Boundary Waters Wilderness Canoeing – Brule, Little Saganaga, Gillis, Cherokee Loop

One of my favorite wilderness areas is the canoe country along the Minnesota/Ontario border. The Boundary Water Canoe Area Wilderness and Ontario’s Quetico Provincial Park teem with interconnected lakes superbly suitable for canoe tripping and wilderness excursions. I have traveled and canoed there since the mid 1990s with various friends and family members. This trip report is one of several that I have included in this blog. Please use this site’s search function to see other “Canoe” trip journeys in this and other wonderful wilderness areas.

In late May in 2002, three canoe partners and I scheduled a six day, 60 mile, 40 portage loop trip starting at the Boundary Waters Brule Lake entry, through Frost Lake and Frost River to the Northwest, up through Gabi, Saganaga, Peter, Gillis, and Snipe Lakes, south to Cherokee, and then back east through Brule to our origin.

After a long twelve hour drive, we arrived at Crescent Lake campground, just eleven miles southwest of Brule.  The evening went by fast as we sorted through gear, ate dinner, and had a smoke or two with a whiskey before hitting the sack at 9:00 p.m.  The pitter-patter of the rain against the tent wall served as a soft lullaby leading toward a sound and chilly sleep.

The morning’s strong west winds greeted us on our westward journey.  Big Brule Lake really served to funnel the winds directly into our faces.  For as early in the morning that it was (8:00 a.m.), the winds were quite strong.  It took us nearly three hours to make our way across Brule to our first portage at Cam Lake.

Typically you would like to have a softer first day to break in the rarely used muscles.  That wasn’t to be the case on this trip.  Instead, we had a total hard core workout right out of the chute.  The winds kept us from fishing. Any attempt at all proved difficult, if not impossible.  We eventually gave up altogether.

The day’s seven portages ranged from a simple hard carry over a small rise to a 140 rod grunt through rock gardens and mud pits.  At one particular pit, I slipped up to my knee in thick goo, lost my balance, and fell on my side right in it.  Quite a mess.  Once we ended that particular portage, I walked right into the water, fully clothed and washed off the mud and debris that remained.

The rest of the day was just one long haul; 12 miles in total, much of it against the strong head wind.  At 6 p.m., 10 hours after we started, we wearily pulled into a site on Frost Lake.  The bugs were atrocious as we ate, smoked, drank some of our liquor, and wrote in our journals, all hopefully leading to a deep and restful sleep.

A great paddle down the Frost River was the highlight of the following day. We initially followed a group of nine loud and raucous high school/college aged kids all in four canoes.  What a flotilla!  We didn’t think we would see anybody all day on this remote route.  We finally gave up with the congestion caused by all of us at each of the portages and instead lingered for awhile at one of them. This allowed the group to take a one or two lake lead ahead of us.

The river became more joyful once we were alone in our solitude.  We curved through meander after meander, all within a tight water channel filled with soft grasses and lily pads.  It was quite pristine. We found our way among the many side channels and dead ends by seeing which way the peaceful and barely noticeable current bent the river grasses.

What made the day even more special was the lack of wind, at least that which could get at us as we were hidden in the deep forest.  Tree tops hinted at the big blow that must have been raging out on the big lakes.

Many of the portages were not necessary due to the high spring waters.  This relieved us of the heavy haul of canoes and gear.  Instead we’d either paddle on through the log/beaver jam, or get out and walk down what rapids did exist while lining the canoe. 

My brand new expensive water shoes were a bust.  Well, the shoes themselves were fine. The way I wore them was the bust. Not wearing socks or other protective layer with them on the first day was a mistake, for a blister on each heel formed not too far into the day.  Once started, there would be no cure until the end of the trip due to the incessant walks, portaging, and wet water entries that would prevent them from healing.  My footwear plan shifted to my heavier and bulkier hiking boots for the remainder of the trip.  Proper taping added some level of comfort.

After 9-1/2 hours, we paddled into Whipped Lake (aptly named for how we were feeling) and our camp for the night. 

The next day took us off-route for a brief while. David noticed we could short cut a major portage and a couple of miles or so by heading to Mora Lake from Whipped Lake via Time Lake.  All of us had to alternately tighten and slacken the tow ropes on either end of the canoe as we lowered the boats down an unmarked set of rapids that made up this short cut. From there, the balance of our day was a nice paddle with winds pretty much at our back for the duration. What a difference that makes for one’s demeanor!

Through Rattle, Gabi, and Little Sag we paddled.  I particularly liked Rattle, both for its small size, its closed-in feel, the good fishing, and the evidence on all sides of the horrendous July 4, 1999 windstorm. 

From there, we paddled into Peter Lake.  Peter had even stronger evidence of the windstorm.  Many of the trees were snapped off right at mid-trunk.  What a natural disaster!  Paddling and portaging through this was both a humbling experience, as well as a terrifying one, as we wondered what in the world it would have been like to be out in such a storm. 

The winds from the south picked up strength as we paddled into Gillis Lake.  The waves were hitting us from the side as we headed easterly along the north shore to our camp for the evening.  The site was perched high up a rock out cropping. But, we hoped not too high given the lightning and thunderstorms that were heading our way as dusk approached.

The following day was a tough one. We were out early from our windblown site.  The feared thunder and lightning storm from last night passed north leaving only a sprinkling on our site. 

We had a debate amongst the team as to which was the best route to make the turn and begin our easterly progress.  Mine was the minority opinion, wanting to take the more southerly route through six portages over to Sire Lake (this was my intended course when the trip was originally planned).  It did, though, have a 260 rod portage, and the topography through which it passed looked horrid. 

This feature is what convinced Tom, Dave and Mike to suggest we take the more northerly route.  They preferred it even though it included nine portages connecting many different smaller lakes.  By my account, it looked like we would do more walking than paddling.  Well, this was as much their trip and vacation as much as it was mine, so I relented and gave in to the majority opinion.

For every small and short portage we took, we had to endure and make our way over very long and uphill portages as well.  Two of these in particular were strenuous events, consuming 45 minutes to an hour for each one.  Meanwhile to make them tougher, my feet, which already felt sore, were now like hamburger.  I was a machine, blocking the pain, just grunting it out, trying not to complain too much.

It was likely as tough as the route I would have preferred, but wow, I was exhausted after the day’s events.  We all figured that with the cardio workout included with the paddling and portaging, multiplied with the twelve (!) hours of being out, we probably each burned 500 to 600 calories per hour for a total of 6000 – 7500 calories.  But what a way to be on an exercise and diet program!

Snipe Lake, our originally planned stay for the night was very scenic with three great looking tent sites that were all open and available.  We chose to bypass this nirvana and make even more headway than our brutal physical day had already achieved and instead portaged one more time to paddle into Cross Lake, hoping to stay at its one designated site.  Our tired and exhausted hearts sank when we found it already taken.

At this point, we had already done 10 portages for the day, so what’s wrong with yet another?  This 11^th portage took us into Rib Lake, a body of water with only one site.  Bam!  It too was already taken.  It was now 7:30, all of us tired and hungry, with no choice but to move on.

Portage number 12 found us in Karl Lake, a long lake running in a north-south direction.  David and Tom’s more up to date map showed a camp site at the southern end that my older map didn’t indicate.  In an ironic twist, it actually felt kind of good at this point to put in a long paddle on a day that consisted of a lot of walking.

As the clock reached 8:00 p.m., the sun beginning to set over our right shoulders, we found the camp to be open and available.  It wasn’t the best of sites, but we all agreed it would do, for we had no energy left to move further on to see if there were any better sites ahead.  We cooked dinner in the dark.  Tom got a cheerful fire going, and we all sat nearby to soak in what was left of the light, to drink from our flasks, to swap stories from back in our college days; in short, to enjoy the ending of a tough day.

We bypassed our normal 6:00 a.m. wake up time to sleep for another hour.  Our late hour in getting to sleep, along with the thunder, lightening, and rain from an overnight storm, made for a fitful night’s sleep.  This, plus the good mileage we had yesterday, made us feel deserving of the extra hours sleep.

We moved on south, through Long Island Lake, to the river between it and Cherokee Lake.  It was here that David caught his first fish of the trip (a pike).  I too caught a pike just below the small stretch of rapids.  It was my sixth fish of the trip.  At this point, Mike and Tom were still skunked.

Two long portages south and east out of Cherokee put us into North Temperance Lake.  This was our stop for the night. We were treated to the beautiful sights and sounds of nature at work. Our west facing site offered views of the sporadic thunder clouds rolling in, one after another. The distant thunder reverberated off of the nearby hills, the sound carrying over the open water. 

Just as we were finishing dinner, the skies darkened and a strong wind storm blew through the area.  There wasn’t much rain associated with it, but the strength of the gusts was enough for us to take shelter in our tents.  We learned later that a tornado watch was issued for the BWCAW and the Superior National Forest.

We left camp the following morning to finish up our final two portages through the Temperance Lakes area and then into big Brule Lake.  The winds (from the west thank goodness) were stronger than on our first day. The resulting two to three feet waves nearly topped the gunwales of our canoes.  But with some challenging ruddering and steering to keep the canoe from being hit broadside and swamped, we made good progress easterly across the lake.  In fact it took us a little over an hour to cross today instead of the almost three hours it took us to cross on our first day one when we had to paddle into similar winds.

After landing at the parking lot, we warned others that were preparing to go out that going westerly, if not impossible, was dangerous at best.  We cooled the few cans of beer that we left behind in the car in the lake water while we loaded up the vehicles.  The good taste went down cold, fast, and delicious.

While driving home, I thought back to the highlights of the trip.  Day One: the strong headwinds and the 10 hour day to make good initial progress.  Day Two:  The serene and scenic paddle down the Frost River.  Day Three: lining the canoes down the rapids leading to Mora Lake to bypass a long portage and extra miles of paddling.  Day Four:  The long 12 hour day of more portaging than paddling, and the disappointment of finding one campsite after another already taken.  Day Five: The “easy” day of southerly portages, fishing and reflection.  Day Six: our final day, a short one, with strong tail winds to quicken our progress.

I also thought of various other sights and experiences:  The bald eagles, particularly the one along a deep ravine that flew off as we passed leaving a half eaten fish exposed on a mid-river bolder; the nasty biting black flies that plagued us in all but one of our camps; the pike and trout that took our lines and made for a challenge to catch; the remaining evidence of the devastating force of the 1999 windstorms and of past forest fires; the various bumps, bruises, cuts, scrapes and blisters; the days’ wear and tear had on all of us; the peaceful and haunting cries of the lake loon; the very restful and deep night’s sleep; story swapping around the camp fire; the exchange of stories and trail tips with other canoe trippers while passing by on portages; and the company of three others who share my passion for getting out and into the wilderness experience.