This one was one of those "if I don't do something to leave North Dakota, as in RIGHT NOW, I am going to lose my mind" kind of weeks. With a 4th of July celebration cancelled because of last-minute dropouts, and maybe 24 hours to pack and plan, Thaddeus Maximus and myself arranged ourselves a 35-mile canoe trip into the heart of Minnesota's iron range.

What we got was a nightmare of rocks, rain, mosquitoes, washed-out forest, and a lesson in exhaustion and hypothermia.

Our destination was the upper section of the St. Louis River, a twisted stretch of quiet water that runs through the Superior National Forest before spilling into Lake Superior near Duluth. The entire river is designated a "state canoe route" by the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, and all of the information available to us at the time pointed to "do it."

Not a hundred yards downstream from our launch, we got hung up on some boulders that were hidden just beneath the surface of the dark, iron-tinted water. We should have taken the hint there, and turned upstream to the headwaters and Seven Beaver Lake, where we could have spent the next two days fishing and putzing around.

Despite the recent rainfall and the DNR's interpretation of the gage data (they called the current conditions "plenty" for canoeing), we were still running the river late in the season. Spring is the best time, due to rivers' swelling up with snow melt and runoff. Summer can be fine, but these rocks weren't playing around. They were out to get us.

Of the 9.1 miles we did cover that first day, 3.5 of them were spent outside of the canoe, dragging it over rocks. We had carelessly packed in preparation for continuous paddling and very little portaging, which is something I will avoid at all costs in the future. But it is hard to say if portaging would have saved any time at all, because of the terrain and dense forest.

We decided to stop when we got over a mile into one particular rock section, and when I scouted ahead a ways, I was still unable to see the end of it. By that point it was also raining pretty hard, and with all the time we were spending in the water, I was getting a bit worried about hypothermia.

I have experienced hypothermia before, and I know full well how it can sneak up on you without you even realizing it. It is nothing to screw around with, and besides, we were starting to lose daylight.

So we pulled the canoe up onto the rocky shore, and headed into the woods to search for a suitable campsite. The ground was still torn up from recent flooding, however, and there was very little level ground anywhere. Thaddeus compared it to a tightrope walk, because the ground consisted mainly of exposed root systems and rocks. Great.

We didn't have the luxury of time, however, so I got a fire going right away and we started to dry off a bit. Thank God for quick-drying Nylon and fleece. Thad found a spot for the tent, but the floor was full of giant holes and roots. We were tired enough not to care. We dried off a few things, changed clothes, and heated some water for a freeze-dried dinner.

As we sat back and waited for dark, I thought about how different this situation would be if we had been any less prepared. Being dynamic in the bush equals life, and planning for the worst helps you make the best out of anything. That is Rule #1.

The next morning, we bushwhacked up to a gravel road, and walked to a bridge overlooking our river. We STILL couldn't see the end of our rock section. Already halfway into our second day, we reluctantly called it quits. The St. Louis River had beaten us, but we were not defeated in spirit.

We went back to camp and pulled the canoe to the side of the road, and then walked 6.5 miles back to the DNR landing where we had left one of the vehicles. The previous night, in our exhausted states, we forgot about the first vehicle and planned to walk over 20 miles to the end point, where my pickup was waiting for us. That should go to show you how being exhausted and cold can cloud a person's logical thought process.

That night, we decided to spring for a double room at the Super 8 motel in Eveleth, which has a barrel sauna and a giant jacuzzi. That, of course after a big steak and a few stiff drinks at a local sports bar, was just what our aching bodies needed.

So it wasn't at all what we expected, but like always, we learned a lot of priceless little lessons.

To me, going into the wilderness isn't about facing the weather, the wild animals, or the lonliness. These things are all circumstantial. I seek out wilderness in order to face myself, to make myself stronger as a man and learn lessons that help me with my "regular" life in civilization. If it weren't for the wilderness, my life would be in shambles.

Even with the sore backs and the wet and cold, we were still laughing, because out there, we were free.

Remember, we strictly follow the Leave No Trace ethics in the backcountry, and we left the campsite along the river in better shape than we found it. If we lose the wilderness, we will lose everything that makes us human.