Day 9 -- To Bear Head Lake State Park

Keith and I were in line at World’s Best Donuts at 7:30 this morning. The shop is closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, so today was our first chance to indulge. They are unlike any other doughnut I’ve sunk my teeth into: covered in sugar, with just a little bit of a crispy fried crust giving way to the soft, warm, cakey insides. We gobbled them with coffee on the beach. Such an exquisite way to greet the day.

Before we rolled out of town, Keith and I checked out the gallery of Betsy Bowen, an established and beloved artist based in Grand Marais, known for her lively woodcut prints depicting Northwoods scenes. We have a couple of children’s books featuring her artwork at home. The gallery was brimming was all kinds of fine art and craft from other local artists, as well, including pottery, batik, photography and jewelry. We were eager to get on the road, and so we only allowed ourselves to browse for about 15 minutes. Still, we left with three prints to add to our collection at home. 

We drove south along the shore of Lake Superior, made a quick lunch stop at Tettegouche State Park, then turned inland on Highway 1. We watched dark clouds gather as we made our way along the route, and the rain finally started just as we arrived in Ely. 

It was still raining when we found our campsite, at Bear Head Lake State Park, about 15 miles west of Ely. The entrance to the park is about six miles off the main highway. But in the rain, six miles feels like 40, as the car creeps deeper into the woods. The leafy campground was dark and dripping (read: buggy!), and with all the campers zipped up tight inside their tents, it felt deserted and eerie. 

Setting up camp in the rain? Hard pass. We just unhitched the trailer and left it at our site, then drove back into Ely to stock up on supplies for our houseboating trip, which starts tomorrow.

The small town of Ely, pop. 3,400, is the launch pad for many trips into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, and several outfitting companies, outdoor clothing stores, restaurants and coffee shops are strung along the downtown strip. The rain had stopped by the time we left the supermarket, so we cruised the main street looking for a restaurant with outdoor seating, and were surprised to find none to choose from. In Grand Marais, tables on the sidewalks in front of many of the popular restaurants accommodate take-away diners. But it doesn’t look like Ely has followed suit, which leaves me scratching my head. This town is populated by and thrives on outdoor enthusiasts. I feel like they missed the boat on that one. 

Ely seems ... standoffish ... today. They don't want our business, and we don't exactly feel welcome here. The town isn't packed with visitors, like it usually is. The Longs are all wearing masks and staying distant from others while contributing to their economy, but it still seemed like those townies were throwing me dirty looks in the grocery store.

To the kids’ delight -- and their parents’ dismay -- we ended up in the drive-thru at Dairy Queen and eating in the car. Yuck.

Despite the lack of hospitality, we dawdled in Ely, figuring that the longer we spent there, the longer our campsite would have to dry out. By the time we returned to the campground, the skies had cleared and the campground was coming back to life. After we got the tents set up, Charlie headed out to the lake to cast his line out. He was thrilled to catch (and release) a small bluegill.  Bonus: The bugs are not so bad.

The campground now (at 11:30 p.m.) is still.  There are no shrieking gulls, like in Grand Marais, and the silence – occasionally interrupted only by a loon’s soulful wail – is ringing in my ears. 

I am a little apprehensive about the houseboat trip tomorrow. I hope our family survives this. As I was planning the trip and juggling all the moving pieces, I tried to book a houseboat for the beginning of our trip, so that we could end our vacation on Mackinac Island – essentially the reverse of our current itinerary. I figured we would all be more positive and patient with each other when we started out, and that we would need that energy as we learn to pilot a houseboat and share the close quarters on board for a few days. 

But the houseboat was only available for three nights at the end of our itinerary, and now I’m worried. We’ve been on the road for nine days now, and we’re all getting on each other’s nerves. It’s not a great time to squeeze us all onto a 44-foot vessel for four days. It feels like this pressure cooker is getting ready to explode.

Wish us luck. We’re going to need it!