OH, MOTHER, WHERE ART THOU?
Why women go to the Boundary Waters
and what they do once they get there By Mary Nosek Ely, Minnesota. The July day dawned with a brilliant sparkle and an early-morning, northern Minnesota chill. By the time the women finished their breakfast at a knotty-pine hometown cafe where a day's worth of comfort food costs less than coffee in an upscale metro bistro, a spunky
breeze was herding wispy clouds eastward. The women pushed off from the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW) entry point at Fall Lake at 9:30 a.m. four canoes, nine women, nine Duluth packs, an extra backpack or two, a spare canoe paddle and life jacket for good measure.
The sky was gray by early afternoon. Rather than a relaxing lunch on shore, the women rafted together on the lee side of an island to hide from
the approaching raindrops and snacked on crackers and cheese. Then they dug out nine sets of raingear and paddled out into a walleye chop that had blown up during their break. By 4 p.m. they were soaked, and the walleye chop had worked itself up into something requiring real canoeing muscle.
With two portages behind them, the women paddled a meandering shore line for a long time hunting for the campsite of their dreams. Great view,
enough breeze to discourage mosquitoes but not too much breeze space for three tents, acceptable area for cooking, swimming beach, smooth rocks for stargazing, firewood for gathering, good path to the pit toilet. But every acceptable site was already occupied, so they convened a meeting nine wet women in plastic suits floating together in the rain deciding what to do next.
They decided on Horseshoe Lake one portage beyond a little dead-end
lake with two or three campsites, max. It was a gutsy decision for so late in the day. The temptation of Horseshoe Lake's solitude and privacy had to be weighed against the prospect of backtracking, and still more paddling and portaging if the campsites turned out to be occupied.
They were in luck or maybe six hours of paddling in the rain had lowered their expectations a little. Whatever the reason, the empty campsite
looked first-rate, and they unloaded soggy packs and pitched three tents in the rain. They postponed their long-anticipated steak dinner under the stars and ducked in their tents for a banana-bread feast with peanut butter, Chardonnay from a box, and lots of ibuprofen. They had a wonderful time.
What were these women thinking? This was no rugged team of wilderness aficionados. It was a group of teachers, insurance agents,
small business owners and dental hygienists from suburban St. Paul. For 360 days of the year these women live in perfect harmony with climate-controlled shopping malls, mobile phones and automatic garage door openers.
What makes intelligent, mature women leave the convenience of air conditioned cars and "we never close" supermarkets to trudge around in a place where even outboard motors are banned and "bagging your own
groceries" means toting everything you plan to eat for the next week around in a canvas pack on your back? While the reasons are probably as diverse as the women's groups themselves, they most likely share some things in common, and they're probably different from the reasons that motivate men at least the reasons men are willing to talk about aloud. A closer look at a few female BWCAW veterans unearths some answers.
"We go because Carol makes us go," Katherine Richter, an early childhood teacher and Lutheran pastor's wife from Roseville, Minnesota, says with a laugh. She's referring to Carol Stark, the leader of a group of St. Paul area women that has retreated to the BWCAW the third week of July every summer in recent memory.
Most of the women in this group were introduced to Boundary Waters canoeing by Stark, whose love of the BWCAW has its roots in her high
school church group years. And part of the reason these women go back every July is because Carol Stark has the next trip planned before anyone has unpacked their gear from the one just completed.
"What makes a great trip is a good mix of women," she says. "I love to have one or two new people join us each year. It's so neat to watch new people grow as they experience the adventure. They're usually pretty proud of themselves."
But, in addition to an enthusiastic and organized leader, the women find much that draws them to the wilderness each summer. While most have reached a place where they no longer feel the need to prove themselves to others, they enjoy proving themselves to themselves.
"If we were canoeing with our husbands," says Shelly Edwardson, a school media specialist, "you can bet there would be things we wouldn't be expected to do. In a women-only group, we carry the heavy packs,
we portage the canoes, we pitch the tents, we build the fires and there's a lot of satisfaction in knowing that we're self sufficient."
There is also something powerful, especially to women who spend most of their lives in suburbia, in knowing that they can function without modern conveniences and that they can handle whatever the weather and the landscape sends their way.
Let the men boast about "male bonding" all they want, most women are
convinced that the BWCA builds a very special closeness among women.
"We talk a lot," says graphic artist Jan Benson, who canoes with another group of Boundary Waters women that has been together since 1988. "We talk about our expectations, how we feel about things, before, during and after the trip. Guys, I think, talk fish, and that's about it."
Connections between women who travel in the BWCAW together run deep.
"In our group, there are three women who are breast cancer survivors," says Stark. "We've shared each other's most triumphant, and most trying experiences together in the wilderness. This is a place where women share, inspire, support and laugh together."
Laughter is a huge part of what binds women to one another in the BWCA, mostly because women refuse to take themselves and their wilderness survival abilities or lack thereof too seriously.
"There was the night we couldn't raise our food pack very far off the ground because the rope got hung up on a knot in the tree branch we hoisted it over. We just sealed it up in duct tape, let it dangle, and hoped that no self-respecting bear would bother with it," says Edwardson.
Jan Benson recalls the time that part of her group took a wrong turn on a portage near a campsite and carried a canoe up a hill to a pit toilet.
Women in the Boundary Waters have a knack for celebrating one another's individualities and accommodating them.
"I've helped fellow canoers portage hardcover books, knitting bags, the full line of Mary Kay skin care products, and a quartz crystal the size of a cannonball," Benson says. "Who's to say what's indispensable to another person."
The fact is that, for women in the BWCAW, celebrating one another's
uniqueness is a big part of the fun. Stark's fondness for wearing a housecoat around the campsite has become legend, as has Katherine Richter's distaste for swimming in lake water, and Nancy Simon's refusal to appear at cocktail hour without fresh lipstick.
But there's more to it than that. For women paddlers, celebrating one another's differences is closely tied to the concept of teamwork. Not every woman is able to portage a canoe or carry a heavy pack, but every
woman brings some skill that helps the group succeed in its adventure. In a wilderness environment, women quickly learn their own strengths and weaknesses, and it doesn't take long for each member of the group to figure out where her talents lie. Sometimes, those talents lie in unexpected areas. Elementary school teacher Liz Maki, for example, is an accomplished basket weaver. Each summer she assembles all the materials for a BWCAW basket-making session, carries all that
paraphernalia over every portage, and patiently works with each person until she has a perfect basket to bring home.
For many women, a Boundary Waters trip becomes a kind of ritual with a set of traditional events. Stark's group is an example. The planning meetings, the menu preparation, the grocery shopping, pre-trip packing session, the night spent in a canoe outfitter's bunkhouse, dinner at Ely's famous Chocolate Moose, a trip to the town's annual Blueberry Festival,
and the canoe "reunion" potluck are as much a part of the experience as the trip itself. Every year, Mary Lou Allen, who travels from Florida for the annual paddle, comes up with a slogan for the trip. In 2000, for instance, it was The Milloonium. The group has T-shirts designed that reflect each year's theme.
One aspect of a Boundary Waters trip that binds all who travel there, no matter their gender, is a re-awakened and almost spiritual awareness of
the beauty and intricacy of the natural world. Who hasn't been awestruck by an eagle, an early-morning mist on the water, or the chance sighting of a bear or a moose? For many women the renewal that emerges from the environment and the fellowship ultimately is what draws them to the BWCA again and again.
"I feel closer to God on a rock watching falling stars than I do in any church," says Stark. "And each year deepens my friendship with this
group of women. Each one is truly incredible."
The 1.2 million-acre Boundary Waters Canoe Area plays host to more than 200,000 visitors each year. Visitors who come in all sizes and shapes. Women's groups long ago ceased to be a rarity on Boundary Waters lakes, but women-only teams still raise eyebrows among the male paddlers on portages especially women sharing the task of carrying a canoe over a particularly muddy, slippery, or rocky trail or wrestling a
bulky pack. The eyebrow raising quickly becomes head scratching when the women respond to the male greeting, "How's fishin'?" with a cheerful, "We don't have a clue. None of us fish." That leads to the inevitable rejoinder, "What the heck you here for then?" Usually the women just smile and keep moving.
| |
