Summer swimming in Algonquin
Long ago when the kids were young we decided to break from tradition, and instead of canoe camping in autumn chose instead to escape the sweltering city and head north for a week of summer swimming in Algonquin Park.
We rented canoes, paddles and PFDs from The Portage Store on Canoe Lake before setting off. Our destination was only a 3-hour paddle away on Burnt Island Lake. We’d chosen this as a base camp, as it was close enough for our young crew to manage yet far enough as to put some easy portages between Park day- trippers and us.
The first evening sunset worked it’s magic and all our troubles faded away.
I’d purchased a book about Algonquin ecology and lost myself in it for 5 whole days while the kids rambled, scrambled and played. The only time they wandered into camp was at mealtime and bedtime. And the meals weren’t always a hit.
Not far off was an island fit for exploring. Packing a picnic lunch (and always wearing our bathing suits) we paddled over to spend the day there. Kinda like a mini-vacation while on vacation.
And then there was the swimming. Dad was the canoe taxi out to deeper water and mom was the score -keeper and judge on all matters of interpretive gunnel jumping.
First up, the One-handed-pinch the nose jump. First place for style and grace. And caution.
Secondly, the Mad dash off the bow jump. First place for originality. And expediency.
And thirdly, the I don't care if anybody's watching jump. First place for, for, for flair and I don't care if anybody's keeping score.
When the wet and bedraggled kids slowed down enough for a lunchtime snack I would go for a solo paddle around the lake. It was heartening to see my family waiting for me on my return. Or did they just want to gunnel jump some more?
By late afternoon the cool clear water got c-c-c-cooler.
Despite only having taken a Monday thru Friday vacation, it seemed like we’d been away for weeks. The homeward paddle was stretched out for hours, and we lingered as we walked the portage trails and kept our paddle cadence down to a crawl. The put-ins and take-outs became reasons to dawdle and relax.
Loaded up and back on the road, the miles melted away and the Park dipped below the horizon behind us, as my wife and I talked quietly in the front seat; and the kids slept soundly, still in their bathing suits and towels.
Long ago when the kids were young we decided to break from tradition, and instead of canoe camping in autumn chose instead to escape the sweltering city and head north for a week of summer swimming in Algonquin Park.
We rented canoes, paddles and PFDs from The Portage Store on Canoe Lake before setting off. Our destination was only a 3-hour paddle away on Burnt Island Lake. We’d chosen this as a base camp, as it was close enough for our young crew to manage yet far enough as to put some easy portages between Park day- trippers and us.
The first evening sunset worked it’s magic and all our troubles faded away.
I’d purchased a book about Algonquin ecology and lost myself in it for 5 whole days while the kids rambled, scrambled and played. The only time they wandered into camp was at mealtime and bedtime. And the meals weren’t always a hit.
Not far off was an island fit for exploring. Packing a picnic lunch (and always wearing our bathing suits) we paddled over to spend the day there. Kinda like a mini-vacation while on vacation.
And then there was the swimming. Dad was the canoe taxi out to deeper water and mom was the score -keeper and judge on all matters of interpretive gunnel jumping.
First up, the One-handed-pinch the nose jump. First place for style and grace. And caution.
Secondly, the Mad dash off the bow jump. First place for originality. And expediency.
And thirdly, the I don't care if anybody's watching jump. First place for, for, for flair and I don't care if anybody's keeping score.
When the wet and bedraggled kids slowed down enough for a lunchtime snack I would go for a solo paddle around the lake. It was heartening to see my family waiting for me on my return. Or did they just want to gunnel jump some more?
By late afternoon the cool clear water got c-c-c-cooler.
Despite only having taken a Monday thru Friday vacation, it seemed like we’d been away for weeks. The homeward paddle was stretched out for hours, and we lingered as we walked the portage trails and kept our paddle cadence down to a crawl. The put-ins and take-outs became reasons to dawdle and relax.
Loaded up and back on the road, the miles melted away and the Park dipped below the horizon behind us, as my wife and I talked quietly in the front seat; and the kids slept soundly, still in their bathing suits and towels.
