Newfound to Moose...More Wind.
We entered Newfound Lake after a 31 rod portage. At this point, were on the final section of our exit, but not the final leg of the trip. We had to paddle Newfound Lake and down into Moose Lake with winds that were steadily beginning to increase as the day grew longer. Paddling down Newfound in a stiff breeze was still intimidating as all hell to me, but I was becoming comfortable with how to work through it to get back home. I was bound and determined at this point that I wasn't going to let this lake defeat me. It really wasn't easy. All the events of the previous day were sitting right on top of my head the whole time. My family, the danger that I was in, the possible outcome...
We were supposed to hold to a shore hugging tactic to navigate the waters of the last two lakes we had to cross. Instead, Paul and I paddled out and into the more open areas of the lakes, taking on the choppier water from the breezes. The weren't so intimidating as yesterday's rollers, but were causing the canoe to move around quite a bit. I managed to keep my anxiety in check and went with the course that Paul had picked out.
Newfound began to wear on me after an hour or so of fighting the winds, paddling faster and harder when they picked up and smacked us in the face, and easing a bit to rest before the next gust of wind blew up and at us. I was getting tired, and a little hungry. We had to forego breakfast at the island to be able to get packed and off before it got too late, so none of us had anything to eat that morning. About two thirds of the way down, a float plane popped from over the ridge above the lake and flew low at us and back across toward where we just came from. As he passed, I waved my paddle at him. They were apparently looking for us. I felt a little hope at this point at knowing that at least someone was aware of our presence and position should things not work out for the group. It circled around and came back at us, from back to front and disappeared back over the ridge it came at us from.
By then, we had made it down to the push through between Newfound and Moose. The breezes were picking up in both intensity and frequency as we got closer and close to Moose Lake. We had been making steady ground for the last couple of hours. I focused in on what I was doing by picking out an object on the shore and tried to paddle for it, like a lifeline...but eventually, those lifelines would be farther and farther away, as we rounded into Moose Lake. It was only a mile and a half from the confluence between the lakes and the landing, with a couple of smallish islands a half mile up and the larger island that sits in the middle of and directly across from the landing.
This is an area that the locals refer to "The Slot." Remember that the banks of these lakes are generally steep, often sheer and ringed with ridgetops which capture and funnel the wind, intensifying it as it rushes up the lake. Ensign and the middle lake were roundy sort of lakes, but Newfound and Moose especially were long and narrow lakes, pointing in the direction that the wind was coming from. We now faced the Mighty Moose for the last leg of our trip...and we would earn every inch, every foot, every yard before reaching the landing.
Agian, instead of keeping to the shorelines, Paul and I headed straight up the middle of the lake...paddling through wind gusts and increasing swells on the surface. The bow of the canoe heaved and bobbed. My hands and muscles were cramping as I switched from one side then the other trying to help Paul keep our faces into the wind. Legs cold and stiff, beard full of ice, toes freezing as the leveraged themselves around on the bottom of the canoe. If we went broadside this time, we would capsize. That danger was very real and very near the front of my thoughts for the next hour as we fought our way down the Slot past the smallish islands and toward the larger island across from the landing. It was all I could do to fight to get the canoe where it needed to be, pitching and heaving and bobbing around in the increasing swells.
Clearing the tip of the island, we got out of the wind just long enough to regain some of our compsure and rest tired achy muscles a bit before being hit in the face again by icy wind and waves. On the island, directly across from the landing there's one of those brown Forest Service natoinal park signs welcoming you to the BWCAW. When we hit that the wind started back on us. Fierce and relentless, the final twenty minutes was a struggle the likes I have never been through. Riding swells as the picked the bow up and slammed us into the next trough...grabbing swells with the paddle blade and trying to push us up and across the trough to the next swell. We literally paddled as if our lives depended on it. It was all we could do to keep the canoe pointed into the wind as it hit us a little off the starboard bow, pushing us out into the middle part of the lake. Twenty minutes...that's how long it took, I reckon, for us to get pushed across the final section of the lake and onto the landing and home. Even as we neared the shore, my muscles failing, cold, sweating inside my windbreaker, ice in my beard, on my eyelids...on the bow of the canoe, on the shaft of my paddle...I felt us slowly start to be pushed backwards, away from the landing, but still slowly toward shore.
Finally, the canoe stalled out on land as we hit shore. We landed on the very last section of landing there was...a few yards down from the main part of the landing. We didn't care...Paul jumped out of the back of the canoe and beached it...I was so exhausted from the crossing that I didn't get out right away...but when I did...I almost fell over. My legs were cold and stiff, my feet like icicles. I tossed my paddle to the ground and Paul and I shouted and hugged each other. The lake didn't defeat me. I had won...well, WE had won against it.
All that was left of our trip was to worry about our other companions some minutes behind us yet. They had opted for the longer bus somewhat safer transit by hugging the shore more closely. They still had the fight at the end, but were spared a lot of the turbulence b hugging the shore. Twenty minutes later, we had all beached out canoes and portaged our gear and the boats back to the vehicles and loaded up. A half hour later we were headed into a blinding snow fromt that pushed up and into Moose Lake, obliterating any visibility. A half hour after that, the six of us are at the Ely Steakhouse downing burgers and cozying up to the fireplace and planning next year's trip.
We were supposed to hold to a shore hugging tactic to navigate the waters of the last two lakes we had to cross. Instead, Paul and I paddled out and into the more open areas of the lakes, taking on the choppier water from the breezes. The weren't so intimidating as yesterday's rollers, but were causing the canoe to move around quite a bit. I managed to keep my anxiety in check and went with the course that Paul had picked out.
Newfound began to wear on me after an hour or so of fighting the winds, paddling faster and harder when they picked up and smacked us in the face, and easing a bit to rest before the next gust of wind blew up and at us. I was getting tired, and a little hungry. We had to forego breakfast at the island to be able to get packed and off before it got too late, so none of us had anything to eat that morning. About two thirds of the way down, a float plane popped from over the ridge above the lake and flew low at us and back across toward where we just came from. As he passed, I waved my paddle at him. They were apparently looking for us. I felt a little hope at this point at knowing that at least someone was aware of our presence and position should things not work out for the group. It circled around and came back at us, from back to front and disappeared back over the ridge it came at us from.
By then, we had made it down to the push through between Newfound and Moose. The breezes were picking up in both intensity and frequency as we got closer and close to Moose Lake. We had been making steady ground for the last couple of hours. I focused in on what I was doing by picking out an object on the shore and tried to paddle for it, like a lifeline...but eventually, those lifelines would be farther and farther away, as we rounded into Moose Lake. It was only a mile and a half from the confluence between the lakes and the landing, with a couple of smallish islands a half mile up and the larger island that sits in the middle of and directly across from the landing.
This is an area that the locals refer to "The Slot." Remember that the banks of these lakes are generally steep, often sheer and ringed with ridgetops which capture and funnel the wind, intensifying it as it rushes up the lake. Ensign and the middle lake were roundy sort of lakes, but Newfound and Moose especially were long and narrow lakes, pointing in the direction that the wind was coming from. We now faced the Mighty Moose for the last leg of our trip...and we would earn every inch, every foot, every yard before reaching the landing.
Agian, instead of keeping to the shorelines, Paul and I headed straight up the middle of the lake...paddling through wind gusts and increasing swells on the surface. The bow of the canoe heaved and bobbed. My hands and muscles were cramping as I switched from one side then the other trying to help Paul keep our faces into the wind. Legs cold and stiff, beard full of ice, toes freezing as the leveraged themselves around on the bottom of the canoe. If we went broadside this time, we would capsize. That danger was very real and very near the front of my thoughts for the next hour as we fought our way down the Slot past the smallish islands and toward the larger island across from the landing. It was all I could do to fight to get the canoe where it needed to be, pitching and heaving and bobbing around in the increasing swells.
Clearing the tip of the island, we got out of the wind just long enough to regain some of our compsure and rest tired achy muscles a bit before being hit in the face again by icy wind and waves. On the island, directly across from the landing there's one of those brown Forest Service natoinal park signs welcoming you to the BWCAW. When we hit that the wind started back on us. Fierce and relentless, the final twenty minutes was a struggle the likes I have never been through. Riding swells as the picked the bow up and slammed us into the next trough...grabbing swells with the paddle blade and trying to push us up and across the trough to the next swell. We literally paddled as if our lives depended on it. It was all we could do to keep the canoe pointed into the wind as it hit us a little off the starboard bow, pushing us out into the middle part of the lake. Twenty minutes...that's how long it took, I reckon, for us to get pushed across the final section of the lake and onto the landing and home. Even as we neared the shore, my muscles failing, cold, sweating inside my windbreaker, ice in my beard, on my eyelids...on the bow of the canoe, on the shaft of my paddle...I felt us slowly start to be pushed backwards, away from the landing, but still slowly toward shore.
Finally, the canoe stalled out on land as we hit shore. We landed on the very last section of landing there was...a few yards down from the main part of the landing. We didn't care...Paul jumped out of the back of the canoe and beached it...I was so exhausted from the crossing that I didn't get out right away...but when I did...I almost fell over. My legs were cold and stiff, my feet like icicles. I tossed my paddle to the ground and Paul and I shouted and hugged each other. The lake didn't defeat me. I had won...well, WE had won against it.
All that was left of our trip was to worry about our other companions some minutes behind us yet. They had opted for the longer bus somewhat safer transit by hugging the shore more closely. They still had the fight at the end, but were spared a lot of the turbulence b hugging the shore. Twenty minutes later, we had all beached out canoes and portaged our gear and the boats back to the vehicles and loaded up. A half hour later we were headed into a blinding snow fromt that pushed up and into Moose Lake, obliterating any visibility. A half hour after that, the six of us are at the Ely Steakhouse downing burgers and cozying up to the fireplace and planning next year's trip.
posted by in.dog.neato at 5:17 PM
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