We hope you enjoy these dispatches straight from the trail. May it remind you of past adventures or connect you with those grand memories a son or loved one is making, maybe even this summer.
July 16, Day 21
The sun was not yet up as we packed away the tents for the last time. Breakfast consisted of two power bars; it needed to be quick. We checked the campsite for loose gear, tidied our packs, and once all was ready, we filled our water bottles from the barbecue and stir fry bottles we had filtered into last night. It is Stir Friday after all.
We hit the trail at 5:20am. We portaged in silence; each voyageur kept their thoughts within. Were they gritting their teeth, focusing on pushing down the pain? Or were they lost in thought far away trying to distract themselves? Our pace was noticeably slower than the day before when we had portaged the canoes as far down the trail as we could manage. We had taken a short break every three minutes of portaging with our canoe partner. Not taking these breaks this morning slowly took its toll.
Landmarks slowly passed by: the highest elevation point on the trail, Beaver Dam Boardwalk, Cowboy Road, and Old Highway 61. We took a food and water break at each landmark. Not many of us wanted the power bars, but we ate them anyway. Water started getting low. And to no one’s surprise, the water from the stir fry sauce bottle did not taste good. Even though it was Stir Friday.
Blisters became aggravated. Soreness and pain flared up. Morale started to tank. We leaned on and drew strength from each other to avoid giving up. We reached where we stored the canoes the day before. Shoulders sagged, for everyone felt we had not actually gone six miles like we had thought the day before. The most optimistic estimate had us at only around halfway. We slogged on alternating between portaging the gear, going back and portaging the canoes with partners, and portaging everything at once as far as we could.
Morale jumped when we crossed Highway 61. Maybe our pace would be good enough for the noon pickup. After two more long intervals, we came across another road crossing. We looked at it and were a bit puzzled. None of us remembered another road crossing on the map. It took a good moment for one of us to look further down the trail and start whooping in delight. Fort George, and Lake Superior beyond, were in sight! We forgot all our aches and pains. The fatigue melted away. We chanted and ran all the way through the fort and to the shore. We made it!
With forty-five minutes remaining before noon, we decided to paddle out into the lake and dip. Lake Superior is known for its cold, clear water, and it did not disappoint. The piercing chill felt incredible on our bodies, and we laughed and swam under the flotilla of canoes.
We paddled back to shore, and as we started organizing our gear, a van honked at us. A white van. With a trailer. And none other than Phil Sanders in the front seat! Knowing that the Grand Portage lay behind us and a stop at Dairy Queen was in our near future, we jumped into the van with a deep sense of accomplishment. We had done it! The trip was complete! We had not gone more than ten miles down the road when a familiar feeling started to surface ever so subtly: Anticipation for when I would be out on the trail next. And looking around my fellow voyageurs in the van, I knew I was not alone.
