It would be interesting to know more about those graves Alan. Fascinating mystery.
-
Happy Birthday, Simon Fraser (1776-1862)! 🧭🏞 4️⃣9️⃣
Wollaston Lake to Goose Lake (Nunavut Border) and back
- Thread starter Alan Gage
- Start date
Despite being a bit windy and chilly we had a nice hour long walk along the esker and then cooked up a nice hot lunch. I found some fresh caribou scat, which was the closest I’'d come to seeing one on this trip. Flocks of geese, all southbound, continued to fly overhead. A raft of 100 loons were floating in the middle of the lake. Mushrooms were hung in the trees by squirrels to dry. All the animals seemed to feel the approach of winter and I did too. I had little desire to mess around and wanted nothing more than to keep paddling south.
20160904_417 by Alan, on Flickr
The map showed a long esker peninsula about half way to my exit from Charcoal Lake and that’s where I hoped to make camp. But it turned out to be a tall and narrow esker with no flat areas for camping and just a narrow ridge on top. When we rounded the point I could see what looked like flatter land on the back side. Had to paddle a little over a mile back to the north but found a nice island to set up camp. There were a lot of places to set up the tent with attractive views but after last night I wasn’'t taking any chances and instead took the most protected spot I could find. It hadn’'t rained since mid-morning but just to keep me from letting my guard down it sprinkled a little when setting up the tent. Lit one of my few open fires of the trip and it was an enjoyable evening standing outside, in front of the warm fire, not being rained on, drinking a hot chocolate, letting my mind wander, and watching a couple Nighthawks silently swoop up and down and back and forth along the shoreline. There had been lots of them earlier in the trip but I hadn'’t seen any in the last 10 days or more. As I was putting out the fire and climbing into the tent it started raining again. It was very light and only lasted 30 minutes but it was the principle of the thing! When this ugly weather started I wasn’'t too concerned because I was sure it would clear up in a few days. Now, although I went to bed every night hoping the morning would dawn bright and clear, I was getting more pessimistic. I was anxiously adding up the miles left to travel and how many days it would take. My food supply was fine but Sadie'’s was starting to run low and I began to share my food to help stretch hers out. She was fine with that.
The next morning I popped out of the tent whistling under blue skies. Ten minutes later it had clouded up. Son of a b*tch! But the good news was no rain and the clouds didn’'t look too threatening. To keep Sadie happy we paddled the empty canoe over to the main esker and went for a walk before packing up camp and setting out for the day.
20160905_429 by Alan, on Flickr
We didn’'t get underway until nearly noon and the sun started to peak out again. It was cool but not as cold as yesterday and the west wind wasn’'t much of a problem. Today, for the first time in 1 1/2 weeks, we wouldn’'t see any rain. It was a shame to put on such few miles on such a nice day but it was out of necessity. The Bigstone portage was coming up soon and I wanted to tackle it early in the day so I’d have plenty of time after the portage to find a suitable campsite. That meant a short day today and a short day tomorrow so that I could camp as close to the portage as possible. The short day made Sadie happy and the lack of rain, and now evening sun, kept me cheerful. It was nice to let things dry out a bit.
We were camped far down Warren Bay on Charcoal Lake, just before it turned back into a river, and the same site we used the night it froze on August 8th. It was now September 5th. The wind completely died off around 7:00 and it must have been the most beautiful evening of the trip and definitely the nicest sunset. Or maybe it was just because I hadn'’t actually seen the sunset in such a long time. Last time I saw it set was at 9:15. This night it set at 8:30. We were losing daylight fast. So far it had been Canada and white-fronted geese flying south. That evening the snow geese and sandhill cranes joined them. All over the narrow bay fish were rising. I could see minnows rising for bugs near the shoreline. Somewhat larger fish were presumably rising for the minnows a little farther out and now and again a big fish would rise up for them. Like many evenings Sadie spent it anxiously pacing up and down the shoreline looking for frogs she'd never find. The utter lack of frogs was perhaps her biggest disappointment of the trip.
20160905_439 by Alan, on Flickr
20160905_444 by Alan, on Flickr
20160905_449 by Alan, on Flickr
With a clear sky it got quite chilly overnight but no sign that it froze. The forest and river were both covered in a thick mist which was soon burned off by the rising sun. Took our time breaking camp since I knew it would be a short day. I wanted to give things a chance to dry out a bit more. When we pushed off at 10:00 it was warming up nicely without a cloud in the sky and not a breath of wind. Although it was hard to stop I saw an open forest and pulled over to take Sadie for a walk. It was a nice area and we both enjoyed ourselves.
20160906_458 by Alan, on Flickr
The only challenge of the day was getting up Fitch Rapids, which we did with a combination of paddling, tracking, and wading. Part way up I was following the main shore but then had to wade out across a strongly flowing side channel to reach the line of rocks bordering the main flow. It was a little tense as the rocks were slippery and the water cold, fast, and knee deep. I made it across fine but Sadie wasn'’t willing to swim the 15'’ (4.5m) across and I wasn'’t about to walk back to get her. All I could do was calmly reassure her it was ok and keep working the canoe upstream and hope she'’d figure it out. She was quite anxious as I started walking away from her and was soon out of site behind some rocks. There were no rocks for her to follow along the shoreline but she figured out what to do. She’'d go into the woods, run upstream a little ways, and then come back to the shoreline to see if there was a way across. After doing this a few times she got far enough upstream to where the side channel was shallow enough to leave many rocks exposed and Sadie was able to hop across these and join me. I was a little nervous and in up to my thighs more than once as I waded the canoe upstream but all went well.
I’'d planned to cook lunch after making it up Fitch Rapids but all morning I’'d been eyeing a line of dark clouds to the west and now it appeared they were getting a good deal closer. Just upstream from the rapids I found a place where I could set up shelter but after looking at the map decided that if I paddled hard for another hour I should be able to reach a small boat cache I remembered seeing on Bannock Lake where I’'d likely find a flat place to camp and hopefully beat the rain. So that’s what I did and it worked out fine. The wind switched to the south and the sky was now overcast but the rain skirted us to the north. Along the way I passed a large boulder at the outlet of Bannock Lake; well out in the middle of the water and standing by itself. On top of the boulder was an eagle’'s nest. When I'’d passed through a month earlier there were two chicks on the nest; now it was empty. I went in for a closer look and was actually able to climb up on the rock to look inside the nest. It was completely flat on top and, except for a lot of pike skeletons, was remarkably clean.
20160906_464 by Alan, on Flickr
The boat cache was on a tiny sand peninsula just a couple miles from the Bigstone portage so we were well situated for our early morning assault. The first time I’'d passed it the boats were set up and ready to use. Now everything was pulled up and shore and secured for winter. Went for a walk behind camp and found an excellent blueberry crop but unfortunately they were a little over ripe. It had been a disappointing trip for blueberries. At the start of the trip just a few were beginning to ripen and as I headed north I seemed to keep perfect pace with them so that getting even a small handful took quite a bit of work. When I was at the northernmost part of my journey it was hard to find any berries at all. Now, as I was coming back south, I was starting to find the bushes loaded with berries but they were past their prime and not so flavorful. But I wasn'’t complaining and must have eaten at least a couple pints before we set off the following morning.
20160906_476 by Alan, on Flickr
From the ridge we were walking I could see rain falling to the north and south but we stayed dry. Second day in a row with no rain. Woohoo!
Alan
20160904_417 by Alan, on FlickrThe map showed a long esker peninsula about half way to my exit from Charcoal Lake and that’s where I hoped to make camp. But it turned out to be a tall and narrow esker with no flat areas for camping and just a narrow ridge on top. When we rounded the point I could see what looked like flatter land on the back side. Had to paddle a little over a mile back to the north but found a nice island to set up camp. There were a lot of places to set up the tent with attractive views but after last night I wasn’'t taking any chances and instead took the most protected spot I could find. It hadn’'t rained since mid-morning but just to keep me from letting my guard down it sprinkled a little when setting up the tent. Lit one of my few open fires of the trip and it was an enjoyable evening standing outside, in front of the warm fire, not being rained on, drinking a hot chocolate, letting my mind wander, and watching a couple Nighthawks silently swoop up and down and back and forth along the shoreline. There had been lots of them earlier in the trip but I hadn'’t seen any in the last 10 days or more. As I was putting out the fire and climbing into the tent it started raining again. It was very light and only lasted 30 minutes but it was the principle of the thing! When this ugly weather started I wasn’'t too concerned because I was sure it would clear up in a few days. Now, although I went to bed every night hoping the morning would dawn bright and clear, I was getting more pessimistic. I was anxiously adding up the miles left to travel and how many days it would take. My food supply was fine but Sadie'’s was starting to run low and I began to share my food to help stretch hers out. She was fine with that.
The next morning I popped out of the tent whistling under blue skies. Ten minutes later it had clouded up. Son of a b*tch! But the good news was no rain and the clouds didn’'t look too threatening. To keep Sadie happy we paddled the empty canoe over to the main esker and went for a walk before packing up camp and setting out for the day.
20160905_429 by Alan, on FlickrWe didn’'t get underway until nearly noon and the sun started to peak out again. It was cool but not as cold as yesterday and the west wind wasn’'t much of a problem. Today, for the first time in 1 1/2 weeks, we wouldn’'t see any rain. It was a shame to put on such few miles on such a nice day but it was out of necessity. The Bigstone portage was coming up soon and I wanted to tackle it early in the day so I’d have plenty of time after the portage to find a suitable campsite. That meant a short day today and a short day tomorrow so that I could camp as close to the portage as possible. The short day made Sadie happy and the lack of rain, and now evening sun, kept me cheerful. It was nice to let things dry out a bit.
We were camped far down Warren Bay on Charcoal Lake, just before it turned back into a river, and the same site we used the night it froze on August 8th. It was now September 5th. The wind completely died off around 7:00 and it must have been the most beautiful evening of the trip and definitely the nicest sunset. Or maybe it was just because I hadn'’t actually seen the sunset in such a long time. Last time I saw it set was at 9:15. This night it set at 8:30. We were losing daylight fast. So far it had been Canada and white-fronted geese flying south. That evening the snow geese and sandhill cranes joined them. All over the narrow bay fish were rising. I could see minnows rising for bugs near the shoreline. Somewhat larger fish were presumably rising for the minnows a little farther out and now and again a big fish would rise up for them. Like many evenings Sadie spent it anxiously pacing up and down the shoreline looking for frogs she'd never find. The utter lack of frogs was perhaps her biggest disappointment of the trip.
20160905_439 by Alan, on Flickr20160905_444 by Alan, on Flickr20160905_449 by Alan, on FlickrWith a clear sky it got quite chilly overnight but no sign that it froze. The forest and river were both covered in a thick mist which was soon burned off by the rising sun. Took our time breaking camp since I knew it would be a short day. I wanted to give things a chance to dry out a bit more. When we pushed off at 10:00 it was warming up nicely without a cloud in the sky and not a breath of wind. Although it was hard to stop I saw an open forest and pulled over to take Sadie for a walk. It was a nice area and we both enjoyed ourselves.
20160906_458 by Alan, on FlickrThe only challenge of the day was getting up Fitch Rapids, which we did with a combination of paddling, tracking, and wading. Part way up I was following the main shore but then had to wade out across a strongly flowing side channel to reach the line of rocks bordering the main flow. It was a little tense as the rocks were slippery and the water cold, fast, and knee deep. I made it across fine but Sadie wasn'’t willing to swim the 15'’ (4.5m) across and I wasn'’t about to walk back to get her. All I could do was calmly reassure her it was ok and keep working the canoe upstream and hope she'’d figure it out. She was quite anxious as I started walking away from her and was soon out of site behind some rocks. There were no rocks for her to follow along the shoreline but she figured out what to do. She’'d go into the woods, run upstream a little ways, and then come back to the shoreline to see if there was a way across. After doing this a few times she got far enough upstream to where the side channel was shallow enough to leave many rocks exposed and Sadie was able to hop across these and join me. I was a little nervous and in up to my thighs more than once as I waded the canoe upstream but all went well.
I’'d planned to cook lunch after making it up Fitch Rapids but all morning I’'d been eyeing a line of dark clouds to the west and now it appeared they were getting a good deal closer. Just upstream from the rapids I found a place where I could set up shelter but after looking at the map decided that if I paddled hard for another hour I should be able to reach a small boat cache I remembered seeing on Bannock Lake where I’'d likely find a flat place to camp and hopefully beat the rain. So that’s what I did and it worked out fine. The wind switched to the south and the sky was now overcast but the rain skirted us to the north. Along the way I passed a large boulder at the outlet of Bannock Lake; well out in the middle of the water and standing by itself. On top of the boulder was an eagle’'s nest. When I'’d passed through a month earlier there were two chicks on the nest; now it was empty. I went in for a closer look and was actually able to climb up on the rock to look inside the nest. It was completely flat on top and, except for a lot of pike skeletons, was remarkably clean.
20160906_464 by Alan, on FlickrThe boat cache was on a tiny sand peninsula just a couple miles from the Bigstone portage so we were well situated for our early morning assault. The first time I’'d passed it the boats were set up and ready to use. Now everything was pulled up and shore and secured for winter. Went for a walk behind camp and found an excellent blueberry crop but unfortunately they were a little over ripe. It had been a disappointing trip for blueberries. At the start of the trip just a few were beginning to ripen and as I headed north I seemed to keep perfect pace with them so that getting even a small handful took quite a bit of work. When I was at the northernmost part of my journey it was hard to find any berries at all. Now, as I was coming back south, I was starting to find the bushes loaded with berries but they were past their prime and not so flavorful. But I wasn'’t complaining and must have eaten at least a couple pints before we set off the following morning.
20160906_476 by Alan, on FlickrFrom the ridge we were walking I could see rain falling to the north and south but we stayed dry. Second day in a row with no rain. Woohoo!
Alan
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Still no idea what's going on with the apostrophes. I tried writing in Helvetica tonight but no change. Interestingly enough when I paste the text to canoetripping the apostrophes are there. When I preview the post the apostrophes are there. When I finally hit the "post reply" button they suddenly disappear. So then I have to edit the post to put them back. Oh well, only a few more chapters to go then I won't have to worry about it anymore.
Alan
There was eagles in that nest last year as well . We were a bit earlier though . My trip reports show June 24 . Keep it coming Alan . I look forward to it each morning . Thanks , scouter Joe
I've really enjoyed your photography throughout this trip report. This group's photos are especially nice.
Tony
Tony
I, like so many others, await each new chapter with a mixture of feelings, one of which, I admit, is angst. There is a lot going on in this writing. Your report remains focussed, in spite of the risk that our questions and encouragement could distract you or influence your narrative. Many details have drawn me into your story. One, for sure, was your inner conversation with Huxley at a time when you obviously had more than enough on your plate. Thanks for sharing your experiences with us, Alan.
The Bigstone portage, while still not much fun, didn'’t seem to be as bad this time. Probably because I knew what was coming and I was doing it first thing in the morning rather than at dusk after paddling 33 miles. Of course it started to rain as soon as I began the portage and when we launched on the upstream side, at noon, it was into a stiff headwind and rain. Welcome back to Wollaston Lake. Actually I don’t think this is technically part of Wollaston Lake but between here and the far southern shore there’s nothing but a couple small swifts and the map shows no elevation change. So I’m calling it Wollaston Lake and it didn’'t seem very happy to see me again, nor I it.
Thankfully the rain stopped after paddling for 10 minutes and the wind calmed down a little too. The first order of business was finding somewhere to stop for lunch. Went back into a skinny shallow bay that was protected from the wind with some open woods. Sadie ran around and explored while I cooked and ate a nice hot bannock. After eating I walked around too and it appeared to be an old trapper’'s site. The place was littered with all sorts of rusty tin cans, an old pair of broken scissors, an empty glass iodine bottle, and a ceramic coated wash pan. I found a couple small rectangular depressions that I assume had been small buildings of some sort. There was nothing left of the logs that probably made up the walls and trees that were probably at least 65 years old were growing up in the middle of the depressions. One of the depressions also had a small wood stove in it. They appeared too small to have been a cabin. Perhaps small storage sheds?
The wind was coming straight out of the south and seemed to pick up intensity through the afternoon. At first I could avoid it pretty well by staying close to shore but as the day wore on that got harder to do. I wanted to paddle until until 7:00 but at 6:15 I rounded a small point and was looking at a two mile paddle straight into the wind until I'd find protection again. I had no idea what lay ahead in terms of campsites but in the 6 hours since crossing Bigstone portage I hadn'’t seen more than two or three spots that would have made good camps. Instead of pushing ahead I elected to make a 3/4 mile crossing to an island I’ remembered seeing on the way up that looked like it should have good camping. The waves were quite large at this point and crossing in those whitecaps kept me on my toes. But oh what a welcome site when I paddled down the north shore of the island, out of the wind, and found a long narrow beach. All along the beach were bare shelter frames and drying racks. It was apparently a gathering place for the local First Nations group but no one was around now. I found a sheltered spot far off to one side and set up shelter. Sadie and I walked around to explore and it was no wonder this spot had been chosen.
20160907_484 by Alan, on Flickr
20160907_482 by Alan, on Flickr
My map showed it as two islands but that long beach actually connected the two. Besides the shelter frames on the beach there were a few more on the smaller island, one which looked to be under current construction down a long trail. Walking over to the larger island we found a nice stairway cut into the steep hillside and a trail above that leading around an inland pond to a much larger group of shelters as well as a very attractive open air church and the only fully enclosed building right next door. These two buildings looked quite new and were log walls with red steel roofs. There must have been over 50 shelter frames at this site and I didn'’t even walk around the whole thing. On the far west side of the island was a lagoon with a couple narrow entrances to the main lake that would make a safe harbor in any weather. Really lovely place.
It started raining again overnight. In the morning it was just some light sprinkles but the sky to the south, directly where I wanted to go, was very dark so I decided to stay put and see what would happen. Compared to my Bloodvein trip last year this hadn'’t been as physically demanding but it was much more mentally challenging, mostly due to the weather. Do I stay put and miss another day of paddling or risk getting rained on with nowhere to camp? Quit paddling when threatening skies appear or take the chance it will soon clear up or miss us altogether? All this needs to be taken into consideration with the current temperature, the possible temperature (if it should suddenly drop), location, time of day, what I think the weather will do later in the day, what I think the weather will do tomorrow, general trip schedule, and, of course, my mood at the time. Sadie makes it more difficult as I’'m less willing to put her through a miserable day paddling than I am myself.
At 10:00am those dark clouds from the south finally seemed to reach us and we got a steady light rain and a slight increase in the wind. The rain passed at noon but more dark clouds took their place to the south. It was 15 miles (24 km) to the next sure campsite and I figured this was about as late in the day as I could start and still hope to make it there. As bad as I wanted to get on the water and paddle I wasn'’t thrilled with the prospect of paddling straight into those dark clouds and possibly hitting heavy wind and rain without a place to make camp. I hated to lose another day of travel but decided we'd stay put. Thoroughly disgusted Sadie and I went for a walk in the light rain to try and clear my head.
The decision to not travel was really eating at me. While it had been a wet morning it hadn’'t been raining hard. Maybe those dark clouds to the south were only light rain as well. Taking into account the headwind and stopping for a couple breaks it would probably take 6 hours to make the 15 miles to camp. I decided to go for it after all and hurried back to camp where I started packing up and the rain started falling a little harder. Had a quick bite to eat and pushed off from the beach at 1:20. Two miles later we intercepted those dark clouds. Thankfully we were sheltered from the wind at the time so all we got was some rain but most of it seemed to miss us to the east. The wind was strong and while we could avoid it early we were forced to take it head on later in the day. A light rain continued on and off until 3:30 and around 4:30 the sun actually started to shine a little. Sadie was a really good dog and although I know she wanted nothing more than to be out of the canoe and running around she didn’'t make a fuss about it. We only stopped to walk around a couple times and at 6:22 pulled ashore on the beach where we’'d make camp that night. The final 5 minutes was a full out sprint as I tried to reach shore by 6:20, which would have been exactly 5 hours after starting. I was surprised I could maintain that level of exertion for so long. I felt like a million bucks. It'’s hard to beat a hard day'’s paddle.
Plenty of time to take Sadie for a walk and then had a nice open fire which Sadie and I both enjoyed sitting in front of until it was time to go to bed. I thought about how glad I was not to have pushed on to Nueltin Lake. Best case scenario would have put me 5 days behind my current schedule and a good deal farther north with possibly even worse weather. The streak of rainless days had ended at 2 and it was time to start counting rain days again. This was day 2 with rain and day 38 of the trip. I figured two long days with good weather would get us off Wollaston Lake, which I was very much looking forward to.
Alan
Thankfully the rain stopped after paddling for 10 minutes and the wind calmed down a little too. The first order of business was finding somewhere to stop for lunch. Went back into a skinny shallow bay that was protected from the wind with some open woods. Sadie ran around and explored while I cooked and ate a nice hot bannock. After eating I walked around too and it appeared to be an old trapper’'s site. The place was littered with all sorts of rusty tin cans, an old pair of broken scissors, an empty glass iodine bottle, and a ceramic coated wash pan. I found a couple small rectangular depressions that I assume had been small buildings of some sort. There was nothing left of the logs that probably made up the walls and trees that were probably at least 65 years old were growing up in the middle of the depressions. One of the depressions also had a small wood stove in it. They appeared too small to have been a cabin. Perhaps small storage sheds?
The wind was coming straight out of the south and seemed to pick up intensity through the afternoon. At first I could avoid it pretty well by staying close to shore but as the day wore on that got harder to do. I wanted to paddle until until 7:00 but at 6:15 I rounded a small point and was looking at a two mile paddle straight into the wind until I'd find protection again. I had no idea what lay ahead in terms of campsites but in the 6 hours since crossing Bigstone portage I hadn'’t seen more than two or three spots that would have made good camps. Instead of pushing ahead I elected to make a 3/4 mile crossing to an island I’ remembered seeing on the way up that looked like it should have good camping. The waves were quite large at this point and crossing in those whitecaps kept me on my toes. But oh what a welcome site when I paddled down the north shore of the island, out of the wind, and found a long narrow beach. All along the beach were bare shelter frames and drying racks. It was apparently a gathering place for the local First Nations group but no one was around now. I found a sheltered spot far off to one side and set up shelter. Sadie and I walked around to explore and it was no wonder this spot had been chosen.
20160907_484 by Alan, on Flickr20160907_482 by Alan, on FlickrMy map showed it as two islands but that long beach actually connected the two. Besides the shelter frames on the beach there were a few more on the smaller island, one which looked to be under current construction down a long trail. Walking over to the larger island we found a nice stairway cut into the steep hillside and a trail above that leading around an inland pond to a much larger group of shelters as well as a very attractive open air church and the only fully enclosed building right next door. These two buildings looked quite new and were log walls with red steel roofs. There must have been over 50 shelter frames at this site and I didn'’t even walk around the whole thing. On the far west side of the island was a lagoon with a couple narrow entrances to the main lake that would make a safe harbor in any weather. Really lovely place.
It started raining again overnight. In the morning it was just some light sprinkles but the sky to the south, directly where I wanted to go, was very dark so I decided to stay put and see what would happen. Compared to my Bloodvein trip last year this hadn'’t been as physically demanding but it was much more mentally challenging, mostly due to the weather. Do I stay put and miss another day of paddling or risk getting rained on with nowhere to camp? Quit paddling when threatening skies appear or take the chance it will soon clear up or miss us altogether? All this needs to be taken into consideration with the current temperature, the possible temperature (if it should suddenly drop), location, time of day, what I think the weather will do later in the day, what I think the weather will do tomorrow, general trip schedule, and, of course, my mood at the time. Sadie makes it more difficult as I’'m less willing to put her through a miserable day paddling than I am myself.
At 10:00am those dark clouds from the south finally seemed to reach us and we got a steady light rain and a slight increase in the wind. The rain passed at noon but more dark clouds took their place to the south. It was 15 miles (24 km) to the next sure campsite and I figured this was about as late in the day as I could start and still hope to make it there. As bad as I wanted to get on the water and paddle I wasn'’t thrilled with the prospect of paddling straight into those dark clouds and possibly hitting heavy wind and rain without a place to make camp. I hated to lose another day of travel but decided we'd stay put. Thoroughly disgusted Sadie and I went for a walk in the light rain to try and clear my head.
The decision to not travel was really eating at me. While it had been a wet morning it hadn’'t been raining hard. Maybe those dark clouds to the south were only light rain as well. Taking into account the headwind and stopping for a couple breaks it would probably take 6 hours to make the 15 miles to camp. I decided to go for it after all and hurried back to camp where I started packing up and the rain started falling a little harder. Had a quick bite to eat and pushed off from the beach at 1:20. Two miles later we intercepted those dark clouds. Thankfully we were sheltered from the wind at the time so all we got was some rain but most of it seemed to miss us to the east. The wind was strong and while we could avoid it early we were forced to take it head on later in the day. A light rain continued on and off until 3:30 and around 4:30 the sun actually started to shine a little. Sadie was a really good dog and although I know she wanted nothing more than to be out of the canoe and running around she didn’'t make a fuss about it. We only stopped to walk around a couple times and at 6:22 pulled ashore on the beach where we’'d make camp that night. The final 5 minutes was a full out sprint as I tried to reach shore by 6:20, which would have been exactly 5 hours after starting. I was surprised I could maintain that level of exertion for so long. I felt like a million bucks. It'’s hard to beat a hard day'’s paddle.
Plenty of time to take Sadie for a walk and then had a nice open fire which Sadie and I both enjoyed sitting in front of until it was time to go to bed. I thought about how glad I was not to have pushed on to Nueltin Lake. Best case scenario would have put me 5 days behind my current schedule and a good deal farther north with possibly even worse weather. The streak of rainless days had ended at 2 and it was time to start counting rain days again. This was day 2 with rain and day 38 of the trip. I figured two long days with good weather would get us off Wollaston Lake, which I was very much looking forward to.
Alan
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G
Guest
Guest
Alan, I have never tripped in the far north and the paucity of decent campsites comes as a surprise. The least campsite friendly places I visit are swamps and marshes in the south-east US and, to a lesser degree, desert rivers out west.
Even in those places there are distinct indicators of a coming campsite; pine hammocks in the swamp or marsh usually signal high dry ground with enough open space for a tent and tarp. A stand of cottonwoods on desert rivers often means a break in the tammies or willows with open space below.
Those indicators are visible at a distance and, since those areas see more visitation, a trail through the marsh or up a tammie infested bank is a near guarantee of a tolerably tentable spot.
Is there any on-water visual indicator of a potential campsite in the northern forest other than espying open ground or first nation structures at a distance?
Likewise having rain for 38 days of a trip is eye opening. Was that a weather anomaly, or is near daily rain the August/September norm?
38 days with rain? Beyond my mental state I would wonder how my clothing and gear was faring in a near constant state of damp.
I’m hoping that when the trip travel and travails are finished you will do a gear review; what worked, what didn’t and what you would modify, augment or replace.
"This was day 2 with rain and day 38 of the trip."
Whoops, I didn't write that very well. I meant this was the 38th day of the trip, not the 38th day with rain. Although I did count up total days with rain towards the end of the trip and I think it was 30 days. Granted some of those days were very pleasant with maybe just an early morning shower or late afternoon storm.
The waitress at the lodge where I ate breakfast in Missinipe, a couple hundred miles south of Wollaston Lake, said the summer had been wet and cold overall. It made me feel better that what I was getting seemed to be more of an anomaly than the norm.
In many areas, especially further to the south, the woods were still very dense with few openings. Lots of hillsides that slope steeply to the shore and finding the ground made up of broken rocks/boulders wasn't unusual. The land had much more relief than I was used to in my trips to southern Canada. Low boggy areas are prevalent. I'm sure if I would have taken the time to land on shore and do some scouting I could have found more sites but at the end of the day, when I needed to find camp, I hated to spend 10 minutes wandering around on shore and still not find a good camp so usually I'd just keep paddling along the shore waiting until I saw something promising.
The willows and alders lining shore could sometimes be very dense and tall which made reaching shore difficult and also obscured potential campsites. Other places that would have been worth exploring for sites had a 30' wide swath of bog between shore and the higher ground, this was fairly common. What I looked for was either a gentle slope down to shore or a short steep grade at the shoreline that looked like it might be flattish on top. The trees were almost entirely spruce and the sight of birch or jack pine almost always meant an esker or sandy soil, which almost always meant good camping. But there were other visual cues an esker was approaching as they stand above the surrounding land and often the woods are much more open. Beaches were many times adjacent to good spots but not always.
I was surprised how little sign of travel there was so the normal method of looking for well used landings didn't work. It's true that most sites I stayed at had some sign of use in the past but usually that was a completely overgrown fire ring or some old rusty tin cans. Very rarely did external signs of usage lead me to a camp, instead I noticed them once I was there. There were lots of trails leading to the water's edge but they were made by caribou and moose and didn't always coincide with flat campable ground.
Camping was easier to find at the northern end of the trip rather than the southern as I seemed to be getting back onto the shield. Many places had lots of good camping but then you'd hit a long stretch with hardly anything. I'm sure a more experienced traveler could have spotted more sites than me.
Alan
G
Guest
Guest
Oh, only 30 rainy days? Pffsshh!
The threshold is 40 days of rain (Genesis 7:12) before you contemplate building a carbon fiber ark.
How effective were the partial spray covers in the rain? On the CCS partials Dan built for a couple of our canoes he incorporated a vertical “dam” across the open ends (a 2 inch tall piece of minicel in a sewn sleeve) that funnels water off the covers and over the gunwales into the river.
Simple, lightweight and effective. And gawd bless spray cover paddle pockets and shaft straps.
Maybe a partial roll-out deployable shelter for Sadie to nestle rain-protected beneath in the bow?
BTW, the trip photos are great, but this one is my favorite.
The utter lack of frogs was perhaps her biggest disappointment of the trip.
Patient FroggerDog. What a good girl.
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Many years ago coming down the Albany River headed to the James we had a tough time finding campsites. The trees were so thick it was like doghair, not much space between them. We camped on rocks more then once as well as more then one island. One of those islands was infested with snakes. Ugggggg, I don't care much for them. That was a long night!
Yes, as Doug says, not much in the way of campsites up this way either. If you find one, you can be pretty sure it's been in use for the last few thousand years.
I'’d been on somewhat protected waters but now it was time to start island hopping across big Wollaston Lake again. Just before going to bed I went over the map and tried to plan out the next day. How far would I try to get? What routes would I take with different wind directions and velocities? Once again I went to bed daydreaming of sunny skies and light winds but instead woke to rain drumming on the tent. It was raining harder than yesterday and came down non stop from 5-10:00am. The wind had been calm but once the rain quit I could hear it gaining force from the NW. Any hope of a big mileage day was out the window so I settled on trying for one crossing that would get us to a campsite we used on the way up only 10 miles away. Waited a bit just in case it started to rain again and when it was still dry at 11:00 we packed up and shoved off.
I was fighting a broadside NW wind and soon after setting out it started to rain and drizzle again. Really miserable weather paddling down the wide channel and doing my best to hide from the wind. I’'d fought wind and rain when I was paddling up this channel a month ago and it was even less fun this time as it was probably 15 degrees colder. At one point when the rain got heavier we tucked in behind the only patch of living trees on the shoreline for miles. There was a bog and a creek running into the water so it must have saved them from the fire. They broke the wind and stopped much of the rain. It was almost peaceful resting there and the views down the channel, with the overlapping peninsulas shrouded in mist, each getting fainter and fainter as they faded to the horizon, could just as well have taken place on the Washington coast. It would have been a beautiful site if I was looking at it through my car window rather than sitting in the middle of it in my canoe.
20160909_486_1 by Alan, on Flickr
It took 2 1/2 hours to reach the far SW tip of Wheeler Peninsula where I planned to make the crossing to Fife Island. It wasn'’t until I actually got there that I realized just how strong the wind was. I'’d been more sheltered than I thought and was looking at 1 1/2 miles of open water with the biggest waves I’'ve ever seen on a lake rolling by. What the heck was I going to do now? I sure wasn’'t going to be crossing that and the shore is nothing but rocks and blown down burned up trees. I got out on the shoreline rocks for a little better look inland just in case it was better than I thought and it wasn'’t. There was a small rise that could block the wind and I considered making a miserable camp behind it but the thought of spending 7 hours there until it was dark, then spending the night, and perhaps waking up in the morning to find conditions hadn'’t improved was about enough to make me puke. So we got back in the canoe and started paddling back the way we came, unsure of what I was going to do.
It was about 7 miles back to our camp from last night and 5 miles to the last place I’'d seen that might have good camping; but that was on the wrong shoreline (windward). As nice as our last camp was I couldn’'t handle the thought of paddling 14 miles in a day only to sleep in the same spot. I also wanted to be as close as possible to that crossing so I didn'’t have to paddle 7 miles just to find it was uncrossable again. I decided to paddle back a few miles and then cross the channel to paddle down the south side of Kendel Island in hopes it would be more campsite friendly than the side I was seeing now. It didn'’t look good at first but after a mile or so I found a site that would do in a pinch. Knowing I had a backup location I kept paddling hoping for something better. Made landfall a few times to scout and had a fall on some large shoreline rocks that could have resulted I a broken paddle and broken bones but other than a small cut on my hand neither of us took any damage.
The weather was being a tease. The rain would quit and the sun would just start to peak out, making you think the weather was breaking, when it would suddenly cloud over again and start pelting rain. The shoreline was thick with willow and alders and it was tough to see in very far but I caught just a glimpse of what looked like an old rusty barrel too far from shore to have washed up in the waves. I turned around to take a better look. It wasn'’t a nice landing but after fighting my way through the brush I found what must have been another old trapper’s site. It was relatively flat and the woods were open. Tin cans littered the area and lots of old trees cut off 2’ above the ground; the stumps were all rotten. Found a couple small building sites and the bottom logs on one wall were still mostly intact. Growing from the center of these once upon a time shelters were trees about 3” in diameter. That doesn'’t sound like much but I’'d counted rings on other 3” black spruce I’'d cut down and they were around 75 years old. I couldn'’t tell for sure because after 30 years the rings were too close together to count.
I didn’'t look around as much as I would have liked because I was cold, wet, and hungry. I didn’'t realize how cold it had gotten until I quit paddling. Even Sadie, after running around just a couple minutes, curled up under a spruce and shivered until the tent was ready to be occupied. Felt good to put on warmer clothes and cook up a big hot bannock. I was not enjoying myself much at this point. I paddled 12 miles (19km) that day and only gained 6. The weather for the last 1 1/2 weeks had been abysmal and was taking the shine off the trip; I didn’'t want to end it on a bad note. I thought about how, looking back on this time, it probably wouldn'’t seem that bad and perhaps I’'d even remember fondly those cold and wet days on Wollaston Lake. Well that might be but a lot of good it does me now when I’'m in the middle of it. The skies started to clear just before sunset and I anticipated, correctly, a very chilly night.
I was up at midnight for a bathroom break. The wind was calm, the stars were shining, and the northern lights were flaring overhead. I woke up in the morning and it was raining. I couldn’'t hear anything over the rainfall on the tent so didn’'t know if the wind was blowing or not. When the rain quit it was peacefully quiet except for a a babbling brook. Wait…....A babbling brook? I don'’t remember any babbling brook. I poked my head out of the tent and the noise of a babbling brook turned into waves crashing on my shoreline. The shoreline which had been protected yesterday. So the wind had switched but to which direction? Even standing at the water’s edge I couldn'’t tell as I was in a relatively narrow channel between two long islands but the wind must have an eastern component to send the waves down the channel the way it did. The following is quoted from my journal as I was agonizing over what to do:
10:00 now and nothing has changed from what I can see. Tough choice again. I should pack up right now and hit the water in case the wind increases this afternoon and get that first crossing out of the way. But even then it will take 1 1/2 hours to to pack up, launch, and paddle to the crossing. For all I know the wind is already too strong or perhaps it will have increased by the time I reach the crossing. In hind sight I should have left at 8:30 but you know how that goes. An east wind would be a partial tailwind. A full tail wind if from the NE. But I trust an east wind less than anything and strongly suspect it would bring little joy if I paddled in it.
There’s also the inner conflict: Part of me wants to say dang the consequences and paddle hard through anything just to get off this lake. Another part of me is so sick and tired of dealing with bad weather that I just want to be stubborn and wait for clear skies and light wind before moving. Three days of nice weather to end the trip would erase 1 1/2 weeks of bad. But of course there’s no guarantee that’s coming…...
…...dang the east wind. I’'m packing up and getting out of here.
Alan
I was fighting a broadside NW wind and soon after setting out it started to rain and drizzle again. Really miserable weather paddling down the wide channel and doing my best to hide from the wind. I’'d fought wind and rain when I was paddling up this channel a month ago and it was even less fun this time as it was probably 15 degrees colder. At one point when the rain got heavier we tucked in behind the only patch of living trees on the shoreline for miles. There was a bog and a creek running into the water so it must have saved them from the fire. They broke the wind and stopped much of the rain. It was almost peaceful resting there and the views down the channel, with the overlapping peninsulas shrouded in mist, each getting fainter and fainter as they faded to the horizon, could just as well have taken place on the Washington coast. It would have been a beautiful site if I was looking at it through my car window rather than sitting in the middle of it in my canoe.
20160909_486_1 by Alan, on FlickrIt took 2 1/2 hours to reach the far SW tip of Wheeler Peninsula where I planned to make the crossing to Fife Island. It wasn'’t until I actually got there that I realized just how strong the wind was. I'’d been more sheltered than I thought and was looking at 1 1/2 miles of open water with the biggest waves I’'ve ever seen on a lake rolling by. What the heck was I going to do now? I sure wasn’'t going to be crossing that and the shore is nothing but rocks and blown down burned up trees. I got out on the shoreline rocks for a little better look inland just in case it was better than I thought and it wasn'’t. There was a small rise that could block the wind and I considered making a miserable camp behind it but the thought of spending 7 hours there until it was dark, then spending the night, and perhaps waking up in the morning to find conditions hadn'’t improved was about enough to make me puke. So we got back in the canoe and started paddling back the way we came, unsure of what I was going to do.
It was about 7 miles back to our camp from last night and 5 miles to the last place I’'d seen that might have good camping; but that was on the wrong shoreline (windward). As nice as our last camp was I couldn’'t handle the thought of paddling 14 miles in a day only to sleep in the same spot. I also wanted to be as close as possible to that crossing so I didn'’t have to paddle 7 miles just to find it was uncrossable again. I decided to paddle back a few miles and then cross the channel to paddle down the south side of Kendel Island in hopes it would be more campsite friendly than the side I was seeing now. It didn'’t look good at first but after a mile or so I found a site that would do in a pinch. Knowing I had a backup location I kept paddling hoping for something better. Made landfall a few times to scout and had a fall on some large shoreline rocks that could have resulted I a broken paddle and broken bones but other than a small cut on my hand neither of us took any damage.
The weather was being a tease. The rain would quit and the sun would just start to peak out, making you think the weather was breaking, when it would suddenly cloud over again and start pelting rain. The shoreline was thick with willow and alders and it was tough to see in very far but I caught just a glimpse of what looked like an old rusty barrel too far from shore to have washed up in the waves. I turned around to take a better look. It wasn'’t a nice landing but after fighting my way through the brush I found what must have been another old trapper’s site. It was relatively flat and the woods were open. Tin cans littered the area and lots of old trees cut off 2’ above the ground; the stumps were all rotten. Found a couple small building sites and the bottom logs on one wall were still mostly intact. Growing from the center of these once upon a time shelters were trees about 3” in diameter. That doesn'’t sound like much but I’'d counted rings on other 3” black spruce I’'d cut down and they were around 75 years old. I couldn'’t tell for sure because after 30 years the rings were too close together to count.
I didn’'t look around as much as I would have liked because I was cold, wet, and hungry. I didn’'t realize how cold it had gotten until I quit paddling. Even Sadie, after running around just a couple minutes, curled up under a spruce and shivered until the tent was ready to be occupied. Felt good to put on warmer clothes and cook up a big hot bannock. I was not enjoying myself much at this point. I paddled 12 miles (19km) that day and only gained 6. The weather for the last 1 1/2 weeks had been abysmal and was taking the shine off the trip; I didn’'t want to end it on a bad note. I thought about how, looking back on this time, it probably wouldn'’t seem that bad and perhaps I’'d even remember fondly those cold and wet days on Wollaston Lake. Well that might be but a lot of good it does me now when I’'m in the middle of it. The skies started to clear just before sunset and I anticipated, correctly, a very chilly night.
I was up at midnight for a bathroom break. The wind was calm, the stars were shining, and the northern lights were flaring overhead. I woke up in the morning and it was raining. I couldn’'t hear anything over the rainfall on the tent so didn’'t know if the wind was blowing or not. When the rain quit it was peacefully quiet except for a a babbling brook. Wait…....A babbling brook? I don'’t remember any babbling brook. I poked my head out of the tent and the noise of a babbling brook turned into waves crashing on my shoreline. The shoreline which had been protected yesterday. So the wind had switched but to which direction? Even standing at the water’s edge I couldn'’t tell as I was in a relatively narrow channel between two long islands but the wind must have an eastern component to send the waves down the channel the way it did. The following is quoted from my journal as I was agonizing over what to do:
10:00 now and nothing has changed from what I can see. Tough choice again. I should pack up right now and hit the water in case the wind increases this afternoon and get that first crossing out of the way. But even then it will take 1 1/2 hours to to pack up, launch, and paddle to the crossing. For all I know the wind is already too strong or perhaps it will have increased by the time I reach the crossing. In hind sight I should have left at 8:30 but you know how that goes. An east wind would be a partial tailwind. A full tail wind if from the NE. But I trust an east wind less than anything and strongly suspect it would bring little joy if I paddled in it.
There’s also the inner conflict: Part of me wants to say dang the consequences and paddle hard through anything just to get off this lake. Another part of me is so sick and tired of dealing with bad weather that I just want to be stubborn and wait for clear skies and light wind before moving. Three days of nice weather to end the trip would erase 1 1/2 weeks of bad. But of course there’s no guarantee that’s coming…...
…...dang the east wind. I’'m packing up and getting out of here.
Alan
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G
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Alan, excellent job capturing the doubt and decision make that all trippers face at some time.
That too. I can remember huddling in the only windblock I could find in a winter snow on the Atlantic coast, the scant protection of a bayberry thicket, watching the flakes blow overhead in a 25 MPH wind. The memory is a lot more enjoyable than the actual being there.
It was 11:00 when we got on the water. Once I got out in the open the wind turned out to be from the SE, not a friendly direction. An island to the SE of me was partially blocking the wind and waves which meant the beginning of the 1 mile crossing was partially protected; which meant I wouldn't know just how big the wind and waves were until I was committed. Rather than take the most efficient route, which would add another 3/4 mile to the crossing, I decided to head more or less straight across where a peninsula stuck out from the opposite shore. The crossing went fine but they were probably the biggest waves I've ever paddled in. Thankfully I found the large swells easier to handle than the steep and closely spaces waves I'’m used to on smaller bodies of water. The canoe was trimmed properly so I just took it slow and easy and it wasn’'t too difficult. Once I reached the opposite shore I needed to turn nearly straight into the wind and head another mile south until I could take the channel between Fife and Cleveland islands. This was slow going and I needed to be mindful of the angle I was taking the waves to keep them from splashing over the bow and sides. Once I reached the channel I tucked in close to Cleveland Island to avoid the wind.
There was no rush as bigger and more exposed crossings were only a five miles ahead and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be tackling them in this wind. It was calm in the lee of the island and we landed a few times to scout for campsites. I wanted to get as far as I could that day so these were only backup sites in case I found nowhere to set up shelter farther along. When I reached the tip of Cleveland Island it was only a short 3/8 mile crossing over to Gilles Island which would give me protection for a few more miles until I’'d face the next crossing. I wanted to make camp as close as I could to the tip of Gilles.
I suppose it has to do with the dense forest or maybe the lay of the land but in the north woods I’'m always surprised, on a windy day, how quiet it can be when sheltered from the wind. Back home in Iowa it seems that even if you do get behind a protected shoreline or find cover in a line of trees there’'s no mistaking the wind is still blowing. You can see the trees bending and hear the wind whistling over top of them. But here, in the lee of these islands, it was almost perfectly calm and quiet and it was easy to convince yourself that maybe the wind had died down. Maybe the weather was changing for the better and I’'d be able to cover some real ground today after all. Then I rounded the tip of Gilles Island and got smacked in the face by that SE wind that told me otherwise. I looked at the size of the waves and the lengths of the crossings and new I was done for the day.
Just a little ways back from the tip of the island I noticed a blazed tree so I landed hoping to find a place to camp. I believe it was someone’'s winter trap line. No signs of past camping but after walking inland about 75 yards we finally found a place that would work to setup camp and was protected from the wind. The woods weren't all that dense but were so uniform I found it necessary to use a compass when walking back and forth from shore to the campsite and still got off track more than once. Rather than setting up shelter first thing like I normally do when making camp I hung out on the shoreline rocks instead. I was back on the Canadian shield so the ground on this island was mostly rock with a thin layer of caribou moss. After all the rain we’d been getting it was like walking on a wet sponge. I missed the well drained sandy soil we’d had farther north.
I gathered dead willow and alder branches to build a small fire in the twig stove and cooked lunch out on the rocks. We were out of the wind and I was bundled up and warm. Pulled off my wet boots, rung out my wet socks, and put on dry ones to try and get some feeling back in my toes. We sat there for a couple hours and watched the waves roll by. I jealously looked overhead as flock upon flock of sandhill cranes and snow geese streamed south and I wished I could do the same. I was reluctant to set up camp in the woods not only because it would be wet in there but also because I was secretly hoping the wind would die down later in the afternoon and that I could keep paddling. I wondered, if the wind dropped, how far I’'d try to go and how late I’'d paddle. I wanted off the lake pretty bad and with the long twilight and a decent sized moon I was daydreaming about paddling late into the night when it started to rain at 5:15 and I had to scramble to pack everything into the campsite and get setup. Oh well, there'’s always tomorrow.
Tomorrow came and I didn’'t even bother getting out of the tent. It had rained until 10:00pm and quit for 30 minutes as the wind switched direction and became very strong and gusty. Then the rain started again and lasted all night until 9:00am. Still very windy and much colder. Just as the rain was tapering off I thought I saw a few snowflakes but can’t say for sure. The rest of the morning the sun played hide and seek before clouding up again just before lunch. Thankfully it wasn't raining. At noon I crawled out of the tent to see what I could see from the shoreline. Couldn't believe how cold it was. The wind was coming straight out of the north and the lake was filled with whitecaps. Thankfully our shoreline was being spared the brunt of it. With all the rain and soggy ground my “dry” camp shoes were now soaked through so I set them out in the wind to dry and put on my wet, and very chilly, boots and socks. The only upside was that I was finally getting some good blueberry picking. I assume the poorer soil had retarded their growth so despite being farther south these were just right and very tasty.
Thinking about how cold it was likely to get that night I decided I might want a nice big white man'’s fire so I set out to gather a bunch of rocks, scraped away the moss, and built a semi-circle fire ring in front of my shelter. Then I cut up and split a few dead spruce trees until I had enough wood to last well into the night. If nothing else it helped me to warm up and gave me something to do for part of the afternoon. Poor Sadie just curled up in the warmest spot she could find and shivered while I worked.
Mid-afternoon we crawled back in the tent to bundle up and try to get some feeling back in my feet again. Had a little Of Mice and Men moment when Sadie asked, "Al, tell me what it’'s going to be like when we get back to the car." And I says to her, "I'll tell ya just how it’s gonna be, Sadie. Once we get back to our car won’'t no one or no thing be able to keep us from going where we want when we want. If we see a nice little spot in the woods where we want to go for a walk why, we’ll just pull over and go for a stroll. And if it starts to rain, heck, that’s no problem at all. We’ll just jump back in the car and turn on the windshield wipers. If we get a little chilly all we’ll have to do is turn a little knob to make it warm and toasty inside. And let’'s say it’'s the end of the day and we get tired. There won’t be any of this searching for a campsite as the rain clouds come rolling in nonsense. All we’ll need to do is pull over anywhere we like, recline the seat, and drop right off to sleep."
"And the frogs Al, tell me about the frogs!"
"Oh there's going to be lots of frogs. All kinds of frogs. When we get just a little further south, every lake and river we stop by is gonna be teaming with frogs. Big frogs, little frogs, grey frogs, and green frogs."
"And I get to chase'em right? You're gonna let me chase those frogs aren't ya, Al?"
"That’s right Sadie. You're gonna get to chase all the frogs you want."
So with happy thoughts in our heads we drifted off for an afternoon nap. Just after I woke up the bright sun came streaming through the thin fabric of the tent and it immediately felt warm. With a smile on my face I turned my head to look at the sky through the opening of the tent and instead of the blue skies expected I saw dark blue clouds heading right for us. dang it!!
I hurried to get a fire started and cook dinner in case it started to rain. While I was cooking it started to spit rain which soon turned to sleet. I was ok with that, sleet is drier than rain. Thankfully it didn't last long. I started adding wood to the fire and soon had a nice blaze going. My camp shoes, which I'’d left out to dry in the wind, pretty much had so I slipped them on and put my wet boots and socks in front of the fire to dry. I put Sadie's pad right in front of the fire as well and she was more than happy to curl up. Once the wind began to drop I was able to raise the awning on my tent which let in some heat. Despite what was a miserable day I was in a pretty good mood. Lighting a fire in the rain always feels good and here I was sitting in a warm tent and my view out the front door was my dog curled up in front of a glowing fire and steam rolling off my wet boots. I even had feeling back in my big toes.
20160911_496 by Alan, on Flickr
By the time we went to bed my boots and socks were both dry so I had two pairs of dry shoes at my disposal. Just like every night I spent some time looking over the map. I measured about 30 miles from here to the car. Despite the days getting shorter I decided that if the weather allowed I was going to do everything in my power to get off this lake tomorrow.
Woke and 7:00 and heard no wind. The sky was blue. Was very cold. Inside of the tent was frozen. I was glad I slept with my socks in my pocket. Jumped out of bed and made a big pot of oatmeal in anticipation of a long day. Ate breakfast, broke camp, and shoved off at 8:45. I was even able to load the canoe on the rocks, slide it into the water, and climb aboard while keeping my feet dry. Great start.
The wind was from the NW but fairly light. There were some decent sized swells on the first couple island crossings, just enough to keep me on my toes. Paddling on large lakes can get tedious so the fun comes from strategizing a route. You look at where you are, where you want to be, the islands in-between, and the wind direction. Then try to find the route that will get you there most efficiently and safely. Most efficient doesn't always mean the shortest distance. Many times it means finding ways to avoid the wind. You need to be careful that your proposed route doesn't leave you hanging out to dry if the wind or weather conditions should suddenly change so it’s good to have bail out options along the way should you suddenly need to change course.
After my second crossing, which was about a mile long, I was protected on the south side of a small chain of islands. After following these I hoped to catch a tailwind as I dropped nearly straight south for a 4 mile crossing to Blue Island, which is a large island over 5 miles in length that would again give me protection on its southern shore from the wind and waves.
As I started heading for Blue Island I was hoping to set sail but found that not only had the wind switched to the west but that it had also dropped off to almost nothing. After many days of wind I was happy to keep my sail stowed and paddle in calm conditions. The farther I went the smaller the wind and waves got. It took just under an hour to reach Blue Island and when I rounded the tip and began following the southern shore I found what must have been the prettiest spot on the whole lake. The shoreline was a combination of rocky outcroppings, vertical cliffs, and sandy beaches with gin clear water over a rocky bottom. We stopped at one beach to stretch our legs for a bit and climbed a high steep hill for an incredible view over the lake that was studded with small islands and topped with puffy clouds. Spectacular.
20160912_503_1 by Alan, on Flickr
20160912_509 by Alan, on Flickr
I began to get anxious as we reached the end of Blue Island. There was a 3 mile crossing waiting and, having been protected behind the island for 1 1/2 hours, I really didn't know what the wind had been doing. I was afraid of finding the wind had picked up but instead found it had died off completely and the surface of the water was like glass. We paddled through a raft of over 100 loons and stopped for a few minutes 1 1/2 miles out from shore to just it and be amazed at the scenery around us, the smooth surface of the water stretching out to the southern horizon, and the absolute silence. This crossing, after all we'd been going through lately, was one of the highlights of the trip and I could feel it melting away the memory of many rainy days and nights.
20160912_511 by Alan, on Flickr
We reached another island and another crossing; the last crossing. We'd made the western shore at the site of our peninsula camp where we spent the first three days of the trip being windbound. It was 3:30 and rain clouds were beginning to show on the horizon. I could see rain falling to the north. I didn't even think about stopping. Ten more miles to go. A quick stop at a beach to stretch our legs and eat a quick snack before pressing on to the finish. No more stops until we were at the launch. Hit a stiff west wind upon entering Hidden Bay and at 6:00 it started to rain lightly and briefly. Seemed fitting.
When I’'d first crossed Wollaston Lake it was a hot bed of activity. At 9:00am the fishing boats would leave the lodge and at 8:00pm they'’d all return. Float planes were constantly buzzing and all across the lake I'd see fishing boats in the distance. Now, on the way back 1 1/2 months later, all was quiet. All the way across the lake I’'d only heard one distant float plane. Boat caches that had been ready and waiting were now pulled on shore and tied down for winter. A couple days earlier I'd seen one fishing boat far out into the lake and now, as I was nearing the launch, I saw one more. I passed the lodge which, on the way north, had been full of boats with two float planes tied up at the docks. Now it was empty except for one small boat tied up near shore.
I passed through a narrow channel and into the mouth of the Umpherville River. I was off the big water and into a narrow channel lined with reeds. In a few more minutes it was all over as we eased up to shore a little before 7:00 just as the sun started to break through the clouds. I sat in the boat for a couple minutes and thought back over the last days and weeks before finally stepping out. When I walked to my car I found the door unlocked, a dirty foot print on my seat, and the rear window broken out. But I was so happy to be off Wollaston Lake it hardly dampened my spirits. There hadn't been anything of value in the car except my wallet and they didn'’t find that. I lost some pocket change and a few other minor odds and ends. Oh, and my passport, which was kind of a big deal.
I said the break-in didn't really dampened my mood, and at the time it hadn't, but it wasn't until a couple days later I realized the harm it had done. As expected no one else was using the campground when I arrived back at the landing. I was looking forward to spending the evening in peace and quiet, cooking and eating a relaxing meal, and thinking back over everything we’d been through on the trip. Then starting the long drive back south, mostly traveling in my little bubble as I eased my way back into the real world. But instead I was instantly jarred back into reality when I saw the broken glass, tried to recall what had been left in the vehicle and what had been stolen. Was made to wonder if the fella that came up to chat at the landing, who said he was staying at his uncle’'s cabin just down the road, and was fishing for a ride out because he had no car, was maybe the guy that broke into my car. Having to stop and report my stolen passport in La Ronge and then find pay phones to call home and ask my mom to research and see if I’'d be able to cross the border with only a driver’s license. Those few hours of peace and reflection at the very end of the trip was the real thing of value that was stolen and something I can never replace.
20160912_513 by Alan, on Flickr
Alan
There was no rush as bigger and more exposed crossings were only a five miles ahead and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be tackling them in this wind. It was calm in the lee of the island and we landed a few times to scout for campsites. I wanted to get as far as I could that day so these were only backup sites in case I found nowhere to set up shelter farther along. When I reached the tip of Cleveland Island it was only a short 3/8 mile crossing over to Gilles Island which would give me protection for a few more miles until I’'d face the next crossing. I wanted to make camp as close as I could to the tip of Gilles.
I suppose it has to do with the dense forest or maybe the lay of the land but in the north woods I’'m always surprised, on a windy day, how quiet it can be when sheltered from the wind. Back home in Iowa it seems that even if you do get behind a protected shoreline or find cover in a line of trees there’'s no mistaking the wind is still blowing. You can see the trees bending and hear the wind whistling over top of them. But here, in the lee of these islands, it was almost perfectly calm and quiet and it was easy to convince yourself that maybe the wind had died down. Maybe the weather was changing for the better and I’'d be able to cover some real ground today after all. Then I rounded the tip of Gilles Island and got smacked in the face by that SE wind that told me otherwise. I looked at the size of the waves and the lengths of the crossings and new I was done for the day.
Just a little ways back from the tip of the island I noticed a blazed tree so I landed hoping to find a place to camp. I believe it was someone’'s winter trap line. No signs of past camping but after walking inland about 75 yards we finally found a place that would work to setup camp and was protected from the wind. The woods weren't all that dense but were so uniform I found it necessary to use a compass when walking back and forth from shore to the campsite and still got off track more than once. Rather than setting up shelter first thing like I normally do when making camp I hung out on the shoreline rocks instead. I was back on the Canadian shield so the ground on this island was mostly rock with a thin layer of caribou moss. After all the rain we’d been getting it was like walking on a wet sponge. I missed the well drained sandy soil we’d had farther north.
I gathered dead willow and alder branches to build a small fire in the twig stove and cooked lunch out on the rocks. We were out of the wind and I was bundled up and warm. Pulled off my wet boots, rung out my wet socks, and put on dry ones to try and get some feeling back in my toes. We sat there for a couple hours and watched the waves roll by. I jealously looked overhead as flock upon flock of sandhill cranes and snow geese streamed south and I wished I could do the same. I was reluctant to set up camp in the woods not only because it would be wet in there but also because I was secretly hoping the wind would die down later in the afternoon and that I could keep paddling. I wondered, if the wind dropped, how far I’'d try to go and how late I’'d paddle. I wanted off the lake pretty bad and with the long twilight and a decent sized moon I was daydreaming about paddling late into the night when it started to rain at 5:15 and I had to scramble to pack everything into the campsite and get setup. Oh well, there'’s always tomorrow.
Tomorrow came and I didn’'t even bother getting out of the tent. It had rained until 10:00pm and quit for 30 minutes as the wind switched direction and became very strong and gusty. Then the rain started again and lasted all night until 9:00am. Still very windy and much colder. Just as the rain was tapering off I thought I saw a few snowflakes but can’t say for sure. The rest of the morning the sun played hide and seek before clouding up again just before lunch. Thankfully it wasn't raining. At noon I crawled out of the tent to see what I could see from the shoreline. Couldn't believe how cold it was. The wind was coming straight out of the north and the lake was filled with whitecaps. Thankfully our shoreline was being spared the brunt of it. With all the rain and soggy ground my “dry” camp shoes were now soaked through so I set them out in the wind to dry and put on my wet, and very chilly, boots and socks. The only upside was that I was finally getting some good blueberry picking. I assume the poorer soil had retarded their growth so despite being farther south these were just right and very tasty.
Thinking about how cold it was likely to get that night I decided I might want a nice big white man'’s fire so I set out to gather a bunch of rocks, scraped away the moss, and built a semi-circle fire ring in front of my shelter. Then I cut up and split a few dead spruce trees until I had enough wood to last well into the night. If nothing else it helped me to warm up and gave me something to do for part of the afternoon. Poor Sadie just curled up in the warmest spot she could find and shivered while I worked.
Mid-afternoon we crawled back in the tent to bundle up and try to get some feeling back in my feet again. Had a little Of Mice and Men moment when Sadie asked, "Al, tell me what it’'s going to be like when we get back to the car." And I says to her, "I'll tell ya just how it’s gonna be, Sadie. Once we get back to our car won’'t no one or no thing be able to keep us from going where we want when we want. If we see a nice little spot in the woods where we want to go for a walk why, we’ll just pull over and go for a stroll. And if it starts to rain, heck, that’s no problem at all. We’ll just jump back in the car and turn on the windshield wipers. If we get a little chilly all we’ll have to do is turn a little knob to make it warm and toasty inside. And let’'s say it’'s the end of the day and we get tired. There won’t be any of this searching for a campsite as the rain clouds come rolling in nonsense. All we’ll need to do is pull over anywhere we like, recline the seat, and drop right off to sleep."
"And the frogs Al, tell me about the frogs!"
"Oh there's going to be lots of frogs. All kinds of frogs. When we get just a little further south, every lake and river we stop by is gonna be teaming with frogs. Big frogs, little frogs, grey frogs, and green frogs."
"And I get to chase'em right? You're gonna let me chase those frogs aren't ya, Al?"
"That’s right Sadie. You're gonna get to chase all the frogs you want."
So with happy thoughts in our heads we drifted off for an afternoon nap. Just after I woke up the bright sun came streaming through the thin fabric of the tent and it immediately felt warm. With a smile on my face I turned my head to look at the sky through the opening of the tent and instead of the blue skies expected I saw dark blue clouds heading right for us. dang it!!
I hurried to get a fire started and cook dinner in case it started to rain. While I was cooking it started to spit rain which soon turned to sleet. I was ok with that, sleet is drier than rain. Thankfully it didn't last long. I started adding wood to the fire and soon had a nice blaze going. My camp shoes, which I'’d left out to dry in the wind, pretty much had so I slipped them on and put my wet boots and socks in front of the fire to dry. I put Sadie's pad right in front of the fire as well and she was more than happy to curl up. Once the wind began to drop I was able to raise the awning on my tent which let in some heat. Despite what was a miserable day I was in a pretty good mood. Lighting a fire in the rain always feels good and here I was sitting in a warm tent and my view out the front door was my dog curled up in front of a glowing fire and steam rolling off my wet boots. I even had feeling back in my big toes.
20160911_496 by Alan, on FlickrBy the time we went to bed my boots and socks were both dry so I had two pairs of dry shoes at my disposal. Just like every night I spent some time looking over the map. I measured about 30 miles from here to the car. Despite the days getting shorter I decided that if the weather allowed I was going to do everything in my power to get off this lake tomorrow.
Woke and 7:00 and heard no wind. The sky was blue. Was very cold. Inside of the tent was frozen. I was glad I slept with my socks in my pocket. Jumped out of bed and made a big pot of oatmeal in anticipation of a long day. Ate breakfast, broke camp, and shoved off at 8:45. I was even able to load the canoe on the rocks, slide it into the water, and climb aboard while keeping my feet dry. Great start.
The wind was from the NW but fairly light. There were some decent sized swells on the first couple island crossings, just enough to keep me on my toes. Paddling on large lakes can get tedious so the fun comes from strategizing a route. You look at where you are, where you want to be, the islands in-between, and the wind direction. Then try to find the route that will get you there most efficiently and safely. Most efficient doesn't always mean the shortest distance. Many times it means finding ways to avoid the wind. You need to be careful that your proposed route doesn't leave you hanging out to dry if the wind or weather conditions should suddenly change so it’s good to have bail out options along the way should you suddenly need to change course.
After my second crossing, which was about a mile long, I was protected on the south side of a small chain of islands. After following these I hoped to catch a tailwind as I dropped nearly straight south for a 4 mile crossing to Blue Island, which is a large island over 5 miles in length that would again give me protection on its southern shore from the wind and waves.
As I started heading for Blue Island I was hoping to set sail but found that not only had the wind switched to the west but that it had also dropped off to almost nothing. After many days of wind I was happy to keep my sail stowed and paddle in calm conditions. The farther I went the smaller the wind and waves got. It took just under an hour to reach Blue Island and when I rounded the tip and began following the southern shore I found what must have been the prettiest spot on the whole lake. The shoreline was a combination of rocky outcroppings, vertical cliffs, and sandy beaches with gin clear water over a rocky bottom. We stopped at one beach to stretch our legs for a bit and climbed a high steep hill for an incredible view over the lake that was studded with small islands and topped with puffy clouds. Spectacular.
20160912_503_1 by Alan, on Flickr20160912_509 by Alan, on FlickrI began to get anxious as we reached the end of Blue Island. There was a 3 mile crossing waiting and, having been protected behind the island for 1 1/2 hours, I really didn't know what the wind had been doing. I was afraid of finding the wind had picked up but instead found it had died off completely and the surface of the water was like glass. We paddled through a raft of over 100 loons and stopped for a few minutes 1 1/2 miles out from shore to just it and be amazed at the scenery around us, the smooth surface of the water stretching out to the southern horizon, and the absolute silence. This crossing, after all we'd been going through lately, was one of the highlights of the trip and I could feel it melting away the memory of many rainy days and nights.
20160912_511 by Alan, on FlickrWe reached another island and another crossing; the last crossing. We'd made the western shore at the site of our peninsula camp where we spent the first three days of the trip being windbound. It was 3:30 and rain clouds were beginning to show on the horizon. I could see rain falling to the north. I didn't even think about stopping. Ten more miles to go. A quick stop at a beach to stretch our legs and eat a quick snack before pressing on to the finish. No more stops until we were at the launch. Hit a stiff west wind upon entering Hidden Bay and at 6:00 it started to rain lightly and briefly. Seemed fitting.
When I’'d first crossed Wollaston Lake it was a hot bed of activity. At 9:00am the fishing boats would leave the lodge and at 8:00pm they'’d all return. Float planes were constantly buzzing and all across the lake I'd see fishing boats in the distance. Now, on the way back 1 1/2 months later, all was quiet. All the way across the lake I’'d only heard one distant float plane. Boat caches that had been ready and waiting were now pulled on shore and tied down for winter. A couple days earlier I'd seen one fishing boat far out into the lake and now, as I was nearing the launch, I saw one more. I passed the lodge which, on the way north, had been full of boats with two float planes tied up at the docks. Now it was empty except for one small boat tied up near shore.
I passed through a narrow channel and into the mouth of the Umpherville River. I was off the big water and into a narrow channel lined with reeds. In a few more minutes it was all over as we eased up to shore a little before 7:00 just as the sun started to break through the clouds. I sat in the boat for a couple minutes and thought back over the last days and weeks before finally stepping out. When I walked to my car I found the door unlocked, a dirty foot print on my seat, and the rear window broken out. But I was so happy to be off Wollaston Lake it hardly dampened my spirits. There hadn't been anything of value in the car except my wallet and they didn'’t find that. I lost some pocket change and a few other minor odds and ends. Oh, and my passport, which was kind of a big deal.
I said the break-in didn't really dampened my mood, and at the time it hadn't, but it wasn't until a couple days later I realized the harm it had done. As expected no one else was using the campground when I arrived back at the landing. I was looking forward to spending the evening in peace and quiet, cooking and eating a relaxing meal, and thinking back over everything we’d been through on the trip. Then starting the long drive back south, mostly traveling in my little bubble as I eased my way back into the real world. But instead I was instantly jarred back into reality when I saw the broken glass, tried to recall what had been left in the vehicle and what had been stolen. Was made to wonder if the fella that came up to chat at the landing, who said he was staying at his uncle’'s cabin just down the road, and was fishing for a ride out because he had no car, was maybe the guy that broke into my car. Having to stop and report my stolen passport in La Ronge and then find pay phones to call home and ask my mom to research and see if I’'d be able to cross the border with only a driver’s license. Those few hours of peace and reflection at the very end of the trip was the real thing of value that was stolen and something I can never replace.
20160912_513 by Alan, on FlickrAlan
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That was one heck of a trip Allan. Thanks for taking the time to write it up and share. I have truly enjoyed reading it. Hopefully as time passes you will be able to laugh off the ending.
Jason
Jason
I really enjoyed going along with you on this trip . We to had quite a bit of rain but not nearly as bad as you did . Also we covered that section at the end of June so the weather was quite a bit warmer . We did have a heavy frost on the morning of June 23rd though . Thanks for taking us along . scouter Joe
Great trip report, Alan. The installments gave me something to look forward to every day.
What a trip! What a write up! Great stuff!
Great pics, an understanding pooch, a neat boat of your own device, wonderful pics and now as I stare at the second volume of Downe's journals, a better understanding of what you and he and his companions over the years faced.
You don't own a hairshirt do you?! (re the seemingly endless rain and wind sufferings)
The end at the landing...awful.
Great pics, an understanding pooch, a neat boat of your own device, wonderful pics and now as I stare at the second volume of Downe's journals, a better understanding of what you and he and his companions over the years faced.
You don't own a hairshirt do you?! (re the seemingly endless rain and wind sufferings)
The end at the landing...awful.
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