To find a campsite

Jackie’s superb navigational skills wound us past Lone Squaw Island, Sweetnose Island, and Cemetery Island into a very calm bay on the lee side of Namakan Island. In a torrential downpour we set up the tarp. Throwing off our rain gear, and boiling water for tea, we were dry, warm, and content.

Sailing a canoe is a fickle proposition. Usually on trips like this, you paddle about 50% of the time. Too little wind, perfect wind, or too much wind dictates the day. This trip was different. We sailed almost the entire week. The wind gods were always with us. I spent most of the week laying back in the seat, feet on my food pack, steering with one hand, drifting through the bays, islands, and channels. This was coastal cruising at its best. Jackie had it only a bit harder. All the islands, bays, twist and turns could have been a navigational nightmare. Even so, she never missed a heading, always knowing what was coming around the next bend before we rounded the corner.

Headed for Kettle Falls

Overcast skies greeted us as we lounged on a rock, sipping coffee. Today we were headed north through Voyageur Channel, then east through Squirrel Channel, ending up somewhere around Kettle Falls Hotel. Built in 1910, the hotel is on the National Registry of Historic Places. Accessible by water only, it is at the land connection between Rainy and Namakan Lake. Suffering from haphazard construction and freeze and thaw action, by 1940 the floor and ceiling were as rippled as the waves we were sailing through. Even after major reconstruction, a small part of the bar was still left sliding downhill. The pool table was leveled to accommodate the floor, making uphill shots a problem. This just added to the ambiance. Jackie and I shot pool, drank beer, plugged money into the jukebox, and talked to the fishermen who were really enjoying Jackie’s company, as she was the only gal in town.

Having too much fun to leave, we ambled over to the restaurant, devouring two giant Rib Eye steaks, with homemade fries. That night we both woke up to the almost full moon escaping from the continual cloud cover.

Portage over to Rainy Lake

I have always enjoyed portaging my canoe and packs to the next body of water. Steeped in history, it is usually the only way to travel through the border country. But not today. For $10 we lifted my canoe with outriggers, rudder, sail, and mast attached onto a flat bed trailer, threw the packs on, and while I moved the canoe slightly back and forth to avoid tangling the 12 foot mast in the trees, we traveled the quarter mile to Rainy Lake.

Reefing our mainsail we headed west toward Anderson Bay. Rainy Lake lived up to its reputation for wild wind, with waves to match. Arriving at Windmill Rock campsite (renamed Magic Moon Campsite) by early afternoon, we spent the next three hours following rock cairns along granite outcroppings to Peary Lake, one of many inland lakes on the Kabetogama Peninsula. We arrived home at dusk, gathered some firewood and settled in for the night. Jackie sketched the shoreline in the fading light, while I made dinner and tea. The full moon appeared as if by magic from the cloud cover, and for a good five minutes we sat mesmerized by its size and brilliance. It disappeared as fast as it appeared, but sometime in the night broke through the clouds again, throwing an eerie glow over all of Anderson Bay.

The wind shifted during the night, and under full sail and full sun, with steady winds we headed back east, this time down the Canadian Channel, winding our way toward Namakan Lake. I proclaimed it the best day of sailing I have ever had. That night at Catamaran Campsite the wolf/deer struggle for survival was followed by another spectacular moon. Ghost stories by moonlight filled the air. I think I scared Jackie a bit with some off the wall memories. We awoke to a frosty morning. Hovering mist blanketed the water, slowly burning off as the sun rose over the horizon. Winding south, we drifted past islands and bays. We explored the burned out remains of Mica Island, looking for the Lost Mine. Never found the Mine, but enjoyed bushwhacking through the charred forest.

Our last campsite was on Namakan Island. Still sunny and about 75 degrees, we swam and bathed, removing a week's worth of grit from our bodies. Lying on the sun-heated rocks I could not think of anywhere on earth I would rather be. As the afternoon drifted into evening, a slowly moving storm front stalled directly in front of us. Two tent pads were at this site. One in the woods, the other on an exposed rocky outcrop right over the water. We chose the exposed site. Sitting on the dock, the lightening flashes and “rattle your bones” thunder claps kept us mesmerized for over an hour before it started to rain.

And rain it did. It came down in sheets, all night, only letting up when the sun came peeking over the horizon.