Conquering the Legendary Frost River: Two Marines’ Journey Through the Boundary Waters

Marine Sergeant Drew Davison of 2/3 Echo Company enjoys a portage along the Frost River in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

In June 2020, I embarked on an unforgettable journey through the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness alongside Sergeant Davison. Over the course of eight days, we paddled, portaged (carrying our canoe and gear over land), and explored one of the most pristine wilderness areas in the United States. Our route took us through 41 portages and covered approximately 50 miles, testing our physical endurance and deepening our bond through shared challenges. It was a trip marked by breathtaking landscapes, tranquil waters, and the quiet camaraderie that comes with navigating the wild together. This adventure wasn’t just a test of skill and determination but a chance to reconnect with nature and each other in a profoundly meaningful way.

One of many picturesque moments we enjoyed while paddling the Frost River.

Davison and I served together in the Marine Corps with 2/3 Echo Company. After reconnecting over the phone and discussing what he was looking to get out of this trip, I settled on the legendary Frost River route through the heart of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. Being hardened Marines, we opted to travel light and fast, bringing little food and relying on what we caught to eat. There is something magical about a wilderness trip on the summer solstice, June 21, the longest day of the year. We are blessed with over 17 hours of good paddling light in the Boundary Waters this time of year, making it an easy choice for this trip.

Moose tracks line a sandy beach on Frost Lake, another average sunset on the Frost River Route.

Moose: Alces Alces. We didn’t get to see any moose on this trip, but we saw lots of tracks and stepped in lots of scat.

Day 1, June 16

We packed our gear and went over the route one last time, soon to be headed north with no looking back. After a late breakfast, we began our trek north, up the North Shore of Lake Superior, toward the Gunflint Trail and the heart of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. The Gunflint Trail is an 80-mile road that pushes straight into the middle of the wilderness, and we were starting at the end of it. Stopping at the beautiful and impressive cliffs of Palisade Head on Lake Superior, we stretched our legs and gazed over the giant freshwater lake, glad we wouldn’t be paddling it. Eventually, we made our way north to Seagull Outfitters, where we were to spend the first night in a bunkhouse before setting off early the next morning.

Sergeant Drew “Tracer” Davison living life on the edge. Sitting atop the 300 foot Palisade Head overlooking Lake Superior. Shovel Point can be seen in the background.

Day 2, June 17

Day one of the expedition. Like many men the night before a trip, we merely pretended to sleep while our minds raced with excitement for the adventure ahead. The stifling heat and stiff bunk beds weren’t doing us any favors. The goal for this trip was to be dropped off some 50 miles away from our truck and paddle back to civilization. We gave ourselves 7-10 days, with no turning back, no escape route, just one way home. With one final check of gear and look at the maps, we loaded up and were dropped off at the Cross River Entry Point to begin our trek down the Frost River.

One of our first portages of the route. Drew still has nice clean clothes, and he is still trying to keep his feet dry.

Water levels were high, just what we needed if we hoped to navigate the small and remote Frost River. Keeping true to Marine Corps fashion, I spared Drew no easy introduction to the Boundary Waters. Our first day included 11 portages and many miles to get us to Frost Lake, the headwaters of our expedition. Eager to get into the woods and well underway, we spent little time fishing on the first day. Drew caught his first few fish of the trip: a small northern pike and a very nice smallmouth bass. Having successfully shaken down our fishing gear, we made it to camp and slept like babies under the northern sky.

Drew’s first fish of the trip, a dandy smallmouth bass. He didn’t grow up fishing and was eager for the opportunity on such a great treat.

Day 3, June 18

The first day paddling and portaging is always a shock to the body, no matter how much you train and prepare. We both awoke sore and slow, not as spry and youthful as we were a decade prior in boot camp. But we were eager and excited to be there nonetheless! Having opted to sleep in hammocks made breaking camp each morning a breeze. Our hammocks proved less than ideal during one leg of the trip that was recently burned in a wildfire, leaving us to push farther in search of suitable trees. However, the ease and comfort of hammocks always made up for the inconvenience.

The reality of a sore, cranky Marine on the first morning after portages—gritty humor intact, as always.

Drew became a seasoned paddler in no time. With a dozen or so miles under our belt, we were moving with confidence. Approaching the headwaters of the Frost River was a momentous occasion; there was no going back, only one way out. We began the first leg of the river with a discussion of journalism and propaganda. You never know where the conversation may end up when a few Jarheads are leading the way, but I assure you, it is always entertaining. After much deliberate and convincing lecturing, Drew had convinced me that Walter Cronkite was the only real, and best, journalist EVER. And with that, we began our adventure down the Frost River.

We paddled past many cliffs and rocky shorelines. Weathered and scarred from years in the harsh seasons, always a spectacle to admire.

Winding and meandering through the deepest heart of the Boundary Waters, the Frost River was everything we had heard about. The numerous portages were nothing more than animal paths frequented by moose and wolves, as was evident from the continuous piles of feces underfoot. After a nice lunch of bannock, a simple frybread, we began our final push toward camp—a remote and seldom-used campsite on Bologna Lake. Eager to be in camp and rest our weary bodies, we hastily pitched our hammocks to lay down and rest. In our haste to make camp and rest, we failed to notice the stench of death in the air. After a very short search, we found the culprit: a moose calf, freshly eaten, at the edge of camp. With no other campsites for many miles, we did what we could to clean up the site and called it a night. We slept softly, as the lingering smell of fresh food was still heavy in camp. Fortunately, we had no visitors.

Our beautiful and seldom used Bologna Lake Campsite. It will still go down as one of my favorites, even with our moose friend.

I wasn’t expecting to find this in camp! We felt we had successfully found the backcountry, this wild and untamed part of the Boundary Waters.

Day 4, June 19

The third day of any trip is always the sorest. Shoulders tight, lower back aching, it always makes the first few miles a chore. But we pressed on and were quickly treated to the beauty of the Frost River and its meandering course through paradise. Flowers like pink lady’s slippers and blue flags lined the riverbank, creating a striking contrast to the rugged wilderness.

Minnesota’s State Flower, the Pink Lady’s Slipper. The portages were lined with them, one of the perks of the summer solstice.

Northern Blue Flags are another beautiful flower that frequented our route.

The river’s beauty gave way to challenges as it turned into a winding trickle. I soon found myself out of the canoe, pushing Drew through leech-infested shallow spots. Just as we thought the river couldn’t get more challenging, it started throwing beaver dams at us. It became comical as there were no good ways to tackle them. Out of the boat, balancing on wet, slippery logs, and heaving the boat over piles of sticks, only to do it again a short distance downriver. Misery loves company, but this was still a pleasure cruise compared to the many field-ops Drew and I had endured in the Marine Corps. After many challenging portages and more beaver dams than we cared to count, we finally made it to camp. Despite the pouring rain, mosquitoes found us. We hastily ate our dinner and crawled into our dry hammocks. There are still mosquitoes entombed between the pages of my journal, much like their ancestors in amber. We slept hard that night in the rain, finally feeling satisfied with our efforts on this route.

Here Drew is seen enjoying one of the many beaver dams he got to experience on the Frost River. He’s a bit more dirty by this point, and he no longer cares about keeping his feet dry.

Day 5, June 20

We awoke to a chorus of songbirds as the bright morning sun rose over the wet landscape. Sunny and warm, the bugs were even sleeping in. One couldn’t have asked for a better morning on Whipped Lake. It’s a toss-up whether one sleeps better under a tarp in the rain or nestled into a big sleeping bag on a winter’s night. Day four found us feeling re-energized, and we were working like a well-oiled machine.

Teamwork and communication are crucial when navigating these shallow stretches of river. It came second nature for us, and made for a truly enjoyable trip.

“Five bags, four fishing poles, three paddles, two Marines, one canoe” was our mantra as we loaded back into the canoe after every portage. Gear adrift is a gift in the Marine Corps, but it can make for a lousy trip in the Boundary Waters. Gear accountability is of utmost importance when traveling in the backcountry. Good-quality gear that you take care of is worth its weight in gold on these trips. We found a spare paddle that a group had left on a portage before us. Having been there many days and not interested in carrying more weight, we opted to leave their mistake behind—perhaps the next group would find it useful.

Drew unloading the canoe on one of our many, many portages. We quickly learned we could not trust the map on location, or length of portages. It was a true adventure.

As we finished the Frost River, it emptied into Little Saganaga Lake. Another group approached, heading upstream. It was to be their first day on the Frost River, and they were surprised to learn they were paddling upstream. We mistakenly warned them about the dozens of beaver dams that lay in wait. They seemed rather discouraged as they paddled away.

The majestic Frost River in all her power and glory. Drew often switched between a light wooden paddle and his beefy “Beater" paddle for navigating shallow sections.

The Frost River ended with a portage to remember. A short portage, only 30-40 yards, but it was up and over a cliff between Afton and Fente Lakes. It was the most memorable portage of the trip, one Drew nor I will never forget. Having ticked off 29 portages and just as many beaver dams, we couldn’t help but laugh at the condition of this “short” portage we were so looking forward to. It’s what memories are made of and what builds bonds between adventurers. With no other route but up, and packs not getting any lighter, we did what Marines do best—complained and got it done.

The legendary “short” portage we were so lovingly graced with late in the afternoon. Sometimes short portages are not easy portages.

This was the highlight of the trip for me. We were tired of portaging for the day, and could only laugh at the monstrosity we got to finish with. It’s tough and that’s what makes it fun.

Day 6, June 21

Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year. We were graced with over 17 hours of daylight being that far north. Having made it through the crux of our trip, tackling the beautiful, rugged Frost River, we treated ourselves to a rest day. Little Saganaga is a large lake, with dozens of small islands dotting its dark-stained waters. We were fortunate to be one of two groups on the entire lake, so we chose a beautiful, elevated site on the west side atop a large point.

One of many beautiful spots we got to stop and take lunch. The perfect place to unwind, heal, and reconnect.

Drew chose to take some time to himself while exploring around camp and catching up on some much-needed reading. Little Sag is a lake trout lake, with many walleye and northern pike present, and with that information, I spent a good portion of the day chasing fish solo. Fishing has always been rough on the solstice—that post-spawn lull, if you will. But on this day, I managed to catch some very respectable pike. The issue with large pike is they often like to flop around, making landing them in a canoe a real treat. The biggest fish of the day decided to share the hook with me, flopping and burying a large hook into the meat of my hand. Luckily, it was the break he needed to get off—simply traded places with me. Some distance from camp, with a large hook in my hand, I slowly ventured back looking for Drew. Both being familiar with combat lifesaving techniques, but both yelling for the Corpsman (medic), we decided we had to take care of it ourselves. With no tourniquet on hand, no sucking chest wound, we decided to use the string method and remove the hook ourselves. Doctor Drew counted down and ripped the hook out first try. We both opened our eyes expecting to see half a hand left, but to Drew’s surprise, the surgery was a great success and he wasn’t going to have to carry me out of the woods. After a day of excitement and a dinner of fresh fish, we went to bed early, eager to get back on the water tomorrow.

Everyone deserves a rest day to read and journal while overlooking Little Saganaga Lake.

Day 7, June 22

We expected the morning to be full of energy, but the trek had caught up with us. Arising quite stiff and sore, we were slow to get out of camp. It took no time to knock the rust off, and we felt reinvigorated and ready for another 30 portages! Having awoken at 3 am, I was fortunate to start my morning with a sunrise to write home about. With the river behind us, we began our final stretch of lake hopping to get to the truck. Being as we pushed deep into the heart of the Boundary Waters, we hadn’t seen but two small groups in passing the whole week. The last stretch of the trip would take us back out of the remote wilderness, into some of the more populated lakes. With that in mind, we pushed off into a large area once ravaged by wildfire.

Years of Marine Corps land nav have finally paid off for Drew. Navigating the remote wilderness was a breeze for him, it was enjoyable to see him with a map again.

One of the goals for this trip was to visit a remote bridge built deep on the Kekekabic Hiking Trail. A feat of engineering built over a waterfall deep into the wilderness. The bridge does not sit directly on a paddling route, so Drew was graced with some bushwhacking and a lot of mud as I dragged him to where I thought the bridge was. We did find the bridge and made a short lunch next to the falls. It was well worth the detour to see such a beautiful bridge in the middle of nowhere.

The very remote and impressive Agamok Bridge of the Kekekabic Hiking Trail. I am still not sure how they got the lumber here.

Shortly after the Agamok Bridge, we came to the largest lake crossing of the trip. Wind and weather would dictate how long and miserable the day would be. As we approached Gabimichigami Lake, the clouds parted, and the wind died. With no islands to take refuge from the wind, we were afraid of having to paddle around the shoreline, as you can barely see the far side. Paddling west, into the prevailing wind, we took the opportunity for the open water crossing. After the first 10 minutes, we’re so far from shore you begin to question if we are even moving. Another 20 minutes passed, the lake was still calm, but it felt like we were no closer to shore. Another 10 minutes passed before we recognized the far shoreline getting closer to us. Excitement and relief washed over us as our gamble paid off. What could have taken hours or even the entire day, we managed to finish in less than an hour.

I think Drew was contemplating how to paddle down this as to avoid another portage. We took a vote and decided to portage.

Ahead of schedule, with energy to spare, we finished the day looking for a site on the very populated Ogishkemuncie Lake. A very stark contrast and change of pace compared to the remote campsites we had used up until this point. The heavily used site was bare dirt, without a trace of dead wood to collect and burn. An almost sobering end to our wilderness expedition. We quietly ate dinner as we contemplated the realization that our trip was nearing its end.

It was all smiles any time we got to float past a portage!

Day 8, June 23

It was a slow, quiet morning; one would think we would be more excited to get to the truck. What was eager excitement to reach our goal had turned into an almost dread. The realization that it’s all coming to an end—the adventure, the camaraderie, the freedom. Next is work and electricity, bills and screens. Nobody is ready to be thrust back into civilization, and with those thoughts pushed deep in our minds, we paddled on trying to enjoy the last hours in paradise. There were more groups now, with many more campsites all occupied by people enjoying the woods. A sobering change of pace as we paddled out of the backcountry, back toward the modern world. Slowly, almost wishing it wasn’t coming to an end, we paddled in silence, a well-oiled machine quietly cutting through the water. The laughter and sounds of enjoyment played in the background as we approached our 41st and final portage of the trip. A very well-used path from Alpine Lake to Seagull Lake, we unloaded the boat and assumed our duties without a word spoken. We looked well-worn and very seasoned at this point, drawing wide gazes from everyone we passed. As we finished our last portage, we came out on a large family taking a lunch break. As if they were witnessing Bigfoot emerge from the woods, they quietly watched us carry and load our canoe. Still smelling of soap and shampoo, they shyly asked us where we were coming from. Their mouths fell agape when we told them we had come from the Cross River, 41 portages and over 50 miles to get us there. We did it, we had conquered the legendary Frost River route. With nothing left but a quiet paddle to the truck, we slowly made our way out of the woods, back to civilization.

We started at the blue “P” at the Cross River Entry Point following the yellow route, the red indicates our portages. The blue line is the Kekekabic Trail, home of the Agamok Bridge.

These trips are what keep me going; they heal me. Never to be forgotten, I find myself reminiscing and recounting all the great memories I’ve made in the backcountry. There is much baggage that comes with being a Marine, and it seems that only other Marines understand. I can’t speak for other veterans or first responders, but it seems that reconnecting with my brothers in the woods has helped me heal and transition to civilian life. Going on this trip with Drew was eye-opening, as I saw the similarities in our day-to-day struggles. Together, we were in a space where we could open up and talk about it. Wilderness therapy has been a staple in my life and my success. I hope to make this kind of experience available for as many veterans and first responders as possible.