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  1. #11
    Chard's Avatar
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    Les Misérables - Part 2


    "Please see below for the final version of the trip report (Post #29)"




    Waking early, I heard the steady drum of rain on my tarp. All night it had been the same, a steady light rain followed by the dripping of fat drops from the trees whenever there was a lull in the weather. I opened my eyes and saw the first glow of morning and was grateful that we had no plans to travel today. A wonderful rest day. After yesterday's early morning rise, the long drive to the Park and the even longer portage into Louisa, I gratefully closed my eyes, snuggled deeper into my quilts and snoozed for a few hours more. Only one thing broke my peaceful slumber: who was that watcher in the woods I had seen on the Rock/Louisa portage?

    It was closer to nine when I eventually swung my legs out of my hammock, pulled on my boots and emerged from underneath my black tarp. The rain had eased off and Keewaykeno and Sknox were talking quietly by the firepit. Quiet's hammock hung out from below his tarp and still appeared to be weighed down by his slumbering mass. Branches, leaves and ground, everything was damp.

    Coffee. I pulled out the orange mesh bag of my cook kit, a Toaks 1100ml titanium pot with bail inside of which was nested my beloved Bushbuddy. It's funny, since last winter I was sure that my stove had rolled underneath the railing of my arartment's balcony when a windstorm blew through Toronto in the spring. Amazingly, a few weeks before the trip, long after I had resigned myself to its loss, I was rummaging around my apartment and pulled out an old plastic toolbox from behind some boxes. Lo and behold my Bushbuddy was inside. How it got there I don't recall, but I assume that I was having an early senior's moment. No matter, I was elated! I gave it a good cleaning and packed it away properly.

    Now back on Louisa I diligently prepared the kindling, from starter twigs to thumb-sized main fuel. I loaded the stove like a smoker loads his pipe and then set it ablaze, eagerly expecting to drink my first hot coffee within minutes. First wisps of smoke and then little flames began to lick the bottom of my pot and I confidently reached for a little pack of Via powdered coffee. I turned my attention to tearing the little pouch and carefully emptying it into my mug. That done and I turned back to find that flames had gone out and only a smoldering pile of twigs remained. I repeated the process two more times. Suffice to say that I worked for that coffee that morning. I'm certain making that coffee cost me was considerably more difficult than carrying it across the 3K portage. I looked down at my Bushbuddy in disappointment. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't her, that it was me, but we both knew it would have been a lie. How could I love something that was so dang high maintenance, an incessant struggle to keep shoving lumber into her hungry maw. Meanwhile the rest of the guys were happily warming up what seemed like gallons of hot water on their little isopro stoves. Of course they wouldn't openly laugh at my feeble attempts to boil water, but every time I turned my back I was sure I heard a snicker, sure that they were re-enacting the Zoolander gas station scene, but with boiling water in place of petrol. I'd show them. Half an hour later my first coffee was ready but tasted a bittersweet. I have to admit, my love affair with this short, stocky, little Bushbuddy was up against some stiff competition when I daydreamed about my tall, slim and sexy Kelly Kettle Trekker. Sure she only boils up two cups of water at a time, but she does it in a couple of minutes and who can resist those curves and that sweet little whistle. I digress. Coffee was fine.

    Our second day passed too quickly. Casual banter was supplemented by constant snacking and a general good cheer. Quiet woke up a little while later and joined us under the tarps. The weather during the day was a light miserable. Winds whipped up whitecaps out on the lake and the intermitent rains kept us huddled under the tarps. In disgust I retreated to my hammock and napped for an hour or so. Keewaykeno, eager to make the best of the last day of trout season, cast furtively from shore but to no avail. I managed to do a little photography but misty shorelines are so passé.



    Sure the weather could have been better. Sure it could have been warmer but appreciation for the good times only comes through experiencing the bad. All in all we just relaxed on our precious down day. On the positive side, we were waiting expectantly for the remaing two members of our little expedition.



    Iguana had planned to join us back at the put-in the day before, but life, as is it's wont, got in the way. While I was still driving up to the Park, he updated me with his new plan was to paddle in Wednesday and join us on Louisa. The other missing member of our group was Jiblets. We knew that he was already in the Park, camping with family along the western borders. Like Iguana, he'd planned to join us on Wednesday, but all of the extra variables around his arrival made the mental game that much more delicious. When did he leave Ralph Bice? Was there a headwind? Based on our weather, that was probably a yes. Then he'd have to drive out and around to Rock. How long would that take? Would he come to Louisa or just go directly to Pen? Like a group of bushwise Sherlocks , we weighed all of the variables.As noon turned to late afternoon, we amused ourselves by playing our favorite game "If he had left at so and so time, he'd likely be arriving around so and so time". As the hours passed we continued to wait and revise the parameters of our little game with an eye down the lake for approaching canoes.

    A little while before sunset we heard a call from the water. Unbeknownst to us, Iguana had paddled stealthly up on us. Few men can confidently paddle the north woods with a big hairy beast between his legs, but we're happy to say that Iguana is one of those. As he approached shore, his year and a half old purebred Australian shepherd "Charlie" jumped out from midships and began running around, first cautiously and then eagerly greeting everybody. After so many years of travelling without a dog in the group, Charlie was an absolute pleasure and became the centre of attention. Oh yeah, it was nice to see Iguana, bringer of dog.

    Now, including Charlie, we were six.

    As darkness fell, we began to wonder whether Jiblets would be able to make it all the way out after all. Would he wait until tomorrow? Had he pulled off and set up camp along the way? Had he deceided to go directly on to Pen and skip the loop althogether? We pessimestically performed our mental calculations knowing full well that there was one parameter that was impossible to quantify: The Jiblets Factor.

    Understand that Jiblets is a man of focus, commitment, sheer will. I once saw him cook three sausages over a fire with a skewer, a frick'n skewer.

    It was well after dark and everyone was beginning to think about turning in for the night. Iguana shot a glance back down Louisa and noticed a flashing light making its way towards us. Soon a dazzling array of headlamps shone back, guiding the errant traveller ashore. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Jiblets coasted nonchalantly into view, as if paddling and portaging in the dead of night was as commonplace as running down to the cornerstore for a can of soda.

    Baggage was quickly hoisted up onto land and greetings were exchanged. Once onshore, Jiblets set about preparing his hammock and tarp. We made some jokes about how his arrival was such an inconvenience, interupting our plans for turning in and how now we'd be forced to spend extra time around the fire entertaining our recent arrival. With a laugh Jiblets explained how his brother had had car trouble leaving the Magnetewan Access Point and that he hadn't been able to launch into Rock Lake until the sun was low on the horizon. After a hurried paddle to the portage, he had loaded up all of his worldly possessions; his backpack, his trademark assortment of supplemental nylon bags, flipped his carbon fibre canoe onto his shoulders and then plunged down the now dark three kilometer forest trail guided only by the narrow beam of his headlamp. For Jiblets, it's single carry or bust! How he didn't slip and break a leg on the now wet leaves and roots, I'll never know. Someone must have been watching over him. Once on the other side of the portage, it was a simple matter to paddling along the north shore until he found us.

    Now we were seven.



    End of Day 2
    Last edited by dkurfiss; 10-17-2020 at 07:21. Reason: At OP request
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  2. #12
    Senior Member Cruiser51's Avatar
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    I need another bag of popcorn ... thank you for the effort posting this Chard.

    Brian

  3. #13
    Senior Member Niagara's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Cruiser51 View Post
    ... thank you for the effort posting this Chard.

    Brian
    I second!!! thank you Chard.

  4. #14
    Senior Member KeeWayKeno's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Niagara View Post
    I second!!! thank you Chard.
    I third! Almost like being there (minus the sogginess).

    Some beautiful shots too, Chard. Worth the extra 50 lbs of gear.

  5. #15
    Chard's Avatar
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    Les Misérables - Part 3

    "Please see below for the final version of the trip report (Post #29)"


    Everyone managed to wake up a little earlier the next morning. Our two nights on Louisa had come and gone and now, over the hustle of breakfast, we contemplated our next move. Should we push on with our loop or drag our soggy selves back across the 3K to Rock? We weighed the extra portages, foul weather and the prospect of exploring deeper into Algonquin against indulging in a third cup of coffee and taking the easy way back to Pen. Out on the lake a strong westerly wind blew intermittent bands of rain our way but behind that large patches of blue sky were beginning to show through.

    We put off the decision until mid-morning, but as the weather cleared, the lure of new vistas was irresistible. We'd push on with our loop and see how things turned out. If we arrived on Welcome Lake early enough we'd consider continuing on over a couple of more portages to Pen and arrive a day early. If not, we'd camp on Welcome and make for Pen the next morning. Our plans settled, everyone quickly and quietly went about the business of packing up.

    Sknox was the first to be ready and pushed off ahead to get a bit of a head start. Keewaykeno and I were next on the water followed eventually by Iguana, Jiblets and Quiet. We had to work into a strong headwind as we made our way west along Louisa until we passed the campsite that marked our turn into the southern bay and our first portage. On that windswept point a white-bearded old timer sat alone sipping his coffee, watching our little line of canoes bear down on him. Keewaykeno paused for a moment to exchange a few words and then we were on our way again. Ahead, Sknox had already pulled his canoe into the forest. Just as we neared the shore, a light rain had started to fall.

    Our first portage of the day, a 1725 metre into Florence and Frank Lakes, was a pleasure. The leaf covered trail rolled gently through a golden yellow forest until about two thirds of the way, when the trail merged briefly with an old logging road before plunging back into the forest. Keewaykeno, already on his way back from the end of the portage, warned me not to miss the turnoff, an easy thing to do with a canoe atop one's head. As I walked I raised Lipstick's bow so I could see my surroundings and sure enough saw a yellow portage sign pointing the way to the left. I dropped my canoe as a landmark for the rest of the group and I walked back with Sknox to grab our second loads. I was feeling much better this morning and managed to carry my pack and camera-bag straight through to end. After a drink of water I returned for my canoe, but despite my best effort, the rest of the group had already pushed off from the portage by the time I threw my canoe back in the water. Fortunately Iguana and Charlie had stayed behind to make sure any stragglers (me) were safely across. It was much appreciated.

    We loaded our canoes and paddled out first into Florence and then Frank Lakes. By now the weather was solidly overcast with scattered showers. All around the colours of autumn were becoming more subdued and after the wind and rain of the last few days, the treetops were even more exposed. After another short 320 metre portage we ran into an unexpectedly soggy beaver dam, with about a foot of drop down the far side. Down the middle the dam was solid enough to stand on but you'd get a serious soaker. To the right was a well traveled muddy patch that also looked a little sketchy, the footprints there just looked too moist. Far to the left the dam butted up against some well established grass so I unfolded myself from under my kneeling thwart, plunged my paddle at least five feet deep into the water to my left and disembarked my canoe with the grace of an 85 pound gymnast on a balance beam. From there I dragged my loaded canoe around the whole dang dam and relaunched my canoe into the deep channel below with all but perfectly dry feet. Iguana went up over the middle and eventually found himself into a shallow mud flat that he forced him to butt shove and pole his way out. Fortunately neither of us managed to submerge ourselves like some other people we have known. We paddled down a meandering creek and into Rence Lake where a single paddler who looked an awful lot like Sknox came towards us. A little confused I consulted my map and confirmed that we needed to take a sharp left to the nearby creek that would take us down towards Harry Lake. Apparently not all maps are created equal and a some of our group had missed the creek and paddled out into the lake before finding the right route.

    Sknox caught up as the creek opened up onto Harry, a lovely little lake that I had visited one cold spring close to a dozen years earlier when three of us had paddled to try our luck with Algonquin's native brook trout. Although we had a bit of success, two other events made a bigger impression: the first when on a cold rainy night we first mixed rum with hot mugs of lemonade and dubbed the concoction a "Hot Harry" and the second being woken in the middle of the night by the sound of shouting and pots clanging coming from across the lakes. Apparently our poachers were contending with one of Algonquin's midnight bruins and we weren't surprised. They were sloppy outlaws who had proudly showed off their undersized trout from a slot-limit controlled lake before the season had even opened the following day. Later into the night they'd start making noise again and again until eventually they fell silent. Either they were fine or they were dead: either way, there was little we could to help. At first light we saw them paddle a hasty retreat towards home and a later investigation found their campsite a mess with food strewn all about. No wonder.



    Back in the now, Sknox paddled into a beautiful rainbow beaming above the eastern shoreline of Harry Lake. I snapped a couple of photos and marveled in its majesty. How could nature be so good to us? I turned to say something to Iguana when I saw a massive apocalyptic black cloud belching out from the west and overtaking us. The rainbow had been a feint, the real blow was coming in like a roundhouse. We were a fair way from the east end of Harry and would still have to paddle another set of narrows before coming out onto Welcome. With the threat of a massive deluge behind us we bent our paddles for the last race and we had almost cleared the narrows when we were swallowed by the weather. Iguana helped fish my raincoat from the back of my canoe and I had just finished stretching a raincover over my cordura backpack when the first drops of rain started to fall. Scattered drops danced on the water's surface but were quickly replaced by a heavy downpour that just a few moment's later included pea-sized hail. Sknox had long disappeared out onto Welcome as Iguana, Charlie and I sought for shelter along an opening in the shoreline. Never having been pelted by hail before, Charlie was twisting and grinding himself onshore while Iguana stood taking shelter under a nearby tree. I just sat miserably in my canoe watching it quickly fill up.



    As soon as it had appeared, the hail stopped and the rains subsided. I clambered ashore, hauled out my packs and actually had to tip two inches of hail and rain out of my canoe before I could continue. My hitherto dry leather hiking boots were now thoroughly soaked and cold. We paddled out onto and overcast Welcome Lake and looked for our friends. I told Iguana that frankly, if they had pushed on to Pen, to hell with them, I'd be camping on Welcome tonight. The monstrous cloud had passed to the east leaving another rainbow in its wake and a single beam of light that shone down on shore, illuminating a small patch of beach festooned with colourful canoes. I paddled along the shore through some grasses and finally beached my canoe for the day. It was well into the afternoon and we were home for the night.




    Our campsite was little more than a small clearing surrounded by a sandy forest. Around the clearing three hammocks were already set up and tarps were being strung by the fire pit. Sknox, Iguana and I set up a little way back into a forest dominated mainly by smaller trees. Close to dusk we went for a firewood run and brought back several long pieces of dead standing to supplement the extra firewood dragged in by Jiblets. Silky Saws for the win. The rain continued on and off for the rest of the night. We huddled under the tarps talking around the fire until one by one we said our goodnights and turned in. Incidentally Keewaykeno had seen that odd fellow in the woods back on the Rock/Pen portage as well.

    The next morning everyone quickly packed up, pulled our food down from the trees and had breakfast. We were bracing ourselves for the final big push down the Galipo river and over a pair of 2170 and 275 metre portages. This last stretch of river is actually quite beautiful and I looked forward to passing the tall waterfalls that emptied into Pen Lake. We paddled for a couple of minutes to the beginning of the long portage and ran through the now familiar routine of shouldering our gear and trudging through the woods.

    A little more difficult than our previous long portages, the twists and turns, rises and dips of the 2170 weren't too bad. One thing that surprised us was the amount of traffic heading past us towards Welcome. Back in the world it was Friday morning and that meant hordes of weekenders out for their own measure of adventure.

    I dropped my canoe at what I thought was roughly halfway and then returned for my packs. Again I managed to push right through to the end of the portage and then turned to slowly walk back to retrieve my canoe. It was tiring work. My canoe actually turned out to be about only a third of the way from the beginning of the trail so I had to stop and rest a couple of times along the way back. Close to the end Sknox appeared, walking towards me. He offered to take my canoe but I assured him that I had just finished a rest and was surprisingly full of piss and vinegar. I walked quickly behind him all the way down to the end of the portage where Iguana and Jiblets were waiting.

    All of the recent rain had swollen the creek between the 2170 and the 275 until the current ran swiftly between banks that were often little more than five feet apart. At one point the creek took a sharp hairpin turn to flood around a small beaver dam. Turning hard, my bow got caught up on the far bank and I had to lever my way out. All the while you could hear the roar of the first of the cascades ahead growing louder to the left. It was a relief to see the creek open up on the right to provide access to our second and last portage of the day. By far the most challenging trail of the trip, the portage twisted down a narrow path along the edge of a steep hill. Careful footwork was essential but fortunately the trail wasn't too long. Along the way the many little waterfalls of the Galipo churned down before emptying into Pen Lake below. The Pen side of the portage was a boulder strewn mess and getting our canoes loaded was a bit of a hassle but eventually we were all back on the water. Keewaykeno and Sknox had pushed off ahead. As we cleared Galipo's shallow delta and entered the main lake a freshening north wind had risen, blowing in another wall of rain.

    Directly across Pen Lake was a tent village that looked very cozy and inviting but we reluctantly turned into the wind and paddled north for where we hoped Cruiser51 and Brantwing would be waiting for us. The prospect of searching for them in the rain did not appeal to me. The cold wind made my knuckles hurt but eventually we rounded the last headland and spotted a familiar beach ahead. Jiblets hit shore first and while I took the opportunity to fill my water filter bag with a few litres of deep, clean lake water. As I approached shore I could see a beautiful pair of overturned cedarstrip canoes.

    We had arrived.


    End of Days 4 & 5
    Last edited by dkurfiss; 10-17-2020 at 07:21. Reason: at OP Request
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  6. #16
    Senior Member
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    Quote Originally Posted by Chard View Post
    Les Misérables - Part 2



    End of Day 2
    I wonder if the watcher in the woods was the same confused character that mysteriously showed up and put wood on the Hyett brothers campfire on a rainy dark night.
    Last edited by Iguana; 10-09-2020 at 15:56.

  7. #17
    Chard's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Iguana View Post
    I wonder if the watcher in the woods was the same confused character that mysteriously showed up and put wood on the Hyett brothers campfire on a rainy dark night.
    Confused or simply benevolent? Hard to tell on a rainy dark night.

    "Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!"
    Survival is about getting out alive, Bushcraft is about going in to live - Chard (aka Forest-Hobo)

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  8. #18
    Senior Member
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    This hammock trip literature is GREAT stuff - even managed to pull me away from my primary responsibilities.

    Thanks!

  9. #19
    Senior Member LuvmyBonnet's Avatar
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    Great stuff. Hard to believe I've missed the whole EGL paddle season.
    Hanging in the woods, paddlin and catching trout- My kind of living...

  10. #20
    Chard's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Tpatter View Post
    This hammock trip literature is GREAT stuff - even managed to pull me away from my primary responsibilities.Thanks!
    Thanks Tpatter. It's always fun writing up trip reports. We've got such a bunch of characters.

    Quote Originally Posted by LuvmyBonnet View Post
    Great stuff. Hard to believe I've missed the whole EGL paddle season.
    Speaking of characters, you've been missed all year long. The land of bagged milk patiently awaits.
    Survival is about getting out alive, Bushcraft is about going in to live - Chard (aka Forest-Hobo)

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