photos and text by staff member Rachel
Per-se-ver-ance [pur-suh-veer-uh'ns]
noun. 1. steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc.,
especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.
Spend any amount of time in
the wilderness and the observant student of life will be presented with a multitude
of lessons. With every canoe trip into the Boundary Waters, I take time to look
for a new angle in which to experience the wonders of nature surrounding me.
Often my perspective is influenced by those that I am fortunate enough to
paddle with. This trip I was lucky enough to have two paddling partners, my
co-worker John Kenney and John Muir in the form of his book “Travels in
Alaska.” The lesson of perseverance, a difficult virtue in today's society of
instant gratification, came from both of my travel companions as well as from
nature's own fire and water.
The elemental parts of
nature, those at their seemingly simplest forms, can have a great impact on a
trip. In canoe country, water is an essential part of why we travel from far
and wide to northern Minnesota. Dipping a paddle, tossing a line in, and
watching the light shimmer on the lakes watery facade is what most of us dream
of. No one ever imagines their perfect trip without the presence of water, but
what if that water is persistently drizzling from a leaden sky? Inclement
weather can ruin any trip in a flash, flooding out dreams of sun basking with a
good book, fishing and cheery campfires.
In the middle of the night,
the pitter patter of raindrops on ripstop forecasted what was to come. Our day
off was destined to be a damp one. Despite the dreary outlook for the morning,
John was determined to have peanut butter toast for breakfast. All of the
firewood left from the previous nights campfire was drenched, making a toasty
outlook looked rather bleak. While I fired up my ever dependable camp stove to
boil water for breakfast, John started hunting up some dry tinder. As I mixed
the cinnamon muesli and brewed my tea, John flicked the lighter again and again
when each new attempt sizzled under a fat rain drop. Long after I would have
thrown in the wet towel, John made one more attempt before sitting back to eat
breakfast. Huddled in our rain jackets watching an empty fire grate, we ate in
silence. After the second spoonful, much to my cynical surprise, a promising
flame sprang to life! Muesli set aside, John was once again stretched out in
front of the fire grate, carefully adding one small, dry twig after another.
With a bit more patience and a little light-headedness, a merry blaze was
roaring in the grate, defying the storm clouds above. Toast has never tasted
finer as we stood next to a hissing fire slowly turning to warm up. Tummies
full, yet still drenched from head to foot, we packed up and headed on our way.
Gaskin Lake was our
destination on this trip, each for our own reasons.
I was determined to see the
fresh burn from a fire that had started at a campsite in June. John was here
for the fish. Paddling through the drizzle we worked our way across Gaskin from
our island campsite on the east side to the site of the burn on the west side.
As we paddled through the wind and rain, I was reminded of a passage from the
book I had been reading;
“A high wind was rushing down the strait dead against
us, and just as we were about ready to start, determined to fight our way by
creeping close inshore, pelting rain began to fly. We concluded therefore to
wait for better weather. The hunters went out for deer and I to see the
forests. The rain brought out the fragrance of the drenched trees, and the wind
made wild melody in the their tops, while every brown bole was embroidered by a
network of rain rills.” Travels in Alaska – John Muir
John Muir was an
enthusiastic student of nature who let nothing get in his way of exploring new
glaciers in the then largely unexplored Alaska. His descriptions of the places
and nature he saw glow with his passion and understanding of the wild places he
rambled through. With Muir's words in mind, I began to see the forest instead
of focusing on the crummy weather, making the best of the day presented. We
paddled near the shoreline, looking at the trees, searching for wild rice,
feeling the rain on my face and scanning the skies for eagles. Eventually we
arrived at our site seeing destination.
Fire is another one of those
elemental parts of nature that brightens our wilderness experience, but is also
something we often demonize. Campfires in grates, well contained and fed by
campers, become welcome companions on any trip. Once the illusion of control is
lost, fires become things of nightmares, raging out of control and consuming
the scenery canoeists come to enjoy. In reality, fire is as natural and as
essential a part of nature as water is, cleaning up the old and renewing the
landscape. The peninsula of Gaskin that was burned was not a scarred black
moonscape but a mottled collection of charred balsam and birch mixed with green
cedars and solid white pines. 
This had been a small fire that burned
erratically, as fire is often wont, coming close to shore at some points and
leaving a green buffer in others. Already new growth was persevering, slowly
covering the blackened ground. Next summer, hosts of fire loving forbs will
flower all over this spot such as fireweed, pearly everlasting, and my favorite
Bicknell's geranium. As I took pictures of the burn, we slowly drifted with the
wind until I hear John quietly say “Moose. 11 o'clock.”
This had been a small fire that burned
erratically, as fire is often wont, coming close to shore at some points and
leaving a green buffer in others. Already new growth was persevering, slowly
covering the blackened ground. Next summer, hosts of fire loving forbs will
flower all over this spot such as fireweed, pearly everlasting, and my favorite
Bicknell's geranium. As I took pictures of the burn, we slowly drifted with the
wind until I hear John quietly say “Moose. 11 o'clock.” 
Standing on a ridge,
blending in with the burned tree trunks, was a huge moose. She slowly
alternated between watching us closely and munching on some of the young growth
that had started to shoot up in the past two months since the fire had gone
through. Moose love when fires scorch through the woods. Their favorite salads
include the fresh, young growth of balsam, alder, willow and birch that populate
open areas such as these. Her bulk was little hindrance as we watched her
stealthily move through the woods and down the far side of the ridge. We
paddled around the point, hoping to catch a glimpse of her on the other side.
Barely touched by the fire at all, the far side's lush green growth easily
concealed our moose who made as much sound as a squirrel in the underbrush. Our
only reward for rounding the point was being circled by a low flying osprey,
annoyed with us for intruding on his favorite fishing bay.
The rest of the day we
completed the loop up through Henson, Meeds, and Poplar. We took in the sights
through a steady haze of rain and were rewarded for our perseverance with a
sense of solitude. Not once did we pass another traveler after leaving Gaskin
behind or see a far off canoe. It was just us, the woods and the drizzle. As we
moved from lake to lake, John would occasionally expertly flick out his fishing
line, testing the waters for a nibble. It would seem that the fish also though
that this was a day better suited for hunkering down and waiting it out.
Although there would be no shore lunch for us, John continued to flick out his
line here and there with a fisherman's tenacity, never giving up completely,
just trying out a new spot then moving on.
This had not been a trip of
postcard blue skies and star filled nights, but as we loaded up the car we both
agreed that it had been a fun trip. I had to work a little harder to find the
silver lining in the heavy gray clouds that dogged our day off, but once I
really started to look, they were as shiny as ever. Taking away a new lesson
from the woods, on future trips I will persistently look for the good in each
day and the small little beauties that make up the wilderness. The challenges
we face on canoe trips and in life can sometimes feel like we are constantly
trying to start a fire in the rain. It may take a while to get going in the
right direction, but with a little perseverance the flame finally catches,
making the blaze more than worth the wait.
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