideal, but I could make it work. I was fishing in the narrows and long about 7:00, a loaded canoe passed by.
The paddlers told me they had just left a campsite open and were headed to Fourtown. Fantastic! I scooted over, set up my tent and headed back to fish the remaining light until sundown. As dark approached, I could hear someone coming across the portage from Wagoosh. A single canoe with two adults and two kids started along the shoreline looking for an open campsite. They came to mine, and I gave them the bad news that the lake was full. But, having almost been there myself, I invited them into my site.
They were immensely grateful and after they made supper for the kids, visited with me well into the night. They were on an extended trip and had started at Moose Lake, had gone up into the Quetico and were returning to their pickup point at Mudro.
They left Crooked about three that afternoon and soon realized they wouldn’t get to Gun until dark. We had traveled much of the same water and enjoyed many comparable interests. Though I had intended to spend the night alone, their company made for a great evening.
My most recent solo started at the Island River bridge, picking up the Isabella River and moving down to Quadga Lake, Bald Eagle and Gabbro before coming out. I moseyed along, taking my time and made this a five-day trip. This was several years after the Pagami Fire and the regeneration astounded me.
A lot of people don’t realize that one kind of damage that happens for years after a fire is that dead trees continue to cause dangers not only at campsites, but by clogging portages as well. What an education to see how a forest heals itself in the years after a major event. While I’d traveled this country before, the changes astounded me. I spent a night on Bald Eagle when a storm passed through. Winds were clocked at over 60 mph in Tower. That was a frightening night!
Factors come into play when in the backcountry by yourself that you don’t really think about traveling in a group. You make all your own decisions. How far to travel, which campsite to stay at.
Do I take a day to fish? What will I make for supper? Get up early or sleep late? Problems are only YOUR problems. If the weather’s bad, you must batten down the hatches. If you catch a hook in the finger, slash a toe with an axe, sprain an ankle on a portage, no one is there to help you out. On your own, buddy! Lose your compass, filet knife or map? No back up from a friend to fill the gap.
Some things can be scary!
All this to say, is that there can be a healthy mix of solo time versus traveling with companions. In the grand scheme of things, I prefer to travel with someone to share chores, play cards with, net my fish, solve the world’s problems and generally kibbitz over supper. And, did I mention watching the night sky while enjoying either a hot or cold beverage?
Memories of these outings live on in stories told for years to come.
On the other hand, some time to communicate between only yourself and nature is needed.
A cleanser, if you will. A restoration of equilibrium. A bringer of peace.
Imperceptibly, a great advantage of spending time alone is coming to understand how much you enjoy being with people. I can barely contain myself when I return to share what I’ve seen, what I’ve experienced and what I’ve felt. My contract with the backcountry doesn’t preclude me from telling where I’ve been and what I’ve done! What a paradox spending time by yourself can be – that you can appreciate others that much more. Ah, the wonders of human nature.
Where will tomorrow’s adventure be?
