Historic Lodge Restoration Efforts Reveal Time-Capsule

Well, not an intended time-capsule anyway.  We removed the half logs from the railing wall on the porch today.  In the space between the logs we found a whole lot of "junk" from the 1940's(approx.).  It was a fun surprise during an otherwise tedious day of prying off logs.  We never knew what the next section would hold.  Some of our favorite finds were an old fishing lure, a license plate, a canteen, dozens of hilarious old candy wrappers and an empty tobacco tin with its colors in such great shape it might be worthy of display in our lodge museum.  I hope you enjoy the pictures!

Mixed Berry Jam!

Adam and I just finished making our first batch of homemade mixed berry jam with berries picked right from the Gunflint Trail!  A mix of blueberry, blackberry, strawberry and raspberry were the sweet pickings from the summer.  We weren't expecting blackberries to show up when we went out to pick blueberries, but they were a nice surprising addition.  I do have to say it is pretty tasty, so here's to hoping it will last longer than a few days.

Gunflint Trail Garage Sale-Used Canoes and Equipment

Clearwater Lodge is the first stop on this weekends Gunflint Trail wide garage sale.  We will be selling a lot of camping/outfitting equipment including Granite Gear portage packs, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, stuff sacks, pots and pans and cooking utensils, stoves and a variety of tents.  We will also be selling canoes including Alumacrafts, a Wenonah MNII Kevlar canoe, a Wenonah Encounter Solo Kevlar canoe and one Bell Northwoods Kevlar canoe.  As always we will be selling baked goods, but will be running some specials this weekend so come on in for some camping equipment and pie!

Summer Sights

Recent guests Latta and Janice Johnston shared with us some spectacular pictures from their stay, and we are happy to be able to share them with all of you.  Enjoy  

Historic Lodge Restoration

With the 100 year anniversary of Clearwater as a business only a year away we thought it was time the main lodge got a face lift.  The lodge is 88 years old and its logs are covered in multiple layers of stain and thick paint and in need of cleaning.  The paint has begun to crack and flake leaving the logs exposed to the elements.  This exposure has also left some logs too rotten for simple refinishing; they need to be replaced.  We will be teaching ourselves how to do that this fall.  For now we have begun the long process of stripping, scraping, sanding and re-staining, we expect the whole process to take until next summer.  We will keep everybody updated to progress. 

Ice Out!

We are calling it.  Winters official time of death 5/18/14, 7:24 pm.  If there is any ice left out there I couldn't find it.  It coincided with a nice calm night allowing us the seasons first palisade reflection.  Come on up, spring is finally here!

Ice Update 5/17/14

If you look hard enough you can see the ice sheet out at the point.

Ice Update 5/16/14

With shifting winds today's ice update looks like we've gained ice.  Temperatures below freezing at night and barely cracking 40 during the day has made little head way in getting rid of this rotten ice.  We are still optimistic it will be out by Sunday, but are all about as sick of winter as one can be.

Ice Update 5/14/14

Slowly but surely.

Ice Update 5-13-14

Ice out is only days away.

Tonight's Ice Update

Here is quick shot of the ice from this evening.  Today's wind and rain has really battered the ice.  More rain and wind is forecast for tonight and sunshine on Wednesday has us all thinking it will be out by this weekend.

Current Ice Conditions

 Two days in a row of temperatures in the 60's and clear blue skies has all of us doubting reality.  In fact though it is real and it seems like spring is starting to win the annual bout for season supremacy.  Most of the small lakes in the area will be going out today or tomorrow.  I urge you not to hold me to this prediction but Clearwater Lake is looking like it will be out by next weekend.

Ice

This is the view down Clearwater Lake from Cabin 6 from yesterday.  There are large dark patches and open water along most shorelines.  These are both great signs.  I would post a picture of the ice from today but the lake is shrouded in thick fog.  Our bets for ice out at the lodge range from May 11-May 20.

The Slow March to Spring Continues

Progress?

We've managed to rid ourselves of the foot of snow we received last week and are back to working on the old piles.  This past week brought cool temps with intermittent light snow/rain showers.  We mostly missed out on the heavy rains received by folks central/southern Minnesota.  Temperatures are staying above freezing at night which is a big help, and the latest forecast has us sitting under sunny 50 degree skies by Sunday.

The Countdown Begins

Winter has just barely begun to loosen its eight month death grip on the north country and the light at the end of the tunnel is no longer a figment of our frosty imaginations but a glorious reality.

Open Water Memories

Here are a couple more days from one of my late fall Quetico paddling adventures.

October 9, 2012 Batchewaung Lake Quetico Provincial Park

 Cold winds usher out the rain overnight, and we pack up under low hanging clouds.  The featureless gray ceiling of clouds we have become accustomed to begin breaking up, and the seemingly unsympathetic sun appears.  Our damp crew heads north, towards our first portage.  Multiple beaver dams are overcome before we reach the actual portage.  I am happy to deal with them in daylight, instead of the gloom we would have surely fumbled through last night, had we not found a site.  We haul over into Walter Lake and elude increasing winds by paddling the shadows of steep shorelines.  Walter’s black waters open up and we are forced to deal with the wind.  Carefully we quarter into northwest breezes.  Nefarious dark blobs whirl out of the horizon and spit bitter drizzle at us.  It is the beginning of a trend.  Throughout the day we would work to stay ahead of capricious skies, constantly doffing and donning rain gear.  After a short carry into Elizabeth we reach the 740 meter portage into Jesse, the longest since our struggle through the quagmire south of Trant Lake.  The well-worn track winds through open stands of jack pine, and up and over numerous slight hills before opening up into an expansive beach.  Obviously wolves use it more than humans.  A dozen picturesque islands provide shelter and we easily paddle up Jesse.  The portage into Maria is immaculate.  Portions of it have been built up with gravel and channels for drainage.  It is clear we are getting close to the edge of the park.  After a short paddle and a shorter portage we drop packs on the shores of Pickerel Lake.  Temperatures have been dropping all day, and the drizzle turns to snow.  The snow squalls pick up in frequency and intensity, making for painful progress.  A nasty one rears up as we turn west.  Our red bare hands are easy prey for the biting gusts.  Whizzing chunks of slush sting the face and jab our eyes.  I can barely look up.  We fight our way into the Batchewaung Narrows and gain some respite.  The idea we would make it up to Nym Lake disappears with the sun and the sight of hulking whitecaps blanketing the surface of Batchewaung Bay.  We’ll be lucky to make it much farther at all.  We linger long enough for the squall to taper, make our move and swiftly work towards the closest island.  The cry for a fleece glove from our red aching hands is ignored as we thrust paddles out of necessity into the frosty water.  Try not to dwell on the pain.  As soon as our canoe reaches the leeward side of the island we shove stiff fingers into armpits and double over.  After warming our throbbing hands slightly we move on down the shore and find a campsite.  Half of the site is exposed, but the back half offers much needed protection from the bracing gales and the thickets surrounding the site are choked with dead downed trees.  Considering the strenuous day we seem set up for a pleasant night.  Northwest winds pick up during our stir fry dinner and the snow starts accumulating.  I take one last look at an increasingly wintry scene as I draw the zipper on the tent, and dream in color.  Golden reflections of emerald and cerulean loom over a tiny white canoe.  Beneath a cloudless sky it drifts towards a warm horizon where it teeters a second before sinking with the sun.

October 10-11, 2012 Atikokan, Ontario

Noticeably calmer winds and colder temperatures greet us as we wake.  Heavy frost encases everything.  As the weakening sun pokes through the tree line we stoke a fire and decide to leave camp set up while we spend two days in Atikokan.  This allows for a quicker departure and soon we are moving easily into light headwinds.  The sun breaks free of the horizon into a sky filled with tiny gray wisps, which rarely diminish its full potential.  It has been a week since the sun has warmed our backs and the glorious natural warmth encourages us to move consciously towards the only portage of the day.  Minds reflect and stomachs yearn as we coast towards the completion of the first leg of our journey and Poutine Deluxe.  The portage out of Batchewaung is heavily dusted with glittering snow.  An uncontrollable smile creeps across my face as I climb towards Nym Lake.  There is a curious magic in portaging through a white wilderness.  Invigorated, we make double time across the cabin blemished shoreline of Nym.  The whole time our eyes are locked on a blurry green and white sign that I know is the landing.  We know we’ve made it when finally our eyes discern the mystic word “Quetico”.  Canoes are stashed, and we begin following a faint yellow stripe down the middle of a long neglected public access road, soon it deposits us next to a bullet hole riddled stop sign and the Trans-Canadian-Highway.   We drop our pack and paddles on the shoulder as a bulky logging truck roars by drawing with it a swirling cloud of freshly fallen snow.  A Wednesday morning is apparently not the best time to try and hitch a ride in the middle of Ontario as we stare down an empty highway in both directions for 10 minutes.  Just as we start thinking of walking the 11 miles the first truck to pass stops.  Synthetic warmth oozes out of the passenger window as he asks us where were heading, Atikokan of course.  We hop into his cozy cab and within a minute are hurtling dizzyingly past a blurring landscape.  A bit of small talk reveals that the hydroelectric plant (who knew?) is currently being overhauled by men and women from across this great province.  As we swing into the insipid outskirts of Atikokan I wonder what effect an influx of non-native construction workers will have on the availability of rooms in the few local hotels.  Quickly we realize it is having a total affect as the words “No Vacancy” glower from every hotel window in town.  I have never seen moods shift from resplendent to despondent so swiftly.  We ask our gracious chauffeur to drop us at The Outdoorsman Cafe where we can at the very least accomplish packing our gullets to capacity with poutine deluxe. 

For most corn-fed Yankees the term poutine might conjure images of peculiar colored bits of what appears to be food meticulously arranged atop pure white plates.  Thin artsy swirls of orange crisscross the square(!) plate making the whole meal even more befuddling.  This surely is one of the very few plates of food in an Americans life that would cause them to stop and ask “How do I eat this?”  Poutine deluxe is the opposite of all that, and I cannot comprehend how this meal is not an institution in the States as it is in Canada.  Essentially poutine is gravy on fries, or as The Outdoorsman sees it, fries in gravy.  What makes it deluxe is the addition of ground beef, onions, tomatoes and shredded cheese.  This makes it a meal that one could not possibly find peculiar, or confusing to eat.  The only question’s you’ll ask is how to acquire more, and where a napkin is.

The gorging distracts us briefly.  We come to terms with our dire situation over bloated abdomens.  At 2pm we find ourselves four hours removed from our beds in a bed-less town.   A town that would typically be ecstatic to give away a hotel room to an itinerant wolf is apparently and vexingly booked solid.  Either we need to force a retreat back to camp immediately or find a bed.  The only other place in this god-forsaken town I can imagine offering us repose is Canoe Canada Outfitters.  While the others come to terms with the onslaught of gravy I totter up town towards a faint possibility.  From a block away I can see stacks of canoes, parked transport vans, and boarded doors and windows.  Being this late in the season I wouldn’t be surprised if they were closed, but fortunately the plywood door opens.  Obviously they are not up to full operational status, with stacked boxes of merchandise and cleaning materials blocking the entrance.  After a brief explanation of my sordid crews’ desperate situation the owner and operator Jim (who seems as shocked as we at the lack of rooms in town) offers us a bunkhouse for the night; I almost jump and click my heels together.  Successful, I strut back to my gravy laden comrades and break the news.  Our glorious moods return and we spend the rest of the day resupplying in leisure, guzzling Canadian lagers, and returning to the Outdoorsman for massive pizzas, knowing warm dry beds await us at the end of the day.        

                Through the foggy window of our eerily empty bunkhouse I stare at the orange glow of a single streetlight illuminating the blowing sleet and ruminate.  I find myself fortunate to be in this warm wooden building full of wool blanket, hot showers and mattresses, but I can’t wait to leave.  Atikokan in October helps one appreciate the untouched wilds of Quetico more than any city I’ve ever visited.  Our adventure up to this point has been just that.  It has been filled with daring and exciting moments; unusual and hazardous moments; character elucidating moments.  Enthusiastically I anticipate more.  Its why we’re here.  

Cabin Fever

Even though the days grow longer, we are still in the heart of winter.  Thoughts of soft water, warm nights and new routes through the BWCA and Quetico increase as we draw closer.  The mind travels, but unfortunately the body cannot follow, yet.  At best we can relive old trips, and plan new ones.  The best part about keeping a journal during Boundary Waters trips is enjoying them on cold January nights.  Even entries involving driving rain and heavy winds entice when the thermometer drops below zero.  Maybe some of my experiences will stir your imagination in planning this summers adventure...

Oct 8, 2012~Lonely Lake-Quetico Provincial Park

Considering the forecast rain, the tough days leading up to now, and the desire to fish, we decide to make it a shorter day.  Scripture Island on Sturgeon is our easily attainable goal.  We begin the day as we have the past four, under decidedly complete gray skies.  The map shows four portages between us and Fred Lake.  At this point in the life of Cutty Creek, its waters are much diminished.  The first marked portage turns into two, and our ankles are put through the rigors of traversing algae covered rocks of a drained narrows.  The portage out of Nan Lake is there, but so is an unmarked second portage, around a set of dry rapids.  We portage four times, when expecting to portage twice, it makes everyone angry.  The landings are littered with unstable rocks and muck warming the blood even further.  As we cross the second to last “marked” portage Tori takes a spill and slams her knee cap into exposed rock, and it starts raining.  Tempers are close to boiling over at this point.  It has been a slow and irritating start to the day.  Standing on an expansive beach on the south side of Fred Lake we celebrate our final release from the vexing grasp of Cutty Creek.  We can hardly anticipate the trials still waiting for us.  The precipitation is in constant flux.  One moment it is barely noticeable, the next it drives into us, determined to soak us to the bone.  Our boats thread the narrows between Fred and Heron Bay, and out into Sturgeon Lake proper.  It is early in the day yet, and the rain still ambivalent, so we decide to press on past Scripture Island.  This means we have two more portages if we want to camp on Lonely Lake.  A downpour ensues as we reach the first of two portages.  Again moods sour.  After two short steep climbs up to an unnamed creek we stop for lunch.  Huddled under a clump of spruce trees we enjoy peanut butter and Nutella tortillas.  Nobody says anything, were soaked.  Slick angled rocks invite us for a swim at the landing.  We decide it better to load canoes and be on our way.  The half-way point of the creek is blocked by a two foot high beaver dam.  I sigh as our canoe slams into it.  Tori hops out, I scramble over packs and we both lug the packed canoe up and over, then Tori scrambles to the bow.  This is a skill we would continue to master throughout the coming weeks.  As the canoe slides out into higher water I jump in, and try giving us one more shove off.  My foot hunts for something solid, finding nothing it searches deeper, then my knee starts looking.  From the depths my leg yells out, “Hey, I think that arm should help look, and send Tori down here while you’re at it.”  The canoe lurches to the left; quickly we adjust and send it wobbling back to the right.  Our gunnel kisses the rain pocked surface of the creek, and for an instant I picture us floundering in the bottomless squalid muck.  As the canoe comes back level Tori turns and offers a glare that threatens my manhood.  All I offer in return is, “whoops.”  Through pouring rain we press on, climb over the last portage and start probing for someplace high and dry to lay our heads.  We deem the first site unworthy, and head out into the open part of the lake.  Considering the relentless rain, Lonely Lake is stunning.  An ominous dark blue wall of clouds quickly wheels up from the southwest and catches us off guard.  Swiftly our tranquil (albeit wet) scene turns to chaos.  White caps materialize in minutes and the rain becomes a torrent.  We need to find a site.  Our two diminutive boats move towards the north shore, where the Fisher map promises campsites.  Only one site is found.  Closer scrutiny reveals it could not possibly provide us with safe shelter.  Most of the already flooded site rests on a barren spit of Canadian Shield that juts out into the whipping elements.  It seems like a nice summer spot.  Everybody wants to stop, but we can’t.  The waves are lumbering masses now, making the last mile of the day the most harrowing.  We are relieved to find a tolerable spot on the last point of the lake.  If it had not existed, our weary group would have been forced to press on into dimming wilderness, attempting two more portages, a scary thought.  Hastily we pitch camp in the unyielding deluge.  I plunge into the dripping forest hoping for dry wood.  My rain gear had kept me mostly dry up to this point, but slogging through this water-park proves to be their breaking point.  Every time I bump a tree it dumps gallons of water on me.  By the time I return with a few scraps of wood it looks as if I've been for a swim.  I’m soaked to the skin.  The previous occupants of this modest site were thoughtful enough to leave behind a nice stack of wood under the bench next to the fire.  With this mostly dry wood we light a fire and start drying out, one layer at a time.  After finishing rice and beans with kielbasa, exhaustion hits us like a wet wool blanket.  The rain recedes slightly as we unzip sleeping bags.  They’re the only dry place for miles.