Superior Adventures in Beast Mode.....

August long weekend marked the official start to my back-packing season.  The plan was to take two days to back-pack the portion of the Lake Superior Park Costal trail from Katherine's Cove to Orphan Lake.  10 km of rugged scenic trail.  The group would then convalesce at Orphan Lake for 4 days before returning to civilization.  That was the plan, until my friend decided the terrain for this section of trail might be too rugged for her to navigate with a 55- 60lbs pack strapped to her back.  She was out and so was her son.

And then there was one.

I was faced with a decision.... continue with the trip as planned or proceed with my friend and her son and go in at the Orphan Lake parking area.   I waffled in my resolve for only a second and then my decision was made.  Solo back-packing it would be.

I still intended to hike the 10 km's over two days, as originally planned.  See I had back-packed the first 2.5 km of this section with the dog and knew a little of what I would be in for.  Boulders, slippery rocks, etc.  Breaking the trip into two days would ensure that I was able to move by the time I made it to Orphan Lake.

Well I should have cc'd Mother Nature in on my plan.  On the day we headed up to start our adventure, the weather predictions had changed.  The promised six days of sun and minimal cloud coverage had been replaced by one day of sun and multiple days of rain and rain cloud mix.

Enter dilemma.....

See Lake Superior rocks can be slippery without rain... add rain and they become treacherous... a lesson I learnt last year when my foot slipped and I impaled my shin on a rock (yep, you could see the bone).

Now what do I do?

Hike the whole thing?

Stick with the original plan and hike 1/2 and 1/2, risking further rock encounters?

Hike as far as I could and then stay put until the rain let up and then hike the rest of the way?

So many things to think about on the 2.5 hour drive up.  By the time we pulled into the Katherine's Cove parking lot I still had not made up my mind which option I was going to go with.  I said good-bye to my friends and told them that if I was not there by Monday evening to go and get some help. I waved good-bye and started my trek down the sand beach.

Robertson's Cove 

An example of boulder beaches

I made it to Robertson's cove in less time then I predicted I would need.  I rested here for a while.  It was heavenly to have an excuse to take off the pack.  I longed to set-up camp there, the private sand beach makes this cove a little slice of paradise, but knowing that would make the next day a 7.5km hike in the rain I decided the safe option was to press on.

I wiggled and squirmed my way into the pack straps. Locked and loaded the journey continued....
next stop Coldwater Creek.  From the previous excursion to Robertson's Cove with the dog, I knew that the trail increased in ruggedness the further north you head.  What I did not anticipate was how poorly the trail was marked in some places.  At one point I looked up to see this smooth rock wall looming in front of me.  I commented under my breath-  "Surely to God I don't have to scale that!"  As I rounded the corner I saw the trail leading into the forest.

Whew!

This reaction was short lived.   The trail ended 2 feet in the forest.  There looked like there might be a trail that wound up the side of the rock wall.  I followed it until I reached a chest high rock face.

My lunch time view from the top of the Wall O' Rock

Was this the trail?  Did it go through the bush??????  Did I miss a turn?  This is around the time that "WTF!!!!!" became my go to statement.  I used it with reckless abandon for the rest of the journey.  No censorship required... there were no juvenile ears to here my dazzling combinations of swear and curse words.

This rock barrier provided me with an excuse to take my pack off (truth be known there was no way I could have climbed this section with my pack on.... there were no toe or hand holds, so it required a good ole' heave ho to climb it).   I was loathe to put the pack on,  my worry was I would hike on only to find out that I made a wrong turn at Albuquerque and I would need to back-track down the rock wall.

Solution:  Scouting pack free.   It took a few minutes but I eventually found a blaze that confirmed I was on the trail.  Since the pack was already off I decided this was the perfect spot to have my lunch.

Cairn's and Blue Blazes.... without which I would be lost.

 I prolonged lunch as long as I could but there was no escaping the inevitable.  I needed to put the pack back on.   Now if you have never put on a fully loaded back-pack my one piece of advice is pack placement pre-donning is very important.  It can make the donning process easy or  very, very difficult.  Sadly there was no "boost" area to place my pack and it was too heavy for me to do the one arm hook and toss.   I sat down on the rock and scooted my way back to the straps.  Arms in the straps I leaned forward, but I leaned too far and the weight of the pack tipped me over so that my forehead was touching the ground.  I shifted back to correct the weight distribution and was able to make it into a reasonably upright position and then came the hard part..... standing-up.   Noises came out of me that I had never heard before.  A new respect for Olympic weight-lifters blossomed in that moment.

If I wasn't before, I am now convinced Lake Superior has it out for me.  See I have a "small" obsession with rocks and Lake Superior rocks are absolutely fantastic.  I spend hours combing through piles of cobble beaches to find my "favourites".  Each year I en masse a big collection of rocks that have the potential to make it into my collection.  I then spend days agonizing over which specimen(s) I am willing to schlep out the 4km of uphill trail.   This has been my habit since starting back-packing 8 years ago.  I think Gitche Gumee has had enough of my thievery and has decided if I don't cease and desist it will take out its revenge on my shins and body.

What finally convinced me?

My wipe-out on dry rocks.  I can't say what caused it, all I know is one moment I was standing up the next my face was hurtling toward a rock.  I stuck my left hand out to save my face and the last two fingers on my left hand bent in a way they were never meant to bend.  I screamed..... "FUCK!" (Yup... I went there).  I was sure the fingers were going to break but luckily my shins hit the rocks and took some of the weight off my hand.  I am sure "FUCK" repeated incessantly while I assessed the damage to my hand and legs.   The fingers had gone numb but I could bend them..... not broken but potentially sprained.  The shins were scraped and bleeding, but no gaping holes, so that was a bonus.    There was no recourse but to stand-up and keep walking.

You would think that after that, my sunny disposition would have gone the way of the Doo Doo but nope... that would come later,  much later.

An example of what I could have landed on

I continued on my merry way and made sure that I took extra time crossing over the boulder beaches and areas where I needed to step from stone to stone.  Somewhere in this section of the trail the "foot path" on the rocks narrowed and became a small ledge that was about 5 feet above the water.  I knew  I had to navigate this section with care,  because one slip of the foot or a shift in the pack weight and I would drop down into the waves that were crashing in below me.   Luckily there were small crevices in the rock that I could hold onto while navigating this 30 foot section of trail.  I made it out the other side and continued on.

Tom Hanks in Castaway had "Wilson", I had my pack and my pack's name had finally revealed itself-  Dirty Rotten Bastard or Bastard for short.  Bastard had become an entity of its own.   I would go left it would pull me right.  The shift in weight to the sides, front or back threw- off my centre of gravity and made balance a dicey thing.  I regretted inviting Bastard to join me on this trip.  I felt my general outlook on life would be better if Bastard had remained at home.  But alas, Bastard was needed.  He housed all my essentials.  My love/hate relationship with Bastard would continue for the remainder of the journey.

By this time I was close to the half way mark.  I was getting excited-  then I saw the crevice.  That gaping

No crevice pics.  I was too busy praying.

hole in the rock.  I tried stepping over it- it was too wide.  I headed to the bush to look for a way around.  No go.  There were too many trees down and I could not get over or under them.  Back to the crevice.  I knew that I could jump it without Bastard on my back, but Bastard was to heavy to toss to the other side and I couldn't leave him.... as much as I wanted to.  The only solution that I could see was to jump.   I had reservations.  Could I even make the jump??????? I stood there pondering and then decided Fuck It.... I'm jumping.  Sure, there was at least a 12 foot drop from the top of the crevice to the rocks below,  but what the hell!  I figured best worst case scenario would be my bubble butt, child-bearing hips and pack would create a tri-fecta of perfection which would save me.  I would be wedged in the crevice, Winnie the Pooh style and would have to wait for help, but at least I would be alive.   Worst case scenario....... well no point in going there.  I lumbered up to the crevice at full lumbering speed and jumped.  I landed on the other side, the momentum drove me forward, nothing a few quick steps couldn't handle.

That obstacle down.  It couldn't get worse right?  RIGHT???????

Coldwater River-  This is the longest beach section of the trail.  You would think that by this point, after the rocky ledges and crevice jumping that I would be thrilled to have a long stretch of beach to walk on.  You would be wrong.

Instead, I had a very long "What do I hate more "list going in my head.... boulder beaches, sand beaches, cobble beaches, or any combination there off.  With each step I added another con to the growing list of cons for each and every type of beach I had encountered or knew was coming.  The end result-  I loathe walking on beaches.  Beaches + Bastard = feet burning, sand getting in your boots, extra effort to take steps..... all things that are the exact opposite of delightful.

It was beach walking or staying and given the close proximity of these sites to the Highway and possible encounters with dubious humans, I decided to keep walking.  Fear, such an excellent motivator.

The Voyageur map that I was referencing talked about a bridge that you can use to cross the Coldwater River.  I figured there would be a foot bridge further up the coast.  Nope.  The makers of this trail guide meant hikers had to walk-up to the highway and cross there.

NUTS!

I was in no mood to double back so I forged on.  I stood at the edge of the river, which by this time of year was more liked a large stream and contemplated my options.

• I could walk through the river.  This option had merit but the risk of a double soaker was high and not a popular option as I detest walking in wet boots.   
• I could change my mind and walk back to the bridge... boo, hiss!  
• I could try and levitate over the water
• ..... maybe build a bridge of my own using Lake Superior cobble?  

Although the subsequent options made me chuckle, they were not helpful.  If I didn't want to back track, I would have to suck it up and try and fjord the river.  Luckily I found a shallow section and was able to cross without water flooding into my boots.  A small celebration ensued.

The celebration was short lived.  I was tired and sore and regretting not staying at the Coldwater campsites.  That is when I looked up and saw the second section of rock wall climbing that I would have to do.  This section was shorter than the first and had only a 3 feet drop to the pounding surf but it lacked hand holds.  I threw my weight toward the rock, fearful that one twitch of Bastard would send me backward and lead to death by drowning.  Just imagine my surprise when I ran into a family out on the trail who took not only their toddler but a baby out over that section of the trail. Maybe that is why they were sitting there looking glum.... they knew they had to go back over it and were not looking forward to that circus.

Enter the Baldhead.  All these years of camping at Orphan Lake we have called the Baldhead-  Baldhead Mountain, as it looks rather mountainous from the other side of the river..... but according to the trail guide the proper name is Baldhead Hill.  Let me tell you, it does not feel like a hill when you are climbing it.  At one point I found a rock I could sit on to take off some of the pack weight.  I came dangerously close to falling asleep like this, not once but twice.  I made myself stand up and forge on.  The view from the top of "the hill" was worth the climb.

View from the top of the Baldhead

See, very steep

Making it down the other side of the Baldhead I had a choice stay at the campsite at the base or traverse the looming cobble beach...... cobble bitch is more like it.  What made my decision for me was the closest camp site involved a big hill and rock climbing to get water.

Water access.... sure to slip in.  

Tally ho!!!!!!

As soon as my feet hit the cobble I wanted to cry.   I forced
myself to walk 10 steps at a time until I reached 100.  I figured that meant I was 100 steps closer to ending this torture.  I was having a hard time controlling the vile thoughts in my head.  The preceding 9 km of walking had successfully unleashed my inner Cracken.  If I had encountered a bear at that moment I would have invited it for a throw-down. I was that mad..... that ornery!  I had entered Beast Mode!!!!!!!

Trying to distract my inner beast I started fantasizing about my friend and her son coming down the
beach and offering to carry Bastard back to the campsite.  That did not happen..... Beast was not happy.... Beast was very, very ANGRY!  This is about the time I caught up with the day hikers who were in front of me.  They were standing on the bridge that I needed to cross, blocking the whole thing.  Dad was giving his son a lesson in bridge building......

"See what they did here son is they put slats of wood side by side and they laminated them together.... let's see 1, 2, 3, 4......... 20!  20- 2X4's placed side by side, then they drilled a hole through them all and stuck in a lag screw.  And well see this lag screw........."

This is what I listened too, not so patiently, while I glared at them.  I could have asked them to move, but I didn't trust that nice words would come out of my mouth.   I was barely able to control my desire to  "Choke Slam" and pound the crap out of the lot of them.

Eventually my piercing stare caught Mr. Blah Blah Blah's attention and they moved.  Blah Blah was so apologetic, my Beast Mode was broken and I grunted out "Pack heavy, want to be done!", as way of explanation.  As I broke through the clearly and walked down my last stretch of cobble beach.... Fuck I hate cobble..... I sighed knowing that Bastard and I could file for a trial separation for the next 5 days.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The view from my resting place.

Prologue-  I have a habit of not weighing my pack before hiking.  There are somethings that are better left unknown.  In this case my best estimate was the pack was 58 lbs.  Well I was sorely mistaken.  See I broke my cardinal rule and weighed my pack prior to my next back-packing trip.  It was 58lbs but way, way smaller.  The pack I carried into Superior was loaded to the top tier.  So in essence the pack was topping 60+ lbs.  I am glad I did not know that then..... 58 lbs seems like such a more manageable number.