Fat drops of rain pelted the windshield. The wipers dutifully swept back and forth in graceful arcs, but they couldn't stay on top of the torrent. I glanced at the temperature on the dashboard, even though I knew what it said: 45 degrees.
Ed, my husband, and I turned and looked at one another, expressionless. Sighing, I pushed open the door and stepped into the maelstrom. "This is going to be a lot of fun," Ed said.
Hiking 16-plus miles in hypothermic conditions was not how I envisioned my first day (June 2) on the Superior Hiking Trail. Most hikers would likely opt to begin another time. But I'd been duped. My weather app said rain would move in during the afternoon, not greet us in the parking lot before we'd even placed a boot on the trail. So here we were, sitting at the trail's southern terminus, backpacks loaded. We might as well give it a go.
The Superior Hiking Trail takes its name from the massive body of water nearby, and with good reason — because the trail is all about this greatest of Great Lakes. Beginning in 1986, the trail's founders set out to build a long-distance path patterned after the Appalachian Trail. Like the Appalachian Trail, this one would also run along a rocky ridge. But in this part of the country, it would be the ridge framing the North Shore and Lake Superior. As it unspooled northbound, the path would cross dozens of creeks, rivers and waterfalls, all of which form the Lake Superior watershed. And it would tease and treat hikers by offering occasional eye-popping views of the lake. Getting a little waterlogged while hiking this path, then, would be my baptism into its ranks.
Ducking into the woods
I was heartened because I was starting out on this arduous, 310-plus-mile thru-hike with my husband. His presence would be the boost I needed on such a grim day. But I was worried, too. I was decked out in several layers of rain gear — I even had an umbrella — while he was clad in a simple rain jacket and shorts. No rain pants, no gloves, no poncho. "My legs never get cold," he said, when I fretted about his meager attire. So we ducked into the woods around 9:30 a.m., hoping for the best.
The Superior Hiking Trail actually has two southern terminuses. The super-official one is the terminus I selected: a spot hidden deep in the forest on the Minnesota-Wisconsin border, just southeast of Jay Cooke State Park. (The other terminus, 51 miles away in Duluth, is favored by backpackers, as there are 94 official Superior Hiking Trail campsites from that point on.) To reach the super-official terminus, marked by a small sign, you must hike in 1.9 miles from the Wild Valley Road parking lot and then turn around, hike back out and continue on your way.
As we began tromping toward the terminus, thick stands of aspen and maple arched their branches protectively overhead, diverting much of the water from our bodies. Songbirds chirruped merrily, despite the gloom, while a profusion of trillium nodded their white heads in greeting. This might not be so bad after all.
But a few hours later, after completing the out-and-back to the southern terminus and then following the path into the heart of the state park, things began to unravel. Angry clouds muscled their way across the sky, dismissing the light rain and replacing it with thick sheets of water. Within minutes we were drenched. Then, as puddles mushroomed into small lakes, even our shoes filled with water. Pulling our rain gear more tightly against our chilled bodies, we trudged along, heads down.
