Just Saying

September 13

I arrive at Algonquin Outfitters Oxtongue Lake store on Thursday September 13th at about 11:00 a.m. and pay for the gear I am renting, thinking it totals less than I expected, probably my incorrect addition, and less is good right? The 13.6 pack canoe I reserved is not available. The staff person explains that it has not been returned on time by another renter and shows me a 14’ pack canoe as a replacement, only slightly heavier than the one I booked. I am pretty sure I saw the canoe I reserved on top of an SUV leaving the parking lot as I pulled in, but decide it’s not going to help arguing and besides, the offered carbon fiber Kevlar canoe looks pretty good. I guess it’s easier for the staff to say someone has not returned a canoe than to admit they rented it before I arrived. I mount its replacement onto my car’s roof, grab the canoe pack and Spot satellite messenger I also rented and am ready to go. I’m eager to start the 1 ½ hour drive east to Madawaska and then north to the access point at Shall Lake so I will be there as soon as possible.

Construction along Hwy 60 through the park slows me down, but I have left plenty of time to get to the first campsite tonight. At Madawaska I turn onto what becomes a gravel logging road which will take me 25 km to the access point.  After 10 minutes of driving it hits me: I have no tent! That’s why the bill seemed low.

I hadn’t reserved a tent, planning to buy one before the trip, but didn’t. My excuse to myself is that with the canoe issue and rush to get going at the outfitter on my mind,  I forgot about renting one. Fortunately, I know that Algonquin Bound Outfitters has a store in Madawaska and turn around to go there.. It’s a small town so the outfitter is easy to find. In 20 minutes, I am back where I was on the logging road with a tent, a large two-person Eureka El Captain 2 brand, oversized for my needs but the only choice. The outfitter didn’t bother mentioning instructions to put it up, which is OK because I’ve done it before and all dome tents are similar. The construction delays and the tent episode add 40 minutes to the time getting to the access point. I arrive about 2:30 pm and pick up my permit at the park office for one night on Farm Lake and three nights on Booth Lake.

“Do you want to change this and go straight through to Booth Lake?” asks the permit person.

Now in theory it would not have been difficult to make it through the paddling and two portages to get there before dark. However if somehow I were to be delayed,  after dark I would be paddling around with my GPS and a flashlight, the makings of an unwanted but good story. Remembering my last trip with its the portages from hell, albeit because I was sick, and being a bit tired from all the driving I decide easiest is best for today.

“No thanks. I’d rather take it easy and stay on Farm tonight”

Knowing I have lots of time and feeling the 28 degree heat I take it easy loading up the canoe and checking that everything is right before setting off at 3:30 pm. In half an hour, I see the campsite I had researched at the far end of the lake and it’s vacant. It is ideal, having a sandy beach, a lot of choices for locating the tent and a good fire pit. This trip is starting out well.

After putting up the tent I begin the annoying search for a tree suitable for hanging my food dry sack at night, the obligatory bear-hang to help prevent nighttime snacking by furry black “friends”. Finding a bear-hang tree branch to use is frustrating because there is seldom one that is perfect. I usually wander through the woods for half an hour  far enough away from the campsite, looking up at nothing close to good enough until my standards drop and I settle for a compromise – “It’s good enough. It’ll have to do.”  At this campsite I am surprised to find a perfect branch after a brief search. I’ll bet it is used by almost every camper who comes here, meaning that if a bear has come by in the past and found it, he/she knows where to look.

I use a squash ball attached to parachute chord to throw over the branch because it is easy to aim and throw correctly. If it bounces back and hits me all I get is a little bonk from the squash ball.  I invented this after suffering  my past fruitless attempts to throw rocks or sticks tied to the hanging rope,  often ducking away from their rebounds. Instead I tie  the hanging ropes to the parachute chord already easily thrown over the branch, and pull them over, ready for later.

The first night’s dinner is re-hydrated Hungarian Goulash, yes, the same meal I couldn’t eat because I was sick on my last trip. The sauce is great but the meat pieces are chewy, a bit like the texture of jerky. Either my dehydrating technique is off or I’m expecting too much. Served over egg noodles it was OK overall, but I’d hoped for better. I’ve noticed that the meat pieces in commercial freeze dried or dehydrated food are tiny, much smaller than mine. Maybe that’s making the difference.

Dinner finished, it’s time to relax on the beach with some wine, to watch the shadows creep across the lake as the sun goes down behind me. It is impossible for me to take seriously here any of our headline fixations, Trump, Ford, NAFTA etc. .  The water is still. The trees have little  to say and what they might speak is a windy whisper. A Loon calls. A squirrel chatters.

I postpone my chores of cleaning up and hanging the food sack as long as I can. That done I return to my quiet meditation on the beach until the sun is set and the twilight will soon turn to dark. There is no moon rising so it will be black.

I am glad to be in bed early because I have been on the go since 6:00 am in Toronto and am looking  forward to a good sleep and the next day’s trip to Booth Lake. Unfortunately, a cold I’ve had for a week acts up to  interrupt my sleep with coughing fits. I manage to stay in my sleeping bag until 8:30 to make up some of the rest I’ve lost during the night.

September 14^th

The first order of business in the morning is to make coffee. Start boiling the water; get the food sack down; get out the coffee; put the correct amount in my new French press mug; wait; pour in the boiling water; wait; push down the plunger; sip; “Oh shit I burnt my lip”.

I bought a personal French press for this trip, a large tall mug with the press built into the top which also has a drinking opening to use when the plunger is down. It makes great coffee, but the top of the plunger gets in the way of easy drinking even when it is all the way down. The coffee does stay hot.

I complete my start with a breakfast of bacon and fresh eggs. The bacon is dry smoked from a slab that does not have to be refrigerated. The eggs will keep several days in a protective plastic container. I pack up and set off for Booth Lake, on the water about 10:30 am which is late. I should be at the campsite there around 2 pm, assuming I scout some choices and take my time.

I arrive at the first portage at 11;15 am. This one is about 90 meters, going around a mild rapids. I think about walking the canoe through the rapids but decide it would be unwise to do it alone. I get everything unloaded from the canoes and hoist it up the bank at the take-out when I hear voices, a lot of them. I look back to see four canoes each with three people, packs and gear piled above the gunwales. One person is saying they will walk the canoes through the rapids. I am relieved they won’t be on the portage with me which would create a traffic jam at the other end.  I go through the short distance in two trips, canoe pack with paddles and fishing gear first, canoe with small backpack second. As I load up the canoe I can hear the group coming through the rapids. As they approach I see the ones who got the task of pulling the canoes wading waste deep in the water,  their friends aboard sitting high and dry. One person is ahead in the water taking pictures.

I am on my way before they are ready to go, trying to put distance between us before the next portage which is about 40 minutes away. It’s an easy paddle on calm Kitty Lake under a clear sky and hot sun.

I arrive at the take-out for the 645 meter portage which goes around a dam and rapids. The approach is in a swift current with rocks and a sandy bottom. A little deft paddling and I’m there.

I unload, wondering how far ahead of the group I really am. I get my answer soon. As I am hoisting the canoe pack for my first trip through I hear loud voices and music playing. I have staged the canoe and my gear at the top of the rise that slopes up from the take-out, from where I look down at the arriving crowd, six couples, happy, laughing and constantly talking to one another, music from some sort of electronics playing, three of the men already out of the canoes and pulling them in to land, each with one hand for the canoe the other for a can of beer. While it is forbidden to use music players out loud in the park, I am more concerned to find a site far away from these happy campers than to lecture a large group about park rules. The first of the group to introduce himself is a friendly brown marked Springer spaniel . I ask the others if they are going to Booth Lake.

“Yes” one says “and you?”

I put on a big smile.

“The same…. As far away from you folks as I can get.”

More big smile.

“I’ll bet. You don’t need us to wreck your solitude.” laughing.

I set off for the other end with my canoe pack following two of the group who had quickly loaded up while the others unloaded the rest of their gear.

The portage is in good shape, one steep incline and some muddy patches with boardwalks built across. I leave my gear at the top of the slope down to the put-in. I decide it’s best to let the group get through and on their way first rather than crowding against them. I will also be able to see the direction they take so I can get away from them. I walk back to get my small pack and the canoe. Their dog passes me several times running from one end of the portage to the other seeming to be the one making sure everyone is accounted for.

Three of the men in the group are walking back with me. One asks me where the best campsites on Booth are. I forget to tell him I had never been on the lake before when I advise him to try some sites far away from my destination, describing how they are near the good fishing, having noticed that everyone in the group has a fishing pole. I had done some research about campsites on the web and come across convincingly I think. I did tell them that there was a web site they could use to check out campsites in the future. I mention that I think the sites will be large enough for the whole group to tent.

“I’ll be OK” one guy says

“I use a Hennesy hammock. I wasn’t sure about it at first. I used a tent up to three years ago.” (https://ca.hennessyhammock.com/ )

My assumption about couples was wrong unless a hammock was more than one person’s choice.

“So I guess you really like it?”

“Yeh. I will never go back to a tent. It’s designed asymmetrically so I lie comfortably, and flat. Funny thing is that when I use it I always wake up with a really strong hard on.”

TMI

“Hmm. Hennesy could do ads to replace Viagra.” I say

Laughter all around.

Well that was unexpected.

Returning with the canoe I wait until they all leave. I then paddle toward a site with a sandy beach I hoped would be vacant. I pass one site with a great beach and keep going because the other one I’m thinking about is further on.

 

After passing a couple more beach-less sites I turn back thinking that it’s a long way to the one I’m seeking, and it might be occupied. It’s better to take the one I passed instead. Arriving there I couldn’t hear any sounds, not even the large group. Sounds carry easily and far across the lake, so I was safe from noise. Please remember that these people were friendly, happy and having fun. It’s just that I didn’t want them within sound distance of me. I hope they had a great time.

I set up camp and went looking for a good bear-hang tree. I can only find one that was barely acceptable.. The forest is beautiful tall pines, none with branches low enough to get even the parachute chord over. My final decision is for a scraggly one near the water about 50 meters from the tent. I’m tired of looking for bear-hang branches and will invest in a bear proof sack at MEC. The manufacturer and user reviews say not to bother hanging the bag – just tie it securely to a tree. The bear will not be able to get into it and will give up (or maybe it gets annoyed and comes to me to complain). I’m bringing too much food anyway, filling a 20-liter dry sack and spilling over into my secondary backpack. I will be bringing food home again. 15 liters, the size of the bear proof sack is more than enough, and I’ll stick to no more than that next time (yeh, right, really).

At 4:00 pm I sip some wine with cheese and salami and start thinking about dinner. I can postpone getting it ready to about 7:00 pm. Later than that will risk cleaning up and hanging the food in the dark. Tonight’s dinner is commercially freeze dried sweet and sour pork with rice. The reviews for it on the MEC website were all 4 out 5  at least. It is good, not great maybe 4 star, all right 3 star. It’s supposed to serve four which must be someone’s joke. It’s good for two if they are not too hungry. I ate the whole thing although I was stuffing in the last bit determined not to throw anything away. It’s OK to put organics in the fire pit as long as it will be burned later, definitely not left there at night.

I was in my sleeping bag at 8:00 pm feeling tired from the day’s journey and the poor sleep the night before. I remembered that I had some Buckley’s flu and cold pills in my first aid kit. I took one and settled into what I expected to be an early evening nap, putting my eBook next to me to read into the night when I woke up.

September 15th

The the dim morning light gradually brushed away the black night in  the tent. I opened my eyes and checked the time. It was 6:30 am. I had slept right through, the best rest I ah since I got the cold. Being in no rush I rolled over and went back to sleep until 7:30.

As usual morning coffee was first when I got up, this time brewed in the French press mug and then poured into my 3 cup insulated camping mug  which was a much better way to drink it I did not burn my lip.  After  the necessary trip to the thunder box and a quick wash in t he lake I make breakfast, clean up the dishes and settle into my chair on the beach. The mist is heavy this morning and still lingers.

It burns off by 10:00 am and I am on way to explore Tattlers Creek, which ends in a 770 meter portage I will not be taking. The sun that has burnt through the mist is hot, occasionally shaded by clouds.

 

I paddle to Tattlers Creek, about 2 hours to the portage. On the way I pass a cabin apparently occupied by four men preparing two canoes to go fishing. I pass them when I return from the end of the creek and ask if they have been catching anything. They say  they’ve caught nothing in the last couple of days.I am not surprised because the intense heat will drive fish way One down into the colder water. I brought my fly rod but won’t bother to fish because I believe I will not have better luck.

By the time I get back to my campsite I am soaked with perspiration get rid of my clothes to cool down and go for a swim. Then I prepare a lunch of wine, cheese, salami, and  a bagel with peanut butter. Thinking I might get caught by someone passing in a canoe I put on my bathing suit and settle into  on my beach chair to eat. I don’t notice two canoes traveling together until they can see me, so the bathing suit is a good idea. I relax through the afternoon reading, writing and going into the water.

I notice a trail in the sand on the bottom. Looking closer I see a sort of large beetle leaving the track and take a picture of it. I have no idea what it is and will look it up at home.

I also get to know two small frogs who never leave the beach. Leon and Lester, as I name them, become known to me as my guard frogs, never leaving their positions on the beach.. They along with Cedric the chipmunk are constant companions.

I am in my sleeping bag after diner at 8:30 pm when it is dark., listening to the last of an audio book for an hour then reading until  I fall asleep

September 16th

I wake up at 6:30 and follow my morning routine until I leave for more exploration, this time to a beaver dam on McCarty’s creek.  It is a winding route through marshlands. Navigating through requires looking for the channel of the current that breaks through the grasses and mud , the way ahead not always obvious. I enjoy this kind of canoeing because there is lots to take in from my surroundings. Paddling across  a lake is less interesting.

The lily pads are starting to turn colours, the most prominent signal of coming fall. A few white blooms on the water are the last of summer.

I pass beaver lodge, and hope to see a beaver but am not lucky. I do see three otters , their heads and long necks popping out of the water together directly in front of the canoe, like the submarine periscopes. They are gone so quickly I can’t take a picture. One reappears beside the canoe, quietly growls a little and is gone. I continue until I reach the beaver dam. I don’t want to haul over it today and turn around to go back..

The return  trip seems faster because I am now familiar with the route. When I arrive at my camp I repeat yesterdays afternoon routine, thoroughly relaxing and enjoying the hot remains of the afternoon.

Some people have occupied the campsite next to mine about 100 meters away,. I hear no sound and see no sign of them. Tomorrow I will go home. I will have to wait until the mist burns off the lake before I start, probably 10:00 am given the time it took the last two mornings. I haven’t lit a campfire yet and do so tonight, making a video recording of it with the loons calling in the night as a souvenir.

Algonquin Canoe Trip 2018-09-16 18-55-52

September 17th

The next morning’s mist burns off earlier than before. Including morning coffee, breakfast and  packing up I am loaded and ready to go at 10:30 am. The trip back is uneventful. I  record a video of the walk through the long portage to document it for those who might be interested in what a typical portage entails. It shows the muddy sections, those with boardwalks over the places that will be impassible otherwise if there is rain, the typical roots and rocks to watch for and the climbs that provide a little extra exercise. There are lots of colorful mushrooms along the way that unfortunately don’t show up in the video. At the second short portage I meet another person solo canoeing on his way in. We chat and he notices me staring at all the gear he has brought.

“ I used to travel light, making trips across the park. Now I go for luxury. I know it looks like there’s enough here for three people.”

He was right about that. After a little more talk comparing our canoes and packs we part ways. I am back at the access point at 1:30 pm. A couple are busy getting ready to set out. Judging by the cars in the parking lot this remote area  still gets a lot of visitors.

It has been my best trip yet I think, beautiful sunny weather that has given me a dark tan, two great campsites with beaches, warm water, great wine and cheese, making up for mediocre dinners, paddling explorations where I lost myself enjoying the surroundings and the peace that comes here, where we humans are almost absent, and our preoccupations of no concern to the forests, lakes , rivers  and inhabitants that don’t care, yet wrap consolingly around me.