The Boundary Waters Wilderness
There are parts of nature that should never be touch
On the fifth day of our week in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW), our group of four men in their early 30’s put our fully packed canoe into Saganaga Lake. Until then, the weather had been great, but now we could feel the chill of winds carrying cold Arctic air from Canada, and we saw large pine trees being pushed back and forth by the Arctic clipper.
You need to remember that this trip took place in the analog era. We didn’t have a GPS or a cell phone to guide us. Bill, my brother-in-law, was the navigator and was quite good at it. His brother, Eric, and his friend, Doug, joined us for the adventure. It felt like a mini Lewis and Clark expedition. We were experienced outdoorsmen and good canoeists. I had run rivers in a touring kayak in western Jersey and enjoyed Maine’s salty, foggy bays. All four of us grew up in the Midwest, usually in a canoe, either on a river or a lake. We could paddle.
No choice
But despite our experience, nothing prepared us for what awaited beyond the portage: 2-4-foot swells, surging whitecaps, a brooding sky, and gusts reaching 20–30 mph.
“Fuck,” I said as I looked at nature in all its brutal beauty.
“Yeah,” Bill responded,” And we have to go, we have to get to the pickup site in two days.”
“Fuck, no choice?” I questioned, feeling the chill of the winds blowing through my L.L. Bean windbreaker.
“Nope,” Bill laughed nervously and smiled, “No choice. Let’s stay close to each other for the crossing. At least it’s not raining.”
We all stared at each other for a brief moment, four young men in our early 30s, all in fairly good shape. We didn’t say a word as we climbed into the 16-foot fully loaded canoe. Both crafts were packed with food for a week, sleeping bags, our clothes, and tents. I was in the front, and Bill was in the back.
I took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
Bill pushed the canoe off the shore and into the small, protected bay of Saganaga. Saganaga Lake is one of the region’s largest, at over 18,000 acres. We didn’t appreciate its size until we paddled out of the protected cove from the portage.
Whitecaps and oceanic swells
The moment we left the small cove, we entered the storm. Whitecaps and swells toyed with the craft, which wasn’t made for violent waters. The canoe fit perfectly between swells, but each upswell ended with a falling whitecap. At first, we started taking on water and didn’t understand the rhythm of the waves. Whitecaps would smash against and sometimes over the bow, sending water inside. The wind howled, cold, as we paddled on course into the middle of the lake.
Our feet and clothes got wet from the waves splashing everywhere. The air temperature was in the low 60s, but the water was below 50 degrees. With every paddle, we grew colder and wetter. The force of the water was unrelenting. Saganaga didn’t care that we were undersized or taking on water. Saganaga, in her way, was a victim of the Arctic clipper, too.
“Damn it!” I heard Bill say, “This sucks!”
In the midst of the crossing, partway through our paddle that day, I simply stopped paddling and started watching the water, the ebb and flow, and the movement of the whitecaps.
“Tom paddle.” Bill yelled at me,” What the hell?”
“Bill, we need to time our paddle so we hit the top of the white caps.” I yelled back at him, “We need to time the swells!”
“Shit,” Bill said, “This is bad, Tom.”
“No choice,” I yelled back at him through the winds,” Get ready, one, two, three, and now.”
“Eric,” Bill yelled at his brother, who was about 20 feet away from our canoe. “Time your paddle!”
“What?” Eric yelled back.
“Watch us!” Bill responded.
After a while, we started hitting the top of the swell, which stopped the water from flowing into the canoe. The solution was also a problem because we would have to dig into the cold water of the BWCAW for the next three hours. To be honest, the hours felt like no time at all, an odd byproduct of the process of survival. We were so focused on the effort that time seemed to stop. We both counted out loud together in the beginning so we could figure out the rhythm. Then the effort became an automated, seamless pattern.
We were soaking wet and freezing. The heavy paddling kept the cold at bay. Every stroke demanded strain and sweat. If we paused, the swells would spill into the canoe. We could never stop paddling. This was going to be a marathon.
Fear bonded us
My fear was one we all shared: we had to keep paddling. We could not end up in the cold waters of Saganaga. This adventure is remote and wild. So far on our journey, we had seen more bald eagles than people—seven eagles, zero humans. No one would come to help us if we didn’t make the crossing.
“We are getting close to the turn, so we can get out of this mess,” Bill yelled. “See the island?”
“Hell yes,” Eric yelled from the boat, “Let’s get out of this shit.”
My experience from running rapids in kayaks triggered real anxiety. If we mistimed our turn, a broadside swell could flip our canoe. Carelessness meant a swim in the lake. A swim in this lake, in the middle of nowhere, could put all in harm’s way. With no way to call for help, a dip in the cold water would cause hyperthermia in about 30-60 minutes. I had more anxiety about the turn than about guiding the canoe’s nose into the waves. We were still two football fields from the island.
By some grace or luck, the winds started to come down as we closed in on the turn. The swells were still there, but the driving wind and gusts stopped howling across the lake. The slowing wind reduces the whitecaps and the relentless chop within the swells. As we made the turn into a much quieter area behind on the south side of an island. The water was still choppy, but the island blocked the swells and the wind.
Exhaustion
As we beached the canoe on the small sandy shore of the island. We didn’t say a word to each other. We simply dragged the canoes out of the water and collapsed on the grass. We were all exhausted. I remember cherishing the feeling of being on land. We were all safe from the windstorm, the torrent of waves from the lake.
As the violent cold front passed, the sun broke through the billowing grey clouds. We lay for about an hour in the grass absorbing the sun’s warmth like sea lions on an ice floe. Slowly, we set up camp. It is an odd feeling of being happy just to be alive, but a wave of deep gratitude swept through me. I sipped a cup of ice-cold water, desiring scotch, but we had all forgotten to bring any liquor. I was left with deep gratitude for the Boundary Waters trip, the vastness, and the wildness of the 1,100-lake park.
I was proud of our government for bringing the park into the umbrella protection of the National Wilderness Preservation System through the passage of the Wilderness Act in 1964. Although the area was first set aside as the Super National Forest as early as 1909. The goal back then was to preserve the area’s primitive character, and in 1958 it was officially named the Boudary Waters Canoe Area.
But now (of course). . .The U.S. Senate Votes to Lift the Boundary Waters Mining Ban
Recently, the Senate voted 50-49 to overturn a 20-year protection imposed by President Joe Biden in 2023. This cleared the way for a long-stalled mine project proposed by Twin Metals Minnesota to restart plans to access immense mineral stores in the Superior National Forest near the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.
Twin Metals, a subsidiary of Chilean conglomerate Antofagasta, seeks to access copper, nickel, cobalt, and platinum buried deep beneath the Superior National Forest. The legislation applies to about 350 square miles of the forest, located south of the Boundary Waters but still within its watershed.
In short, the vote returns the area from a protected “no-go” zone for mining to an active industrial development site, shifting the battle from the Senate floor to the regulatory permitting phase.
Why protecting this stunning natural forest is important
“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.” — John Muir.
“What we are doing to the forests of the world is but a mirror reflection of what we are doing to ourselves and to one another.” — Mahatma Gandhi.
“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more.” — Lord Byron.
Support Conservation Organizations
Save the Boundary Waters: The primary national campaign dedicated to protecting this specific wilderness.
National Parks Conservation Association (NPCA): Works to protect the parks and wilderness areas adjacent to the BWCAW, like Voyageurs National Park.
Oppose the CRA: Speak out against House Joint Resolution 140, which uses the Congressional Review Act to roll back land management protections. You can use tools like FastAction to send messages directly to your senators.