There could be no turning back. It would be an adventure.

Twenty backpackers made the two-hour ferry ride from Grand Portage, at the Minnesota border with Canada, to the island national park in Lake Superior. The ferry was scheduled to return in four days.

Three or four of the men were in their late 60s or early 70s. There were fathers and sons, brothers, friends, couples. The youngest were in their early 20s. Most of the gear looked well used, with a few exceptions. The exceptions were probably backpacking novices like myself.

Once on the island, the hikers broke into parties of two, three and four and went separate ways. My friend Bill Knudson, from Bismarck, and I pushed ourselves up the Greenstone Trail. Our best bet for a base camp was Island Mine, a little more than six miles away, along the island's 22-mile volcanic-rock backbone. Island Mine had water and allowed fires. Camping without a campfire doesn't get it.

Since reading about Isle Royale four or five years ago, I'd wanted to make this trip before it became some kind of obsession. Isolated by Lake Superior, the island has a wolf pack and moose. I didn't seen deer sign, but that probably has something to do with the wolves. Isle Royale is covered with stands of sugar maple, yellow birch, spruce-fir, paper birch and aspen. There are no roads. No cars or trucks.

We arrived Oct. 2, beyond a hard frost and the threat of bugs. The forecast suggested freezing temperatures after nightfall, mostly partly cloudy skies and some rain, courtesy of Lilly in the Gulf of Mexico.

Bill and I are prairie folk and fresh to backpacking, but somewhere on the island are Tom Marple and Ron Luethe, from Mandan and Bismarck, respectively. They've backpacked Isle Royale's trails a number of times, together and usually with their wives, Shelly Marple and Aileen Luethe. This year, the women didn't make the trip

The four of us didn't meet on the island until the next to the last day, despite spending one night a 100 yards from each other. Woods apparently have that effect.

Marple became interested in Isle Royale because his father worked there, at the Rock Harbor Lodge, in 1937 and 1938.

"We just keep going back," said Marple, who with his wife has hiked Yellowstone, Bridger Basin and Bob Marshall Wilderness, among other areas. The Marples traveled to Denali National Park in Alaska for a brief visit this summer, and, as a result, Tom wants to do some serious backpacking there. The Denali doesn't have trails; you make your way as you go with a compass and good map. It's a part of Tom's 10-year plan.

"I just love being out there," said Marple. "I never think about work."

Back in civilization, Marple works as an artist for Image Printing, and Luethe works for United States Department of Agriculture.

Each year, the Marples and Luethes name their trips. This year it was the "Angry Animal Trip" -- Tom and Ron were chased off the trail by moose -- twice.

The trails on Isle Royal are very doable. Not nearly as difficult as North Dakota's Maah Daah Hey Trail that Bill and I hiked between the Elk Horn Ranch and Medora the fall before. Mostly the Isle Royale trails are under a heavy canopy of trees, which the sun uses to create innumerable shades of green and rich yellow, gold and red light.

The fallen leaves make for a spongy trail surface. And wherever there was water or bog -- there was plenty -- primitive plank walkways had been constructed.

On the Maah Daah Hey, going up and down coulees and buttes, trailmakers had to use numerous switchbacks because of the sharp changes in elevation. At Isle Royale, we came across only five -- a testament to a more user-friendly topography.

Carrying everything we needed our backs, except water, Bill and I made good time to the camp. Most of the designated camps along the island's trails have only a limited number of tent sites, sometimes as few as four or five. A few have privies. Two have potable water.

Island Mine had water, a trickling stream that barely pooled up enough liquid to get the hose from the water purification unit beneath the surface. It was the first time I had had to depend upon these simple filtration devices for water, and it worked very well. Certainly, it was less hassle than carrying water at 8 pounds per gallon on one's back.

On the two evenings we spent at that campsite, the wolves could be heard at sundown. Moose tracks could be found around the camp. Bill identified a companionable trio of warblers and a juvenile red-headed woodpecker.

It began to sprinkle a couple hours after midnight Friday morning, building to a steady rain by 5 a.m. After too much forced inactivity in our tents, decked out in rain gear, we made a morning pot of coffee and waited for a break in the weather.

By late morning, with it still raining steady, Bill and I decided to break camp and return to Washington Harbor, where there were shelters. Keeping things dry was a losing battle.

Breaking camp in the rain can only be described as ugly businesses, and putting away a wet tent, a real sin. But we did it.

Because of the type of soil on the island and the carpet of leaves, the trail wasn't a muddy mess. We stayed away from any rocks, for fear of slipping and took care on the bridge planks. Fog formed beneath the tree canopy. Rain drops splattered and leaves dripped. It was a beautiful hike, largely downhill. Fortunately, one of my last purchases before the trip was a rain protector for my pack. It got used.

Once at the shelter, under the watchful eyes of three Clark's nuthatches, turned freeloaders by overgenerous campers, we began to dry gear. It would freeze, or be close to it, each night we were on the island. Staying warm and dry became very important. Condensed moisture on my sleeping bag was a real issue, giving way to fear of hypothermia or worse. I finally rigged a lean-to with my ground cloth, inside the three-sided shelter, that kept me warm, but didn't cause moisture problems.

Helping to keep us warm were tea, coffee and hot meals of stews and noodles, freeze-dried for backpacking. They were better than expected.

When the rain finally quit, soon after we reached the shelter, it had been raining for more than 12 hours. I thought how wonderful it would have been for southwestern North Dakota to have received this rain -- slow falling and plentiful.

During our first full day on Isle Royale, we made a day hike to the east edge, Siskiwit Bay, where we soaked our feet in the swells of Lake Superior. On our last day on the island, we decided to hike to Huginnin Cove. It was a gorgeous hike out, with party sunny skies, and a very interesting trail marked by giant birch trees. It was on this trail where we ran into Marple and Luethe coming from the other direction. It was one of those small-world moments. They gave us good advice about the trail ahead.

By the time we returned to the shelter, word had passed among the backpackers that the ferry would come early the next the morning, instead of at noon, because the weather forecast was for 30 mph plus winds, and snow in the afternoon. On our trip to the island, Lake Superior had been running 2- to 3-foot waves, and it was pretty interesting, even aboard the big ferry. I didn't want to find out what high winds would do to that treacherous water.

Three hours ahead of schedule, on a gray Sunday morning, with low cloud cover, the ferry launched for Grand Portage. Once out of the protection of the island, the waves began to roll -- 4, 5 and 6 feet high. Dual diesels sent the aluminum craft crashing through the swells. From the windows of the ferry, I looked up to see the tops of the waves. It was awesome.

The captain said they don't go out if the waves hit 8 feet. Right.

A grizzled old mate set out a handful of big, white garbage bags, suggesting that we use them if we can't get to the stern to be sick. But after about 90 minutes of being tossed around, we came under the protection of the mainland, the waves began to settle down and so did my stomach.

The great trails, marvelous colors, moose, cold, wet and wild waves made Isle Royale a grand adventure.