No good story ever begins with “everything went according to plan.”
Since the idea was born, I’d been imagining what it would be like to thru-hike the Superior Hiking Trail. I romanticized effortless walks along the beach, the cool water of Lake Superior lapping at my feet. I thought We would arrive to our planned campsite after a satisfying day of hiking and spend hours around the campfire with our fellow backpackers. After the embers had cooled, I would then snuggle into my hammock under a million stars.
If that was what had happened, my blog would end here. Yes, some of those things became a reality, but as we soon found out, thru-hiking is NOT an effortless walk on the beach.
Nevertheless, these are the visions we had when my parents dropped us off on June 22, 2017 at Otter Lake Road, the northern terminus of the SHT, near the border of Canada. We’d spent the past few days running up and down the North Shore doing last-minute preparations. We purchased extra food, some wild leggings, and made a special trip to Duluth to pick up some insect repellant with 100% deet. We doubted we’d use much deet, but a local guide had told us we’d need it. We organized our re-supply boxes with food in 7-day increments and dropped them off at our pick-up locations (Lutsen Mountains & Cove Point). Finally, we packed our backpacks until they were practically bursting.
Logistically, we were ready. Physically and mentally…? We were about to find out.
We hoisted up our backpacks. Not so bad, we both agreed, trying to convince ourselves that we hadn’t over packed and it was normal for thru-hiking backpacks to be this heavy. After signing the log book, we set out on the trail! My parents hiked with us for the first half mile, but it was nearing 4:00pm and they had an hour drive back on bumpy gravel roads. They wished us luck and turned around to trot back to the car. Paige and I hiked on.
It was only eight miles to our campsite, but it was no walk in the park. The first mile was on a double-track gravel trail, but as soon as we turned into the woods, things got gritty. The trail was all mud and puddles. At first we bounced from rock to rock and branch to branch, but we could only sustain this game of hopscotch for so long with our heavy packs. We accepted our fate. Our shoes would be muddy and our feet would be wet. With the swampy conditions came the mosquitos we’d been warned about. They came in clouds. After trying to ignore them and unsuccessfully using herbal remedies, Paige ordered, Laura, get the 100% deet. I didn’t argue.
We arrived at Jackson Creek campsite that first night around 8:00pm and were excited to find we had company! A little green tent was already set up. We said hello and the woman inside introduced herself as Tara (we would refer to her later on as Tara the Talking Tent). Following Tara’s example, we quickly set up our tent and retreated inside to escape the mosquitos. Tara had been on trail for nine days and 92 miles. She assured us that the mosquitos and the trail conditions would get better in a couple days. Paige and I celebrated this good news with a dinner of cheese and crackers before calling it a night at 9:00pm.
There were no stars, no fire, and definitely no effortless walks on the beach that first day. But we were happy. We were two strong, independent female backpackers. We had food, a tent, and over 250 miles of trail ahead. It was actually happening!
Over the next few days we realized why the trails were so wet. RAIN. We trudged through Judge C.R. Magney State Park and the iconic Devil’s Kettle in a constant rain. We ate soggy crackers and cheese, trying to shelter ourselves from the rain beneath a tree. The next day and night brought more rain with a few breaks which we learned to appreciate. We both had good rain gear, but there’s only so much rain gear can do. Water dripped in our sleeves and soaked through our socks. We were wet. It was a fact of the trail. Maybe the next day will be sunny, we told ourselves.
Despite the rain, we had some beautiful scenery to keep our spirits up. We passed grassy prairies bursting with wildflowers, climbed peaks that opened up to breathtaking views of the lake, and walked along Lake Superior, dipping our feet in and filtering the purest water I’ve ever tasted. Yes, we were wet and muddy beyond belief, but if that’s the price we had to pay to get these views, we’d pay it.
On our fourth day, after nearly 50 miles of trail, the sun finally broke through the clouds. We reached a big asphalt parking lot and immediately emptied the soaked contents of our backpacks. We spent the next two hours spreading out our sleeping bags, shoes, clothes, tent and ourselves in the sun. The sunshine was intoxicating, and we were giddy with the prospect of being warm and dry for the first time since day one. Tourists driving up to the overlook from Grand Marias watched us with amusement. Some even came and chatted with us. We knew we were a site for sore eyes, but we didn’t care. We were grateful for the company!
We spent the rest of the day in high spirits and celebrated with a special meal that night; fresh made fry bread pizza. We ate our fill and laughed as we recapped the misadventures of the previous days. Now that we were warm and dry, all the rain felt like a distant memory. However, when we left camp the next morning, the deep puddles on the trail reminded us that the rain had been very real.
Let me tell you a few things about wet trails. Not only does it lead to wet, blistering feet, but it also makes travel very difficult. The constant sinking and sliding wears on your joints, especially when you have a heavy pack. We started out each day feeling strong, but after thirteen miles of sporadic mud, we’d arrive at camp limping like we were 80-years-old. Usually, we miraculously healed overnight. However, by day six, Paige’s knee had enough.
We were planning to meet a guy I’d met the previous week at Cascade River State Park. His name was Han Taylor and he managed trail maintenance on 220 miles of the SHT. He’d told us we could contact him if needed anything at all. So when our water filter broke on day four, Han was who we called. He was going to meet us at Cascade in the late afternoon to bring us a new water filter along with some extra foot care supplies and a bandage wrap for Paige’s knee. As promised, he rolled into the parking lot with everything we needed and more! We thanked him profusely and promised to repay him at the end of our hike. He wasn’t concerned.
Paige wrapped her knee and went for a short test walk. She came back sullen. We’re staying here for the night, she told me. My heart sank, but I remained optimistic. A park ranger named Pete had told us if we needed a campsite, we could use the new one – it wasn’t on the reservation site yet! You are the reason we’re here, he told us. If you need anything, just ask. We were touched. It’s people like Pete and Han that make you believe in humanity.
We spent the night at Cascade in the non-existent (but very real) campsite. The next day Paige wrapped up her knee again and did another test walk. She came back with a smile and a thumbs-up! She would need to go a little slower and put in less distance, but we could keep hiking. I was relieved, but still worried. Our schedule had us doing up to 17 miles a day and 22 miles the last day. Paige was doing well, all things considered, but she wasn’t ready for that kind of mileage. Especially not on these wet and muddy trails. I was especially worried looking at the terrain coming up, but I kept my worries to myself. For now, we just had to go 15 miles to Lutsen. Then we would get our resupply. And maybe new plan.
At our campsite on Lake Agnes, the rain returned and continued all through the night. It didn’t bother us – we were used to it at this point. Early on in our hike the next day, we passed a group of wet boy scouts, clearly at different experience levels of backpacking. They were distraught. Our camp flooded last night… The trail is a river… Don’t even try to jump over the puddles… You WILL get wet. Normally, we would have been dismayed, but we knew that in a few miles we would be at Lutsen. The Holy Grail.
When we arrived in Lutsen, I blurted out something that had been on my mind the last couple days. You know we won’t make it to Duluth at this pace. I said nervously. Paige gave me a blank look. That has to have crossed your mind, I tried again. Actually, it hasn’t. She said coolly. Crap.
Despite her resistance, Paige agreed to stay in Lutsen for the night. We were soaked, yet again, and could use a shower and laundry. We got a room at Eagle Ridge for $99 thanks to a super nice receptionist and the manager of the resort. Our room wouldn’t be ready for a few hours, so they gave us the code to get into the pool. We felt like we’d died and gone to heaven. Not only was there an indoor-outdoor pool, but also a hot tub and sauna! While we warmed up in the hot tub, Paige said, I have an idea.
Her idea was a good one. We would skip a particularly difficult 60-mile section of trail and cut down the mileage for the rest of our journey to Duluth. That night in the hotel room, we called Han again and asked if he could shuttle us to a new section of trail the next day. Absolutely, he told us. He would be to the resort by noon.
That night Paige and I indulged in a long shower, laundry, and dinner at a place called Papa Charlie’s (compliments of Paige’s mom). We both felt fantastic. Not only were we clean and dry, but we had a new plan. We were going to make it to Duluth!
As promised, Han rolled up in his truck a little before 12:00pm. We watched miles of trail flash by outside the window and in about 20 minutes we were at Lake County Road 6, our new starting point. We waved goodbye to Han, wondering how we were ever going to repay him. This was the second time he’d saved us. Thanks be to Han.
At this point, our trip got brighter – literally and figuratively. The sun came out and the trails dried up. We arrived into camp that night realizing that, for the first time, both of us had dry feet! The next five days were everything we’d hoped our backpacking trip would be and more. We had our first campfire of the trip. We spent an afternoon relaxing on the bank of Split Rock River. We made new friends at Beaver Pond campsite (Hannah & Max from Duluth) and met old friends at Gooseberry Falls (Jane & Shelby from UW-La Crosse). We ate ice cream on the 4th of July and watched a dozen firework shows from Wolf Rock. I’m starting to remember why I love backpacking, Paige joked. I smiled. This was living.
The night after July 4th we were awakened at 2:30am by a flash followed by a loud crash. Thunderstorms. We both groaned and dragged ourselves out of the tent (you don’t want to be in a metal frame structure during a lightning storm). We stood outside for an hour until the storm began to move away. We crawled back into the tent, wet again. No sooner had we zipped our sleeping bags, when we heard another BOOM. We found ourselves out in the rain again for another hour. You know, we only have 60 miles left, Paige mentioned casually. We could be off trail in three days. Standing in the rain at 4:30am, that sounded fantastic.
The next day, we scrapped our schedule and started cranking out 20-mile days. We had left the beautiful views of Lake Superior behind us and just had miles of trail through woods. Away from the lake, the temperature crept up to 90 degrees, the trails were soaked, and the mosquitos had returned. We were reminded of our first 60 miles of trail. However, this time, we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Each day, we were that much closer to Duluth and Paige’s car, which brought promise of comfort and community.
On day 16 we arose at 6:00am. After a breakfast of mashed potatoes (that was about all we had left for food), we hit the trail. We had 22 miles and we were determined to finish the trail before dark. All was going well until we stopped for our routine second lunch. As we were shoveling down the last of our trail mix, clouds began to roll in and we felt familiar wet droplets hit our skin. We threw on our rain gear and hit the trail. Soon the sky shook with thunder. We were on an open snowmobile trail, so we decided to tunnel into the forest until the storm subsided. We stood silently enduring yet another rain. It only seemed appropriate for our last day on trail. And then… Is that hail?! Paige exclaimed. No way… I said. But sure enough, little white pellets of ice were falling from the sky. Just when we thought we’d seen it all! We both agreed it was Mother Nature’s way of telling us it was time to get of the trail.
After the storm, the sun came back out and by 4:30pm on Friday, July 7, 2017 we reached the parking lot on Martin Road in Duluth. We had made it from Canada to Duluth, thanks to a little help from our friends. We both cheered and threw off our soaked shoes and socks. I sat on the trunk of Paige’s car, enjoying the feeling of the sun and free feet. It had been a wild ride, but I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. All our struggles had made our accomplishment that much greater.
When I returned home and told the story to my friends and family, most of them said, Wow, that sounds miserable. I would pause in my story, puzzled, unable to explain how it felt. I won’t lie, we were pretty miserable at times, but that’s part of the experience. You can’t have the soaring highs without going through the draining lows.
And as for the last 60 miles that we missed? We’ll be back. If relentless rain, mosquito swarms, and broken bodies can’t hold us back, not much can.
Until next time, SHT!
Want to hear more about our time on trail? Check out Paige’s day-by-day blog at https://thruthewoods.blog/sht-blog/
Bridging the Gap 