I’ve been part of the support team for Clearwater Historic Lodge & Canoe Outfitters since January, but this fall was my first opportunity to experience it first-hand.  For nine months, I’ve worked on Clearwater’s website, social media, and marketing, but I do it from 1,500 miles away in Utah, where the owners, the Clarks, run their roofing business. Until this trip, I’ve connected to Clearwater through a virtual network of phone conversations with our lodge’s general manager, Erik Danielson, stories from Carl and Laura Clark, the archive files of old marketing brochures, old letters from guests, newsletters from earlier decades, and the electronic images and information you can find on our website.

So when my partner Thomas (who also works for the Clarks as IT manager), my 16-year-old son Paul (who works as a part-time office clerk), and I rolled up to the lodge that Thursday night in September, it was like the paradox of finally meeting an old friend for the first time.

Our arrival was preceded by a 5-hour drive from the Minneapolis airport, a journey which turned cool and foggy by the time we hit Duluth on the shore of Lake Superior.  I’ve only lived in the high, arid desert country of Utah for three years, so the cool air and humidity of the Northshore in the fall felt like home to this Pacific Northwest native. Leaving Duluth, it was clear that the endless days of the latest northern latitude summer were officially over; our next 110 miles along the shoreline happened in a dark twilight.  Finally, we hung a left at Grand Marais and wound our way the last 31 miles — up, up, up the Gunflint trail – through the inky, foggy darkness.  Helpful signs seemed to peer out of the fog to guide us, and after we followed the Clearwater Historic Lodge sign to exit the highway, we made our final 3-mile jaunt down a well-tended gravel road, deep into the woods.

As we rounded the last corner, the festive lights of the lodge were like a cheerful beacon, shining out from the dark to welcome us.  We pointed the nose of our rental car to the right, and our road terminated in front of the familiar moose logo and lodge sign.

After 16 hours of travel, we’d made it!

It was just after 9pm. The staff had retired for the evening (morning comes early at the lodge), and all the guests were tucked away in their rooms. I was secretly glad we were alone – the three of us were free to take in our first moments at the lodge without distraction.

Deep in the forest of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, it is very quiet, and it is the palpable silence which struck me first. I felt myself relaxing into it like it was a favorite, long-forgotten song being heard again. Next the lodge itself came into focus. It has been welcoming travelers like us for 89 years. Soft lights cast a warm glow on the hand-hewn logs, the rippled old window panes, the polished wood of Charlie Boostrom’s hand-made furniture, and the carefully-placed artifacts. The only thing that stood out to me more than the cozy intimacy of the authentic rustic ambience was a quiet presence, much like what I’ve felt in old church cathedrals.

Cabin 7 was our home for the next few days. Unlike the rustic beauty of the other cabins, it’s unapologetically modern and spacious with all the conveniences of a nice home (including a full-size washer and dryer which we really appreciated!) I’ve traveled a fair bit and stayed in many very nice hotels, but the bed we crawled into that night was one of the most comfortable I’ve ever slept in.  When the lights went out, the quiet stillness seemed to burn even brighter.  My last recollection before I faded into deep sleep was a feeling that I had never truly rested before; every cell of my body seemed to let go into a delicious relaxation.

The next morning, we began getting to know Clearwater by day. It was a cool and gray fall day – a day like countless others I’ve spent in Seattle and other areas of western Washington. Down by the lake, a chat with Robert, an outfitting customer from North Carolina, started our morning. Thomas and I went down to the dock to capture some still shots of the boat house and the Palisades when he happened to paddle up to our piece of shore. It turns out this was his return from a 5-day outing and we were his de-facto welcoming committee. He was all smiles and told us this was his second trip to Clearwater, which he’d chosen for the location and for the detailed route information the website offers.

Next we went to the lodge to find Erik Danielson, the manager, and his wife Tori. Erik has spent 11 seasons at Clearwater, and he is one of the most knowledgeable experts about canoeing the BWCAW in the region and a huge part of why Clearwater guests come back year after year.

Tori has taken over the Clearwater Bakery and kitchen this season. It’s she who bakes the fresh fruit pies and homemade breads and who prepares the yummy hot breakfasts that have been getting rave reviews on Trip Advisor. (I’m not a breakfast eater, but my son Paul was much impressed with the homemade cinnamon swirl bread French toast.) Warm greetings and handshakes ensued, and to-do’s for the week were discussed, including a few tech projects, like completing the “vpn tunnel” for connectivity with our office in Utah.  This is the last step of a big overhaul Thomas has been doing to the lodge’s connectivity, which started in July when a new fiber optics internet line was installed at the lodge.

Tori and Erik are warm, friendly and knowledgeable. They, plus Erik’s parents Candy and Craig, have made Clearwater a big part of their lives. One can’t do what they all do, give the way they give, just for a salary. I felt lucky to get to share a bit of their lives with them over the next few days (I knew we were becoming friends, when my offers to wash dishes were finally accepted!) And then there are Marla and Skroggy, the unofficial “greeters” at Clearwater Historic Lodge.  Former sled dogs and now Tori’s “kids,” Marla and Skroggy are quiet, friendly, and a bit quirky.  Tori claims they are more like cats in personality. And then there is Marla’s kleptomaniacal tendencies that cause her to walk off with small items — like kitchen sponges, unattended clothing, and other miscellaneous items – to hide them in her secret hoarding spot.  She has been glimpsed on a number of occasions by guests and others while on one of her questionable missions, and she has such a serious look of determination. Who can know what is going through her little furry head?

Thomas, Paul and I had a big week planned of capturing images and video for promotional use, discussing future improvements, and participating in a big staff meeting. It was a productive week, but I did find myself having to remember we were there to work. Without the incessant drone of far-away freeway noise, the white noise of office and home appliances, and the overall vibration of “bustling city,” a profound relaxing quiet comes naturally to the foreground, even by day.

I saw, too, I was not alone in resonating with this stillness.  A couple of older gentleman sat on the wrap around porch of the lodge and conversed in a timeless scene of old friends enjoying each other.  They showed no sense of hurry or idea of a future that would make demands – it was as if that moment was eternity Itself.  This was a common scene on that old porch with its lovely views of Clearwater Lake; whether it was a sunny mid-day, or a cooler evening that warranted cuddling in the always-handy red throw, people felt its invitation to sit and just be.  The days followed a natural rhythm — now and again a boat arrived to shore, or a kayak or canoe took off.  Pies baked in the new kitchen, a leak was fixed, guests came and went.  But to everything happening, there was a quiet order — like it all arose effortlessly out of the Stillness.

I noticed that my own mind quieted naturally in this stillness, and my thoughts and feelings, concerns and doings were witnessed more than possessed.  They were like the pies and canoes arising in the spaciousness without my needing to make them come or go, without needing to control them.

I learned from the staff that I was not alone in feeling this way. There are many who come to Clearwater Historic Lodge because they feel it is a healing place.  They come to heal after the loss of a loved one, to rejuvenate after a year of being busy with career and family in the city, to reconnect with loved ones or with the deepest part of themselves. The presence here makes itself known to all of us who are open to it, and for many, it is a soothing balm that comforts the disturbed, smooths the ruffled feathers we all suffer occasionally as we go about living our lives, and enlivens us.

Each afternoon, I sat with my laptop in cabin 7, glancing up now and then to catch the yellow leaves dropping gently, randomly. They felt like immediate reminders of the seasonal transition we were in, a transition which is anything but random. Time continues to march on in an orderly way, yet is seen only by its effects, like seasons changing and like pies that go in the oven pale and come out a flaky golden brown. It’s revealed by the groups of happy people who put their canoes in the water with expectancy, row until they disappear, and then finally reappear hours or days later, full of stories and memories.

For us, like Clearwater’s guests, our time savoring the stillness at Clearwater was limited. But I feel we — all of us — can all take comfort knowing that this presence is unaffected by the ephemeral, the changing. We can connect to it effortlessly at Clearwater or another healing place, and then we can remember that we never truly leave it. It is the deep well of our source and offers solace we can turn to just through our remembering.