BWCA – Basswood River Loop

Well, the canoe trip did not go as planned… (they never do)

But, it was a good time (they always are)

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale…

Day 1

“why is it that the car goes straight when I crank the steering wheel to the left?”

Not the kind of question you want to be in the position of asking, nor do you really look forward to the car grinding to a halt shortly there after.  A tow back to Ely and instead of waiting for the rest of your crew at the entry point you are waiting for them at a bar.

The original plan was to enter through Mudro that morning, after several changes that fell through.   Now we were seeing the truck with the rest of the crew driving up the street, Daisy’s ears flapping in the wind, at 10:30pm.  We loaded everything into the truck, making what should have been two car loads fit into one vehicle.

We made what may have been the latest entries in the BWCA ever.  We entered at approximately 11:45pm, 15 minutes to spare before our permit was no longer valid.

A short portage and we were in the river and paddling slowly downstream, effectively no moon to light our way.  Slowly we paddled banging unseen rocks and plowing through beds of lillies and wild rice before plunging into the inky void of a small lake.

We found our way to the lone campsite on Mudro and passed into a fitful sleep…

Day 2

We awoke a few casts produced some snotrockets but nothing worthy of note.  Stoked up the fire and took to cooking up some bacon and eggs to fuel the long day ahead.

We paddled and portaged through Sandpit and Tin Can Mike, before making our way across Horse to the start of the Horse River.  We found a small island in the outlet area that proved to be a foragers dream…

Lowbush Blueberries!

An entire island of amazing berries, we each ate handful after handful on the spot and then saved a large pot full.  We had it with bannock, we had them plain, we added crushed berry juice to the wine…

Unfortunately we had to leave the island, and we headed down the Horse River…

“we can’t stop here. this is horse fly country”

We paddled like beings possessed by demons, there was no question that the Horse River did not gain its name from the Equine or the Moxostoma… but rather from the fly.  So far we had passed small rapids and the three required portages along the river, dodged rocks and snapping turtles but in this boggy stretch the horse flies had came to take their toll.

We made it into the Basswood River.  We made the short jaunt around Lower Basswood Falls and unloaded in the first open campsite.

A brief break and we hauled off (in much lighter canoes) for the Lower Basswood River pictograph site – something that can only be truly appreciated in person, though I recommend it for sure.

Day 3

“grab anything you can and keep your feet up”

I gave Tom the crash course in negotiating rapids (sans canoe) a few seconds after we dumped the canoe trying to cross the rapids.  There is something thrilling about shooting the rapids with no boat to separate them from you – just you, your PFD, that map you grabbed after falling out and that paddle that now does nothing for you – but you grip it tightly just the same.

Boulders the size of pickups raced by, and in a few moments it was over.  I knew a big eddy sat on the far bank and hoped that we had swam/shoved our gear enough to get it into the eddy.  It wasn’t critical, but it would shorten our swim – as the next stagnant pool was a good quarter mile down stream.

Tom, the canoe, and floating packs made it to the eddy… Me, not so much – I swam like hell but the current sucked me into a fast chute of water.  A large shoreline rock shot thirty feet into the river, I reached out grabbing at the granite and hauled my soaked carcass out onto the stone.

We packed back up and renegotiated the rapids (this time on the other side of the river) and made our way across the last of the four portages for the day.  Once we emerged we were at Basswood Lake, trophy snotrocket county.  Minnesota’s state record hails from these waters and fish still come out of that lake in the mid- to upper- 40″ range on a fairly regular basis.

This was big water.  And it was windy. Good thing we were traveling along backbays…

We plugged along at an amazingly slow pace but continue on eventually finding our way on a large campsite with three sandy beaches, a true rarity in the Canadian Shield.  After setting up camp we went into gathering mode  - collecting firewood first, and then shifting to crayfish.

My wife joined Tom and I for some crayfish “angling.”  Hard salami tied to a fishing line with a couple split shot was the ticket – did I mention that my wife completely schooled us?

“basically, you’re going to put your mouth to it, squeeze it as hard as you can, and suck at the same time…”

In truth, Tom and I more or less went along for the ride as my wife yanked big crawdads out of just about any old cranny in the rocks. These were boiled up to be served along side jambalaya, and I added a Smallmouth Brown Carp to to mix as well*

*Smallmouth Bass turned out great grilled on the half shell – previously I had only tried this cooking technique with Drum.

Day 4

A half day paddle and a long drive back…