When I leave Grand Marais at 10 o’clock in the morning, it’s already 80 degrees. The forecast — according to my weather app — was for a high of 62, a temperature that might be considered right for this time of year. I’ve picked this weekend for a whole host of reasons, not least because it ought to put me on the Pigeon River on a cool morning, before the blackflies are out in force, but also because I’m hoping I might catch the trees just budding, and that the river will still have some of its spring force.
By the time I get to Hovland, just 15 miles north, I have to roll the window up because the temperature has dropped 30 degrees. The sky over the lake is shading to cloud-white. The sky over the hills...