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When a group of six intrepid Ely skiers recently dropped in on Amy and Dave Freeman, Dave said that I’ve certainly been their most frequent visitor during the first six months of their Year in the Wilderness. Let me count the days and ways that I’ve been thus privileged.

SEPTEMBER 23: I was at the September send-off and was part of the flotilla from River Point Resort & Outfitting Company. What a fine celebration that was! The Koschaks, whose beautiful resort is at ground zero for the proposed Twin Metals copper-nickel mine, provided warm hospitality. That’s me, in yellow raincoat and green kayak, right behind Amy (photo, right).

SEPTEMBER 28: A few days later, on September 28, I drove down Glippi Road, paddled across Pickerel Lake, and portaged into the N. Kawishiwi River, hoping to find Dave and Amy -- and there they were, on their way to test the water in S. Farm Lake! I gave them a chocolate bar and some vegetables from our garden as we paddled together into a strong wind for a mile or so before I turned back.

OCTOBER 3: New Elyite Margaret W. and I portaged into Little Gabbro and fought strong winds all the way to Bald Eagle Lake. Whitecaps blocked our hopes to reach the Freemans at the south end of Bald Eagle. So we portaged to Turtle Lake instead, for lunch on a campsite, and later I delivered our edible gifts to the group that accomplished a resupply the next day.

MID OCTOBER: I noted on the DeLorme map that Amy and Dave were camped on Tin Can Mike Lake. I called around to find a canoe partner. Debbie H. was available, so we met and drove to the Chainsaw Sisters entry point. There we ran into Levi, the Freemans’ expedition manager, and some Patagonia employees, going out to resupply and camp with the Freemans. Dave and Amy met us on Mudro, and we all had a fine visit and lunch together on a Sandpit Lake campsite. During our paddle out, Debbie said, “Thanks for inviting me. This was the most fun day of my fall!”

NOVEMBER 7: My friend Tim L. came up from the Twin Cities and we joined a resupply paddle from Moose Lake entry point to the Splash Lake portage. The day was an early taste of winter, a beautiful sprinkling of snow on every branch. After the fun visit, my hands, in wet gloves, got so cold that Tim and I pulled into the winter portage for a walk across to Splash and back in order to revive my fingers for the return paddle.

JANUARY 15: The first of my visits with Amy and Dave by skis. Chris C., Chuck Z. and I brought some goodies and a charged battery to their camp at the far end of Fall Lake’s Mile Island. As we arrived, the Freemans were returning from gathering firewood on the Four Mile Portage. As the dog team and loaded toboggan approached, David put on the brakes, to stop for a chat, but the dogs would not be deterred from their mission, and so the visiting waited until all arrived in camp.

END OF JANUARY: I saw the Freemans three times in one week! On Sunday, the day after we raced “The Pepsi Challenge” on Giants Ridge trails, I introduced friend Greg K. to Dave and Amy during our skate ski outing to Basswood Lake via the Four Mile Portage. On Tuesday, my friend Margaret finally got to meet Dave and Amy on Fall, on our way to explore Ella Hall Lake. Then, on Saturday, more ski friends came from Mora (Phoebe M., David K. and their one-year-old twins). Pulling the boys in a pulk, we skied from Moose Lake, crossed to Basswood via the winter portages through Found and Manomin, and found the Freemans camped at a small island across from the Spirit Tree (a popular 1,100-year-old white cedar). The twins, Miles and Daschle, who never complained all day, were fascinated by Acorn, Tina, and Tank, especially when they commenced to howling as several Outward Bound dog teams passed us heading west.

EARLY FEBRUARY: Greg K. loved our first lake crust ski so much that he came up from the Cities again a few weeks later. This time we found Dave and Amy at the far end of Snowbank Lake. From there we cruised around Disappointment Lake, where we watched a lone wolf for a long time along the far shoreline.

MARCH 25: I still can't believe how far six of us skied and hiked on March 25. Somehow, an ambitious trek out to Knife Lake’s Thunder Point became a 40-plus-mile loop, partly I suppose because we weren't excited about retracing some of the tough winter portages we'd taken to get to Knife, and partly because we thought it would be fun to drop in on Dave and Amy on Fraser Lake, but mostly because the spirit of Ely backwoods ski trekkers is always to push the boundaries of time and distance and the rumored end of winter.

Near Dorothy Molter's Isle of Pines, the less-bold of us clambered over a little island to avoid the risk of open water and thin ice on both sides, but this was a piece of cake compared to the bushwhacks necessary to avoid open streams at our exits from Kekekabic and Fraser; even so, none of these compared in difficulty to slogging through the miles of brush tangles, weak ice, swamp hummocks and mushy snow of the winter portage from Thomas to Disappointment. Our brief visit with Amy and Dave was a nice mid-afternoon break. A broken binding, broken ski, and broken ski boot slowed our progress (along with strong wind and slower skiing on softened lake crust). Other than the Freemans, we saw no one. It was a great relief to reach the Snowbank landing, dehydrated, wet, utterly spent, and pile into a warm van to be shuttled to our cars back at the Moose Lake public access.

APRIL 3: The "spring" resupply for Dave and Amy. A group of six, walking across the ice into a cold and snowy east wind, pulled the Freemans' canoe and carried several packs of food. I wanted to ski, so headed out on Moose Lake earlier. There was lots of slipping on ice but some sections had enough snow for decent skate skiing. Heavy flurries sometimes made for white-out conditions -- beautiful and exhilarating! Took until Horseshoe Island for my fingers to thaw.  I walked the winter portage to Splash and skied on to Ensign, finally spotting dim figures in the distance about half-way down the lake. Turns out Dave and Amy were camped on Knife, near Thunder Point, so they'd already come a long way. Tank, their one remaining canine companion, was working hard pulling the toboggan loaded with winter gear no longer needed, often slipping on the ice as we skied back together towards Splash. After a while, Dave linked himself up front with Tank to share the pulling. We met the resupply party towards the end of the winter portage from Newfound (three young-adult VCC students, Becky Rom, Chris Chandler, and Lindsey Lang). After intros, lunch, and a good visit, I headed home, followed by the hikers, now pulling the toboggan. The Freemans plan to head to Basswood, where they hope to cross paths with Will Steger, who is making his way (pulling his loaded canoe) from Ontario through the Quetico on his way home to Winton. I am privileged to have had a part in the two "shoulder season" major resupplies.

I tell this story to illustrate the joys and challenges of the BWCAW: the great variety of lakes and routes, the beauties of the changing seasons, the exhilaration of traveling through unspoiled wilderness under one’s own power. Every day of this remarkable year, Dave and Amy’s blogs reinforce how special, how rare, how precious we find this vast natural preserve of undeveloped forest and clean water. I am very grateful that they are dedicating an entire year of their lives to helping all of us preserve the BWCA wilderness for generations to come.

Elton and Emily Brown retired to their Morse Township cabin seven years ago and have been active volunteers at Sustainable Ely and with the Campaign to Save the Boundary Waters. During the years that Elton was the pastor of United Methodist churches in Minneapolis, they took their four kids on Boundary Waters canoe trips every summer. Elton is one of many Ely-area trekkers who love to ski into the Wilderness, especially in early spring when lakes are covered with a firm, fast crust.

The science is clear: allowing sulfide-ore mining next to and upstream from the Boundary Waters Wilderness would threaten it for generations. In our new scientific report, we summarize the best scientific research on this issue and outline the ways sulfide-ore mining would harm the Boundary Waters Wilderness, whether by contaminating its water or destroying the surrounding forest. In our report, we also share the conclusions scientists and experts in their fields have made regarding the risks from this type of mining.

"If sulfide mines are developed in the Rainy Headwaters [part of the Boundary Waters watershed], it is not a question of whether, but when, a leak will occur that will have major impacts on the water quality of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness."
-- Dr. Myers, hydrologist

"It is not feasible, given today’s or tomorrow’s technology, to reduce the risk of impacting waters downstream from a copper/nickel mine in a sulfide ore body to zero."
-- Dr. Chambers, mining expert

Read and download the full report here.

Already exhausted after 20 minutes, I come to an abrupt halt and slump against the harness of my overloaded pulk sled -- a brief rest from the arduous task of breaking trail through knee-deep fresh snow. Heart pounding, the deep silence of the winter wilderness echoes in my mind, deafening in it’s sheer nothingness. Even the sound of my labored breath and the crunch of snow underfoot seem stifled by the sound-deadening pillows of snow plastering the forest. It’s a strange feeling – one that’s only underscored by the physical and mental fog of the most severe cold I’d had in years. After pausing long enough to catch my breath and see my partner, Matt, closing in behind me, I cough a few times, lean into the harness, and trudge onward down the undulating path to Angleworm Lake and the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

The heart of winter is certainly one of the most beautiful times to be in the wilderness, but it’s also a major test of skill and determination. Everything is harder, the stakes are higher, and there is little margin for error. Processing firewood becomes a daily necessity, gathering water requires an axe, and a lost glove can mean frostbite in the wrong conditions. All that aside, I knew more than anything else that it would be a tough week to film. In cold weather like this, exposed fingers quickly numb to the point of uselessness, batteries drain in minutes, and quick changes in temperature (such as entering a heated tent) fog lenses and expose delicate electronics to condensation. Snapping back into the moment, I heave the dead weight of the pulk sled up and over a small hill, looking up only to find a steeper, longer incline ahead. As we like to say in Minnesota, “Uffda.”

As I crest the hill, the silence is suddenly broken by sing-song commands and the barking of dogs, and I find myself face to face with a team of three Alaskan Huskies. In tow (quite literally) are my friends Amy and Dave Freeman, who appear happy, healthy and well tanned from a winter’s worth of snow-reflected sun. The Freemans are living out here in the BWCA for an entire year to draw attention to proposed sulfide-ore mines near the wilderness boundary, and we are visiting each season to help film the journey. Warm greetings are exchanged, and we have a lot to catch up on, but save any real conversation for the woodstove – the temperature is dropping, and we still have a few miles to go before we reach camp. Onward we go with a quickened pace, thankful for the lightened load as Tina, Tank and Acorn enthusiastically pick up our slack.

We soon arrive in camp - a low spot just off the lake, sheltered from the wind by an outcropping of granite and wreathed with snowcapped pines. Amy ties up the dogs and begins boiling water for their evening meal of chopped chicken, dog food and an extra hunk of lard to keep the inner fires burning until morning. Dave busies himself processing firewood (we’ll need to collect more before nightfall), while Matt and I unload our camera and camping gear from the pulk sleds. A stiff breeze sends plumes of spindrift across the frozen lake, heralding a cold snap with projected daily highs barely above zero, and overnight lows plunging well past -20°F for the next week straight.

As I step inside the Freeman’s tent, I’m overcome with a feeling of déjà vu. Save for the addition of hats and gloves hung near the stovepipe to dry, the tipi-shelter hasn’t changed a bit since our visit last October, more than three months ago. Sure, the Freemans have moved camp dozens of times since then, but the set-up is instantly familiar to me. In the very middle is a woodstove with a pot of water ready to boil, directly to the left of the door is a stack of firewood and birch bark, and in the back are the sleeping bags and pads, safe from snowy boots and errant sparks. The sweet scent of wood smoke permeates the air, and I’m happy to be a visitor in the Freeman’s home once again.

Later that night, we settle in around the stove for a dinner of venison tenderloin, a gift from my friend Andrew. The warm glow of the lantern illuminates the tent, and our jovial conversation inevitably trends toward all that has passed since our last visit: waiting out a long (and late) freeze up, tales of wolves fishing for spawning cisco, exchanging the canoe for a dog team and toboggans, and New Year’s Eve celebrations with visiting friends. Now halfway through their Year in the Wilderness, Amy and Dave seem to be doing well, and spirits are high. And they are especially happy for the added companionship of the dogs, on loan from a local musher named Frank Moe.

Tina, Tank, and Acorn each have their own unique personalities and strengths, and feel more like part of the team than hired paws. Acorn, the mother of Tina and Tank, is twelve years old but still a strong leader, even despite an injured tail that has her sharing the tent with us each night until it heals. The Year in the Wilderness is not her first foray into activism - she was also the lead dog in the 2012 Sled Dogs to Saint Paul, one of the early moments of advocacy around the sulfide-ore mining issue. Tina can be a bit skittish at first, but opens up after awhile and can pull hard in the harness all day. And Tank certainly justifies his name - at nearly twice the size of the other dogs, he serves as the anchor to the team, and really puts his weight into the uphill sections.

Eager to run every day, the only thing that really slows the team down is slush. Seemingly more often than not, perfectly good looking snow betrays us with large puddles hidden beneath the surface. Despite the bitter cold temperatures, the weight of recent snow has pushed the lake ice downward, displacing a layer of water that seeps up through cracks and settles unfrozen, insulated between the snow and ice. One moment we’re racing along, and the next, toboggans, skis, and paws alike are trapped in a quagmire of heavy slush that freezes instantly and requires a mandatory stop to scrape, chip, or lick off the ice before we can move on. But when the going is good, it’s an amazing experience to be cruising along the shoreline in the bright, crisp air of a bluebird winter day.

As the days progress and I find myself settling into life in the wilderness, the gravity of what Amy and Dave are doing out here truly begins to sink in. I have often thought about them since my last visit, but entering the rhythm and routine of their day-to-day brings me new perspective. I realize the extent to which I’ve generally taken for granted running water, electricity, and the warm climate of my adopted home in Southern California, while they have been out here the whole time - not only surviving, but thriving through the depths of the Minnesota winter. I think of all the ice holes chopped and pots of water boiled, the armfuls of wood gathered and processed to stay warm and cook, the many camps set up and taken down. The challenges are a little more immediate, yet the rewards are ever-present – moving efficiently with the dogs over fast snow, the satisfaction of a stove-cooked meal on a cold day, aurora borealis dancing wildly in the night sky. Life out here is still life, but it’s been boiled down to it’s very essence.

On the final night of our stay, the mercury plunges even deeper to a bone-chilling -27°F. In the morning we wake up cold, get the stove going, and boil up a pot of water. But before settling in for coffee and oatmeal, the four of us head outside for a science experiment. When it’s this cold outside, it’s said that a pot of boiling water tossed into the air will evaporate before hitting the ground. 3…2…1… BOOM! An explosion of white steam streams through the air like fireworks, backlit by the first rays of sunshine gracing the frozen expanse of Gun Lake.

A morning like this highlights the beauty of the winter wilderness in all it’s glory, but like our week visiting the Freemans, the moment is fleeting. The spring thaw is just around the corner, bringing with it new challenges - waiting for open water, freezing spring rains, and hordes of biting black flies and mosquitoes. But there will also be new growth in the forest, lots of fish to catch, and the warmth of sunshine on bare skin for the first time in months. And witnessing every single moment of it all will be Amy and Dave - bearing witness to the beauty of the Boundary Waters throughout the year.

Nate Ptacek is a native of Wisconsin and former Minnesota resident. He is based in Ventura, California, where he works full time as a video editor for Patagonia. Nate filmed Dave and Amy Freeman’s Paddle to DC last year for the film, A Quest for Clean Water and is filming Bear Witness for A Year in the Wilderness.

Greetings from Snowbank Lake on our 179th day in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. It has been amazing to be out here while catching snippets about recent developments in the news. First, Governor Dayton's letter, then news from the Department of Interior, then former Vice President Mondale's op-ed, not to mention the latest round of polling results! Dave and I are honored to be one small part of this massive effort made by so many people.

The best part is that we have been out here, and will continue to be out here, bearing witness to this special place. In the last week or so, spring seemed to arrive and then winter made a resurgence. We experienced several days in a row of significant melting and it was fun to travel during this thaw and make observations along the way. We made a move from Newfound to Knife Lake, passing through Ensign and Vera along the way. We've had many visitors in the midst of this weather roller coaster. A journalist, Conor Mihell, traveled with us on that route (he wrote about the Campaign for Canoeroots last year).

We then set up camp in our favorite spot on Knife Lake. Dave and I were reminded of our significant chunk of time spent on that campsite as we celebrated Thanksgiving and awaited the freeze up. It was fitting that we would spend a couple nights here during the beginning of a significant spring thaw.

The red squirrels, pileated woodpeckers and gray jays have certainly been out in force on these abnormally warm days. During our first night there, the temperature dipped below freezing under a cloudless sky and the lake cracked and boomed all night.

The next morning provided a perfectly smooth skating rink to travel on. We headed out towards Thunder Point and up into the North Arm of Knife. The three of us would do a skijoring day trip that would take us in a loop through Ottertrack, Gijikiki, Rivalry, Lake of the Clouds, Lunar, Cherry, Topaz, and Amoeber, then back to Knife. We cruised in the shade of the north-facing sides of most lakes.

The portages were untracked and we post-holed our way from lake to lake. Tina and Acorn were sort of swimming in the deep, untracked snow, so they ended up following in our tracks. Tank, who is a taller dog, developed a bounding leap technique to work his way through the deep snow.

On Topaz, we found a moose carcass frozen in the lake. Only a small section of the moose's side was exposed. Back on the wide open ice surface of Knife Lake, we slowly skijored back to camp. The wind was against us and the upper inch or two of ice had taken on a squishy snow-cone like consistency.

The next day, we arose early, making our way to Ensign, then Boot to Snowbank. The ice surface was again good and solid in the morning and soggy and rotten by the time we reached Snowbank in the afternoon. Our toboggans took on a few new scratches on rocky portage trails. Briefly, our dog team parted with the toboggans and Dave chased after them while Conor and I hauled the toboggans the rest of the way to Ensign Lake. It was a nail-biter until the dogs stopped in the shade to eat snow. Good thing it was a warm day!

We proceeded to skirt open water in the little ponds between Boot and Snowbank, leading the dogs on convoluted routes over rocks and muskeg. We were relieved to reach Snowbank, and after a good rest in the shade for the dogs and a chance for us to shovel snow under our baseball caps to cool ourselves, we made our way to a south-facing campsite amidst tall red pines.

We set up camp on land, watching the lake surface deteriorate in front of our eyes. Most of the forest floor was exposed, revealing a carpet of wintergreen and red pine needles. Although I haven't seen a nest yet, bald eagles must be nesting nearby, because we have seen and heard them regularly here. A couple of days ago, a thick fog provoked Dave to say "It reminds me of the Amazon" upon emerging from the tent. Indeed.

We've hosted many visitors at our campsite on Snowbank Lake. The various groups have all seen different faces of the Boundary Waters Wilderness as the weather changed daily over the past week.  First came a crew with Land Tawney, CEO of Backcountry Hunters and Anglers. They arrived in the sun and departed in a thick fog. Next came a group of dogsledders from Wintergreen Dogsled Lodge. Folks from Chicago and St. Paul Patagonia stores arrived just in time for a good soaking rain. The rain turned to snow and we met musician Ben Weaver and DJ Bill Deville from The Current in a blizzard, guiding them to our campsite with a compass bearing in a total whiteout. Then Kevin Timms from Seek Outside, the maker of our tent, witnessed several gloriously sunny days.

The Boundary Waters Wilderness revealed a different face to each group of visitors, etching distinct impressions of this wild landscape. The memories of time spent in the tent or lounging out in the sun, having in-depth conversations and even hearing music and poetry will nourish us just as much as the food in our resupplies. We are grateful to be a part of this and humbled every time we see how many people care about this place. 

Dave and Amy Freeman, 2014 National Geographic Adventurers of the Year, are dedicated to protecting the Boundary Waters from sulfide-ore copper mining proposed on its wilderness edge. In 2014, they paddled and sailed 101 days and 2,000 miles from Ely, MN, to Washington, DC, on the Paddle to DC. They are now spending a year in the Boundary Waters on A Year in the Wilderness. Follow their journey on social media (#WildernessYear) and by tracking the trip on their map. More A Year in the Wilderness blog posts.