Day 11 -- Voyageurs National Park

We kept the screens open all evening, to catch the breeze. As I was drifting off to sleep, Keith bolted upright in bed, only half awake, terrified that he heard something growl outside window. I could hear only the otherworldly buzzes and chirps of the insects and critters on shore, and the occasional slap of a wave on the hull. But otherwise it was perfectly still. I turned over and went to sleep.

In fact, it was still the rest of the night. The severe weather that was predicted must have slid to the south. I slept hard, and when I woke up this morning, it took me a few minutes to remember where I was. 

After breakfast, we tried to radio Northernaire base again, to tell them about the busted outboard motor. This time Base answered back that one of their guys, Bill, would come out to fix it. In the meantime, Charlie tried to start the motor once more, and this time it caught. We radioed again to report the news, but they said Bill was already in the area, and he would stop by anyway, for good measure.

Charlie and Natalie spent some time zipping around the bay in the little boat. Keith and Clare played cards, and I worked on the blog until Bill finally motored around the point in his own fishing boat, just before noon. 

My office. Could be worse!

As best we can tell, Bill is Northernaire’s in-house fishing guide/handyman/delivery driver/all-around troubleshooter, and he must spend entire days motoring up and down the lake, from houseboat to houseboat, dropping off firewood, ice and grocery orders, fixing broken equipment and offering general assistance. He likely knows more about the houseboats, the lake and the national park than the new owners do. He’s incredibly Minnesota-nice, and he has a sooper-dooper thick Minnesota accent, which is adorable, don’tchaknow? (Charlie told us later that he’d like to have Bill’s job, which, as Charlie understands it, involves long stretches of fishing interrupted by occasional heroic deeds, as needed.)

Of course, we are grateful that Bill showed up to help with the motor. But we are even more grateful that he brought Daisy, Northernaire's faithful Springer Spaniel!

Bill tried to re-start the motor, and this time it wouldn’t catch. Again. And when he yanked on the start cord, it wouldn’t retract. He had to take the cowling off to rewind it by hand. After a bit of work, he seemed to fix the problem, and he explained to Charlie what to do if the issue recurred.

  

Before he left, we pressed Bill for campsite recommendations for tonight. We planned to motor a few more hours down the lake, and he suggested some sandy sites and secluded islands that might be unoccupied, which all sounded great to everyone, and we started to develop a plan for the day.

But after a moment, Bill reconsidered. “Ooh, yoou knoow, yoou should shooot for Anderson Baay,” he suggested, pointing on the chart to a spot even farther down the lake -- father than we had planned to go today. “It has some reeally tall bluffs that are great for cliff jumping, yoou knoow?” 

No. Not cliff jumping. Please not cliff jumping. I hate cliff jumping.  And I hate watching my kids jump off cliffs. Hate it hate it hate it. Goddammit, Bill, shut your Minnesota motor mouth, or, youbetcha, I will shut it for you.

But it was too late. Charlie was sold as soon as he heard the word “cliff,” and there was no talking him out of it. 

After Bill left us, we untied from our campsite and launched back into the lake. For the next three hours, Natalie captained us through the Brule Narrows (where the boating route lies exactly on top of the Canadian border; we may have strayed into foreign territory, if only for a moment), across the yawning mouth of Saginaw Bay, through the tight Kempton Channel and into Anderson Bay, where we found a campsite and tied up. 

It's a beautiful day for a cruise!

The bluffs are halfway down the bay. On the far side of the bay there’s a rocky landing with a dock, two picnic tables, a fire ring and an outhouse. It’s not a private campsite so we couldn’t tie up there, but we motored over in the small boat to check it out – and discovered some interpretive signs and the start of a hiking trail that connects to a few of the inland lakes and, ultimately, Kabetogama about 10 miles to the south. When Charlie tried to start up the motor to head back to the houseboat, it wouldn’t catch. Again. And then the cord got stuck and wouldn’t retract. Again. And we couldn’t get it to rewind. So we used one oar to row all the way back to the houseboat. 

With the motorboat out of commission, we didn’t have great access to the cliffs, and I had an excellent reason not to go jumping, to Charlie’s intense frustration and disappointment. The trailhead and the cliffs make this bay a popular spot, and we saw a number of sport boats cruise in and motor right up to the bluffs, but no one got out to jump. Ah-ha, I thought. None of the other parents will let their kids jump, either. Maybe I’m not such a terrible parent. 

But finally, late in the evening, an obnoxious group of about 14 people sped into the bay, disrupting our quiet time with their giant wake, blaring AC/DC and cheering on their little kids who disembarked, climbed to the highest point of the bluffs and jumped. “JASPER! JASPER! JASPER!” Charlie was angry, because he wasn’t Jasper. Clare thought it was hilarious, because she loves “Thunderstruck.”

The houseboat is equipped with a water slide and two kayaks. So we spent the afternoon swimming, fishing and exploring the bay in our personal watercraft. Keith and I swam to a tiny island about 40 yards away from our campsite, discovered that it’s covered with blueberry bushes, and filled a cup with tiny, tart berries. 

This little island is loaded with blueberries! 

  

Later, Keith and I took the kayaks out and spotted an otter swimming in the bay; he allowed us to follow him to shore, where he stretched and sneezed and gave us the side-eye before he disappeared into the brush. 

 Around dinnertime, storm clouds blew in, and we could hear thunder rumbling and see sharp jagged lines of lightning above the tree line. Clare assured us that the worst of it would stay to the south, and she was right: We just got some rain, and then were rewarded with a full rainbow over the bay.

After the rain slowed, Charlie spent time casting his line from the back of the fishing boat. He offered his rod for me to try, but first he tied on a new lure. Then before handing the rod over, he gave it a test cast, to be sure the lure was secure. He immediately snagged an 18-inch Northern!