We were forewarned to stay alert on the double portage from Kawasachong through Townline to Lake Polly in the South Central BWCA. In mid-July outfitter Bill Hansen’s Sawbill Newsletter (www.sawbill.com) told about a smart, aggressive, and apparently pretty hungry bear who had been marauding along that trail. The bruin reportedly snuck up on people, then when their backs were turned darted out and grabbed the food and ran! That put me on edge, but in fact we saw no bears in a week (probably because a good hazelnut crop had ripened). As it turned out, the wildlife was not as wild as their human counterparts. What we did see was some portage action, portaging, some original styles and interesting problems.

It was on the return trip. We had worked hard to get from Little Sag to Koma in one day, and started the last day late and sore. As we moved slowly homeward the 190-rod portage from Townline to Kawasachong loomed as the backbreaker.

As luck would have it, we faced a brisk south wind, right in our faces — just as it had been out of the north and right in our faces when we came in. Because we were worn down to start with, it did not surprise me that as we crossed Lake Polly a pair of athletic young guys in an old 17-foot Alumacraft easily overtook us. We exchanged a few words, and they told us their impressive route: put-in at Hog Creek and in six days they had gone all the way west to Gabbro Lake and then back up the Kawishiwi River. To me that is a long trip, and they looked stronger than ever. We wished them good speed, although they already had it, and paddled on behind.

By the time we reached the portage they were loaded, each with a big pack on his back and a small one in front. What they did next did surprise me. They bent over and picked up the boat together, flipped it up over their heads and set it down with the seats resting on their big packs. This portage starts with a mean little rocky climb. They bounded up it like mountain goats, and out of our sight for good. So that is one way to carry the canoe, and it obviously was working for them.

We got loaded, Vycki with the food pack and incidentals, me with the canoe (Penobscot 16) and my day pack. Before going far we met a woman, then a man, then another, all with light loads and reserved (if not sullen) attitudes. One of them warned us that there were "terrible mudholes" on the second portage.

Then I came to the next curiosity of this portage, two women struggling with a red Penobscot 17. It was on the ground as I came up, and I couldn’t help noticing that it had no yoke. Instead it had two broken pieces of wood connected to the gunnels, and nothing between them. They told me that one of the guys had been carrying it on the previous portage, and the yoke "just broke."

Very unfortunate, I agreed, so what are you doing now? They were on a day trip from Kawasachong to Lake Polly to fish, and they were determined to push on. How? They had secured PFDs to the bow and stern seats, then bent their heads forward and put the boat there, resting on their necks. Now that is a hard way to portage! I had to admire their grit, and wished them good luck. More with portaging than fishing.

After we completed the portage normally, me making a second round for the two other packs (equipment and clothing), we paddled across Townline to meet the day’s main challenge. We had now been warned that it was muddy in addition to being long. We loaded and crossed over. Things seemed okay. Along the way we passed two young couples, who said a friendly "Hello," and gave a fleeting impression of uncertainty. At the put-in I rested a minute admiring our old friend Kawasachong, then started back for the final pull — two 40-pound packs, front and back, and me already dragging. I thought to myself, "I’ll at least enjoy the walk over, with nothing to carry."

You bet! I hadn’t gone 100 yards when I came up to one of the young guys, struggling with a huge red seabag, a 17-foot Mad River Explorer on the ground next to him. Although I could see the problem, I said, "Hi, what’s up?" He muttered something about this portaging being a tricky business. "Here," I said with my best BWCA manners, "Let me have that bag. The canoe is plenty by itself." He looked astonished. He muttered a breathless, "Awesome!" as I took his pack and he took the canoe.

As we walked I told him that it was normal for me to help him out, and that the other day on this very portage a guy had done the same for me. He told me that this was their first time in the BWCA and he didn’t know how he could carry the pack and the canoe at once (this was the first real portage of their trip).

Before long we overtook his wife, who was cheerfully carrying two more big seabags, front and back. He beamed to her, "Look what this awesome guy is doing. He’s taking our pack." Well, they were from Chicago, where I guess "awesome" is a popular word, and helping out strangers may not be as common on the street there as on portage trails in the BWCA. We chatted about the beauty of the woods as we approached the muddy section.

Now I had been through this mud already. It was okay. I just sloshed through in sandals, right down the middle where the trail once was. My friends from Chicago had not seen it. In fact they had only been in the BWCA for a couple of hours. Suddenly just ahead I heard, "Yiiiy!" and saw the woman sinking, right down to the packs! I dashed up and grabbed one arm, and another guy who happened to be coming the other way came over quickly and held her up on the other side.

Then slowly, carefully, we lifted her and her two big packs out of the rippling mudhole. When she was back at ground level, we set her down in the middle of the trail, where the mud was 3-4 inches deep but solid underneath. She gasped for air. Her husband with the Explorer on his shoulders came up just then, and she excitedly told him what had happened. More "awesomes," and everyone was happy.

The reason she went in, she said, was that she didn’t like the looks of the mud on the trail. So she stepped off to the side, where it appeared to be grassy but was not.

We crossed the rest of the trail together in fine spirits. At the end, the Townline Lake put-in, I politely suggested that they consider double portaging next time, and they agreed enthusiastically. They thanked me, of course, and I said, "No problem, anybody would’ve done it." As I grabbed my two packs and headed across the portage for the last time I heard her say to her husband, voice crackling with emotion, "Wow, that was exhilarating!"

I was so anxious to tell Vycki about my adventures that I completely forgot that this was supposed to be the big challenge of the day, and the portage was over in a flash. Time flies when you’re having fun. (The fatigue hit later, as it always does.)