Superior Hiking Trail Day 6: Sunday, August 30

Tenting in a coniferous copse (SHT mile 150.6), walked 19.1 miles today

Slept perfectly for the first time yet on this trail and woke up feeling marvelously recharged. Dana, Barley the dog and I did the first seven-ish miles together, before Barley began to tank and forced Dana turn around and go back to the car, which was at mile 4. Also at the car was my resupply (thanks Dana for bringing it to me so I didn’t have to walk four miles off-trail to pick it up!). Always a treat when your pack weight suddenly goes up by 10lb.

Barley and his mother, DaNa, by the Beaver River.

The sun shone on the Northland for pretty much all of today, and the trail was, dare I say it, a serious workout. Those who have done the AT know that it doesn’t matter if the climbs and descents are only a few hundred feet—if there are a lot of them, and they’re all steep, and they never let up, you will suffer for your cocky decision to come out and try to do full-mileage days. Good water also remained surprisingly scarce, so I was thirsty for stretches, although living and recreating in Arizona has inured me to that feeling. All that said, there were views on views on views today, and some spots, like the ledge above Bear and Bean Lakes, had genuinely impressive verticality. 

Bean Lake from on high. Check Out that vertical relIef!

It being a sunny Sunday, sections of the trail were also clogged with weekenders weakened by all the climbing and descending. Even felt compelled to wear my mask for stretches around Bear/Bean Lakes and the Baptism River when the other-people density was at its worst. In the late afternoon, marshaled my remaining energy to make it to the abovementioned Baptism River, about 18 miles from where I started the day, and cooked up my dinner in an exquisite setting, on the rocky riverbank just above the waterfall. From then on it was over three miles to the next official campsite, but I’d heard that it’s often crowded, I would be arriving late, and with rain in the forecast tonight I knew everything would run smoother if I just picked my own stealth spot in the woods. Tomorrow, another 20.

A supper of Skurka “pesto noodles” was enjoyed here, as tourists made their way back and forth over the bridge. Apparently it’s a park rule that every boy under the age of twelve is obligated to jump up and down on the bridge once he feels it flexing and swinging (I would’ve done the same), and every mother is required to yell at said boy to stop jumping.