Many of the portages followed the U.S./Canada border, marked by metal cones.

Day 9
July 21, 2003
Today's miles: 11.8
Total miles: 96.1
Destination: Campsite on Fowl Lake

I had to put my journal away quickly last night, when the rain came down hard. The tarp had been pitched for comfort and head room, not for rain. We soon found out that we were lying in a depression, which filled with rainwater in minutes. The tarp pitched too high, mud splashed in on me and all over my wet sleeping bag. Such is how I spent the night and packed up soaked, dirty gear this cloudy, chilly morning.

Allen and I paddled against the wind nearly all day. This morning, there were whitecaps on Mountain Lake, so we stayed close to shore and tried to keep the canoe pointed across the waves. My arms are tired after eight hours of paddling and four portages, with few breaks and none for more than ten minutes.

Today, our pattern for portages went like this: I'd head across with my pack and the paddles, while Allen followed, slow but steady, with the canoe. I'd drop off my stuff and head back, ducking out of Allen's way as we passed, then retrieve his backpack. Three of the portages were very close together, with two short marsh crossings in between. Once, Allen had my pack loaded and the canoe floating when I got back with his gear, and we shoved off right away. The mosquitoes were out in full force at the portages, which made stopping rather unpleasant. The fourth portage today, a 132-rod trail between Moose Lake and Fowl Lake, was literally a muddy stream.

We'd considered covering the remaining seven miles and two portages to McFarland Lake today, then spending two nights in that same camp before meeting the truck from Gunflint Outfitters on Wednesday. But the wind and waves increased as we headed down Fowl Lake, and the rain began, so we pulled into the first campsite we spotted. The rain soon stopped and held off until we had the tarp pitched, the mosquito netting hung, and dinner cooked and eaten.

Right now, the sound of the breeze, a loon calling, and the constant hum of insects are what I hear. When I look up, I see mosquitoes clinging to the green netting inches from my face, with their blood-sucking protrusions poked through the holes. I'm not at the top of the food chain out here. You should see my arms and legs; I've been well fed upon.

Beyond the netting and mosquitoes, what I see is green foliage. All shades of green. Thicker than I've ever seen anywhere, except in the rainforest.

I can hardly keep my eyes open. I didn't sleep well last night in the puddle. It's probably only about six o'clock, but that's bedtime for me tonight.

--Ramkitten