The Way of the Voyageurs

Saturday, 16 September 2023, Voyageurs NP

I remember the ranger in Florida who told me, "The grand parks out west - think Glacier, Yosemite, Yellowstone - they shout. Everglades? It whispers."

How about extending that analogy? The Alaskan Parks use a megaphone. The parks in the Upper Midwest? They speak in soft, conspiratorial tones: "C'mon, buddy. You can do this."

After the majesty of the Alaskan parks, I fretted over how my remaining parks would measure up. Instead, they served as the perfect complement to Alaska - a wonderland of understated beauty, a playground with no pressure to hurry from one overlook, one spectacle to the next.

Almost 40% of Voyageurs is water, so what better way to experience it than by kayak? That would let me experience the park as a modern-day voyageur. When I reserved my vesssel, the first question the hotel manager asked was, "Rainy Lake or Namakan?" Since a put-in on Rainy Lake would quickly expose me to wide-open waters, I chose to launch in the more sheltered Namakan Lake.

But no need to rush! The overnight temps had dropped into the 40s - no problem for an old-time Voyageur. This voyageur, however, waited until late morning before leaving the hotel, letting it warm up a bit. A worker offered me a ride to the dock, and since I don't care for walking in flip-flops, I hopped on the golf cart and got zipped to my boat. Okay, so this modern-day voyageur is a bit soft...

I pushed off into the placid water,

the forest to my side making a near-perfect reflection in the lake. I'd looked at the park pamphlet to suss out my route - you know, the pamphlet that says, "Do not use for navigation" - and saw what appeared to be a straight shot west to Mica Bay. Keep the shoreline to my right and I can't get lost.

Leisurely paddle strokes took me out of the hotel's inlet, and I followed the waters into another small bay that I had seen during yesterday's walk.

No houseboat docked there today. Out of that inlet, I kept easing forward, staying close to shore. A couple of spots hosted cattails, reeds, or lily pads, and I silently glided through them.

Before long, I found the straight-ahead path blocked by an impassable expanse of cattails and reeds. I didn't remember this from the park map! (Because, I figured out later, the map had printed 'Kettle Falls' on that part of the map, obscuring the bay I had entered.) I didn't fret much over it; as long as I kept the shore to my right, I couldn't get lost. But like a good voyageur, I did keep a close eye on my surroundings, looking for points of reference.

The park is known for bald eagles. I didn't see any, but I did see a pair of swans floating by. They took to flight while still too far from me to catch them on film.

Slowly the shore of my bay curved around, and I could see the hotel's inlet across the water. With that seed of worry removed, I continued down shore, breathing easier. I waved to a boat with three fishermen as I floated through a narrow section into another larger bay. To the right, another inlet beckoned,

so I paddled in to explore. Since I'd been out two hours, I pulled to shore and enjoyed the picnic lunch the hotel had prepared for me. Nope, no beaver meat!

Time for this voyageur to head back. I meandered along the shoreline - if not for a few speedboats hurrying to Kettle Falls, I could have imagined myself back in the 19th century, out looking for pelts.

At a few spots, granite outcrops formed tiny islands not far from shore. Without the pressure of time, I paddled over to each of them, looking at the vegetation struggling to colonize them, seeing them from a different angle.

As I finished curving around the big bay, I saw an oncoming canoe - the only other paddlers I would see. I took their picture as they got close, and then they - two older women guests at the hotel - offered to take mine.

We chatted a few minutes before I took off to complete my ride.

A breeze had picked up over the four hours I'd been gone, but the waves were not worrisome. I did notice a slight current pushing me into the inlet before Kettle Falls, but it was easy to push through. In my inlet, I paddled to within 20' of the south shore, just so I could say I paddled into Canadian waters.

I nosed my kayak into the shore I'd left from, and a hotel employee pulled me onto land. As I got out, I looked to the water and was surprised to see the women in the canoe right behind me. They must have been chasing me the entire way back. (Not that I'd hurried...)

What better way to while away a pleasant day than sitting on the verandah. I took advantage of the free time to transcribe another blog from Wrangell-St. Elias into my laptop. As I typed away, a couple wandered up. "Seems like you're always writing," she said. "What are you working on?" I told them of my challenge and my blog, and they promised to check it out.

We chatted for a while before they moved on. A minute later another woman got up from her verandah seat and came over. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about your blog. I'd love to check it out. What's the address?"

They got me thinking about the allure of parks, and their diversity. Not every park needs to put you within 15' of a grizzly bear; not every park needs a glacier or ice caves to entertain you; not every park needs a helicopter or a dog sled or a red jammer to transport you. There is ample room for parks that simply take you away from the rut of daily life, to immerse you in nature. That let you slow your pace and reconnect with an uncluttered world.

After dinner, with temps still in the low 50s, I wandered to the Namakan launches (which afforded views to the west) for another stab at a sunset photo.

A thick mass of clouds to the west blocked any colorful sunrays from sneaking through and painting the clouds overhead. I waited long enough to convince myself it wouldn't change.

At 10:00 I dragged myself out of my room to check the skies, though I expected another overcast night. WRONG! Stars splayed across the sky, with no moon to wash them out. Finally, a chance to take my first real star picture! A two-minute exposure worked well.

Sunday, 17 September 2023, Minneapolis MN

I was out of my Kettle Falls room early, hoping to score a sunrise pic. Unlike last night, though, the skies were overcast. I did catch a smidgen of fall color as I trekked about, a nice consolation prize.

At breakfast, I showed the stars pic to the other guests. Then it was time to pack up and leave this wonderland. Settling my bill proved eye-opening: for $10 more than a single night's room at Isle Royale's Rock Harbor Lodge, I'd gotten two nights lodging here, four meals, a round-trip boat ride between Ash River and Kettle Falls, and an all-day kayak rental. Probably the best bargain of any of my park visits!

The boat ride - a 25-minute jaunt - passed quickly,

taking me back to my car. In no hurry to start the long, 4½-hour drive south to Minneapolis, I stopped for a quick hike to a beaver pond overlook.

I then drove north to take a two-mile hike within sight of Lake Kabetogama

(part of the park). The overlook to the lake was obscured by trees - but I saw snatches of fall foliage as a trade-off.

From there, I stopped at the Kabetogama Visitor Center for an actual lake view,

and then reluctantly left Voyageurs being, speeding south. To fend off drowsiness, I stopped several times, catching glimpses of foliage in northern Minnesota.

Only five parks to go!!