Miles 90.3-107.2, Stewart River to W Castle Danger Trailhead 
8.5 hours, 16.9 miles, 89 flights, 45.5k steps

Walker and Katie –my camp neighbors for the past two nights — shared their plans to get some town food and showers tomorrow afternoon, and graciously obliged my request for a lift to the next trailhead so I could tack on a few extra miles before getting off-trail for the Labor Day weekend. So I was up and on my way by 7:30a to tackle 11 miles by noon. The night before had been clear and cool, and I slept well, grateful to be wearing my down jacket as I broke down camp in the morning. 

The first 3-4 miles sailed by easily, the trail following gentle rolling topography through open hardwood forests, the mosquitoes cuddled away from the morning’s chill. I reveled in the cool morning air, inhaling deeply as I passed through stands of balsam fir – my very favorite scent. My mental soundtrack played the second stanza of How Great Thou Art on repeat: 

When through the woods and forest glades I wander / And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees / When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur / And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze / Then sings my soul… How Great Thou Art.

Carl Boberg

The day warmed incrementally as the sun rose higher, and after a couple miles I lowered my pack to the ground in order to shed a layer. I raised my fleece overhead, tucking my head through the collar and immediately being overwhelmed by suffocation alarms. Only a steely composure and my mediocre breath-holding abilities allowed me to stay inside the fleece long enough to get it past my olfactory organs. I’d already reached the breath-holding stage for my hiking shirt two mornings ago, but the doubled layers soaked in eau de backpacker were enough to knock a person over. This exquisite blend of 80% sweat, 17% grime, and 3% cedarwood & lemongrass (bug repelling oil) rivals a bag of used hockey gear, and the bottled fragrance might be found on sale wherever those nasty Beanboozled Jelly Bellys are sold.

The ease of the hike wore away slowly, my feet aching after 4 miles or so, but the blister discomfort virtually absent after my lancing and taping routine. With a deadline looming, I took just a couple rest breaks, finding some trail magic at the local tow shop (water from a tap!!) and finishing the 2.5 mile road walk by 12:15pm, rejoicing to see my car in the parking lot. 

After swapping my backpack for a daypack and switching to a slightly less smelly hiking shirt, we crammed five of us into Walker’s parents’ car for the 10 minute drive to the next trailhead, where they dropped me off and I thanked them for their elevated trail angel status before skipping into the woods for a lighter and quicker 6-mile section hike southbound to my car. 

The trail quickly took the rugged turn SOBO (southbound) hikers had hinted at north of Two Harbors, diving nearly vertically into the late-summer dry bed of Crow Creek to rock hop across the trail builders’ stepping stone bridge, then scrambling back up before another slip-and-slide into the Encampment River gorge.

My surprise weeklong streak without needing to dig a cathole came to an end on the plateau south of Encampment River — God bless the SHT planners who placed a latrine at each campsite! I reluctantly stepped into the bushes, looking for an optimal site for digging, spotting an open area with pine duff and selecting it over the rocky ground found everywhere else on this ridge. I pulled out my snow stake and began digging, taking five seconds before noticing the ground was already moving. I jumped up, stamping my feet and brushing red-headed ants from my shoes and legs, scooping my pack up and shaking it wildly while continuing my ant-pants dance. *It should be noted that this type of dance is particularly dangerous when you are in the bushes holding a makeshift shovel to make space for something else you’re holding.  

The bush stop proceeded relatively uneventfully (a few ants hitchhiked back to the trail, but no one got a meal from my ankles), and I was back on my way south, finally reaching an overlook with a view of Lake Superior.

I reached my car around 4:30p, worn out and stinky but bolstered by a profound sense of accomplishment for crossing the 100-mile mark today. Rather than take a mile hike in and out to the free SHT campsite at Silver Creek, I opted to splurge $25 on a state park campsite 15 miles up the highway. I treated myself to some town food at Kwik Trip, taking it to the Lake to snack while I dipped my toes in the waters as the light breezes and sunshiny 70º relaxed my shoulders and tired legs. 

I pitched my tent at Gooseberry Falls State Park, then came to the most thrilling moment of the day: the shower house. I walked into the block building with mouth agape, nearly giggling with excitement. 20 luxurious minutes (and it was truly luxurious; every 30 seconds I had to press the button again to keep the water running) and some 3 pounds of dirt scum later, I waddled back to my tent and climbed into my sleeping bag with a smile. 

I remembered a few minutes later that it was a full (super duper blue lavender teal) moon rising that evening, and I had a view to the east over the Lake; it took great effort to roust myself from my cozy haven, but it was well worth the effort to earn this nightcap to a big day.