trip-log#93 - access#18 aylen lake august 12-27, 2011

Transkript

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T R IP- LOG#93 - A CCE S S #18 A Y L E N L A K E
AUGU ST 12-27, 2011 - A L G O N QUIN P A RK
August 12 - Day 1 - My Journey Begins!
This is an exhaustive journal of my ambitious sixteen day one-way solo canoe trip from
Aylen Lake (Access#18) to Achray on Grand Lake (Access#22). I had always wanted to
do this route that went into the East side of Algonquin Park, but given the nature of
the canoe routes in this area of The Park, no loop was possible.
Therefore, this type of route required two vehicles (Impossible to do when one is
solo), or someone to shuttle my vehicle to my exit point. For this I enlisted the help of
a local by the name of "Simon". I had met Simon previously and also had the pleasure
of corresponding with Simon via an online paddling forum.
I wasn't a stranger to this type of trip, having done several extended solo trips before,
but it had been awhile and I was eager to get underway. It was a sunny and warm
Friday morning when I arrived at Aylen Lake (Access#18). It was just after 9:00am and
I headed into the permit office to acquire my permit.
I had been there at the access office once many years previously and as before "Pam"
was there to look after me, issuing me my permit. I inquired as to the traffic I might
encounter for the first few days and was delighted to find out that I probably wouldn't
see anyone till my second and fifth days. I was hoping for zero encounters… But it was
August after all, the height of the canoeing season.
Thanking Pam (Who runs the permit office on Aylen Lake) for the info and her help
for holding a spare key for my vehicle (For Simon to pickup), I left the office and
climbed into my vehicle one last time. I brought my vehicle around to the dock area
and unloaded my canoe. There was one other group there, a family that was unloading
a motorboat and packing up their van. Besides this, the area was deserted and I set
about loading my canoe.
I have to confess something here; When I say, "My canoe"; I am indicating my canoe
for the duration of the trip. It is not my own personal canoe. The route I was
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undertaking had many portages and covered some tough terrain in places. I realized
that double-portaging this route was out of the question (I would lose lots of time and
exhaust myself). I needed a lightweight canoe. So once again, I enlisted the help of a
fellow paddler from the online community.
My friend "Jeff" lent me his shiny lightweight red Langford Prospector. Jeff had
injured himself earlier in the season and his canoe had yet to see any water and likely
wasn't going to see any the whole year. So it was with a wish of good luck that Jeff sent
me on my way with his red canoe.
So, I loaded up the red canoe - Then decanting some beer into a nalgene bottle at the
last minute, I placed it in a collapsable cooler bag: Now I was ready to launch. I took a
few pictures and hit the water at exactly 10:00am, my journey had begun!
The water was mostly calm with occasional small ripples as a light morning breeze
developed. Within four minutes I passed by a small island as I paddled up the lake. I
continued my paddle as I watched cottagers emerge from their residences with coffees
in hand, another relaxing start to a summers' day. By 10:40am, I passed "Turkey Island"
about halfway up the lake.
Aylen Lake is a large lake that is divided by a peninsula that extends nearly halfway
down the lake's length. I was paddling up the left wing of the lake and as I passed
Turkey Island, the expanse of that wing of the lake opened up before me, with the
breeze intensifying and waves increasing in height. The waves came at me at a 45°
angle, being quite manageable.
Navigating by both map and points of land in my sight, I spied a tiny patch of yellow
among the sea of blue and forest of green under the blazing sun that rose high in the
sky behind me. By 11:40am, I had landed at a small sandy beach and nearby the
familiar yellow of a portage sign nailed to a birch tree announced my first carry-over of
the trip, a long-ish portage of 1,425m. Current GPS readings place the actual length at
1,655m.
I loaded-up: A pack that weighed 62.5 lbs (I had to carry all sixteen days of food... No
re-supply along the way), a day-pack that weighed 13.5 lbs, a camera and bag probably
5 lbs and the canoe: I was told it was 34 lbs, but suspect it was 43 lbs (Still 20 lbs
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lighter then my own canoe!). Total weight as I marched down the trail single carry: 124
lbs! There was also the paddles and life-jacket (PFD) and my cooler bag… Geez…
Maybe I was pushing 130lbs!
Getting everything on-board took more then one try and once I started down the trail,
I staggered a bit but soon found my stride and moved along the portage at a slow but
steady pace. It was 12:00pm.
The bugs were beautiful, only one bite on the trail. The path that wound its way
through the forest was well worn and easy to follow; a single-track trail that was quite
level and straight with some undulating ground consisting of small dips and climbs. I
imagine in spring the trail could be muddy in places. The portage was also framed
with lots of low-lying ferns… Something to watch out for in early summer
(Mosquitos). I completed the single carry and arrived at O'Neill Lake at 12:30pm… 30
minutes to cover 1,655m; excellent time!
I refuelled with some gorp and water and immediately launched onto a windy O'Neill
Lake at 12:38pm. In roughly five minutes I came upon and paddled by a point that
extended from the North shore of the lake. Here, the waters grew shallow as I passed
over a shoal off the point. I dropped my fishing line as I passed over the shoal, the
winds now gusting and pushing the canoe rapidly to the East.
The wind was pushing me so fast in fact that I figured any fish that was to go after my
lure would have to be a marathon swimmer as the rate of movement was much too fast
for a troll. I reeled in my line and paddled close to the North shore to get away from
the gusty winds that were now picking up on the lake. I passed by what looked to be a
campsite just east of the point. It was unmarked, but most definitely a campsite… Not
bad looking either… Hmmm, maybe on another trip? Another lifetime?
By 12:55pm I had reached a small logjam at the East end of the lake. Stepping out
onto the largest of the logs, I balanced myself as I worked to haul the canoe over half
submerged logs. The work was tricky as the log I was standing on shifted a lot. A few
minutes more and I was paddling up the end of the lake, that was rapidly becoming
shallow and narrow, as I noticed that afternoon clouds were building in the skies
above me. The forecast had called for sun (Clear skies) with zero percent of
precipitation. You can see where I am going with this, eh?
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A minute later I came upon a very muddy and stinky beaver dam. Pulling the canoe
over the dam was a dirty affair and I was glad to be back in the canoe a minute later. I
looked down into the water, hoping to clean my feet and was dismayed to see foggy
primordial ooze filled waters lined with clumps of gelatinous material both orange and
green in colour. One word… YUCK!
I paddled onwards, now in a channel which was becoming more narrow as I went
along. To the south of me the terrain was becoming boggy, lined with small spruce
trees. It was 1:07pm by the time I arrived at the take-out for the 1,235m portage (GPS 1,390m) into Robitaille Lake, my destination for the night. The landing was very
accommodating; A muddy shallow bottom surrounded by muddy grasses and a beam
of timber that provided some steady ground to step onto.
I unloaded the canoe, placing my gear and the canoe itself several meters up the trail
and off to the side, in the shade. Since it was just past 1pm, I decided it was time for
lunch. I needed fuel for the upcoming carry-over. Lunch consisted of leftovers;
chicken primavera with pasta, carrots and water. After a brief rest and taking a few
photos, I geared up for the single-carry and was on my way just before 1:30pm. I was
now officially inside Algonquin Park.
Just a few minutes down the trail I ran into trouble. I came upon two fallen trees, a
birch and a balsam fir that had fallen across the trail. They were situated in such a way
that my only option was to climb over them and there-in lie the problem; I was single
carrying a heavy load and climbing over fallen anything was next to impossible. I got
my left leg over and then got hung up trying to bring my right leg over.
I pulled and pulled but was caught on something, obviously a branch. This was nuts! I
gave a great heave and lurched forward suddenly, felt a splash of liquid on my left leg
and reached down to dab it with my hand - A familiar odour reached my nostrils.
It was beer! Oh No! The precious juice was leaking away! That did it. I rolled the canoe
off my shoulders onto the boughs of the fallen trees and sat down on the tree trunk. I
opened the cooler bag (Which was now hanging around my neck in front of me,
snagged on a branch) and re-tightened my nalgene bottle, inspecting it carefully - Very
little had leaked out, so with a sigh of relief I returned the bottle to the cooler bag,
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grabbed the canoe, placed it on my shoulders and was able to extricate myself from the
mess and then carried on down the trail.
The trail grew dense, chest-high ferns clogged the trail, making me feel as if I was in
some jungle in South America. Fortunately for me the mosquitos were unusually quiet
and I did not receive a single bite. I continued on, the surrounding forest a pleasant
reminder of why I kept coming back to Algonquin Park.
By 1:50pm I arrived at a section of the trail that opened up; I crossed some bare
Canadian Shield rock that had lots of moss and lichens growing on it. I paused for a
few seconds and as I did so, noticed that it was beginning to rain ever so lightly. I
continued onwards, the trail now descending rapidly… To a pond. The trail ended
abruptly as I stood there in shock at my predicament and as if on cue it suddenly
started to pour rain heavily.
What the? It wasn't supposed to rain at all this day and the portage had just
disappeared right in front of me. I quickly put the canoe down on the ground, but a
log got in the way, with me getting all the more wet as I fumbled to turn the canoe
over. I ran for the shelter of a nearby cedar tree as the intensity of the downpour
increased, leaving the canoe sitting sideways, a rather goofy looking way to leave a
canoe resting I'd say.
I stared with annoyance at the pond, then looked up into the sky with a curse on my
lips; The weatherman was becoming increasingly unreliable these days. I waited for
perhaps ten minutes after which the downpour subsided to a drizzle. There was a
small portage sign stuck next to a tree where the trail ended abruptly, indicating that I
was to continue my trek across the pond. Though rather unexpected I had no choice;
I'd have to paddle the portage if I wanted to get to Robitaille Lake. Scouting around
the pond was profitless, the bush was too thick and the canoe would get hung-up, not
to mentioned scratched.
I filled the canoe with gear and shoved off. The pond was tricky to navigate for there
was fallen trees and floating tree trunks and standing trees that made getting around
all the obstacles an awkward affair. At one point I tried to squeeze between two trees
and became stuck amid-ships. Backing up I had to turn around (Got stuck again on a
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floating log as I turned around) and go around another tree and over yet another
floating tree trunk.
There was a very high beaver dam at one end of the pond (That was holding back all
the water) and I paddled past it, thinking the beavers had been very busy in the
immediate area. It was silly paddling in such tight quarters and it was with a sigh of
relief that I reached the take-out of the pond a few minutes later. What should've
taken thirty-seconds to cross turned into an embarrassingly annoying five minute rat
maze. I say 'embarrassing', 'cause I imagined somewhere in the forest of green, a few
beavers chuckling silently, pointing their furry paws at me in amusement.
The take-out made matters worse as it was on a slope that climbed steeply out of the
water and continued to climb at a steep angle up and out of sight atop some rock.
There was nowhere for me to put my pack and so I walked further up the trail and
dumped my pack, then returned to pull the canoe out of the water and lay it beside
the trail. As I did this, the result was a terrible whining noise as the canoe made
contact with sharp, pointy tree sapling stumps... Next was my shin as it struck another
spear tip.
I examined the stumps closely; They had been cut, not chewed. Portage maintenance
crews had done a poor job of clearing the trail in what looked like a few spear-tips
sticking out of the ground, right where I had pulled the canoe up to.
I fearfully looked at the side of the canoe and saw a long snake-like white scratch on
the canoe's hull. Fortunately, the scratch wasn't deep and didn't penetrate the gelcoat,
nevertheless there was an ugly scar on the canoe (As well as my shin!) And it was only
the first day! I had to be more careful, but hell it wasn't my fault. I was worried what
Jeff would have to say.
Given the situation, it was impossible to continue on single carrying, so I grabbed the
pack and paddles and climbed up the hill, away from that vicious pond! The climb was
about 40m, the first 15 being steep right from the portage, with the remaining 25m
becoming if possible, even more steep. Glad I decided to single-carry this portion of
the trail! At the summit, the trail did a rapid descent where it emerged onto a
blackened dry swamp; It had been drained. I figure a beaver dam had burst
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somewhere and beavers had moved to another area to continue their dam building,
namely the pond I had just crossed earlier.
Actually, it was a good thing the swamp was drained for I saw no way around it. There
were some fairly stable grassy/muddy ground that skirted the swamp in which to cross.
After a few meters of this, the stable ground disappeared giving way to several sections
of tree trunks that laid parallel to my course, which left me wondering if this was some
sort of makeshift boardwalk that was used when the swamp had been filled with
water? I walked the logs and finally finished the swamp crossing and as I entered the
forest once again, the stench of dead animal assaulted my nostrils. I pressed on, this
portage was truly miserable!
Something crashed in the forest ahead of me, although I did not see anything except a
small birch tree fallen (Not chewed) across the trail. At last I completed the trail,
arriving at a calm and glass-like Robitaille Lake, the view was magnificent! "I made it! I
made it!", I thought with glee. I had some water and a bit of gorp and hurried back to
retrieve the lonely canoe by the vicious pond. The carry back to Robitaille was
uneventful and to be quite honest, a breeze! Thanks to the super-light canoe!
I launched on to Robitaille Lake at 3pm, five hours after I had launched from Aylen
Lake. Paddling up the lake, the odd sprinkle of rain touched me as clouds overhead
passed by. I finished the last of my water and filtered a litre before moving on again.
Robitaille had some interesting features; One hillside that looked to have been
ravaged by fire at one point, with bare sections in-between fast growing birch trees
and a collection of ferns. Next up was some small rock cliff action as I rounded a point
on the lake.
The lake itself was fairly pleasant to look at, surrounded by low hills the lake had an
open feeling to it. The Northeast shore looked inviting and I headed in that direction. I
paddled up to and examined from the canoe two campsites, both looking rather dismal
to me. I was about to head further up the lake when a wind picked up and I decided to
turn around and head for a campsite that I had over-looked. Before I could get to the
campsite, I noticed another campsite to the south of me that was not on any map.
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As I closed in on this 'new' campsite, I could see that it was becoming more appealing
by the second; large white pine at the landing, what appeared to be sandy shallow
waters and pockets of open forest though-out the campsite. By 3:50pm I landed at the
campsite, wading through beautiful sandy water as I clambered over a root entangled
shoreline (From the large pine at the landing). The fire-pit area was intact with two
benches and a make-shift table nearby as well. The view was west to Northeast up the
lake and I loved it, I had found home for the night.
Just over an hour later at 5:00pm I had camp set-up and by 5:30pm I was sitting down
to some frosty beer as I cooked some burgers over the fire, it was heaven. It was quite
windy by the fire and my burgers cooked quickly with the dry kindling and firewood
that I was able to gather nearby in short order.
The campsite itself is situated on a small peninsula, although it isn't obvious at first
glance as there is a hill to the rear of the campsite, giving one the false impression that
there is much more forest beyond, not so. To the East lies open ground and I wonder if
maybe the campsite had been moved from there at one point… There was lots of extra
open space that had been used in the past. The ground had a pine-needle carpet
which made bare-foot movement around camp a joy.
9:00pm and the wind had died down and the mosquitos were coming out. I hung my
food and climbed into my hammock. A few minutes later I could see the moon rising
behind the hill at the rear of the campsite. I think it was supposed to be a full moon. If
it is, I'm sure it'll wake me up at some point during the night.
August 13 - Day 2 - The trip to Alsever Lake
I didn't sleep well as I'm still not used to my hammock. I was given one by my
girlfriend as an Xmas gift and used it exclusively for a 15 day trip the month before
and still I was not having any decent sleeps in it. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it.
I woke up at 2:36am & went for a pee (Does beer make you pee more?). All was silent
and the forest glowed as a fuzzy moon overhead bathed the campsite in an opalescent
light. Pretty… I went back to sleep or rather some semblance of sleep.
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Woke up at 6:00am. I tried to sleep-in but was restless and by 6:50am was up and out
of the hammock. At 7:00am my wristwatch alarm went off. I really didn't need it (The
wristwatch), but I figure if I wanted to stick to my itinerary, a little electronic selfmotivation doesn't hurt; Time to get going - I had a long day ahead of me.
While making coffee and my humble breakfast of oatmeal, a hummingbird flew into
the campsite, examining various flora. I received an additional two visits from the
hummingbird as I ate my breakfast. The bird and I had something in common; food.
A red squirrel was out and about, but he kept his distance. The loons were on the lake
calling occasionally. Their haunting song echoing across the still water as the sun rose
to colour the world. It was a really nice morning, one that makes me wish time could
stand still… So that I could enjoy its beauty at that moment, forever.
I packed up and departed the campsite at 8:45am under a now mostly cloudy sky. I
really liked this lake and wished I had decided to stay an extra night so as to explore
her. The water clarity and the shape of the lake offered lots of possibilities.
I passed a familiar rock outcropping on the lake as I paddled over to a campsite that a
few friends of mine and I had decided to visit on a day-trip that we had snowshoed to,
two winters previous while winter camping on Wilkins Lake. We had decided at the
time it wasn't much of a campsite and here in the present in a canoe I couldn't have
agreed more, I didn't even get out of the canoe. I had definitely picked the best site on
the lake to camp on the night before.
I arrived at the first portage of the day at 9:10am, the sign stating that the trail distance
being 695m. What the sign didn't indicate but I already knew was that the portage was
uphill all the way to the next lake, that being Breezy Lake.
I geared up for the single carry and headed up the trail. The way was not easy as after a
few meters I came across a patch of moose muck and grass that was a mess to cross,
but once this was overcome, the trail began to ascend onto more solid ground, the rest
of the carry being a relentless uphill carry. Twenty minutes later I arrived thankfully at
Breezy Lake. I was beginning to appreciate single carry more and more… I didn't have
to go back and do it all over again!
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I took a short rest then paddled onto Breezy Lake. It is a small lake with one small
campsite that I reached in less then 5 minutes. The campsite was empty and I paddled
onwards reaching the rocky take-out to the next portage at 9:55am.
I took a few minutes after preparing for the carry-over trying to photograph cray-fish
that polluted the water at the landing. The water was heavily reflected and the photos
didn't turn out too well. There was a multitude of brightly orange coloured crayfish
there. Many were alive and some were dead as well. I couldn't believe the numbers.
Pretty.
The portage to Wilkins Lake being a long one was indicated by the signage as being
1,475m, but had been GPS'd as being 1,720m. All I knew was that the trail was a long
rough one that seemed to have a never-ending shallow climb to it. I geared up for the
single carry and didn't get very far, perhaps 300m before I put the canoe down. The
trail was climbing ever so slightly with a slope off to the side, this coupled with a
rough footpath over roots and moss covered rocks made for a jarring trek. It was
taking a toll on me so I put the canoe down and carried on.
Eventually, I reached an old logging road that I was familiar with. There is something
that should be noted about the road crossing: Continuing on towards Wilkins Lake
one has to turn right and walk about 20 meters or more (Away from the direction of
Wilkins), before finding the continuation of the portage which in turn heads towards
Wilkins Lake.
The lack of signage indicating the direction one has to travel to find the continuation
of the portage might cause confusion. To keep it simple, just remember this: No matter
which way you are going, one has to jog to their right about 20 meters along the road
before finding the trail again and re-entering the forest. It feels opposite to what one
would normally find when crossing that road, but just remember the 20 meter jog to
the right and you'll be fine.
About 100m or so up the continuation of the trail, I put my pack down next to a tree
that was marked with paint indicating that there was an underground bee nest. I
headed back and grabbed the canoe. Upon returning with the canoe, I had to spray
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bug repellent all over me as the mosquitos were becoming bothersome on the trail.
Subsequently, I noticed an increase in humidity levels as well.
I geared up and single carried for about another 400m before dropping the canoe. The
rough trail again sapping my strength. The trail had begun to climb more and had
become more rocky. Though not possible to see in the overhead tree canopy, there is a
high rocky ridge to the North of the trail. I saw this before during a winter trip
through the area. Now all I could see was trees above me and the buzz of insects in my
ear.
The trail finally started to descend through what felt like a dry river bed… So rocky it
was. There seems to be a spring that crosses the trail about 20m before I arrived at the
put-in to Wilkins Lake. The water crosses through a grassy area on the trail, bubbling
through rocks and a stand of thick bush to the north of the trail. If one could find its
source nearby, it might be possible to secure a fresh water supply there, if indeed it
were a spring. I believe it could be.
I heard voices as I approached the take-out, I called out a "Hello" warning seconds
before my arrival. I entered the far side of a campsite as I approached the water's
edge. Two guys were camped there. I was about to put my gear down when I was told
that I had passed the put-in. I had been here before and knew where the put-in used to
be, respecting their wishes I back-tracked. Sure enough an unmarked rocky landing
was there. Making my way down onto the rocks I deposited my pack and turned
around to head back to chat briefly with the two guys. It was then I noticed the
portage sign facing the lake. I'm guessing it had been moved for it used to be right on
the campsite.
The two fellows were locals from Barry's Bay and they mentioned their surprise at
seeing me come down onto Wilkins Lake from the direction I had come. No one ever
came that way they said. Wilkins Lake was visited mostly by locals like themselves,
usually coming up the cart trail, which I had done once before during a solo visit to
Wilkins Lake in the autumn of one year. I mentioned I had to return for my canoe and
they did a double-take as they realized that I was solo. For all the soloists I have seen
in Algonquin Park, I get the feeling that it is still seen as a rare thing among the
general population.
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We wished each other well and I headed back up the trail to retrieve the canoe. The
return trip was uneventful and I was loving the canoe….Ohhh so light she was! I putin into the water at 11:30am paddling onto a very calm and beautiful Wilkins Lake. 1.5
hrs to cross that trail, lousy time but hey I was here to have fun, not break any portage
speed records.
A pang of regret touched my mind as I paddled along Wilkins Lake south shore; I
should've booked a night on this lake. It was a big lake and could get really windy, but
there was something about this lake that held me in thrall. Maybe it was the
remoteness of the lake?
Large cumulus clouds began building as they drifted over the lake, a slight haze in the
atmosphere began to show as the humidity increased. I paddled on, visible in the
distance was the rock slope where I had camped many years earlier during an October
visit. At one point I stopped and filtered two litres of water, knowing I had several
portages ahead of me still.
As I approached the bay (Where the portage was located) at the Southwest corner of
the lake, I spied a familiar landmark along the shoreline and paddled towards it. I
pulled up and landed along the West shoreline, making my way inland I trekked up a
hill and at 12:00pm arrived at the location of my winter camp a few years earlier. It was
quite different to see the location in summer. Most of the woodpile we had left behind
had disappeared, probably by some summer camper foraging for firewood. I took a
photo of the location and headed back to the canoe.
By 12:15pm I arrived at the 970m portage to the Aylen River. I double-carried the gear
up the small hill that was at the beginning of the trail. I had some gorp and water then
headed down the trail single-carrying, it was 12:25pm. For this portage I was going the
correct way for the trail had a downward trend through a small rocky ravine. After
about 300m I put the canoe down and carried on... It was too rocky for me to carry the
heavy load single-carry. Still it is a beautiful area to walk through. The trail did
eventually level off to an undulating pace. Just before I arrived at the end of the trail,
the portage crossed an old logging road... So you know you are getting close when you
come across that road.
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I arrived at the end of the trail, dumped my pack and did the return run for my canoe.
I finally arrived with everything at the Aylen River just after 1:00pm and decided to it
was time to eat. Lunch consisted of tuna (From foil) in a tortilla wrap with cheddar
cheese and mayo. I had two of these and washed it down with water. I also had a
pepperette stick and some gorp.
The put-in was tricky… Balancing on two unstable logs as the canoe sat on a bed of
mostly mud. I would not want to fall in there. Finally, I dragged the canoe out far
enough so that I could leap into the canoe and sit down, all in one motion and pushed
off and got as far as two feet. It was now 1:30pm.
I was on the water or more correctly I was standing in the river bottom, as I got out
and began dragging the canoe through very little water and sand. I was in brand new
territory now, having never been on the river before, thus the excitement built-up
inside me. I did a U-turn around some logs as I joined the river proper and came upon
my first beaver dam.
Crossing this I put-in into some deeper water, but it had some rock here and there
with the water being barely deep enough to paddle over most of the rocks. I could see
another beaver dam ahead of me about 100m upstream. This second dam had lots of
fresh cuttings on it with some running water passing though it. This second dam did
the trick, raising the river level by almost two feet.
Two minutes later and yet another dam the river took a left turn and that is where I
was able to finally relax; The water depth increased, though the river was clogged
somewhat with vegetation. Still, with almost no current to speak of - paddling through
the deeper water, I was able to navigate with little trouble. It was overcast now with
humidity levels increasing.
By 2pm I could see a shape ahead as I came around a bend. It was a moose, a cow
moose at that, standing in front of a beaver dam. The moose was feeding on the plant
matter in the river in front of the dam. I paddled up quietly as I could slowing my
pace, my arms moving with a slow-motion mechanical rhythm. Paddling up the
shoreline on my left, I was watching the moose when an odd thing happened; The
moose became a two-headed moose!
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As I moved closer I could now see that it was in fact a second moose, a calf. I slowed
down and pulled up to within roughly 4 canoe lengths. The calf separated from its
mother and began to feed closer to the dam. The mother continued to feed as it kept
watch, looking at me occasionally.
I spent a glorious ten minutes slowly photographing the pair as they fed. Not only was
I in heaven but I had front row seats too! I crept up closer and closer to within three
canoe lengths. Suddenly, the cow moose snapped her head around as she stared
directly at me across her back. I froze, my insides chilling instantly as my eyes darted
here and there along the shoreline, looking for a sturdy foothold for a quick escape.
The moose continued to stare at me for a full two minutes. I began to shudder as fear
seeped through me, the cold inside me spreading like a plague… I was very scared, I
had crossed the line, I had paddled too close to the moose and her calf. The good news
was that the cow moose had not yet charged me and was unlikely to do so if I
continued to stay right where I was. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the calf
moved to stand upon the dam, as it continued to feed. The mother moose moved as
well, paralleling the calf along the dam as the pair made their way to the opposite
shoreline, with the mother now raising her muzzle to sniff the air.
By 2:15pm it was all over, the moose moved into the bush and disappeared, I headed
for the dam, pulled the canoe over and launched onto an ever-widening river. Fifteen
minutes later I came to another dam that was quite large with fresh cuttings piled on
it… The dam was holding back well over two feet of water in height. It was after that
dam that I leaned back and really began to enjoy the river, it was wide with less
vegetation clogging the water and wide sweeping turns, I scanned the surrounding
forest as it drifted away, giving way to boggy terrain. My speed increasing as I made
progress through the widening river.
By 2:45pm it began to rain, I tossed on my raincoat and paddled onwards, the rain
becoming a torrential downpour. This went on for at least ten minutes when I spotted
through the heavy rain a glimmer of yellow. It was actually easy to see, as there was
some thin forest along the shoreline, just the heavy rain was making it difficult to see.
For the last kilometre along the North shore, I had noticed an increasing presence of
ferns along the shoreline as the forest was thinning out.
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I paddled up to the take-out which was a short narrow channel leading to an easy flat
grassy pathway. The river beyond went through a large bog and twisted out of sight.
The continuing river did indeed look inviting to paddle, but not on this day. I had two
more portages to go, it was still raining (Though not as hard anymore) and it was 3pm,
time to get moving.
Looking at the map and the trail before me I could tell that I had a climb ahead of
me. I was growing fatigued; I had been going since before 9am, six hours now and I
had at least two more hours to go I figured. So I headed up the trail with my pack,
camera bag, cooler bag and paddles. The trail became turbulent with rocks, roots and
mud, then shortly climbed up a steep hill for about 10 meters before the grade became
shallow, but the climbing continued. The trail itself was now perfect underfoot;
becoming compacted hardened earth with a well worn track.
It was still raining and for most of the length of the trail I walked through a forest of
ferns instead of trees. At one point I left the trail to wade through the ferns to get a
closer look at a tree stump. The stump was burnt. A forest fire? The more closely I
looked around me, the more I began to notice tree stump after tree stump, crispy and
blackened. Then along came standing tree trunks, charred like twigs. The whole area
had suffered a burn-over from a forest fire. Now ferns were taking over and in a few
areas, stands of poplar and birch were growing in fast.
I completed the 780m carry and trudged back down to retrieve the canoe. By the time
I reached the canoe, the rain had stopped and I practically zoomed up the trail with
the 'light-as-a-feather' canoe on my shoulders. I was really enjoying this trail, this
canoe. 3:56pm and I launched onto an icky looking pond. The body of water had no
name and rightly so. The water was very cloudy and disgusting looking. The muddy
bottom served as guide for me to slide the canoe up to the take-out as I left the pond
at 4:05pm... Yeah, it didn't take long to paddle that pond and I didn't linger either.
The last portage of the day, 670m. Not as much climbing and some dips and a
downward trend for about the last quarter of the trail. Again there were ferns but not
as much as there was much more forest. At one point I passed by a heavily wooded
stand that was dark from the canopy above, the trail skirting its parameter as it snaked
on a downward course towards Alsever Lake. I arrived with the pack and other gear at
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4:26pm and immediately turned around and headed back for the canoe. I was
excited… The Lake was like glass and soon I'd be making camp for two nights.
The return trip was uneventful, the trail same as the one before… Hard-packed earth,
with additional dips and climbs through-out, overall an easy trail. I arrived back at
Alsever Lake, loaded up and launched onto a dark glass-like surface at 5:05pm.
Paddling a bay before the lake opened up proper, I noticed a rather high hill off to my
right, at the top - the hill had rock cliff towering above the land below. It was less than
a kilometre away and I admired the landscape as I paddled on.
Emerging onto the expanse of Alsever Lake, I decided to paddle the Northeast shore
as the majority of the campsites on the lake resided there. It seemed to be the safe bet
and in this decision I was wrong but in another respect it was the correct choice; As I
paddled up the shoreline a massive cliff face came into view, beyond it a large
rockslide and yet more cliffs. I had no idea there were cliffs on this lake. As I paddled
by, craning my neck in astonishment at the beauty of the cliffs, the sun popped out for
a few moments almost as if it were showing off nature's pride and joy of Alsever Lake.
It is at times like this that Algonquin Park makes me believe in magic. I was in awe.
By 5:35pm I had passed the cliffs and continued on, looking from a distance at the
first of four campsites along the shore. I was too far away from the first campsite but it
looked bushy, the second was loaded with red pine and fairly level. It also had a lattice
work of pine or spruce poles for putting up tarps. This was a fishermen's camp. I
paddled on… I only had one small tarp and I didn't like the idea of that naked lattice
there in my view.
The next site was on a slope but was open to the lake. I also realized that the lake was
tea-stained… The water had a very red colour to it. The next site (The fourth) could
not be found. I did find a spot that looked to have once been a campsite, but the firepit was scattered and there was no sign. I figure the campsite had either been closed
or the sign had succumbed to the elements and the site had slowly been abandoned.
With the lake still calm but with threatening clouds hanging in the air I made my
move to the West across open water, to a peninsula on the lake that had two campsites
marked on a map. I paddled over to the campsite on the far side. It was very rocky with
lots of pine and with a fire-pit open to the lake. I immediately liked what I saw. The
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site was very rugged and wild looking. There was no landing and so I had to get wet,
unloading the canoe from the water onto the rocks above me. Once all my gear was on
the rocks, I carried the canoe into camp and overturned the craft lodging it in-between
some trees. It was 6:10pm.
I had a pretty good view, where the sun would set and I could also see in the distance
the marshy narrows through which Roundbush Lake drained into Alsever Lake. I
could not see the cliffs from my campsite. They were viewable only from the other side
of the peninsula, behind my camp.
As I began to set-up my hammock, thunder could be heard to the south of me. I
cleaned out the fire-pit, which had some traces of unburned garbage and a broken
fishing-rod. Collected a modest supply of fire-wood and got a fire going. My meal was
simple; Sausages with cheese on a bun. I sat down to enjoy my meal, finding a sweet
spot among the rock that fit comfortable like a stone chair, below me was the fire-pit
and the lake beyond. The view was coloured by the setting sun as it peeked through
broken cloud cover. As I ate my dinner I noticed more clouds moving in from the
South, clearly weather was headed my way.
By 9pm I couldn't stand the onslaught of mosquitos anymore and decided to head to
bed. I hung my food, covered up my firewood with the lone spare tarp I had brought
along and put my pack away under a cedar tree. Everything was prepared for rain.
By 9:15pm it began to rain and that's when I finally crawled into the hammock. I
struggled and struggled for what seemed like an eternity to get comfortable in the
hammock. After about 20 minutes of this, I suddenly found a sweet spot. It felt so good
that I immediately started to doze off to the rhythm of the falling rain, perfect!
At 10pm I was awoken by something undefinable. It was still raining steadily and
through the sound of the rain, I became aware of another sound. I say 'aware' because
I could feel the sound more then hear it. As the minutes passed the intensity of the
sound increased. I was seriously beginning to think I was imagining it when the rain
began to subside. It was then that I could clearly feel and hear the sound of a highpowered car stereo. Obviously, some local knew the logging roads into the backcountry
and was out for a Saturday night party.
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The bass of the music throbbed through my body, though the music was distant and
faint, the bass felt very uncomfortable, there was no escaping it. "There ought to be a
law", I thought. Too much bass isn't a good thing, I thought to myself. Getting up and
walking around didn't do me any good (I was getting soaked) so I returned to the
hammock and for the next horrible two hours I had to lay there and put up with it.
Though difficult to locate, the noise appeared to be coming from the general direction
of the Southwest corner of the lake. The sound oscillated a lot as it was obvious the
vehicle was travelling through the forest while blasting music.
This to me was the worst noise transgression I could ever hope to not experience in
Algonquin Park, as I have a sensitivity to low frequency harmonics, it makes my heart
race. I purposely goto Algonquin Park to escape such noise pollution and now was
being saturated in the very same noise I was trying to escape. This clashed terribly
with the environment I was accustomed to in Algonquin Park. I was very, very angry.
Finally, after midnight the noise ceased and I fell into a light sleep from which I
awakened often as the overnight temperature seemed to rise, along with the humidity
levels making for a damp, sticky sleep.
August 14 - Day 3 - Day-trip to Roundbush Lake
I awoke at 7:15am, tossing and turning in my hammock before finally getting up at
8am. I was exhausted, I had slept terribly for most of the night. For much of the
morning I had been serenaded (If you want to call it that) by several seagulls and
cormorants that were inhabiting an islet offshore from my campsite about 300m
distant.
Cormorants have to be the most horrible sounding birds I've ever heard. They have a
deep throaty croak that grated on my nerves. At least the seagulls were honest in their
squawks of irritation, the cormorants however implied a hint of evil, so terrible they
sounded.
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As I finished my breakfast of oatmeal and coffee (With Bailey's!), a pair of loons
drifted by, maybe sensing my displeasure they let out a string of calls, drowning out
the cormorants deathly croaks. Thank You! You guys sound so wonderful! A sense of
normality returned to me.
By 11:05am, I had finished writing in my journal and took a temperature reading,
21.4°C. It was humid too, with an overcast sky, a grey day and I hoped the rain would
hold off. I had a quick bath in the red lake water and feeling much better packed up
for a day-trip and headed out moving towards the North end of the lake - Heading for
Roundbush Lake. I encountered the occasional wind gust but very little in the way of
waves on the water. It was now 12:15pm.
12:35pm and I arrived to within 20 meters of a grassy shoreline. I had to get out and
drag the canoe through muddy shallow waters as the narrows I approached was built
up by grass and mud, effectively damming the waterway. I lifted the canoe over and
deposited it into a small narrow waterway that was difficult to navigate with the odd
floating log here and there. Working my way through this, I eventually entered the
narrows proper. The water levels were low but passable and the waterway itself was
choked with grasses and other aquatic vegetation. The area looked very capable of
supporting moose.
I paddled the snaking waterway for ten minutes, paddling as quietly as I could when I
came around a bend and saw two moose standing in the water where they had been
feeding. One was much larger then the other and I assumed it was a cow moose with
her second year calf. Within seconds of my appearance though the two moose beat a
hasty retreat, making for the forest, the thudding bass of their passing through much
higher & drier ground a reminder of how small and fragile a human can be, their
hooves pounding the forest floor, echoing through the narrows.
Moose may look weird with those tall thin legs, but they certainly impress me with
their grace as they easily move through the forest as a fish moves through water and
before I knew it they were gone, swallowed up by the forest.
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Another minute of paddling past the spot were the moose were grazing, I came around
a bend into a straightaway. Ahead lay a very large beaver dam, it was 1pm. As I arrived
at the foot of the beaver dam I could just barely see through the top of the dam (From
standing up in the canoe). A young bull moose was on the far shoreline of Roundbush
Lake where the Aylen River flowed into the lake.
I also noticed that the beaver dam was causing a lot of damage to Roundbush Lake; It
had flooded the lake, killing many shoreline trees especially where the Aylen River
came into the lake. The beaver dam was holding back at least six feet of water, I
couldn't recall every seeing a beaver dam holding back a lake of such magnitude in
Algonquin Park. It was quite the feat of engineering.
I pulled the canoe up and over the dam. I paused to take a break and survey my
surroundings, snapping a few photos from atop the dam. The surrounding shoreline
above the dam certainly was flooded and I wondered how long the dam had been
there? There was fresh cuttings that had been added recently to the dam, so I knew it
was being maintained. I climbed into the canoe and shoved off, heading towards the
bull moose. I was still several hundred meters distant when the moose moved off,
obviously wanting no part of my curiosity.
I paddled on, heading for the 2,445m portage that bypassed the Aylen River. This is
where I'd be the next day, heading for McKaskill Lake. At 1:20pm I arrived at the
portage marker of the trail and looked on with concern at the landing; There was no
landing, it had been swallowed up by the rising lake water levels. I'd have to push
through shoreline bush and step out onto rock to acquire a foothold. Enough musing
about tomorrow's problems, I moved on paddling up the lake in a northeasterly
direction.
I passed by three campsites; The first loaded with red and white pine and somewhat
level looking. The next looked ok, it even had what was left of a wooden couch
someone had built long ago. The third I gave only a glance…bushy and uneven.
By 1:40pm I arrived at the 940m portage to Creepy Lake. I had been considering a daytrip to Vireo Lake; Roundbush Lake is beautiful in my mind, surrounded mostly by
high sloping hills, especially the North end of the lake - Where I was now. Looking up
the hill that the portage must surely ascend, I changed my mind; Think I'll finish my
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circuit of Roundbush Lake then go back and loiter on my lake. It really was a steep
looking climb and I have heard the climb was one of the steepest in the whole park.
Of course, there would be the additional portage to Vireo Lake from Creepy Lake and
then back again. Naw... Too much ambition for a day-trip I figured. I had started out
late too.
I paddled east, passing another campsite that had a flooded landing and by 1:55pm I
arrived at the last campsite on the lake's Eastern shore. The campsite fire-pit was
partially submerged in the lake as it was once on a sandy beach. I got out and surveyed
the campsite. It had signs of very little use. I had trouble locating the thunder-box but
when I did find it I was surprised by the result; Opening the lid was impossible, the lid
began to crumble.Trying to lift the lid from the other side proved just disastrous, the
wooden lid began to disintegrate before my eyes.
Back at the campsite landing, I had a tuna wrap for lunch with some water. The sky
was darkening and looking up I saw that weather was moving in from the North. I got
back into the canoe and completed my circuit of the lake, paddling South then West as
I skirted the lake's Southern shoreline. 2:45pm and I arrived back at the beaver dam. I
had just gotten out of the canoe, when the skies opened up. I put on my raincoat and
in the pouring rain lowered my canoe back into the narrows and made my way back to
Alsever Lake.
By 3:30pm I sought the shelter of an overhanging cedar tree along Alsever Lake's
north shoreline. While sitting there hanging onto a tree, I looked around and noticed I
was close to the abandoned campsite I had spied the day before. Getting out and tying
off the canoe I walked among the ruins of the campsite; littered with stones kicked out
of the fire-pit, torn-up pieces of lichens, probably from racoons or bears and a few
pieces of trash scattered about in the surrounding bush. The site was on a slope and I
for one was happy with my campsite on the lake. Though this old campsite on Alsever
Lake wasn't much, I didn't like any of the campsites on Roundbush Lake, thinking
Alsever Lake was a much better place to camp.
By 3:30pm the rain had begun to lighten up and I made my way back to camp filtering
water along the way.
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Once back at camp, the first thing I did was to change into dry cloths and then got a
warming fire going, cooking up the last of the sausages for my dinner by 5pm. It was
still raining but light enough to permit a roaring fire.
By 6:00pm the rain had stopped and the lake became like glass, though still the threat
of rain kept me onshore, the 6:00pm temperature was 19.7°C. The sky began to clear
up at 7:30pm as I heard a crash towards the narrows up the lake; A tree had fallen.
I was treated to a peaceful evening as the sun set at 7:45pm. By 8:38pm I was treated to
one of the most colourful sunsets of the year, but more then that, it was quiet!
Although the cormorants occasionally let out croaks of complaint, at least their noise
was natural.
August 15 - Day 4 - I want my portage!
I had heard several owls hooting during the night, love that sound! Same as the night
before, I had a restless sleep. There was lots of cloud early in the morning as I sat
down to have my usual breakfast of oatmeal with coffee. Once completed, I packed up
camp and departed at 8:25am, I was moving to McKaskill Lake for two nights. I arrived
at Roundbush Lake at 9:00am, passing over the beaver dam once again and arriving
ten minutes later at the 2,445m portage to the Aylen River.
I managed to land with little difficulty and prepared for the carry-over. By 9:15am I
was on my way and after barely 100m I had to put the canoe down. There were a
couple of blown-downs that blocked my path. The surrounding terrain was very
mossy, with lots of dead/leaning pine and spruce saplings. I tried to get around the
fallen trees across the trail, but it was like walking through a forest of toothpicks.
I decided to carry on with the pack and paddles for twenty minutes. I started down the
trail once again, leaving the canoe behind. The terrain quickly changed to a hardpacked single track trail as it entered the forest proper. After twenty minutes I dropped
the pack and paddles and returned for the canoe.
There was nothing remarkable about the portage, it undulated a lot, but the elevation
change was minor. Overall the trail was semi-rough. It seemed to me to climb more
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then it descended, but again it was minor… No steep climbs on this trail. The trail is
just long, seemingly never-ending. The beginning of the trail was probably one of the
mossiest portages I had ever seen and thus was quite damp.
I reached the canoe and headed down the trail, heading for the packs. Just under
twenty minutes later I reached the packs putting down my canoe, drinking water and
fuelling up with gorp. I also took a brief rest of about 3 minutes before the mosquitos
urged me to continue my trek. I repeated this process till I reached the end of the
trail.
It was just past 11:35am when I started my third run down the trail with the pack.
Three minutes later I arrived at the end of the trail to a very 'creek-like' Aylen River.
So it had taken me 43 minutes total carrying the packs and around another 50 minutes
for the canoe. For a total of 93 minutes of carrying time. The other 50 minutes was
spent walking back empty handed along the trail, including short rest breaks. It had
taken me two hours and twenty-three minutes total to do the trail.
As I loaded up the canoe and prepared to launch onto Aylen 'creek', I noticed that it
was very sunny out, the weather was changing for the better!
By 11:45am I was on the water and 20 seconds later was out of the canoe and in the
water as I struggled to haul the canoe over a small beaver dam while I shoved my way
through thick growths of alders that choked the river. This process repeated itself for
nearly fifteen minutes as I came upon dam after dam. In that short time I crossed four
dams or was it five?
The frequency of almost continually getting in and out of the canoe was beginning to
wear me down. I was strongly reminded of Maple Creek (East of One Mile to the
Skuce Lake portage). It had the exact same obstacles; alders, low water, beaver dams
galore, more alders, more dams, etc. I hadn't even used my paddle for nearly half an
hour, instead using my hands to grasp at the overhanging alders and pull myself
along. It was too confining to use a paddle.
By 12:10pm things started looking up as the river widened a bit, a minute later I was
back in the thick of it. I came upon a curve in the river around a broken beaver dam
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and spied a trail to my left. It was unmarked, smooth moss looking and had the look of
being mowed through the tall grass.
I got out and thought maybe it was a feeder trail to the portage proper. Four or five
steps in I started to sink rapidly not into moss, but ooze. My right foot sank up to my
shin and I grew alarmed, turning around I got the hell out of there fleeing back to the
canoe. No portage there!
I got back in the canoe, back into the alders, pulling myself along, when I broke into
clear spots the sun beat down upon me, it was hot. As if on cue, Stable flies started to
show up, purposefully, dutifully landing on my ankles in the bottom of the canoe.
I was really starting to get irritated now. This wasn't a canoe route, this was misery and
all for what? A couple hundred meters of 'water' travel?
I paddled on and a few minutes later came to another clearing and a path above me. I
ignored it and continued on. Five minutes later I was rapidly running out of water
coming upon two more dams and thought that maybe I had better go back and check
that last clearing.
I obeyed my instincts and fought to turn the canoe around in the narrow confines but
eventually made it. As I pulled up to the clearing I saw a tree more then 20m down the
trail with a yellow portage sign on it (Not facing the river). I don't know how I missed
the sign the first time around, but was glad to haul the gear and canoe up from the
river and to finally be done with it.
Looking back, the view of what the river had gone by was quite charming as I stared
up at a round high hill that dominated the scene in front of me. Still, I actually would
have preferred to portage the additional 800 meters or so (A guess), rather then 'paddle'
that section of the 'river'. It took me about 70 minutes to cover what I think should've
been a fifteen minute paddle. Whew!
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The trail was grassy and was quite spongy. I moved down the beginnings of the 1,140m
trail to get out of the sun where it entered a spruce forest, here the trail continued to
be very damp and soft and watery in places. I kept on moving, now about 140m down
the trail where I finally found some dry hardened earth and a few rocks to lay
everything on, including myself. It was 1:00pm, Lunch time! My meal consisted of the
usual tuna wrap with cheese and mayo and water. I also had a power bar and a
pepperette stick.
After lunch I picked up the pack and paddles/camera bag, etc and headed down the
trail, heading towards McKaskill Lake. The trail improved rapidly, the ground
becoming smooth and firm; an easy level surface on which to travel.
Ferns lined the trail as it entered the forest proper. Along the trail tall pines
surrounded me as I made my way, it was very pretty and I still remember that
particular portage with fondness, it really was a beautiful walk in the woods.
By 1:30pm I reached a hydro line, emerging onto a field of ferns and plants loaded
with berries. I took a few pictures of the ugly slash through the forest that the hydro
transmission corridor made. Looking west it seemed to go on forever, while overhead
in the scorching sun the hydro transmission towers sat humming, rusting away.
A gap in the forest canopy could be seen on the other side of the field and as I
approached it I could see that it was a bay of McKaskill Lake, though the portage did
not go near it. Instead the portage re-entered the forest some 25 meters to the east of
the bay. Following the trail I arrived a few minutes later at a sunny landing as I looked
down upon McKaskill Lake. I noticed the water was exceptionally clear.
I deposited my pack in the shade and headed back for the canoe. The return carry was
uneventful as usual and I launched onto McKaskill Lake @ 2:18pm.
By 2:22pm I emerged onto McKaskill Lake proper and a smile spread across my face. It
was beautiful; The sky was beautiful, the waves were beautiful, the clarity of the water
was beautiful, it actually had a blueish/greenish colour to it. It was the most beautiful
summer day on a most beautiful Algonquin Park Lake.
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As I paddled up the Lake I grew very happy, for some reason this lake was having a
very positive affect on me. I'm sure it had a lot do with the river experience I had just
been through and the weather of the last two days, but still I couldn't help the happy
feelings that played through me, it was making me feel giddy.
As I paddled the East shore of the lake, I visited two campsites along the way,
continually marvelling at the beauty of the lake, The eroding sandy banks clad with red
pine reminded very strongly of the East part of The Park. It was then that I realized I
was already in The East side of the park, but that's not what I meant. The lake
reminded me of somewhere else more Easterly in The Park, but I just couldn't put my
finger on it.
In places the water colour reminded me of Ralph Bice Lake on the West side of The
Park. By 3:00pm I settled on a spacious campsite about a third of the way up the lake
along the Eastern shore. It had a small sandy shallow landing and was great for
swimming.
There was a spit of land that extended from the campsite, that extended as a sandy
shoal all around. I could walk out and dive into the water where the shoal dropped
away. Very refreshing after the hot buggy day on the alder infested river!
The campsite itself had a vast open area and was heavily sheltered by tall pines all
around and it was all mine for two nights. There was one problem though: Mosquitos.
The campsite was infested with them. Not only that, they were mutant mosquitos. The
mosquitos were about twice the size of any normal mosquito and they snuck up on
me, they were quiet. I didn't notice them when I first arrived as it was quite breezy.
Once I had camp set-up and the breeze died down the mosquitos let me know who
was boss. Oh Boy and I was there for two nights! While gathering firewood I noticed
the sky had become filled with lots of large puffy cumulus clouds as well as a slight
haze was building in the atmosphere. I even heard a few rubbles of distant thunder.
Next to the landing were two large bushy cedar trees with flat ground beneath them. It
was here that I rigged up my small tarp so that if it rained I could stay outside while
being sheltered from the rain. It was a work of art, facing the lake under a heavy
canopy of trees it would've been perfect… Only it never did rain.
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For dinner I had a dish of quinoa served with re-hydrated onions, red peppers and
chickpeas. After dinner I had a refreshing bath in the lake. There were lots of loons on
the lake and they provided many hours of music for my soul. There was no one else on
the lake. I hadn't seen anyone since passing through Wilkins Lake.
By 8:30pm the mosquitos had gotten really bad and so I dove into my hammock. It had
clouded over completely after 9:30pm and I heard more distant thunder as I drifted off
to sleep.
August 16 - Day 5 - My New Best Friend - McKaskill Lake
During the night I was awoken to the sound of wolves howling, but only briefly. They
were fairly close, what a fantastic way to be awoken from sleep! Then as if in answer,
the loons began calling. The moon was high in the sky but I had no idea what time it
was, except that it was after 11pm, as that was the last time I checked my watch.
I had another restless unsatisfactory sleep. I just didn't like the hammock camping
thing, with my feet always ending up higher in elevation then my head, my feet always
ended up getting tangled up in the hammock line too.
It was also too hot and stuffy in the hammock. It had been a beautiful night and so I
had removed the fly covering my hammock, but still not much in the way of fresh air
flowed in. I had to lay inside my sleeping bag, with both of my arms and legs covered
by the fabric of the sleeping bag. If I did not do this, my arms and legs would touch
the bottom half of the hammock, this thicker material is what supported my body.
The problem was that the mosquitos could get through this material, but not entirely.
Their bites felt more like I had an itchy rash on my arms and legs. Very uncomfortable
and of course with the warmth of the night I sweated which made the itchy feeling
even worse.
For the night's upcoming sleep I will take some Benedryl to relieve the itching as I was
going to need a good night's sleep as I had a long day of travelling tomorrow.
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Today though, the weather was gorgeous. I was awoken to the sound of wind picking
up strength at 7:00am. I tried sleeping in and finally got up lazily at 8:30am. The wind
was a welcome relief as it kept the mosquitos mostly at bay, I say mostly for I still had
the odd mutant mosquito sneak up on me. Very strange though, all the mosquitos
seemed overly large in size. I knew it was a bad year for bugs but so far it seemed to
me that only McKaskill Lake was the one that harboured these mutant pests.
I would hear one buzzing by my ear and swat it away, only to look down and see three
of the little devils implanted on my leg. I'd swat them away only to feel one digging
into my ear and I didn't even hear that one. It was like they had stealth capabilities.
Yes, the mosquitos of McKaskill Lake were fearless and needed to be respected.
Enough talk of skitters. I am really enjoying the canoe that my friend Jeff lent me. It
makes paddling into the wind a joy instead of a chore, I can really get around in it.
Leaving camp shortly after 10:00am, I paddled up to the North end of the lake right up
to the beginnings of the Bonnechere River. A canoe route that existed there before,
has now been wiped off the map, being closed years earlier. That didn't prevent me on
going on a scouting mission though.
The river was a fast flowing 'creek', loaded with rock and fallen timber. Getting
through to the bay that led to the river was a chore in itself, overcoming several
floating logs and then paddling to a spot and bushwhacking down to the river.
When the canoe route existed, the official canoe routes map at the time had a brief
description on it, "The Bonnechere River between McKaskill Lake and the hydro line
is shallow and rocky. The necessary portages have not yet been developed and the trip
is a rough one".
So looking down this fast flowing debris choked 'creek', I wondered where I should go
next? The bush was quite thick and I would have to travel inland to get further down
and hopefully meet-up with the river again. The deer flies changed my mind in a hurry
and so I re-traced my steps back to the canoe and gratefully returned to the water. So
much for the Bonnechere day-trip, too much hot buggy work.
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Now for the really good part; I'm in love with McKaskill Lake! The lake is so beautiful,
so piney, so sandy in places. So many islands, points, etc that the lake could easily
accommodate an extra twenty campsites. I'm glad there isn't any more campsites
though. The less the better!
The water clarity is amazing, the whole lake is just so beautiful, especially the upper
sections of the lake - Lots of islands, islets, nooks and crannies to explore. The wind
had woken up along with some wave action, but in the Langford prospector this was
not a problem and I sailed up the lake, spending over three hours exploring the upper
part of the lake, eventually stopping for a break at the lone campsite at the North end
of the lake.
I headed down the lake passing by my campsite and continuing on, I wanted to check
the cabin out. I arrived at 1:50pm, amid crashing waves as I pulled up to a rocky
shoreline in the very clear waters. I pulled the canoe onshore and tied it off as I scaled
up the rocky/sandy bank to the cabin site proper.
There was a large clearing where the cabin was, surrounded by pine. There was also a
clean fire-pit and benches to sit on. The cabin and immediate area sat high above the
water, giving a commanding view - facing north.
Looking into the cabin through windows, I could see what appeared to be two double
bunks, probably capable of sleeping up to eight people. Spare toilet paper rolls lined
one window sill and in the middle of the cabin was a picnic table along with a wood
burning stove for cold nights.
Behind the cabin was a wood shed that was empty and with fall around the corner was
thinking that pretty soon it would have to be re-supplied. I headed back to the cabin
and to my surprise found it unlocked. I stepped inside to examine the cabin.
Like all cabins the room was filled with a musty smell but was quite clean. The lone
kitchen shelf along one wall was stacked with supplies left behind from previous
visitors; Wine cartons, dehydrated food packs, instant soups, coffee, whitener, sugar,
fish batter and even tin foil and fuel canisters. I sniffed the wine, it smelled ok, but
returned the wine to its shelf and continued on my inspection of the cabin.
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Around 2:15pm and I decided to leave, heading out onto the windy lake paddling east.
In the deep blue/green waters of the Lake I spied an unusual sight; A shoal in what
seemed to be the middle of nowhere. Amid the rough waters I paddled over and soon
came upon a sandy shoal that was perhaps six feet below the water surface, With the
water clarity and depth of the shoal it was quite easy to spot the shoal from a distance.
I wondered if in spring it might be a viable spot to fish from?
It was too rough for me to try and had very little time to fish so far on the trip, nor had
the conditions been favourable for me to do so. I continued on, examining two
campsites along the way, both were sandy and loaded with red pine.
I decided to head for camp when I noticed a canoe coming across the lake from the
West. It was headed in my general direction and so I shoved off heading for my camp,
knowing the canoe's occupants would see which campsite I occupied thus sparing
them from paddling further then they'd have to and also hoping to spare me a visit as
well. I wanted to be left alone.
The canoe's occupants got the message and eventually paddled to and landed at the
next campsite to the southeast of me. Their campsite was far enough away that when
they stood on shore they were just blurry toothpicks and I didn't hear a sound from
them except for the occasional chopping of wood. Good.
It was 3pm. It was a gorgeous afternoon and with nothing to do but relax, I settled
down and mixed myself a drink of rye and some fruit flavoured drink crystals. It wasn't
ice cold beer but the drink went down well. Drink#2 was even better when I decided
to head out for a bath along the shoreline.
My bath complete I finished drink#2 and headed back to camp. This was followed by
an even better tasting drink#3. I was feeling young again! I was thinking I had better
stop because I was starting to feel too good. The logic was sound but there was a
problem, I was on vacation. Why was I worried about getting drunk?
I mixed and consumed drink#4 wishing I had some junk-food; I cut up some cheddar
cheese and I also had a small bag of 'goldfish' crackers. After my little junk-food/booze
craze, I drank almost a full litre of water and then blissfully hit the hammock for two
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hours. That did the trick as I had a great power snooze (The best sleep in days) and by
6:30pm was awake and sober, time for dinner!
I made myself some coffee while I prepared dinner over the campfire; heating up a foil
packet of Chana Masala with spicy chickpeas over a bed of rice. This went down very
well and after dinner I hung up my food and went for an evening paddle while
filtering several litres of water.
I paddled over to a large bay that was directly north of the cabin and passed by an area
that looked like a tornado had blown through it. An area of shoreline where many
trees had been felled, others stood like toothpicks, the tops of the trees having been
sheared off by some great force, others were just plain dead. I paddled by the rocky
shoreline in the shadow of the devastated forest.
Soon I hit the bay with the blinding setting sun in my face. I let out my line, trolling
for trout. This didn't last very long as my paddle was constantly interrupted by the
near constant slapping; Stable flies were attacking me en masse and kneeling in the
canoe left the back of my legs vulnerable. It got so bad that I reeled in my line and
left. Once in the shadows of the shoreline, the flies disappeared, but it was no longer
fun…I hurried my strokes, heading back to camp.
7:30pm, I was back at camp and got a fire going. The wind died down and by 8:45pm I
could hear the surrounding forest come alive as mosquitos began to rise for their
evening feeding frenzy. 8:55pm and I swallowed some Benedryl and climbed into my
hammock. Three minutes later they surrounded my hammock, I had beat them to
safety before they could get me!
August 17 - Day 6 - The move to Little Dickson Lake
I had the most horrible uncomfortable sleep. I had taken two Benedryl pills to help
stop any itching. Not a chance, nothing helped: It was too warm to sleep at night, while
having to stay within the protection of my sleeping bag. I tossed and turned so much
that I started to feel queasy.
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I had never suffered motion sickness in my life before, but then again the hammock
swung violently from side to side as my restlessness continued. I kept sliding down in
my hammock so that my feet ended up high above the level of my head. My sleeping
pad ended up curled around my body perpendicularly.
I woke up at 5:00am and went back to sleep. I then woke up again at 6:00am. At 6:10am
while dozing off again, I could suddenly hear logging truck noise to the north of me.
At 6:46am I could still hear noise and it was much more pronounced. The hum and
whine of machinery could clearly be heard in the still morning air. To say I was not
happy to hear this is an understatement. I had studied the logging schedule
beforehand, using it to plan my route and dates and was pretty sure there was no
scheduled logging anywhere along my route, not even road building, except for the
North Branch Lake area.
So where was this logging noise coming from? Someone was where they weren't
supposed to be, at least that's what I assumed. Yeah, I was cranky that morning, lousy
sleep and now logging noise.
I ate my usual breakfast, packed up and broke camp at 7:35am. I had another travelling
day ahead of me and I was eager to get an early start. The logging noise spurred me on
also, I'd be heading towards it and was in a hurry to get by it.
It was a beautiful morning, no clouds, no wind, no waves. I paddled up the lake,
arriving at the take-out for the 430m portage into Hidden Lake at 8:15am.
As I unloaded the canoe I was beginning got think that McKaskill Lake was a leechfree lake when I spotted a long thin wiry leech moving about in the stirred-up beaver
muck of the shallow water of the landing. I quickened my pace getting out of the water
pronto. I loaded-up, single-carrying everything to Hidden Lake. The portage was pretty
much flat with a few undulations here and there, easy.
By 8:35am I launched onto Hidden Lake paddling up the middle of the lake. Hidden
Lake is a charming little body of water and as I paddled up the Lake, I spied a
beautiful campsite off to my right. There was supposed to be two campsites on the lake
but I saw only one that was signed. Fifteen minutes later I arrived at the take-out for
Fairy Lake.
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Almost immediately there is a steep 20m climb up from the trailhead. It was here that
I carried everything up the hill in three trips instead of one. Once everything was on
the summit of the hill I loaded up for a single-carry, it was 9:00am. The portage was
1,550m and was almost a repeat of the first portage of the day except with more
undulations in the trail. It was flat for the most part… Nothing difficult (Except for the
beginning).
Thirty minutes later I arrived at Fairy Lake. Along the trail I had spied several pairs of
moose tracks as well as moose scat. So I was hopeful of seeing moose on the lake
when I arrived. Imagine my disappointment when not one moose was to be found on
the lake. Fairy Lake was prime moose habitat too. The Southern half of the lake was
filled with aquatic plants that moose love - The Lake should've been crawling with
moose.
As I paddled across the lake the sound of logging operations once again reached my
ears this time from the West, although I suspected it was coming from the East - The
noise was being reflected by the hill that made up the Western shoreline of Fairy Lake.
I trolled the northern part of the lake with no luck, peering into the deeply red-stained
waters I wondered what fish were there. Supposedly brook trout, but not this day. I
finished the crossing and landed at the easy take-out for the portage to Animoosh
Lake at 9:45am.
This was a super long carry of 2,960m (Although the sign says 2,825m). I began the
trail single-carry fully loaded but at about 160m in my foot slipped in the mud of the
trail, next came my daypack slipping from one shoulder and as I reached for it, the
canoe rolled off the other shoulder, falling and landing hard on a log. Oh crap!! I
tossed off my main pack and immediately went to the injured canoe as if it were a
person, carefully inspecting it for damage: Caressing the hull, feeling for
imperfections, talking soothingly to it. I was very concerned, Jeff was gonna kill me!
I felt more then saw one hairline crack in the gel coat right along the bottom of the
hull. It was very small, but it was there nevertheless. Darn! I guess I should count
myself lucky. A least it didn't land on a rock! Berating myself, I decided to carry-on
with the packs only.
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I walked down the trail which had taken on a hilly nature; I'd walk down one small hill
then up another, this continued for quite some time, the trail laced with rocks and
roots. Though not overly rough, it had its small challenges here and there. After 30
minutes, the trail smoothed out completely, the terrain becoming flat. I dropped my
packs and headed back for the canoe.
After about a twenty minute jog down the trail I arrived and picked up the super light
canoe and once again made my way down the trail. Once I met up with my packs, I
loaded up for the single-carry again. I was confident I could do it as the terrain was
very flat with an excellent hard packed trail free of rocks and roots.
With about 550m to go, I was walking along a boardwalk when it ended suddenly only
to have another boardwalk start just over a meter away. A budget cut? The intervening
ground was spongy looking and so I hopped onto the next boardwalk; I landed,
slipped and smashed my shin on the boardwalk. I immediately sprang up, hurriedly
limping down the boardwalk.
The pain in my leg demanded too much; I had to put the canoe down NOW! There
was nowhere to put it though, I was on a narrow boardwalk that was awkward enough
for a limping man, the surrounding terrain was swamp-like. Finally, I reached the end
of the boardwalk, but it was quite rocky with the sides of the trail loaded with rocks as
well. My back was ready to snap, my leg ready to give out.
Finally, the agony was beginning to subside when I found a soft mossy spot along the
trail to put the canoe down as carefully as I could. Spinning around I tossed off my
camera-bag, day-pack and canoe pack and collapsed on the ground.
I looked at my leg, there was a small chunk missing right in the middle of my leg, right
on the shin. Nothing was broken (Thank God!) And there was a trickle of blood
running down my leg. It had clotted up nicely, but boy there was going to be a heck of
a bruise the next day, I was sure of it. I'd really smacked my shin bone good.
After a brief rest, I ate some gorp and drank some water then was on my way again,
this time double-carrying. Not soon after, I emerged from the forest as the trail crossed
an old beaver dam then thankfully re-entered the shady forest; It had been hot out
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there crossing the beaver dam, the sun was blazing. Several minutes more and I
arrived at the breezy put-in of Animoosh Lake. I headed back to grab the canoe and
arrived back at the lake at 11:58am.
It had taken me one hour and fifty-nine minutes to do the 2,960m trail. Just a hair
under two hrs, not bad considering the pain the canoe and I had experienced along
that trail. There was a campsite at the end of the portage and I decided it was time for
lunch. I had been on this campsite before; Only as a stop for lunch as well, during a
previous trip on a day-trip from Dickson Lake.
The campsite was a sweet one, with lots of pine and a nice fire-pit, the ground was
pine needle covered sand with a sandy beach landing. The campsite looked northwest
up the lake. If there was a northwest wind, there'd be no escaping it as the site was
open to the lake. A great summer campsite I'd say.
This time I had salmon wraps with mayo and cheddar, along with a few pepperette
sticks and the usual water. I rested for a good fifteen minutes then pushed off,
paddling up the lake. I let out my fishing line trolling for specks. The paddle was a
windy one, but not a difficult one as the wind was coming straight on, making for a
slow troll. No luck with the fishes and by 12:50pm I landed at the rocky take-out to
Dickson Lake.
I single carried for about 250m before dropping the canoe. I completed the carry-over
and headed back for the canoe. In all it took me 55 minutes to do the 1,220m portage.
It shouldn't have taken me that long, but I was tired, I began tripping on the trail and
my leg was sore. I distinctly remember writing in a previous trip-log that the trail was
flat and all boardwalk. That is not the case! The trail began with lots of moss covered
rocks, filled with tree roots and even more rock and nowhere near as many boardwalks
as I thought there had been. It might have to do with the fact that when I had been on
the portage at that time, all I was carrying were life-jackets, paddles and fishing rods.
This time around I was carrying quite a load of gear.
At the Dickson Lake end of the portage, I noticed an MNR motorboat that had been
parked, It was tied off, ready to go at a moment's notice. The was no motor though, just
the boat. It was just before 2:00pm when I finally launched onto a relatively calm
Dickson Lake. My destination for the night was Little Dickson Lake and so I had to
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cross Cisco Bay, a large bay that was located East of the main lake. I would not even
see Dickson Lake proper, I'd just be paddling up the bay to another portage.
As I paddled up the bay the winds picked up significantly and so did the waves, now
becoming two to two and a half foot swells. More then once I was almost pushed
ashore by the strengthening winds. The canoe was awesome though! It handled
beautifully and is what made my water journeys really enjoyable. Despite the light
canoe and the great tracking of the craft, it was a tiring paddle and it seemed like
hours before I finally landed at the 890m portage to Little Dickson Lake.
I doubled carried the portage which has two noticeable up and down climbs. The
second climb, as I was closing in on Little Dickson Lake, looked like a bomb had gone
off; There was a lot of very large trees that had fallen and many of them had been cutup by chainsaw to clear the portage. I launched onto Little Dickson Lake just after
4pm, I was exhausted.
The good news was that the strong winds and waves were with me instead of against
me on Little Dickson Lake and all I had to do was steer the canoe as I was pushed
towards the island campsite that was my destination for the night.
By 4:30pm I had landed rather roughly at the island campsite. I had to get out in thigh
deep water to bring the canoe onshore amid very rocky conditions among choppy
waters. It was lots of fun though and I enjoyed the refreshing plunge into the water.
I set up camp and re-hydrated chilli for dinner. After dinner I cleaned up packing
everything away, preparing for rain as clouds began to move in. I had a small fire while
I relaxed in the heavily shaded campsite. By 8pm it started to rain and so I sled into
my hammock for the night. The rain lasted for 45 minutes but I was so tired and sore
that I stayed in the hammock for the rest of the night.
August 18 - Day 7 - The trails are getting tougher
I woke up at 6:35am as the sun was about to rise but to the West were dark grey skies.
It looked very much like rain was headed my way. I delayed getting up, staying in the
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hammock and it was a good thing I did, for not ten minutes later it started to rain
heavily. The rain lasted thirty minutes and behind the rain was nothing but blue skies!
During my breakfast a heavy looking canoe passed by with two guys in it, one guy was
very fat and they called out to me as the passed close to my campsite. They mentioned
that they were camped on Animoosh and were up for a day-trip, fishing on Little
Dickson. The two men also asked if I was alone as well; Fishing at 7:30am?? All the way
from Animoosh? Something didn't add up. Why were they curious that I was alone? I
did not like these people, I did not trust them. It seemed more to me like they drove to
Animoosh and/or drove to Little Dickson Lake. The one guy was so fat I doubted he
could carry himself across a portage. I swear I had seen that guy before, elsewhere in
The Park.
They paddled out of view and I finished my breakfast, packing up and getting the hell
out of there. It was 8:53am when I departed the campsite and 9:05am when I arrived at
the much hated Sundassa portage. I geared up for a double-carry and departed a few
minutes later.
For me the portage to Sundassa Lake is my nemesis; my nightmare portage. The funny
thing is there is no steep climbs or canyons to scale, it isn't crowded or noisy. What
drives me nuts, what I really hated about this portage is its monotonous undulating
nature. The trail is very hard on my ankles and rough in certain spots. The 2,685m
portage was nothing but a royal pain in the arse, so much so I didn't even think twice
about single carrying. Though it prolonged my presence on the trail, double-carrying
was my decision: Safety first. I'd take my time, not rush or weigh myself down. So I'd
make it to the other end intact.
There are some climbs but they are gentle, even the bugs weren't troublesome.
Towards the end of the trail though I noticed it had been re-routed around some
deadfall. The trail is an old one with decaying rotting boardwalks that one must be
crossed with great care as they can be slippery. You just have to experience the trail for
yourself, carrying a heavy pack and/or canoe to know what I mean, the trail just sucks!
Carrying the packs I reached the beaver dam that one must cross at 9:31am. For me it
is about the halfway point of the trail. The odour that morning was particularly bad at
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the beaver dam and as I crossed over it I thought to myself, "If the shitty footing didn't
knock me over, the stench would!"
Once across, I walked about 25 meters further and dropped my packs under the shade
of a massive white pine tree. I hurried back across the dam heading for the canoe. At
the other end the day was brightening up nicely and the forest though still very damp
was warming up too. Meaning the mosquitos were coming alive. Thus the carry with
the canoe was aggravating at times that morning.
Forty minutes later I reached the packs and switched up, heading down the trail. I
finally reached Sundassa Lake, drank almost a litre of water, ate some chocolate and
headed back to grab the canoe. An hour later I returned with the canoe. It was
11:35am. It had taken me two hours and twenty minutes to cross the portage. Terrible
timing for a terrible trail, but I didn't care, I was happy to be done with it!
I quickly loaded the canoe and launched onto Sundassa Lake amid a horde of leeches
that came alive at my stirrings of the water at the landing. The put-in was nothing
special, just lots of mud.
Just before 12 noon I arrived at the take-out for the 915m portage into White Partridge
Lake. I had paddled lazily across the lake as well as filtering some water. I took my time
as I liked the lake. It was pretty in its own way. I was sorry that there wasn't any
campsites on the lake, I've always wanted to camp there.
It was really starting to get hot out and I started the trail single-carrying but soon had
to drop the canoe as the terrain was taking a toll on me. The trail climbs for some
distance up from the lake, becoming steep near the end of the climb. I dropped the
canoe and double-carried the rest of the way. The portage itself was in great shape and
had a slope to it for most of the way but it was easy to manage.
The final descent to White Partridge Lake was a long one before arriving at a dip at
the trailhead. It was 12:50pm. It was there in the shade that I took a break before
crossing the lake. I had a good long look at the lake and all seemed well. White
Partridge Lake is a large lake, so crossing her on my way to another lake was a gamble.
The weather was fair with afternoon convection clouds moving in, nothing unusual
there.
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The lake looked deserted, but then it always looked deserted for it was a large lake
with very few campsites on it and being deep in The Park, with nothing but low
maintenance routes all around it, the lake saw little traffic. Just what I liked.
12:55pm and I began my crossing. The lake seemed calm enough but then shadows
darkened the water as clouds moved across the lake. The wind began to pick up as did
the waves. The great news was the waves were coming at a 45° angle aft of me. In effect
I was being pushed across the lake, though slightly north of where I had wanted to
land. I was about halfway across when all I had to do was steer my way. The strength of
the winds and waves never increased and although I had one or two waves break
across the bow, I was never concerned. The conditions remained stable and my speed
across the water was considerable for a solo canoe.
Just shy of 1:20pm I had landed at the trailhead of the portage to May Lake. I had
made the crossing in just under twenty-five minutes. That big hurdle out of the way, I
dug out lunch and settled down to re-fuel myself before another big challenge ahead;
The carry to May Lake.
White Partridge Lake was another regret. I should've booked one night there. It was a
very wild looking lake, given the size and sparsity of the campsites, save for the
meadow at the Northeast corner of the lake; There were many campsites located there,
it was almost like a campground.
I had planned my route carefully though, gauging it for weather conditions, balancing
between lakes I'd stayed on before and ones I had not, difficulties of portages, etc, etc.
The variables were many. My destination for the night was North Branch Lake, actually
I was booked there for two nights. I had wanted a rest day there to experience the lake
for a day by myself. I could've easily swapped a day for White Partridge Lake.
All this was playing through my mind as I stared across the lake as I ate two tuna
wraps and a trail-mix bar. In six days with two rest days I had moved a considerable
distance and had been quite successful at it. I had chosen a good balance of long days
and rest days.
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However, the portages had been getting rougher and tougher, this too was on my mind
as I finished lunch and prepared for the May Lake Mountain portage. It had a monster
200ft climb and there was no getting around it, I just had to do it and get it over
with… Twice. There was no way it could be single carried, it was much too steep for
that.
The trail length was 560m (Signed as 495m) and for the first 180m I single carried till I
reached a small hill which I ascended then hit a flat spot. Here were two birch trees
which I had used before as a place to rest my canoe in the crux of the two trees. I
continued on with my packs, looking around, I noticed how much different the
portage appeared in late summer as opposed to spring when the forest and much of
the undergrowth was still bare.
I huffed and puffed my way to the top of the super steep climb, passed over the stream
bed that cascades down from May Lake, wandered through the forest for one minute
more and emerged onto the swampy dried up beginnings of May Lake. I searched for a
suitable place to launch the canoe when I would return with it. I had to hop and skip
my way to a big rock about 5 meters from solid ground and place my pack there. I
worked my way back to the portage and down to the canoe. Picking up the canoe I
repeated the process and headed back to May Lake.
I managed to get to the big rock and plop the canoe into the mud, lying on my belly I
loaded the canoe from the rock and then gingerly stepped on a rotting and sinking
beam of timber as I shoved the canoe out to muddy waters. I then very carefully
stretched out my legs and climbed into the rear of the canoe and sat down, then I had
to push my way through muddy waters for several meters before I finally was able to
navigate in deep water.
May Lake really isn't a lake, more like a glorified pond. Donald Lloyd's book
"Canoeing Algonquin Park", describes a pyramid shaped rock on the lake. It is
probably the only feature of the lake that makes it remarkable in any way. You paddle
by it and at a certain angle it looks exactly like a pyramid… Watch for it, you'll see.
By 2:40pm I was at the other end of the lake, at the trailhead for the 1,235m portage to
North Branch Lake. The take-out was much easier… Shallow muck with small flat
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rocks to easily step out on. I prepared for the carry-over, everything was off to the side
of the trail ready to go when I sat down for a good fifteen minutes.
I was very tired, beaten up as it were. The last two days (Yesterday and today) had been
busy ones. I had an 'Ok' sleep on Little Dickson, but it was still a broken sleep, I woke
often during the night. My leg was sore, the welt that had popped up hours after my
fall on the portage to Animoosh went down but in its place a nice ugly bruise had
emerged. It was tender.
Finally, I got up and started down the trail with my packs. The portage to North
Branch Lake is an easy one on the feet but not on the legs. The path is easy and free of
obstructions such as rocks or roots. Much of the trail though climbs and dips and it is
this up and down trend that wears one down. Mind you the trail to North Branch has
some nice forest to walk through, it is quite shady. Many of the trees on this trail have
old trail blazes notched into them. Easy to follow if one should ever lose track of the
trail. Despite the trail being low maintenance the path was well worn and easy to
follow.
I launched from the grassy put-in that was on a slope at 4:04 pm, I was on North
Branch Lake! A smile spreading across my face. I had worked hard to get to this lake
and it was all mine for two nights (I hoped). What made my smile all the more
enjoyable was the gorgeous weather and the lack of bugs, it was perfect!
By 4:25 pm I was on my campsite, the one I had stayed on before, during the White
Partridge Express trip in May of 2010. It was by far the best site on the lake and there
weren't too many sites either. It was the most beautiful August afternoon. For the next
two hours I lounged around camp, taking my time setting up, re-hydrating chilli for
dinner, enjoying the solitude of the lake. A loon floated by and greeted me with a
tremolo call, startled it was by my presence.
That evening by the fire was a good one, the bugs were non-existent, the loons busy
with their musical voices, it was as if the magic I talked about earlier in my trip had
made its return to North Branch Lake. It was a special, quiet, lonely place.
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I stayed up very late that night, almost till 1:00am. Enjoying both the darkness and
silence of my surroundings. I don't get much of either in my life back in the city. I
tried sleeping in the opposite direction in my hammock that night. The arrangement
was much more comfortable, but I still did not sleep solidly.
August 19 - Day 8 - Another day of rest in Heaven!
It was a beautiful morning on North Branch Lake. I got up and made coffee, extra
strong. I sat down by the water soaking in the morning sun while drinking my coffee
(Mixed with Bailey's). Now you know why my pack was 62lbs heavy… Carrying all that
liquid around kills, I just gotta have Bailey's with my coffee when I'm in The Park, it's
worth it! It's my one treat when I'm in The Park.
It was day eight. I was at the midway point of the trip and as another treat, I broke out
the good stuff… Blueberry pancakes and bacon for breakfast… Oh yeah! By 9:00am I
had finished my tasty breakfast, cleaned up and was ready for the day. I set-off in the
canoe, paddling south trolling for trout.
I paddled up and down and across, back and forth along the lower section of the lake
and by 10:30am I finally caught my first fish. It was a nice smallish sized brook trout. I
successfully landed it and as I was unhooking the fish it made weird sucking sounds. I
think it was burping up air. I relaxed my grip on the fish feeling terrible I let the fish
go, promising myself to keep the next one.
The wind picked up making trolling more work then I wanted it to be, eventually I
landed at the campsite on the Western shore, a quick 30 second inspection and I was
back in the canoe. I most definitely had the best site on the lake. Speaking of
campsites, there was a new campsite on the Eastern shore. It was not there a year ago
this past spring. There had been two campsites at the North end of the lake, both were
not very good, but now there was only one. So one campsite had been closed and
another had opened elsewhere in its place.
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I wasn't thrilled to see the new campsite close in proximity to my campsite, no one
else was on the lake though, so that was fine. If there were two different parties on the
lake at the same time, it could get loud.
By 12 noon it grew too hot to fish and I headed back to camp. I had a bath and did
some laundry. I also had a nap in the hammock and by 3pm heard the booming of
canoes being dropped on shore. It was coming from the portage that came from
Loonskin Lake. I had checked prior to my trip and there was supposed to be another
party on North Branch on my second night and now my fears were confirmed. From
the noise and commotion that I could hear, it sounded like a group of kids. Gulp!
There were a few more booms. Either it was a clumsy party or a big party. It's the big
parties that make me cringe. A few minutes go by and the unmistakable sound of trail
song and laughter reach my ears - This was different. I sat down on shore and pulled
out my camera to get a look. Coming my way were three canoes, filled with girls. Oh
my.
As the three canoes approached the vicinity of my campsite, I hailed the group. It
turned out the three canoes were filled with three young women each, for a total of a
group of nine. We exchanged greetings. I hadn't seen another woman in eight days and
made some goofy comment about how lucky I was to have nine beautiful women grace
me with their presence. After this, two of the women related that they were on day 48
of a 50 day canoe trip. I was stunned.
These women had travelled as a group out of Killarney, possibly up the French River,
into North Bay, along the Mattawa River, down the Ottawa River and up the Petawawa
River into The Park. They were now two days away from their destination; Canoe
Lake. I assumed they were part of Camp Wapomeo on Canoe Lake. I related my
surprise and enviable delight, wishing them the best. I've always wanted to do super
long trips… When I really think about it 16 days (Or 20) isn't enough for me, I wanted
more. I asked where they were staying and they mentioned White Partridge Lake. I
understood immediately. I had scored their site on the lake so they decided to
continue on.
After they had passed by, I was cursing myself. I forget to ask the real questions that
were on my mind; How much food did they carry? What was their menu like? How
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often did they re-supply? These questions and more popped into my mind, questions
that dealt with the logistics of extended voyages. In some ways I envied these women.
They would have memories and develop friendships that would last the rest of their
lives. It really is amazing what a canoe trip can do to people. The shared adventure of
living outdoors and dealing with problems and learning to overcome them. I think it is
one of the best ways to experience life.
I went back out onto the lake, fishing it hard for two hours along the lake's northern
section. Not even one tug on the line. I saw three otters and some loons and that was
it. I headed back to camp for dinner.
My stove broke as it ran out of fuel, or maybe it ran out of fuel 'cause the stove broke?
The problem was it kept losing pressure. The plunger wouldn't lock and so after
pumping it up, the stove would lose pressure and then lighting the stove, would burn
all the fuel rapidly. I took the plunger out, cleaned all the carbon off and oiled the
shaft of the plunger as well as the leather disc on the end.
I put more fuel in the stove and pumped it up. Turns out it didn't work. I had burned
through half a litre of fuel and had now used the rest of the fuel to fill the stove again.
It wasn't leaking anymore, but it wasn't pumping anymore either… The plunger would
either slip and add no pressure or it would be like trying to pump an over-compressed
stove…I was getting nowhere.
No matter, I was prepared to use campfires to cook on as I had brought minimal fuel
along. I had estimated my fuel use to be about 8 days worth. My conservative use had
saved a lot of fuel only to have some of it leak away. So I was a little upset about it.
For dinner I re-hydrated chicken and chickpeas with onions and red peppers. Once all
that was re-hydrated I tossed the food into a fry pan filled with basmati rice. I cooked
the rice and other ingredients for several minutes then spreading 3ml of pepper sauce
over the dish. The sauce was very good and I wish I had more, 3ml is nothing!
After dinner I had a tasty cup of hot chocolate by the fire. I retired just after 9pm. At
10:40pm I was awoken by the sound of wolves howling in the distance. The howls were
coming from the direction of White Partridge Lake. The howling was so distant and
faint that I was surprised that I was even awoken by it. What came next was very
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surprising and grim. The howling had stopped except for one last mournful howl. It
was the most long drawn-out sad sounding howl I've ever heard in Algonquin Park. I
wonder why?
A few minutes later the howling started again then stopped and that was it, for the rest
of the night it was completely quiet.
August 20 - Day 9 - Soul Moving - Algonquin Park the
sublime
I woke up around 6:30am and didn't rise until 7:15am. I had a great sleep. The best
sleep of the trip so far. I felt relaxed, refreshed and ready to take on the killer portage
ahead of me. I had my usual coffee & oatmeal breakfast heating my water over the fire
was now becoming the norm. I had utilized the campfire to cook my food only
occasionally on the trip and now was relying on it full time. I had been considering
using a campfire for the entire trip, without bringing a stove or fuel; It would certainly
save weight, but not the convenience of time saved, nor easily regulated cooking heat.
In order to save some weight, I decided not to bring a saw or a hatchet. Instead I
brought a folding bucksaw. It was all that I had needed so far and even then I used it
rarely. Most of the wood I had collected had been free fallen branches, large branches
were broken over the knee, stepped on or against a rock.
After breakfast I packed up and broke camp at 8:35am, arriving at the 4,775m portage
to Loonskin Lake at 8:40am. I had walked the portage in the spring of the previous
year, so I had an idea of what I was in for; A never-ending ascent for the first 15
minutes. With this in mind, I carried my packs first for about 800m till I reached a
logging road that crossed the trail. Going beyond the logging road for a few meters
more, I finally dropped my packs and returned to pick-up the canoe.
The going was pretty easy with that super-light Langford up there above my shoulders
as I ascended the portage. The trail is a rugged one, hard on the ankles and legs as the
trail ascends almost non-stop for 800m to the logging road. Once I reached the
logging road, I took a short break then loaded up for the single carry.
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The next 2.5km of trail moved through some fairly picturesque forest and beaver
meadows. The trail was a well-worn path that was easy on the feet with only a few
descents here and there. That doesn't go without saying that there were still some
minor climbs here and there, it was a rugged trail still in places.
I was about 3.5km along the trail having just passed the last of the beaver meadows
and the last beaver dam when I heard cracks of distant thunder behind me and to the
north of me, it was 10:20am. The trail was starting to become rocky as it began to
descend. I was still more than a kilometre away from Loonskin Lake, but the trail now
had a pronounced downward trend. As a consequence of the rain and surrounding
rocky terrain, the trail became slick and my steps uncertain.
It was along a curving rocky downhill descent that I found a large tree next to the trail
that offered protection from the rain. I stopped to drop my canoe and the packs,
taking a break for a few minutes as I sheltered myself and the gear from the elements.
The rain was coming down heavily now.
After a few minutes rest, I gathered up the packs and resumed down the muddy, rocky
trail in the pouring rain. After about ten minutes, the trail levelled off and I came
across a few large pines that offered protection from the rain. It was here that I
decided to drop my packs and return for the canoe.
It was 10:40am when walking for a few minutes up the trail (Back to the canoe) in the
pouring rain, that the sky suddenly lit up with a blinding bright white light to my right
(North of me). Less then two-seconds later I was startled by the incredibly loud crack
of thunder.
Immediately after the initial crack of thunder, there came a staccato of ground-shaking
artillery-like thunder-booms. About 7 or 8 of them, each successive boom increasing in
volume and speed, each one adding more bass then the last, booming more quicker
then the last one before it. It felt like the earth was ripping apart as the booms echoed
down the valley, becoming more intense as their bass shook the very ground and air
around me.
Though I was startled with fear and awe, I could not ignore the greatness around me. I
felt naked and small, being all alone in a vast forest that did not care. Who was I to
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wander the forest in a manner such as mine? It was one of the most sublime moments
I've ever experienced. I paused to look upon the surrounding forest with renewed
passion; Every needle, every rock, everything was so beautiful.
I had experienced thunderstorms in The Park on many occasions and I don't even
think it was the closeness of the storm that affected me. It was many things; The
majesty of the storm's power, the silent forest that didn't flinch, the rocks that slept on
in indifference.
At last I reached the canoe, finishing my religious thoughts I tossed the canoe on my
shoulders and headed down the trail once more. Lightning and thunder continued
around me, the occasional loud crack happening nearby, but none even came close to
that soul shaking moment I had experienced. I eventually reached the packs and
geared up once again for a single carry. I had only taken about twenty steps when my
footing became suspect again. Reluctantly, I let the canoe down and continued on with
just the packs.
Finally, I reached Loonskin Lake, caching my pack under a big white pine there and
fuelling up on water and some gorp before heading back for the canoe. The return trip
was uneventful and even the lightning and thunder had stopped, the rain having
lightened somewhat, but still a steady soaking rain.
By 12:10pm I completed the portage. It had taken me three hours and fifteen minutes
to do the trail. Not too bad. I had figured four hours at the most. I had done about
1/3rd of the trail single carry and the other 2/3rd's double carry.
The rain continued and I was hungry so I had lunch at the end of the portage
wondering if the rain would ever stop? After lunch I considered departing and was
about to reach for the canoe when I heard more thunder to the north of me. Oh well. I
continued to wait, while more cracks of thunder occurred both near and far… This
was the kind of Bass I enjoyed, although I was sensitive to it, it never bothered me, not
like the 'manufactured' Bass of car stereos that invaded one's body.
I was supposed to camp on Loonskin Lake, so I didn't have far to go, but as the rain
and thunder continued, I wondered if I should just make camp at the portage? Finally!
After waiting just over two hours, the rain slowed to a drizzle, the thunder having been
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absent for well over 15 minutes. I could start to see definition in the cloud cover, light
spots appeared here and there. That was my cue, loading up the canoe, I shoved off,
paddling the centre of the lake, closing in on the North shore as I paddled Eastwards,
It was just after 2:00 pm.
Minutes passed and the sun made an appearance, my hopes rose. My silent urgings
however went unanswered for seconds later the sun was swallowed up once again by
the clouds.
Along the South shore was a small area of rocky shoreline populated with a nice
display of red pine, shortly after this I came upon two campsites along the North
shore. I Ignored the first campsite completely, it was not very appealing looking.
Moments later I came upon the second, which looked promising. So much so, that it
warranted a closer look.
The landing had sandy shallows and was polluted with deadfall, getting out I walked
through the shallow warm waters onto the campsite proper. It was an open site, loaded
with red pine, very flat and level that faced the lake. I liked the campsite a lot, it was
quite nice. If it was fall I'd have taken the site in a heartbeat, but it was August and I
was thinking that given the mosquito situation these last few days, I might find the
campsite too sheltered, too buggy.
There was one more campsite to survey and it was at the East end of the lake and so I
headed that way, putting some distance from shore, I let out my fishing line and began
to troll, noticing for the first time that the water colour seemed to reflect a sandy lake
bottom. At the same time the wind started to pick up as did the waves. This was
coming out of the west and so the winds began to push me along, speeding my paddle
towards the Eastern shore.
I arrived to a small sandy/gravel mix landing, having to climb up a steep sandy three
meter slope to the campsite proper. The campsite and surrounding area reminded me
very strongly of the campsites at the East end of the East arm of Lake Opeongo;
Where the portage from Wright Lake ends at Lake Opeongo. The campsite and to the
South lay an endless assortment of red pine trees, the ground was level, but the open
red pine forest just seemed to go on forever.
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The open area suited me well for the wind had picked up considerably and all worries
about bugs had disappeared. Now worries about getting a protected fire going sprang
up as the wind increased to gale-like strength.
Firewood was of no concern as the immediate area was host to a boneyard of fallen
timber, although most of it was not very good; very old and some suffering rot. It
looked like a bomb had hit the place, the site needed some attention. I re-aligned two
benches moving them close to the fire-pit while I re-stacked rocks around the fire-pit,
building up the side facing the lake, making a wind-break.
I got a fire going and looked out to the lake; It even looked like Opeongo with big
waves and whitecaps and strong winds coming down the lake. It was 3:30pm. I
couldn't find a grill to cook on so I made one with three big sticks. Placing my pot of
water over the make-shift grill, I tossed in noodles as the water came to a boil, tonight
it would be KD dinner and then later on some hot soup to warm me up. I was drying
off as the rain has ceased but the winds were chilling me a little bit. I just wanted to
get some hot food in me.
I was collecting more firewood nearby, losing track of time, I heard a splash and
hissing sound as I looked up to see my grill had burned through and my KD had
ended up in the fire. I worked to restore the fire as it was in danger of going out as it
has been partly gutted by the boiling water. All my pasta was now in the fire. What
now?
I found a long branch that was quite fresh and had good counter-balance. Using this
branch I managed to hang my kettle full of water over the fire, bringing the water to a
boil and making hot soup for myself. When I finished the soup, I began to filter water
in the shallows, the wind now dying down, it was 4:30pm.
As I was filtering in shin deep water, I happened to look down and see a leech
bobbing around my leg, getting ready to attach itself to me. Whoa! I ran through the
water moving away about a good 10 meters. I continued pumping, my eyes constantly
scanning the waters around me now.
After a few minutes, I spotted three more leeches heading my way, I went to move in
the opposite direction only to see another leech coming at me. This was nuts. I walked
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back to shore and back to the campsite landing then moved out once again into the
water. I began pumping and once again found another leech about to latch onto my
leg. Where were they all coming from? I finished filtering my second bottle ending my
chores then and there, I had had enough of the leeches.
At 5:00pm I made my way to the nearby portage with the canoe on my shoulders, I
counted it as being 101 meters from camp. While walking through the red pine stand,
I saw many piles of moose scat and even some old wolf scat too, filled with fur.
The portage was easy to navigate and it was just after 5:15pm that I started my way
down the trail. The plan was to carry the canoe over to the other end of the portage at
Barron Lake, leaving it there overnight. Then walking the portage the next morning
with only my packs. You can call it 'cheating' if you want, I call it 'playing it smart',
saves the hassle of a single heavy carry the next morning.
To my surprise the trail was the smoothest trail of the whole trip so far and was quite
nice to traverse, except of course for the mosquitos. For some reason they were terrible
on the trail and I got eaten alive under that canoe as I made my way to Barron Lake.
The trail had a shallow downward trend as it snaked its way through the forest to
Barron Lake. There was evidence of a forest fire having passed through the area long
ago with charred stumps and still standing charred tree trunks scattered along the
trail.
There was pine, but the majority of the forest was deciduous. There were also ancient
blazes in some of the trees along the trail, marking the portage. Twenty-five minutes
later I reached the end of the 1,510m portage.
Barron lake looked big as it stretched away from the marshy shoreline of the muddy
put-in. There was supposed to be bass and trout in this lake, but it certainly didn't
look 'trouty' from where I was standing; it looked more 'pike' looking to me. The
stormy looking sky over the lake reminded me that the unsettled weather probably
wasn't over yet and that I should head back to camp.
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As I made my ascent back up the trail, I noticed it was growing humid and that the
skeeters were getting worse. Too bad as I really would have liked to slow down and
take some photos, but the clouds of biting mosquitos made it impossible. I only
managed to snap three or four hurried photos.
It was 6pm when I arrived back at camp, I was hungry so I made more soup and then
spent a few hours beside the fire, finally retiring at 9:10pm as the mosquitos came out
in droves. They were pretty bad for late August.
Twenty minutes after climbing into the hammock it began to rain. It rained for over
two hours finally stopping at 11:40pm. I did not fall asleep till after 1am - Another
restless sleep. I was dis-liking my hammock more and more; A hammock is not the
kind of place you want to be restless in. You can get away with being restless in a tent.
In a hammock you cannot, it is so uncomfortable (When I am restless) and any
movement creates a lot of motion.
August 21 - Day 10 - Moving to Greenleaf Lake
I woke up to heavy drizzle just after 6:30am, the drizzle went on for nearly an hour
after which I emerged from my hammock at 7:30am. I had my usual breakfast of coffee
and oatmeal and looking up at the grey sky thought it could rain at any moment. The
rain held off and as I was packing up camp I heard the sound of a tree falling from the
direction of the portage, it was quite loud actually.
Ten minutes later I arrived at the portage to discover it wasn't a tree that had fallen
but a canoe. A bunch of kids were there and one of them had thrown down their
aluminium canoe and that was the sound I had heard from camp.
Many of the kids were standing around, obviously waiting for more of their party to
arrive. I exchanged greetings and headed down the trail. The walk down the trail this
time was pleasant, the complete opposite of the evening's walk before. It was less
humid and I did spray bug repellant on myself this time, so I figured that was the
reason for the lack of bugs.
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As it turned out, that was not the case at all. There were mosquitos and lots of them,
they just weren't bothering me. Instead I saw that they were eating alive a group of
young kids (Between the ages of 10 and 16 I figured), As they came up the trail towards
me. One after another, each kid was shaking their head, swatting violently and huffing
a lot. Most of the kids were sweaty looking, weighed down by huge canvas packs,
surrounded by clouds of mosquitos.
I felt their pain and wished them well mentioning to each one as I passed their overall
distance to salvation (Lake breeze) in minutes. I found one kid stopped on the trail
looking into the bush, he exclaimed he had heard something moving. I looked but saw
and heard nothing. The mosquitos were just starting to catch up to him and so he
moved on quickly, as did I.
I came upon another kid hauling a canoe and he looked like a leader type to me. The
young man asking if the sweet red canoe at the other end of the trail was mine. "I wish
it was", I thought to myself, to keep it simple, I replied that the canoe was mine and
asked where they were coming from.
"Originally, from Grand Lake and camping on Barron Lake last night." Hmmmm.
Then I asked, "You came across the hydro field?" "Yes", was the answer. "Why? Why
didn't you come up Carcajou Creek instead of the killer portage from Grand Lake?" I
asked more inquisitively. "Summer programme", the leader smiled weakly, "Counsellor
training, we have to do it the hard way". They were killing these kids, that's all I knew.
"Where you headed for the night", I asked, "North Branch"… "Fine Lake" I said as I
waved good-bye.
I came upon another kid who had slipped and fallen on the only boardwalk of the
trail. The boardwalk was really short, but it was at the bottom of a descent with an
accompanying ascent immediately after it… It crossed a stream and so it was quite
mossy down there. The kid turned out to be fine, needing just a moment to recover. I
carried on eventually reaching Barron Lake at 9:45am.
I took a break and a few pictures, then went about the business of loading the canoe. I
barely avoided sinking up to my knees in muck as the canoe tipped dangerously,
causing me to slip. The put-in was quite a messy one and in higher water conditions
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the put-in would be much easier. Eventually, I was able to launch with only a small
splatter of mud on me and a fresh bruise on my battered shin. It was 10:10am.
I paddled along the North shore about 50 meters or more out from the actual
shoreline. The sky had an uncertain look about it, keeping me from guessing what the
outcome of the day would eventually be weather wise.
I passed by one campsite along the North shore barely giving it a glance as it looked
very bushy and closed in. The second campsite I didn't even get close to as I was about
50m from the shore, when I suddenly noticed I had paddled into a minefield of
submerged boulders, all of them just below the surface of the water.
I immediately changed my course and headed straight away from shore for deeper
waters. The boulders continued, some being quite large. It seemed quite a
phenomenon to see such a large deposit of those boulders and yet no cliff face around
from which they might have fallen. I kept paddling for several minutes at a slow pace
when I struck a rock. I was stuck on top of the rock and I quickly shoved myself off
sideways, successfully. There was a smudge of red paint left behind, "Shit!"... That was
the third mark I had made on the canoe. Jeff was gonna flip.
I paddled on, even more slowly as I wondered how I had missed the big rock. I was
starting to wonder if the rocks would ever drop away as I was nearing the halfway
point of the lake's width… I was almost out on the middle of the lake and still I had
boulders just beneath the surface of the water. This lake was shallow and tricky! My
advice is to stay clear of the North shore campsite in the middle of the lake; At least in
summer - Submerged rocks pose a navigational hazard.
I paddled for a few moments more then changed course again, now towards the
Northeast as I headed towards the direction of the portage to Greenleaf Lake. The
boulders began to drop away. I spotted canoes to the South of me and ahead of me, all
heading west. All of them had 3 occupants per craft and I counted 4 canoes… More
kids heading to North Branch Lake I guessed.
I spied three campsites along the southern shore. Even from the distance that I was
from the South shore, all the campsites looked favourable. I even managed to spot the
lonely portage to the hydro line. I had to ask myself; Did that group of kids portage all
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the way from Grand Lake along the hydro line to the portage to Barron Lake or did
they go up to Greenleaf Lake and then onto Barron Lake? Either way was not easy.
As I approached the vicinity of the take-out for Greenleaf Lake, I came upon a point of
land of which there was a campsite located. The landing was gravel as the whole
shoreline was gravel and rock. The campsite though was on a point and so it had water
on both sides and from the canoe, that site looked to be the best site on the lake, very
open, wide, somewhat flat, loaded with pine and a huge fire-pit complete with
benches. Very nice… I paddled on, it was 10:50am.
By 11:00am I was onshore at the very rocky take-out to the 1,530m portage to
Greenleaf Lake. A few meters down the trail I was able to gear up for the single carry
as the trail became smooth. I was not bothered by mosquitos at all on the trail and
enjoyed (As much as is possible) the carry-over. About halfway along the trail I grew
fatigued and dropped the canoe, carrying on with just the packs.
The trail was now definitely headed downwards and was becoming clogged with
slippery roots and rocks. I reached Greenleaf Lake and turned around heading back
for the canoe. Twenty minutes later I arrived and tippy-toed my way down the vast rock
garden at the put-in and launched onto a calm and grey Greenleaf Lake at 12:10pm.
I looked across and down the lake a little, to a campsite located on the Northeast
shore. As I did this the ugly visage of a hydro transmission tower loomed in the
distance at the Lake's Eastern end. The lake lies in an east to west orientation.
Coupled with the annoying view, the campsite as I approached it, appeared to be
closed in, not what I was looking for and so I turned around heading west up the lake,
glad to put that steely structure out of my view. I had lived without hydro for ten days
and in my nomadic style of temporary living, I was loving it!
A few minutes later I came upon the second of the three campsites on the lake. It was
unoccupied and was very rugged looking; Loaded with scattered pine, Canadian
Shield rock, covered mostly with a carpet of pine needles. I paddled to the West end of
the campsite where I landed at a gravelly mix of granite and quartz rock.
I spent several minutes walking through-out the large campsite. It certainly was
rugged, dotted with rock throughout. Situated on an outcropping of Canadian Shield
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rock, the site had many levels to it, giving it a unique character. After spending about
five minutes on site I climbed into the canoe heading further up the lake, looking for
the third and final campsite on the lake.
I was on the water for a few seconds when I heard laughter emanating from a point
further up the lake. Scanning the shoreline I at last noticed smoke (Possibly from a
campfire). I couldn't smell any of the smoke and I was too far away to discern people
or the site itself, except for the smoke and continued laughter.
I immediately turned around and made landfall and began unloading the canoe, it was
12:25pm. I was home for two nights and what a campsite it was! The problem of the
day was trying to make-up my mind: I must've spent twenty minutes looking around,
trying to decide which spot I liked the most to hang my hammock. There were so
many fantastic locations to hang my hammock.
I finally decided to hang the hammock on the highest level of the campsite, where
there was a long open straightaway towards the west end of the campsite. It would
break-up the openness of the area, as well as provide a location where wind could flow
through my hammock, keeping me cool.
In less then ninety minutes I had camp set-up but no firewood. The weather had
improved with some blue skies showing and even sunshine peeking thru broken cloud
cover. So, I decided to hop into the canoe and head down to the portage that headed
to the hydro line to collect firewood there. As I closed in on the portage I noticed the
water becoming more shallow as well as aquatic plants clogging that end of the lake.
Soon I noticed many fish swimming in the waters and tossed my line in.
It didn't take long for me to catch a nice two pound bass. Tossing the fish back, I
caught another then another. At one point, I leaned over the canoe fascinated as I was
able to see a fish attached to my lure, vigourously swimming back and forth, while
other fish hung back, waiting for the opportunity to pounce on the lure themselves.
The water was very clear.
The bass were numerous and soon found myself having to pull the line in as I ran out
of water and fish as I landed at the timber clogged landing to the take-out for the
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portage. I was surprised to see a neat wooden dock set-in the water, which gave one
easy access to the trailhead past all the water logged timber and rocks.
I walked for about 100m along the trail, gathering all sorts of wood, from fallen spruce
to cut pieces of white pine and cedar left behind by maintenance crews as they had
cleared the trail of fallen timber. Pretty soon I had a fully loaded canoe and headed
back to camp, filtering two litres of water along the way.
I arrived back at camp at 5:10pm and built myself a nice fire as I began to prepare my
dinner. Tonight's dinner was pasta boiled in water over the fire, then tossed into a fry
pan loaded with re-hydrated chicken, red peppers & onions, heating up the dish. I
then smothered the dish with grated parmesan cheese. It was very tasty.
I had begun eating my dinner at 6:30pm and it immediately began to drizzle rain. I
hurried to finish my dinner and clean-up my cookware and by the time I was done the
drizzle turned into rain. I huddled under my small tarp that I had suspended high over
the fire-pit.
I was able to keep warm and dry (For the most part) as I fed the campfire and finished
off the last of my whiskey, listening to the sound of the rain and the wind as it picked
up strength. By 8:30pm I climbed into my hammock as the rain intensified, becoming
a steady downpour. The heavy rain continued for three hours, finally ending shortly
before midnight.
August 22 - Day 11 - exploring Greenleaf Lake
It rained and drizzled off and on through-out the night with the winds becoming quite
strong at times. At one point water started to seep through the foot of my sleeping
pad. It was 2:30am and I grew concerned and finally got out of the hammock and readjusted the fly covering the hammock.
Crawling back inside, I towelled off the now wet bottom end of my sleeping pad and
the bottom side of my sleeping bag. My sleeping bag was down filled… Thus the
concern! My efforts paid off as no more water seeped in and I was able to sleep
comfortably the rest of the night.
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I got up at 7:30am and checked my sleeping pad and sleeping bag, all was dry... Whew!
Stepping outside of my hammock, I was greeted with a cool and strong north wind.
The sky was filled with dark grey clouds. It felt like autumn and I felt refreshed! No
bugs either. I live for fall type weather and wasted no time in getting active; I got a
warming fire going and made several cups of coffee as I enjoyed the warm campfire in
the stiff breeze that blew through-out the campsite.
For breakfast I had bacon and blueberry pancakes again. This time I smothered the
pancakes with raspberry jam and honey and by this time I was on my third cup of
coffee.
After breakfast and clean-up, I went for a bath and a short swim. The landing at the
East end of the campsite (As well as the West end), offered gravelly shallows that
dropped-off into deep water - Perfect for swimming. I also did some laundry too. The
water was starting to get cool; That late summer temperature when you know that in
about a month or so the water will be too cold to swim in.
Just after 9:00am five guys in two canoes passed me by. We exchanged greetings with
one of the guys mentioning that they had a 5km portage ahead of them. When I asked
why, it was explained that coming up Carcajou creek was a disaster, the water being so
low that they had to get out and slog their way through deep mud in several places.
I mentioned that I'd be heading that way the next day and thought that with the
recent rains the water levels would be improved. The guys didn't sound too hopeful at
that thought and for a moment I felt discouraged as they paddled away. No matter, that
was tomorrow - I still had today, to live.
I went about and collected firewood from behind the campsite, exploring the
immediate area through the rocky forest. The weather continued to improve as the
clouds blew away in the strengthening north wind. The temperature rose to 18.5°C at
12:00pm, it was really sunny but the strong winds made me think twice about paddling
up the lake.
I would never forgive myself for passing up the opportunity to explore the West end of
Greenleaf Lake. I had come a long way to be at Greenleaf Lake and to let a thing like
wind stop me from exploring the best part of the lake seemed like a waste. I had heard
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a little bit about this lake and at the gorgeous vantage point at the West end of the
campsite, one could not help but be drawn to paddle its rocky, cliff laden shorelines.
So, by 1:30pm I finished my lunch of salmon with cheddar cheese and mayo (In a pita
wrap). I had made up my mind, loading the canoe with my day-pack, fishing gear and
water pump. Along with gorp and my camera, I paddled into the stiff wind and up the
lake.
I could see why it was windy on the lake; Greenleaf Lake is a long narrow lake with
high cliffs and rockfall ridges at its west end. The wind became funnelled down the
lake, creating a wind tunnel. I battled this wind tunnel paddling close to shore as I
worked my way up the lake. Progress was slow and I was pushed onto shore at least
three times. Occasionally, I'd find a small sheltered nook in the rock shoreline, where I
could rest momentarily out of the now gusty winds.
By 2:30pm, well over an hour after I had started out, I reached the head of the lake,
passing by very high cliffs I drifted around fallen timber into a creek that emptied into
Greenleaf Lake. Here the wind was non-existent and it was with a sigh of exhaustion
that I was able to relax and just drift and study my surroundings.
By 3:00pm I returned to the lake proper and paddled the rocky west shoreline,
marvelling at the water clarity as I could see fish perhaps 12 feet or more down in the
water. The fish were swimming amongst the huge quarried-like blocks of rock that
continued down below the water's surface. I cast my line into the water, catching
several perch in the process, all were put back.
I drifted over to where a gushing stream entered the lake. I knew by looking at my map
that the stream's source came from a lake ("Lost Lake") high above, very close to this
lake. It appeared that there was an elevation difference of about 40m over a short
distance. One word; "Photo-op!"
I bushwhacked over some tricky deadfall, that started to give way as I trod upon it.
After a few minutes of crawling over and under thick bush, I emerged onto a small
creek as it rushed past me. I found it easiest to walk up the middle of the creek that
was now rapidly turning into a cascading waterfall as Lost Lake tumbled its way down
to Greenleaf Lake.
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The area was coated with a layer of green moss and wet black rock. The further in I
went the more steep the elevation became, to the point where it was vertical, nothing
but waterfall after waterfall.
The scale of the waterfalls was small; Stream sized, not creek nor river sized. Still, it
made for some great photo-ops and the fresh damp air did me a world of good, not to
mention the auditory show the falls were producing. The small scale of the waterfalls
made it easy to climb as well till I eventually came to one waterfall that was the highest
yet. I paused; I so much wanted to scale the rock and climb atop the waterfall to see
what was on top (If indeed it was the top).
I looked down below me and considered the risk. No one was with me. I had left my
spot satellite tracking device on shore. It would be a most terrible rough and rocky
spot to have a fall. Reluctantly, I turned around and made my way back to the canoe,
taking a few additional photos along the way. Why risk injury? One cannot afford to
make stupid, risky decisions when soloing.
The stream and its waterfalls are worth the visit though and I was glad I did not sit on
my campsite and waste my day away. I spent nearly an hour at the waterfalls and by
4:00 pm made my way down the lake now following the opposite shore which was line
with tall towering rock.
By 5:00pm I was back at camp after a lazy paddle along the rocky shoreline. Of course
the wind had died down and I spent the afternoon admiring the water as the sun
danced and sparkled across its surface. I watched a few loons swim by and soaked in
the silence of the lake.
For dinner I rehydrated some pasta sauce and chicken mixing it in some cooked
pasta, sort-of a poor man's chicken linguini. Not bad tasting, I was getting better at this
backcountry cooking stuff. Mind you, my girlfriend had dehydrated much of my foods!
After dinner I saw a really weird cloud to the east of me. It looked like an inverted
thunderhead cloud. It drifted in what I considered to be the wrong direction, moving
to the Southwest, towards clouds that were already coming my way - In a northeasterly
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direction. I also heard thunder to the west of me and watched as clouds came down
the lake from that direction too.
Although I've only been on the East side of The Park a few times, I can't help but
think that there is something odd with the weather patterns on the East side. They
don't make sense; Weird cloud patterns, direction of cloud travel often contradicts
what I see around me. It's almost like the weather can't make-up its mind on what to
do or where to go, very strange and creepy.
The weird weather continued with blue-grey cloud thickening to the west of me
punctuated by the occasional glow of lightning and distant thunder. Despite the oddity
of the cloud patterns, the early evening weather was gorgeous, with the lake becoming
calm with a glass-like quality. By 8:45pm with the lack of breeze and increased
humidity, the skeeters came out in droves and I reluctantly climbed into my hammock.
Half an hour later it started to rain. More distant thunder but no more lightning. The
thunder never came close, remaining far way. The thunder ceased after about thirty
minutes but the rain continued long after I had finally fallen asleep.
August 23 - Day 12 - Carcajou Creek
I woke up in the middle of the night to go pee and walked through a thick fog. Even
with my headlamp on I couldn't see very far, so I finished my business quickly and
headed back to my hammock. Pity, I would've love to have stayed up but I didn't want
to risk tripping over something and breaking a leg.
I woke up at 7:00am after yet another night of unsatisfying sleep. I was getting tired of
all this blah weather. It was day 12 and so far I had had rain on seven of those 12 days.
I only really had three nice days. I wanted my summer back. I think the problem was
my attitude; I was spoiled by a 15 day trip the month before (In July) and the weather
had been fantastic, hardly any rain through-out the whole trip.
As I ate my breakfast of oatmeal and coffee (Finishing the last of my Bailey's), two grey
jays flew into the campsite. I had no gorp nearby to feed them with and as I got up to
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retrieve the gorp they flew away. Not hungry enough I suppose. Too bad, I like grey
jays, nice quiet friendly birds. Not like blue jays, squawky noisy birds they can be.
I broke camp by 8:30am, today was a travel day as I was to make my way down
Carcajou creek, camping on Upper Spectacle Lake. As I paddled down the lake to the
first portage e of the day, the last remnants of morning mist melted away. It was a still
morning but with clouds that threatened, you guessed it… More rain.
I landed at the take-out at 9:00am and started the "Three-point" portage. The portion
that went to the hydro line road (Intersecting another trail headed eastwards, 5km to
Grand Lake), then along the road up a hill and towards a point where the trail turns
off the hydro right-of-way and renters the forest, the last leg ending at Carcajou
Creek. I single-carried the entire length, taking a break as I reached the third segment
of the portage. The uphill climb up the road into the hydro field was a tiring one.
The segments measured 440m, 530m (GPS 585m) and 485m (GPS 535m) respectively,
for a total carry of 1,560m.
It should be noted that these GPS readings are not mine. I do not carry a GPS device (Besides
my "Spot" tracker). The GPS readings are contributions by several fellow canoeists providing
their data to Jeffrey McMurtrie who correlates the data, adding that data to his free algonquin
map, which I used on this trip.
There was some sun as I took my break to drink some water and take a few photos
along the hydro line. It looked though that it might rain (Weird east side weather
patterns again!) and so I hurried onwards into the forest, completing my carry-over
and launching onto the creek at 10:00am under a completely covered and grey sky.
I paddled through a large marsh which was very low in water, many times I struck
mounds of marshy earth, having to pole my way out of shallow mud and vegetation
clogged waters. I think if I had a partner, the extra weight would've had us touching
bottom, forcing us to drag the canoe. This was not the case with me being solo, but it
came awfully close. To say the creek was low was an understatement.
As I exited the marsh, the forest closed in as I passed through picturesque narrows as
I arrived at the first portage on the creek. The work had been tiring for so little gain; It
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had taken me thirty minutes to paddle the short stretch to the 285m portage. It was
10:30am.
Single-carrying the relatively easy but somewhat rocky trail I reached a fallen tree
which re-directed me away from the trail and the intervening rock and the drop in
elevation made it difficult to navigate around. Turning around was impossible so I had
to bushwhack a little and finally got back onto the trail at the put-in.
I launched onto Carcajou Lake under calm conditions. As I paddled down the lake, I
passed by numerous rock outcroppings, topped with jack and red pine. Very pretty.
As I continued down the lake, I noticed another canoe on the lake that was heading
my way. As we met-up with each other, I discovered the other canoe was two wardens
on their way to check-out the portage I had just carried over, they were camped on
Carcajou Lake, carrying out portage maintenance operations in the area. I have never
been more envious in my life… Can you say, "Dream job?"
I recognized the lead warden as he was a fellow I had met in The Park on previous
occasions. We talked for several minutes, also exchanging information about the
portage I had just traversed, namely the fallen tree that proved a bit tricky to get
around and the work the wardens had covered so far in the area.
From the description the wardens gave me I'd be facing some real challenges in about
two days time. As much of the route I wanted to paddle was dried up. It sounded…
Interesting. We chatted for a few minutes more before departing; The wardens heading
west up the lake and me, east.
Paddling on, I passed by three campsites along the North shore, one site in particular
looked ok, the other two I ignored. What really drew my attention was the fourth
campsite on the South shore. It was a work of art! Perched on a rock cliff face was a
tent, along with a fire-pit that could be seen as the campsite was set in among a
scattered stand of pine. The site was gorgeous (From the water)… Something that you
might see in a painting.
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I arrived at the 220m portage along the creek as I exited Carcajou Lake at 11:40am.
Nothing remarkable about the portage except that it was rough, being loaded with
rock.
After paddling a somewhat narrow, shallow and very rocky section of the creek, I
landed at the 85m portage (GPS 145m). The take-out was weedy, laced with mud and
rock located next to a beaver dam. One could carry-over the dam and continue on I
suppose, but there was a reason for the portage; The water after the dam was studded
with rock, impossible to paddle, at least in the low water. It was 12:10pm
The other end of the portage was a bit of a surprise. The map showed a small lake.
What I saw was a thin sliver of a waterway draining through a lake-bed. I think this
was the area those canoeists I met on Greenleaf were referring to as being a pain. I
launched from the shallow muddy put-in at 12:25pm, at the same time spying in the
distance my next portage. The question was how difficult would it be to get there?
As it turned out, staying exactly in the middle of the small shallow waterway made my
passage fairly easy. I was aided by the fact that the bottom was mud and grass, no
rock… Whew! There was two shallow spots where I did have to get out and push the
canoe but other then that the shallow waterway wasn't as bad as I had thought it
would be. I would also like to think my silent urgings of transforming myself into
being much lighter in weight helped too!
It was 12:38pm when I arrived at the next take-out. The rock lined creek next to a pine
forest struck me as being quite pretty. The portage was signed as 110m and was GPS'd
as being 55m. The rocky take-out was an ankle breaker, continuing right up to where
the trail started and entered some forest.
I took a short break, fuelling up with water and gorp, then launched onto the creek
again at 12:55pm. My course ahead did not look promising; A narrowing waterway
(Again), while the creek became clogged with aquatic plants. I paddled onwards,
keeping an eye out for rocks.
At 1:01pm I arrived (Or tried to) at the 80m (GPS 50m) portage. I was roughly 20 feet
from the shore proper when I encountered a mine-field of rocks in the creek. The
water was hip deep but the rocks were only ankle deep. So I had to find a nice rock to
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land next to, step out on it and hop-scotch my way on the rocks (In the water) to
shore. This was not made easy by the fact that the rocks were covered with ooze that
made the rocks somewhat slippery.
I fell into the water just as I stepped onto the last rock at the shoreline. I landed on my
back, my pack half submerged in the water. Picking myself up, I managed to get
onshore and dumped my pack. Turning around I headed back to the canoe and tried
to pick it up without success.
Next, I simply climbed into the water…sank down to my waist, picked up the canoe
and tossed it over my head, then slowly I made my way over to the shore, walking
around and on top of some of the rocks. The whole process took ten minutes. It really
was quite a messy take-out.
Emerging onto shore, my lower legs were coated with mud and ooze and amazingly no
leeches. I did the short trail double-carrying and launched onto the creek once again
at 1:16pm, the put-in being an easy grass and mud mixture. Again, the creek level was
quite low, but I was able to negotiate the creek without so much as striking a rock.
Eight minutes later I arrived at the 180m portage (GPS 215m) into Wenda Lake. The
take-out was yet another rock laden landing but with deeper water pooled behind a
beaver dam. That made getting out and stepping onto a rock nearby easy. There was
one fallen tree on the trail, a small one that when I stepped on it to get pass it (It was
waist high), it sprang back up and whacked me in the ass, shoving me forward.
The portage was grown in with lots of underbrush, as well as a few old cut logs lining
the trail, possibly from an old blowdown that when stepped on, were quite slick. The
canoe got hung-up in overhead bush as I tried to cross the intervening logs… This
caused me to slip and the back end of the canoe was forced into the ground with the
tip emitting a loud bang as it struck the ground. Aye aye-eee.. I hope Jeff would
understand!
I arrived and put-in to the marshy beginnings of Wenda Lake at 1:48pm. Inspecting
the canoe for damage, I found a minor scuff mark on the tip of the where the two
gunnels came together. No damage.. Whew!
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A few minutes of paddling and I emerged onto the weedy expanse of Wenda Lake.
Following the North shoreline I passed the first of two campsites. The first one did not
show much promise. I think I would've preferred to camp across the lake to where
there was a point populated with an open red pine stand sited on Canadian Shield
Rock. However, it was not an official campsite and it had a marshy look to it. Actually,
The whole lake had a marshy feeling to it and I got the impression the lake didn't see
much traffic; I couldn't have been more wrong!
There is a backcountry cabin for rent on Wenda Lake and as I approached the cabin, I
could see and hear several teenagers there. They were a party of about eight or nine of
them. The group had all their gear spread outside around the cabin and their canoes
stacked against one wall. No one entered the cabin though and I suspected they were
not staying at the cabin; They were going to camp next to it?
There is signage for both a portage and a campsite right next to the cabin. So it seems
that the cabin also has a campsite on it. Rather odd I thought. The cabin itself was
rather small looking and I asked if I could take a picture of it as I paddled by. The
group agreed, even offering to step out of the picture. I took my pictures and thanked
the group, paddling onwards. The sun came out as the weather improved, shining on
me as I made my way southeast.
Past the cabin towards the end of the lake is a large clearing and I wondered why it
had been cleared? I never did bother to get out and inspect the area to see if it had
been an old camp or not. I have since not been able to find anything (Researching
online) that refers to the area.
At 2:10pm I came to the end of the lake, where Carcajou Creek continued. There was
not one but two beaver dams in quick succession that had to be overcome. What was
unusual about the dams is that they had rocks stacked on top of the dam.
This was not the first time I had encountered rocks in beaver dams, yet the size and
weight of some of the rocks was enough to require considerable effort for a human to
pick-up and move but for a beaver? I was left scratching my head. Why on earth would
a beaver go to such effort to move heavy rocks onto a dam? Actually seeing a beaver do
this would be something I would like to witness. Maybe they were evolving, getting
smarter? Now all they needed was some mortar!
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Five minutes later I paddled up to the easy sandy and grass landing, I had reached the
take-out for the 380m portage to Little Carcajou Lake. The time was 2:20pm. It was
well past my lunchtime and I decided I needed to eat something before doing the
carry-over. I cleared the landing and moved my gear a few meters up the trail, placing
both my packs and canoe off to the side.
Here comes the "I feel like an idiot" part; No viable place to sit back and have a lunch,
I sat in the sun right in the middle of the trail with my day-pack as I broke out my
tuna in foil, cheddar cheese, mayo and wrapping it all into pita wraps. As I began
eating, a canoe emerged from the forest about 20 meters ahead of me. A young woman
hauling the canoe approached. I apologized, offering to move although everything was
spread out in my lap. The young woman told me not worry and continued on, I was
glad that I had at least cleared the landing.
I hadn't seen anyone all day on the portages and thought I wouldn't see anyone, so
when the young woman came out of the forest I was quite surprised. As I was into my
second and final tuna wrap, a mess of three more canoes came by with more people
hauling their sweaty packs and canoes by me, as I remained planted right in their
path. I was in shock. Suddenly, I was in the way of a multitude of people.
For such a short trail they were huffing a lot and I thought that perhaps I had a heck
of a walk ahead of me. It seems the whole group was going to camp on Wenda Lake, I
guessed to join the other group already there. I finished my lunch and gathered my
packs and canoe, putting my embarrassment aside and headed down the trail. I felt
like such a rookie… Eating my lunch in the middle of the trail…What was I thinking?
I double carried the trail as I was tired. I do not remember anything about the trail, so
that is a good sign, Thirty minutes later I put into Little Carcajou Lake via a muddy
put-in with the assistance of a nearby log. It was shallow to say the least. Little
Carcajou Lake had a unique character about it. Almost as if it was still in the mountain
building stage or something.
There's no mountains of course, just lots of rock everywhere. The lake had an
unfinished look to it. As if nature had given-up halfway through its project and moved
on to better things. This is not to say that Little Carcajou Lake is displeasing to the
eye, quite the country. It had a raw, wild look to it. Just an unfinished one if you will.
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By 3:00pm, I paddled by the lone campsite along the lake's northern shore. Unlike the
rest of the lake with its rocky shoreline, The campsite had a grassy shoreline and pine
needle-covered ground. The campsite with its fire-pit next to the water's edge was
over-shadowed by tall pines. The site was open to the lake and was a small one.
I did not get out to inspect the site, but from what I was able to see from the canoe,
the campsite looked like it might be suitable for only one tent. I would like to camp
here one day, exploring "Stone Chute" further down the lake.
By 3:20pm, I had arrived at the take-out to Upper Spectacle Lake. The trailhead is up
an incline, several meters up from the lakeshore. Once everything was carried up to
the portage proper, I had a commanding view of Little Carcajou Lake. The view wasn't
awesome or mind-blowing, it was just perfect: A nice quiet lake in the middle of
nowhere.
I began the trail single-carrying. The portage was rock and lots of it with lots of up and
downs and short rocky climbs and dips. Pretty soon the jarring aspect of the carry
forced me to slow my pace then eventually dropping my canoe and carrying on with
the packs. This had to have been one of the most rugged trails of the trip so far.
By 3:50pm, I heard voices and as I came upon a rocky drop-down, I saw people
standing at a put-in. I was momentarily confused for the portage length was 1,790m
(GPS 2,110m) and knew I was nowhere near completing the length of the trail.
Talking with the people, I learned they were a family, where a father was introducing
his boys to The Park. The man's father (The children's grandfather) was there also. The
grandfather having introduced his son many decades earlier to The Park. What
surprised me was their last names were 'Robitaille', exactly the same name and
spelling of Robitaille Lake that I had stayed on eleven nights earlier.
We both wondered if there was any relation to their name and the Lake name. I asked
about the landing I was at and was informed that I had arrived at a marsh that could
be paddled, thereby avoiding approximately 300m of carrying. Suited me fine. I was
also told that the 300m I was avoiding was particularly rocky and rough. So It was a
good thing the marsh was there!
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I doubled back to grab the canoe then headed back to the marsh, loading up and
paddling length of the waterway in short order. As I arrived at the take-out, the family
passed me by as they were heading back to their campsite. They were camped on
Upper spectacle. I was scheduled to camp on Upper spectacle as well and ended up
single-carrying a few minutes behind the family to the lake.
Seconds before I arrived at the put-in, I passed through a thin stand of red pine that
was mixed in with ferns. As I arrived at the lake, the opposite shore was nothing but
black spruce. I finally put-in to Upper Spectacle Lake at 5:05pm.
Paddling through very shallow and very stinky ooze that was stirred up with my
passing, I gagged at the stench. The smell was most unpleasant. Two minutes later, I
thankfully arrived at the lake proper, paddling down the lily pad infested lake under a
heavy overcast sky. It looked like it was going to rain. Pretty much the entire lake was a
giant lily pad pond.
I tried to find open water to filter some water. Eventually, I gave up and just filtered
water where I was. Minutes later I arrived at the second campsite on the lake - The first
one being occupied by the family.
Immediately I was struck by the contrast of the campsite and the opposing shoreline.
Here the campsite was a red pine forest mixed with ferns and low-lying bush. Most if
not all the red pines had scorch marks on their trunks. On each side of the fire-pit
were two red pine tree trunks cut to 5 foot lengths standing on tree roots. The tree
trunks stood there like sentries or torch stands if you will.
Across the lake the entire shoreline was a carpet of black spruce. I couldn't get over
the contrast in forests. I had never seen such an occurrence in my travels in Algonquin
Park. Obviously, some fire had razed the North shore of the lake but only about one
hundred meters from the shore. After this the forest grew thick and the scorch marks
on tree trunks no longer occurred. Almost as if the fire had suddenly stopped.
By 6:10pm I had camp set-up and set about making dinner. I rehydrated some chill
then heated it up on my stove. Yes, my stove was working again and worked quite well
actually. Imagine that! After dinner I strolled over to the neighbouring campsite as I
had been invited by for a drink. As I did this, the sun peeked out from behind the
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cloud cover as it began to set. The lake turned molten gold and silver, the sun
sparkling on the water… The name "Heaven" passed through my thoughts as I smiled
at the natural phenomena.
I stayed perhaps an hour, chatting a lot about the park with the two adults. One drink
and I felt pretty good so I decided to call it a night. I thanked my hosts for their
hospitality and made my way back to camp. Sometimes its nice to keep the drinks and
chat to a minimum. After all the family was there for the same thing I was: Some peace
and quiet.
Back at camp I prepared for rain but this time it never did rain and so I had a fairly
quiet and somewhat comfortable sleep, electing to skip a campfire and just head to
bed around 9pm. I had a long day ahead of me tomorrow.
August 24 - Day 13 - Something wicked this way comes...
I woke up at 6:15am and made my usual breakfast of coffee and oatmeal. I was
surprised to find the campsite thunder-box in poor condition with its lid removed and
part of the seat missing; Once the lid is gone the rest of the structure quickly starts to
rot. I found this unusual as the lake was on a regular maintenance route and thought
such infrastructure might receive better attention.
I think most of the attention was spent on keeping the portages clear though. For the
entire length of the trip so far, all the trails had been in excellent shape, speaking in
the matter of blowdown removal that is. Park staff had (And always have) done an
excellent job in maintaining the backcountry trails.
As I packed up and prepared to leave camp I found a knife without its sheath. I don't
often find things of value while in the backcountry, but a knife is among one of the
most useful tools one can have. So, I packed it away carefully and departed at 7:35am.
The morning was warm with partial overcast as I paddled silently down the lake and
arrived at the take-out for Lower Spectacle at 7:45am. The 155m trail is an easy one
with the put-in being muddy and grassy. Late summer low water levels made the
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launch more muddy then usual though and I launched onto Lower Spectacle Lake at
8:00am.
Lower Spectacle Lake seems roughly the same size as Upper Spectacle Lake and is
surrounded by pines, a much different appearance then its neighbouring lake. The sun
shone weakly through a partial overcast sky as I paddled quietly across the lake, noting
as I did that the North shore campsite was occupied by a group with at least three
canoes that I could see.
I enjoyed the silence of the morning and in less then fifteen minutes I passed
unnoticed into the narrows that lead to Carcajou Creek as I exited the lake. The
narrows were shallow and I slowed my pace to avoid spearing any rocks. A few
minutes pass and I emerged from the narrows. To my left was a portage that led back
to Grand Lake and to my right was my path to McDonald Creek.
Briefly, I realized that if I had needed to exit The Park early, I could go left and be back
at access#22 in less then two hours. Fortunately, I had no need or desire to leave early
and paddled right along Carcajou Creek heading for the portage to McDonald Creek.
I arrived just before 8:45am to a wet grassy take-out. The spongy terrain enabled me to
drag the canoe further up to firmer ground where I was able to prepare for my carryover. I noticed the portage signage was hanging by a thread and was ready to come off
at the next gust of wind. To the untrained eye, the portage might be missed by
someone in the future if the portage signage was removed by the elements.
I geared up and single-carried the portage. I don't remember much about it, except
that it was heavily forested and had some shallow climbing to it. I completed the carryover in short order and launched onto beautiful McDonald creek at 9:00am.
I paddled the narrow winding creek barely two minutes when I reached a beaver dam.
The dam was a welcome sight as the water levels on the creek had been low. Crossing
over the dam, I floated upon deeper waters as the creek began to open up.
A wind sprang up as I paddled further up McDonald Creek. I was really enjoying the
paddle though as the creek widened even further as the forest melted away, giving way
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to bog. There was the occasional rocks poking up through the creek and I wisely
stayed in the middle as best I could (The wind was pushing me around).
By 9:25am I came to wide area that was choked with aquatic vegetation. There also
seemed to be two directions to travel as it was impossible to tell which way the creek
flowed. The better looking option seemed to be for me to go right. At this point I have
to congratulate Jeffrey on his Algonquin Map. His map clearly showed the route I
needed to take to get through the maze of vegetation, which I might add was for me to
go left, through the mess of aquatic growth.
Following the map, I managed to work my way through to another body of water that
was open and free of vegetation. A loon swam by as I pondered where to go next.
There didn't appear to be any visible route or creek flowing into the body of water I
was trying to escape. By 9:40am I noticed an area of dense pickerel plant growth and
reeds. I paddled into the garden and spied a small beaver dam beyond.
I eagerly paddled through the thick plant growth, forcing my way up to and over the
small dam. Five more minutes and I was back on the creek again and it was really
starting to get good; High banks of reeds and alders closed in. The creek came closer
to the forest edge as it began to twist away from the bog.
At one point I passed by a sandy shallow bank on my left. I resisted the urge to land; It
had the makings of a portage but given the lay of the land and going by the map, I
knew it wasn't the right orientation for the portage to be located; It was the wrong hill
it would be going over.
Minutes more and I saw a bay on my right and a tall pine on my left. Looking at my
map I figured this was where the portage was supposed to be. It looked like the creek
continued on ahead of me, veering to the left, but I was supposed to go right. Looking
over my right shoulder I noticed a portage sign in the distance about 20m away, nailed
to a small tree.
Getting out I surveyed the trail and discovered that there is about a 50m walk through
marshy terrain. This walk was more like hop-scotch, as I hopped from one
perpendicularly laid log to the next, as a makeshift boardwalk of sorts was laid-out
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enabling one to cross the marshy beginnings of the trail, till the portage reached
firmer ground.
Even though the water level was low, I got my feet wet walking through the shoulderhigh grasses, carrying over my packs first. Soon, I reached the end of the marsh where
the trail entered the forest. Another 10m of mucky trail and I was on firm ground
ascending steadily up a hill, the time was 10:25am.
The trail was overgrown, obviously having been used rarely. I enjoyed this sort of trail
for I felt truly alone as I hiked my way up the portage. For the most part I could not
see the path, so I just followed my feet. The trail itself is a never-ending steady climb
up a long hill. There was some rock-hopping required to get by some really muddy
spots at some steep sections, but over-all the trail was in good shape with almost no
blowdowns to contend with.
The trail had many different species of fungi present and I tried to photograph them
but the mosquito situation along the trail was brutal, as well the shakiness of my hand
with carrying the packs made it impossible to get a good picture.
About thirty minutes into my carry I dropped my packs and headed back down to
retrieve the canoe. The return carry with the canoe was uneventful, except for the
clouds of mosquitos that congregated up there under the canoe with me. It made for a
hellish carry.
By the time I arrived back at the packs, I was in misery, covered with sweat, multiple
itchy bites and fresh cuts. I broke down and pulled out some bug juice and sprayed
myself silly. Once I was covered with the bug goo, I sat back to take a break, fuelling up
on water and a few fruit bars, my fresh cuts screaming in irritation at being covered
with the bug juice.
I paused in my break to look at my surroundings; Much of the forest was deciduous
and had been for much of my travel up the trail. Though the portage itself was clogged
with undergrowth, some of it was blackberry and raspberry bush, the latter of which
did a wonderful job of shredding my exposed ankles, thus the fresh cuts I mentioned
earlier.
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On several occasions I spotted some moose scat along the trail but never did see any
moose. I hadn't seen moose since Roundbush Lake and doubted I would see anymore
for the rest of the trip as moose weren't as common on the East side of The Park as
they were on the West side.
I picked everything up and continued on, single-carrying. This didn't go on for long as
the continuing climb and the ferocity of the bugs taxed my strength. I dropped the
canoe after barely one hundred meters as I began to skirt what seemed like a ridge as
the trail moved through the edge of a softwood stand, the terrain to my left sloping
away from me.
By 11:50am I had reached an area where the trail descended towards and skirted a
beaver meadow. In the distance could be seen a creek. Not on any canoe route, the
curious side of me wanted to explore that waterway, hoping to go where no one had
gone before! I still had a long way to go for my destination that night was Clover Lake,
I had no time for side-trips. Roughly five minutes later I crossed an old logging road,
followed it for about 20 meters, then made a quick, short descent to the Turcotte Lake
put-in.
I immediately dropped my packs and headed back for the canoe. The return journey
was uneventful and I launched onto Turcotte Lake at 12:45pm. The lake wasn't much
too look at under the dark cloudy sky. Almost the entire lake was covered with water
lilies and I had the distinct impression it was a shallow lake, more like a pond. The
wind that had sprung up earlier on McDonaload creek was gusty and had increased in
strength by the time I crossed Turcotte Lake. I was quite happy to complete my
crossing to get out of the wind.
By 1:00pm I reached the 130m portage into Guthrie Lake. I decided to go easy on
myself and double carry the short trail. By 1:15pm I launched from the grass and rocky
put-in on Guthrie Lake. From the vantage point of the put-in, I was protected from the
wind but I could see waves being pushed into the bay that I was now paddling out of.
The wind was quite strong as I paddled onto the main part of Guthrie Lake under a
forbidding looking sky.
By 1:30pm I had fought my way to a large rock that sat about 50 meters from shore. As
I rounded the rock, I noticed that the water was very clear and shallow, loaded with
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large round rocks. I headed for the shoreline behind the big rock, making my way to a
cabin located there, hoping for a chance to explore the cabin and the immediate area.
I looked for a suitable location to land amid the rocky shoreline and found a fallen
pine in which to 'dock' with, some distance away from the cabin. The choppy waters
made my landing tricky and with some work I was able to secure the canoe to the tree
and waded my way onto the rocks and then onto shore.
I followed a small path to the cabin where I found a large white pine lying next to it.
The crown of the tree having caught the roof as it came down, damaging it severely.
Inside the cabin I found holes on both sides of the roof, where immediately below
those holes I found the floorboards rotting. The cabin was empty for the most part
with most of the furnishings being scattered outside about the cabin's walls.
The cabin stank of mouse urine and something else unidentifiable. The cabin creaked
as I stood inside it, listening to the wind outside. I had the feeling that I shouldn't be
there, that there was a sense of urgency - That I should get moving. I left the cabin and
walked west looking for a campsite on the lake. I saw an island which looked to have a
campsite, but I could not see any official campsite signage from my vantage point.
The sky darkened further and I obeyed my instincts and returned to the canoe. Two
more portages and I'd be on Clover Lake. I got in the canoe and paddled hard against
the wind. I had little time to take anything but blurred images of the lake. There was a
nice medium sized cliff face along the lake's eastern shoreline but my efforts to
photograph it failed in the rough waters. Guthrie Lake had a very pretty appeal to it
despite the deteriorating weather conditions. I could see why a cabin had been built
on this lake; It was the prefect sized lake, had a nice shape about it and was out of the
way of other canoe routes.
By 2:15pm I had landed at the steep rocky take-out to the 120m portage to some
unnamed pond. There was quite a climb up and over to the other end of the trail and
so I decided it was time to eat my lunch of tuna and cheese. I also filtered some water
from shore; It had been too tricky in the windy conditions to filter the water effectively
out on the lake.
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By 2:40pm I launched on to the pond and on any other day I would've been happy to
paddle around and explore her. However, I just wanted to get it over with. I had the
feeling that it was going to start raining any minute and I wanted to get my hammock
up before the rain hit. I took a few pictures of the pond which I thought was quite
pretty and finished the crossing, landing at the grassy take-out for the 660m portage
into Clover Lake, it was just past 2:50pm.
Feeling a sense of urgency more then ever, I single-carried the semi-rough trail. The
beginnings of the trail had a few immediate dips and climbs but after that the trail
smoothed out somewhat. I completed the carry-over and was ready to launch on to
Clover Lake at 3:15pm while I paused to look at the worsening conditions I faced.
It wasn't weather I was encountering; It was a storm! The bay that I was in, that I was
to launch from had wind and waves being funnelled into it. I wondered what it was
like on the main part of the lake? I held back for several minutes thinking of what to
do. Should I launch or camp at the portage?
I decided I would launch and see what happened. If it got too bad I could turn around
and come back. Clover Lake is a good sized lake and I hadn't been on a lake this size
since I had crossed Barron Lake several days earlier. Clover Lake was also quite round
in shape; There'd be no hiding from the elements while out on its waters.
I launched at 3:20pm and was immediately pushed backwards. After a few seconds I
collected myself and was able to maintain the canoe. But that was it, I was paddling
and going nowhere. The shoreline bobbed up and down uncertainly next to me as I
pondered my next move when suddenly there was a lull in the wind.
I paddled hard and was beginning to make headway as I slowly made my way out of
the marshy bay. The pace was agonizingly slow but within about five long minutes I
emerged onto Clover Lake proper and boy was she angry! The lake was awash in
whitecaps and huge rolling waves. I'd estimate the waves were over two feet in height.
The dark grey sky was mirrored by dark grey waters and I had the most unpleasant
feeling in my stomach.
The wind had lessened somewhat and all I really had to contend with was the huge
waves. I paddled out paralleling the shore but from a distance of about 20-25 metres as
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the shoreline was quite rough and dangerous looking. The shoreline was studded with
rocks galore and as well the water clarity of the lake was astonishing. I could clearly
see that I was in shallow waters and with the lull in-between the huge rolling waves I'd
come unnervingly close to some of those huge rocks on the lake bottom.
Those rocks posed more of a danger then the waves did in my mind, so I moved even
further out till the rocks dropped away but I was getting too far out for my liking. It
was a fine balance of terror and reason. I rounded a point and miraculously the wind
died, enabling me to paddle forward closing in once again on the shore and keeping
an eye out for rocks.
My uneasiness was mainly because of the canoe. I wasn't that familiar with it in rough
weather (The Cisco Bay crossing was the roughest so far and that was timid by
comparison) and once I was out in the open water I was amazed at how well the canoe
handled through the waves. My own personal beastie of a canoe was a lumbering
freighter and it was slow to turn with little freeboard. Jeff's canoe was a dream and I
bobbed through the water with growing confidence. In a way that I've rarely felt in
very rough waters, a momentary feeing of being wild and free overtook me - I felt a
moment of exhilaration. What a rush it was!
I had decided to head for the nearest campsite which was on my side of the lake, no
messing around; Only a fool would paddle across the lake. By 3:45pm I heaved a really
big sigh of relief as I paddled by the lovely rock shoreline of the campsite that would
be my home for the night.
By 3:50pm I had made a rough landing - Getting soaked in the process and pulling the
canoe up on the smooth rock, eventually carrying it inland and over-turning it and
tying it off to a tree. Next, I set-up my hammock behind the fire-pit between two pine
trees.
The campsite was beautiful, sitting atop an outcropping of rock with a commanding
view of the lake. Most unusual about the campsite was the presence of several oak
trees, a welcome but rare sight. The fire-pit was gorgeous having an excellent bench
system and well constructed rock fire-pit that faced the lake. I set-up my hammock
and collected some firewood as it began to rain ever so lightly, nice timing! By 5:10pm
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I decided to re-hydrate some chilli for dinner and that's when all hell broke loose; A
chipmunk arrived on the scene and he was one tenacious little fella!
While heating the chilli on the stove, the chipmunk attacked my kitchen kit, extracting
a plastic spice bottle and running off with it. When I finally located the little guy and
the bottle I had found that he had chewed right through the bottle and was feeding on
the spices within. I surrendered - The chipmunk had won that round, he was now
welcome to the spice.
I spied a hole in the ground next to one of the pines my hammock was attached to.
While looking for the chipmunk (He had disappeared), I saw the little fella emerge
from the hole and crawl into my open canoe pack. I immediately ran over and grabbed
the canoe pack while the little rodent leapt for freedom, landing on the ground and
making a break for his hole. I found a rock and stuffed it in the hole effectively
blocking the entrance to the little chipmunk's den.
Minutes later I found the little devil next to my food bag that was sitting on the bench.
The guy was starting to become a problem. It got to the point where I dumped
everything that I was not using into my canoe pack and shouldered it, carrying my
pack around camp. Here I was, guy the size of… Outsmarted by a tiny chipmunk.
I think the chipmunk was starving for the next thing I knew I found him attacking my
fuel bottle. Of course he'd never get that unscrewed or bite through the metal.
However, the chipmunk was quite adept at dragging my fuel bottle around and I had
to confiscate it from him before it disappeared into the bush.
By 6:30pm I had a nice fire going and soon it started to drizzle rain. Not enough to
scare me into my hammock but enough to make everything outside wet. It was around
7:00pm that the wind died completely and the lake became calm for the most part. It
seems I had arrived at the lake at exactly the wrong time for when I made camp the
wind had become noticeably weaker.
By 7:30pm the humidity levels had soared and the mosquitos had come out early and
they were really bad. There wasn't even a drop of wind. Calm before the storm, I
speculated? By 8:00pm I could hear thunder in the distance, to the northwest of me,
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which meant it was probably coming my way. Bright flashes of lightning lit up the sky
behind camp. I climbed into my hammock awaiting the onslaught of the storm.
Ever since I had started my ascent up McDonald Creek earlier in the day, I had been
ascending all day long. Now on Clover Lake I felt like I was on top of the world for the
continuing sounds of thunder and the echoes of it down in the valley below me
magnified its powerful voice. It sounded to me like a war was coming my way. It was
quite incredible. However, that was only the beginning.
The storm never hit. It just seemed to stay down in the valley below, passing me by.
About thirty minutes later came another storm, this time from the Southwest. I could
see brilliant lightning and decided to step out of the hammock for a better look. I was
amazed to see brilliant steaks of forked lightning light up the southern sky at an
almost continuous rate. It was a very active thunderstorm.
I crawled back into the hammock. By 9:00pm I could hear another storm again to the
northwest of me. It sounded much louder then the first one, but again the storm
seemed to pass me by… Insane lightning lit up the Northeast sky. Storm #4 came from
the Southwest again and it too passed me by. The lightning show that it was putting on
was phenomenal!
By 10:00pm storm #5 struck and there was no mistaking where it was going, right over
Clover Lake. For the next three hours I endured heavy rains and severe winds as
lightning crackled around me. I practically jumped out of the hammock (Got hung up
in the process) as one bolt of lightning struck very near to me. The storm's intensity
was unbelievable - I wished I was that chipmunk, safely tucked away in his burrow.
Around 11pm, the heavy rains penetrated the hammock as water began to trickle in by
my toes. It was hell outside and I decided to tough it out by putting a towel in the
corner of my hammock to plug the leak. By 1:00am the storm passed and I crawled out
the hammock and watched as storm #6 travelled up from the southwest again, blowing
by the lake. In the East looking towards the vicinity of Ottawa, the sky was busy like
fireworks, as lightning lit up the sky and distant thunder rolled around from many
directions. It had been quite the wicked night of storms, one that I will surely not
forget. It is right up there on my list of top 5 storms I've experienced not just in the
Park, but in my whole life.
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August 25 - Day 14 - Slogging through the solitude!
I woke up and stepped outside, it was 7:10am. I was quite tired from lack of sleep and
was slow to move around. The sky also had the same sleepy if not tortured look about
it, as if it too were tired and beaten-up to move on.
I set about the task of making my usual breakfast of oatmeal barf and coffee goo, I was
starting to get sick of eating the oatmeal everyday now. I wanted bread, fresh fruit…
Eggs! Yeah that was it, I craved eggs with some nice juicy, super greasy bacon in a fry
pan. Sigh. I turned my back for a few moments, eating my pathetic breakfast when I
heard some scurrying behind me. Turning around I found the resident thief making
another attempt at my fuel bottle.
I finished my breakfast and set about the task of packing up as Mr. Thief was at it
again, inspecting every item that was left out in the open. It really was becoming
bothersome, like having to chase after a kid high on a sugar rush.
It was just after 8:00am that the sun peeked though the cloud cover. To the Northeast
big patches of blue sky appeared, my mood improved and I became more energetic. It
was by 9:00am that the sky cleared up. I was all packed up but was not ready to leave. I
didn't want to leave, I wanted to stay and paddle around the lake, explore her nooks
and crannies. There was a long island about 200m or so from the campsite and another
island beside the campsite where I had landed, giving the lake a beautiful look that
morning.
The water clarity looked inviting and indeed the drop-off from the rocks along the
campsite's shoreline begged for a swim. I found the rock slippery under the water as it
was covered with a dusty algae growth, that when disturbed created a cloud that made
the water murky.
I headed to the landing where the water was shallow and had a bath there, with my
canoe pack and all the rest of my gear beside me. Guess who was watching me nearby
when I emerged from the water? I finally departed the campsite at 10:00am. I felt
refreshed and although I had gotten a late start on the day, I felt energized and ready
to move on.
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I got to say though that as beautiful as the lake and the campsite were on Clover Lake,
that chipmunk was a real problem. What was really nice was the oak trees that were on
the campsite. There was only about five or six of them, but they seemed out of place so
far on the East side of The Park. One tree in particular was merely a tree trunk with a
few leaves sprouting at the top. I had never seen so much oak on a campsite.
I paddled across the lake letting out my fishing line as I passed by the long island.
Ahead in the brightening sky I could make out the distant yellow sign of the portage
leading off the lake. My line caught on something and I quickly began to reel in and
then whatever was there suddenly disappeared. It could've been a log or a fish.
Could've been many things - I'll never know.
I paddled onwards nearing the opposite shore, reeling my line in, I passed by a
campsite that was near to the portage. The water there was sandy and shallow and the
campsite looked rather pleasant. It even had a kitchen table constructed. I paddled on
and landed at the sandy shallows of the take-out for the Pogonia Lake portage, it was
10:20am.
The 440m carry-over to Pogonia Lake was a semi-rough one, but I was able to easily
navigate its trail in a single carry. The heavily forested section at the beginning of the
trail smelled wonderful that morning, the night of heavy rains bringing forth the
fragrant smells of pine and cedar among a host of other earthly scents. It was 10:37am
by the time I put-in to a sunny and marshy looking Pogonia Lake. Navigating through
the marshy beginnings, I emerged onto open water and paddled east, passing a lone
loon along the way. Minutes later I reached a beaver dam, looking over its construction
and even stepping out on it for a quick tour.
By 10:55am I arrived at the East end of the lake at the take-out for the portage into
Grass Pink Lake. I geared up for the single carry and headed into the forest. The trail
was overgrown but easy to follow till I went around a fallen yellow birch tree. The trail
seemed to disappear and soon the canoe got hung up in tree branches above me. The
canoe whined in protest at my attempts to carry further into the forest and I paused,
considering my options. Finally, reluctantly, I put the canoe down and had a look
around.
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Looking back at the fallen tree, I spied a mini-portage sign (Those tiny yellow
diamond shaped signs) nailed to it. The sign was indicating the trail direction that I
had just traversed. So I looked in the opposite direction to see a muddy uncertain
looking trail next to a muddy stream as it twisted its way through a dark forest.
With the uncertainty of the new trail, I left the canoe behind and proceeded with just
my packs, scouting the portage. It wan't long before I exited the forest, coming upon a
beaver meadow and a portage sign. Again the sign faced the other way, indicating the
trail ahead (behind me), the way I had just come. So where was my sign? Where on
earth was I supposed to go?
I pulled off my canoe pack to get a closer look at my map. I seemed to be right where I
thought I was; The map showed a small lake with a portage going around it. Only there
was no lake and no portage around it! I looked at the meadow, following with my eyes
what seemed to be an animal trail of sorts heading across the vast open field. In the
distance perhaps 400m or more in the shadows of the forest ahead, I could make out
the tiny yellow marker of a portage sign. Then I remembered the conversation I had
with the wardens a few days prior. So this was the interesting trail I was to encounter?
I wondered what it would be like trying to cross the meadow in the spring? Would
there be enough water to paddle or would one find themselves shin deep in mucky
water? I tossed my pack onto my back and walked into the meadow, it was 11:20am. As
expected my feet got wet as the meadow was not dry at all. My footing though was
quite good, as I only sank a few inches with each step.
Occasionally, my path would find firm land as the trail skirted the 'shoreline'. At one
point I bushwhacked though a pine sapling stand then re-emerged onto the meadow.
Minutes pass, then I lost track of the trail I had been following and improvised,
making my own trail across the field. I was about halfway across when I stumbled
upon a new trail that took a sharp right turn towards the southern side of the
meadow. I blindly turned and followed this new course when about 12 steps in I
suddenly sank up to my thighs in muck.
I tried to climb out but I was stuck fast. I had a vision of someone coming through the
meadow the following spring and finding my bones along with a shredded backpack.
It was almost laughable, but I was in trouble and yet I could see know no way out of
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my predicament. I wondered what Les Stroud (The outdoor survivalist) would do? I
knew right off the bat what Les would do; He wouldn't panic and so I relaxed, I had
time to think this through, after all I wasn't sinking, I was just stuck. Suddenly, I had
the urge to pee and cursed my predicament. First things first; I had to get my canoe
pack off my back.
I did that, tossing the pack beside me when I got the bright idea to use the pack as a
leverage to haul myself out. It worked! Slowly, I pulled my legs out of the muck and
with a great sucking sound my legs came free and I rolled myself onto firmer ground,
dragging my pack away from the trap! Woohooo! I was free!
It was then that I noticed my wristwatch was gone, no way I was going back to look for
it! I also happened to notice I had three leeches on one leg and another big fat one on
my foot on the other leg, it was lodged in my sandal. I ripped the ones on my leg off,
but the one on my foot refused to come off and started to bleed heavily. I gave-up,
deciding to continue on and dealing with the pesky leech later on.
I continued along the meadow making a beeline for the portage sign. My progress
becoming more sloppy for as I closed-in on the forest at that east end of the meadow
the more water I encountered. With about 30m to go I found a trail that had some old
logs thrown down for a foothold above the now ankel deep water, finally getting past
this I arrived on firmer ground next to the portage sign at 11:36am. It had taken me
just over fifteen minutes to cross the meadow, no speed record but I had made it safely
across... Barely!
I considered dropping the pack and heading back for the canoe but decided against
it, I had to make sure the rest of the portage didn't have any nasty surprises. I carried
on through the forest as the trail progressed over hilly rocky terrain, passing a small
stream which eventually led to Grass Pink Lake. Minutes later I arrived at the put-in,
the time was 11:46am.
I took a break finishing the last of my water and headed back down the trail and to the
meadow to get back to the canoe. It was hot now crossing the meadow as the sun beat
down upon me. I took almost an hour for me to head back and do the return carry for
it was a real hassle for me to turn the canoe around in the forest and hauling it across
the meadow. At one point I lost my way following my own trail! So, making a new trail
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I nearly walked into another mud-hole, but recognized the possible trap ahead and
backtracked.
Finally, by 12:50pm I launched onto a body of water that led to Grass Pink Lake
proper. A two minute paddle brought me to a small but high beaver dam which I
crossed and put me into the marshy waters of Grass Pink Lake. Working my way
through a thick dense layer of lily pads I noticed a trio of otters on the edge of the lilypad patch that were slowly paralleling my course. They obviously were curious about
me but kept their distance.
I emerged onto clear waters paddling to the far shore where a lovely pine clad rocky
outcropping was located. Supposedly, a campsite had once been on this lake and it
was there that seemed to be an ideal spot to have a campsite. I turned around heading
towards the North end of the lake where the water again became chocked with aquatic
vegetation., I paused to filter some water before I hit the floating carpet.
It was just past 1:00pm when I entered the mess and spent the next sixteen minutes
slogging my way through it. It was hot, sweaty, slow work. By 1:15pm I reached a
beaver dam with the portage signage on the opposite shoreline. The sign incorrectly
indicated that the portage was 10m. In fact it was more like 35m as I had to cross the
dam, work my way uphill slightly then down onto some dangerously slippery rocks
and into a crreek bed, working my way over to a flat rock to put-in to what I
considered unnavigable water.
I launched at 1:22pm and in the space of about 25 meters bottomed out. I grew tired
of trying to pole my way though what was becoming muck as the water levels became
unsustainable for a canoe. I then tried lining the canoe from shore, but I kept sinking
into the surrounding soft soil. I was getting fed-up with the situation when I realized
that it was nearly 1:45pm and I hadn't eaten lunch. No wonder I was getting grumpy.
I emptied the canoe and then pulled the canoe up on 'shore'. I sat down on a big rock
and ate two salmon and cheese pita wraps, along with a trail mix bar and a few
pepperette sticks. As I ate my lunch I looked around, surveying my predicament.
Basically I was sitting on the shoreline of a nearly dried up pond. Whether it was from
a burst beaver dam or it being typical summer evaporation, I did not know. What I did
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know as I began to scout my way around the shoreline was that I had to portage to get to
the portage!
This statement seemed silly but that's what it was; I had to walk around about 250m or
so to a beaver dam that I had to cross, to get to a tree that had a portage sign
indicating the trail was ahead somewhere. The intervening terrain after the dam was
very rough and then I hit the raspberry bushes. My partially healed ankles winced in
agony as fresh cuts were etched into my flesh. They felt like razor blades. Ouch!
After several minutes of bushwhacking I emerged from the bushes into the forest and
onto a worn single-track trail. I had found the portage! I back-tracked and grabbed the
back-pack, heading back to the portage proper. As I was nearing the dam, I saw several
vultures circling overhead, I counted seven of them as they began to circle directly
over me. It was hot out, I was sweaty and nearly out of water again. I'm sure I didn't
smell great but resented the fact that the vultures were already considering me a meal.
I pressed on trying to ignore the signs of doom above me.
Once again it was into the ankle crippling raspberry bushes then once more into the
forest. The trail became smooth and was a joy to traverse; It was nice to get out of the
hot sun. Minutes later the trail left the forest, skirting the edge of a marsh as it went
through more raspberry bushes and hard packed earth.
At 2:25pm I reached Little Tarn Lake. The sign there said 400m to "Pond". In reality it
was more like 750m, maybe even 800m to Grass Pink Lake? I would've been better off
carrying everything across from the "10m" portage all the way to Little Tarn Lake,
instead of mucking about in the dried up pond. You just have to improvise as I did.
I returned for the canoe and headed back to the lake. I launched onto Little Tarn Lake
at 3:00pm, out of water and very thirsty. I paddled out onto the open waters of the lake
where I promptly filtered several litres of water. As I filtered the water a loon swam
nearby and approached the canoe as it began calling. The loon was about three canoe
lengths way, calling almost continually with a tremolo call. I finished filtering the water
and moved onwards heading for the lone campsite on the lake, my destination for the
night.
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The loon moved ahead of me and continued to call. Obviously, the loon was upset with
my presence on its lake and was letting me know it. This continued till I paddled by
the campsite where I stopped to examine it from the canoe. It had been breezy on the
lake and as I looked at the campsite a strong wind was blowing through the campsite.
The site itself was open and on a hill. I wasn't too sure if I wanted to camp there or
not. The lake itself was pretty with a nice hill to my right with some cliffs on it and lots
of Canadian Shield rock on the opposite shoreline.
I knew that I had a rather lengthy 4.3km portage the next day and thinking this
through, thought it might be better to be camped on Tarn Lake where the trail started
so that I might be able to carry the canoe over this afternoon, thus saving me some
hassle the next day. My decision made, I paddled past the campsite heading for the
narrows that led to the next lake. As I approached the narrows, the loon came back now more vocal then ever. I hope I wasn't disturbing a nest somewhere, I thought to
myself. However, I didn't see any of this and I arrived at the grassy narrows just before
3:30pm.
The narrows were actually quite wide, but this didn't help matters as the amount of
clear navigable water quickly dwindled as the waterway became choked with aquatic
plants. My progress was slowed by the considerable effort required to pull myself
through. Think of paddling through molasses! Wisely, the loon did not follow me.
Soon the narrows became 'narrow' as the banks closed in on me. The thick carpet of
plant matter making it more and more difficult to paddle; My arms were getting sore.
At one point I hit a small log-jam that took me several minutes to get across as the
whole situation was a tippy affair, stepping out onto sinking, rolling logs. I eventually
made it past the obstruction, noting as I did some nice small cliffs on a ridge to my
right.
The whole area; ever since Guthrie Lake had been getting more and more rocky. Now I
was seeing more and more cliffs. Nice. The sky had grown overcast and I said good-bye
to the sun for another day. It didn't feel like it was going to rain, I just knew the clouds
were there to stay. As I crossed a beaver dam at the narrowest of part for the waterway,
I heard four rifle shots to my left, probably a few kilometres away.
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Odd, I figured someone was poaching; Illegally hunting in The Park. I hear it is quite
prevalent in Algonquin Park and am sorry indeed if that is the case. I paddled on and
soon Tarn Lake came into view, it was 4:02pm. There was a very high hill with some tall
cliffs showing on Tarn Lake. As I was admiring the view I paddled onwards, never
taking my eye of the imposing ridge. I was suddenly startled out of my hypnotic state
when I struck a beaver dam.
Crossing the dam made things worse, for the water level was even lower (I was going
down stream) and now I had to contend with forcing the canoe through mud flats. I
came around a bend and stopped. There ahead of me beyond about 80m of mud and
aquatic plants was Tarn Lake proper, fresh open easy paddling waters. It was so close,
yet so far. There was no visible trail through the mess ahead of me so I had to make my
own.
For the next twenty minutes, I huffed and puffed as I would grab the canoe gunnels in
front of me past the yoke, stretching my body and then pull my body forward, this had
the effect of pulling the canoe through the mud. It was very similar to being on one of
those rowing machines.
This process of using my body as leverage to get the canoe through the mud worked,
but my progress was slow, the process very tiring. It was during these pauses to catch
my breath that I noticed a cow moose on the opposite shore to the right of the cliffs.
The moose was feeding by the shoreline and seemed disturbed by my presence for it
moved up from the shoreline the closer I got to the lake proper. By 4:23pm I had
broken free and entered clear waters and noticing as I did so the moose move off into
the forest.
I paddled towards the lone campsite on the lake, passing by the immense cliffs above
me. As I did this a red-tailed hawk (Thanks to fellow paddlers on the forum for
identifying the bird of prey) would frequently dive from the top of the cliffs
screaming, heading for a flock of ravens. The red-tailed hawk never made contact with
the ravens, but it seemed very upset with them and almost continuously launched
attacks at the ravens, harassing them endlessly. Not being knowledgeable about birds, I
did not understand the behaviour but watched entranced nevertheless.
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By 4:45pm I arrived at the lone campsite on the lake and liked what I saw. The site had
a very wild quality to it as it was hidden among a stand of trees with a stream gushing
down from the ridge above next to the campsite. That kind of rushing water sound
would be perfect, the kind of sound that lulls one to sleep, drowning out all other
sounds like twigs snapping in the forest at night.
There was no direct way to walk to the portage from the campsite; It was too far away
over marshy ground and so I abandoned the campsite and paddled over to the
portage. I was surprised to see an exposed bank as I landed at the portage take-out. I
paddled through a mess of pickerel plants landing in muck; dry lake bottom. The lake
appeared to be nearly four feet below the bank of the shoreline, the water was that
low. Interestingly, I discovered the remnants of runners from an ice-sled stuck into the
now high and dry exposed bank. Something that probably would only be seen during
low water levels. As I unloaded the canoe I heard four more rifle shots coming from
the same direction, now on my right as I faced westwards across Tarn Lake.
I moved onto the portage and found a few trees inland just a few meters from shore
about 10m off the portage. I immediately hung up my hammock and re-hydrated some
chilli. While waiting for the chilli to rehydrate I looked out onto the lake again and was
astonished to see a canoe coming onto the lake! I had thought I would see no one, for
I had been going through some really quiet parts of The Park. I watched as the canoe
approached the moose (Which was now back onshore feeding) the occupants hoping
to have a close encounter.
After this the canoe moved to the campsite and I could see that it was two guys as they
unloaded, setting up camp for the night. I usually don't go off my itinerary but when I
have, It would be on a lake with many campsites and during a time when there is
minimal traffic and usually deeper in The Park. Part of the reason why I didn't camp
on that site on Tarn Lake was because it was the only one on the lake. One never knew
if someone might come along and claim it, I just didn't expect it to happen there!
I never purposely paddle to someone's campsite to converse with people, as I respect
people's privacy in the outdoors, but this time I did. I was very curious to know my
fellow paddler's experience through the afternoon portages. I just had to know! I
paddled over and hailed the two guys. I stayed in my canoe, announcing that I was
surprised to see the two on the lake coming from where they did. I then related my
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experiences that day and explained that I was curious to what they thought of the
route they had just paddled through?
The guys told me that they had camped on Guthrie Lake the night before (While I was
on Clover Lake) and that they had the mother of all thunderstorms for many hours
pass over them. I nodded in understanding. I asked about the meadow. That was a
surprise! They also mentioned that they did see what looked like a fresh trail through
the grasses and had no problem getting across it, although the route was unusual.
How about after Grass Pink Lake? "Oh yeah, we had to portage to the portage!" Yup!
They also mentioned the mud flats. One of the guys had jumped into the muck on
Tarn Lake and was up to his shoulders, pulling their canoe through. That would never
have worked solo and I am glad I did what I did. I thanked the guys for quenching my
curiosity.
I mentioned to them that I was camped on the portage and was going to carry my
canoe over tonight and head up in the morning with my pack. They had no idea of the
climb that they had ahead of them and I told him about it, a look of concern crossed
both their faces. That aluminium canoe they had looked heavy! I bid the guys farewell
and headed back to 'camp' then ate my chilli and prepared for the carry over.
At 6:50pm, I set off 'up' the trail - the 4,305m mountain portage to St. Andrews Lake.
My goal was to carry-over the canoe, thus making my portage crossing the next
morning and easy affair. I knew it was going to get dark soon so I had no ambitions
about making it all the way to St. Andrews Lake. My plan was to make it as far as a
logging road that was about 4/5th's of the way to the lake.
There's no pretty way to say this but the climb up from Tarn Lake is brutal! You are
literally climbing up a mountain. For approximately 30 minutes I climbed non-stop up
a twisting never-ending hill and I was chugging along at a respectable pace too. Right
from the trail-head, the portage ascends becoming steep as one goes further up.
I feel that the climb though not shallow was not that steep either. It was just tough. For
several minutes along the climb a mountain stream followed along-side the trail
crisscrossing it as I went further up the mountain.
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Despite the toughness of the ascent the trail itself was easy to follow, being well worn
for the most part till I reached the top. It was there that the portage crossed several
swampy areas. It was along these swampy zones that the lack of boardwalks made the
crossing a gamble. During one of the longer crossings of about 25m in length, a rock
that I had hopped onto rolled, sending me into knee deep mucky water. The other
problem was that the light was fading, as the sun was setting.
At 8:10pm I finally arrived at the logging road. Crossing the road I continued on into a
dark forest for another minute before finding a spot to hide the canoe in some bushes
behind a few trees. I also had my day-pack and strung that up in a tree. Saving me
from carrying the additional weight the next day. The day-pack contained one litre of
fresh water and the last of my gorp. I marked the spot on the trail with a rock and
turned around, heading back for camp.
Not five minutes into my return it became too dark to travel. I put on my headlamp
and continued on, travelling through the now pitch-black forest as the headlamp
illuminated my way. I had never travelled along a portage at night before and doing it
solo on such a long trail was risky and I began to feel uncomfortable as I moved back
along the trail. A bird of some sorts 'cawed' behind me, continuing for several
minutes. The call sounded creepy.
I was moving quickly at a pace that was not conducive to night travel but once I hit the
rocky, muddy sections of the mountain stream I had no choice but to slow down. The
trail was easy to navigate though with only one large birch tree having blown-down. It
was a fresh blow-down and I suspected it was from the thunderstorm of the night
before.
Success! I arrived back at camp shortly after 9:00pm. The whole process taking just
over two hours and a half hours, not bad! I climbed into my hammock and passed into
an uneasy sleep.
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August 26 - Day 15 - Surprise, surprise! Meeting friends new & old
I had the most awful sleep, actually I don't even think I could call it sleep. Something,
probably a vole or some sort of small rodent kept scurrying around, right beneath my
hammock all night long it seemed. The infrequent 'crinkling' sound of the leaf litter by
the small animal kept me from sleeping solidly.
Sigh… I really dislike being such a light sleeper, it is a curse! I got up around 6:30am,
packing everything up except for my stove and food. I made oatmeal of course along
with tea instead of coffee for once.
Looking out over Tarn Lake was a real pleasure as the lake was bathed in heavy
morning mist. This was an unexpected treat I thought, as this would make the forest
walk a fragrant one. I inhaled the heavy moisture laden air, savouring the moment,
finishing my tea and then began final preparations for departure.
By 7:20am I was all packed up and hauling the canoe pack onto my shoulders as I
started my journey up the mountain. In the morning light of the covered forest it
almost felt like I was walking the portage at dusk again, but as I reached the top of my
long climb the mist had lifted and the sun began to shine through the forest canopy.
If you enjoy a really good long walk through the forest, then this portage is for you. It
certainly has its vertical challenges coming up from Tarn Lake however, once the trail
levels off there lots of beautiful forest to admire. Most of the forest along the height of
the trail is typically deciduous, however there are some softwoods mixed in, including
a few large white pines.
Just after 8:00am I reached the canoe and day-pack... As expected, both were still there
and I congratulated myself on my resourcefulness the night before. I dropped the
canoe pack, picking up the day-pack and canoe and started my journey down the last
portion of the trail to St.Andrews Lake. I figured it would be pretty easy as I didn't
have far to go now; Drop the canoe at the lake and return for the pack, complete the
carry and launch onto St.Andrews. Easy huh? Ummm... Nope.
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As the trail began to descend the steepness of the trail became quite sharp as well the
terrain became quite dangerous. A few streams and possibly a spring Criss-crossed the
trail as it descended steeply. The intervening flow made for a muddy & very slippery
trek. I was slowed down to taking one step at a time. At one point a rock I stepped on
gave way as it slipped down the slope I was navigating.
It really was quite steep and treacherous and after about 700m of the mountain goat-like
path, I finally hit shallower descents; the streams were gone and the ground much more firm
and dry. The trail took a dip before a small climb up to the intersecting abandoned rail-bed.
Examining the GPS track (In Google Earth) from my spot device as I write this trip-log; I have
found that the slope heading up from Tarn Lake had a maximum grade of 26.3%. So, yes some
might say it was a steep climb however, the descent and subsequent return climb for the canoe
had a slope of 37.4% maximum grade. Quite the monster!
After crossing the rail-bed the trail enters a campsite that sits very high above the
water and with the canoe on my head, I mistakenly followed the trail to the thunderbox. Growing more fatigued by the second, I followed a faint trail down a steep slope
to the water's edge. This was not the portage or campsite put-in, but I didn't care, I
was exhausted. I had to get the canoe off my shoulders. The shoreline was very rocky
and with my last bit of strength, I carefully and in a very agonizingly slow manner
perched the canoe on the rocks. I crumbled onto the uncomfortable rocks like a sack
of potatoes.
The return climb up the steep slope was not fun at all. Twice I had to pause to catch
my breath as the climb had winded me, coupled with the rocky, muddy terrain, my legs
were getting shaky as well. So much for the "If you enjoy a really good long walk through
the forest" remark I made earlier, eh?
After I finally conquered the steep climb and found my way onto the more friendly
trail, the forest lit up beautifully with the sunlight penetrating the forest canopy from
my left. What was really neat was a large flock of birds that numbered in the hundreds
flew through the forest across the portage. I paused watching the spectacle for several
minutes. I had never seen such a large flock of birds in Algonquin Park while in the
forest. They were large birds and if I was back in the city I would say they were
starlings but up in The Park, I've no idea what they were.
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At last I reached the canoe-pack and made my way back down the trail to St.Andrews
Lake one last time. On my way down, I slipped and fell back, landing on the canoepack as more rocks gave way and I slid down about a metre, maybe more. Further
down the steep descent a big rock gave way and I suddenly found myself in the middle
of a miniature landslide. I hopped across more rocks and onto firmer ground. The trail
really was something else!
Finally, I completed the carry-over and I launched onto a sunny St.Andrews Lake at
10:02am. Oh, it felt so gooood to get past that insanely steep descent to the lake and to
be back on the water. Already I could hear and see the first signs of civilization; A
campsite on an opposing shoreline came alive with the sounds of children, the sight of
campfire smoke and of a canoe being launched. I was only a few lakes away from the
access point and when I had booked my trip, St.Andrews was booked solid, I had to
take Stratton Lake, with me getting the very last reservable campsite on the lake.
The weather was beautiful, the lake a virtual painting in front of me. I savoured the
paddle for as quiet and calm as it was, I knew this was my last moment of solitude.
Once I hit Stratton Lake, it would be canoe after canoe after canoe, it was a friday after
all in August... People would be flocking to The Park. Can't say I blame them.
I arrived at the very rocky take-out for the short carry-over into Stratton Lake. The
45m trail (GPS 80m) is an easy one with the landings at both ends being quite rocky.
The put-in to Stratton is at a smooth rock landing that also has a current as the
narrows through which the end of the lake passes by the portage, cascades down
rapids into St. Andrews Lake. I would imagine in the spring one has to be mindful of
the current while launching.
I put-in at 10:31am and paddling up through some narrows, arrived a few minutes
later onto beautiful Stratton Lake. Looking up Stratton Lake I could see the hill-line
of Grand Lake beyond. Though I didn't know it yet, in the distance were two people in
a canoe coming down the lake, looking for me. With the map in front of me, I paddled
up the lake that I had passed through once before, though the lake was still very
unfamiliar to me.
Within fifteen minutes a red canoe with two people dressed in white approached and
we passed each other within 20 meters, there was a pause and then an uncertain voice
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softly called out, "Markus?" I replied "Bob... Diana?" Indeed it was. I had given my
spot tracking web page to friends and family before I departed on the trip. Among the
group of people I had given the information to, were Bob & Diana McElroy. Two
people that have I corresponded with occasionally via email and online forum.
I had leaned that trick from another forum member; Often, when I am at work and
cannot be in The Park, I find it a pleasant diversion to 'follow' a fellow paddler,
tracking them live as they paddle The Park, imagining their journey in my mind's eye. I
find the "Spot' tracking feature a neat tool. I think they both enjoyed observing my
progress through The Park's interior over to the east side.
The McElroy's to me were 'famous' in my mind, for here were two souls that have
been going to The Park since the time of my birth and they knew much about The
Park, especially the East side. Bob & Diana have an excellent web site that journals
their trips into Algonquin Park as well as the Northern Renfrew County area. The
articles available online, especially the ones that detail geology and flora of the region
are heavy on science; A fascinating read. We chatted for a few minutes then I asked
where a good campsite might be located so that I could establish my camp, enabling
us to talk further.
Following Diana's lead we paddled not too far, up to a campsite about a third of the
way up the lake. The campsite was on a point, the shoreline loaded with rock. Getting
out at weedy/sandy landing, I lifted my canoe up and onto the rocks along the
campsite's southern shoreline. It was just after 11:00am.
The weather was gorgeous and for the next four and half hours we chatted about all
things Algonquin. Both Bob & Diana fed me what to them might be considered a
snack, but to me it was treasure. Diana gave me some tangerines to eat; fresh fruit. I
didn't know I craved it till I tasted it. It was so good to taste real fruit again. Bob
handed me some of his gorp and also some m & m chocolate candy. The latter was
amazing, I hadn't realized how such a simple pleasure as chocolate could be sorely
missed. Each m & m was a fantastic treat that I savoured each at a time. I was like a
starving man who woke up in a grocery store; Everything that was given to me was
eaten and with much appreciation.
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It was really great to put faces on the people that I had only met online and am glad to
have come to have know The McElroys in person. Thanks to Bob & Diana for coming
out, it was lots of fun (I really enjoyed our brief time together) and I only wish we had
more time to share that day. Just after 4:00pm Bob & Diana left, paddling away up the
lake in the bright afternoon sunshine.
Alone again, I finally got off my behind and set-up my hammock and organized my
cookware. I had decided that I was going to have more pasta and chicken; I was tired
of chilli. The campsite was a marvel to behold; Wide and open and flat, the campsite
had many trees tastefully arranged in such a way that I dubbed the campsite "King
Arthurs Court". There were also many outcroppings of rock that provided natural
sitting areas. The fire-pit itself was a massive artwork of stone, surrounded on two
sides by log benches.
By 6:30pm I had decided to make dinner and looking out onto the Lake I noticed a
solo paddler approach, trying to look at me in the blinding sunlight. "Markus?" I
couldn't believe it, "RACOON!"
Bob & Diana had said that they had seen some mention (Online) of my friend
"Racoon" possibly coming in to meet up with me, but I was unsure and was glad to see
Racoon as he explained his situation quickly; He was camped at the other end of the
lake on the best campsite there was. Before I could say anything though, Racoon said
that he'd break his camp and then come back and join me in an hour. I was both
amazed and excited.
By 7:30pm Racoon landed at my campsite as I helped him unload his gear. I had
gathered firewood and as Racoon set-up his hammock, I got a campfire going. Just
before 8:00pm, the sun set as Racoon handed me a salad to eat as he produced steaks
to cook over the campfire! Along with the steaks, Racoon served potatoes and carrots
along with red wine! I was flabbergasted. Racoon didn't stop there for next he
produced a cigarillo to go with the after-dinner sipping of the remaining wine and a
chocolate bar for dessert! AWESOME!
Racoon related his story of his day on Stratton Lake and its all because of the red
canoe. Racoon told me that he had arrived early on the lake, setting up camp and
making his way to the portage from Tarn at 11:00am. We had missed each other on
Stratton Lake. Racoon had also walked the portage for some distance looking for me,
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twice. He had gone back in the early afternoon, looking for me again, walking further
along the portage, even climbing the steep climb up the trail, where he spotted the
fresh slip marks in the mud. Racoon knew we had missed each other then set about
paddling Stratton Lake looking for me. I had neglected to inform Racoon along with
Bob & Diana that I would be in a red canoe (Mine was a familiar white coloured
canoe).
Racoon had spent most of the day looking for me, paddling Stratton Lake twice and
even St. Andrews. So it wasn't until 6:30pm (He was still searching!) That Racoon had
found me. Incredible guy! After dinner was the usual campfire talk as I related my trip
of the last two weeks. Before bed we hung up our food packs on an official food
hanging line that was located about 40m from the fire-pit, behind the campsite.
I had heard (But never seen) of the food hanging lines of Stratton Lake. Supposedly,
the area was well known for prowling bears. To keep the campers and bears safe, The
Park had set-up food hanging lines for campers to safely hang their food from on
every campsite on the lake. The device was quite simple actually; A steel cable rigged
between to large hemlock trees approximately 25 feet above the ground. All's one had
to do was through their food bag line over the steel cable and haul their cache into the
air, tying off their line to another tree, leaving the food cache free and clear of any bear
prowling on the ground.
I nodded my head in approval at the food hanging line, besides keeping food from
bears (And preventing them from becoming habituated to humans and their food), the
line also eliminated the need for other trees from becoming food hanging sources,
thereby reducing human impact on them. I like the idea as being a good one, it was
simple and it made sense.
Around 11:00pm I went to bed, climbing into my hammock, boy did I feel good, it had
been a great day; Getting past that silly portage, meeting Bob & Diana and my friend
Racoon coming out to feed me a glorious meal! I drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
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August 27 - Day 16 - Paddling out - Time for reflection
During some point in the night, I was turning in my hammock when I suddenly
became wide awake at a curious sound; The loud exhalation and subsequent licking of
jowls. I immediately froze in mid-turn, the sound was so close to me! It was then that I
experienced that, "hanging sack of meat" feeling. Being in a hammock, I suddenly felt
like I was the food cache bag and the bear (If that's what it was) had been inspecting
me, sniffing me.
Either that or the animal was sniffing my canoe pack on a tree barely two meters away.
There was no food in the canoe-pack but I was sure it held many odours from my two
week journey, as did I. I laid there in mid-turn for nearly two minutes, the awkward
position causing my hip starting to ache. This was ridiculous; My thudding heart was
ready to explode from my chest and my hip ready to torque out of its socket, I had to
do something.
I finally got up the nerve to climb out of the hammock and have a look around.
Nothing... There was nothing prowling around, not even any tracks that could be seen
in the light of my headlamp. The ground was quite dry and covered with a fine carpet
of needles. If there had been a bear, the carpeted ground did well to hide its sound of
passing and any visible paw prints. I walked around, Racoon still slept, his occasional
snores could be heard through-out camp. Satisfied, I returned to my hammock and
drifted into another uneasy sleep. The sound had been so loud and so near!
7:00am and we got-up, making coffee to greet the morning and what a beautiful
morning it was! The sun crept up over the nearby trees to warm our camp as we began
packing up and settled down to drink our morning coffees. Racoon shook hands with
me, indicating that he had to leave and in case I didn't catch-up with him at the access
point. I thanked Racoon for coming out, it had been an unexpected surprise, a real
treat!
I departed camp just before 9:00am, five minutes after Racoon had left. A breeze had
developed, coming down the lake. I've been told that Stratton Lake does have winds
on it frequently, given nature of the shape of the lake, so I followed Racoon's lead and
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crossed to the opposite shoreline paddling up the lakes west shore, avoiding the wind
for the most part.
I tried to keep up with Racoon, but he was using a double blade and I fell behind.
Soon, my course took me into the full brunt of the wind as it had picked up in
strength. The next ten minutes had been a tiring affair, before I finally reached an old
rail trestle that crossed the head of the lake. It was there passing under the bridge that
I entered a narrows as Grand Lake took a convoluted course, emptying into Stratton
Lake.
I came upon a small man-made dam and did the 50m portage around it. It was my last
portage of the trip. I paddled onwards and by 9:580am I had arrived to a dark and
cloudy Grand Lake. Again, weird clouds cover the East side. I was uncertain as to what
the weather intended this day, but the lake was dead calm and the wind was gone. I
continued to follow Racoon as he was now about ten minutes ahead of me, nearing the
take-out at the access point.
By 10:30am it was all over. I landed and stepped out of the canoe. I looked down at the
canoe and back at the lake, my journey had been a successful one; Lots of hard work,
solitude, enjoyable moments and some fun times meeting friends new and old on my
last full day in The Park. Racoon was there packing up his vehicle as I too began my
task of departing. I shook hands again with Racoon as he left, thanking him again for
coming out and the fantastic dinner to cap off my long trip. I still smile in
remembrance at that evening of friendship and food.
I had a great trip, I think the weather could've been less wet then it was, but that is all
part of tripping through The Park interior; You take what nature gives you & protect
yourself from the elements best you can. I did see more people then I thought I would
however, my trip had been a quiet one for the most part; The route took me through
much of The Park that was less travelled and it certainly showed. The portages were
well maintained as were many of the campsites.
My favourite lake of the trip? McKaskill Lake! I am going back there one day! My least
favourite lake of the trip? I can't think of one. Most difficult portage? The Sundassa
Lake portage. Sure, the Tarn Lake Mountain was tough, but I don't dislike it like I do
the Sundassa carry-over.
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I ended up losing sixteen pounds in weight, pretty much a pound a day, which was
good as I needed to lose the weight and although my food was low in fat, it wasn't that
high in protein either; two tuna or salmon wraps per day wasn't enough. Much of the
weight loss though was from hard work; This trip was a vacation but not a lazy one.
I'd like to take the opportunity to again thank Jeff Proppe for trusting me and loaning
me his beloved red canoe. When I retuned the canoe, I went over the hull with him,
pointing out the wear and tear I had put his canoe through, including that crack
through the gel-coat. Jeff was easy going and insisted the canoe was fine and told me
to stop worrying so much. Jeff was genuinely happy for me and I will be forever
grateful, his canoe was a dream to paddle. Thank You Jeff, you made my trip an
enjoyable one!
It was also the first trip that I knelt the entire time in a canoe. Jeff's canoe was not
conducive to a solo paddler sitting on a seat, kneeling became the norm and I
discovered the joys of paddling a canoe while kneeling, sitting low in hull, it certainly
made the handling much more responsive.
I'd also like to thank Simon for his time and energy that he spent in driving my
vehicle around from Aylen Lake to Grand Lake. It was a much farther distance to
travel then I had anticipated originally, not realizing the true distance Simon had to
travel to complete the shuttle. Thank you Simon, your help was much appreciated.
I'd like to dedicate this trip-log to both Jeff and Simon, for without their kindness this
trip would not have been possible, it really was a marvellous trip and I thank you both.
THE END
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trip-log#93 - access#18 aylen lake august 12-27, 2011

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