The Gunflint Trail is a 57-mile length of paved road that winds northwest from Grand Marais on the shore of Lake Superior and stretches towards Canada. It kisses the Boundary Waters but remains a distinct entity, dotted with businesses known as lodges.
It did once start as a trail, forged by the Ojibwe, who required a footpath from Gunflint Lake, Biiwaanag Zaaga’igan, to Lake Superior. Various people and groups contributed to lengthening, widening, and improving the thoroughfare, each with their own motivation, including mining companies at the turn of the 20th century and the Civilian Conservation Corps.
The first lodge opened about 100 years ago and remains open today, along with about a dozen others on or very proximal to the trail. Trail Center Lodge has been a consistent presence on the Gunflint since 1938. It is the only place with cabins, fuel, camp supplies, a hot meal, and a liquor license. And it is open for dinner more days out of the year than any of its neighbors.
Trail Center co-owner Sara Hamilton is constantly updating hours and amenities, meeting the challenges that are inhospitable to hospitality. She’s committed to her neighbors—whether dog-sledders in competition or elders who benefit from her meal donation program. The locals love her, and the love goes both ways.
I visited for dinner at the tail end of the season, as an eerie, pitch-black sky fell over adjacent Poplar Lake. The dining room is located through the general store, but I was too hungry to browse. Two smiling women greeted me as I placed my order at the counter. Ancient signage mixed with portraits on the walls, and even the A-frame ceiling made it feel like I had more company than my fellow diners, who were sparse at that hour. I overheard someone say that there was only one cook at the time, but given the swift arrival of my pot roast, I doubted that was the case.
Later, I spoke to Josh Landy, sales consultant at The Wine Company, who calls on the five or so Gunflint lodges with liquor licenses. He witnesses the challenges of business operations in such a remote area, which is even more difficult to access in the snow. It’s not the sort of workplace just anyone can hack. Under those conditions, compounded by COVID-19, I asked how they managed to do it. “That’s a damn good question,” he said. “Duct tape and spit.”
Words + Photoby Paige Latham Didora