An article I wrote for the Boundary Waters Journal Published in the Spring 2018 issue and re-printed here:
I scanned the shoreline hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. Except for the soft gurgle of water lapping the shore, the land was still.
Damn.
I pulled my hood up to fend off the cold drizzle that was falling and looked again. I dipped my paddle in the slate gray waters of Basswood and turned ahead towards the point we would soon round putting us out of sight of our camp. “Lindsey” I called out to the sodden oranges and reds of the autumn trees. I swallowed hard against a dry throat and mustered another call, “Lindsey”.
Our canoe, as if in sympathy, hesitated before hitting its glide in the open waters. I twisted around one last time and said goodbye to my dog, knowing there was a slim chance I’d ever see her again.
My girlfriend Sacha and I had planned this September getaway into the BWCA, our first together, back in the summer. Like most experienced trippers, we knew how to prepare for contingencies in Northern Minnesota; packing a swimsuit next to long underwear, having multiple route options and dehydrating enough food for layover days but nothing prepared us for the disappearance of my beloved Australian Cattle Dog mutt.
Lindsey, my forty pound black and white spotted paddling partner of five years had already had many camping experiences under her belt. She was a puppy when I first met her at the Humane Society but it was definitely she who chose me, jumping into my lap and attacking my face with her puppy slobber. Whenever her yellow Ruffwear lifejacket comes out of storage, her wagging tail betrays the anticipation of a new adventure and as city living apartment dwellers, it is always a gratifying to give her the opportunity to run free for several days.
The journey began better than we could have dreamed. The bright sun rose along with the mercury as we drove north from Minneapolis. My enthusiasm for this milestone event in my relationship with Sacha increased with the miles. By the time we were unloading the car at the Fall Lake landing, we had exchanged long pants and sweatshirts for shorts and T shirts with a liberal slathering of sunscreen.
Paddling together was a dream as we effortlessly made it up Basswood Lake until the setting sun forced us to choose a campsite just past the Lewis Narrows. The shorter days are one of the few downsides of paddling this time of year. Sacha and I proved to be a good team; she set up the tent while I cooked our Rib Eye steak and sweet potatoes. Lindsey was her usual excited self, checking out all the new scents and introducing herself to the local rodent population. Sleep came soon and easy with Lindsey at the foot of my sleeping bag and dreams of grander adventures in the days ahead.
We had dehydrated a hash with ground turkey and vegetables for our breakfast. It proved a filling and delicious way to start day 2 and solidified our opinion that we were a good team in both the planning and execution phases of tripping. With paddles soon back in the water, we were excited to see Basswood falls – a first for both of us.
The joy of locking into a paddling rhythm and the sheer elation over another perfect day lead us to nearly overshoot the falls and continue into Ranger Bay but there was no mistaking the sound of roaring water once we were near. We pulled into the hillside camp site across the bay from the falls and marveled at our good fortune. We hadn’t seen anyone yet that day and this perfect campsite was ours for the duration.
The rest of the day was spent in glorious leisure. Once camp was pitched, there was plenty of time for reading in the hammock, hiking the shoreline and testing the fishing. After another delicious home dehydrated meal, we sat in front of a toasty campfire and watched the stars come out, the perfect finale to a near perfect day.
It was on our third day that things would ultimately go horribly wrong. Our plan was to do a day trip to Lower Basswood Falls and then on to the Crooked Lake pictographs. Another stellar clear morning saw us up and prepping for the day. As we packed up food, water and gear for the excursion, I mocked Sacha for over preparing with enough food for two days and for bringing things like a headlamp. In my mind, we would be back with plenty of time for an afternoon siesta in the hammock. Since we would need to portage the mile long stretch along Upper Basswood both there and back, being light and efficient made the most sense to me.
Once our balance of accompanying gear was struck, we paddled the short distance to the Upper Falls portage. We took the lengthy trail slow, stopping several times to photograph and enjoy the falls and beautiful autumn landscape. Every new turn, whether paddling or hiking, revealed breathtaking view after breathtaking view. The panoramas of trees, waterfalls and cliffs, reminded me why I loved this place so much.
We took our time getting to Lower Basswood but after calculating the remaining daylight, we soon realized that if we were going to make it to the pictographs and then back track to camp, we would need to step up our pace. We agreed to dig in and make it happen. Canoeing along the cliff and witnessing the pictographs as so many had done before us was a transcendental moment. I imagined what this unique place had meant to so many different travelers throughout history.
It was a challenge on the return trip to stay focused on making distance instead of relishing in the beautiful evening it was. We arrived at the mile long portage back to Upper Basswood just as the sun was setting. To make things more dramatic, storm clouds began to roll in and the wind was picking up. At that point I knew that despite feeling tired from all the day’s adventures, I would have to single portage my beloved Grumman, the Sherman Tank of the paddling world, across the mile without the luxury of stopping. I slammed a few handfuls of trail mix and our last brownie, chased it with my remaining water, made an advance apology to my shoulders and hoisted ol’ aluminum up. I wished Sacha luck and hot footed down the trail as if Darth Vader, Voldemort and Freddy Krueger were all in pursuit.
As daylight faded and the trail got progressively difficult to see, I relied more and more on Lindsey my devoted four legged guide. Her bright yellow beacon like lifejacket was visible twenty feet in front of me for nearly the entire hike and minimized any guess work I had to do as to where the trail was. Just as we reached the end, thunder cracked and the sky opened up. I set the Grumman down, checked to see if I had any feeling in my shoulders and looked back down the trail for Sacha. My proud moment of triumph over the portage didn’t last long when I realized Lindsey was nowhere in sight. I called for her but the wind and rain drowned out my voice. In the five years I had owned her, Lindsey never had run away and I assumed she would pop out of the bushes at any moment. I called again, pivoting in every direction to watch for her return.
A minute later Sacha appeared. I told her the situation and back tracked up the portage to see if Lindsey had scrambled off the trail behind us. Sacha waited underneath the trees near the canoe in case Lindsey showed there. Panicked, I rushed up the trail oblivious to the soaking I was getting. There was no sign of the dog and I assured myself that when I got back to Sacha and the canoe, Lindsey would be with her and we would all return to camp. I turned around amid the darkening woods and found my way back but there was still no dog. We knew Lindsey had to be near so we put our rain gear on and did a more thorough search along the portage by headlamp. In some, unexplainable way, she had vanished.
By this time the rain was slowing and we realized that we were going to need dry clothes and hot food soon. We were exhausted, hungry and drenched going into night with temperatures dropping quickly. We paddled the shore back to our campsite calling out along the way. A couple who was camping at the site in between ours and the portage came out of their tent and said that they had just heard a dog sniffing around their camp. This gave us a spark of hope – maybe Lindsey was making her way back on foot.
We got to camp in pitch black amidst a thick fog. I was forever grateful for Sacha’s foresight in packing a headlamp and vowed never to mock preparedness again. We did the appropriate wardrobe change and heated up food. I was constantly scanning the trees for any sound or sign of my dog, imagining that at any moment she would jump out to perform her nightly dish pre wash duties.
I wasn’t going to be able to sleep without one last search and rescue attempt. I paddled the shore solo with my feeble headlamp barely illuminating twenty feet through the dense fog. It felt futile but maybe Lindsey would see the beam or hear my voice. I stuck close to shore imagining the rushing over the falls some where up ahead in the dark. Reality eventually kicked in and I conceded that I was going to be much more effective in the morning light after being properly rested. Reluctantly I circled back to camp and begrudgingly zipped into my sleeping bag.
The next day and a half was a blur of retraced steps and frantic searches. I don’t know how many times I went up and down that Basswood Falls portage but by the end I felt like I knew each tree, each stepping stone and each muddy stretch. There were still a few people in the area enjoying the autumn solitude (with the exception of my calls) and I spoke to all of them about my situation. Everyone was sympathetic and by mid day I had received news of sightings with the unfortunate detail that Lindsey was very skittish and would bolt away from any human beings. That evening we moved our camp to the site closest to the portage.
Sacha and I kept up our hopes and efforts, combing every part of the area we could but our time would eventually run out. Dwindling food supplies, jobs and families would dictate our departure. I spent our last morning doing final reconnaissance but it felt like rehashed motions with no new leads.
Then a bizarre thing happened. While eating lunch just before final packing, Lindsey wandered into camp. I didn’t see her initially but Sacha screamed “Lindsey is here!” and as mysteriously as she had appeared so too she disappeared. I ran after her with an open foil pack of salmon hoping to entice her back but she seemed to vanish into the wet woods yet again.
We postponed leaving for another hour, playing a windy game of cribbage and hoping that Lindsey would yet make the lake crossing with us. The weather turned cooler and I began to feel concern for Sacha. She was cold and her shoes and gloves were wet. If we didn’t start moving, she was at risk for hypothermia. I gave her all the dry things I had and we solemnly loaded our soggy packs into the Grumman.
Paddling back was surreal. It seemed impossible that somehow I was leaving without my best friend – the dog who for years had been with me every day through a long and terrible divorce, the dog who stealthily nudged her way under the blankets every night and claimed most of my bed. This was not the way I saw our time together ending. At the same time, once we were on the water, I was focused on getting back to our car at Fall Lake. Once again we found ourselves in a situation where we were calculating remaining daylight to the minute and we would have to push hard in order to beat the sun. Sacha was visibly cold and fatigued.
We had originally intended to retrace our route back through the Lewis Narrows to Pipestone Bay but somehow overshot and ended up in Jackfish Bay. The good news was that we had gone farther than we expected, the bad news was that it added another portage to the day, the worse news was that this portage began with a steep climb, the even worse news was that with all the rain, the portage was essentially more waterfall than trail. Without thinking too much about it, I shouldered the canoe and headed up, praying that my new boots truly were waterproof.
By the time we crossed Basswood to the Newton Lake portage, we were both feeling beat. With the sun going down soon, there wasn’t a lot of time to catch our breath but I cut a deal with Sacha. I would carry all the gear across the portage while she heated up the last of our homemade apple crisp. It proved to be one of my best decisions.
We made it to the shore of Fall Lake but the sun had set and all I could see was the silhouette of the tree line. I made my best guess as to the heading we should make to the boat landing and pushed off with my remaining energy. My instincts were off and the landing was nowhere in limited sight. This was perhaps my lowest moment, sitting in the cold, damp, dark, trying to make out the map by headlamp and compass with no certainty as to where we actually were, and knowing that my dog was probably curled up beneath a tree many inaccessible miles away shivering. Luckily Fall Lake is dotted with homes and cabins and we paddled towards the lights where I asked a kind stranger for directions. Not only did he assure us we were just down shore from the landing, he drove his truck to it so that we could follow his headlights. The kindness of strangers will play a continued role is this story.
Once I was home, it was difficult to think of Lindsey up in the woods on her own. I imagined her being wet, hungry and cold or in danger constantly. I wasn’t sure exactly what I could do but I started with what I knew. I got a list of outfitters in Ely, made a “lost dog” flyer PDF and emailed it to all of them. I also contacted the forest service, posted on Facebook and made a posting on the BWCA.com internet discussion boards. I quickly learned that nothing mobilizes people like a lost family pet.
Soon I received a variety of responses from people who had direct information, offered to pass my story on or just wanted to give support. It was overwhelming how many kind people participated in some way in the process. Within a couple weeks my Facebook posting would be shared over 8,000 times and I would get calls from news media.
The first big breakthrough came when I received a telephone call from a member of the online BWCA discussion boards. He had been on Basswood after us and paddled past a camp where a father and son had Lindsey. She had wandered into their camp a week and a half after running away. The gentleman on the phone was unable to take the dog but told them he would contact me when he got out to let me know that Lindsey was alive and in custody.
The father and son who had Lindsey kept her for nearly a week, making great sacrifices in their own trip to see her safely out of the Boundary Waters. They had their own dog and it did not get along with Lindsey. They went so far as to hang a tarp inside their tent to separate the dogs at night, each sleeping on a side with one of the dogs. I am forever grateful for their efforts.
On a Sunday afternoon, I received a call from the son saying that they were at the Fall Lake landing and had Lindsey with them. He said she was thin and had lost her life jacket but was none the worse for wear. Sacha and I were beside ourselves with joy. It seemed that the saga was at an end and within a day we would have Lindsey home again. I made arrangements with one of the outfitters who graciously agreed to hold Lindsey until I could drive up the following morning.
I went to work that night feeling celebratory. After two weeks, Lindsey would be home again. Fate changed quickly and unexpectedly when later in the evening I received a text from the person holding Lindsey – someone had opened the door and she had run out without a trace. The saga continued after all.
The online high fives quickly subdued as I spread the news that Lindsey was now running around Ely somewhere. After the initial disbelief subsided, a new effort to find her formed and that is when I learned about The Retrievers.
The Retrievers is a Minneapolis based non profit with volunteers all over that helps owners locate their lost dogs. They understand in a way that most people don’t that when a dog becomes lost, it quickly flips into a fight or flight survival mode. Even people it recognizes may startle it and cause it to flee. To successfully capture a lost dog, The Retrievers employ many methods to lure the dog back including bait stations and live traps. As I learned all of this, I couldn’t believe that someone was willing to put this amount of time and effort into finding my dog while I was 250 miles away.
Kind people around Ely began to spot Lindsey and call in reports. From that information, The Retrievers were able to map her travel patterns and set up a series of feeding stations to keep her in a fixed area. Once we had proof that the bait was being taken by Lindsey, the number of stations was reduced and a live trap the size of a kennel was set up. A trail camera was posted and whenever motion triggered it, everyone in the rescue group would get an email of the image. It was pretty amazing to see a live image of my dog so far away while sitting at my desk. But she didn’t go into the trap.
After feeling like we were close to catching Lindsey again, I didn’t hear anything for a few days. There were no sightings reported, no images on the trail camera and no sign that she had been eating the food left out. Then I got a chilling phone call. An effusive gentleman said he had seen my dog run across the highway two nights earlier. It was a relief to hear she was still in the area despite the worrisome news of her proximity to traffic but the other detail he shared was that she was being chased by a wolf.
That’s it I thought. Lindsey was fast – usually able to outrun other dogs, but there was no way in my mind that an emaciated domestic dog was going to outrun a wolf in the wilderness. I thanked the caller for his update and prepared myself for the possibility that this was over and Lindsey was truly gone.
I felt in a funk the next morning thinking about possible outcomes to the wolf chase. I almost didn’t want to answer my phone but then came a call from Winton Minnesota just west of Ely. A student there had seen Lindsey on the grounds of the community college. I confirmed this with The Retrievers and before you could say Lake Ogishkemuncie, they had a team bringing the live trap out to the sighting.
As the swift volunteers set up the trap, Lindsey appeared. The team members watched from a distance as Lindsey ate some of the bait food they set out and waited for her to move on before being able to properly arm the trap. I received the promising images from them and waited in disbelief. No more than a half hour later, Lindsey returned, wandered into the trap and the door dropped behind her. After so much drama it was hard to believe she was captured. Again.
I was taking no chances this time. I told her captors to handcuff my mutt and lock her in the Ely police station if need be, I would be up by evening. I picked up my kids from school and we were on the road within the hour. As is the case we with young children, you have certain obligatory stops along the way but we made it up to the Ely veterinary office by 8:30. It had been 33 days since I last saw my beloved pet trotting ahead of me near Basswood Falls, I could only imagine the elation she would feel at the sight of her long lost family. Like a scene out of a movie I imagined her running towards me in slow motion then bounding into my lap and licking my face endlessly as we both rolled on the floor. Of course that’s not what actually happened.
I did get a reassuring lick and plenty of tail wags but before the minute was over, Lindsey was on to discovering the other exciting things that were in the vet’s waiting room, such as bags of dog food and furniture. So much for Hallmark reunions. Most importantly it felt like order had been restored to the universe. That everything was in its place again and all wrongs had been righted. During the time Lindsey was gone, I felt like I was living in an alternate reality and I needed to get back to the world she inhabited.
These days I look over at Lindsey lying on my couch with her “What? Is it time to walk?” look and it warms my heart. I wonder what she saw during those 33 days. Where did she go? What did she eat? Where did she sleep? I know that somewhere in there she navigated several miles through rugged wilderness and swam across cold Basswood to an island campsite where kind strangers gave her ham and fish. I know that somehow she out foxed a wolf and stayed alive despite having a hard time mastering basic obedience. I know that she experienced a sense of freedom and liberty few of her kind ever do despite being reluctant to do her business in the yard when it’s raining. If only she could write the real trip report.
I learned many things through this experience. I learned that calling after a frightened dog will only cause it further alarm. I learned that one should set up food in the area the dog was last seen and wait quietly. I learned that you should always take a headlamp on a daytrip and most importantly, I’ve learned that there are a lot of really good people in the world who are willing to help. If you ever loose your best buddy in the wilderness or otherwise, please learn from my tale and by all means contact The Retrievers, they are really good people.
John Lundquist - Writer & Content Strategist 