In Solitude and Friendship
We are deviating from our normal publishing schedule to bring you a mini-series from our recent trip to Minnesota! Enjoy!
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/YsnC4EJsg1PdMujc6
Tshhhh, tshhhh, tshhhh. The bow of the boat bounced gently over the waves, sending up hissing white waves that threatened our shoes behind the railing. An errant ray of sunshine escaped the clouds and warmed the back of my coat. Gratefully, I dropped my hood and let the straying strands of my braid dance in the wind. While rain still lurked on the horizon, it hadn’t let loose yet. This fact alone was making our experience much more enjoyable than our soggy Isle Royale visit the day before!
Our aim over the next few days was to explore Voyageurs National Park, our 52nd national park and the second leg of our Minnesota trip. I found my eyes travelling over the green, tree-covered islands that protruded from the lake like the bellies of sleeping giants. At first glance, Voyageurs didn’t look much different from Isle Royale. The most obvious difference, of course, was that we had abandoned the chilly waters of Lake Superior for the friendlier interior lakes of Minnesota. According to the Park Service website, Voyageurs National Park is an interconnected network of 218,000 acres of lakes, forest, and streams. The lakes of Voyageurs have interesting names like Kabetogama, a derivative from an Ojibwe word meaning “the lake that lies parallel to another lake.” I had to use Google Maps to look this up, but Kabetogama does, indeed, lie parallel to another lake. The less creatively-named Rainy Lake sits directly above Kabetogama, sandwiching a strip of forest in between like nature’s Oreo cookie. The fact that Kabetogama was named by the Ojibwe with geographic accuracy is a perfect example of what makes Voyageurs so unique. While Isle Royale is known for its solitude and wildlife, Voyageurs is defined by its people.
Voyageurs (“travelers” in French) is named for the French-Canadian fur trappers who heavily travelled the network of waterways from the late 1600s onward. In pursuit of beaver pelts used to make felt hats, the long canoes manned by hardy Frenchmen became the image that defined the region. As we came to learn, however, the era of the voyageurs was hardly the only era of note. The first people to inhabit the northern Minnesota region were Native Americans. Nomadic groups relied on fishing and the harvest of wild rice to sustain themselves as they moved through the lakes and forests. When European exploration began in the late 1600s, they discovered the Cree, Monsoni, and Assiniboine peoples in the area. By the 1780s, however, these tribes had moved on and left the region to the Ojibwe, the Native American tribe now most recognizable on the Minnesota-Canada border. It was the Ojibwe, for example, who designed the long, sturdy canoes utilized by the voyageurs on their fur trade routes. The Park Service notes that these canoes, known as North Canoes, were made out of birch bark, cedar, spruce resin, and spruce roots. Unlike the plastic kayaks that Tyler and I favor, the Ojibwe North Canoes were 25 feet long and weighed 300 pounds. They were sturdy enough to handle a load of 3,000 pounds, a remarkable feat in the eyes of modern engineering! Their uncanny resilience allowed the voyageurs to travel in crews of 4-6 people hauling 25-30 bales of furs. You can imagine how heavy a 300-lb canoe would become when laden with furs and food supplies. Now imagine hefting that bulk above your head to portage the canoe from lake to lake. Much like the Ojibwe canoes they travelled in, the French voyageurs were a sturdy bunch too!
The logging industry came fast on the heels of the fur trade in the Minnesota lakes. Each little lake island was rich with white and red pine, a fact that didn’t escape industrious lumbermen. Logging camps sprang up on the lakeshores, establishing some of first traces of modern life in the remote regions. During the heyday of the logging industry, it wouldn’t be uncommon to see massive islands of floating logs moving down bodies of water. The haunting whistle of a train would penetrate the forests, summoning the logs to their next destination. Dams were built, culture developed, generations came and went. The logging men were strong, just like the voyageurs, just like the Ojibwe. The lakes required a certain brand of toughness to withstand the rain, the insects, the harsh winters. Even when the resort industry branded the shores of the Minnesota lakes, a certain hardiness was required to keep the industry running.
My favorite instance of this was the story of I.W. Stevens. Ingvald Walter Stevens was a Norwegian immigrant who discovered that being a shoe salesman in America was extremely stressful. His career became so taxing that his doctor urged him to seek a lifestyle change before his health was ruined. Ingvald, who seemed to do nothing by halves, bought an entire island on Namakan Lake and entered a life of solitude. He lived alone on his private island for several years, occupying his time by chopping firewood, gardening, harvesting wild plants, hunting, fishing, and performing other tasks necessary for life on an island. According to our tour guide, I.W. Stevens grew lonely over the years. Relieved of the stress of his past salesman life, I.W. Stevens decided to pursue a different profession: resort owner. Over the next few years, Stevens built guest cabins, a root cellar, a woodshop, and a sauna. The sauna, we learned, was a crucial element to a Norwegian’s social life. A popular joke asserts that when a Norwegian buys land, they’ll build a sauna before they build their home!
Pine Cove Resort opened in 1937 and enjoyed a long, successful run on Stevens Island. Stevens, whose default was always hard work, ran the resort singlehandedly. He cleaned the cabins, washed the laundry, cooked, hosted, and somehow, thrived. Despite the stressful life he was trying to flee, I’d wager Stevens often felt he brought the stress upon himself. I mean, who starts a private resort when they’re trying to restore their own health? He ran the Pine Cove Resort for 22 years, shutting it down at the ripe age of 74 just so he wouldn’t have to wash guest laundry anymore. The solitude of his island returned. This time, Stevens seemed content to keep it that way. He settled into his routine of island survival, chopping wood, cutting ice, canning blueberries, and living off the land. For 20 more years, Stevens lived alone on his island, happily hosting friends and family in the cabins that once held resort guests. According to our tour guide, Stevens’ family became worried about his health when he reached the age of 90, isolated on his island. At the age of 94, Stevens left his cherished home, supposedly convinced to do so by his concerned children. I could find no record about Stevens’ own opinion about his health and wellbeing. Did he really want to leave his island after all that time? I.W. Stevens lived to the age of 104, undoubtedly finding ways to fill his time until the very last day. Did he miss his island during those last 10 years of his life? Did he ever return for a nostalgic visit? When we visited Stevens’ Island, his presence lingered on the lakeshore and near his cabin. The trees bent down close, as if searching for an old man who might assault their thick trunks with weathered hand and axe.
Much like the Ojibwe and the voyageurs, I.W. Stevens was a testament to life in Minnesota. Lake living requires hardiness, strength of spirit, and endless determination. Those who achieved it left their marks on the land indelibly. Some, like the dam at Kettle Falls, permanently altered the landscape and its ecosystem. Others, like the canoes of the Ojibwe, slipped silently by, preserved only in the lines of a history book and the grainy film of a photographer. Voyageurs is a unique park. It has been beloved, utilized, and sometimes damaged for generations. It has been called home by industry and nature alike. We, as its visitors, bear the grave responsibility of determining what marks we leave next. Will we scar the delicate shores of the scattered lakes? Or will we uphold its heritage, its solitude, its history and friendships?
The choice is ours.
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