The Promise We Made: Future Generations in the Boundary Waters
Each spring the frozen lakes and rivers of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness bust apart and beckon the canoeists of the world north. Hundreds of guides, camp counselors and outfitters flee their winter haunts for more northern latitudes, toward the familiar call of loons and drone of mosquitos that welcome them back to their summer home. Thousands of new and returning campers follow this call too, hoping to be exposed to the most distinctly Minnesotan landscape one can experience.
Minnesotans have migrated north for generations: My grandpa was a bush pilot in Northern Minnesota and Ontario in the 1960's, and my dad paddled old routes in and around the Boundary Waters and to Hudson Bay when he was younger. I've been lucky enough to be a part of that migration for the last two summers, to West Bearskin Lake, home of YMCA Camp Menogyn, a place unlike any other and a part of a unique heritage of lodges, cabins and camps that make the Boundary Waters so special. I got the chance to guide a three-day trip in late July, and as many Minnesotans do when offered the opportunity to escape North, I packed my gear and took off.
So, five twelve-year-olds and I put in on our East Bearskin Lake entry on a sunny Boundary Waters Tuesday. None of them had ever been to the Boundary Waters before. Although this 1.1 million acre playground is teeming with visitors (at least a dozen other groups from the camp we came from), we waved goodbye to the last people we would see that day. No other place in the state offers the beauty and solitude that the Boundary Waters do to so many.
Every reentry into that beauty and solitude is special, but I'll probably never be able to appreciate like these twelve-year-olds did, seeing the BWCA for the first time. No crawfish, frog or leech is safe from the prying fingers of a child let loose on their first portage into this boreal wonderland. Ferrying Duluth Packs and canoes from one end to the other started to lose importance, long sticks began to look a lot like fishing poles and soon, all of us forgot what we were there to do in the first place. It's always astounding just how much life is hiding under every unturned leaf and log in the Boundary Waters, and it was hard not to laugh as the kids splashed after animals living in the muddy twists and turns of the trail. After most inhabitants of the portage were properly caught and examined, curiosity gave way to hunger, and each portage went faster than the one before.
It was an ideal few days in the Boundary Waters: sunny skies, starry nights, and just enough wind to push us in the right direction. We saw loons of all ages, a nest of snakes, a menacingly massive wolf spider, eagles perched on top of old pines, waterfalls, walleye and even found a treasure trove's worth of lures that previous anglers had cast into trees and the log submerged in front of our campsite to catch them with. We cooked pizza, brownies and the walleye we caught over the fire we built.
All of this taught these kids lessons seldom learned in the classroom. To eat, they needed fire, which meant gathering firewood. To get where we needed to go, they had to navigate, learn to paddle, then portage canoes over rugged trails and fallen trees. To sleep, they needed to pitch a tent (that happened to be a few feet taller than they were). They did these things together, often without my help.
They worked hard, played tons, laughed and slept well after full days. They learned that patience is often rewarded, in this place by remarkable beauty and that there are things worth being patient for. Away from phones and computers, they talked to one another, interacted with new people they'd never met and explored together, using a map and compass. They stretched themselves outside their normal routine and were given a different one, an older one that inspires confidence and offers empowerment. They may not need to use a compass much at home, but the confidence will endure. Lakes that were far too long to be paddled, portages made up of way too many rods, and other tasks that seemed insurmountable now came easily. The Boundary Waters taught, as they always do, more than simply the skills they learned.
Maybe they'll use the things they learned here again. I hope they do, and I hope they come back. Whether or not they choose to, we've made a promise that they can. We made a promise that the things they learned will be there for the next generation to learn. The Wilderness Act of 1964 and the Boundary Waters Act of 1978 both codified into law that we want them to be able to, that these places will be set aside for them forever, just as they were set aside for you and I, as they were for those who came before us. The promise we made is one we can't go back on. No resource is worth more than what the Boundary Waters offer endless generations of Minnesotans to come.
That promise is in jeopardy, this time in the form of a mine, and it'd be a shame to watch this place disappear because of inaction. Speak for the Wilderness now. Sign the petition here. Stand with the thousands who have already declared the Boundary Waters off limits to sulfide ore-copper mining, and fulfill the promise we made.
