A Trip to the Boundary Waters
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If you know the work of Alex Kotlowitz, you associate his work with the city of Chicago. He's chronicled urban life and poverty in books that include An American Summer, There Are No Children Here, and Never a City So Real. All of them are set in Chicago. So when I think of Alex Kotlowitz, I don't necessarily think of him paddling a canoe.

But at a young age, he found himself on a lake deep in the woods of the northern Midwest, and he's gone back there again and again. On a journey last summer, Alex recorded this piece for us. I was 19 and had taken a break from college. I'd been working as a community organizer in Atlanta, and I was unsure what lay ahead.

A friend living in Minnesota suggested that he and I head north, and so we traveled 300 miles from Minneapolis to this remote road called the Gunflint Trail. Near the end of the road, within reach of the Canadian border, we rented a canoe and followed a snaking river into a series of lakes, each more beautiful than the last. My anxieties peeled away. I had never experienced such stillness.

This is the Boundary Waters, a wilderness area bigger than the state of Rhode Island, home to over a thousand lakes, each connected by rocky paths or "portages" as they're called, ranging from 80 feet to several miles. It feels mythical here, so pristine that you can drink directly from the lakes.

The only way in is by canoe, and once you're in, if you don't have a map, forget about it. You're a goner, lost in this jigsaw puzzle of lakes, some so small you can swim across them, a few so large they could swallow Manhattan. From that first trip nearly 40 years ago, I was smitten.

There's a line that I think about a lot from the conservationist and author Terry Tempest Williams. She writes, if you know wilderness in the way you know love, you would be unwilling to let it go.

I'm 67 now, and I know that these voyages will only get tougher and eventually impossible. And so I'm trying to get up here as much as I can. So where is that chest, Alex? Well, I'm going to put it together. Okay. In late June, three friends and I arrived at a bunkhouse we rented from an outfitter. It was our jumping off point for our trip. How do I

We woke early to get our permit and to load six portage packs with clothes, gear, and enough food for nine days. Chris, whom I've been paddling with for three decades, woke up with a sore throat and was feeling sluggish. I can bring down the mood pretty easy. I mean, if you have COVID, man. We assumed it was COVID. This is going to be really interesting.

Then my wife Maria called. She'd tested positive. It's like a funeral this morning. We haven't even started. I'm like, come on, man. All right. We hesitated for just a moment. We figured if Chris has COVID or if I get COVID, what the hell? There couldn't be a more curative place to be than on the water.

But then the outfitter, Andy, warned us it wasn't going to be an easy paddle. Yeah, I know. The wind is going to be straight into your face. Oh my God, are you serious? Yeah, it's a southwest wind. You guys are going southwest. Can you do anything about it? The next few days are going to be a little trying. It's like we're in the Bermuda Triangle here. We just freaking got here. I've waited three years to get here. That's my friend, Gary.

He's a longtime backpacker, but this is his first time in the Boundary Waters. What? You feeling okay? Yeah, no. You just gotta show me what to do, man. We're good. We're good to go, man. Our destination that first night was Oghish-Kumansi Lake, which paddlers simply call "Oghish." We paddled all day through three lakes into a fierce headwind. And so didn't get to Oghish until early evening. All 11 campsites were taken.

Yeah, it's a good wind, huh? This is the wondrous paradox of the Boundary Waters. Even though the campsites on Oghish were full, the lake felt devoid of people. And that's the thing. This is a really popular place to come to in the Midwest. But after a day or two of paddling, you might not see another person for days.

After nearly 10 hours of travel on that first day, we pushed on to the next lake, found a campsite, cooked some brats and green beans. Red wine? Yeah, whatever there is. But yeah, I prefer red. And then prepared to bed down for the night. Be ready, it's going to get dark in half an hour or so. I came here with my recorder, hoping to capture what so envelops me here. The mournful wails of loons at night.

The lakes telling stories. The skies shouting. But it occurred to me that very first night that I can't really capture on tape the true splendor of this place. It inhabits me. It lives inside me. And besides, how can you capture the signature of the Boundary Waters? Its quietude.

One writer, Sigurd Olsen, described being here as a time for silence. There's no way that rope is going to hold. Come on, Alex, don't be a... Don't be a gloomy Gus. Every night before going to bed, we hang our food to keep it from the birds. It's there.

It'll make it harder for the bear. That'll be the last, that's the last obstacle for the bear. He's going to say, oh my God, it's tied in knots. Forget it. Screw it. That's Gary again. It ain't worth it. I'll go to the other campsite. He can't help himself. He's just naturally exuberant. Oh my God, we're totally screwing this. You know that. We once were talking on a Chicago street corner in the early morning and a man approached us. He scolded Gary. You know you're talking really loud.

As if Gary didn't know. It's who he is. He just pulls on it and comes down. It's one of the things I love about him. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. More to come. No matter what you're a fan of, Texas has the trip for you. There's the trip to Texas. And the... Or maybe you're the kind of fan who'd prefer a...

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Nine days we paddled and portaged, fished and swam, but we mostly watched and listened. God, what a beautiful morning, huh? Just, I mean, clear sky. Fantastic. Yeah, the only thing you hear is the river. We watched a young eagle feast on a moose carcass in the shallows of a lake. We fended off an aggressive grouse. We ogled the peculiar abundance of butterflies.

On past trips, I've spotted moose and mink and otter. One time, Chris and I heard a pack of wolves howling from across a lake. I've canoed past a snapping turtle the size of a car tire. Another time, past a pair of trumpeter swans swimming protectively alongside their two cygnets. Inky tent and just filled with mosquitoes. Mm-hmm.

That's why we're out here. It's just for fun. Needless to say, it's not all serenity here. Did you get them all? No. A shitload of them. Plus, the portages can be punishing. Carrying the canoe or a 50-pound pack over boulders and through mud, often up steep inclines. Or paddling on a day when the windswept waters turn moody.

The swells can get so high that if you're in the bow of the canoe, you can't reach the water with your paddle. Some days, even preparing wood for a fire is tough. The physical exertion, especially at our age, is wearing, but it's as if you're folded into the land. And honestly, it's nothing a few Advil and a good meal won't take care of. I bet that trout is done. It is.

We ate well on this trip. Over four nights, we ate fresh lake trout and northern pike. It was amazing. Not gonna lie, I like the northern better. We also had spaghetti and pesto, even jambalaya. Jim, who's an old college friend, and Chris are incredible cooks. Chris, don't you think that's too much red pepper flakes in there? I was in trouble.

Some travel the boundary of water solo, but I already live too much in my head. And days alone here, I fear, would only pull me further inward. And besides, I relish the company. The one you should feel humiliated is Chris. He hasn't caught a fish yet. So Jim, how did that snag feel? When did you figure out that it was a snag and not a huge fish? Oh my God, Jim, don't let him do this to you.

In the evenings, Chris made us gin and tonics. He uses flavored fizz tablets mixed in lake water. Wow, look at that sunset over there, guys. Incredible. Look at the red up on the corner there. See how it just kind of pokes through the clouds? Yeah, just amazing. It's like the clouds are so close up here you feel like you can touch them. Incredible.

Around the campfire, we talk about family, about politics, about books, but most often about really nothing at all. Where do loons go in the winter? That's a Wikipedia. We've got to wiki that when we get cell service. I've neglected to mention there's no cell service inside this million acres of lakes and woods. And so we're off the grid, a rare time when we're disconnected from the world. Woo-hoo!

Our last night on a campsite with a panoramic view of Tuscarora Lake, we take our last swim. Oh! Oh my gosh! So sweet! So cold! It's freezing! There was quite recently an effort to build a mine, a copper mine, along a river running into this wilderness, a river that feeds these lakes.

Mining copper can be particularly toxic and should any of the toxins leak it would irreparably contaminate the waters. Who, I ask, would want to risk scarring this place? I like what Gary said about this place, Chris. He wishes he could bring some of it back with him inside, inside him. How's that for being deep? It's true. That's deep. It is true. It's true, man. Don't you wish, Chris, you could take this home?

Alright, we're gonna put out the fire. Okay. Christopher? No, I think you. Me? You're the newbie. The newbie, the rookie. The MVP. What? Okay, rookie of the year. Rookie of the year. I'm the only rookie here, so I gotta be rookie of the year.

The next day, after three more lakes and two portages, one a mile long, and paddling yet again into a strong headwind, we arrived back where we started. It's habit for me that the first thing I do is call my wife, Maria, to make sure all's well. And this time, I especially wanted to know that she had made it through her bout of COVID okay.

She usually preempts me and says, everything's good here. This time she blurts out, things are really bad. She wasn't talking about her COVID. In the time we'd been gone, the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. They expanded the rights to carry a gun. They constrained the EPA. Nothing good.

And that first weekend home in my city, Chicago, 10 people were killed, another 62 wounded by gunfire. And just north of the city, a young man with a semi-automatic rifle killed seven people at a July 4th parade. The country felt like it was shattering. I usually put my paddle away in the garage, but this time I've leaned it against a wall in my office. It's something to hold on to.

to help me slip into that place where I can watch the sky sashay and where I can listen to the lakes breathe. That place where no matter the storms on the horizon, I can find refuge in the stillness. I'm unwilling to let it go.

Alex Kotlowitz. After we first aired this story, the Biden administration announced a 20-year ban on mining in areas upstream from the Boundary Waters. Alex would like to thank Tuscarora Lodge and Canoe Outfitters and Chris Walker, Jim Adler, and Gary Marks, who allowed Alex to record their vacation. They told me specifically to get people washing dishes. You want to trade places, Alex? No, that's my point. No, you don't know how to handle a microphone. Okay.

It looks really hard. You just wash the dishes and leave the artist alone, okay? I'm David Remnick, and that's our program for today. Thanks for listening. We'll see you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Meryl Garbess of Tune Arts, with additional music by Louis Mitchell. This episode was produced by Max Balton, Brita

Brita Green, Adam Howard, Kalalia, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, and Ngofen Mputubwele, with guidance from Emily Botin and assistance from Harrison Keithline, Michael May, David Gable, and Alejandra Decet. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherena Endowment Fund. No matter what you're a fan of, Texas has the trip for you. There's the trip to Texas and the

trip. Or maybe you're the kind of fan who'd prefer a trip to Texas or a trip. Either way, go to TravelTexas.com slash get your own for the only trip to Texas that matters. Yours.