Rolling Compass Star

In addition to Carol Doak's stars, I've also been a bit addicted to wombatquilts.com lately.  The page has some beautiful squares posted; the quilt blocks' colors are cheerful (and they pop quite nicely); and there are free paper-piecing patterns!  I found this Rolling Star pattern on Wombat's page, but it's originally found here.

This is the last of my 12" blocks.  Now all of my 12" andd 18" blocks are finished; I only have the (hopefully) simple 6" stars left.  Of course, I'll need to figure out whether I'm going to add any sashing (and, if so, what color fabric I can throw in) before I can assemble anything.

Still, there's a chance that I'll finish the quilt before summer!

12" Interlocking Seasons Quilt Block

In addition to completing two blocks this weekend (two blocks!), I'm on to the set of blocks that don't even have to be re-sized!  Needless to say, my geometrist-in-residence is pretty excited about this.

Interlocking Seasons - Google Images provides some really cool color combinations for this guy

There's a great tutorial for the Interlocking Seasons block here; just make sure that your quarter-inch seams are exact.

18" Illinois Star Quilt Block

So, I'm mildly obsessed with Carol Doak's 50 Fabulous Paper-Pieced Stars.  I found it at our local library, and promptly decided that I needed to make something like 75% of the quilt blocks.  Ali wisely suggested that maybe I should pare this stupid ambitious plan down, so I'm starting with just one block  for my picnic/sampler quilt.  That block is the Illinois block (all of the 50 stars pick up a state name from the book).

Illinois Quilt Block

This one gave me a bit more grief than the last square; someday I'm going to just accept the fact that there will be a ton of fabric that goes to waste when paper piecing.  I currently try to use small scraps and inevitably have to unpick and resew everything when my fabric doesn't have enough overlap.  Someday, I may even learn which corners have to match when I'm sewing large sections of the block together.  That day will be an awesome, awesome day.

Even with all of my mistakes, this block still is my (new) favorite.  Do I say that every block?  Regardless, this thing is gorgeous.

Only two 12" squares until I get to make all the easy, little blocks.

Delectable Mountains Block

One more 18" block for the picnic quilt down!  Only one more giant block to go!!

The pattern is here:  www.mccallsquilting.com/patterns/details.html?idx=8016

It went off with only two small hitches (one geometry related and one I-can't-sew-straight related).  Now that  the cold temperatures are back, I might even finish another block before November's up.

Backpacking the Minong Trail on Isle Royale

Rocky ridges on the Minong

During the week following Labor Day, Ali and I were off to check another item off of our things-we-must-do-while-in-Wisconsin list.  (For those of you keeping track, this has also included (1) paddling the Boundary Waters, (2) visiting Pictured Rocks, (3) seeing the Apostle Island Lakeshore - and it's ice caves, (4) hiking in the Porkies, (5) skiing the Birkie, (6) canoeing on the Wisconsin, and (7) hiking parts of the IAT, NCT, and SHT.  We've failed to hike on the SHT and to sea kayak the Apostles.)  This year, the goal was to hike Isle Royale (pronounced "royal" by those in the know).  Isle Royale is the least visited and most re-visited National Park in the US, and there are good reasons for both of those facts.  The island is tough to reach (you have to take one of three ferries or a sea plane in), the logistics are pretty nightmare-ish (where else do you have to choose between hiking like mad or carrying three extra days of provisions in order to leave the park), the park is more crowded than you expect (nearly everyone visits during the month between bugs and cold), and while the established campsites are pretty nice, they don't exactly foster a sense of solitude (visitors are actively discouraged from camping in one spot for more than one/two nights, and the ferry schedule forces people into moving as a group from one site to the next). 

The Voyageur II - Our ride to the island

Ok, so gripes aside, Isle Royale's still pretty cool.  We happened to go during peak eating season; there were ripe blueberries, raspberries, tons of thimble berries (so good), huge beds of wild thyme at McCargoe Cove, and even some peas at Little Todd Harbor.  The island is the home of one of the longest-running predator-prey studies in the US, and it currently houses ~9 wolves and ~500 moose (since the study began in the 50s the island has maxed out at 50 wolves and 2500 moose).

Heading toward the shelters at Windigo

We began our trip at the casino campground in Grand Portage, MN (close enough to Canada that my phone thought we had crossed the border).  We made it into Grand Portage after dark (and also after a disappointing fish fry at the Angry Trout in Grand Marais) and were up the next morning before dawn.  We packed up and were at the ferry before anyone else, including the staff.  Only then did we realize that while MN is in central time, the part of Canada that was talking to my phone (and Isle Royale, which belongs to Michigan) are on eastern.  We had woken up at 4am, not 5 as planned.

With a dry run out to the dock under our belts, we headed back to the reservation's gas station to get (free!) coffee and some thin cord (just in case our non-freestanding tent had to get setup on bedrock).  When we finally made it back to the ferry, there were tons of people on the dock.

McCargoe Cove

Our 8-hour ferry ride (2hrs to the island, and 6hrs to the far side) was chilly, but largely uneventful.  It did convince me that any future trips to the island should be with sea kayaks in the Belle Isle nook, though.  We got our permits and ranger talk at Windigo (the first stop) and were able to start hiking as soon as the ferry made it to Rock Harbor (on the eastern side of the island).  We had roughly 4 hours until sundown with 7 miles to hike - doable, but there would be no lazing about.  We bounced from the shore trail to the inland trail around Suzy's cave, came back to the coast at Three Mile, and were setting up in a shelter at Daisy Farm just after sundown. 

The first day's hike wasn't bad, considering the facts that we were fully-laden and hiking mostly on exposed rock.  The scenery wasn't great.  While the half mile on the inland bay was pretty and the berries were abundant, our hike on the exterior of the island largely had us looking out at the park headquarters.  Daisy Farm was packed with 20-somethings.  Thankfully, someone was able to direct us to the one unclaimed shelter at Daisy Farm shortly after we started looking.  (Most people stay at established campsites on Isle Royale.  Any other camping requires a free backcountry permit, and the terrain is not hospitable.  Many of the frequently-visited sites have screened and rodent-free Adirondack shelters, and a popular place like Daisy Farm will have 20+ shelters and 10 tent sites.  Each shelter hosts one group, whether that group has 8 people or just 1.)

The view from our lunch spot (Day 2)

The next morning, we gobbled handfuls of thimble berries - the shelters were swamped in them - and headed on to the Greenstone Trail (one of the two trails that travels the length of the island).  We started in on our snacks at a beautiful overlook of Sargent Lake and continued hoofing it over to our turn near East Chickenbone.  After passing something like 39 lakes that we were sure would be Chickenbone, we finally made the turn.  Our plans for a break and/or lunch were quickly set aside when we realized how swampy everything was.  We were hiking along boardwalks (with gorgeous Spotted Touch-Me-Not) for quite a while, and our plans for a swim in Chickenbone were foiled both by the general lack of clear shoreline and by the discovery that it's the most leech-ridden lake in the park. 

Touch-me-not

Needless to say, our exhaustion and low blood sugar soon led to poor communication and bad judgement.  We continued hiking for (I'm guessing) two miles when we should have stopped to eat.  I eventually collapsed by a fallen log.  A few minutes later, Ali rounded the bend and grumpily plopped down beside me.  We finally managed to get some food in our bellies, and with the ridge-climbing and descending over for the day, things improved vastly.  Though the hike wasn't insanely long on our second day, our feet were tired by the time we made it into McCargoe Cove.  We soaked them in Superior, declined the chance for a dip (Lake Superior is frigid), but found some thyme to mix into our chicken stew w/ dumplings that evening.  (Fyi, Ali makes some mean chicken stew with fresh herbs.  I would eat that - and love it - in the frontcountry!)  The wind was picking up as evening drew near, but thankfully, we were safely in our shelter when it began to pour.

It rained through the night, and though our camping gear remained dry, we did start the next morning's hike in a steady drizzle.  We were setting out on the Minong Trail (our intended trans-island hike and supposedly the toughest trail in Michigan.)  Between the rain and the damp leaves, Ali & I were soaked through within an hour - at least on our lower halves.  Our goal was for Little Todd Harbor (13.5 miles away), even though 8.2 miles had exhausted us the day before.  The terrain was much more gentle on our third day, and the rain kept us cool as we walked. 

Really fluffy (and extra delicate) lichens

We made Todd Harbor, the halfway point before noon, and easily decided to plow onwards after a lunch break.  The one shelter was occupied by sea kayakers who had paddled a ridiculous amount over the past two days.  They had tried to fit three people under a tiny tarp the night before, and all their belongings were thoroughly drenched.  They commiserated with our soaked socks/boots, and we soon discovered they also came up from the Madison area.  We had a lovely chat about the best cross-country skiing in the area as Ali and I polished off our lunch.  With wrung-out socks and duct-taped feet, the two of us headed away from Todd Harbor to swampier and hillier trails.  We stopped after another mile and a half to care for Ali's impeding blisters (which were far better than usual, but still unpleasant).  After that, our pace began a steady decline.  Through young birch forests and flower-strewn swamps we plodded, hoping to have ticked off a few more miles until we at last came to the Little Todd turn off.  Though the morning rain had cleared off, there were occasional showers that kept us damp or at least humid.  The trail to Little Todd was barely a trail.  We were balancing on rotten logs through marshes and heading steeply downhill when the ground wasn't sodden (and sometimes when it was). 

Sunset at Little Todd

Little Todd was worth all the trouble.  We found ourselves in a beautiful bay; there was a spectacular view out to Thunder Bay, and the skies had cleared, leaving us with crystalline dancing blues, teals, and purples on the lake and a stunning sunset.  The beach was full of the best rock-collection pebbles ever - each one a different color with a different pattern, most of them polished and smooth.  Bone white driftwood accented the beach, and some of the larger logs provided pleasant benches.  Though Superior is cold, we finally gave in and took sponge baths in addition to our evening foot-soak.  The campsite was chock full of women hiking solo and in pairs.  I think a few people had to double up on sites that evening, though we just had to deal with everyone's drying gear.  (Apparently, our site got the most sun.)  The days hike was long, but our dinner/dessert/hot jello drink on the beautiful lake was perfect.  We even got fresh peas and watery raspberries with dinner.  Oh, and the campsite was full of thimble berries again!

Crossing a beaver dam

The next day was a short march over to Lake Desor North.  A fair amount of the walk was on exposed rock, so we got great views of Thunder Bay, even if our feet didn't get the rest they were hoping for.  I started off a little tired and was grateful for the soft birch woods we passed.  Ali became more and more weary as we went along.  (To be fair, this was probably the toughest 6 miles I've seen in the Midwest - we would scramble up one boulder-y escarpment, hike along a rocky spine, avoid the delicate lichens, slip and stumble off of the rock, head into a short patch of woods, and repeat.) 

Lake Desor

We managed to get into Desor North right before the pack made it in, thanks to our morning efficiency.  We got one of the last sites right beside the lake, and we finally got the swim we had been hoping for.  The water was brisk, and the wind didn't help, but my, was it refreshing!  Like the young, energetic people we are, we tucked in for an afternoon nap while all of the older women tromped about exploring, swimming, and reading.  I got up and prepared dinner, which we ate in a tangle of tree branches by the lake.  (Our earlier dock-rock was steadily being soaked by the chop on the lake, but there was half a view and two-butts worth of dry space right against some trees.)  Everyone was planning a good sleep and an early start for the long day into Windigo.

Washington Harbor at Windigo

Our last hiking day started well enough.  We were heading out for a 12.5ish mile hike with the lightest packs of the trip.  As soon as we cleared the woods surrounding Lake Desor, we were back to skipping from one rocky hump to another.  After a couple of foot-bruising miles, we turned to the interior of the island, and began crossing ridges to approach Windigo (an Ojibwe word that translates roughly to cannibalistic boogey-man).  We crossed through an old burn, which was full of spooky trees and a gazillion wildflowers - and man, did the bees like the wildflowers.  We also crossed a handful of beaver dams, delicately balancing on crumbling mud and slippery logs in the middle of very large ponds.  We also got a lovely set of puzzles where boardwalk had collapsed into hip-deep swamps and where log-lined trail had either sunk into knee-deep mud or just disappeared.  There was one particularly memorable swamp where I leaped for all my worth across an 8-foot gap, sent Ali to climb through a thicket of fallen trees and brambles (she was not particularly happy about that), ended up climbing through/over a giant toppled rootball, and still got a boot wet when the log walk I was on gave way. 

There were flavorful raspberries and tiny blueberries, but not nearly enough thimble berries along the way.  The terrain eased up the closer we got to Windigo, with good quality boardwalks and soft dirt.  Ali was 100% wiped after the rocky terrain.  We took as many breaks as we could, but our pace had slowed a ton, and I started worrying that we would be a ways out when it got dark.  Thankfully, we ran into one of our major/only waypoints between 4 and 5.  There was just over a mile to go, but the last half mile (of soft ground) had taken nearly an hour.  Our Windigo swamp shelter was dusky by the time we strolled in, but we did manage to get a shelter, and we even caught a spectacular sunset along Washington Harbor after a quick dinner.

Moose!

Our last day began with some splashing noises coming from the marsh just outside of our screen door.  There were two cow moose!  I had really been hoping to see my first moose, and with 2.5 moose/sq mi on the island, a few finally decided to saunter up on our very last day.  Ali was the one to spot them, and she made sure I got to see them.  The tracks (both moose and wolf) and discarded antlers on the trail were the most that 90% of our ferry got to see.  We took some soap-included sponge baths that didn't do much aside from make us feel better that morning, had a bit of a morning stroll, and caught an excellent ranger talk before we had to load the ferry home.  The departure, as always, was bittersweet.  However, I suspect Ali would have socked me if we had one more day of hiking.

Ok, so take-aways:  (1) Isle Royale was a fun hike.  I'm not sure that the scenery I encountered was completely worth the 10 hours of ferry ride.  A little more solitude would have tipped the scale.  Little Todd, Huginnin Cove, Malone Bay, and Belle Isle seem to be the best spots you can go.  (2) If I was going to do the Minong Trail again, I would just take the ferry to McCargoe Cove.  We went to Rock Harbor because I at least wanted to see a bit of the Greenstone Ridge Trail.  The Greenstone would probably be a cool hike, and if I ever live in Duluth, I'll go hike both it and the Feldtmann Loop.  However, I would have preferred to have a zero day to just enjoy Little Todd or an extra day to make it to Huginnin Cove, which is supposed to be gorgeous.  (3) I think another great option would have been to sea kayak all over the eastern half of the island.  If I'm ever in the region again, I might have to get on a Hoofers trip in mid-August.

Little Todd Harbor

The Selway River: Paddling from Paradise to Selway Falls at Low Water

Who:  16 Current and Former Hoofers
What:  Kayaking (+ 1 Oar Rig) the Selway River
When:  7/18/14 - 7/27/14
Where:  Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness in central Idaho (2nd largest wilderness in the lower 48)
Gauge Info:  Ranged from 2400-1800cfs on the USGS Lowell Gauge - more water than usual for this time of year, but a small percentage of the standard spring/early summer flows
Why:  Super-Awesome Boating

Sixteen folks from five different states converged on Missoula, MT toward the end of July.  We had traveled countless hours to come and run one of the most tightly permitted Wild and Scenic Rivers in the states:  the Selway.  Dan Y., our trip leader, had astounding river lottery luck, winning both the Selway and the Grand Canyon in the same year.

Loading up at the put-in

I was in the first car to arrive; as one of two cars coming from Wisconsin, we had driven straight through the night and were desperately hoping to find a site along the Blackfoot River.  No dice.  The weekenders were out in hordes, and we ended up in a KOA in the middle of Missoula's suburbs.  (And I ended up hammocking in someone else's postage-stamp of a tent site - thank you, very nice Ohio people.)

Over the next couple days, our group filtered in (and we relocated to the Blackfoot campsites).  We enjoyed a couple paddles through the Class II run adjacent to our site, some awesome cocktails at Montgomery Distillery in Missoula, tasty pizza, quality beer, and pre-backcountry ice cream.  We had a few days to sift and winnow through our gear.  I knew that I could fit everything in my club creekboat, but it was nice to find that I wouldn't need to bring a bug net for my hammock!  Some folks tried cramming their boats with rocks/water as a trial run, but I waited until the Selway to figure out just how raft-like my kayak had become.

Ladle Rapid

The day we were slotted to put on, we headed south from Missoula, west into the National Forest, and then along windy gravel roads until we hit Paradise (yep, it's actually the proper name of the put-in).  We ran into a hiker who had scored the old ranger cabin - still stocked with everything you could ask for, and reservable for a pretty modest sum.  He seemed pretty jealous of our impending river trip.  We didn't put on til 3 (I forget which time zone), but we had plenty of daylight to get us to the first campsite - 7 miles downstream.

The first day's paddle wasn't too much of a challenge.  The river at the put-in seemed shockingly low-volume, but low water was only an issue twice for our raft (and never for us wee little hard-shells).  There was some continuous I/II boogie water, and a couple of tougher II+ (supposedly III) rapids (think puzzle rather than pummel).  I knew that I would likely be the weak link of our group, and while the first day largely set me at ease, I did manage to pin myself in the middle of a boulder garden called Galloping Gertie by focusing on charging through a little hole instead of what was downstream of said hole.  One of the folks in my group came back, gave me a shove, and I made it through the rest only slightly shaken.

My favorite camp - Day 4

The first night we were camped on a narrow beach next to a trail bridge, across from a trail crew (who had seen 9 rattle snakes in 5 days!), and surrounded by huckleberries and thimbleberries.  Dinner was couscous with mole, which was rich, salty, and generally amazing.  We got to hang out, chat, swim, and munch on berries well into the evening; the sun didn't set til quite late.  I decided to put my tarp up thanks to some beta from one of the current hoofers, and while the stars were great at bedtime, rain did end up chasing others under the bridge and into pre-arranged tents.

Day two was supposed to be a step up in terms of rapid classifications.  There was one supposed IV ("Ham") on the menu, but the low water turned it into a straightforward series of little holes.  I continued happily following a conservative ex-hoofer downstream, and enjoying the easy II/III water.  We all knew that the next day would be the toughest, even though our biggest rapid wouldn't show up until Day 4.  The hills surrounding us were beautiful, but it was really tough to tear my eyes off the crystal clear water.  Though the rapids and boulder gardens were pretty continuous, there were plenty of eddies.  Bigger rapids tended to have emerald green pools after them; I would look down and see house-sized boulders below me.  Several small streams were feeding into the river, bringing the volume up.  We passed a remote air strip and fishing lodge, and surprisingly, ran into another group on the river!  The permits are set up to allow only one launch per day, but the forest service was running a half dozen oar rigs down to deal with invasive species.  The oar men and their passengers were volunteers who received a un-permitted trip down river and a small per diem.  The ranger in charge was great, and they made sure not to take our choice campsites the rest of the week.

Jake

Our second campsite was at the accurately named Rattlesnake Bar.  Within a half hour of landing, some of the former Hoofers had located Jake, our very own Western Diamondback.  We vacated his area, and got our tarps up as some dark clouds started rolling past a mountain just upstream of us.  I wasn't thrilled with my tarp/hammock set-up, and spent much of the evening tweaking things (and retying them as the wind picked up).  Thai coconut shrimp soup was on the menu; without soy sauce, it would have been perfect.  We pulled out a Cosmopolitan that one of the guys had brought along, and tucked underneath our shelters as the rain started to spit.  The wind was howling by this point, and the trees on the fire-ravaged (far) side of the river started toppling over and sliding down to the banks of the river.  The forest service crew (downstream by now) was almost hit by a tree while they were paddling along.  The weather calmed before everyone went to sleep, and we woke rested for the longest, toughest day.

We swapped our groups around for day four.  (To manage such a large group, we split into two groups each day.)  Our day was supposed to contain several class IVs (Double Drop, Ladle, Little Niagra, and Puzzle Creek), but at our water levels, the rapids were manageable IIIs.  While I managed to take some, ahem, interesting lines down several of the rapids, Day 4 was certifiably my favorite river day.  I got confused about what I was going through on Double Drop (we didn't scout, but had people downstream directing us), and dropped into a monster hole without having a clue about what I was headed into.  I flipped, carped (a poor-technique roll where you try to get air and have no chance of getting rightside up), and would have rolled up on a second attempt, except a would-be rescuer knocked me back into the water.  That was my first swim of the trip, and it left me less than certain about my abilities.  (To be fair, my abilities are not that awesome to begin with.)
Ladle and Little Niagra had some meaty holes, but weren't too bad.  Wa-Poots, a class III rapid, had this amazing, giant standing wave in the middle of the current, and it was, by far, my favorite rapid.  I cut the corner at the end of the rapid, went over a pour-over sideways, but managed to brace my way out of any trouble.

Lunch stop

The other two swims of the trip (one for me and one for Dan P.) were at a shouldn't-have-been-that-difficult rapid near the end of the day.  The river curved left, the water pushed right, and the bottom of the rapid held a meaty hole complete with recirculating room-of-doom (a really strong eddy that traps you against an  escarpment).  I stopped to scout, figured I should ferry left, and then watched as several others had tough-looking lines downstream.  Dan P. didn't ferry, and he ended up flipping early and scraping over a ton of rocks.  I couldn't see him clear the bottom of the rapid, and when our safety boaters grabbed their ropes, I was afraid he was getting recirc'ed in the hole.  Like the calm and collected person I am, I told the third safety boater that came down "Dan flipped, swam, hit a bunch of rocks, and I haven't seen him since."  Of course, the safety boater tore off downstream, managed to get his boat into the room of doom where Dan P. was stuck (banged up, but otherwise ok), and rescued Dan & his gear.  After watching all of this and trying to calm another member of our group (who had a great like), I made most of the necessary ferry, tried desperately to avoid the hole, got surfed, and swam the moment I was upside down.  If I hadn't been so tired and so nervous, I would have been able to roll after about 5 seconds.

Top of Wolf Creek

The rapids continued that day, meaty III after technical III, and we were all looking forward to the highly-endorsed campsite at the end of our long day.  When we got there, a bunch of rafts were already parked there, enjoying a zero day.  The next campsite was also occupied (complete with one very drunk Pope offering the sacrament of Crown Royal).  After miles of tough paddling, we collapsed into my favorite camp of the entire week:  the river curved around this stunning white, sandy beach that slowly gave way to a thin band of rocks before transforming into a pine-laden open sort of woods.  Plenty of tent (and hammock!) space with soft beds of needles.  After two long days of paddling, I was ready for my fancy tortellini and Oreo Jello No-Bake (seriously, No-Bakes are the best thing known to campers).  We had an evening fire, and a chilly, crystal clear night.

Tee-Kem Falls

Thanks to our very long paddle the day before, we only had three miles to make on the fifth day.  Just downstream of our campsite was Wolf Creek rapid, the only actual class IV at our water levels.  Following my spectacular performance the day before, I decided to walk the rapid rather than risk getting my boat pinned.  There was a middle sneak I'm 85% sure that I could have made, but I didn't want to run the hole-filled right line, and I didn't want to get blown into a really, really technical rockfest on the left.  There were only minor rapids until our campsite at Tee-Kem Falls (which apparently can also be a IV at some levels).  Tee-Kem was pretty fun to punch through, especially since I had been taking as many sneaks as possible.  The campsite had another nice beach, with a bunch of boulders perfect for spectating along the rapid.

We were in camp by noon, so we had a perfect day of swimming, fishing, cramming 5-8 people in a double duck, cliff jumping, and generally goofing off.  I swam early off of the duck, possibly knocking everyone else out, after my shoulder gave out mid-stroke.  Though I then got run over by the massive inflatable, the duck's carnage run was 100% worth the scrapes.  Dinner was Mango Chicken Curry with Lentils, which claimed the favorite-meal slot.  Desserts, various snacks, and cut-throat trout were passed around as everybody tried to finish off their excess food.  We had another campfire, another chilly night, and the Milky Way was blazingly bright when I woke up around 3am.

Impending Doom

The last day was bittersweet.  I needed a couple more days to really switch into wilderness mode, but the trip had been spectacular.  We drove out of the forest, said our goodbyes to the group in Missoula, and set out on our long drive home.

The view from my hammock the last night

Though I spent a lot of time on this trip trying to figure out if I should continue kayaking (or give up my forever-rookie attempts and switch over to paddle rafting with Ali), I couldn't have asked for a trip along a better stretch of river, and I can't imagine going on a river with better companions.

Our Flotilla

For more pictures and a second opinion, check out 1000daysbetween.com.  That Hoofer has also come out with a book that you can find on Amazon.

Three Days in Porcupine Mountain Wilderness State Park (aka the Porkies)

 

Over the Fourth’s long weekend, three of us headed up to go backpacking through the Porkies.  Since Ali & I are still breaking in new gear and our compatriot was new to the whole backpacking thing, we aimed for ~28 miles over three days.  We were going to head out on the Lake Superior Trail, connect to either the Little Carp River Trail or the Correction Trail (we ended up taking the former for a longer loop), and come out on the North Mirror Lake Trail.

Ali's Version of Indian Paintbrush

 

The weather was spectacular on our first trail day.  The lake was the calmest I’ve ever seen it, and while our buddy was getting eaten alive (probably due to some patchy DEET application and an even greater sensitivity to bites than I exhibit), the mosquitoes generally left Ali & I alone.  There were a ton of other hikers out for the weekend; I think we passed 8+ backpacking groups and dozens of day hikers over the course of the weekend (as opposed to the one solo backpacker/skier that’s been typical of our Porkies trips).  Though we were a little nervous that we wouldn’t get a site on Lake Superior, everything worked out well.  We had plenty of daylight hours left in camp, and plenty of stable flies to pass the time with.  (Thank goodness they weren’t really hungry til the next morning!)

One of several different mystery white flowers

Lunch Spot - Day 1

On the second day, the three of us turned inland.  We had a mix of woods, pseudo bogs, creek crossings, and lakes that kept the scenery varied.  We also, unfortunately, had some gol-darned nasty bitey flies for all of breakfast and the first 40 minutes of the hike.  (And we heard it every last time our buddy was bit.)  

The stable flies do stay pretty close to the lake, so once we were into the woods, bugs were no longer a problem.  Additionally, once we were well into the woods, we got to trek along the Little Carp, which was full of spectacular little cascades.  The temperatures were a bit warmer the second day, so we made sure to take both mid-day and end-of-day dips.  

Lake Superior - Campsite #1

We had several river fords; none got our feet wet

After lunch at the Overlooked Falls, we headed down into a marshier area.  Without the distraction of a creek, Ali & I both started noticing our newly formed blisters a little more; our friend seemed to be flagging as well.  I started racing/slacking in order to gain a bit of solitude, but we pushed on past the surprisingly scenic lake labeled “Lily Pond” on our maps and made it in to Mirror Lake for the evening. 

The Lily Pond

Mirror Lake - Campsite #2

Mirror Lake was swampier than the Lily Pond, and I was nervous about the night’s mosquito flock.  There was no need to worry though; a storm rolled in right around dinnertime, and kept us hemmed up in our tent all night.  The storm also managed to throw a couple centimeters of water into the bottom of our tent (thank you leaking side-of-bathtub-floor).  Thanks to our 2” waterproof sleeping mats and the fact that it was a warm last night out, we didn’t lose too much sleep.

Mini-gorge

Our last day on the trail was a pretty straight shot out to the car.  There was one really cool miniature creek gorge that we hiked along for half a mile or so, but otherwise the scenery was unremarkable until the Lake of the Clouds overlook.  We missed the chance for a cool dip in Lake of the Clouds (too reedy).  However, we did get to see a gazillion really cute baby frogs.  The stable flies kept us from an alternate Lake Superior dip, but our quick escape did get us back to Mad-town for supper.

Baby Frog

Lake of the Clouds (at the end of our hike)