In Search of Awe

To become more personally connected with wild places in Minnesota, I embarked upon a multiyear mission to visit all the state parks and recreation areas and paddle on all our state water trails.

A few years in, I was ready to check another water trail off my list. I consulted my guidebook, the Paddling Minnesota field guide by Greg Breining, picked a spot, and set off for the Cloquet River in northern Minnesota on a chilly September day. I would reach the Cloquet from a state forest campground on Indian Lake where I set up camp.

The Cloquet here is a small stream. I launched my kayak, paddled the lake, then headed upstream, taking time to notice the plants in the water and along the shoreline. After a while, the stream tapered. A sandbar extended below a fallen tree, marking as far as I could reasonably pass. I paddled onto the sandbar and rested under the canopy of leaves, which was just starting to display yellows and oranges overhead.

As I sat, a ruckus of chittering suddenly broke out from the bank. A red squirrel dashed across the fallen tree and scampered up the trunk of another tree. In pursuit, a gray fox followed closely behind. But the squirrel had a head start. The fox stopped midway on the log, turned its head to sniff the air, twitched its fluffy tail, then dipped its head low and continued in a slow lope, disappearing into the vegetation. Neither squirrel nor fox had noticed me.

I stayed a while, then paddled back to the lakeshore at my campsite. The lake was still, so I sat on the shore and watched as the stars began appearing a twinkle at a time.

It seemed like the best way to fully experience this night would be from the boat. I pulled my kayak to the water’s edge, hopped back in, and paddled out, enough for the shore to recede from my sight. As the waves from my wake subsided, I was startled to see the stars above reflected equally brightly below me. I felt suspended in space in a timeless pocket, wrapped in dark night and starlight.

Eventually, I made my way back to the shore, to my campsite, to regular life. But I was so moved by that night that I came back many times. I brought my kiddo, who is also an avid paddler and now, at 22 years old, less of a “kiddo,” back with me. We played music together by the fire and watched red squirrels gather seeds around the edges of our campsite.

In the trips that followed that first one, the conditions were never just right. Cloud cover would obscure the night sky. A slight breeze would ripple the surface, erasing the reflections. A bright moon would outshine the stars and illuminate the shoreline.

Then, this past fall, I headed back again. It was even later in the season than my previous visits.

The day was still. I spent the afternoon paddling, watching the clear water, plants below, and beavers gathering winter supplies. 
I stayed out late as large banks of clouds drifted in. The clouds parted for a moment, letting a pool of sunshine through, but then closed back over, and a low gray blanketed the sky. I paddled back in the dark. Barred owls called; so did a nearby wolf pack.

The temperature continued dropping, and there were no stars to be seen, so I headed to bed. It was cold, but eventually, with my hat and mittens on and down jacket stuffed inside my sleeping bag for extra warmth, I fell asleep. I woke up late in the night in a cozy nest. I unzipped my tent and peered out and up into the sky.

I was astonished to see that the sky had cleared after all. Bright stars were shining. My concern about the cold evaporated. I grabbed my jacket and a flashlight, headed over to my boat, put on my life jacket, climbed in, and paddled out.

This time, I knew to wait for the water to return to calm. As it did, I took in the stars rippling, teasing, and finally settling into place. I let the dark close around me, so grateful to have found this experience once more. I watched a couple of meteors streak by. I leaned back to take it in. Just then, an especially bright meteor shot overhead and reflected brilliantly in the water below. It was even better than I remembered. I stayed a while longer, then paddled back to the shore, tucked back into my tent, and let the awe of the moment wash over me as I slowly drifted to sleep.