Mosquitos at Minnesota's Highest Point
A reminder to always pack a bug net
This post is part of my Type 2 Fun series, where I write about the less glamorous side of my outdoor adventures. Not familiar with the concept of Type 2 fun?
The air vibrated around me, though there was no breeze beneath the trees. A few days along Lake Superior’s blustery shoreline had made me complacent about my regimen for bug deterrence and now I faced an unyielding swarm of inland mosquitos, desperate for fresh blood on a hot and humid August morning.
As I swatted ineffectually at the cloud around me, my foot caught on an exposed root, jolting my attention back to the uneven trail too late to avoid a stumble. I righted myself, but not before a few tears escaped down my cheek. Barely a quarter mile into my hike and all I wanted was to sprint back to my car to escape the biting horde.
I have to write about my run-ins with mosquitos in the depths of winter, because I need temporal distance to have some humor about the matter. Some people go through life unbothered by mosquitos. I am not one of them. If there is a single mosquito in the county, it will find me. Then the bite will swell and redden in a reaction that people often think I exaggerate—until they see the proof on my itchy limbs.1
In areas renowned for their mosquitos, I diligently apply bug spray, keep a bug net handy, and cover as much of my skin with clothing as I can bear. Or at least I plan to. Sometimes intentions don’t turn into actions, which is how I found myself hiking to the highest point in Minnesota engulfed in a buggy cloud.
The morning started auspiciously. My campsite in Grand Marais had been better than expected2 and I made it to Java Moose for breakfast before the line wrapped around the outside of the building. Plus, a few days with Lake Superior always in my peripheral vision had added some bounce to my step.
I made a slight detour to the trailhead when I second-guessed Google sending me down a dirt road3, but even that I took in stride, sheepishly waving at the neighbors as I did a three-point turn in front of them. Helps to have out-of-state plates so no one expects that you actually know where you are going!
The dirt road was passable, though very dusty, and the parking lot was quiet when I arrived, except for a few birds chirping above the pit toilet. After triple checking that I had correctly filled out the day use permit to enter the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, I laced up my boots and threw on my pack. Onwards and upwards to Eagle Mountain!
Eagle Mountain, the highest point in the state of Minnesota, is 2301 feet above sea level and only requires a seven mile roundtrip hike to summit—fairly accessible as far as high points go. The hike had been a last minute addition to my itinerary on the recommendation of a friend, so I had limited information about what to expect from the trail and the views. However, I had my satellite messenger for safety, snacks for sustenance, and my bug spray and head net for maintaining my sanity, so I took off down the trail to explore.
The Forest Service warns that “the trail is maintained as a wilderness trail” and hikers should expect “uneven footing caused by rocks and roots in the trail” with overgrown sections.4 I was ready for that. However, there was no warning about the bloodthirsty wildlife. And so you don’t think that I am prone to embellishment, I feel I should give a frame of reference for just how bad the mosquitos were that day—when I appraised the damage in my tent that night, I lost count at forty bug bites just between my elbow and shoulder on a single arm!
Shortly into the hike, I discovered that my head net was not in my backpack. To make matters worse, the bottle of bug spray I had packed was nearly empty and in my excitement at the trailhead, I had failed to spray myself down with an initial protective layer. I was now caught on my back foot, attempting to fend off a never ceasing army without my preferred tools.
The logical choice would have been to retreat to the car, dig around the trunk to locate my head net, and replenish my supply of spray before reattempting my summit. However, I was certain that if I did return to the parking lot, I would not have the fortitude to begin again, knowing what I now did about the tenacity of my foe. So on I hiked, alternating between periods of frantic swatting and sullen surrender.
I didn’t see or hear another person until I reached a campsite on the far end of Whale Lake, right before the trail junction where I could choose to ascend Eagle Mountain or continue on to Brule Lake. Their voices—cheerful and constant as they broke down their camp—helped me break my mosquito fixation and look around at my surroundings with greater appreciation. The bug bites were inevitable, but that didn’t mean they had to dampen my attitude.
My newfound resolve was tested not more than a few minutes later. An older couple, who I would see again at every unclear turn and scenic overlook up Eagle Mountain, responded to my cheerful greeting with a lecture on how unprepared I was to be hiking in short sleeves and no head net. Now the gauntlet was thrown. I had to enjoy myself, if for no other reason than to show them that they were wrong about me.5
And I did finally enjoy myself! At an overlook with a breeze near the top, I sat down for a snack and let the expansive views of lakes and rolling hills soak into my soul. Being still without being swarmed was a welcome sensation.
On the way down, the mosquitos took pity and gave me some peace. Perhaps it was because more people were now hiking the trail and the new blood was more interesting. Or maybe knowing that I would soon be in a bug-free, air conditioned car helped me ignore them. Either way, a hike that started with tears ended with a smile on my face.
A common response is, “Are you sure those are mosquito bites? I’ve never seen them look like that!”
Though most of the Grand Marais Municipal Campground is set up for RVs and campers, there is a small loop of tent-only sites up on the hill that are both reservable online and nicely wooded. I stayed at site 307. Best of all, the campground is right in town so you are within walking distance of restaurants, shops, and Artist’s Point.
The GPS instructions were correct and I had to backtrack because I found myself at an even narrower dirt road.
Later, when we all were having trouble locating the official high point tucked back into the trees, they grumbled that I had cheated by using my Garmin inReach to find the way, rather than a paper map and compass.
Your story reminds me of a camping trip to Lake Bemidji State Park in Minnesota. There we encountered Paul Bunyan-esque mosquitoes. It was one of the few times we slept in the van rather than the tent.
Oh wow... that's a lot of bites! I only started to understand how troublesome mosquitoes can be when I got into camping in Scandinavia. They can really ruin your day. I wonder what people did before there were sprays & nets - cover themselves in a thick layer of mud? Maybe that's the way to go...