Complain? Na. Surprisingly the dulcet tones of your nasal baritone somehow managed to lull me to sleep each night. Light white noise, if you think of the white as the gentle brightness of a supernova.Originally Posted by keg
Complain? Na. Surprisingly the dulcet tones of your nasal baritone somehow managed to lull me to sleep each night. Light white noise, if you think of the white as the gentle brightness of a supernova.
Survival is about getting out alive, Bushcraft is about going in to live - Chard (aka Forest-Hobo)
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EGL Trip Reports: The Collection Follow me on Instagram
TRIP REPORT - ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE - Part I
I've never written up a Trip Report before so wanted to throw my first attempt out there for fun. Be gentle on my first effort! We all pooled our photographs so I'm not sure who to credit for most of the pictures, but wanted to add a few for interest. This is too long for one post so I've broken it down to a few parts and see how that goes.
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Late last year, trip-organizing mastermind Chard issued a challenge to members of the Eastern Great Lakes (EGL) chapter of Hammock Forums; a 5 day, 160 km canoe trip through the middle of Algonquin Provincial Park, Ontario followed by a 2 night group hang on the Park's grandest lake. For anybody unfamiliar with this gem, the Park is over 7,625 sq. km (over 4,000 sq. miles) of interconnecting waterways that was established in 1893. Larger then 41 of the world's nations, a person could spend a lifetime traveling Algonquin's pure waters and never dip your paddle in the same lake or river twice.
Chard cautioned us that this would be a challenging route that would take a "miracle" to complete in the allotted time, particularly with unusually high spring floodwaters this year. His admonition to get in shape and pack light were taken seriously! As the winter months dragged on hopeful trippers stepped up and dropped out but by mid May the demands of life had whittled our group down to only four willing and able to take up the challenge. ConnieB, Iguana, Quiet and I were packed and ready to go! Another, wiser group of EGL Hangers were to meet us at the end of our odyssey on Lake Opeongo, the largest lake in the park and one with a long and tragic history of lives lost to predatory black bears & hypothermic storm-whipped waters.
We gathered on a drizzling, cool Mother's Day at the Tea Lake campground. It was a nice surprise when Giblets showed up to spend the night & see us off in the morning. Just before sunset the sun broke through low on the horizon, offering hope for a beautiful start to our Algonquin odyssey.
Giblets, ConnieB and I deployed our hammocks while Quiet and Iguana decided to save time in the morning and slept in their cars. ConnieB was the only one of us who thought to bring any kind of alarm clock (her watch) so we asked her to set her alarm for 6:00 a.m. and reluctantly went to bed.
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ConnieB and KeeWayKeno's rigs
Monday, May 15 - Canoe Lake to Big Trout Lake - 32 km / 20 miles
In the predawn gloom ConnieB made the rounds to wake everybody up. The campground was treated to a car-alarm reveille when Iguana sleepily rolled over onto the 'panic' button on his key fob. Sorry folks!
Contrary to the previous evening's promise, we awoke to grey, overcast skies but were favoured by light winds from the north-west. A quick breakfast & pack up then we drove over to the Canoe Lake beach to unload, park our cars for the week & prep our boats while we waited for the permit office to open at 8 a.m. An independent bunch we were each going solo in own canoes & each boat had its own quirks.
My little green 15 foot Swift Prospector, a retirement gift from my wife & the reason for my Hammock Forums nom de plume change from 'RedKanu', is a sturdy little beast but even when paddled backwards from the bow seat needs a LOT of weight in the front to get her trim (level). If it is too high, she weathervanes crazily in any headwind.
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Quiet's Souris River - sweet ride!
Funny how much 'essential' stuff I had packed that, faced with the reality of what lay ahead, was now unceremoniously dumped into the trunk of my ancient Taurus. Holding my fishing gear in my hands, I looked at Iguana who sadly shook his head and said, "I don't think we're going to have time, I'm not bringing mine." Reluctantly, it too joined the growing pile of discarded, hopefully unnecessary gear. Somehow, weight notwithstanding, my platypus of Bushmill's Irish Whiskey made the cut. For this I would later be very grateful. That and Advil.
Eagerly bursting through the Permit Office door as it was being unbolted, we laid out our float plan to the warden.
"What lake will you be on your first night?" she asked.
"Big Trout," we replied confidently.
"Oh boy, that's a long day!" she offered sympathetically. "Next night?"
"Catfish Lake!"
Her sympathy waned while her growing skepticism was obvious as we continued. Though clearly reluctant to issue the permits, our confident swagger must have convinced her we were hardened Voyageurs who knew what we were doing. Another one fooled!
Permits in hand, back down to the beach to launch where Giblets waved us off, "Have a great trip, see you next Saturday!" We were happy to hear that. Even if nobody else showed up at our rendezvous on Lake Opeongo we knew we could count on Giblets to shuttle us back to our cars. Otherwise, it would be a long final portage indeed.
Quiet has already done the lion's share of the work chronicling the details of our journey so I'll just add another perspective & personal highlights.
Quiet, Iguana and I had all done trips that included the first several lakes, but it was all new to ConnieB. Fair winds and calm waters sped our journey north and after a couple of portages the people really thinned out. In fact, the last several days we rarely saw a soul … just of wolf, moose and bear tracks and scat. Unfortunately, besides loons on almost every lake the largest living creature I actually saw during the trip was a broadtail hawk carrying a large snake across the river for its dinner, right over ConnieB's head. Only when I told her did she disclose she was terrified of snakes. Somehow the snakes seemed to know this as they intentionally (?) blocked her path on the portages several times. Telling her their were no poisonous snakes in Algonquin didn't seem to help.
Electing to skip the portage from Baby Joe Lake to Burnt Island, we waded and pushed our loaded canoes up the shallows and small rapids. Some newbie trippers standing miserably at the takeout of the portage loaded down with coolers, lawn chairs & innumerable garbage bags full of 'stuff' watched us slosh past them in amazement & envy. Who were these rugged bushmen? "We're the last of the Voyageurs!" I wanted to boast but restrained myself since we were, after all, only a few hours into our trip.
Schools of hundreds of Brook (Speckled) Trout swarmed around us, so thick they were bumping off my legs. I looked back at Iguana bleakly and he returned the unspoken regret that we'd both left our fishing gear behind. The second half of this wade was surprisingly deep and fast with several spots so treacherous we had no choice but to push and drag our canoes over fallen tree trunks and jagged rocks along the edge of the torrent. Twice I slipped and almost lost my grip on my canoe, which would have sent it like a missile back into everybody behind me. ConnieB also misstepped at one point and was dunked in freezing water up past her waist.
The sun had already set as we emerged onto Big Trout Lake after about 12 hours of paddling & portaging. Though our mileage may not sound impressive, when you factor in that we (even Iguana for the first several days until the weight of his food … and a platypus of wine … dwindled) had to double carry every single portage thus tripling their length, our actual distance was quite a bit more.
We decided to head to the first island site at the south end of the lake and lucked into a real gem. A beautiful, open site with plenty of great hanging trees and an aromatic carpet of soft pine needles on the ground. I immediately spotted two nice cedar trees that would be my home for the night and my companions found equally great spots.
All pretty tired but happy, we gathered around the firepit to boil water to rehydrate our various meals then wandered off to bed. I had skipped a fuel stove and brought only my Kelly Kettle for cooking. All I needed was some birch bark and a few handfuls of dry twigs to make a complete meal. This was a great choice and it performed perfectly. A great first day and, to my utter amazement, we were on schedule!
TRIP REPORT - ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE - Part II
Tuesday, May 16 - Big Trout Lake to Catfish Lake - 32 km (20 miles)
Another 6 a.m. wake up call to a beautiful, calm morning. We prepared quick breakfasts so we could keep our momentum going. Mine was simple: instant coffee and breakfast bars while others prepared more elaborate fare, if you consider oatmeal fancy. I'm not much of a breakfast person so this was plenty. Somehow, despite the early rise, we didn't get on the water until close to 9 … but the favourable tailwinds made the day's travels a delight. Even the portages seemed easier. Heck, this was going to be possible after all!
Our routine started to evolve as the day progressed and we got deeper into the park. The portage landings gradually shrank to the point that they could usually only accommodate a single canoe at a time. The first to land would quickly unload their packs and dump them nearby then return to lift our canoes (or drag depending on how tired we were and the demands of the terrain) out of the water to make room for the next in line to land. Some preferred to portage their packs first but once I got the canoe on my shoulders I figured it was easier just to keep going and come back for my packs later.
At one portage this morning I happened to land first. I upended my canoe and headed off, ignoring the minor annoyance of an improperly balanced load that resulted in my bow being too heavy, stubbornly tilting down to obscure my view of the trail ahead to only a few feet.
Trotting briskly along, suddenly the canoe was driven backwards off my shoulders and the floor of the boat bounced painfully off the top of my head. Stunned, I barely kept my balance. After hoisting the canoe back up into position and tilting the bow up I looked around to figure out what mysterious forces were at play. The trunk of a partially fallen birch arched over the trail barely a foot above my head & I'd blindly rammed the canoe right into it. Like the man on a city street who barely recovers from a slip with flailing arms and gyrations that would be envy of any limbo champion, I quickly looked around to see if anybody had seen the embarrassing mishap … but my companions were still back at the landing so I was spared at least that indignity. The remainder of that portage I made sure the bow of my canoe rode high to assure a clear view of the hazards ahead. I was much more careful after that to check the balance of my canoe at the beginning of each portage.
Another short portage bypassed a swift section of river squeezed between high banks, sweepers and strainers. I landed and was grunting along the portage when I heard a gleeful 'whoop' from the river. Looking down from the trail, I could see ConnieB expertly shooting the rapid and firing out the end into calm water. Though humbled I couldn't help but admire her confidence, it hadn't even occurred to me to run them. My regret was mitigated when I saw Iguana and Quiet also trudging along the portage behind me. Misery loves company, eh?
Since the rest of the day was quite pleasant, it really wasn't that memorable. Funny how mishaps, storms and voracious bugs create the most vivid memories and funny campfire stories but nice days quickly become a happy blur. I do remember that the scenery was great as we paddled through some of the nicest lakes, easiest portages and accommodating weather of our journey. After Big Trout Lake, none of us had been on this part of the route before so it was all new territory for us right until the end.
Despite our late start, the easy conditions of the day saw us arriving at our destination, Catfish Lake, a bit earlier … it was still light! We could afford to be picky, passing by a beautiful site on 'Shangri La' island which was reportedly infested with wood cockroaches a few years ago and 'Turtle Rock' an ancient sacred site to the Algonquin nation. Up in the northern part of the lake we settled on a nice island site. This gave us a jump on the next day's travels which our maps promised to be somewhat more demanding. They didn't lie.
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Wednesday, May 17 - Catfish Lake to Radiant Lake - 32 km (20 miles)
Morning dawned clear and calm. A quick paddle took us to the northern terminus of the lake and our first introduction to the Petawawa River and her famous rapids. Or more properly, the infamous portages AROUND her rapids. The first of these was a short 80 metre hop, but we found a pair of fishermen completely blocking the landing with their canoes and gear. As we paddled up they finally took the hint, reluctantly pulled in their lines and dragged their boats & packs barely far enough to allow us to land and squeeze past them. They helpfully offered that the landing at the far end of the portage was, "Impossible, we had to bushwhack a ways."
Arriving at the far end, we had no difficulty at all, loaded up and pushed off downstream into a strong current. Only looking back did we realize they were right; there was absolutely no way a canoe could have fought upstream against that current to the portage takeout. They must have landed a good 50-60 metres prior to that and had a tough battle through the thick bush with their canoes and gear just to reach the portage! I was suddenly a bit more tolerant of their therapeutic fishing session. I was also very grateful we were going downstream, but knew an upstream section of the Crow River awaited us tomorrow.
Next up was a delightful 2,345 metre jaunt mostly UPHILL to the top of fancifully named Unicorn Hill. For our American friends, metres are approximately yards, just a bit longer - so this translates to about 1.5 miles. Double carrying tripled this to 4.5 miles. Good times! As we sweated our way to the summit I didn't see any unicorns but might have spotted a hallucinatory pink moose or two. A quick swig of water at the top (the whiskey being tragically packed too deep in my pack to dig out) then a steep descent back down to the river.
At the end of the portage we met a crew of park rangers who had just landed lugging chainsaws, weed whackers, etc. as they headed in to do some portage maintenance. We thanked them for their work and asked about water conditions ahead. They confirmed the water was still unusually high on the Petawawa River east out of Cedar Lake and that the wind was up on that lake. "But," they comforted, "at least it is from the West so it will be behind you. Otherwise you'd be in trouble!" These guys would be the last people we passed on any portage trails for the rest of our trip.
Cedar Lake was the northernmost point on our trip, almost at the top of the Park. A large lake oriented West-East, it frequently whips up heavy seas and canoeists trying to traverse it are often 'windbound' … meaning stuck wherever you happen to be because it is simply too dangerous to proceed. A century ago this area was scene of brutal death for many loggers and the undergrowth along the river's banks hide innumerable forgotten graves. The traveler who pauses to think about it realizes it is like paddling through an ancient cemetery, though most of the graves have melted into the landscape. We stopped to pay our respects at one grave still visible at the beginning of the final portage leading to Cedar Lake. Here a simple whitewashed wooden cross simply reads, "A. Corbiel, June 1, 1888."
Emerging from the forest onto an open grassy area and beautiful beach, we gazed across a turbulent lake of 2 foot breakers to a cluster of small buildings on the far northern shore that are the final remnants of the long abandoned village of Brent. This is still a famous access point, campground, outfitter and store, all considered an essential 'junk food oasis' in a desert of dried, lightweight tripping meals. We shook our heads sorrowfully because it was not to be. Far too rough to attempt a crossing with fierce winds and breaking waves coming full abeam from our left. Instead, we launched and headed east to round a point to the protection of its leeward coast. I was actually having fun playing in the waves as we got our 'sea legs' back & we adjusted to riding the following seas. Taking a break from the waves in a sheltered cove, we looked east across a large open expanse towards our destination. We couldn't see it in the distance but we knew there was a dam on the far shore marking the egress of the Petawawa River out of Cedar Lake & the start of our next portage. Feeling strong and confident, we shoved off.
Leaving the shelter of shore, the wind & waves increased steadily. I was paddling close to ConnieB. She is an accomplished whitewater canoeist but wasn't used to big, open, rough water and admitted she was nervous.
"What do we do if somebody breaches and falls in?" she called over the wind.
I looked around at the already high & growing breakers and considered the freezing water temperatures (ice-out was only a few weeks ago after all) and yelled back, "Just don't. A rescue in this would be impossible."
"But what would we do?" she insisted.
"Well I guess we'd watch somebody die. All the rescue techniques they teach are worse than useless, they're dangerous when it's this rough. We'd end up with two people in the water."
Frightening & harsh perhaps but reality.
Conditions quickly intensified the further we got from the lee shore but there was no turning back, to attempt it would almost guarantee a breach. Iguana and I got separated from Quiet and ConnieB and we paddled as hard as we could for the eastern shore, surfing on 3 foot breakers that kept trying to turn us broadside and swamp us. We weren't exactly certain where our landing was, but at some point Iguana spotted what looked like dam floats indicating our target. Fortunately, it was perfectly downwind.
At some points my bow was on one crest, my stern on another crest and my paddle was uselessly sweeping air in the deep trough between. I shouted to Iguana that I couldn't tell what direction the waves were coming from, they were just a confused mess of peaks and valleys that seemed to come from two directions at once. I should have been scared spitless but there was no time for that. I didn't even dare turn to look back to see where Quiet and ConnieB were.
After what felt like hours of hard paddling I surfed to shore at the portage landing with Iguana right behind me. Gazing back we could see ConnieB steadily making her way to our landing but no sign of Quiet!
"Where the heck is he?" I asked Iguana, seeing only rough waves across the seemingly vast distance (in reality only about a mile or so) to the far shore.
"There he is!" Iguana said, spotting Quiet as his tiny canoe rose from a deep trough to surf down another wave. He looked almost serene as he paddled steadily and surely towards us.
Only after ConnieB and Quiet landed did we learn that they'd been driven by the wind & waves smack into a mid-lake island. ConnieB had actually been helpless to stop from being washed onto the rocks before she managed to shove her way back out to deeper water. Both admitted it had been a frightening experience and ConnieB said,
"My hat's off to you flat-water paddlers, I had not idea it could be like this. Nobody can ever tell be flat-water paddling is boring again!"
Amen.
Most of the rest of the day we headed east on the Petawawa River. Multiple portages skirted alongside impressive Class F (Forget-about-it) rapids with legendary names like 'Surprise Rapids', 'Devil's Chute' and 'Five Man Grave'. That last one has a nice ring to it. Yikes! The sun had already set as we finally emerged into Radiant Lake and to our great surprise glided past a beautiful cottage on a high rocky point. We were headed to two campsites along the west shore, hoping they weren't occupied as the next ones were a good half hour paddle along the north shore. Nearing the first one, a beautiful open site, Iguana announced the unwelcome news, "Occupied!"
Passing close by, a pair of young couples waved cheerfully and asked, "Where are you headed?"
ConnieB replied sourly, "I guess the next campsite."
"There's one right over there," the helpful young fellow offered, waving vaguely to the south.
We paddled past the next point seeing nothing, then the next point … still nothing. Crap.
"Are you sure there's a campsite down here?"
"The map says there is, right on one of these points."
Well the whole darned shoreline was nothing but points and bays and in the gloom they all looked the same. Turning around and retracing our path, we could barely discern a dim orange campsite sign on a dark shoreline ahead. Hallelujah, home for the night!
We staggered ashore and set up by headlamp again after another long day. We knew we had some long portages ahead of us tomorrow so we got right down to preparing our simple dinners. Somebody asked ConnieB what she was making for dinner and she replied, "Whatever is the heaviest!"
Crawling into the welcome embrace of our hammocks, I don't think I ever fell asleep so fast in my life. Once again, to my utter amazement, we had achieved our objective and were still on schedule. This lucky streak was about to end.
TRIP REPORT - ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE - Part III
Thursday, May 18 - Radiant Lake to Lavaque Lake - 20 km (12.4 miles)
Today was to be our shortest day in terms of miles travelled but the most physically demanding of our trip. ConnieB set her watch for 5:30 a.m. to make sure we got across Radiant Lake before the wind came up.
ConnieB asked if it would be as bad as Cedar Lake the day before. I replied that we had survived Cedar Lake which was the new benchmark for difficulty, to be known henceforth as Cedar Lake Tough or CLT. When evaluating routes and difficulty in future, all possibilities should be compared to the new CLT standard, as in;
"Is it going to be tough?"
"Yes, but not CLT so we're OK."
This became our mantra for the rest of the trip whenever things got 'interesting.'
Sure enough, we'd just reached the river mouth on the far shore when we felt the wind rising. Within hours dark clouds, brief showers and distant thunder made us happy we were off the big lakes today. This happiness diminished somewhat as we struggled over portage after portage, some unexpectedly challenging.
Consulting my map, I recall telling my companions that the next portage was a, "short, easy little 155 m hop." Wish I hadn't opened my mouth as it proved to be the hardest one of the entire day! Starting with a swamp, steep ascents & descents over treacherous footing and several lifts over downed trees made for an unwelcome surprise. That short portage took us almost an hour to negotiate.
Arriving near the end of another 'short, easy' portage, the trail abruptly disappeared underwater still 20 metres from the river. The river was so high, it reached fingers of water into the surrounding forest, flooding the end of the portage. I waded in waist-deep water to the end and jammed my canoe high into the bushes to prevent it from washing away downriver. Returning for my pack I met my companions and suggested they drop their packs where the trail goes under water, go back for their canoes and then float their loaded canoes down the portage to the put-in. Saved them another icy soaking. Give me a nice, level 2 kilometre portage any day!
Midday found us turning off the Petawawa River onto the Crow River. After lunch overlooking the spectacular Blueberry Falls, it sunk home that our downstream luxury was over, big time! We were all surprised by the strength of the current and quickly realized it would have a real impact on how far we could reasonable expect to get today. We had planned to get to Lake Lavieille tonight and actually have a layover rest day on Friday there before proceeding to Opeongo on Saturday. No way we were going to get that far.
The coup de grâce that day were two back-to-back portages, the first almost 2.5 km (1.5 miles) then a wade across White Partridge Creek followed by another 1.2 km (3/4 mile) carry. By this point Iguana had lightened his food load & was able to single carry so left us in his dust.
The entire trail paralleled raging whitewater and I tried to imagine the lives of the loggers who rafted huge booms of white pine down these torrents every spring. Over the past centuries many feet had trod where I now did and some never returned to their families at the end of the season. Instead, their bones rested in invisible graves all along this route. When I finally stumbled into a clearing, Iguana got up from where he'd been heating some soup on his twig stove and laughed,
"Good news and bad news! The good news is this is the end of the portage. The bad news is, there's the next portage."
He pointed across a fast flowing river to the far bank where a sign proclaimed the beginning of the 1,200 m. carry. Oh, what fun!
After returning with my pack I took a better look at this 'creek' we were supposed to wade across. Wade? Not a chance, it was too wide, too deep & way too fast. As a fly fisherman who has learned to respect the power of fast water, I knew this was not wadeable. Anyone who tried would be immediately knocked off their feet and flushed into the Petawawa at the mid-point of a 3.5 km rapid. This was not a survivable scenario and we might be the cause of a name change downriver to 'Six Grave Rapid'! Similarly, ferrying across might be possible but would certainly be dangerous for the same reason.
Quiet and I scouted a possible crossing further upriver while ConnieB and Iguana considered their options. We returned just in time to see the fearless (of whitewater, not snakes) ConnieB launch herself into the creek facing upstream and ferry neatly across to an eddy on the far shore. Geez, she made it look so easy! Iguana was next, paddling with all his considerable strength but nonetheless struggling to overcome the speed of the water. He made it but just barely, ConnieB grabbed his gunnels and pulled him to safety.
Quiet and I looked at each other.
"I don't have any confidence I can make this," I said, "I'm going to launch from up there," pointing to the spot we'd scouted.
"Me too," Quiet replied.
I'm sure the concern I saw on his face was mirrored in mine. Back to our canoes, I jumped in, shoved off and paddled like hell. It was all I could manage to ferry over to the far side where Iguana grabbed my boat before the current sucked me past to certain death below. Another silent thanks to Gitchee Manitou. I lifted my boat quickly out of the way while ConnieB jumped back into the water beside Iguana & they readied to grab Quiet's canoe. Similarly, he struggled & very nearly got swept away but was snagged by Iguana and ConnieB and pulled into safety. Before leaving I took one last look at the monstrous rapids we'd escaped. Geez, they were HUGE!
Wrapping up the 1.2 km portage, we were again paddling in near darkness trying to find the campsite on what the map called Lavaque Lake but was really just a wide spot on the Crow River. Not far ahead we pulled up onto shore right beside a beaver lodge whose occupants made their tail-smacking displeasure at our presence known repeatedly. The site was probably flooded over in the weeks prior as the ground was still spongy and saturated. Trees were knocked down all around us, making access to the hillside Thunderbox (privy) almost impossible except for the highly motivated. Iguana was so motivated. I was less so.
As we set up & prepared supper in the dark the spring peepers started singing in full force. They pump out as many decibels as a Rolling Stones concert, no lie! Fortunately, a wind and light rain sprung up and that seemed to tone down their romantic ardour. Tonight I tried some dehydrated homemade Shepherd's Pie. This was a fail. An hour after everybody else had gone to bed, I was hunkered under my tarp in the rain trying to chew still-hard lima and green beans eating by the red light of my headlamp. After a couple of half-hearted spoonfuls, I had to admit defeat and resort to a Cliff Bar and a few pieces of beef jerky from tomorrow's lunch. Tonight I discovered the unequaled bliss of a dram of Irish whiskey added to an 'After 8' hot chocolate!
We didn't make our goal of Lake Lavieille but we were cool with that given we actually had planned two nights on Lavieille. Splitting the brutal upstream travel between two days was much more realistic.
Friday, May 19 - Lavaque Lake to Lake Lavieille - 12.3 km (7.6 miles)
Morning came to our soggy campsite and we were eager to get moving. A quartet of stoves fired up to boil water for coffee and we chowed down breakfast then packed up our gear, damp from the overnight showers.
Through the night the wind had roared in the treetops and rain pattered on our tarps for brief periods but we were in a nicely sheltered spot so barely noticed. What we didn't know was that several of the party we were to meet had already arrived on Lake Opeongo Thursday night and set up camp on Englehart Island.
The overnight storm that we barely noticed was actually very powerful, taking down trees and knocking out power all the way from the Park to Parry Sound (about an hour's drive south of us). Worse, LuvmyBonnet's tarp was completely shredded by the high winds in the middle of the night, leaving him to huddle in the storm with little protection. This almost ended his trip but with typical hammocker's ingenuity he repurposed the large white poly tarp that was intended to be our guiding sign and was able to stay.
Again our distance today was to be fairly short since yesterday's itinerary was split between two days, but the continual upstream travel in floodwater conditions and 8 portages suggested we'd earn our supper.
In the early afternoon we were greeted by a welcome sight - the open waters of Lake Lavieille! We were officially back on schedule. We traded fighting against the current to fighting the wind and waves but it was actually a relief. All we had to do was paddle 6 km. (4 miles) down to the southern end of the lake and find a campsite then luxuriate in a full evening to relax.
Two years ago a blue-green algae bloom erupted on Dickson Lake, immediately south of and connected to Lavieille. This algae produces toxins that can make you very ill and cannot be boiled or filtered out. As a result, Dickson Lake was closed to camping in 2015 but trippers were still permitted to travel through it so long as they minimized exposure to the water. Last year, the algae spread into Hardy Bay at the south end of Lake Lavieille so it was closed too. We had hoped that water tests this spring would show that the algae had died off and the lakes would be reopened to camping but it was not to be. As of this writing these waters are still off limits to camping.
To position us for the tomorrow's challenging route, we wanted to get as far south as we could without entering the 'forbidden zone' of Hardy Bay. Strong southern winds helped speed us along as we aimed for an island that had two prime sites. We rode 1 foot rollers that were far from Cedar Lake Tough. Unfortunately the first campsite, a real beauty with two high rocky points surrounding a small, protected lagoon, was taken. Continuing to the southern end of the island, we were ready to land at the next site when we noticed a white placard nailed to a tree in the place where the orange campsite sign should have been. The notice advised that this site was closed due to the algae bloom and suggested campers head back to the northern part of the lake … several miles back where we'd just come from but upwind against 1 foot rollers! No way. A brief discussion about our options ensued ending with a firm declaration, "The hell with it, we're staying here."
We unloaded and started to set up on what turned out to be a prime site. Iguana volunteered to take all of our water bags and paddle back to the north end of the island to fill them. We figured if that campsite was still open, the water must be safe. While there, Iguana met the campers who said they'd been there for a week, drinking the water with no ill effects. They also told us that the previous night's storm had knocked down many trees, completely blocking the trail that normally connected the two campsites. Since the storm was barely noticeable where we had camped we were all quite surprised it had been so violent. We still had no idea how damaging it had been throughout the area.
A leisurely supper and small fire rounded out our day. Tomorrow's travels loomed large in our minds as we would be tackling both the longest portage in the Park and its largest lake famous for it's high winds and dangerous waters. We retired early to recoup our stamina for these challenges.
Last edited by KeeWayKeno; 06-05-2017 at 20:24.
TRIP REPORT - ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE - Part IV
Saturday, May 20 - Lake Lavieille to Englehart Island, Lake Opeongo - 26.8 km (16.6 miles)
Since the waters south of us were potentially poisoned by the algae bloom, we had to filter & carry enough water to last us until mid-afternoon … including the longest portage in the park. The dreaded Dickson-Bonfield Portage was 5,470 metres (3.4 miles). Iguana would be the only one single-carrying, so the rest of us would be portaging 16,410 metres (over 10 miles) followed by two shorter carries under 300 m.
We set off and found the narrow channel connecting Lake Lavieille with Dickson Lake. I was in the lead and after glancing at my GPS, turned right to find the portage. Everybody followed until I suddenly realized the GPS on my lap was upside down and I'd gone the wrong way. I turned back and announced the mistake, bringing some well deserved smirks from my companions. Even with the benefit of satellite navigation I'd managed to make a wrong turn!
What can I say about the Dickson-Bonfield portage except that it is indeed a long one? Fairly level and unchallenging otherwise, it just goes on … and on … and on! All the more heartbreaking when you have to cover the same ground three times. My breathless prayer to Gitchee Manitou, "Next time, I WILL PACK LIGHTER … if you just let me survive this time, OK?"
I've never been so happy to drop my canoe at the end of a portage, scratches be damned. There was Iguana happily munching jerky and drinking freshly filtered water, refreshed from a very brief dunking in ice-cold Dickson Lake. I defiantly announced, "What, that's it? That's all they got?" then collapsed utterly spent. I don't think Iguana understood my heroic but exhaustion-slurred words. Too bad, I was too tired to repeat them.
Knowing our meager rations would be exhausted, Iguana had filtered extra water and was about bring some back to meet us. Just then Quiet arrived with his boat, dropped it gratefully and headed back for his pack. Iguana jumped up to meet ConnieB to offer her a hand with her canoe (she'd been suffering for the lack of a proper yoke pad the entire trip) so I joined him and relieved her of her pack. She didn't object too strenuously.
This portage is a rite of passage for most serious Algonquin enthusiasts and a personal 'bucket list' achievement for me. Completing it took everything we had left at the end of a demanding trip & we all needed to replace burned calories. This is when Quiet brought out a sealed 1 pound package of Canadian cheddar cheese & offered it around.
"Holy Cow, you carried that the entire trip? That is now officially the most valuable cheese in the world!"
Needless to say we all gratefully accepted and the entire block disappeared in seconds.
A couple of small lakes and short portages were all that stood between us and the mighty Lake Opeongo now, where we hoped to meet fellow members of our Hammock Forums EGL party to guide us to our next & final campsite. Without a guide we might never find them. Once we hit the beach at the end of OUR LAST PORTAGE we looked around. Crickets. No marching band? No champagne? Did anybody even come? A week is a long time and anything could have happened since we departed a week ago and broke off all communication with the world.
Opeongo was uncharacteristically calm. I'd been on this lake several times in the past but the wind and waves never let me get further then the mouth of the southern bay, so I knew how bad it can get. People have been windbound here for days, unable to even launch their canoes against a crashing surf ready to grind their boats to powder. Quiet, an experienced tripper, told us the only time he'd ever been truly frightened while canoeing was on Opeongo. We all must have been very, very good in our previous lives because today the sun shone on nothing more then gentle ripples. We're off!
About halfway down the Eastern Arm we spied a familiar canoe in the distance with a lone paddler aiming directly at as. Giblets!! He'd made good on his promise to come back for us, even if nobody else came. He told us there was actually about 5 more of our Hammock Forums EGL group camping on Englehart Island. Fantastic! Passing through the Eastern Narrows we emerged into the huge central bay of the Lake and followed the shoreline south. Another canoe with a solo paddler approached, paddled by an afficionado of the Bill Mason technique … Bubba!! A very nice surprise since he'd told us that he was unlikely to attend this hang.
Arriving at Englehart Island around 4:30 p.m., we were met the rest of the gang; LuvmyBonnet, 76Highboy, Keg and of course the mad genius who dreamed up this entire venture, Chard! What a welcome. They helped us land and bring up our canoes and gear, peppered us with questions about the trip and then handed us each an ice cold beer. As we set up our hammocks, Chard got the fire going and started grilling hamburgers for us. A hero's welcome indeed … unexpected and undeserved but greatly appreciated. What a great group of folks and the BEST beer & hamburgers I've ever had!
A highlight of this evening was LuvmyBonnet catching his first Algonquin fish. He'd been trying to land one the past two years without success and I'm sure he doubted the actual existence of the fabled trout in these lakes. A shout of surprise and rush to shore by eager helpers brought his catch to hand … a beautiful 2 lb. Lake Trout! 76Highboy and Chard showed him how to clean it then over the fire it went. Minutes later we were all enjoying chunks of the sweetest pink flesh ever cooked over a fire. LuvmyBonnet was the rightly ecstatic and we were all happy for him (and our full bellies).
I sat by the fire enjoying good company, great food and some very fine whiskey (thanks 76 Highboy and Keg!) basking in the glow of a personal achievement I actually doubted I was capable of. What business does a guy approaching 60 have taking on a trip like this? Turned out to be the best trip of my life.
Sunday, May 21 - Englehart Island, Lake Opeongo - 0 km/miles!
76Highboy, LuvmyBonnet and Bubba all had to leave this morning to be back to work on Monday. Sorry to see them go, we didn't have nearly enough time hanging with them. On the other hand, it started to rain and didn't stop all day so they didn't miss much.
Not much to tell today. We sat around under some well-strung tarps, tended the fire and ate … all day. The highlight for me was Giblet's experimental baking of cheese biscuits in a Bundt pan over the fire - absolutely delicious! Giblets, King of the Dollar Stores, has a genius for sourcing inexpensive gear & cobbling together highly functional equipment from bits and pieces of random 'stuff'. His fireside woodworking skills are also pretty impressive.
The four Voyageurs, now re-christened the Cedar Lake Tough (ha!) rubbed our sore muscles, tended our blisters and relished the inactivity.
Monday, May 22 - Englehart Island, Lake Opeongo to Final Takeout 5 km (3 miles)
They say every good thing has to end and this amazing trip was no exception. We got up at 5 a.m. because Chard's weather radio predicted rapidly deteriorating weather as the morning progressed. Having no desire to face high winds on the big lake we ate & packed up in record time & shoved off by 7 a.m. Despite the push to stay ahead of the promised weather, Chard still managed to drop a line and troll hoping to bring home a trout for supper. Sadly, no joy there.
A shiver ran up my spine as I passed Bates Island. Here a young couple were attacked, killed & partially consumed by a predatory black bear as they were setting up camp in October 1991. They were discovered 5 days later by a Park Rangers who had to destroy the strangely aggressive beast as it guarded the bodies. A strong, healthy young male, its behaviour was never explained. This rare incident was immortalized by the Tragically Hip in their disturbing song, 'The Bear'. I can't pass this island without feeling a bit creeped out.
We officially ended our trip at the Opeongo store / permit office just after 8 a.m. Here we coordinated rides for the trippers back to Canoe Lake to pick up our cars. We then said our farewells before reluctantly joining the hordes of southbound long-weekend traffic out of cottage country. Until next time!
Postscript:
Thanks to Iguana, ConnieB and Quiet for being such great travel companions & also putting up with my persistent headcold the entire trip. The never-ending honking and snorting would have tried the patience of a Saint Theresa but they have mentioned it. (It probably also made me snore but nobody ever mentioned it. Sorry!)
Finally a huge thanks to Chard. This trip was his brainchild and would have been the fulfillment of a long held desire to travel this route but real life had other plans & he was unable to come. We were all as deeply disappointed at his absence as he was. Regardless, he unselfishly ignored his personal regret and was all genuine smiles and sincere congratulations at our achievement of his dream trip. A true gentleman.
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The Voyageaurs showing their affection for Chard!
Well KeeWayKeno, that trip report was almost as epic as the trip itself. I swear I felt the cold spray of water on my neck when I read about Cedar Lake. I chuckled I imagined ConnieB scooting across Crow R. ferry, but got a serious case of the willies as the rest you guys gave it a try, all above thundering rapids. It's crazy how all of the Algonquin river portages seem to be located as close as possible to the edge of a set of rapids, like some canoe version of a black diamond ski-hill. Why don't they make bunny portages for the marshmallows out there? Twice as long but not death defying. Oh well.
Awesome trip report, both your's and Quiet's, and I'm even more disappointed that I wasn't able to suffer the long miles, the sleep deprivation, the famine, the rough sea tossed shores and the raging rivers with you. It really did sound like the trip of a lifetime!
Last edited by Chard; 06-05-2017 at 12:24.
Survival is about getting out alive, Bushcraft is about going in to live - Chard (aka Forest-Hobo)
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Wonderful report KWK! I wish I could have gone but I knew when the trip was first suggested that I couldn't go.
I'm happy I proposed the now dubbed "marshmallow" trip. It was nice to see you and the other CLT even if it was only one night. My Algonquin dreams continue....
Don't let life get in the way of living.
Great trip report KWK!!!! It was as great as your adventure.
Now that you guys have all that portaging out of your systems lets plan a nice calm lake trip with loads of trout and no portages.
I lost all my pics from my camera getting wet in the storm.Bubba was good enough to send me this one.
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Happy!
Hanging in the woods, paddlin and catching trout- My kind of living...
Quiet, that is... holy heck... 16km double carry?!?! Glad you made it out safely!
Nope nope nope nopeCedar Lake was the northernmost point on our trip, almost at the top of the Park. A large lake oriented West-East, it frequently whips up heavy seas and canoeists trying to traverse it are often 'windbound' … meaning stuck wherever you happen to be because it is simply too dangerous to proceed. A century ago this area was scene of brutal death for many loggers and the undergrowth along the river's banks hide innumerable forgotten graves. The traveler who pauses to think about it realizes it is like paddling through an ancient cemetery, though most of the graves have melted into the landscape. We stopped to pay our respects at one grave still visible at the beginning of the final portage leading to Cedar Lake. Here a simple whitewashed wooden cross simply reads, "A. Corbiel, June 1, 1888."
Last edited by entropy; 06-11-2017 at 18:00.
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