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  1. #21
    Senior Member Niagara's Avatar
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    .. dddddddiiidddd you say. "unexpected .... sooooogggy beavvver daaaaam????? Oh Bother......

  2. #22
    Chard's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Niagara View Post
    .. dddddddiiidddd you say. "unexpected .... sooooogggy beavvver daaaaam????? Oh Bother......
    It was one of beaver dams that spanned the full width of the creek with around a foot of drop down the other 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 like a 85 pound gymnast on a balance beam. From there I dragged my loaded canoe around the whole **** 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.

    (Fun little aside added to part 3)
    Survival is about getting out alive, Bushcraft is about going in to live - Chard (aka Forest-Hobo)

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  3. #23
    Senior Member KeeWayKeno's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by LuvmyBonnet View Post
    Great stuff. Hard to believe I've missed the whole EGL paddle season.
    Start getting in shape for TEMAGAMI next year!!

  4. #24
    Senior Member Niagara's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Chard View Post
    It was one of beaver dams that spanned the full width of the creek with around a foot of drop down the other 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 like a 85 pound gymnast on a balance beam. From there I dragged my loaded canoe around the whole **** 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.

    (Fun little aside added to part 3)
    "yup it's solid" she said... well played sir.. well played.
    carry on....

  5. #25
    Chard's Avatar
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    Les Misérables - Part 4 - The Final Chapter


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




    I wearily shouldered my pack, grabbed my bag of water and trudged up the sandy cut to the main camp beyond. After the last couple of days of portaging, even that short little incline burned in my legs. It was good to see that Cruiser51 and Brantwing had not been idle over the last few days. Several tarps were already set up and protecting the group from the rain.

    The closest was the kitchen area where a windblock and roof covered a makeshift table where most of our food preparation would be carried out. Before long that table would be filled with personal stoves, pots and plastic bottles. Amazingly, nailed to the side of the table, a long, narrow plank of wood had been skillfully painted to depict a wintery scene of an island on a lake surrounded by hills. Beautiful. Just to the south was the firepit, with a good supply of wood on hand, and just past that another large tarp was spread. Underneath was a dry sitting area some five by five metres wide, our lounge.

    Looking around I could see the new arrivals setting up tarps and hammocks. After being greeted by the locals, my first question was to know where Brantwing had set up. Normally I'd trust his powerful snoring to keep away all of the local bears, but this time we had Charlie to keep us safe. Fortunately Brantwing was set up on one side of the lounge opposite of all of the other hammocks.

    First things first, I strung up my water bag, began refilling my empty bottle and then turned to looking for a place to hole up for a couple of nights. It never ceases to amaze me how difficult it can be to find an acceptable pair of trees in a forest. Are they too close? Too far? Is the ground level? Are you on a hill? Would it flood in a heavy rain? More importantly, does your neighbour have a reputation a preponderance of noxious digestive gases or conversely, is it possible that you've placed yourself too close so as to imperil their own well being?

    In the end I strung my hammock between two trees on a sloping hillside just a little below Sknox with a little hollowed out area beneath my feet. Sknox's only fault was an quiet little snore that hadn't bothered me at all. With my hammock and tarp set up and my quilts all laid out to expand, I grabbed my now full water bottle and food bags and strolled over to the lounge. After unfolding my camp chair, a green Helinox sunset chair, the only chair rated to hold my ponderous bulk, I sat down and just enjoy a moment of hard earned comfort.

    It wasn't long before everyone had gathered in and around the kitchen/lounge area and people were setting about preparing dinner and and enjoying beverages or cocktails after all, it's well known that in the bush, it's always scotch-o'clock. Jiblets rigged an Adirondack styled tarp, a fire was lit and everyone settled down to enjoy some good conversation on all manner of topics. As the evening wore on people excused themselves for the night. I left a couple of fellows still talking around the fire when I eventually tucked myself in and I didn't last more than a few minutes before sleep overtook me.



    I awoke around eight the next morning. Sknox was unfortunately leaving today and I didn't want to miss seeing him off. In the end, I think it was closer to eleven before he eventually pushed off, on his long trip back to Gatineau, Quebec.

    We had joked with him because he'd miss our much anticipated group meal, a seafood chowder prepared by Jiblets. It had been planned for Saturday night just in case any other marshmallows showed up. It's too bad because that chowder was to be the culinary highlight of the trip. With the assistance of his personal food freeze-dryer, Jiblets had freeze-dried an assortment of baby clams, shrimp, scallops, potatoes, carrots, whole pieces of pollack and even three cans of campbells mushroom soup. All told, the packages couldn't have weighed more than a pound or two. Amazing. Unfortunately somewhere along the way Jiblets and I got our wires crossed, and neither of us, nor anyone else, had brought an onion.

    Later that morning we were paid a very pleasant surprise visit by Niagara and Emma. They had camped at the northern end of Pen where I suppose they could strike a happy balance between group and personal time. They visited for a while and then eventually paddled back to their site. It was still early after all, and they hadn't had breakfast yet. As luck would have it, they left us with a parting gift, a small shopping bag containing a couple of potatoes, some carrots and a lovely onion.

    Like most down days, we spent our time lounging, collecting firewood and dining, but eventually it was agree that we should start dinner. The fire was stoked and my trusty old camp pot was half filled with water. Soon the ingredients started to go in, all under the watchful eye of Jiblets. First in went the onions, potatoes and carrots contributed by all, followed by the mushroom soup mix and two small bags of prepared rice. Only when everything was almost fork tender did Jiblets add the various packages of freeze-dried seafood that had been re hydrating in warm water. Spices were kept simple, with salt, pepper and just a hint of Old Bay seasoning. As a final touch a packet of instant mashed potatoes was added as thickening. Next to the pot on the grill, the foil of two loaves of freshly warmed garlic bread was torn open. Dinner was served.



    Let me just say that the chowda did not suck. With all manner of seafood and thick, creamy soup in abundance and yes, even a large piece of potato or two, I believe we may have reached a new level of campside cuisine. Unfortunately Niagara and Emma missed the meal, and Sknox as well. Next time we'd have to plan more group meals. The next morning I woke early to begin packing. I was leaving a day earlier than everyone else and wanted to get on the road fairly early. First awake was Brantwing but gradually all of the rest of the crew crawled out of their hammocks and staggered to the lounge. Too soon I said my farewells and carried my packs down to the water where my canoe was waiting. Iguana and Charlie came down to the beach to see me off and with a shove off the sandy beach, I was on my way.

    Charlie had been wonderful to have around. Being an Australian Sheepdog, part of his charm was that his strong natural herding instinct. He had come to consider each of us as sheep in his flock and whenever any of us would go on some errand, you could be sure that Charlie was right there by your side, waiting to make sure that you got safely back to the group. Get up and go for a pee and you'd find yourself with a surprise chaperone beside you.

    The lake was calm and a patchwork of clouds and blue sky stretched out above me. From behind, a gentle breeze pushed me north to trip's end. Along the way I waved to someone in the distance that I can only assume was either Niagara or Emma. I think I'm starting to need spectacles.

    I crossed the 375 metre portage into Rock without issue and enjoyed a very relaxing paddle up past the high cliffs of Picto Bay. As I rounded the point and neared the outlet of the Madawaska several other canoes joined alongside. We all paddled quietly around the few last bends up to the access point and the parking lot.

    As my canoe came to rest at the dockside, I took a long sigh of relief. Looking back over the last few days, I was proud of what our little band of explorers had done. A humble trips as far as mileage and portages went, it paled in comparison with many of the trips that I or most of the others had done in the past. Granted the three kilometer portage was the longest I'd ever attempted, but if I'm honest with myself, that portage all but had me beat. Had Keewaykeno, Quiet and Skonx not been there, I likely would have pushed myself through, but with possibly disastrous consequences.

    There's an old adage that a team is only as strong as the weakest link. I personally don't hold much stock in that view. Frankly, I've never carried a chain into the back woods despite how heavy some might think my pack might be. I'd prefer to say that like a stout rope, a team only gets stronger the more tightly they're knit together. One thread may be weak and easily broken, but together there's a fortitude, a sturdiness that can overcome almost any ordeal.The salient point I think, is that any time friends come together as they do on a simple paddling adventure, a hike or a barn-raising, their strength is their friendship. It's been over eleven years since the first EGL hang was held and while many of the old familiar faces are still around, many others have come and gone. All have left their mark in one way or another. All are missed. One thing I've noticed over the years; there's nothing like a canoe trip to forge friendships that last a lifetime.

    Last edited by dkurfiss; 10-17-2020 at 07:22. Reason: at op request
    Survival is about getting out alive, Bushcraft is about going in to live - Chard (aka Forest-Hobo)

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  6. #26
    Senior Member Niagara's Avatar
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    well done Chard and well said my friend.. I am thankful to have been part of the EGL group the past few years
    Last edited by Niagara; 10-13-2020 at 14:08.

  7. #27
    Senior Member Cruiser51's Avatar
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    Hear ...Hear

  8. #28
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    Nice to have a report that takes as long to read as some trips.

    Sounds like the trip was worth it despite the rain. Louisa is a nice lake and the site where the old fella was lounging us great for a big group.

    Hope to see everyone soon.

  9. #29
    Chard's Avatar
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    Full Trip Report

    Les Misérables (Full Trip Report)



    A blur of oranges whipped past as I sped along the black ribbon of Highway 60 up into the Algonquin Highlands. In the distance, muted orange hilltops rose up from dark green valleys. Looking closer, the uppermost tops of the maples were now mostly bare leaving the forest floor in a carpet of orange. Even a few days past their full autumn prime, the hardwoods of Algonquin were still majestic.

    Familiar landmarks flashed past; the Smoke Lake lookout, the signs for the Canoe/Smoke Lake Access Point signs, and eventually the Lake of Two Rivers where the highway comes to the water's edge. It wasn't long before the Rock Lake sign appeared and I exchanged asphalt for gravel. The forest closed in around me as I worked my way along the wash-boarded route until at last the campground signs diverted me to the parking lot of the Rock Lake Access Point where our adventure would start. As I pulled in I could see a collection of canoes and faces. The rest of the group were ready to go and I was a little late. Keewaykeno, Quiet and Sknox stood around talking as Cruiser51 and Brantwing, who had pulled in a few minutes earlier, were still unloading. It wasn't long before Lipstick, my sixteen foot prospector canoe, and my gear were down by the water, ready to go.

    Our plan for this year would be to start off on Rock Lake and then take the three kilometer portage into Lake Louisa for two nights. From there we'd loop down through Rence, Harry and Welcome lakes where we'd spend another night before continuing on to Pen for the rest of the weekend. All told we'd be covering close to 40 km including 8 km of portages. As a slight twist, Cruiser51 and Brantwing would be heading directly down to Pen to set up a base camp. To help lighten the load of the "loopers", they offered to carry half of our rations and any extra gear down to Pen for safe keeping.

    As I was carrying my gear down to the water I noticed that a chap walking towards me looked familiar. "Are you Larry, Larry, um ..... Larry Hyett?" I asked. I got a big smile in return and he admitted that he was. We talked for a while and I told him that I had enjoyed their YouTube videos for years and after a thanks Larry said that he and his brother Steve were just getting ready to head out for a week in the Park, on Lake Louisa of all places. Fortunately the rest of our group had managed to chat with the YouTubers. I was also told that I had just missed Scott of YouTube's Drenalin Adventures who was returning from a few days outing. Quite the collection of celebrities.

    Canoes packed, we made ready to push off. Keewaykeno was paddling a Keewaydin that had been loaned to him by Swift where his own canoe was still being built. Cruiser51 and Brantwing were both paddling lovely cedarstrips built by Cruiser51 himself, canoes so beautiful that they almost have a life of their own. In fact, Cruiser51's canoe seemed to be so eager to get underway that it floated away from the dock all by itself. You just have to admire that kind of enthusiasm. Keewaykeno reached over from his canoe to stabilize mine as I contorted my legs under my new kneeling thwart. Once settled, we were off.



    Finally paddles pulled water and our six canoes were off, first down a short meandering river section of what I think might be the mighty Madawaska, and then out onto Rock Lake itself. To the left were Rock's drive-to campgrounds, suprisingly full while ahead and to the left, Booth's Rock rose up to look over the lake. It wasn't long before Keewaykeno, Cruiser51 and Brantwing pulled far ahead, leaving Quiet, Sknox and myself in their wake. Cottages slid by on our right as we paddled south down the lake for a few kilometers before we bore right past Picto Bay towards our first portage, the dreaded 3K into Louisa. All the while, the Hyett brothers had paddled alongside our little flotilla.

    By the time I approached the shore, I saw Keewaykeno shoulder his big pack and set off into the woods. Brantwing and Cruiser51 were standing by the shore, ready to lend a hand to those of us who were pulling in. After uncontorting my legs from that gosh-darn kneeling thwart I climbed out onto shore. Truth be told, that kneeling thwart has really changed my paddling. For years I've used a milk-crate as an impromptu seat and for years my ankles would stiffen to the point that it often took over five minutes for my feet to be flexible enough for me to stand up. The kneeling thwart seems to have solved this problem and now, once untangled, I'm up and out of the canoe like a shot, or at least an aged lump of clay. Cruiser51 and Brantwing returned to their canoes and waved as they headed south to Pen. We were on our own.

    The portage from Rock Lake to Louisa was to be the main obstacle in our loop. Personally it would be the longest portage I've ever attempted. Given it's length we all chose to double-carry the portage, taking our gear across in two trips. This turned a portage three kilometers long into something closer to nine kilometers! An alternative to double carrying is to leapfrog the portage, carrying half of one's gear a short way before dropping it and going back for the rest, repeating this process until the end of the trail. While it might take a little longer than a long double-carry, what with all the extra time spent dropping and picking up gear, any extra time is compensated for by more rest periods along the way. Most of our group elected to do the carry in two long trips The Hyett brothers on the other hand, given the amount of gear they had, chose to leapfrog their way to Louisa.

    The portage itself was beautiful and generally as flat as a trail winding through the autumn forest can be. Blanketed in an orange and yellow carpet of leaves it was a pleasure. We had a sprinkle of rain that just served to cool us off. I managed to carry my packs all the way along the seemingly endless portage to Louisa but my second trip with the canoe was much more challenging. I was quickly becoming exhausted. With my energy levels dropping precipitously I decided to drop Lipstick somewhere around the midway point and return to my packs on Louisa with Sknox for something to eat and refill my tanks. Sknox offered to swap loads with me, but I told myself that all I needed was a little more energy.

    Back on Louisa the Hyett brothers were just pushing off. I collapsed by my bags and fished out a Snickers bar. Keewaykeno and Quiet, who had just finished the portage themselves, ordered me to sit and rest as they turned to go back for my canoe. A while later, after their prescribed rest and some water, Sknox and I got up and returned down the trail to help bring my canoe across only to discover that Keewaykeno and Quiet had already come most of the way. Keewaykeno refused my offer to carry my canoe and continued on to the forest road where Quiet then shouldered Lipstick and finished the walk. I was admonished for the weight of my canoe, fully double that of Keewaykeno's own and I resolved to look into finally trading Lipstick in for a lighter model. It's a humbling feeling, but I was grateful for their help. I would have much preferred to make it through on my own steam, but I had to be careful. Thanks guys.

    We had only a couple of hours of light left and needed to push on. We loaded up the canoes and pushed off into the eastern reaches of Lake Louisa. On the first significant point along the north shore, just out from Martin Creek, we passed the Hyett brothers in the process of setting up their camp. Larry had mentioned that they were hot-tenting in his canvas campfire/baker tent and wood-stove, a heavy load that would pay for itself in the upcoming days.

    We continued down the lake but given the time of day, chose not to push on to the islands that were our original destination. Instead we stopped just short at one of the campsites on the north shore just north of Mildred L. over the hills to the south. Up on the site we found a small supply of firewood and were thankful to those who had been here before us. We quickly set up camp, Sknox spread a tarp by the fire area and we settled into the chores of preparing dinner. A grate was placed over the fire and it wasn't long before Sknox's huge steak and my little lamb chops were sizzling away over the coals. We reaffirmed the age old wisdom of not discussing religion or politics and settled on the things we had in common, our love for canoeing and the great outdoors. We were graced with a beautiful sunset that turned the sky a deep shade of pink and then it was over. One by one we climbed into our hammocks and closed our eyes just as the first few drips of rain began to patter on our tarps.

    .



    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 apartment'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 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 little 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 remaining 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. As I was still driving up to the Park, he updated me with his new plan 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 our mental game of guess his arrival time all the 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 updated our game by wondering "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 stealthy 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 decided to go directly on to Pen and skip the loop altogether? We pessimistically 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 and 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 when Iguana shot a glance back down Louisa and noticed a flashing light making its way towards us. Soon a dazzling array of headlamps shone out into the darkness, 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, interrupting 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-fiber 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 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.

    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 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 drop on 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 paddled left, plunged my paddle at least five feet deep into the water to my left and unfolded myself from under my kneeling thwart. I managed to disembark 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 the rest of the meandering creek 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. These sloppy outlaws 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. We reasoned that 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 from behind. 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 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 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.



    I wearily shouldered my pack, grabbed my bag of water and trudged up the sandy cut to the main camp beyond. After the last couple of days of portaging, even that short little incline burned in my legs. It was good to see that Cruiser51 and Brantwing had not been idle over the last few days. Several tarps were already set up and protecting the group from the rain.

    The closest was the kitchen area where a windblock and roof covered a makeshift table where most of our food preparation would be carried out. Before long that table would be filled with personal stoves, pots and plastic bottles. Amazingly, nailed to the side of the table, a long, narrow plank of wood had been skillfully painted to depict a wintery scene of an island on a lake surrounded by hills. Beautiful. Just to the south was the firepit, with a good supply of wood on hand, and just past that another large tarp was spread where underneath a dry sitting area some five by five metres wide would become our lounge.

    Looking around I could see the new arrivals setting up tarps and hammocks. After being greeted by the locals, my first question was to know where Brantwing had set up. Normally I'd trust his powerful snoring to keep away all of the local bears, but this time we had Charlie to keep us safe. Fortunately Brantwing was set up on one side of the lounge opposite of all of the other hammocks.

    First things first, I strung up my water bag, began refilling my empty bottle and then turned to looking for a place to hole up for a couple of nights. It never ceases to amaze me how difficult it can be to find an acceptable pair of trees in a forest. Are they too close? Too far? Is the ground level? Is there a hill? Would it flood in a heavy rain? More importantly, does your neighbour have a reputation for a preponderance of noxious digestive gases or conversely, is it possible that you've placed yourself too close so as to imperil their well being?

    In the end I strung my hammock between two trees on a sloping hillside just a little below Sknox with a little hollowed out area beneath my feet. Sknox's only fault was an quiet little snore that hadn't bothered me at all so far. With my hammock and tarp set up and my quilts all laid out to expand, I grabbed my now full water bottle and food bags and strolled over to the lounge. After unfolding my camp chair, a green Helinox sunset chair, the only chair rated to hold my ponderous bulk, I sat down and just enjoy a moment of hard earned comfort.

    It wasn't long before everyone had gathered in and around the kitchen/lounge area and people were setting about preparing dinner and and enjoying beverages or cocktails. After all, it's well known that in the bush it's always scotch-o'clock. Jiblets rigged an Adirondack styled tarp, a fire was lit and everyone settled down to enjoy some good conversation on all manner of topics. As the evening wore on people excused themselves for the night. I left a couple of fellows still talking around the fire when I eventually tucked myself in and I didn't last more than a few minutes before sleep overtook me.



    I awoke around eight the next morning. Sknox was unfortunately leaving today and I didn't want to miss seeing him off. In the end, I think it was closer to eleven before he eventually pushed off, on his long trip back to Gatineau, Quebec.

    We had joked with him because he'd miss our much anticipated group meal, a seafood chowder prepared by Jiblets. It had been planned for Saturday night just in case any other marshmallows showed up. It's too bad because that chowder was to be the culinary highlight of the trip. With the assistance of his personal food freeze-dryer, Jiblets had freeze-dried an assortment of baby clams, shrimp, scallops, potatoes, carrots, whole pieces of pollack and even three cans of Campbells mushroom soup. All told, the packages couldn't have weighed more than a pound or two. Amazing. Unfortunately somewhere along the way Jiblets and I got our wires crossed, and neither of us, nor anyone else, had thought to bring an onion.

    Later that morning we were paid a very pleasant surprise visit by Niagara and Emma. They had camped at the northern end of Pen where I suppose they could strike a happy balance between group and personal time. They visited for a while and then eventually paddled back to their site. It was still early after all, and they hadn't had breakfast yet. As luck would have it, they left us with a parting gift, a small shopping bag containing a couple of potatoes, some carrots and a lovely onion.

    Like most down days, we spent our time lounging, collecting firewood and dining, but eventually it was agreed that we should start dinner. The fire was stoked and my trusty old camp pot was half filled with water. Soon the ingredients started to go in, all under the watchful eye of Jiblets. First the onions, potatoes and carrots contributed by all, followed by the mushroom soup mix and two small bags of prepared rice. Only when everything was almost fork tender did Jiblets add the various packages of freeze-dried seafood that had been re-hydrating in warm water. Spices were kept simple, with salt, pepper and just a hint of Old Bay seasoning. As a final touch a packet of instant mashed potatoes was added as thickening. Next to the pot on the grill, the foil of two loaves of freshly warmed garlic bread was torn open. Dinner was served.

    I had heard of Old Bay seasoning many times but couldn't remember ever trying it. Just before we added it to the pot I took a careful sniff and was instantly transported back to the summers of my youth long ago when I had spent some time by the Chesapeake Bay. The smell of opening paper bags filled with steamed crabs covered in this same Old Bay seasoning came flooding back to me. I was excited to add an extra dash or two of that Old Bay to my dinner tonight.



    Let me just say that the chowda did not suck. With all manner of seafood and thick, creamy soup in abundance and yes, even a large piece of potato or two, I believe we may have reached a new level of campside cuisine. Unfortunately Niagara and Emma missed the meal, and Sknox as well. Next time we'd have to plan more group meals.

    We brought up the topic of the chap, that watcher in the woods along the Rock-Louisa portage
    we had seen on our first day. I had been carrying my packs down the portage past a small wetland on the left. Looking up I saw a young fellow wearing just a shirt and pants standing among the thick trees a pace off to the right. "Good morning" I said. "Good morning" he replied. Thinking not too much of it, I continued on my way. It was only in retrospect that I realized there were no packs or canoes at either end of the portage, no gear other than that our group or the Hyetts had landed with. So where did he come from and what was he doing standing so quietly in the middle of a three kilometer portage. It's possible that he walked in along the old logging road that crossed the trail, but from where and with no gear? Very odd. Very odd indeed.

    The next morning I woke early to begin packing. I was leaving a day earlier than everyone else and wanted to get on the road fairly early. First awake was Brantwing but gradually all of the rest of the crew crawled out of their hammocks and staggered to the lounge. Too soon I said my farewells and carried my packs down to the water where my canoe was waiting. Iguana and Charlie came down to the beach to see me off and with a shove off the sandy beach, I was on my way.


    Charlie had been wonderful to have around. Being an Australian Sheepdog, part of his charm was his strong natural herding instinct. He had come to consider each of us as sheep in his flock and whenever any of us would go on some errand, you could be sure that Charlie was right there by your side, waiting to make sure that you got safely back to the group. Get up and go for a pee and you'd find yourself with a surprise chaperone beside you.

    The lake was calm and a patchwork of clouds and blue sky stretched out above me. From behind, a gentle breeze pushed me north to trip's end. Along the way I waved to someone in the distance that I can only assume was either Niagara or Emma. I think I'm starting to need spectacles.

    I crossed the 375 metre portage into Rock without issue and enjoyed a very relaxing paddle up past the high cliffs of Picto Bay. As I rounded the point and neared the outlet of the Madawaska several other canoes joined alongside. We all paddled quietly around the last few bends in the river to the access point, the parking lot and "civilization".

    As my canoe came to rest at the dockside, I let out a long sigh of relief. Looking back over the last few days, I was proud of what our little band of explorers had done. A humble trip as far as mileage and portages went; it paled in comparison with many of the trips that I or the others had done in the past. Granted the three kilometer portage was the longest I'd ever attempted, but if I'm honest with myself, that portage had me all but beat. Had Keewaykeno, Quiet and Skonx not been there, I likely would have pushed myself through with possibly disastrous consequences.

    There's an old adage that a team is only as strong as the weakest link. I personally don't hold much stock in that view. Frankly, I've never carried a chain into the backwoods despite how heavy some might think my pack might be. I'd prefer to say that like a stout rope, a team only gets stronger the more tightly they're knit together. One thread may be weak and easily broken, but together there's a fortitude, a sturdiness that can overcome almost any ordeal.The salient point I think, is that any time friends come together as they do on a simple paddling adventure, a hike or a barn-raising, their strength is their friendship. It's been over eleven years since the first EGL hang was held and while many of the old familiar faces are still around, many others have come and gone. All have left their mark in one way or another. All are missed. One thing I've noticed over the years, there's nothing like a canoe trip to forge friendships that last a lifetime.


    Last edited by Chard; 10-16-2020 at 12:24. Reason: Final edit and a few extras.
    Survival is about getting out alive, Bushcraft is about going in to live - Chard (aka Forest-Hobo)

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  10. #30
    New Member
    Join Date
    May 2019
    Location
    Chatham, ON
    Hammock
    cruiser51 design
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    scout or cruiser 5
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    wonderful trip report, great pictures. the narrative makes me feel like i was there. loved the ending......... i'd prefer to say that like a stout rope, a team only gets stronger the more tightly they're knit together. One thread may be weak and easily broken, but together there's a fortitude, a sturdiness that can overcome almost any ordeal.The salient point I think, is that any time friends come together as they do on a simple paddling adventure, a hike or a barn-raising, their strength is their friendship. It's been over eleven years since the first EGL hang was held and while many of the old familiar faces are still around, many others have come and gone. All have left their mark in one way or another. All are missed. One thing I've noticed over the years; there's nothing like a canoe trip to forge friendships that last a lifetime. i am looking forward to next year and sharing a paddle with the group rand

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