State 49: Wisconsin, with a subsequent New York Addendum
Dateline: June 22-26, 2022: Kayaking the Apostle Islands National Seashore, Lake Superior, with Wilderness Inquiry; Kayaking, 25 miles. Hiking 5.5 miles
Way back in 2018, I met a new friend, Jackie Vail, aka Medium Jackie, while backpacking the Talkeetna Mountains in Alaska. We hit it off right away, especially after determining that we both were soccer players and moms. The beautiful game, and procreation, can spark fast friendships. So, we arranged to get together and adventure again in 2019. We met up in Minnesota and snowshoed our way across a portion of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, sans canoe, but with pulk sleds and winter camping gear. Despite all the effort and close quarters, we planned yet another getaway: kayaking the Apostle Islands of Wisconsin, for June, 2020.
We all know what happened next: right after I returned from Detroit and the American Lung Association Fight for Air Climb in March, Covid 19 hit, and stuck around through 2021… and 2. Our flights were canceled, our trip was canceled, and we set about waiting for another chance. We waited for a vaccine and a new President, and we saw the Capitol overrun, and we got shots, and people continued to die, and we checked our schedules… but we could not make it work. That meant I set off, solo, on a PLANE for Minneapolis- my first flight since February, 2020, on June 21, 2022. Two long and difficult years had passed, but I never lost sight of this trip.
Wilderness Inquiry is a special outfitter. I don’t know of any others that can do what they do. They are a non-profit, and their mission is to make wilderness accessible for Everyone, regardless of their differing abilities. On their website, www.wildernessinquiry.org, I saw people in wheelchairs portaging canoes over rough ground. In response to a question from a member of our group, one of our leaders confirmed that they would be happy to take her father, blind from birth, on a kayak trip in the Apostles, just like ours. How can you not admire, support, and celebrate that attitude?
Ok, so, here’s the scoop. Wilderness Inquiry picked me up in Minneapolis at my hotel Erik’s Place (a very unique hotel concept- do check them out if you are heading to the North Country). We donned our masks and shuttled to Base Camp, which is at Little Sand Bay on Lake Superior. I met the rest of our group (Just six of us, with 3 guides!), and we sorted our gear and were issued wetsuits. It was time for the Wet Entry.
Down by the bay, where the watermelons grow…, no just kidding, but down by the bay, all six of us screwed our courage to the sticking place and tipped our double kayaks over, ON PURPOSE. Upside down in the very chill waters of the largest freshwater lake on the planet, we were to knock three times on the side of the boat and then extricate ourselves from our predicament.
I had spent one sleepless night worrying about this test, but I have to say, I have been in colder water on many occasions. Nothing will ever top the shock of diving into the Godfrey’s pool at my third-grade swim party.
I knocked, ratatatatat, very quickly and rather feebly, and sputtered to the surface, water streaming from my burning nose. Lesson learned: if somehow I tip, I can get out in like no time flat, even with a spray skirt. All six of us were all smiles, having gained a measure of confidence from this early success. And after a dinner of burgers and dogs, some of us watched our first Superior sunset hard by the place where we had passed the first test.
The next day’s reveille was at 4:36, courtesy of a black capped chickadee and a barred owl, followed by the extended dawn song of a robin, and the clarion call of my bladder. I stayed outside in extra layers, listening to warblers and overbirds, but by 6:07 was back in my tent, chased by marauding mosquitoes. Without a doubt, this trip has gifted me a new definition of “buggy.” Never have I seen the likes of it. Pack netting for your face and plenty of Deep Woods Off. It really works wonders. I had not a single bite, but I did a lot of running from swarms.
We had to pack our gear into dry bags and ferry the gear and boats down by the bay, again. This proved a recurring theme. The weather was perfect- near cloudless skies, ripple to flat water.
With the expert help of our guides, Trevor, Claire, and Michaela, we shoved all our personal items, a huge camp stove, 7 tents, and all our food and initial water into the hidey holes of our boats. Thus packed, our sleek, light, deepwater kayaks weighed a ton. We all got in, which is an awkward proposition, but we got better and better at it over the next four days. With guides in the rear of the kayak and guests in front, we made our way a couple of miles to our first stop, Sand Island, were we beached the kayaks and unloaded the vast amount of gear and set up our tents and had lunch. This campsite was close to the landing site. I didn’t know at that time how lucky we were. Notably, it was in the open, not in the woods, which was also important; the bugs are in the woods. I was pretty tired after the set up, and my right hand was cramping a bit while paddling.
But the day had hardly started. We climbed back into our once- again sleek craft and paddled the short distance to the hot ticket of the Apostles, the sandstone sea caves, carved over millennia by wind and water. When you enter them, the temperature drops fifteen degrees, and they drip like landlocked caves: enchanting. The vividness of the color palette simply cannot be described or captured on film. Just go and see for yourself. If you can tear your eyes from the rock formations, you could be rewarded with views of many bald eagles and loons. And if you keep your eyes open on the way to the latrine, you can spot wild pink lady’s slippers everywhere.
After the paddle, we had a brief, chill but not frigid, swim, followed for some of us by a buggy four-mile hike to a lighthouse. We arrived just at sunset, and the light was indescribable. The rocks were devoid of algae. We hopped around on them freely and watched the sun descend into the lake, returning to our hushed camp by the light of our headlamps.
The night was hot, breathless, and humid. I had all my stuff with me in the tent as the thunder threatened.
But wait a minute, what about the titular mules of this story? I’ve written a whole lot and made no mention of them. While there are some rusted hulks of cars on Sand Island, there are no mules out there anymore.
Except me. On any trip, if you are lucky, people will reveal their strengths and find the way that they can contribute to the good of the group. Celeste and Katie were our firestarters. Give them a fire ring and a bit of wood, and they can get a roaring blaze going. As for me, I am a pack mule. Always ready early, having bolted my food, needing no time to transition from one activity to another, I move the bags. I am not very good at packing the boats, but I can get the gear to the beach or dock, or up to the campsite, so others can take it from there. Chris was my partner in the traces, and Margaret and Liz could find a place in the kayak for every item, large or small. Our leaders can do it all, of course, including taking over all the paddling if a client wishes to rest and watch the world go by in the bow.
The mules did not have to work very hard loading up at Sand Island, but the following day featured ten miles of paddling and stops on three different islands. The day dawned clear and free after the rain overnight. Because the weather on Lake Superior is among the most difficult to forecast anywhere, we made our crossings piecemeal, one island at a time. I was paddling with Michaela, and we saved two dragonflies on the day, who had become exhausted on crossings and hit the water. We watched their wings dry up on our bow, and off they flew to give it another try.
The first stop was just a pit stop, but the second was on Raspberry Island. We hiked up to a lighthouse for our lunch and scored a tour from the resident volunteer. After a lovely break and a hike of 1.5 miles total, we set off for our final destination for the day: Oak Island. It was pack mule territory. We arrived to find no beach, a dock, and a 150-yard uphill hike to our campsite, Campsite B, which is centered by the largest white birch I have ever seen and home to the largest mosquitoes on the planet. Thank goodness for the wet suits, protecting the majority of our bodies, but as soon as I got the first load up the hill, I slathered on the Off.
The day had been forecast to suck, but it was beautiful. The next day was forecast to be rainy. We figured we might get stuck on Oak. We could do some hiking if so. We can’t paddle if there is a small craft warning.
Saturday…
Ok, so we planned to leave Oak Island at like 5 am, but these plans were scrapped when the forecasted storms backed off in timing. Flexibility is key here- gotta have a Plan B. No sooner do you digest a forecast and convey instructions than the forecast changes, and the plan is worthless.
This pack mule made six trips down the hill to the dock and back up again, and then, since there was no beach, we determined that we would have to load the boats one at a time from the dock. So I stood in the water holding the first loaded boat and fending it off the rocks for forty-five minutes.
When we finally set off, we encountered a strong following wind that was threatening to swamp us from behind. As we reached the sand spit at the very tip of Oak, the water was over the gunwales and on the spray skirts. The lake was in a bit of a tizzy. We got ready to hunker down just as the rain started. We found a campsite out of the chill wind, and Celeste somehow made a fire. That is her superpower.
Meanwhile, not content to just have us sit around, our leaders unloaded the stove and made hot cocoa for everyone and laid out the snacks. They took exceptional care of us. In just an hour, the water was dead calm, and we all brought out the sunscreen. Unreal.
We arrived at our next island after about 7 total miles of paddling and numerous eagle sightings. The advance party reported the worst bugs ever and an uphill hike to camp involving switchbacks. Again, I did my thing, hauling the bags for 250 yards up the hill. After setting up, several of us indulged in long swims, no need for wetsuits, and blessedly out of the range of the bugs. The rain returned periodically but didn’t dampen the fun. We had some wonderful views of a cooperative yellow-bellied sapsucker right in camp.
The clang of the bear bin door served as our alarm clock the following morning. I heard a cuckoo bird at 5:46. Everyone was still in the tents. I watched the mosquitoes and caterpillars mostly outside, but also inside mine. So many seeds and caterpillars had fallen from the oak trees that it sounded like occasional rain. Toasted bagels and coffee, and I was back to my pack mule duties.
The wind was fairly howling, and the spray was kicking up in our faces. Trevor started the day with an authoritative “Paddle Left!” and I was jolted with the realization that he must be talking to me.
The work of the crossing was hard, but so were my abs. I was thankful for my sit- up routine. We changed course two or three times as the conditions changed, calms followed by gusts. We abandoned our plan to visit a shipwreck so as not to become one, and pulled in behind a breakwater, easing onto the beach to meet the waiting van. One last unload and load and pull, and heft and haul, and it was all over, and on to hot showers and clean-ish clothes.
After the shuttle back to my door at Erik’s Retreat, I met my cousins and their families for a lovely dinner and a walk at a Minneapolis park. Everyone was out enjoying a sunny late afternoon.
On the plane home, I had some time to think about what I have learned:
- how to put up a 3-person tent solo
- that my tent is a rectangle. This took me 3 nights.
- that there are more bugs in Wisconsin than Alaska
- that everybody can contribute in some way
- that backcountry kayak trips are hardest out of the boats
- that it is wise to keep some toilet paper by your headlamp in the tent
- that it’s much more relaxing to leave the phone and wallet behind: My teammates who had their phones were fretting about them and misplacing their chargers, etc. I have fewer photos, but I was able to unplug. and I owe a debt to Celeste, for letting me use some of her excellent photos.
Just sayin: this was a very worthy challenge for Wisconsin. It was a tough trip, and we had a strong group. All the women who did not have their partners with them were saying that the menfolk would have absolutely hated this trip. My darling husband is very game and super on the water, but the bugs would ruin it for him full stop. I started thinking how lucky I am that it was raining when we hit Wisconsin on last summer’s pilgrimage to parts West. A little bike ride of a few hours cannot compare to the wonder of this trip.
Wisconsin was a great 49th state.
