Berglund - Sioux Narrows by Kayak

From October 30th to November 2nd 2007, I paddled solo from Berglund to Sioux Narrows, across Lake of the Woods. The total distance was 121 kilometres, and I encountered glorious sun, biting cold, and the biggest waves I've ever travelled through in any craft.

The trip was the focal point of a two-month sabattical from work.The end result was that I quit my job, changed careers, and re-discovered some work-life balance.

My kayak is a plastic Perception Eclipse. At 17 feet, it will hold a week's worth of gear, but careful packing is essential.

Thankfully, the weather was sunny and gloriously warm the first day, with absolutely no wind. I may not have had the nerve otherwise.

At the mouth of Little Grassy River, where it enters Lake of the Woods, I had my doubts. It is nine kilometres to Bigsby Island.The only land in between is tiny Elm Island about a third the way across.Off the starboard bow is a 63 kilometer stretch of open water.

The lake was dead-calm. Paddling nine kilometres would take me over an hour -- a lot could happen in that time. Adding to my nervousness was the fact that in this open expanse, distances were hard to sense. The trees at this end of the lake are smaller, and the shorelines lower. Bigsby Island, nine kilometres away, could have been fifty.

This old lighthouse sits on the south-west shore of Bigsby Island, pointing out the channel to those daring enough to be cruising Big Traverse Bay.

I was stiff and sore, and stopped earlier than I had planned. This beach is on the south-west end of Bigsby Island, pointing directly into Big Traverse Bay.

At about dusk, after a great steak dinner, the wind started to increase. My weather radio predicted 80 km/h winds. It was right. By morning, the wind had raised the water several feet, the beach was gone, and my kayak (tied to shore) bobbing in a puddle of water.

The waves hitting shore seemed about four feet. The wind was fierce. I needed to paddle out from shore a bit, then turn back with the wind and down the channel along the west side of the island. After some thought, I headed out.

I sat my kayak on the shore pointed out to sea, and strapped-in. I then pushed myself out with my hands as each wave crashed in, until I was floating. Once floating, I paddled hard into the waves. It was, actually, a lot easier than I'd expected.

To round the point required some broadside paddling, something any paddler will tell you is unwise. However, the kayak is remarkably stable and seems to want to flip even less than I do. I was dressed in a wetsuit, and prepared for the swim to shore if necessary. The waves were big, but once out from shore, were not breaking. It took all my concentration, but I was moving along nicely.

It was at about the point that I thought this would be pretty easy that I saw the wave. Keep in mind the vantage point of the kayaker. Sitting even lower than a canoeist, my hips were likely below the water line. Ahead and to my left, I saw a vertical wall of water heading my way. It completely dwarfed the four and five foot waves I was sitting amongst, and hid the two identical waves that were travelling just behind it. I pointed my kayak into the wave, and rode it out. It was amazing. Riding up the wave, it was as long as my kayak Sitting momentarily atiop it, the ends of my boat were out of the water.I feld my rudder go limp, with no water against it. The distance between the three giants was greater than my kayak is long. This was the strongest combination of joy and terror I'd feld in my life.

I would ride four or five sets of giants like this before I made it to the relatively calm waters in the channel. I stupidly hit one wave broadside, somewhat complacent due to the demonstrated stability of my boat. The wave reminded me of my carelessness by breaking as I perched atop it. I leaned into the spray that covered my boat and splashed over my head, to keep from rolling.

The channel proved to be worse than the open water. The wind was truly fierce. Though the waves were smaller, they were far less predictable. Paddling with the wind meant not seeing what was coming at me. Every island or bay brought with it fierce cross-wind waves that would wreak havoc with the prevailing wind.

I setup camp early, not having made much distance. It was near or slightly below zero by this point. My camp was cold, and my actions mechanical. I did manage to destroy a good pair of socks trying to dry them by the fire.

The next two days proved better. The morning of day three, it was cold enough that my paddle drippings froze to the deck of my kayak. But it was sunny, and soon warmed up. The wind was mild.

Over the next two days, I paddled to, then through Whitefish Bay. On the third day, I covered nearly 50 kilometres in seven hours.

Save for the odd hunter, the lake was void of people.