Touring Lake Superior from Tettegouche State Park:
A truly wild and rugged environment along a sliver of Lake Superior’s north shore that treats paddlers to exquisite cliffs hundreds of feet high composed of rock over a billion years old, not to mention some caves, waves, rivers, and beaches to comb, soak the sun, and saunter – this day trip is absolutely worth the effort to get up there.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: July 9, 2024
Skill Level: Intermediate
Class Difficulty: Great Lakes Paddling
Lake Superior disclaimer: We like to have a good time at Miles Paddled both on the water and talking about the water. But kayaking on Lake Superior commands respect and must be taken seriously. It is imperative to have the right boat and clothing, the skills for sea kayaking – up to and including rescue/wet re-entry – and a general awareness of the weather (mainly wind) with its unpredictable mood swings as a given. The water temperature is always frigid, and the lake gets choppy even at 10 mph. If you have any doubt, don’t. If you have individual questions or concerns, it’s best to ask the experts (outfitters, retailers, paddling clubs). Failing that, there’s us!
Put-In + Take-Out:
Pederson Beach at Tettegouche State Park, Silver Bay, Minnesota
GPS: 47.32914, -91.20611
Time: Put in at 12:30p. Out at 3:30p.
Total Time: 3h
Miles Paddled: 8
Wildlife:
Loons, gulls, cormorants, and a peregrine falcon
Background:
At first thought, Minnesota might not be synonymous with sea kayaking. Home of the legendary Boundary Waters as well as the headwaters of the Mississippi River, a canoe is the likely vessel one would well associate with the Land of 10,000 Lakes – not a long, sleek, skinny sea kayak. That is, until one allows for the splendid renegade that is the Lake Superior coastline of the state stretching from Duluth to Grand Portage, a magnificent slice over 140 miles long. And just as Lake Michigan looks very different in Door County than Indiana, the Lake Superior coastline along Minnesota is uniquely distinct from the more popular and much promoted areas like the Apostle Islands or Pictured Rocks (which we’ve written about on this website elsewhere). While Minnesota comprises only 1/3 of the entire coastline that makes up the north shore of the huge lake – the rest is Canadian – it manifests a palpable sense of northcountry. It’s colder, coarser, the shoreline rockier and rougher than the relative softness of its southern basin. It’s very much like the coast of Maine compared to Massachusetts. Hence my neologism of “Mainesota.”
I realize that analogy might not land out here in the Upper Midwest, but for a native New Jerseyan like me, the difference is night and day. Moreover, when the ethos of the northcountry stirs in your soul as it does mine, places like the north shore of Lake Superior feel like a homecoming.
As author and paddler Sue Leaf states in her poignant paean to Lake Superior, Impermanence, the south shore that we are more familiar with in Wisconsin and Michigan is largely composed of sandstone and clay – a going-away gift from the last glacier about 9,000 years ago that is soft and easily eroded. By stark contrast, the north shore (re: the Minnesota and Ontario half) is made of volcanic bedrock over a billion years ago, nearly impervious igneous rocks like basalt, gabbro, granite, and rhyolite.
One lake, two shores. Is that a koan?
For the Hallmark Channel enthusiasts out there who love to binge on maudlin schmaltz or simply the irresistible push-pull tension of star-crossed characters the likes of Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd in Moonlighting, Tony Danza and Judith Light in Who’s the Boss?, and special agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully in The X-Files, my girlfriend, Katie, and I have a pact to visit (and paddle) Lake Superior at least once each summer – it’s what brought us together in the first place. I know…
This year’s trip had us stationed in Duluth, with keen eyes cast on the veritable red carpet that is Highway 61 and its showcase of one shockingly awesome state park after another for miles on end (eight total from Gooseberry Falls to Grand Portage, all along the Lake Superior coast). Since this would be a day-trip, we didn’t want to spend too much time behind a windshield, so the stretch along/near Tettegouche State Park offered the best of the best for a 90-min drive. (By the way, that’s pronounced teh-tuh-GOOSH, from the French for rendezvous, which, mais oui, is also French).
As ever when venturing into our good neighbor to the west and north, we relied on the advice of Lynne Diebel – but in this case, and for the first time ever, her Paddling Northern Minnesota, “twin” of the southern volume we’ve faithfully followed. In it, she lays out four separate trips for sea kayaking Lake Superior; we chose the third.
Before we begin our trip, first a word from our sponsor – by which I mean logistics, as there’s a bit of ambiguity here between actual access points as well as actuarial mileage. Ms. Diebel offers two dots indicating accesses on her map: one at the literal wasteland of the Northshore Mining Company, where millions of tons of taconite tailings have been dumped into the lake such that an artificial peninsula has been, um, shored up; the other at the mouth of the Baptism River in Tettegouche State Park. Moreover, she indicates that a point-to-point paddle will be approximately 7.3 miles (3.7 miles from the “mined-over matter” at Northshore to the Baptism River, then 1.8 miles from the river to a sea cave in Crystal Bay plus the same distance back to the Baptism River). That said, these distances are as the cormorant flies (in other words, straight lines). First off, nobody paddles like that. Secondly, such an imaginary line takes for granted being “out at sea,” as opposed to the reality of hugging the shoreline – that’s where the rocks are, after all – which is nothing but curves, meaning the actual distance will be much longer. (But other than wind and waves, there really are no obstacles to steer clear of, and of course no meandering like on a river, so objects in the rearview mirror are closer than they might appear…)
To keep it simple, and seemingly pristine, we decided to skip the mining area and start right at the heart of the natural beauty in Tettegouche State Park. Great, but where? Diebel’s description of “a long, long carry up [or down] 65 wooden steps” was daunting. (A different guidebook pulls no punches either by rendering it “a fairly hellish carry down a long set of stairs to the river below.”) Not much romance there, but what other options were there? Because you can forget signage; there’s a conspicuous absence of information pertaining to kayak launches or beach access for this very popular state park. Being an outsider here, I did what feels just so very wrong as a man: I asked for directions. The shame!
The first staff person at the state park visitor center looked at me with quizzical whimsy the likes of “oh, you don’t want to do that!” – a look I’ve come to recognize from lots of strangers throughout the years. No one has ever accused me of being practical. She diverted me to another, much younger staff person who, upon hearing our plans, quickly disabused me of the notion to just go to the bottom of the Baptism River, as advised in the various guidebooks, not to mention the actual Lake Superior State Paddle Trail. Instead, she recommended a beach that would be much easier (and safer) to launch a boat from. Awesome!
The only problem was she didn’t know specifically where one must drive/park in order to then access said beach; she helpfully alluded to it being less than a mile away and next to a locked gate. Or a fence. Well, there are several locked gates and fences less than a mile away from the visitor center, each one as unremarkable and unaccommodating as the next. That is, until you find the correct one. I’m here to tell you that what you’ll want to look for is road marker 5596, which is indeed 9/10th of a mile south of the visitor center. There’s a small space for off-road parking that leads to a 600′ walk down an essentially flat trail to Pederson Beach. You’ll still need a state park sticker on your windshield or a day-use receipt ($7), but trust me – this is immeasurably simpler and easier than taking the stairs (which in addition to the hardship itself will involve lots of awkward “sorry, ‘scuse me” to the throngs of non-paddlers also using those stairs).
Overview:
Paddlers face a privileged dilemma before launching from the rocky cobbles of the shoreline: head northeast or southwest – both feature can’t-miss rock formations. We chose the former, toward a formation called Shovel Point, a huge mass of land formed of ancient rock that juts out to the Lake eastward and resembles a scalene triangle. (If you sucked at math as much as I did, that’s the one wherein there are no equal sides or angles.) But after about five minutes, my partner bailed – too spooked by the rollicking reality of the wavy lake. To be fair, she was not in an ideal boat, but the real issue is her motion sickness. And even though the wind was only 10 mph, that alone was enough to move the needle from winsome felicity to panic and fear. Technically, the Beaufort Scale calls this a “gentle breeze” and categorizes it a “3” (from 0-12). What this means for landlubbers and non-sea kayakers is “Large wavelets. Crests begin to break. Foam of glassy appearance. Perhaps scattered white horses.” I love that last one, and If I ever get around to forming a dad-rock band, “Perhaps Scattered White Horses” is absolutely going to be the name of the first album.
Anyway, because my partner’s patience and compassion are as deep as Lake Superior itself, she encouraged me to proceed on my own, which I gratefully did (making me at one and the same time a really lucky boyfriend and a selfish sonofabitch). I myself have a savory tooth, but Katie will get weak in the knees for sweets. So, promising to stop off at Betty’s Pies on the way home might have helped seal the deal for an unanticipated solo paddle…
Moving northeast, all the sights will be on the left-hand side – the right is nothing but open water from here clear on to the Keweenaw Peninsula in the U.P. 120 miles due east. Huge heaps of lava rocks the size of garages and vans begin immediately, but these are Lilliputian compared to the enormous palisades nearby. From here to the Baptism River lie the walk-in campsites that are part of the state park. It’s worth noting that there’s a site designated for kayakers at Pederson Beach, the launching area for this trip. The rocky coast gets bigger and more gnarled as one heads northeast, from punched-in grottos to clenched fists.
Very soon you’ll see an opening on the left. What on first instinct might seem like a cove reveals itself to be the mouth of the mighty Baptism River, here a scrappy denouement compared to its outrageous and roaring self only 1.5 miles upstream, where High Falls – 70′ tall and wide – tumbles in at Minnesota’s 2nd tallest waterfall. (It drops 200′ in those 1.5 miles!) If there’s an east wind, this “alley” can create a tricky condition of standing waves due to the clashing currents.
Moving on, 15′-tall rock shelves line the crenulated shore. Guidebooks and website alike boast of a delicate, elegant sea arch located between the mouth of the Baptism River and Shovel Point, arguably the grandest anywhere of its kind in Minnesota. Indeed, it was one of the draws in choosing this section of the shore to paddle along. The poster child of many souvenirs and much photo-op, it pains me to report that the arch is no more. (I’m using “report” here very loosely, as this information is largely well-known, at least in Minnesota.) Back in 2010 (yes, ahem, 14 years ago), the arch of the rock formation collapsed – the top part – leaving a vertical sea stack in its wake. Nine years later, a fierce winter storm toppled the remaining vertical pillar, leaving nothing but strewn ruins in its place. Today, it’s a pile of rubble. For some stunning before and after photos, see here and here. As the Brothers Gershwin wrote, “In time the Rockies will crumble, Gibraltar will tumble…”
Depending on recent rainfall, you may see a consolation prize just past this former point in the shape of a slick waterfall jetting down a rock face. While there are several peninsular tips jutting out into the water here, none rivals in size or stature to Shovel Point. Sloping towards the lake almost like a descending ramp, it’s at least 200′ tall at the top, making it a remarkable headland. Hiking trails abound at its crown, but the face of the rock is sheer and imposingly vertical. Honestly, the scale is breathtaking. You will want to be cautious getting too close if there are waves on the lake, as you could be buffeted from both sides – the direction of the wind itself as well as waves being rebounded off the rock walls (aka clapotis).
Paddlers face another taunting dilemma here: to venture beyond Shovel Point or turn back around. I chose the former, in part because I wanted to find the sea arch that I hadn’t known yet was no more. But I’m glad I did, and I encourage you to explore half a mile or so beyond Shovel Point to a large crescent-shaped beach at Crystal Bay. For one, it’s the only shelter from the wind (and therefore waves), as long as the wind isn’t from the east. For another, there’s a big cave well worth tucking into and checking out. This beach is public, so running aground to its welcome harbor is perfectly legit. It’s also a very pretty amphitheater effect. Technically, one could access the beach from the highway above – in other words, begin or end a trip here. But it would be a steep schlep! Plus you’d still need to pay the annual or daily admission, as Crystal Bay Beach is within the jurisdiction of Tettegouche State Park.
Cool rock formations line the shore for seemingly ever. And the mountain-esque view of the big hills in the backdrop certainly beguile. But at some point one must turn back… Besides, we wanted to work up an appetite for pie with an après-paddle hike in the state park and/or on the Superior Hiking Trail. Shout out to our buddy, Denny!
Fast forward back to Pederson Beach. Even though there was no sea arch to find, I was feeling pretty satisfied all the same. As anyone who knows me would attest, while I’m a total planner and not an improviser, I do like to have lots of options. If it was in the cards to double-down on this trip by adding Palisade Head, then all the better. But I wanted to check in with Katie first. Mercifully, she encouraged me to continue anew, which I gladly did. So now, paddling southwest, the landscape will be on the right.
First, you’ll paddle clockwise around a cluster of black rocks looking like colossal charcoal. Then the “north face” of Palisade Head will appear in the distance, impossible to miss or mistake due both to its incredible height (approximately 350′ above the water) and radio antenna. But before you reach it you’ll pass a quaint little creek dribble into the lake appropriately named Palisade Creek. Dribble might be a misnomer, as it’s actually riffly. Behind it lies a cabin that seems entirely fitting for a part of northeastern Minnesota nearby named Finland. The whole landscape is beautifully boreal!
Suddenly, a cliff rises like a rocky curtain 150′ high, lined by boulder-strewn rubble at its base, sheer-faced otherwise, and topped with a buzz cut of spruce trees. Once again, mind the waves rebounding off the rock walls here. But soak it up if/while you can; the scale here is just stupendous. The closer you get to the rock walls, the shallower (but still deep) the water is. This has the twofold effect of the water appearing clearer, which in turn magnifies the size and color(s) of the rocks below you. Those of us fortunate enough to have paddled any of the sumptuous segments of Pictured Rocks can relate to this near-Caribbean mirage. It’s truly exquisite.
Continuing clockwise, you’ll see a couple more cave-like grottos here and there. I was plenty ready to turn around and head back, not wanting to push my luck. But curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t let go of not knowing what lied around the next bend – and I’m so glad I didn’t! Next thing I knew, there was a genuine cave with ingress and egress on the left while off to the right was a rock portal not unlike a needle’s eye. I went right – who passes up a portal? – and reasoned that I’d hook back to the left after I broke on through to the other side via the cave. I mean, come on!
Now that you’ve paddled through a wall of rock a billion years in the making, what’s left to do? Revel. Marvel. Be.
As if scripted, when you turn around again to look at the whole huge complex of Palisade Head from the other side – now looking north – afternoon light from the west bathes it in a glow that is simply serene. For there before your eyes is a continental uplift one billion years old heaving above the lake’s surface in vertical shafts glowing like petrified wood enflamed. Behind you is the industrial eyesore of minions and mining, but never mind all that. The conversation about conservation and jobs, ecology and the local economy, should be held elsewhere. Just be here now, in this moment, in this magnitude. Be present in its presence. After all, as the best-selling book says in its title, “after the ecstasy, the laundry.”
But since Katie and I were on vacay, the laundry would wait. Instead, I slipped through the cave, careful that my head wouldn’t bob up against an unforgiving wall. Inside, the rhyolite walls smoldered with rose-colored hues, as if quartz and coral could mix and give off agate. Depending on the length of your kayak, the bow might be escaping the cave before the stern has entered it – it’s miniature, I don’t want to exaggerate – but the experience is positively fantastic!
Once more, you’ll be heading back to Pederson Beach. The views this time, at least initially, will benefit from the angle of the sun. Another very cool perspective is seeing Palisade Head in the foreground with Shovel Point way in the background, the Alpha and Omega of the Tettegouche shoreline. It’s a very impressive stretch, and you’ll feel like you’re paddling the equivalent of a victory lap back to the beach.
What we liked:
There is a freedom in being naïve that is both powerful and blissful, and paddling relatively new places for the first time encompasses both. For me, this trip felt otherworldly, and in a sense it was – this is the north shore of Lake Superior, not the south shore. While it is one and the same lake, the difference between its peripheral halves is not unlike the former prairies and oak savannas of southern Wisconsin compared to the once virgin pine forests of northern Wisconsin. But even that is a most imperfect analogy, for geography is an artificial conceit imposed on a landscape, whereas geology neither knows nor obeys arbitrary lines, be they national, state, county, or otherwise. The Earth simply is – and is beautifully messy. The neat and tidy boundaries men have drawn, predicated on science and politics, is geometrical gibberish.
All the same, this was a special experience. For instance, a paddler new to whitewater successfully running Class III rapids for the first time will always remember that moment more than their umpteenth run of Class IV rapids, years later, precisely because it was the one that had crossed a threshold. Any paddler’s first encounter on Lake Superior and along its majestic geology is bound to supersede a dozen-plus trips past drumlins, wet mesic prairies, and suburban backyards. It’s not a competition or even a comparison; rather, certain experiences stand out more than others. Your first kiss. Your first birth. Your first orgasm. The first time you fall in love. I don’t want to reek of hyperbole, but this first trip on the north shore of Lake Superior, at a latitude northern-more than almost anywhere I’ve ever been, was both an epiphany and a rite of passage. It’s no wonder that the river that runs through the heart of the state park here, emptying into the chalice of the inland sea, is named Baptism.
What we didn’t like:
One would think that finding the largest lake in the Western Hemisphere wouldn’t be so difficult, especially since it’s always on your right-hand side driving from Duluth. But not unlike that pesky final mile in delivery logistics, getting to the lake in general is easy; finding access to it specifically is a little trickier. Considering how extraordinarily popular this stretch of Lake Superior is for paddling, it was strangely perplexing how un-promoted getting to the water with boats is. We easily burned an hour running around to one dead-end after another until we finally found “it.” I can more or less understand the tacit reticence behind this given the dangers of sea kayaking Lake Superior, not to mention the park’s lack of infrastructure corresponding to/accommodating vehicles there specifically for paddling. But the run-around was annoying.
This doesn’t necessarily fall under “didn’t like,” because such an attitude would be fatuous, but there was a disappointment nonetheless in not finding and later learning that the famous sea arch had succumbed to the inevitable entropy of gravity and erosion. The song “Clobbered” by Buffalo Tom comes to mind… I suppose that even the rugged north shore of Lake Superior is prone to impermanence, as are we all.
My only real regret is that my partner didn’t feel comfortable joining me for this expedition/pilgrimage. To be sure, it was the right decision, but regrettable all the same. This trip had too much astonishment for only one little soul to soak up.
If we did this trip again:
Allow me to be unequivocal: I would LOVE to do this trip again – and hope that will happen sometime down the road (rowed?). But Tettegouche State Park is a 6.5-hour drive from home, so there’s that. We love a point-to-point trip, even on an oceanic lake, and Highway 61 parallels the north shore from Duluth to Canada, allowing for such logistics. But for all practical purposes, you’d want two vehicles for a shuttle, not a bicycle. Big trucks, oblivious drivers, and lost tourists, make bicycling in the shoulder of this busy, fast highway very unappealing.
I’d prefer an actual sea kayak, too, and paddling this trip on a less windy day. To be fair, the breeze was only 10 mph, and I was in a 12.5′ touring kayak with two bulkheads and an actual rudder. I never felt unsafe, but the water was choppy and relaxing was essentially impossible. As such, my partner stayed dry-docked. And next time, I’d allow for more time to explore the shoreline a couple miles past Shovel Point and Palisade Head. But those are all perfect-scenario preferences. My experience was unforgettable as it was – one of the best trips I’ve ever had in a boat.
Paddlers may wish to start much earlier in the day than I did, to allow for less sun in the south and west. But that was a minor matter in the grandiose scope of everything.
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Related Information:
General: Tettegouche State Park
General: Lake Superior State Water Trail
Map: Minnesota DNR
Outfitter: Day Tripper of Duluth
Wikipedia: Tettegouche State Park
Photo Gallery:
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