Some Sleeps Are Not Meant To Be - FOG ISLAND (LAKE OF THE WOODS) - Day Fifty Nine

Last night the loons were having a raging party. Or at least a yelling match. Whatever the sound was, it kept me up, staring at the moonlight from the harvest moon flooding through the small window of the tent. At last, as the stars came out, on a perfectly clear night I dozed off.

Only to wake at 2am to flashes and cracks echoing around us. When we had set up camp with clear skies and sun burnt backs, a storm had seemed almost inconceivable, and so we had pitched our tent at the base of a dead tree. We rose from our sleep and donned rain gear to leave our cozy tent and watch the storm. We trudged to the other end of the island to see the bolts rip through the night sky. My only regret was not bringing a snack along. Some forks were temporarily burned into our vision as we sat in the pouring rain for the next hour and a half. When finally the worst of the storm had drifted on and the wind was nothing more than a warm breath of air, we crawled back into bed, drenched head to toe and shivering until we fell back asleep.

We woke up in the morning not to the three alarms we slept through, but to the screeching of baby eagles in a nest we hadn't noticed the day before. Which is remarkable because the enormous construction of giant logs was up in a tree just behind the tent. We believe the size was comparable to a bathtub. The only other time we saw a nest this large, Erik watched as the mama eagle carried a bunny up to the wee ones.

Before breaking camp, Erik pulled in a solid bass and filleted it en route to our campsite finding a crayfish still in its mouth. As we paddled on, the sky was reminiscent of last nights storm. Navy blue clouds loomed ahead and patches of rain fell so thick it looked like someone had taken an eraser and deleted a section of the sky. Lucky for us, it has been one very short day and the tent beckons now for an afternoon nap.