That Special Place

There are places we go that stay with us forever—changing us in ways we can’t quite explain. These aren’t just dots on a map; they’re experiences etched into our senses, woven into our memory. Some we visit often—grandma’s kitchen, a favorite lakeside cabin, a family campground. Others, we see only once, but they leave a lasting imprint on our hearts.

One of those places for me is Shores of Leech Lake Campground.

When I was younger, my grandparents would camp there a couple of times each year. Our entire family would gather—days were spent fishing, evenings were for campfires, laughter, and stories. Everyone brought bikes, and we’d ride around the pier and through the winding paths of the campground. At the far end, there was a little gazebo-style lighthouse—just one table, four plastic chairs, and a cribbage board. That was my grandma’s favorite spot to pedal to, and it quickly became mine too.

Near the lobby, right by the boat lift, was the fish cleaning house. That’s where you’d find my grandpa, usually early in the morning or after dinner, filleting Northern and Walleye caught throughout the day. It wasn’t a place of noise or chaos. No loud music. No rowdy crowds. Just families, bikes, boats, and the simple joy of being outside together.

This past summer, on a spontaneous road trip up to the Boundary Waters, a friend and I decided to swing through Leech Lake. Shores Campground was right along the way, and the moment we pulled in, it hit me—everything came rushing back. The sounds. The smells. The stillness. The memories wrapped around me like a warm blanket. With so many campgrounds quiet due to shutdowns, it was extra peaceful. Still magical. Still mine.

Our final destination that trip turned out to be another one of those special places. We stumbled across an almost-empty campground—just a few fishermen nearby. We had it to ourselves, cared for the land we stayed on, and made sure we left no trace. What we gained from that place was more than we could have expected. It was healing. It was freedom. It was Northcast in its purest form.

There are more stories like this tucked in my memory, but I wanted to share these in hopes they stir something in you.

Can you think of a place like that? One that’s engraved in your soul?
A place where you can still smell the campfire, hear the lake water lapping, or feel the gravel crunch under your bike tires?

We’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment or tag us @NorthcastMN with your memories.

Because sometimes, the most meaningful places aren’t the ones we search for—they’re the ones that find us.