Week 38 - Coldwater and Buggy Air
We have entered the land where alarm clocks are futile. Every morning, around 5:00 am, the mosquitoes start feeding. In a frenzy, they somehow sneak into our bus and begin feasting on our sleeping bodies. For the next hour, I usually fight the bugs and try to will myself back to sleep. One fighting tactic is a counter assault, which has left bug guts and our blood smeared all over the bus - especially standing out against the white paint. The problem with a counter assault is that by the end of it, just like any good fight, your adrenaline is up and there is no chance of falling back asleep. Additionally, no matter how many skeeters you kill, there are always more lining the ranks, ready to give their lives for a little bit of our blood. The second option is retreat. You can throw your blanket fully over your head and cocoon yourself in an airtight fortress. This is good, but only for so long. Eventually, you must come up for air, and when you do, the enemy will be waiting.
The Jackson Pollock painting in the works by Josh’s bed
That was the beginning of my Journal entry on Monday, June 26th. The “Land where alarm clocks are futile” is more commonly known as the North Shore/North Woods region of Minnesota, a region famous for voracious long-billed mosquitoes. William Least Heat Moon writes of this species of bloodsuckers in his book Blue Highways, claiming, “An ordinary mosquito can penetrate the tough scutum of a rattlesnake, but Northwoods species can pierce the rind of stones”. I read Heat Moon’s warnings and should have been at least somewhat mentally prepared for the bugs, but I apparently don’t heed warnings well. At one point, I gawked, watching a particularly tenacious mosquito pierce through my fleece hoodie and my cotton long-sleeve shirt before drinking her fill of AB Positive - on the house.
Our new favorite article of clothing
The bugs are not all bad, though. Because of their severe annoyance, they forced me into one of my most enjoyable mornings in recent memory. Put out with the bugs on Monday morning (the same day I journaled about the infuriating tactics of mosquito warfare), I reasoned that they couldn’t bite me if they couldn’t catch me and hopped on my bike. I took Highway 61 Northbound to the next town in our path - Grand Marais. Luckily, Highway 61 follows the north shore of Lake Superior and is one of the best scenic highways I have ever come across. Twenty bug-free and beautiful miles later, I rolled into Grand Marais, a quaint town on the water that looks like it belongs somewhere on the Atlantic coast of New England. Wanting to wash off, I found a semi-private cove and bathed myself in the frigid waters of Lake Superior (38 degrees), then changed into clean clothes and started thinking about breakfast. I saw a porta potty technician pumping out a john in need of his services and asked where a good spot to grab a bite was. He replied, “All the locals eat at the cafe across from the Holiday (gas station). Anywhere else will charge you a dumb tourist price”. I headed for the Holiday and found South of the Border Cafe - probably one of the last “Cash and Check only” eateries left in America. It was perfect.
Swing-set by the water in Grand Marais
Later that day, we drove deeper into the woods (and bugs) of the Superior National Forest and rolled into the base camp of Coldwater Foundation, a wilderness camp organizing canoe camping trips into the Boundary Waters. Coldwater’s mission is to serve people with outdoor experiences that promote life change and maturity. Their hope is campers will encounter experiential discipleship during the long trips in the Boundary Waters - not only from the trip leaders but with each other as they struggle together, challenge one another, and learn from each other.
One of the Cabins at Coldwater Base Camp
We found ourselves at Coldwater thanks to a guy named Dave Nonnemacher who we met at a church in Two Harbors on Sunday. Dave used to live in Grand Marais and told us we HAD to go to Cold Water. Being well connected to the community, we trusted Dave’s recommendation and were delighted when he proceeded to call up his friend Kevin Sutton, co-founder of Coldwater with his wife Jen, and tell more than ask him that we were coming up. I only heard Dave’s half of the conversation, and I remember him saying at one point, “Kevin, you NEED this, and they NEED you. I'm sending them your way - they should get there tomorrow”. It’s worth noting that “tomorrow” Kevin's son was getting married, so he already had plenty on his plate, but he trusted Dave, gave us the green light, and let his staff know that we would be coming.
Kevin and his daughters playing some blue grass.
Rolling into camp the next day, we met the facilities and grounds manager, Weston Martin. Weston greeted us off the bus, and right away, you can’t help but notice his incredible dreadlocks, only rivaled by his magnificent mountain man beard. Just don’t let him take his hat off; the follicle wonders stop there. We got the tour of the camp, and Weston showed us our project for the next few days - siding and shingling a small building used for dry food storage they call the food depot. With a project in hand, we got to work and had it squared away by Wednesday. For the remainder of the week, we divided and conquered, assisting Weston in completing a myriad of other tasks around camp: replacing screens, pressure washing, painting bunks, swapping door hardware, installing a sauna, staining a deck, installing shelves, and rigging up outdoor shelter with ropes and tarps.
The incredible dreadlocks of Weston
When we were not working, we stayed at camp and enjoyed time with the summer interns, staff members, and a group of first-year trip leaders that were still completing their rigorous training on wilderness safety and leadership. We shared meals three times a day, canoed, enjoyed the sauna, played cards, sang, and danced. Sarah, one of the kitchen interns, had everybody on a strict workout schedule structured around meals. Pushups before each meal, pull-ups after breakfast and lunch, and planking after supper. The workouts kicked my butt, and if Sarah ever forgot, another intern would infuriatingly remember. Joining in for all of the fun and workouts were Andy, Autumn, and their daughter Lena - a family from New Mexico who had two sons out on one of the canoe trips and chose to stick around camp during the week and help with any work that needed to be done. Soon we realized that their hometown was Gallup, New Mexico, which was one of our stops back in January. We were further shocked to find out their kids attended Rehoboth - a school we had gotten to know quite personally, sitting in on some high school classes sharing our story, and speaking at the middle school chapel.
Dancing in Grand Marais with the crew
Celebrating Canada Day strong for Evan
Sarah being extra strong with this difficult push-up technique
Andy and his Sons recognizing their friends signatures from Rehoboth
On Saturday, the groups that had been out on trips all week returned, and the camp suddenly grew from around 25 people to 150. The exciting return of campers and leaders from their week in the wilderness queued the grand culmination of their week at camp - a massive feast they call “Celebration”. Part of the Celebration ceremony was a time set aside to share stories from the trip and reflect on lessons learned. Parents could ask questions to their kids' group and hear firsthand what the week was like. One of the feelings expressed by a group was that no matter how much they try to describe the events of their last week, the only people who would truly understand were the ones also on the trip - a sentiment Davis, Josh, and I know all too well. Listening to all the reflections was a reminder to challenge ourselves, do hard things, keep moving forward, but most importantly, don’t go about it alone. Share those experiences with others, struggle in community, and grow together - It is here that life can be found in abundance.
Sharing stories at Celebration
Josh’s new (and improved?) look - Bangs and an earring!