Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes area is a peaceful refuge for world-weary visitors.

By Katie Block

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As I sat quietly in the front of my canoe, the world truly seems to be at my fingertips. Pushing calmly through a lake laden with lily pads, I realized how a journey a thousand miles from home helped me find peace.

Like every other college student, by the end of my second year, I was stressed out. I had reached the point where the mere thought of reading another textbook or writing another research paper seemed like an insurmountable task. Although Humboldt County may seem like the perfect location for a tired soul to relight its flame, I needed to get out of the area completely. I needed to go to a place where I could renew my faith in the future and do some deep-rooted soul searching.

The minute finals were over, I was off to Minnesota. Intrigued by pictures in Paddler magazine and articles describing the area’s timeless reputation for tranquility, I journeyed to the Boundary Waters. My dad, on a similar journey, facing his climactic midlife, joined me.

“What if something happens to you? Wouldn’t you rather go on a cruise or something?” Our family questioned the trip with understandable concern. Honestly, I was also a little worried; weekend camping trips were the only outdoor experience I had prior to this journey. Spending a week in the land of 10,000 lakes with nothing more than a map and some camping gear may have seemed a little crazy, but it was just what we needed.

The Boundary Waters Canoe Area is one of only a few places in the nation that has government protection as a designated “wilderness” area. That means that no roads, no power lines, and no motorized crafts can enter the boundaries of the area.

Historically, it is one of the most besieged locations in Minnesota. The BWCA has been the target of heavy lobbying by local and national conservation groups.

In the 1920s, the local government and chamber of commerce initiated a program to build a road to every lake in the area. Local residents and conservationists vehemently opposed the proposal and in 1926, Secretary of Agriculture William Jardine protected 1,000 square miles of land, which became the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.

The land is defined by a contorted maze of lakes that without a map could turn a weeklong journey into an eternal survival mission. We selected our entry point in a lake near Ely, a small town centered amid the lakes. Hoisting a brand-new Kevlar canoe atop my head, I was pumped. The journey was to begin.

The minute my paddle sliced into the water, I was hooked.

“Kate, look up, bald eagles,” my dad yelled from the back of the canoe. Three bald eagles were dancing in the sky. Surrounding the boat were islands dense with green trees and flourishing wildflowers. It was there I realized how often I neglect to recognize my surroundings. An old Taoist saying states that in life the journey is the true reward. That day I was rewarded with vibrant hues of color, painted delicately on nature’s canvas, like someone had sliced open a rainbow and poured the contents all around me.

Katie Block abandons the worries of school and plunges into the refreshing water.

I stepped out of the boat at the first portage and realized that everything we had brought with us would have to be carried many miles across the island to the next lake. I never imagined that we could do it, but somehow we managed to strap the camping gear to our backs, food sacks on our stomachs, and put the canoes overhead. We bushwhacked through the brush until we were spat out at the mouth of the next river.

From the magazine articles and pictures of the area that I had seen before we left, I expected Minnesota to be a flawless landscape of vibrant color and impeccable weather. No one bothered to mention anything about the copious rain and the mosquitos’ sovereign rule over the land.

Granted, the scenery was absolutely breathtaking, but it’s hard to appreciate when you are smacking every unclothed inch of your body to kill the bugs.

My dad made the mistake of falling asleep outside without wearing a shirt. That quick 20-minute nap made him prime feeding ground for the thousands of ravenous mosquitoes who seized the opportunity to feast on his vulnerable skin. I took out a pen and started connecting the dots. Right before my eyes my father morphed from a normal man to a life-sized game of connect-the-dots.

Labored with intense physical work and a body dilapidated by mosquito bites, we paddled across the United States/Canada international border to a small island, where we set up camp. The rain and bugs weren’t enough to dampen our spirits; we coined the site “rainy rapture” and continued with the trip.

Around the island were jagged cliffs permanently etched with the remnants of Indian pictographs. Loons sung out to us in ceaseless harmony, as if they were performing an exclusive show for two appreciative listeners. Around the corner from the pictographs, a huge waterfall cascaded down to an expanse of clear water that extended as far as the eye could see.

A mama bear and her two cubs took an interest in our campsite one morning. I awoke to, “Katie, come out here and look.” Stumbling out of the tent, I saw the three bears crawling from the far end of the island out to the lake for a swim. They kept a watchful eye on us as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, before heading out. It was absolutely amazing.

Quetico Park in Ontario, Canada, is adjacent to Minnesota and encompasses the Canadian portion of the Boundary Waters. The area is reputably populated with bears, beavers, deer and wolves, who before government protection were heavily hunted and trapped by explorers.

Winding our way through the labyrinth of lakes, I started to feel confident about my outdoor skills. Whereas at the beginning of the trip, I had to be pushed and prodded to paddle, I now became the one not wanting to stop, going around “just one more corner,” anxious to find new things.

Heading back home after a week in the woods, I started to long for a shower and a hot meal. Things that I normally take for granted seemed like a complete luxury. The sword is double-edged, though, because going home I would be back to face everything I sought to get away from. But I felt renewed power to deal with them.

Eight days and 60 miles later, I returned to my old world with full vigor. I don’t know how to describe the magic I found running through the current of the lakes, but it brought me serenity. Of any trip I have ever taken, my adventure to the Boundary Waters showed me the simple pleasure of taking time to relax and appreciate your surroundings.