125, May 30, Voyageurs National Park

I awoke this morning to cracks of deafening thunder and sheets of torrential rain as well as a miserably ill husband.

Needless to say, we did not go paddling today. Instead, Aaron hibernated and I nursed. The very last thing this sodden flooded environment needs is more water. But it came in droves anyway.

We moved Bambi yesterday nearer to Lake Kabetogama where we can launch from our campsite if and when the weather clears. Wasn’t hard to find an open spot in this wee campground because everyone else cancelled due to the rain. The road in was partly underwater already, and Aaron worries that we may not be able to navigate our way out in a few days. I can think of worse places to be marooned for a while. The lake and the thick woods are stunning, the cacophony of  birdsong mesmerizing, the most endearing of which is the honk of the nearby trumpeter swans. Bambi is a cozy enclave from which to watch the lightning storms while sipping cocoa. I read and perused the news while Aaron slept the morning away. When he awoke, our sheets were drenched, so I headed into town in pursuit of a laundromat as well as to replenish our stock of dwindling cold meds…and that’s when things went south.

Aaron, sick of lying in bed, accompanied me to the not-so-thriving hamlet of International Falls, MN.  Knowing how confiscatory CVS and Walgreens are (International Falls being way too small to even have these stores anyway), I simply put Walmart in the GPS,  headed out, and soon found myself crossing into Canada.  No problem, me thinks; how hard can it be, after all, to let me in for a quick jaunt to Walmart for cold meds for Mr Miserable? Turns out Canada was not crazy about the firewood in the back of my truck and really really not crazy about Aaron’s firearm in the cab. I told the border agent we’d just turn around, but that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, we were pulled over and detained, told to keep our hands up in the air where they were visible, not to make any moves towards the gun, and then said gun was removed from our truck and locked up in a case. After being told how fortunate we were not to have lied about having his Glock, we were escorted back across the border to become the problem of US customs. Had we not declared the gun, the truck would have been searched anyway due to the plethora of camping gear we’re loaded with, whereupon his Glock would have been confiscated and we would have been arrested. 

US agents ran background checks on us whereupon they returned Aaron’s gun. They tell us we must mail our guns when we plan to visit Alaska next year. Even they are not allowed to carry their own handguns through Canada when assigned to work in Alaska. We feel lucky it went as well as it did. My Canadian friend Lorna tells horror stories of innocent folk being arrested, their cars being torn apart at border crossings.

Moral: don’t even think about crossing into Canada with a loaded truck and/or unloaded firearms.

Good deed:  Although I left $10 worth of quarters in the laundromat change machine for the next guy to find, I think the biggest good deed of the day was done by the border patrol agents in not arresting me. 

To calm our trembling hands and nerve-wracked souls, we sheepishly returned to camp and watched a horror flick, What Lies Beneath. Which in the end didn’t soothe any frayed nerves.