It was only a 7.3 mile day.  No sweat, right?  That’s about half the distance we would normally cover during a good day of hiking.  But there we were, after four hours and yet only four miles into it.  Because of our late start, it would be dark before we reached our campsite on the Caribou River.

My buddy Ryan Schmidt and I were standing at the Superior Hiking Trail’s Horseshoe Ridge campsite, debating whether or not to continue.  The plan had been brilliant, two old friends who have backpacked nearly the entire trail together, finally reunited for a “guys-only weekend.” 



Our family lives had taken their toll on our “dude time” and we hadn’t been on a trip with just the two of us in nearly five years.  Heck, Ryan had been lacking in trail time altogether!  So we finally coordinated the weekend and I let Ryan choose the route.  

Of course, he choose a section of trail that we absolutely LOVED (back when we were in our twenties and hiked nearly every weekend).  In those days, we always chose the sections with the most ink on the topo maps - those sections that were labeled “extremely challenging” in guidebooks in magazines.  

They featured deep canyons with raging rivers coupled with several sweeping summit vistas.  That’s the kind of route he chose, and that’s the reason why after only four miles our bodies were sore and exhausted and we were toying with the idea of just crawling into our sleeping bags right there in the middle of the trail!

Ryan and I met during the summer of 1995.  Actually, we met that spring in the UMD weight room, but it wasn’t until we began making windows together at our summer job at the Andersen factory in Bayport that we actually found that we had similar passion for adventure in the outdoors - particularly skiing.  

When we got back to campus that fall I invited him on the nightly inline skate stealth runs my roommates and I took on Duluth’s Lakewalk where we raced incoming ore boats to the Lift Bridge.  We also started taking backpacking trips together on the Superior Hiking Trail.  

I had just began backcountry camping that fall - honing my skills in Fall Outdoor Recreation class.  But it was those trips Ryan and I took that really shifted my backpacking career into high gear.



It was skiing, however, that we really lived for.  Even on backpacking trips we would find ourselves sitting by the fire telling ski stories or making plans for the upcoming season.  

During the 1995-96 ski season we skied nearly 12 hours a day - every day.  In fact, I logged 117 ski days that year - still a personal best.  Ryan was there for almost all of them.  It was the early days of the 90s freestyle revolution and we were part of that first generation of skiers invading the “snowboard park.”  

Of course, that resulted in things like broken thumbs and noses but that was just par for the course.  Once we got out of college, we took trips together to Utah, Montana, Wyoming, California and British Columbia.  In fact, of the over thirty places I have skied in my life, the only places I haven’t skied with Ryan are Brighton, Utah, Alyeska, Alaska, Loveland, Colorado and Mount Itasca, Minn.



In the late 90s we started to dabble in whitewater kayaking.   Ryan had learned advanced paddling skills with the UMD Kayak Club and I was an eager student.  After renting a few times I bought my own boat (Ryan already had one) and we spent our summers living on Wisconsin’s Brule River.  

There we learned to surf standing waves and huck off of small ledges.  Occasionally we would take trips to the mighty St Louis River near Carlton and scare ourselves, but most of our time was spent on the Brule.

So, for several years we lived it up as the perfect outdoor adventure tag-team partners - skiing all winter, paddling all summer and living on the trail in the spring and fall.

Then life got in the way.  I got married, had kids, got divorced; Ryan got married, had a daughter - our dynamic duo suddenly didn’t have much time to play together.  We could usually get-in a ski weekend or two and we always car camped with other college friends at a different state park every year, but a major, hard-core backpacking trip together was a distant memory.

Until last weekend.

So there we were, two middle-aged dads trying to decide if we had what it took to cover three more miles before the sun went down in two hours.  I kinda sorta remembered from the last time I hiked the route two years previous, that the upcoming stretch was much easier (although we had no maps or guidebooks in our packs).

So we went for it.

The sun got lower and the temperature got colder.  We found ourselves walking in silence, heads staring at the ground to make sure we wouldn’t fall on our faces by tripping over a rock or root.  We were exhausted.  We were exhibiting classic early signs of hypothermia (which I had seen Ryan come down with several times in the past).

Finally, we heard the faint sound of the rushing Caribou River in the distance.  It was the shot of adrenaline we needed.  We got to the campsite, and after rejoicing over the shedding of our heavy packs, pitched our tents and slowly cooked supper.  

We were tired.  Extremely tired.

After supper we hung our food from the bear cable and half-heartedly gathered wood for a fire.  It didn’t last long.  Both of us were thinking about the blissfulness of crawling into our sleeping bags.

Man, we’re getting old!

We slept-in pretty late the next morning, visited the beautiful Caribou Falls and then dayhiked the Split Rock River Loop.

It was a great weekend.

Two old friends returning to their old stomping grounds for the first time in a long time.  Which is, I guess, my point.  If we’re lucky, each of us might find a perfect partner in our adventure activities.  

Through the years, I have found that solo trips are great.  Being with my kids in the woods is awesome, heck, even leading large groups is rewarding.

But there is just something about having that one best buddy.  A guy, or gal, to share experiences with - the one person whose name usually shows up in all your best campfire stories.  You know, your best friend.  

And even if you don’t see each other as much as you like, every time is just a friggn blast!

Thanks for coming up last weekend, Ryan!  We need to try to do this kind of thing more often.  That way we won’t be so darn sore the next day!