Jan 17 2017

Wander West Texas

Why we went

The Hipster (my son) was turning 29 and longed to visit West Texas. I’m the hippie in this buddy movie, newly unhooked from 36 years of looking at the ass of the mule (my media career) and plowing endless rows. Not sure how long I would elect to be unemployed, I was taking time to travel and blog about poking around peculiar places. My son and I loved the idea of train travel and wanted to see if the reality lived up to the fantasy. It was up to him to find a week that worked for him to take time off from his land survey job. When he found out that Thee Oh Sees were playing on his birthday (11/2) and in El Paso, the planets seemed to line up for us to finally get to ride the rails in the west.

How we traveled:

It might seem strange but El Paso was a perfect starting point for this adventure. It was 745 miles from Houston, in a different time zone and seemingly in a different country. It was easy to fly there via Southwest Airlines from nearby Houston Hobby airport. Most importantly, it was a major stop on Amtrak’s Sunset Limited. The afternoon after Thee Oh Sees concert, we could hop the eastbound train back for a three-four hour ride to Alpine, which was the gateway to Big Bend.

We’d rent a car in Alpine from the one car rental place in the region then meander through Terlingua, Big Bend National Park, and Marfa before returning it four days later. Back in Alpine on Monday evening, we’d once again catch the Sunset Limited. This time we’d travel in a sleeper car for fifteen hours throughout the night and the next day back to Houston. Check back for more to come about our train experiences .

Where We Went:

El Paso –

We had no firm expectations of El Paso for anything more than an overnight stop before we started our real adventure in the Big Bend area of Texas. This turned out to be so wrong. Discovering El Paso was like going into to your closet and finding that a shirt you had passed over for years turned out to be right with your new pair of jeans. I’d always considered El Paso just a place to bookend the Texas portion of 1-10 on the west, like Beaumont did to the east. El Paso wasn’t just a bookend. It was a gripping first chapter. Outlaws, affairs, alligators and more. Read more here on our El Paso adventure .

Alpine –

Because there are no p.a. announcements on the Sunset Limited between 10p to 7a, Alpine snuck up on many people, the hipster included. We were snoozing in our reclining seats as we whizzed through West Texas. Shane was wearing his earsbuds and missed the car attendant walking thru and softly telling us that we would stop in Alpine for a few minutes. The stop would be just long enough for the smokers to light up on the platform. Shane startled and struggled to catch up as I grabbed my luggage and practically leaped off the train.

Alpine was our jumping off spot into Big Bend country. We’d arrived at the Alpine station in a cold mist around midnight and found our 1920’s hotel just across the street. Too late to visit the bar, we picked up our keys from the deserted front desk and made sure we could get into our room. Then we went downstairs to explore the sleeping old hotel with parlors and a courtyard and photographs of a cowboy walking a full-grown javelina. Like El Paso, Alpine offered more than we had anticipated. From an earless pocket pitbull waiting for adoption behind the hotel reception desk to eating in the original humble home of what was now one of Ft. Worth’s most colorful restaurants, Alpine set the stage for “western” part of our foray. Read back to learn more about our day(s) in Alpine.

Terlingua – The Ghost Town –

When I planned our trip, Terlingua was the main destination. Lots of “signs” and omens were pulling on us. We’d visited Terlingua when Shane was 12 and explored it during a crowded day. Since then, I’d met a man who did a documentary about the “quicksilver” miners from the 20’s. The filmmaker gave me an old flyer about the film. Days later, a friend was visiting and saw the flyer on my desk. The friend had worked on that very documentary while a student at Rice many years ago.

Also, I’d lost a mentor around this time two years ago. That mentor had not only taught me media, she’d introduced me to the Chili cook-off culture. The huge CASI Chili cook-off (Chili Appreciation Society International) was celebrating it’s 50^th annual event in Terlingua during the weekend we were going to visit. We would base out of Alice the Airstream, just 170 steps from Terlingua’s boot hill cemetery. It was funky, frightening and felt like we had left this dimension for a few days. Read more about Terlingua here.

Big Bend National Park –

While we spent casual evenings in Terlingua, each day we put on hiking stuff and drove 20 miles to the entrance to Big Bend National Park. For $25 per car, you can take seven days to explore the 800,000-acre national park, which contains three different landscapes: river, desert, and mountains. Think of it as a triple pass at an amusement park only this park’s thrills present real danger.

Recent rains had ushered in the berry and nut crop and the bears were “active” to put it mildly. The wall map in the visitor center at Chisos Mountain looked like an “ideation” board in a corporate brainstorming session. Z dozen or so little yellow post it notes covered the map, all pinpointing bear-sightings with date and time (many that same day). Some popular campsites and trails were closed to keep backpackers from having a closer relationship with the bears than was safe for either species. A ranger stressed that there were only about 25 or so bears in Big Bend and the same limited number of mountain lions. The problem was that most of these animals lived in the Chisos Mountains area. And it would only take one bear to have me screaming down the mountain. Read more about our Big Bend time here.

The River Road, Marfa and Fort Davis –

We left Big Bend in the afternoon of the first day of daylight savings time. That could be unnerving because you should make this next drive during daylight – River Road through Lajitas and the 300,000 acre Big Bend Ranch State Park all the way to Presidio. It is hard to find a more remote roadway . The trail straddles the rugged shared frontier between Texas and Mexico. The area has been called El Despoblado, or “The Uninhabited.” And makes you feel like you feel like you are driving through an establishing shot in “No Country For Old Men”.

Marfa suffered from our high expectations and the fact we arrived on a Sunday evening. Better to have no or low expectations. But disappointment in Marfa drove us to Fort Davis. Here we lunched with a view of the old fort that we shared with the ghosts of the CCC builders of that state park. Check back for more about our the River Road, Marfa, Fort Davis and a return to Alpine .

Nov 02 2016

Spending A Ghostly Night in St. Martinville, La

Frightened and Alone

It was a little after 3 am in St. Martinville, Louisiana on the last night of my road ramble. I was alone and locked in the Old Castillo Hotel on the banks of the Bayou Teche. At 11 pm, I’d made a final walk around the downstairs salon and dining room to make sure the deadbolts on the heavy front entrance doors were secure. The salon was furnished with heavy antique furniture, upholstered in the red velvet so popular in the 1800’s. Hidden speakers played Cajun music so quietly that you had to strain to hear the fiddle and vocalist competing for the high notes. This music was not as raucous as chanka-chank or zydeco music. Tonight these melodies sounded like a invitation to a ghostly fais-do-do. Soft lighting from lamps in the parlor and on the stair landing would guide my steps if I needed to come downstairs in the middle of the night.

The Witching Hour

According to occult belief, witching hour occurs between three and four in the morning, the time during which there are no Catholic Church services and prayers, which are marked by the Canonical hours. I do not believe in that stuff, unless it is 3am and I am the only guest in a beautiful but spooky hotel that has been around since 1833. During that time, the old Castillo building and St. Martinville had endured a devastating yellow fever epidemic, hurricanes, and invasion by Federal forces during the Civil War. If that were not enough phantom-creating feedstock, it was also catty-corner from St. Martin de Tours, the oldest Catholic Church in southwestern Louisiana. In the old French tradition, the congregation buried their early priests beneath the sanctuary floor. What am I doing in this situation? I’ve never be able to watch scary movies, have never seen the Exorcist and used to watch “Lassie” from behind a living room recliner with a pillow held close to my face to block out frightening scenes.

How I Happened to Be in St. Martinville, Louisiana

I had planned the 1800-mile northbound leg of my road trip for a couple months, starting in April. It took less than an hour to plan the southbound leg. I got out my 1993 Road Atlas and turned on the computer see “where” looked interesting. The first couple of hours would be an easy decision. By heading a bit farther north, I could swing through West Virginia and see Harper’s Ferry. After that, a quiet drive through back roads Virginia until I met Interstate 81.

Stopping around Chattanooga, Tennessee looked like a good target and would have me on the road ten hours, not a bad chunk of the twenty-three hours it was going to take to get back to Houston. I referred back to my Atlas to see what less than a half-hour was from that city. After researching with Tripadvisor, I made a first night reservation at Wingate by Wyndham in Cleveland, Tennessee.

When I checked in, I remembered why I shy away from chain hotels. On the positive side, they always feel safe; the desk clerk is usually friendly and the room immaculate. On the down side, the ambiance can be like the ICU wing of a major city hospital.

Craving at least one more adventure on the way home and some good food, I once again consulted the Atlas and started planning. I remembered the little town of St. Martinville that Rindy and I have driven through on the back way to New Orleans. This is where the Cajun culture was born. I had spent an interesting couple of days in nearby Breaux Bridge about 30 years before. St. Martinville was too small for many chain hotels so I went again to Tripadvisor for lodging in the area.

Why I Chose the Old Castillo Hotel

The Old Castillo Hotel had several things going for it. It was less than 30 minutes off I-10 and in the middle of town. If I left Cleveland by 6:30a, I could make the 3-5p check-in window. Then I could stable my car for the evening and walk to dinner and around town. It was amazing how quickly the Old Castillo answered my late night inquiry with a confirmed reservation in their Chambre de Petite Paris.

In 1765, St. Martinville was the site of the original landing of the Acadians fleeing the present day Canadian provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island. Atakapas and Chitimacha Native American tribes were already at home in these swamps and bayous. (To delve deeper into Acadian/Cajun history of this area, click here)

Old Castillo Hotel occupied the site of the Atakapa trading post on the Teche. Since Old Castillo Hotel was situated at the head of navigation for steamboats on the Teche, both hotel and town reigned as commercial and social centers until natural disasters and a snub by the railroad ended their boom. St. Martinville became a genteel elderly lady, hidden from view of motorists racing up I-10 to state business in Baton Rouge or good times in New Orleans. For over ninety years, the hotel was a girls’ high school run by the Sisters of Mercy. I was now trying to sleep in what had once been the rear of the typing room.

The Peggy Hulin bought the building in 1987 and changed it back into lodging. All was quiet on this weekday afternoon in the middle of the 2016 summer as I passed the Evangeline National Park on my way into town. The legendary Evangeline Oak, Southern Louisiana’s most beloved landmark, shaded the bayou side of the hotel.

Locked Out

Since the Old Castillo Hotel’s doors were solidly locked when I knocked, I had decided to walk around a little bit and get circulation back in my accelerator leg before I called Peggy. I read the markers, written in both French and English, at the Evangeline Oak. The plaques told the story that had inspired Longfellow’s poem.

A wooden gazebo and some iron benches provided a shady place to contemplate the turbulent history that had created this peaceful spot. I stopped in at the Acadian and African American Museums, housed in a small brick building on the other side of the oak’s extended boughs. The woman at the desk told me the museum would close in fifteen minutes and to come back in the morning.

Touring the Old Castillo Hotel

I walked back to the hotel and called Peggy’s cell phone. She was “round back” somewhere in other buildings and in a few minutes, I heard the key and lock rattle. Peggy opened the door into a darkened hallway that bisected the first floor. The dining room and salon/parlor opened off the hall to the left and a reception office and closed doors were on the right. A wooden sign with partially obscured writing hung over a closed door and dated the hotel back to 1829.

Peggy welcomed me in that musical voice you hear in Cajun country, not a foreign accent, but a lovely rearrangement of words and inflections. “Here is our brochure that tells you what you need to know and where everything is. If you would like some wine, just go through those double metal doors at the end of this hall. What time would you like breakfast? Would you like to know about some good places to eat dinner?” I was rusty at conversation and questions after two days of silence and hard driving. We settled on 9:00 for breakfast, agreed on dinner at St. John, the Restaurant just two blocks down the bayou, and viewed and approved my room.

Where are the other guests?

castillo-room-1 Spending A Ghostly Night in St. Martinville, La — Chambre de Petite Paris at Old Castillo Hotel

“Okay then. This is the key to your room. And the other key on the ring is to the deadbolt on the front doors,” Peggy said. “Am I the only guest tonight?” I asked. “Yes,” Peggy said, pleased to give me this good news. “You got the place all to yourself. Enjoy and call me if you need anything!” and she was gone. I was still processing her last statement. Wait, what if I did not want this place all to myself?

I headed down the hall, pushed open the metal double doors and was in a large, industrial kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been used for quite a while. To the right was a stand-up cooler with glass doors like you would see in the back of a New York deli. There was one generous pour of Yellow Tail Chardonnay left in a 1.5 liter bottle. I took the bottle out and looked for a glass along the metal shelves. The screenplay for a scream queen movie was already writing itself in my head. Would I find a head in the cooler later tonight? Would I hear the squeak of the metal doors long after all was quiet?

Poking Around the Empty Hotel

hanging-bench-cropped-e1470178153743-500x280 Spending A Ghostly Night in St. Martinville, La — Balcony swing overlooking Bayou Teche

I felt better after I drank my wine. I checked out the dining room and salon. I peeked in the other public rooms on the first floor. Upstairs, I turned on a table lamp in the sitting room and walked through the French doors onto an outdoor gallery that ran the length of the hotel. A bench hung on chains from the porch ceiling on the bayou/oak side. Patio chairs and tables were scattered around the balcony. I found a spot and started organizing my notes for that week’s blog.

linda-at-bayou-teche-400-400 Spending A Ghostly Night in St. Martinville, La — Looking down on the Evangeline Oak with Bayou Teche in the background

I practiced taking selfies with the oak and the bayou behind and below me. I would post these on Facebook and let everyone know I was headed home. A Forensic Files thought intruded. In the future, this selfie could be the clue that would solve my long-ago disappearance.

I made the mistake of texting a friend about my tentative plan to take a swamp tour tomorrow. The phone pinged with a response: “I saw a scary movie on late-night TV when I couldn’t sleep recently, about a swamp tour out of New Orleans. Do it….and pray you survive.” Great, another omen. I texted back that the swamp tour guide, Norbert, got great reviews on Tripadvisor. Return text: “What could go wrong with a guy named Norbert? Did you ever see ‘Cat People’ with Nastassja Kinski?” Okay, no more texting with friends.

Sharing Good Food and Sweet Times

I walked along the Bayou to St. John’s, The Restaurant. A man at the door welcomed me with, “Hello, Chérie!” The restaurant was noisy with laughter and conversations in both English and French. My young waitress, politely asked me why I was alone. Apparently, that was an anomaly in this tight-knit community. I told her about my road trip and she wanted to know where I had been and where I was headed. I ordered wine while I looked at the menu. When my waitress returned, I asked about “Eggplant on the Teche”, described as “eggplant medallions fried to a golden brown and topped with crab meat in a béchamel sauce.” “I don’t really like eggplant but everyone says it is good,” she replied honestly.

When the waitress gone, I pulled out a book from the hotel salon but soon was ease dropping on conversations around me. Seven women and one man, all in their late 80’s, sat at a table near me. Obviously long-time friends, the women were dressed up with full makeup, coordinated outfits, stylish shoes, purses, and statement jewelry. The woman seated at the head of the table had hair as red as Sharon Osborne’s’. A couple of the other women had various red hues from ginger to pink. Only the old man was giving in to gray and silver. Their waitress kept wine and drink glasses filled and they laughed and shared stories and gentle jibes. I ordered bread pudding and decaf coffee just to extend my time in their companionable presence.

Evening in St. Martinville

queen-photo-cropped-e1470178276560-300x225 Spending A Ghostly Night in St. Martinville, La — 1925 Queen at the Rotary Mardi Gras

The sun was setting over the buildings along LA 347 when I walked back to the Old Castillo. I unlocked the double doors and checked all the downstairs rooms except for the kitchen. Not going there. Upstairs, I dropped off my purse and went into the sitting room in front of the French patio doors. There was a rocker and a small table with a Tiffany-style lamp.

There were also two female mannequins dressed in flapper-like party dresses. The outfits had been worn by Nelda Broussard Wright when she reigned as the 1925 Queen at the Rotary Mardi Gras. The form wearing the queen’s dress had no arms but the other mannequin was posed in a position suggesting the wearer was about to pick up her skirts and take off somewhere. Her dress, white in another old photograph, had been dyed black and shortened.

Out on the balcony that night, I watched a few cars repeatedly driven around the square by young men and women. Perhaps the octogenarians met their late spouses in the 1940’s while driving family cars around this same square. I stayed outside until the mosquitoes started to feed. Then I checked the locks one more time, took a melatonin tablet and climbed into bed. I slept fitfully, waking up every thirty minutes or so, when I would unconsciously strain to hear ghostly sounds. Just before dawn, I got up enough courage to turn off my light. I opened the east facing blinds and fell asleep until 8:00 am. I had survived my night alone in the Old Castillo.

Daylight and a big Cajun breakfast makes everything better

breakfast-cropped-300x178 Spending A Ghostly Night in St. Martinville, La — Breakfast all home-made by Peggy

My reward was the homemade breakfast prepared by Peggy. Café au lait, fresh baked bread for the French toast served with Peggy’s watermelon rind preserves, flattened beignets with local sugar cane syrup, eggs, and thick cut bacon that probably came from chickens and hogs penned close to the hotel. I walked outside to sit and digest the plantation breakfast under the Evangeline Oak and was greeted in French by bearded priest wearing a brown cassock, hooded cowl and braided corded around his waist. It was similar to the robes of the Franciscan friars I’d met in California.

A Blending of Cultures

I strolled over to the The Acadian Museum and the African American Museum that was on the opposite side of the Oak from my hotel. Once again, I was the only guest. Both museums were small but told a compelling story about the two groups and how their history and culture intersected to create this unique region.

The Bible said God destroyed the Tower of Babel because he feared that if men all looked,talked, and believed the same thing, there was nothing that man could not accomplish. I think the ancient translator got it wrong; God really feared this sameness would limit what man could accomplish. Wasn’t the blended and enduring Louisiana Cajun culture evidence of that? A return to sameness frightened me more than a night alone in the Old Castillo Hotel.
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Oct 12 2016

Camping – Why I Love Vacationing in a Tin Can

One of the first pages I wrote when I created the Funky Texas Traveler was how to live life with an adventurous attitude, even if time, money or bravery is lacking.

For me that meant getting out of the chain hotels and tourist traps and getting in touch with my adventurous self. The experience has turned me into a fan of camping.

How do you feel about camping:

Camping is a like eating raw tomatoes – you either like it or hate it. Every time I tell one of my Jazzercise instructors that I’m going camping for the weekend, she looks at me like I’ve had a psychotic break. Yet for every person who hates camping, you have someone else who can’t wait to go.

Last Friday morning, my husband and I had just finished loading up our travel trailer and putting our bikes in the back of our truck for a weekend in on the south shore of Lake Bastrop near Austin. A businessman drove past in a luxury SUV, rolled down the window and shouted “Take me with you!”

Camping can have that kind of effect on people. Just because you are not a rugged outdoor person, don’t assume camping is not for you. In a perfect world, I used to think that I’d drive around in my Subaru Outback towing a little Casita Spirit behind me like a turtle shell and I’d stop at whatever sunny rock looked promising. In the real world, it took a while to find my camp persona.

Finding your camp personality:

Like Goldilocks and the three bears, I tried tent camping – a little too buggy and hard to find a soft place to sleep. Then I moved up to a tiny 1992 pop-up camper so I could tow it behind my small SUV. You should have seen me parked at a Buccees next to all the big pick-up trucks pulling huge 5^th wheel trailers. But I didn’t like the trek to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Next I got a hybrid pop-up with bathroom and kitchen, microwave, and other luxuries. It slept up to eight people and was great for family and friend vacations. Then our friends started getting their own campers and we didn’t need all the space so we got a little vintage cruiser with a queen size bed, big bathroom and retro red and white decorations – just perfect. This past weekend was our maiden voyage.

What are my top reasons for camping?

burnout-sharpened Camping - Why I Love Vacationing in a Tin Can — Passing burned trees around Bastrop from fires in 2015

Unlike people who stay in hotels, camp people expect to meet fellow travelers. You can sit under a tree or your awning and people feel comfortable and safe walking around and talking to strangers. Many people have dogs or unique set-ups and you have a reason to connect. “Where you headed?” and “Where have you been?” “What kind of dog do you call THAT?” I love to talk to RV full-timers or the park hosts. They have usually closed the book on one phase of their life and are hungry to see what else is out there. And they seemed to have released the need for more stuff

You get to take off your electronic leash. You might use your phone to check the weather or investigate whether that was poison sumac you just brushed up against, but you see don’t many adults glued to their email or Facebook or kids playing video games. People are moving around and socializing.

focus-on-lucy-1 Camping - Why I Love Vacationing in a Tin Can — Lucy, the ersatz “Husky” headed to camp,

Our Latest Campout:

For example, this past weekend, we met up the Happy Campers on their annual fall camp out. A little background on The Happy Campers – it started with a group of people who grew up together in Baytown, on the Texas coast. Many later went to University of Texas together. In 1972, as starving college students, they started getting together for camp outs, the only entertainment they could afford. Turned out they loved it and the happy campers started attracting more and more people. We got sucked into the group about five years ago.

During the day, part of the group hiked the north shore loop. Some of us took our bikes on a nine mile trail ride, others drove into Bastrop to walk around the town square. Some just sleep in the sun and drank beer.

On Saturday night, we all gathered for a chili supper under the stars supplemented by whatever side dish or dessert you wanted to share. There were are 35 of us all together, ranging in age from 2-year-old Samson to 90-year-old Howard. Somebody picked up a bunch of glow sticks and the kids ran around pretending that they were some kind of explorers. Some of the little boys tried to convince me that my 25-pound blue-eyed mutt (helplessly shy Lucy) was really a courageous Alaskan husky. We pulled our lawn chairs into a circle, watch the kids use their imagination to play instead of their thumbs, pointed out constellations, had a sing- along and reconnected.

lava-lady-bloom Camping - Why I Love Vacationing in a Tin Can — The Virgin de Guadalupe Lava Lamp which always blesses our campsite.

Lucy, my husband and I wandered back to our campsite around 11 pm. It was a mostly clear, quiet night with temperatures in the high 60’s. We poured another glass of wine, sat outside and soaked up the silence. And then we went inside and opened all of our windows and fell asleep, lulled by the night sounds and the fresh air. Try doing that at a La Quinta.

Oct 06 2016

You Can’t Keep A Mudbug Down

Mud bugs at Miller Theater

Surprisingly, one of the first giant crawfish events in Houston happened in the mid 1980’s in the middle of Houston’s museum district. What began as a desire to shore up a seemingly weak line-up for the annual Miller Outdoor Theater KIKK Country Concert showed the incredible appetite that Houstonians have for mud bugs.

Texans had been traveling for years to Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, home of the biennial Crawfish Festival. I knew about the festival from friends who told stories of a festival so big and so much fun that the town needed two years between each one to recover.

KIKK Radio and Urban Cowboy Craze

I joined KIKK about a year after Aaron Latham had written the Esquire Magazine piece that would become the basis for the 1980 movie, Urban Cowboy. KIKK’s twice a year concerts at Miller Theater rode the country popularity wave for over 14 years, bringing in “new” hat acts like George Strait, Alan Jackson and Clint Black and legends like Buck Owens, George Jones and Jon Conlee.

kikk You Can't Keep A Mudbug Down — KIKK Radio was Houston’s Heritage Country Station

We needed more than music

The line-up for 1985 was not coming together. With country music’s on-going popularity, it was getting harder to get the acts we wanted. Brenda Lee was signed as our legend, a newcomer named Jo-El Sonnier represented the emerging performer category and we had an unclassifiable act named Rockin’ Sidney, who was about to release a zydeco song called “My Toot Toot”. Joe Ladd, KIKK’s star picker had never failed to deliver a line-up that mirrored the top of the charts by the time the show came along. I just did not see how he could pull that off with this year’s bill. Since Jo-el Sonnier and Rockin’ Sydney had a Cajun following, KIKK’s promo director, Joan Hayes and I headed to Louisiana to see if we could steal some lightning from the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Fest.
[Read more…]

Sep 18 2016

Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler

I was losing sleep over this impending trip

I had committed to canoe the boundary waters for the first time. I like being out in nature but no one would consider me a pioneer woman. As the time grew closer, I had serious reservations. How was I going to do off the grid for a week of paddling through the US-Canadian Boundary Waters, officially known as The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW or BWCA?. It is a 1,090,000-acre wilderness area of north woods forests with 150 miles of glacial lakes and streams that make up the U.S.–Canada border in the Arrowhead Region of Minnesota. I don’t even like cold water – I have a hard time jumping into the Guadalupe River in the middle of a blazing Texas summer. What was I thinking?

How I got “roped in”

Our son Shane had become an Eagle Scouts with Troop 211 in Houston. We had developed close bonds our fellow Comanches, the adult leaders and volunteers who helped with the troop. It was at our annual 2012 Comanche Christmas party that a couple of glasses of wine lulled me into committing to a Boundary Waters trip over the 2013 Labor Day break.

What are the Boundary Waters?

While efforts to preserve the BWCA as a wilderness had begun in 1900, it was the historic homeland of the Ojibwa people who navigated the waters in birch bark canoes. A pictograph on a large rock wall overlooking North Hegman Lake has been credited to Ojibwe. It appeared to represent Ojibwe meridian constellations visible in winter during the early evening, which would have been useful for navigating the deep woods during the winter hunting season.

800px-Bwca_map Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Where the boundary waters lie

By 1730s, Europeans had opened the region to trade, mainly in beaver pelts. and soon organized into canoe-paddling groups working called Voyageurs. The voyageurs became legendary in their abilities to paddle and portage and were celebrated in folk stories and music.

What we packed

On our trip, pictographs would be replaced by laminated charts and compasses. Our canoes were Kevlar instead of birch. In case of a real emergency, we had a satellite phone. For warmth during the cold nights, skins and furs would be replaced by nylon, gore tex and fleece. During the warm days, sun-resistant shirts and pants and moisture- wicking underwear would keep us comfortable.

In early July, we went to REI to start buying and breaking in gear. For me, two pairs of Columbia zip-off cargo pants, over-sized vented sunscreen shirts (2), water socks (1 pair), Merrill water shoes, Patagonia rinse- and- wear underpants and two sports bras. A couple of pairs of wool socks and silk long johns for sleeping. When I tried on a cap that flattered the shape of my face, Hank over-ruled me and had me buy a drooping wide-brimmed hat. I wandered over to the backpack section but Hank told me the outfitters would supply that equipment. It was still a few weeks until he elaborated on what we would use to transport clothes – gallon ziplock bags!

Understanding Camp Routine

hanging-clothes-in-camps-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Drying paddling clothes for next day – Image by Jim Russell

Turned out that a gallon ziplock bag of clothes proved sufficient because we would only wear two outfits for the entire time on the water – one outfit to paddle and portage all day and an another to change into after we stopped each night and set up camp. Making camp meant unloading canoes, putting up tents, gathering firewood, paddling out into the middle of the lake to fill up our seven liters of water and treat it with tablets, bushwhacking the path to the latrine and unloading our cooking supplies, building the fire and more. After all the tasks were completed, we would hang up our wet paddling clothes on lines strung between tents and put on our second outfit. We would wear those dry clothes until time to go to bed when we would strip down to the long johns.

What about grooming?

What about shampoo, face wash, creams and ointments, deodorant? The next shoe dropped. We could rinse off while still in our paddling clothes but we could only use a special type of environmentally safe soap. A quick, soapless swim was the most popular choice. Most of the crew who had been on past trips said the key was to shower really well the morning we left the outfitters and then expect to have greasy hair and a very ripe odor when we got back to the lodge in a week. These guys sounded like they were really looking forward to that part.

Learning about the latrine

I asked if there was anything else I should know about. “Have you ever used a latrine before?” someone asked me in one of our last planning meetings. “Well, of course!” I answered. Wasn’t latrine another name for porta-potty? Having been on dozens trail rides and rodeos and hundreds of cookoffs, I figured I’d used roughly 40% of the porta-potties in Texas. “You might want to check it out on the internet”, a former scout master suggested. Incredibly, on Youtube.com, I found a video on boundary waters latrine. And it was helpful. This trip was going to test my mettle in new and unique ways. A Guy Clark lyric kept running through my mind:

Life is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath and always trust your cape

Getting to the Border

We left our house at 5 am to meet the Houston-based/ Boundary-bound crew members at Hobby Airport with all our gear. Connecting at Chicago’s Midway, we met the rest of the crew and flew together to St. Paul, a place I never thought I’d visit. Driving through the city on our way north, I delighted in how beautiful St. Paul was. An unexpected pleasure. It changed the way I listened to Garrison Keillor’s “Prairie Home Companion”. No wonder he spoke with such affection about Minnesota.

We traveled four hours to Ely, Minnesota in a 15 passenger van. I’m 5′ 4″ and rather nimble and so I was stashed in the hardest to reach seats. I curled up like a cat in the last row, popped a dramamine and cushioned my head with my felt jacket against the window. One of the crew had curated a mix cd with music to honor Minnesota’s favorite son, Bob Dylan. Between the dramamine and the early morning flight, the conversation of the other passengers and Bob’s laments lulled me to sleep.

Canadian Border Outfitters

We arrived Canadian Border Outfitters (CBO) just north of Ely, MN a little before 7 p.m., which was the cutoff for dinner. CBO took pity on us and found some steaks, potatoes and Lost Lake Lager. Veterans of past trips were disappointed that Pig’s Eye Lager was no longer available but at least we were able to celebrate our arrival with one last cold beer.

We met the leaders of the Voyaguers at the outfitter. At this point, I didn’t know the significance of that crew’s name and what our crew was going to call themselves.

food-on-bed-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Sorting through food supplies for week on boundary waters

We spent the night at the outfitter’s very basic motel. Each room had 2-3 twin beds in an anteroom, a very small bedroom with a double bed, and a small bathroom. Gathering in one of the rooms, we spent time deciding on what food to bring and what to leave behind. Food was a big consideration for my crew. Our motto could have been work hard, eat well. We paddled under the moniker The Happy Forks. Things were looking up.

Getting on the Water

Sunday, September 1 on BWCA (Ely MN Weather: High 66 – Low 50)

After breakfast, we watched the required Boundary Waters Wilderness Area video, which explained the rules of visiting the wilderness area and gave advice on topics like how to handle bears if they enter your campsite.

foggy-bank-600-400-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Where is the portage? Image by Jim Russell

The Voyageurs left first , transported to Snowbank Lake by the CBO van to get into the wilderness quicker. By the time the van returned for the Happy Forks and transported us, it was 11am and the weather had deteriorated. The Voyageurs were racing off to do their namesakes proud and had long ago left Snowbank for Disappointment Lake. We had a hard time even finding the first portage.

Intermittent rain and wind, exacerbated by some newbies manning the “oars” pushed back our arrival until after dusk at our first camp on Ima Lake. The hardy Voyageurs found two adjacent campsites and signaled us in with a blazing campfire. We were merely “Forks” on that first night, too tired and cold to be “Happy”. And I still needed to experience my first encounter with the latrine. What had I committed to?

together-at-ima-400-600-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Can you pick out the “unhappy forks” crew on the first morning? Image by Jim McGuiness

First Day’s Coverage: Snowbank  Disappointment (140 rod portage. 1 rod = 16.5 feet or 5.5 yards) Ahsub (25 rods) Jitterbug (15 rods) Adventure (40 rods) Cattyman (10 rods) Jordan (long channel ending with 5 rods) Ima (camp) (courtesy of Jim Russell)

The Wildlife/Food Tour Begins

Monday, September 2 BWCA (Ely weather: High 63 – Low 43)

Our expedition leader, Jim R. let us sleep in until 7:30a. A constant cold wind slowed us down around camp. In the three-man canoe that Hank and I maneuvered, the center section was loaded with supplies including a heavy nylon backpack, big enough to carry a couple of bear cubs. It was filled with cooking supplies – dutch ovens, sauce pans, pots, etc. Alas, on that first morning, we discovered we had no frying pan and had to make do with a cake pan to make breakfast tacos.

The Voyageurs had stopped by our site on their departure at about 9:30 a.m but once again, we didn’t push off until 11 am. The wildlife/food tour began.

snake-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Snake joins us for lunch on first day on boundary waters – Image by Jim Russell

A small snake shared our picnic spot on Thomas Lake. Bald eagles and mergansers appeared. On the food front, we rewarded ourselves after each portage with a handful of M&M’s from a two-pound bag. That soon morphed into chocolate poker to see what “hand” you pulled -3 blues, 2 reds, etc. Dinner was minestrone soup and cocoa mocha bars backed in the dutch oven. Jim R was not only our expedition leader but also our passionate camp chef who made each evening’s meal something special.

lisa-swimming-linda-looks-on-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Linda looks on as Lisa take a cold swim in the lake. Image by Jim Russell

In a triple play, Jim also claimed the spot as the first one to accidentally slip into the lake while exiting the canoe- a box we would all check off by the end of the trip. Jim and Lisa M decided to rinse off with long swims in the cold lake. I was not going there yet because I had quickly learned that our paddling clothes did not dry overnight. That first morning, I wiggled into those wet clammy pants, shirt, and soggy socks while the cold wind blew. That had replaced the latrine trek as the most unpleasant part of the trip and would remain so.

Cold Sleeping

Or maybe the most unpleasant part was the inadequacy of our two man tent. Because it was still warm during the day, Hank and I had packed a spring tent and spring sleeping bags. The first night I was cold because the weather was so inclement but by the second night, limitations of the tent were clear. Each night I wore more and more of my limited amount of dry clothes – gloves, hat,jacket and still I shivered. By the fourth night, we had zipped our bags together so that I could steal some body heat.

Second Day Coverage: Fraser  Hatchet (50 rods) Thomas (multiple portages through a very mucky area. On the map, three portages are listed and two distances are given, both 10 rods) Fraser (narrow channel, but no portage)

Always wear your bear whistle

Tuesday, September 3 BWCA (Ely weather – High 77 – Low 36)

By this second morning on the water, we were getting into a morning routine; up at 7 a.m. to breakfast on oatmeal, jerky, dried fruits, tea, coffee, and cocoa. That morning, we saw the Voyageurs the last time at 9 a.m. until we would reconnect on Friday evening.

The rest of the day would prove anything but routine. During the first portage, we became separated from the third canoe in our little convoy. That canoe and its occupants were grounded on a rock in the middle of the lake. Jim R. and Hank paddled back and got one of the passengers off the stranded canoe in a ballet of balance that lightened the caught canoe enough to float free.

The third canoe hadn’t signaled us their distress because they were not wearing their bear whistles. Over-cautious by nature, I had not taken off my bear whistle since instructed to put it on in the BWCA video back at the outfitters. I wore it every moment of the trip, sure that Yogi and Boo Boo were just waiting to catch me in an unguarded situation. The black plastic whistle is still in my MacGuyver makeup bag and goes with me on most trips.

portaging-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Some days it is more portage than paddle. Image by Jim McGuiness

The day was warm, the paddling pleasant and the portages tolerable because it was a chance to stretch our legs and load our backs. I had quickly learned that the boundary waters was more portaging than paddling so time on the water was something of a break. At lunchtime and while the sun was strongest, Dr. Kathy sensibly decided to swim in her clothes. This would would keep her cool through the afternoon and her clothes would be fully dry when we made camp.

The abandoned campsite

Our walkie-talkie sounded around noon with a unintelligible message from the Voyaguers about a campsite. We were now completely on our own without our advance team. At 3:30pm, we started to search for a evening campsite but found all occupied. The map indicated one on the far west end of Kekakabic Lake but all we could find was an overgrown path. Running out of options, we paddled back to the overgrown area to investigate and discovered it was an abandoned campsite that hadn’t been used in at least a year. Bushes covered the fire pit and tent areas. Two plants growing in the latrine indicating nature had started to reclaim even these rudimentary comforts. After an hour of bushwacking and clearing, we had enough room for three tents and cleared an steeply ascending path to the latrine, which offered a beautiful view of the lake. I was becoming fond of the latrines.

False Bear Alarm

We came up empty in the search for ample firewood and the mosquitoes took advantage of fresh victims. Our tents provided some protection from the bugs. Sometime after early lights out, we heard a series of “kerplunks” that sounded like a bear tossing our gear into the lake. I instinctively grabbed the bear whistle hanging around my neck, hoping I would have enough breath left to sound an alarm when the bear’s claws ripped through the fabric of our spring tent and down the back of my skull. False alarm. It was the sound of loons diving for their dinner.

cooking-at-camp-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Every dinner was pleasant surprise. Image by Jim Russell

Our dinner that night was chili mac soup. All I needed was a TV tray and an old RCA tuned to Bonanza to feel like I was ten years old again. In spite of some of the discomforts, I was enjoying myself – especially being unavailable to work or family via the electronic leash of my cell phone, locked up back at the outfitters. Life was becoming simple. Eat, paddle, portage and discover.

Third Day : Fraser  Gerund (15 rods) Ahmakose (30 rods) Wisini (90 rods) Strup (10 rods)
 Kekakabic (85 rods)

A magnificent day in camp

Wednesday, September BWCA( Ely weather: High 66 – Low 45)

We were up early and on the water by 9 a.m., a Happy Forks record. We used up this extra time by losing Hank’s paddle during the portage into Pickle Lake. After a lengthy search, it was found floating about thirty feet from the portage, obviously knocked off into the water during transfer of supplies. I took the fifth when questioned.

At noon we found a roomy campsite with a western exposure. It was too nice to leave, so we made this our camp. The weather was beautiful and the lake was inviting us in to swim. There were little depressions formed by tree roots on the low rise that were perfect for settling in with a book or a sketch pad. “Here was the promise of canoeing in the wilderness – free time and peace in nature’s beauty,” Jim R wrote in his captain’s log.

IMG_6600-690x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Enjoying an early camp day – Image from Jim Russell

Dinner was grilled polenta with tomato sauce and ginger nut bars baked in the Dutch over. While the Voyaguers shook their heads when they saw our intention to lug the oven into the wilderness, the promise of its sweet rewards drove me on each day.

Fourth Day Route: Kekekabic Pickle (80 rods)Spoon (25 rods)Bonnie (25 rods)

Payback for the Loons

Thursday, September 5 BWCA (Ely weather: High 75 – Low 36)

After recharging with a long, leisurely day in camp, we were on the water by 9:30a. Today, the boundary waters would reveal some of her best gifts. Early in the day, we came to Thunderpoint, a 100-foot high bluff with spectacular views in every direction.

thunerpoin5-600-400-600x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — View of boundary waters from Thunderpoint – Image by Jim Russell

Throughout the day, we traveled along the international border. On the Big Knife portage, we carried our canoes into Canada. We lunched on Robbins Island, where a I saw a mound of digested berries that looked like bear scat close to the latrine. It’s hard to pull down your pants while clutching your bear whistle. I felt vulnerable here on Robbins.

Underway again, we all stopped paddling to watch a loon struggle to swallow a nine-inch fish that it had caught. The loon was trying to turn the fish around to swallow it head first. The loon eventually prevailed but I’m glad the fish made the bird work for the treat. Payback for the bear scare on Kekakabic Lake.

loon-with-fish-russell Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Loon struggling to swallow a large fish – Image by Jim Russell

A flat rock for stargazing

We didn’t find an unoccupied campsite on Birch Lake until 5pm but it was a fitting spot for our last night in the wilderness. The site had the coveted western exposure with enough light to read and sketch. It was a clear night and there was a wide flat rock big enough for five of us to lay on and watch the stars come out. Summer sausage leftover from lunch was grilled and brought out for an appetizer. Dinner was chicken and dumplings and a cake with coconut and chocolate chips baked in the Dutch oven. I would miss the Happy Forks dinner menu surprises each night.

My “Bear” scare

Of course, I had one last bear scare. One of my camp setup jobs was to supply the latrine with toilet paper and hand sanitizer and find a suitable tree to use as an “occupied” signal. We would lean a paddle up against the tree. When you headed up to use the latrine, you laid the paddle across the path. After placing the latrine supplies, I heard a loud rustling behind me. I froze, put the bear whistle in the my mouth and looked around slowly. Nothing at eye level but as I lowed my gaze I stared into the curious face of an enormous rabbit. His nose was twitching as he smelled the air to see if there was anything edible in the ziplock bag that held the paper and santizer. He seemed unafraid and friendly. My sole encounter with a mammal on the BWCA. What a waste of a whistle.

Bonny  South Arm of Knife (33 rods) Portage (75 rods) Seed (15 rods) Melon (15 rods) Carp (25 rods) Birch (40 rods)

The last hours on the Boundary Waters

Fifth Day – Friday, September 6 BWCA (Ely weather: High 81 – Low 55)

group-picture-at-bwca-sign Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Proof the Happy Forks feasted through the Boundary Waters -Image by Jim McGuiness

We broke camp and were on the water by 9:15 am. Lunch was near the top of Moose Lake and then we stopped to get selfies at the Boundary Waters sign at the edge of the wilderness area. By 2 p.m., we were paddling up to the dock at the Outfitters. The staff welcomed us back with a cold beer. I’ve never had a better tasting brew.

The ever-adventurous Voyageurs arrived around 4:30. I was already in the shower scrubbing off a week of dirt and grime in a flood of hot water.

Celebrating with dinner at Grand Ely Lodge

P1010704-adamskin-cropped-690x400 Canoe the Boundary Waters BWCA with a beginner paddler — Voyaguers and Happy Forks celebrate together at Grand Ely Lodge – Image by Jeff Adamski

We reunited with the Voyaguers and dined at the Grand Ely Lodge, reacquainting ourselves with things like ice water, wine, fresh vegetables, salad and ice cream. That night, I took a second shower at the outfitter’s hotel just to assure myself it still was available. Before I went to sleep, I retrieved my cellphone from the office. I had six messages waiting from Kelsey-Seybold, where I had had a mammogram on the day before I left for my adventure. I’d listen to those when I got back to Houston. I wanted nothing to cloud the sense of wonder and accomplishment I was feeling. I had spread my arms and held my breath and trusted my cape. Life is just a leap of faith – no matter what the future holds.

Birch  Sucker (5 rods) Newfound (no portage) Moose (no portage)