Thirty Days of Paddling for the Voyageur Crew on the Summer Solstice June 21st

After paddling forty miles yesterday I thought the Voyageur Hudson Bay Crew may take it a little easy today. I guess I thought wrong since they paddled another marathon of 26 miles on Lake Winnipeg. What an incredible two days of paddling the Voyageur Hudson Bay Expedition Crew had.
Thankfully the Voyageur Crew didn't have gale force winds like they did on Lake Superior today. On Saganaga Lake in the Boundary Waters today the wind was gusting up to 38 miles per hour. Lake Winnipeg has a nasty way of going from calm to wavy in no time at all as depicted in "This Water Goes North" by Dennis Weidemann. The Voyageur Hudson Bay Expedition Crew didn't risk waves suprising them as they paddled in the bay.

One day, in order to avoid navigating a deep bay, we decided to cut some time with a two mile jump to Black Island. Once there, we planned to follow the large island as it angled back towards the shore we were following. The day was sunny and calm, and we had already made a similar crossing that morning.

We were halfway across, when from behind me, I felt Keith stop paddling. From across the way, Hank and Rich did the same. "do you hear that?" Hank asked, suddenly serious. Laying the paddle across my lap, I listened. From the island came a steady whishing noise, like an idling steam engine. I saw nothing, but within moments, the locomotive went from idle to full throttle, advancing fast. "What is it?" I asked, nervously.

Toward the island, the water changed from shinny light blue to ruffled deep cobalt, and we knew. "It's the wind!"

The first wall of air hit us like a sinister eddy, the kind that often preceded an explosive thunderstorm. After the initial blast, a momentary lull ensued, and then the wind began steadly increasing. Within a minute, it was howling in our ears. Within two, it was thumping them like a bass drum. Waves whipped up rapidly, and broke over our bows. Inside the canoes, water accumulated fast.The extra weight slowed our progress---a snail's pace, into the wind-- and plowed us still deeper into the swells. It was impossible to bail because it took both people paddling hard just to keep the boats straight. A vicious downward cycle developed as heavy boats took on more water, making them even heavier. The fierce wind drove the spray horizontally, every droplet pecking at our faces. We bellowed words of encouragement, only to have them seallowed in the deafening din. Each of us felt alone.

In the first few minutes of the storm, we had the opportunity to turn around and take a chance with the rocks back on the mainland. But the direction of the wind would have driven us across the bay, giving the waves a longer distance to develop: regardless, that opening was long past. To turn broadside now would be too risky, even for a moment. In this fridgid and tempestuous water, flippind canoe was a death sentence.