Voices from the Heartland - "Boundary Waters Canoe Park" by Barton Sutter

Grants | NHPRC | Special Collections | Minnesota Books and Authors | Types | Commentary | Legacy Project Remote Work (2020-2021) | Reading | Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness: A Chronology |
July 3, 1992
Barton Sutter - Reader
Listen: Voices from the Heartland - Boundary Waters Canoe Park by Barton Sutter
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Barton Sutter reads his essay “Boundary Waters Canoe Park.” Sutter recalls the travails to get into Boundary Waters being far more trecherous than the wild.

Essay was later collected in book on the inspiration of music in life, "Cold Comfort: Life at the Top of the Map," published by University of Minnesota Press.

Transcript:

(00:00:00) Every Spring I go after lake trout. There's an old saying that the lake trout will be biting when the Birch leaves are the size of beavers ears, but I never seem to have a beaver handy when the time comes so I can only guess I have developed three reminders to help me plan. My trips avoid the fishing opener avoid Memorial Day Weekend. Go before the 1st of June when I can keep those Simple Rules my spring trip often turns out to be the best of the year. The fish are dumb and hungry. The woods are still bug-free and the traffic in The Boundary Waters remains relatively light in May and important consideration if like me, you're not really happy unless you've got an entire Lake to yourself. Unfortunately this year. I had to break one of my rules I couldn't get away until Memorial Day weekend and this meant trouble when I went down to the forest service office to reserve my travel permit The permits which keep the Boundary Waters from being completely overrun are a necessary evil, but they make me mad. Anyhow, when I was a kid, you just packed up your stuff and went into the woods nowadays. You have to pay good money down and make a reservation as if you were planning to pitch your tent inside a damned hotel, and naturally the entry points. I wanted were already taken for Thursday Friday Saturday. I'd have to wait clear until Sunday for the privilege of sleeping on.

(00:01:29) Ground

(00:01:30) thus began a slow burn which grew hotter the closer. I came to what the forest service likes to call your Wilderness experience for one thing as I drove up the North Shore. I got my first look at the damage that Department of Transportation has done to Lafayette Bluff, they blew a hole through it. And now they're bragging that we have the only Hard Rock Tunnel in the entire Midwest big deal. As far as I can. See. It's a hole in a A hill lined with bathroom tile here in Duluth. We're calling it The

(00:02:04) Culvert

(00:02:06) worse yet. MnDOT is already blasting a similar hole through Silver Cliff just like that. They've ruined one of the most majestic hunks of rock in the entire State. I understand the curve around the cliff was creepy less than safe. So what it's good for people to be scared by Nature. I understand. There was a serious problem with erosion but was blowing a hole through Silver Cliff the only solution

(00:02:35) how come I never got to

(00:02:36) vote on this who decided we should trade our most spectacular Highway view of Lake Superior for a quarter mile of bathroom tile talk about tunnel vision. Fuming and depressed I chugged into Grand Marais where I stopped to pick up my permit and found myself subjected to a new indignant. He devised by the forest service I Bart Sutter Woodsman extraordinaire veteran canoeist reader of Ed a be Sig Olson and the Boy Scout Handbook. I chingachgook. I was required to watch a video on camping Advocate as if I were some 12 year old from Dallas or Chicago. What can I do but talk back when the TV spoke of Clean Water? I argued that the Lakes were full of mercury when the narrator insisted on calling this region The Boundary Waters canoe area Wilderness. I said paw this ain't no Wilderness. This is a goddamn Park The Boundary Waters canoe Park when the forest service clerk made me take a little quiz on garbage bears and fire greats. I nearly spit. Nor was I especially pleased to arrive at my favorite Backwoods entry point and find a half dozen count them six cars pulled up in the brush ahead of me. I almost turned for home. But no, I shouldered my canoe and started up the trail hot-headed thinking as I do each year. I'm done with the Boundary Waters thinking desperately of our wild neighbor to the north singing furiously under the canoe. Oh, All Canada. Hmm. So how was my trip actually it was terrific once I'd got by the rubble at Silver Cliff one side run the bureaucratic Gauntlet. Once I finally made it out on the Lakes. I had a fine time I went in for lakes and had the last one to myself. My sleeping bag was too flimsy and I shivered through the night but I heard loons I saw an osprey and I caught five Trout the best I've ever done. The fishing wasn't fast exactly but each time. I was just about to quit. I caught one.

(00:04:55) There might be a lesson in

(00:04:56) that. Lakers are beautiful fish mottled green and white washed with pink and blue when I opened these their flesh glowed bright orange, like some exotic fruit and tasted sweet as salmon. The last one. I caught weighed two and a half pounds and to me a mediocre fisherman. It looked like a shark. So I was very happy as I drove the gravel road back toward Grand Marais and somehow not surprised when rumbling down a hill and through a marsh. I saw a great gray owl big as an eagle symbol of true Wilderness perched on a fencepost watching me with large yellow

(00:05:38) eyes. I didn't stop.

(00:05:41) I drove right on but knew that I'd be back. Maybe the Boundary Waters isn't really Wilderness, but it's still a damn nice park.

Transcripts

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BART SUTTER: Every spring I go after Lake Trout. There's an old saying that the Lake Trout will be biting when the birch leaves are the size of beavers ears. But I never seem to have a beaver handy when the time comes, so I can only guess. I have developed three reminders to help me plan my trips. Avoid the fishing opener, avoid Memorial Day weekend, go before the 1st of June.

When I can keep those simple rules, my spring trip often turns out to be the best of the year. The fish are dumb and hungry, the woods are still bug free, and the traffic in the Boundary Waters remains relatively light in May. An important consideration if, like me, you're not really happy unless you've got an entire lake to yourself.

Unfortunately, this year I had to break one of my rules. I couldn't get away until Memorial Day weekend, and this meant trouble when I went down to the Forest Service office to reserve my travel permit. The permits, which keep the Boundary Waters from being completely overrun, are a necessary evil. But they make me mad anyhow. When I was a kid, you just packed up your stuff and went into the woods.

Nowadays, you have to pay good money down and make a reservation as if you were planning to pitch your tent inside a damned hotel. And naturally, the entry points I wanted were already taken for Thursday, Friday, Saturday. I'd have to wait, clear, until Sunday for the privilege of sleeping on the ground. Thus began a slow burn which grew hotter the closer I came to what the Forest Service likes to call your wilderness experience.

For one thing, as I drove up the North shore, I got my first look at the damage the Department of Transportation has done to Lafayette Bluff. They blew a hole through it, and now they're bragging that we have the only hard rock tunnel in the entire Midwest. Big deal. As far as I can see, it's a hole in a hill lined with bathroom tile. Here in Duluth, we're calling it the culvert.

Worse yet, Minot is already blasting a similar hole through Silver Cliff. Just like that, they've ruined one of the most majestic hunks of rock in the entire state. I understand the curve around the cliff was creepy, less than safe. So what? It's good for people to be scared by nature.

I understand there was a serious problem with erosion, but was blowing a hole through Silver Cliff the only solution. How come I never got to vote on this. Who decided we should trade our most spectacular highway view of Lake Superior for a quarter mile of bathroom tile?

Talk about tunnel vision, fuming and depressed, I chugged into Grand Marais, where I stopped to pick up my permit and found myself subjected to a new indignity devised by the Forest Service. I Bart Sutter, woodsman extraordinaire, veteran canoeist, reader of Ed Abbey, Sig Olson, and the Boy Scout Handbook, I chingachgook, I was required to watch a video on camping etiquette as if I were some 12-year-old from Dallas or Chicago.

What can I do but talk back. When the TV spoke of clean water, I argued that the lakes were full of mercury. When the narrator insisted on calling this region the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. I said, pah, this ain't no wilderness. This is a goddamn park, The Boundary Waters Canoe Park. When the Forest Service clerk made me take a little quiz on garbage, bears, and fire grates, I nearly spit.

Nor was I, especially, pleased to arrive at my favorite backwoods entry point and find a half dozen-- count them-- six cars pulled up in the brush ahead of me. I almost turned for home. But no. I shouldered my canoe and started up the trail. Hot headed, thinking as I do each year, I'm done with the Boundary Waters. Thinking desperately of our wild neighbor to the North, singing furiously under the canoe.

(SINGING) Oh Canada, mm-hmm mm-hmm

So how was my trip? Actually, it was terrific. Once I'd got by the rubble at Silver Cliff, once I'd run the bureaucratic gauntlet, once I finally made it out on the lakes, I had a fine time. I went in Four Lakes and had the last one to myself. My sleeping bag was too flimsy and I shivered through the night. But I heard loons, I saw an osprey, and I caught five trout. The best I've ever done.

The fishing wasn't fast exactly, but each time I was just about to quit, I caught one. There might be a lesson in that. Lakers are beautiful fish, mottled, green, and white, washed with pink and blue. When I opened these, their flesh glowed bright orange like some exotic fruit and tasted sweet as salmon. The last one I caught weighed 2 and 1/2 pounds and to me, a mediocre fisherman, it looked like a shark.

So I was very happy as I drove the gravel road back toward Grand Marais, and somehow not surprised when rumbling down a hill and through a marsh, I saw a great gray owl, big as an eagle, symbol of true wilderness, perched on a fence post, watching me with large yellow eyes. I didn't stop. I drove right on, but knew that I'd be back. Maybe the Boundary Waters isn't really wilderness, but it's still a damn nice park.

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