Category: Uncategorized

Work invigorates us. In the absence of our being assigned work to do we will take it up on our own. “Really?” you say, “That drudge I drag myself to each day…you’re kidding!”. Forty years ago, I learned to think about what work is from Elliott Jaques and his groundbreaking work (sic) on Requisite Organizations. I’ll call this trip “Canoeing with Elliott”.

Elliot defined work, in my words, as using our brain (always) and brawn (sometimes) to get something done on time, using what we have on hand, to achieve a bigger purpose.[1] He focused on organizations as did my own consulting. I believe that, left to ourselves, we will take up tasks naturally of our own accord. When we challenge our capabilities, these tasks offer us unique satisfaction. We may work harder than when we are at work, but it doesn’t feel like work. This is not to say that relaxing has no value, but taking it easy from nothing and doing nothing for no reason eventually becomes boredom, tedium, and a restless yearning for something meaningful to do.

Day One, July 11^th

I am heading to Big Crow Lake, a half day paddle from the north end of Lake Opeongo, which is the biggest lake in Algonquin Park. It’s about 15 kilometers from Algonquin Outfitters to where I plan to make camp for the first night, before going on to Big Crow Lake the next morning. Planning the trip, I thought about paddling the lake, but decided to take a water taxi from the outfitters instead, because Opeongo is notorious for wind and waves.

First, I need to pick up my canoe from Algonquin Outfitters Oxtongue store on the way to Opeongo. I get the canoe I reserved, a 13.6-foot pack canoe weighing 26 lbs. available only from the Oxtongue store, and car top it with foam blocks and straps driving 40 minutes to arrive at my starting point about 2 pm. I am scheduled to take the water taxi at 3:30 pm, so have lots of time to get my gear organized on the dock, buy a Dr Pepper and relax a bit after parking the car. I am the only person going on this water taxi trip.

Right on time the taxi is loaded, canoe tied to the overhead rack and I am on my way. It takes about 15 to 20 minutes to get to my destination, traveling fast and bouncing on the waves. I see a vacant campsite near the dock where the beginning of the portage I will take tomorrow is also located. The driver puts the taxi in at the beach in front of the campsite and we unload. The boat backs out, turns and speeds away. I am alone, realizing I made the right decision to spend money on the water taxi. The wind was not that strong, but the lake was rough anyway.

My campsite is large enough for many tents. The east end forms a point that protects a small bay with calm water where the water taxi dock is located.  I’ll be only a 5-minute paddle to the dock and take out for tomorrow’s portage to Proulx Lake, easy to get to, maybe not so easy to get through. The reported distance varied slightly depending on the map I examined. Roughly, it is a 200-meter portage, then a 250-meter paddle across a pond, followed by the long part, a 1 km portage to the final put in.

I have done this much before, but not all in one go, the distance being broken up with short paddles between carries.  It seems daunting to me, although I know lots of people do it without any concern. The hardest part will be carrying the canoe pack. It’s an excellent Algonquin Outfitters pack designed for canoe tripping, holding 120 liters and is full to the top with my gear weighing, I guess, about 60+ lbs.

The portage trail I’ll use is a cart trail, flat enough to allow a canoe to be put onto a special cart if I had one and pulled through. The path is smooth, no rocks or exposed roots or and any steep slopes, perfect for a heavy loaded stroll. I have a secondary dry sack pack that weighs about 25 lbs which I may carry with the canoe on a second trip. Otherwise it will be three trips through and 2 walk backs, 5 km for the long portage in total. There are younger, stronger people who will do this all in one carry. That’s not me. I tried it once on a 250-meter portage and made it only halfway before putting the canoe down and carrying on with separate loads. I’m not weak. I am 72 years old and in no hurry, so I’m entitled to take my time. Also being alone, I cannot afford to risk a sprained ankle or worse caused by taking too heavy a load.

All of this is for tomorrow. Now there is lots of time to set up for the night, relax on the beach with a little wine and a bit of pot now that it’s legal, dinner and more time on the beach as the sun begins to go down. I read for an hour or so in the tent after dark arrives and turn into a sound sleep. I have read reports on the internet of people who try solo and give up after one sleepless night, spent waiting for the imminent approach of a bear, unnerved by every rustle. Sleeping alone in the back country doesn’t bother me. I make sure that any night snacking bear at worst will be trying to get at my food a good distance from the tent. If it’s intrusive there’s bear whistle and spray. Worse than that is less likely than the many other ways for me to be injured or killed by my own carelessness. I am more likely to be kept awake by the croaking of a nearby frog.

Day Two July 12^th

I sleep in until about 8:00 am.  Getting up and out I immediately begin to boil water for my morning coffee made in the French press. Sipping high quality coffee feels luxurious as I scan the campsite for signs of any nighttime visitors, none, and look out at the lake for signs of today’s weather, good. Then it’s time for the thunder box, which in this case is up a hill with a veiled view of the takeout I will be at in a couple of hours, a regal perch. I wash up and make breakfast, always bacon and eggs, double smoked dry cured bacon which in a slab will last the whole trip and lightly Vaseline coated fresh eggs, two for each morning from a plastic egg pack that protects them. The Vaseline is an old trick to prevent air from permeating the eggs’ shells which would hasten them going bad. The last egg of the trip will be just as good as the first.  Breakfast is the only truly fresh cooked meal and I savour it.

After breakfast I do the dishes and start packing. The canoe loaded; I paddle the short way to the portage take out thinking about the long carry ahead. It’s going to be light on brain and heavy on brawn and I tell myself not to make more of it than it deserves. This concern of mine will be silly to many paddlers. They don’t know me, but you remember me: I was that kid in school gym class who couldn’t do anything, sports, exercises…anything. The one and only time I accidentally got a basket in an informal basketball game, the entire class erupted in cheers at so remarkable and unexpected an event, one they knew might never happen again, and it didn’t. Let’s just say that physical was never me until the last few years. I made up for it in other ways.

A sudden gain of weight I experienced when I quit smoking some years ago shocked me into acting. The mirror and the scale connected to my vanity. I started going to the gym 4 days a week combining weight training with cardio and took off 25 lbs combing calorie cutting and exercise. The calorie deficit took off the weight and the exercise built a lot of what was left into some muscle. You could say I worked at it. I continue to work out 4 to 5 days a week. It didn’t and doesn’t feel like work. As I beat the word “work” to death, it feels good, a personal challenge I’ve taken up and am accomplishing. It’s never going to be finished, just accomplished. I still can’t sink a basket or play any sport well, but that kid from the gym is getting his own back in his own way. So he is on this portage, knowing there are younger and better lifting heavier at the gym, younger and better taking longer portages than this in one carry, but believing there are only a few from that school gym class long ago who would stand here now, alone, reflecting on where they have been, how they got here, willing and able to pick up this load and step forward. Little things can mean a lot. A canoe trip is a chain of little tasks, the paddle’s dip in the water, the next careful step on crooked ground, the eye scan search ahead to set direction. Big tasks may get the headlines and motivational posters, but small ones imbued with our own meaning, while unheralded are huge.

OK. So there.

Even with a GPS, seeing the mouth of a river for the first time is usually difficult for me. As I paddle closer to where the Crow River should be, I still don’t see a break in the shore of tall grasses.

It isn’t until I am almost on top of its GPS coordinates that I notice the parting of the grass into a channel. The wind continues to blow in my face, but the water is calm as I take the winding path of the river to Little Crow Lake. After a while I can see where I think the end will be by the slopes of the surrounding hills, but it is elusive, with yet another bend to take me away rather than toward.

After an hour I emerge onto Little Crow Lake which will take me to get to the continuation of the Crow River into Big Crow Lake where I will find a campsite. Too confident and enjoying the landscape rather than paying attention, I discover I have paddled right past the turn toward the connecting river and must double back.  

I enter Big Crow Lake in half an hour with the wind coming up diagonally at me from the North and picking up. I can see a beach on the far shore where one of the hopefully available campsites should be and paddle in that direction. The wind increases and the waves are now about one foot, not too bad except that I will eventually have go broadside to them to get near to the far shore. I keep my eyes on the waves, turning left into them every now and then, whenever a rogue one higher than the rest comes through. It’s been a long day and I concentrate hard on what I do, thinking this is the time, almost to my destination, that becoming relaxed and careless will cause a dump. There are almost no waves near the shore.

Finally, the bow is on the beach and I put one foot out and down on the sandy bottom. It’s been 4 ½ hours non-stop since I left the portage. I wait a moment to get my balance on the leg in the water and make sure both legs are going to work properly. One time I almost dumped at a landing by forgetting that my legs needed a little time to adjust to standing again – a quick exit landed me alright, right into the water, the canoe at least remaining upright and dry.

I look over the campsite while I drink lots of water from my refilled water filter pouches. I go through about 2 liters. I have been drinking water all along but still need to fill up, telling by my dry lips. The site’s biggest asset is its beach which I hope to be relaxing on in the sun between excursions. There is a good fire pit and a few spots for the tent. I decide to put it up on a soft needled patch that slopes slightly toward the direction of the beach, level enough for comfortable sleeping, but sufficiently slanted to spill any rainwater away. I have arrived around 5:30 and about an hour later everything is set up, in time for a glass of wine and then dinner. As the sun gets low I relax on the beach enjoying once again the solitude and beauty of being in the back country, watching the shadows lengthen and the sky colour itself before turning dark for night. Before it becomes black I stow my food canisters and hang a dry sack of the food that wouldn’t fit in them.

I decided to buy a bear vault which is a large PVC canister designed to be impossible for bears to open. I was tired of looking for suitable branches to hang my food sack. However, bringing too much food has forced me to use both. The canister I place under a log a good distance from the campsite and nearby I string ropes to hoist the food sack. I recognize that I am always bringing home unused food and that next time it will be the canister only. We’ll see.

Into the tent about 9:30 pm I settle down to read. I’ve made some concessions to the modern world for these trips, a lot, if I consider how my gear is made, for example the Kevlar carbon fiber composite for the canoe. I also have brought some electronics, for safety and for my entertainment. Most important is my Garmin InReach mini, a satellite communicator that allows me to send a receive emails from anywhere in the world. It’s how I let everyone know I am fine and enjoying myself and in the worst case will send an SOS to search and rescue. Then there is my Smartphone which when connected by Bluetooth to the InReach allows me to easily compose and send email, check my location, plan routes and see the latest weather report for my current location. It also holds some movies I’ve downloaded from Netflix. My e-reader full of books and the movies are my late-night entertainment. I still carry paper maps and a compass, essential if the electronics fail. I keep the electronic devices charged with a power bank. So, I’m not completely rough in the bush. I fall asleep reading.

Day Three July 13^th

During the morning the wind picks up, coming in from the north west, creating chop and some white caps on the lake. I’ve been up for a while, morning rituals, breakfast and wash up finished, and am sitting on the beach looking toward the south west at the fire tower rising on top of a step hill on the shore about half a kilometer away.

All that’s left of the tower is its steel frame, the wooden observation platform at the top long gone, since such towers became unneeded with the advent of satellite hot spot observation[2]. I plan to hike up to its base to get a view of the surrounding terrain. The trail to the top begins behind a ranger cabin which I can see. I ponder the waves and white caps on the lake: going straight toward the cabin will put me broadside to the waves. I decide a zig zag paddle route will be best, longer, but keeping the canoe diagonally to the waves, not rolling sideways. I wait until noon, pack a lunch a head out.

The waves are manageable although the wind makes paddling harder. I head southwest and then make a left turn toward the cabin when it is at almost 90 degrees, heading for it with waves almost directly behind me, padding strongly to keep control of the canoe as it is pushed forward with each swell. I see another canoe with two paddlers leave the shore at a campsite not far from my own but closer to the cabin toward which they are also heading. Their larger tandem canoe with two paddlers is less prone to be upset by the waves than my solo shorter light weight and they are making good progress. We reach the cabin at the same time.

The landing in front of the cabin is rocky, so much so that instead of a place to pull a canoe out there is a large chain, presumably for mooring of some sort.  We pause in our canoes near shore and strike up conversation. They are two guys from Quebec and had booked the ranger cabin to stay but abandoned it for a campsite because it was infested with mosquitoes. The cabin and its surrounding area which face north east are almost always in the shade. To me, it does not look inviting. Perhaps it would be better in the fall when more light would get through the trees. The guys are happy with their campsite and are stoical about the $60 a night they paid to reserve the cabin for three nights. Although yesterday I had not seen them, they had arrived on the lake just before me coming from another direction. Counting on the cabin to be livable they explored the nearby easterly continuation of the Crow River first, where they were when I arrived and set up camp. Returning to the cabin they saw my canoe and kayak paddle on the shore, showing my occupation of the beach site I assume they would have preferred when rejecting the cabin. Nonetheless they say they are happy with their campsite and are excited about the cow moose and calf they had seen nearby on the river. It was about then I notice that the sky is changing dramatically in the distance.

Huge dark ugly clouds are approaching from the northwest. It is time to stay put for who knows how long or go quickly. We decide to make it fast to our campsites. I head toward an imaginary point beyond my campsite so that I could move diagonally into the waves again, planning to turn quickly at the right time to ride the waves toward my beach. This is when my kayak paddle makes an important difference: paddling full out I can pick up good speed even against the wind, impossible to do solo with a traditional paddle. The clouds are moving in quickly and as I get close to where I will turn I see the signals of a strong wind approaching by the spay coming off the waves and the bend of the trees further along the shore. I ready myself for some furious paddling. I turn away from shore straight into the wind when the gusts hit, keeping good control of the canoe again grateful for my kayak paddle. I’m not as far past my beach as I would like but decide to make the turn to shore now, the beach being broad enough that I will hit it somewhere if not at the exact spot I wanted. It turns out that I can maneuver on the way in and end up close to my target.

The bow comes up onto the sand and I put one foot out on the bottom as the first rain drops fall. I turn to look for the other guys and their canoe but see nothing. Their campsite is closer to the cabin so I am pretty sure they are back safely, scanning the water for any signs of a dumped canoe to be sure. I pull up and turn over the canoe as the rain hits in a full hard downpour and I scramble into my tent where I relax reading while the wind and rain continue and thunder booms far away, then close, far away then close again for the next few hours.

The storm passes in time to prepare dinner. Out of the tent I first check for any problems around the campsite. It is obvious where the water has been running off to the beach and I am pleased to see how the runoffs avoided my tent site, just like I planned…yeh, right. Everything is OK.

After dinner I enjoy some wine sitting on the beach by the now still lake and relax watching the sun set. I get the latest weather update, because I wonder if there is more storms on the way, in which case I will consider leaving early in the morning to get closer to home. I get the latest weather with my InReach Mini. The report looks good so I decide it will be OK to stay where I am unless the sky looks bad in the morning. I don’t want to get trapped here by severe weather when I am scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow.

I can send an email, so no one is worried, but I prefer to return as planned. The time passes languidly in a beautiful evening until I cannot put off stowing the food any longer. I pick up the canister and food bag and go to my hiding and hanging spot, the ropes already strung into the trees.

 The spot where I hang the food bag is at the top of a slope up about 20 meters from the water’s edge, visible below through the tree trunks and brush. I hear a rhythmic splashing, the sound of something moving along the shore, look down through the trees to the shore and see a huge magnificent bull moose moving by in the direction of my campsite beach, gone from sight in a few seconds. I have seen many moose before always cows grazing in wetlands. This is the first bull I have seen and am impressed with his size and large rack of antlers. Pity it all happened too quickly for a picture. I go back to the campsite immediately hoping I will spot him, and hopefully not in the middle of everything. Seeing nothing I go down to the beach and there are the two guys in their canoe slightly offshore.

“Did you see the moose? We were shouting to warn you. He went up into the bush next to your campsite.”

“Yeh, I saw him. I was just doing my bear hang over there above the shore when he came along. He is magnificent!” thinking the moose might have thought their yelling was directed at him and hence his hurry to get along the shore and into the bush.

“There is a cow and a calf who come down to the river every evening.” one of the guys says.

“He is probably in the bush circling back there now.” I reply with no intention of following him into the forest.

We talk a little bit more about how great it is to be here, even with a thunderstorm now and then. They will be on their way tomorrow morning and I will be alone again. We say goodnight and I return to complete stowing and hanging my food as they return to their campsite.

Day Four July 14^th

After breakfast I set out on calm water to explore the nearby Crow River that flows at this end of Crow Lake out toward Lake Laveille, kilometers away. I plan to go as far as a dam marked on the map and perhaps hike the old growth pine trail near there. I paddle past my neighbour’s campsite and see them just beginning to strike camp. A little further and I turn into the mouth of the river enjoying the sun climbing the sky and the surrounding landscape of tall pines, purple wildflowers and white water lilies. The bends and turns that postpone my arrival at the dam are a pleasant gift of more time on the river, not frustrating delays when time is a challenge, rather than as if my pockets were full of it, fun to spend.

Near the dam is the hiking trail through the tall pines with it is said some of the tallest white pines in North America. My canoeing acquaintances had told me they walked it part way and it seemed no different than any other hiking trail. True or not I am persuaded not to take it considering how dense the mosquitoes are in the bush. The mosquito shirt I am wearing would help, but I dislike the mesh face covering when I am trying to see around me, the design restricting my peripheral vision. I use deet even though I don’t itch when I am bitten, because the cloud buzzing in my face and landing on my hands is annoying by itself. In camp I use a Thermacell repellent which works well if there is no wind. If there is a breeze the mosquitoes are not much of an issue anyway. The Thermacell is useless for hiking this or any trail because I would be constantly walking out of its protection which otherwise extends 15×15 feet in still air.

Turning back, I take pictures of anything that catches my interest. The bull moose will have to remain a mental photo as not it nor any others appear by the river. On the way to Big Crow Lake I didn’t use my camera much, determined as I was to keep paddling and get to my destination. I head back to the campsite with the idea of climbing that tower hill on my mind.

Later in the early afternoon I sit on the beach staring out the tower, thinking about what I’ll put into my secondary pack to have a nice lunch up there, some sausage, wine, bagels and cheese, water for the climb and the first aid kit just in case. Soon I load up and paddle to the ranger cabin, on calm water under blue sky with an occasional cloud passing by. Arriving at the cabin after an easy trip I contemplate how to secure the canoe. I am not happy with leaving it floating and secured to shore with the chain I saw earlier. Hauling it onto the ground in front of the cabin would be easy if there were two of us, but alone risks dropping the canoe accidentally on a rock.  There’s a large flat rock about 1 inch below the surface near the shore. The sky and weather forecast are good, so I don’t expect any onshore waves. I decide to set the canoe on it and use the chain as a secondary method of keeping it tied to shore. That done I change from my water shoes into hiking boots and check out the cabin and its surrounds.

The cabin is locked, the key given only to those paying to rent it. Behind it is an outhouse, the door wide open, with a conventional toilet base as seating. I am looking for the path up to the tower which is supposed to be here somewhere. Finding nothing  at the back of the cabin on one side I move around to the other seeing nothing of the path until I notice a narrow patted down trail into the forest, which on closer inspection is leading up the hill, easy to miss unless I was looking for it. It occurs to me that if I was living in this environment for a long time, so many things I would see clearly that without that experience remain hidden or whose encounter is sudden.

I take the path and it soon becomes steep.  I notice that I have become more tuned into how its trampled leaves and ground show the way, winding ahead. Even though I am carrying only a light pack, I pause to rest a few times and drink water, which I didn’t have to do back on the level portage with the heavy pack. After a while I check the GPS to see if I am near the top – only halfway. I eventually come to tall grass, a sure sign I am coming into the open at the top and soon enough there I am and so are the mosquitoes. They weren’t too bad coming up or maybe I was too preoccupied to notice; or maybe they were following me for this moment of triumph. I scan in a circle for the view.

There is none. The bush and trees surrounding the tower base beyond its concrete pad in the tall grass are a complete barrier, making a view impossible without going part way up the tower.

Wooden steps that would have accessed the steel ladder up the side of the tower were now long gone like the observation platform at the to. Going up a bit and looking out was impossible without grappling up the steel structure, dangerous and something I am not going to do. I take some pictures cancel my “lunch at the tower” and go back down the trail, satisfied anyway that I came up to see it.

Back at the campsite its perfect weather to relax on the beach, enjoy a late lunch with wine (again) and have a swim.  I check the weather forecast with my InReach and tomorrow looks good for the trip back. I enjoy dinner, the evening and get a good sleep.

Day Five July 15^th

It’s a beautiful clear day with a light breeze, perfect for the trip back to Lake Opeongo. I have mixed feelings: I’ve been here long enough I suppose, but staying another day, I might walk that tall pine forest trail after all. I load up and leave, planning to take more pictures on my way back, with lots of time to reach a campsite before taking the water taxi back tomorrow. I hope that I can get the same campsite as a had on the way in because it is so close to the water taxi dock.

In half an hour I am across Big Crow Lake entering the Crow River on my way to Proulx Lake. I take time to stop and reflect on the water lilies wondering what they mean to Indigenous peoples. I see a beautiful floating flower. I am sure there is more to it than that. [3]

On the water the sun is bright and hot. There are no mosquitoes, even in the still air on the winding river. I see a small duck, not sure what kind, followed by about twelve little ones.

This is when I would like to have my SLR with the long lens, because the picture I take with telephoto on my waterproof point and shoot doesn’t show them clearly. I don’t bring my SLR on canoe trips anymore. Note the word “waterproof” for my Fuji point and shoot. Mom and the kids stay ahead of my canoe as I move quietly toward them in the direction I am heading. When I become too close they move ahead to lengthen the distance, mom flapping her wings and paddling, the little ones doing the same with wings no way near ready to work making them look like they are running madly on the water. Eventually they veer off to the left into the tall grasses. The mother reappears in front of me and calls. She continues on ahead leaving the young ones hidden behind, leading me away, until satisfied that I have been attracted far enough distant and no longer a danger, she takes off and flies away. I wait for her return and sure enough in a few moments she is zooming back to her ducklings.

It’s early afternoon and I am on Proulx Lake heading for the portage take out. I pass another solo canoeist on his way to Big Crow Lake and beyond, also using a kayak paddle in a solo canoe. After pausing for a snack at the portage I load up the canoe pack and begin the trek to the pond. About halfway a man carrying a canoe comes toward me.

“Hi there” I say as he passes

No reply.

Oh well, he’s probably tired or preoccupied with his carry, or maybe he’s just not sociable. A few minutes later young girl comes along with a pack, at least I think it’s a girl, black hair coming out from the bottom of mosquito netting which obscures her face. She says nothing and doesn’t appear to be having a good time, maybe just determined. At the other end I see a boy, early teens I guess, looking at a pile of gear and a kayak. He’s about 5’ 5” with black hair, fair skin, wearing wrap around sunglasses, no hat or mosquito netting. He seems dressed a little more for being “cool” than the bush. The mosquitoes are bad on the trail so I assume he is coated in deet. I try conversation again.

“Where are you heading?”

“Big Crow Lake”

“The cabin?” on a hunch.

“Yes. Are there many mosquitoes?”

“There’s a lot and I met some people who were going to rent the cabin but didn’t because there were too many. Do you have tents?” Maybe that was harsh.

“Yes”, stone faced behind the sunglasses.

“Well if you can always use one the nearby campsites. I stayed in one with a beach you would like, if it comes to that. I’m sure you’ll be OK one way or another. Be sure to look for the moose on the river.” Best to add something positive.

That is all. He picks up a barrel pack that seemed about the size of him, pulls it onto his shoulders and heads off. I delay a bit to have a snack, drink lots of water and then go back in the same direction. I see him sitting beside the trail next to the barrel pack. He sees me coming, looks up at me, gets up, loads the pack and carries on along the trail.

I think to myself “Hey guy I wouldn’t judge you. It could be me sitting to rest. Maybe I’m too old for this shit and you’re too young, but I don’t think so. Were both just right.”

As he gets near the end ahead of me, the girl shows up on her way back, girl for sure, the mosquito netting off. He unloads the barrel and they carry it the rest of the way together each holding one side by the strap. Watching them I am certain they are twins, identical height and build, the same jet back hair. The father, I presume, passes me on his way back to their gear. Soon I am going in his direction as well carrying my canoe, the easiest part of the portage work. I pass him again this time pulling the kayak in a cart.

“Hey that makes it easier. I hear you’re going to the Big Crow cabin. I was talking to the young man back there.”

“Yeh, we are”, smiling

“I told him it’s full of mosquitoes but there are great campsites if you want.” I say

“We’ll open it up and fumigate. It’ll be OK.”

“I guess so. Have a good trip”

I can’t help imagining who they are and their arrival at the cabin. Is he a father with his kids on a bonding trip? Where’s mom? Divorced dad bonding? While I am inventing different stories and almost at the end of my carry, the girl reappears carrying what looks like a small folding table in a case and some other items, all askew in her arms. I set down the canoe near the water and watch her disappear down the trail. There is still a disorganized pile of stuff waiting for them to carry. I settle on the divorced dad bonding story: he camps, they don’t, they live with mom, he convinces them this will be great, they bring everything they think they can’t live without, they are staying silent during a mosquito infected portage, they are twins and don’t have to speak to know what each other is thinking, “When will this be over?”. At the end of the day they will arrive at the cabin which is such a poor location for sun and mosquitoes that two experienced canoeists who paid for it quickly found a campsite, as would I. I leave it to you to finish – stoic acceptance and togetherness swatting mosquitoes? Melt down and move to a campsite? I hope for them a story arc with challenges, maybe a bit of drama, and a happy ending.

As for me, the end of my trip is in sight. The campsite I used on the way in is vacant and after a short paddle I am there. That night I wake up to the noise of the wind blowing hard through the trees. The tent being secure, I go back to sleep, knowing I can get up late because the water taxi is coming at 11:30 am.

In the morning the waves on Lake Opeongo are getting high, the wind blowing onshore. The back of the campsite has access to the protected inlet where the water taxi dock is located, allowing me to put in there and get to the dock after a short paddle on calm water.

The water taxi arrives right on time. Soon I am having a bumpy wet ride back to Algonquin Outfitters, reminding me that Lake Opeongo can be rough and challenging for canoeing.

Unloaded at the AO dock I buy and relax with a Dr. Pepper (I like Dr. Pepper). It’s been a good trip, a sequence of tasks to keep it interesting and give me that nice feeling of small accomplishments. Recounting the trip later I will tell my family that a 1 km portage is about my limit. “That’s what you said about the other portages.”, Wendy, my niece replies.

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[1] More precisely, Elliott defined work as the exercise of judgement and discretion in order to carry out a TASK – defined as an assignment to produce an output of specified quantity and quality within a given time and with allocated resources, for a given purpose (context) and within prescribed limits of action and behaviour (policies, procedures etc.)

[2] Read about the history of fire towers in Ontario http://ontarioftl.bravehost.com/

[3] As soon as I write this, I am off on an internet search to see what I can find. First, I find in the Canadian Encyclopedia “All are edible and were an important emergency food for Aboriginal peoples, the rhizome being boiled, baked or dried, and the seeds roasted and ground into a highly nutritious flour. The root, because of its astringent, antiseptic and demulcent properties, was used externally for healing sores and internally for inflammation and dysentery.”

Somehow, I get Indigenous Corporate Training Inc. Then I stumble into “How Canada’s Cult of the Noble Savage Harms Its Indigenous Peoples” https://quillette.com/2018/04/22/canadas-cult-noble-savage-harms-indigenous-peoples/ which leads me to bookmark https://quillette.com/ the site in which the article appears, for future reading.  I agree with most of what the article’s author says. Being an atheist I feel the same about Indigenous spiritual ceremonies as the sprinkling of holy water, nice fairy tale stuff. In the stream of reports over the years the absence deep analysis or recommendations on the economics of Indigenous Nations is striking. Until that happens and there is real follow through, I look at white folks’ entrancement with Indigenous spirituality cynically. There is no contradiction between my opinion and my conviction that Indigenous peoples have a perspective and experience worthy of everyone’s attention.