The only bridge on the Kek is at the Agamok River Gorge

Day 4
July 16, 2003
Today's miles: 6
Total miles: 39
Destination: Campsite on Lake Gobimichigami

For a while today, as I was slogging through marsh and muck, pushing through underbrush, maneuvering over and under blowdowns, or sitting on a convenient rock or log while waiting for my hiking partner, I thought about what I might write in today's entry. Saw a grouse? Mm-hm, but that probably isn't interesting to anyone but me. Rained off and on today, giving way to blue skies this evening. So much for the weather report. And there was the thundering waterfall at the Agamok River Gorge.

When Allen and I stopped here at the Lake Gobimichigami campsite for a late and well-earned lunch at 2p.m., that's pretty much all I had to report, other than the fact that I'm like one big mosquito bite welt that seems to be a tick magnet. I scratch-n-pluck, scratch-n-pluck.

But then we hoisted our damp backpacks to hike another six miles to the campsite on Bingshick Lake, and I finally came up with something to write about: the fact that we were this close (I'm barely touching my index finger to my thumb) to turning back. All the way back to the beginning. Why? Cuz when we left the campsite on a very distinct tread -- unusual for the Kek -- the trail ended abruptly at a pond and small beaver dam.

For two hours we searched. There was thick undergrowth and impenetrable blowdown nearly everywhere we turned. Several times, we returned to the campsite, studied the map and guidebook, and considered our options before going back for another look. We wondered if perhaps, despite what we were told by the Forest Service and a member of the Kekekabic Trail Club, a section of the Kek had not been cleared of blowdown from the big storm of July 4, 1999. On that day just over four years ago, the sky turned black as night in mid-afternoon. Twenty minutes later, the storm and its 100-mile per hour, straight-line winds had passed, leaving 350,000 acres of devastation. The vast majority of trees had been blown down or snapped off. Amazingly, while there were injuries and some of them serious, no one was killed. Sheryl Hindermann, the general manager of Gunflint Outfitters, told me "there were lots of dead trees that needed to come down, but you'll occasionally see a huge virgin pine that looks untouched." I've noticed that to be true.

Anyhow, figuring that part of the trail had not been cleared after all, I began scouting without my pack, sometimes getting down on my belly to drag myself under fallen trees, when going over wasn't an option. Allen stayed on a high point near the beaver dam, so I could call back to him to get my bearings and he to me with directions about where he thought the trail might go.

Finally, I decided to give up. There was no sign of what is usually a faint trail anyway, and the jumble of tree trunks and branches appeared impenetrable in all directions.

As I began to make my way back to Allen, he yelled, "Is there a stream coming into the pond? Go to the stream and walk up it! I think the trail crosses it somewhere!"

Easier said than done, as the stream was hidden under more mangled blowdown as far as I could see, except for the last bit before it came into the pond. But I took a few steps towards the rushing water, and that's when I saw it -- a cleanly sawed log on the other side, as opposed to all the beaver-cut stumps in the area. A sawed log means trail maintenance! I stepped across the stream and saw another sawed log further up, and I knew I'd found the way. I was so relieved; the hike goes on instead of back. But that won't happen until tomorrow. By the time we found the trail on the other side of the flooded-out section (thank you, beavers), it was too late to hike another six miles before dark. There have been almost no camping possibilities other than at established sites, and the going has been sometimes tediously slow. So we called it a day here at this nice little campsite in the balsam fir, only feet from the water's edge.

We camped on the shore of Lake Gobimichigami.

As the huge cumulus clouds in the distance grow pink and the sky a violet-blue, I'm listening to songbirds and loons and the "shhhh" of the creek flowing into the lake. Time to put the pen away, do one last tick search for the day, scratch my numerous welts and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll pass the Kek's eastern terminus, turn onto the Border Route Trail and then down a side trail to Gunflint Lodge and Gunflint Outfitters, where our food drops, hot showers, and soft beds await two very dirty hikers, one more worn out than the other, I'm afraid. I hope Allen will be rejuvenated after a night in a cabin.

--Ramkitten