The sun sets on Elbow Lake. Photograph © Raymon Gehman/CORBIS

Boundary Waters
By Will Steger

In the early morning, as I gently lowered my canoe into the lake, water seeped into my dry boots. My destination was a smaller, unnamed lake just inside the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. My plan was to camp there for the night and return early the next day. The date was August 17, 1971, about a year before I would move permanently to a log cabin I built on the edge of this remote wilderness north of Ely, Minnesota. This was but one of many journeys I would take to explore the countless lakes in these seemingly endless woods. Stowing my Duluth pack in the bow, I shoved off, cutting across the mirror finish of the water. Fog swirled in my passage. A family of loons cried out and was answered by their neighbors on surrounding lakes. I reached a small, shallow stream, got out, and dragged my canoe through the water to the next lake.

There I paddled a couple more miles to a portage. The trail was steep and not well traveled. My map showed that I needed to turn away from the trail to find the unnamed lake. Carrying the pack on my back and the canoe upside down over my head, I made my own route through the woods, my visibility limited to a small wedge just in front of my canoe. By now a hot sun had burned off the fog, and I was nearing exhaustion. Then suddenly the forest opened to a small beaver pond.

After a rest I crossed the pond and then dragged the canoe over the low beaver dam. A small, brackish stream led to another dam, and once over that I finally spotted the unnamed lake through the reeds. Paddling onward I watched, delighted, as the muddy bottom of the streambed dropped away beneath me. Jackpot! My unnamed lake held clear water so deep I could not see the bottom. I cupped my hands and drank, then stripped for a swim. I dove from a rock that stuck out like a diving board. The cool water felt sparkling, the special sensation you get swimming in the cleanest water in the world.

The rest of the day I hung out, swimming, walking around the lake, fishing. In the evening I ate brook trout and sat by the fire watching the stars and planets tumbling out in the approaching darkness. The aurora borealis danced in green-draped rays that reflected in the pure eye of the small lake, so clear it was like a window onto the soul of the Earth. I lay in the open without a tent. As I lingered beneath the Milky Way watching for shooting stars, I felt as if I was on top of the world. Sleep finally caught me, ushering me into peaceful dreams from which at times I awoke, thinking I was still dreaming.

The information in this story was accurate at the time it was published, but we suggest you confirm all details before making travel plans.