By Michael Furtman

In the north, in the spring, there lives a little stream.

Come summer, it barely flows; and great, gray granite boulders periscope from what little water remains, making passage by canoe nearly impossible.

But in May, this stream flows buoyantly from lake to lake, fed by melting snow. And with it flows our canoe.

Parts of the Boundary Waters are a bit too well-traveled for our tastes, but this route is seldom used. The portages, barely evident, are punctuated by moose tracks….(cont)

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