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Thank you. I’m glad you are enjoying the reading.
It looks like your friend has a lot of good boats for sale. There could be people here interested, but no new boats for me.
-
Happy National Unicorn Day! 🦄
Mégiscane River, Québec
- Thread starter Erica
- Start date
It looks like your friend has a lot of good boats for sale. There could be people here interested, but no new boats for me.
Will you be writing more on this trip? It seemed that the end of your last post implied there was more to come, but no rush. I have loved reading your trip reports, your writing style, humor, and photos.
I suggested Dustin Noel's (just an acquaintance really) used Dragonfly in my previous post because you once mentioned your poor Dragonfly had suffered terribly on one of your last trips. Did you ever get it repaired?
Just catching up on this Agatha Christie plot twist thread.
In the century-old tradition of "The Perils of Pauline", in which each episode ends with a damsel-in-distress cliffhanger, Erica punches out the best cliffhanger closing lines I've ever read in a trip report, including the "wrong river" little bird.
Erica, I knew you could get over that downed tree if you could get out of the canoe and push-pull it over the low end. But I can't figure out what that black pole thing is in between the two paddles.
In the century-old tradition of "The Perils of Pauline", in which each episode ends with a damsel-in-distress cliffhanger, Erica punches out the best cliffhanger closing lines I've ever read in a trip report, including the "wrong river" little bird.
Erica, I knew you could get over that downed tree if you could get out of the canoe and push-pull it over the low end. But I can't figure out what that black pole thing is in between the two paddles.
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Looks like a trekking pole to me... 
Looks like a trekking pole to me...
Maybe. Then there's the thing in the lower left corner that looks like a paddle blade with a reflection of a rare Quebec rodent-fish. (I have never been a taxonomic biologist.)
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Second blissful day.
I fully intended to make this a rest day and that is what I did. I told myself I would read, admire the view, nap in the sun, and otherwise enjoy my little island.
It had rained the night before and inside the downhill side of the tent, a small puddle appeared. Operator error, not the tent, as I had been somewhat careless in setting up the tent. More amazing was that in spite of zipping closed all the doors and the fly, there was a little frog in the middle of the puddle.
This is the Northern Leopard Frog. I saw it, or several, at every one of my camps.
How he got in, I have no idea. He was not keen on letting me help him out, either. After chasing him around the tent, I managed to gather him up softly and put him outside. Then I napped some more. Got up for breakfast, my hot chocolate mix with the mushroom enhancer. Before you get too excited, this is just a chocolate mix with Rhodiola (vascular plant for fatigue), Cordyceps mycelium (mushroom for stamina) and Lion's Mane (mushroom for focus), All of which could be beneficial on a canoe trip. Along with the cocoa mix, I had a bit of my home made trail mix. I sat on the dock and watched the upstream view, which was calm and spectacular. I was alone. It was quiet. As long as I was sitting or lying down, I did not feel tired, which I took to mean the mushrooms were working.
The view upstream was spectacular with blue sky, dark green trees, blue water.
[view upstream]
The wind barely ruffled my hair as I tried to untangle the braids. I wrote a few notes. To be alone with myself, engaged in the mystery and beauty of the north woods was bliss.
Abruptly a mature bald eagle came into view. He must have been flying quickly to show up so fast. Another one in from the other direction. They were interacting, but not in a friendly manner. After a short while, having resolved the dispute in avian style, each retreated and faded from sight.
The easiest way to distinguish an eagle, in North America anyway, is by wing position. The lack of depth perception and reference points when viewing at a distance, makes apparent size not particularly helpful. When soaring, (of course wings are in other positions doing different things) eagles hold their wings out completely flat, at right angles to the body. This is contrasted with the vultures, who hold their wings in a "V" shape. ("V" for vulture, you know.) Before I was ornithologically experienced, I wondered how one would tell straight wings from V shaped wings. I saw lots of vultures. Maybe some of those wings were sort of straight? And then I saw an eagle soaring. The huge, flat wings are unmistakeable.
Photo credi below. I wanted to demonstrate the very flat wings when soaring.
Photo by Guy Bevan on Unsplash. Using this photo with permission as expressed on his website: https://unsplash.com/@guysbevan[/URL]
I mentioned this in the Cree River report, but I have noticed the Canadian Bald Eagles are much more spectacular than the ones in south Florida. We have Bald Eagles who live and breed in Florida and don't go north for the summer. But they seem a little bit washed out to me. They are splendid and all. But the Canadian ones just scream Splendid with every pose, with every wing beat.
When I stood up it was my body screaming. My left shoulder shrieked piercingly. Pain lanced through my right hip. I was exhausted. Maybe the mushrooms weren't working after all.
There were no mosquitoes or black flies on this island. None. It was heavenly. I could lie out on the rock all day if I wanted. My shoulder and hip were suggesting I do just that.
Until I got bit. And bit again. It turns out there was a mess of ants who took objection to my presence in their territory. The vanguard approached followed by a skirmish. Ants struck fast and retreated. Picadors came to mind.
I headed for the tent.
I spent several days on this island, trying to recuperate from my previous stressful days. But it was taking much longer than typical recovery. One day should have been enough. But it wasn't. In addition to ongoing pain in my hip and shoulder, I was experiencing a level of exhaustion I had never before known. I carried the weight of the day as though it were iron chained to my breast. I wondered if I had somehow damaged my heart with my exertions on the first night of this adventure.
Yes, that first night that I did not have the strength to address at the beginning of this narrative. I'll give it another go here and see how far I get.
While still on the train, I realized that in spite of my planning and putting every item in a pack based on when and where they were needed, I neglected to have a flashlight available when I disembarked from the train and I had no idea where one was. I usually bring at least two flashlights. Well, I thought, I have my cell phone flash light. That should do the trick.
It didn't.
At first, I needed no light. Up on the trestle a full moon shone down on the tracks, illuminating everything up here.
I spent some delightful time gazing at the moon and trying to get a picture with my iphone. Eventually, I had to get down to business and remove myself to a camping site down by the river.
The southern side went almost straight down. The northern side, where I expected the portage to be, was unclear. Thick vegetation covered the railroad embankment except just before the trestle. Here its ballast-covered slope was bare of vegetation, descending at what looked like a manageable angle. It really didn't resemble a trail, but walking west had revealed only thick brush.
I took myself down the rock slide and discovered it was too steep to walk down safely. The angle required to walk down without falling forward was so close to the ground it was easier and safer just to slide on my butt. There were a couple of places where a log or much larger rock created a bit of a ledge to stop my slide.
The rock slide ended in a spruce forest, but the slope continued. I could walk in this area by holding and supporting myself with tree trunks. I shown the light around looking for a further trail, but every part looked dark and forbidding.The moon could not pierce this darkness. The pitiful flashlight from the iphone did not penetrate much more. I picked a spot between two trees and started navigating through the trees and brush, searching for the remnants of a camp, or indeed any roughly flat space to put up my tent.
There wasn't any.
So I smashed my way back up the the scree of the slope and clawed my way back up to my gear.
The night was cool, but in just a tee shirt and lightweight capilene sweater I was sweating profusely. Sweat was dripping into my eyes, which made seeing even more difficult. I was wasting a lot of energy moving up and down the slope, trying to see things with the iphone light, and getting more frustrated by the moment.
I was unable to carry any gear down the slope, it was too sleep. So I got the rope, handily tied to the canoe, and started lowering down one pack at a time.
This was not as effective as it sounds. There were little bits of rock and brush to catch on and I would have to tease the rope up and down, or worse, scoot down to the pack, un-stick it and send it down again. Rinse and repeat. For all the bags. Well, not all the bags because what was easy to carry on the level was difficult on the slope. I had some canvas bags, open, and I couldn't get them down. The canoe was on the south side of the slope and I felt a need to get it down. At this point I was so exhausted I could hardly breathe. You know, the shortness of breath so severe you are bent over at the waist, gasping for air.
I decided to try to find a better flashlight in my gear, most of which was at the beginning of the forested area. The brush and trees were too thick to lower anything by rope. I squatted down and started examining the interior reaches of some of the packs when I just toppled over backwards. This backwards somersault could have gone on forever except for two trees conveniently positioned to catch my left shoulder on one side and my right hip on the other. It was an abrupt stop that forced the air right out of my lungs.
I took a few minutes to catch my breath, express gratitude I hadn't fallen further, and assess the damage and situation. All the parts seemed to work, but my position was exactly like that of a beetle flipped on his back. I was on my back, head downslope and my legs and arms were essentially in the air. Moving my arms and legs had no effect on my position. There were no nearby bushes or tree branches to grab onto. I was as helpless as that beetle.
I’m still sweaty and am thrashing around ineffectively and had to stop myself and think. Of all the situations I had considered I might need the emergency SPOT SOS call, this was not one of them. I pictured myself stuck in this position, gradually withering away from dehydration. Or more likely dying of hypothermia. Or possibly being eaten by a bear while pinned in place.
But I wasn’t going to hit the SPOT SOS. Besides, it was in my little pack around my waist where I could not get to it. As always, I need to find my own way out of this.
But how?
I fully intended to make this a rest day and that is what I did. I told myself I would read, admire the view, nap in the sun, and otherwise enjoy my little island.
It had rained the night before and inside the downhill side of the tent, a small puddle appeared. Operator error, not the tent, as I had been somewhat careless in setting up the tent. More amazing was that in spite of zipping closed all the doors and the fly, there was a little frog in the middle of the puddle.
This is the Northern Leopard Frog. I saw it, or several, at every one of my camps.
How he got in, I have no idea. He was not keen on letting me help him out, either. After chasing him around the tent, I managed to gather him up softly and put him outside. Then I napped some more. Got up for breakfast, my hot chocolate mix with the mushroom enhancer. Before you get too excited, this is just a chocolate mix with Rhodiola (vascular plant for fatigue), Cordyceps mycelium (mushroom for stamina) and Lion's Mane (mushroom for focus), All of which could be beneficial on a canoe trip. Along with the cocoa mix, I had a bit of my home made trail mix. I sat on the dock and watched the upstream view, which was calm and spectacular. I was alone. It was quiet. As long as I was sitting or lying down, I did not feel tired, which I took to mean the mushrooms were working.
The view upstream was spectacular with blue sky, dark green trees, blue water.
[view upstream]
The wind barely ruffled my hair as I tried to untangle the braids. I wrote a few notes. To be alone with myself, engaged in the mystery and beauty of the north woods was bliss.
Abruptly a mature bald eagle came into view. He must have been flying quickly to show up so fast. Another one in from the other direction. They were interacting, but not in a friendly manner. After a short while, having resolved the dispute in avian style, each retreated and faded from sight.
The easiest way to distinguish an eagle, in North America anyway, is by wing position. The lack of depth perception and reference points when viewing at a distance, makes apparent size not particularly helpful. When soaring, (of course wings are in other positions doing different things) eagles hold their wings out completely flat, at right angles to the body. This is contrasted with the vultures, who hold their wings in a "V" shape. ("V" for vulture, you know.) Before I was ornithologically experienced, I wondered how one would tell straight wings from V shaped wings. I saw lots of vultures. Maybe some of those wings were sort of straight? And then I saw an eagle soaring. The huge, flat wings are unmistakeable.
Photo credi below. I wanted to demonstrate the very flat wings when soaring.
Photo by Guy Bevan on Unsplash. Using this photo with permission as expressed on his website: https://unsplash.com/@guysbevan[/URL]
I mentioned this in the Cree River report, but I have noticed the Canadian Bald Eagles are much more spectacular than the ones in south Florida. We have Bald Eagles who live and breed in Florida and don't go north for the summer. But they seem a little bit washed out to me. They are splendid and all. But the Canadian ones just scream Splendid with every pose, with every wing beat.
When I stood up it was my body screaming. My left shoulder shrieked piercingly. Pain lanced through my right hip. I was exhausted. Maybe the mushrooms weren't working after all.
There were no mosquitoes or black flies on this island. None. It was heavenly. I could lie out on the rock all day if I wanted. My shoulder and hip were suggesting I do just that.
Until I got bit. And bit again. It turns out there was a mess of ants who took objection to my presence in their territory. The vanguard approached followed by a skirmish. Ants struck fast and retreated. Picadors came to mind.
I headed for the tent.
I spent several days on this island, trying to recuperate from my previous stressful days. But it was taking much longer than typical recovery. One day should have been enough. But it wasn't. In addition to ongoing pain in my hip and shoulder, I was experiencing a level of exhaustion I had never before known. I carried the weight of the day as though it were iron chained to my breast. I wondered if I had somehow damaged my heart with my exertions on the first night of this adventure.
Yes, that first night that I did not have the strength to address at the beginning of this narrative. I'll give it another go here and see how far I get.
While still on the train, I realized that in spite of my planning and putting every item in a pack based on when and where they were needed, I neglected to have a flashlight available when I disembarked from the train and I had no idea where one was. I usually bring at least two flashlights. Well, I thought, I have my cell phone flash light. That should do the trick.
It didn't.
At first, I needed no light. Up on the trestle a full moon shone down on the tracks, illuminating everything up here.
I spent some delightful time gazing at the moon and trying to get a picture with my iphone. Eventually, I had to get down to business and remove myself to a camping site down by the river.
The southern side went almost straight down. The northern side, where I expected the portage to be, was unclear. Thick vegetation covered the railroad embankment except just before the trestle. Here its ballast-covered slope was bare of vegetation, descending at what looked like a manageable angle. It really didn't resemble a trail, but walking west had revealed only thick brush.
I took myself down the rock slide and discovered it was too steep to walk down safely. The angle required to walk down without falling forward was so close to the ground it was easier and safer just to slide on my butt. There were a couple of places where a log or much larger rock created a bit of a ledge to stop my slide.
The rock slide ended in a spruce forest, but the slope continued. I could walk in this area by holding and supporting myself with tree trunks. I shown the light around looking for a further trail, but every part looked dark and forbidding.The moon could not pierce this darkness. The pitiful flashlight from the iphone did not penetrate much more. I picked a spot between two trees and started navigating through the trees and brush, searching for the remnants of a camp, or indeed any roughly flat space to put up my tent.
There wasn't any.
So I smashed my way back up the the scree of the slope and clawed my way back up to my gear.
The night was cool, but in just a tee shirt and lightweight capilene sweater I was sweating profusely. Sweat was dripping into my eyes, which made seeing even more difficult. I was wasting a lot of energy moving up and down the slope, trying to see things with the iphone light, and getting more frustrated by the moment.
I was unable to carry any gear down the slope, it was too sleep. So I got the rope, handily tied to the canoe, and started lowering down one pack at a time.
This was not as effective as it sounds. There were little bits of rock and brush to catch on and I would have to tease the rope up and down, or worse, scoot down to the pack, un-stick it and send it down again. Rinse and repeat. For all the bags. Well, not all the bags because what was easy to carry on the level was difficult on the slope. I had some canvas bags, open, and I couldn't get them down. The canoe was on the south side of the slope and I felt a need to get it down. At this point I was so exhausted I could hardly breathe. You know, the shortness of breath so severe you are bent over at the waist, gasping for air.
I decided to try to find a better flashlight in my gear, most of which was at the beginning of the forested area. The brush and trees were too thick to lower anything by rope. I squatted down and started examining the interior reaches of some of the packs when I just toppled over backwards. This backwards somersault could have gone on forever except for two trees conveniently positioned to catch my left shoulder on one side and my right hip on the other. It was an abrupt stop that forced the air right out of my lungs.
I took a few minutes to catch my breath, express gratitude I hadn't fallen further, and assess the damage and situation. All the parts seemed to work, but my position was exactly like that of a beetle flipped on his back. I was on my back, head downslope and my legs and arms were essentially in the air. Moving my arms and legs had no effect on my position. There were no nearby bushes or tree branches to grab onto. I was as helpless as that beetle.
I’m still sweaty and am thrashing around ineffectively and had to stop myself and think. Of all the situations I had considered I might need the emergency SPOT SOS call, this was not one of them. I pictured myself stuck in this position, gradually withering away from dehydration. Or more likely dying of hypothermia. Or possibly being eaten by a bear while pinned in place.
But I wasn’t going to hit the SPOT SOS. Besides, it was in my little pack around my waist where I could not get to it. As always, I need to find my own way out of this.
But how?
Last edited:
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Erica - You have mastered the art of writing a cliff hanger! So glad you eventually made it home to write up this report; my guess is you are too!
That's all for now. Take care and until next time...be well.
snapper
That's all for now. Take care and until next time...be well.
snapper
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More Island Bliss
Back on my perfect island vacation I continued to enjoy the spectacular weather, the lovely vistas, and picking off and squishing ants. Various songbirds paid visits. Cedar Waxwings, A small sparrow-sized bird with one wing bar who flitted and fluttered through the brush exposing a vivid green and white rump. Also a tiny olive warbler which I've seen at every camp so far. I heard distant loons and the louder more raucous calls of Sand Hill Cranes. Ducks bobbed on the water. You really can't ask for more than this.
Suddenly, I also heard voices. I'm on an island. I look all around, mystified. There are no people. Hallucinations? Sometimes when in wilderness the wind or the trees sound almost like voices. Could it be my cell phone talking to me? No. I paw through my baggage and finally found the source - my blood pressure cuff. Apparently the start button had gotten pressed, so it was ineffectively trying to take a blood pressure reading. It talks me through the process which I hardly need and is actually annoying, but I haven't figured out how to turn it off. The voice, that is. I turned off the entire cuff.
I've had two moderately concerning injuries. I'm choosing to diagnose both as muscle strains. One is on my right hip, traveling from hip to lower back. The other, on the left shoulder, hurt sharply, but only when moved in certain ways. Interestingly, it did not hurt at all while paddling. I could work with the pain during the day, but at night I was unable to sleep as both resisted efforts to find comfortable positions. I was also very cold. The pleasant sun warmed island disappeared with the sun and I was so cold. By 3:30 am, I resorted to my low grade opioid pain killer and slept till 8 am. The persistent weakness and dyspnea were also somewhat concerning as even extended rest did not seem to lead to recovery.
I was content to continue to rest, but decided I would like to paddle around this expanded lake section of the Rivière Mégiscane. Remembering how skittish this boat is when empty, I dumped some packs in the bow and stern and we rode just fine. I watched a kingfisher swoop and dive; it's call like a disruptive rattle over the water. Over to the east, the view was not as good, if one is looking for wilderness. This section of the river is closely followed by the high, high-powered electric lines of Hydro Quebec.
According to Wikipedia, Hydro-Québec is one of the largest producers of hydropower in the world. There are huge generating stations and enormous transmission lines bringing electricity to the south for distribution in Quebec and northeastern US. (Forty percent of Canada's energy and 10% of New England get their energy from Hydro-Quebec.) According to the Hydro-Quebec website, there are 262,474 kilometers of transmission lines in Quebec. Paddling even in remote Quebec waters, one is likely to see them. This photo is from Wikipedia.
Thirty years ago, on the Megiscane, I first encountered these transmission lines. They were crossing the upper river and to be honest, I was afraid to get near to them or go under them. I realized this fear was irrational (maybe) but it was real. They were so big, and they went right over the river which was narrow and shallow at that point. I looked around. I could see vegetation was lush and green. There was evidence of beavers living in the area. Did the beavers know not to go under the transmission lines? I didn't see any scorched earth or dead beavers. I finally gave in to my rational self and paddled through under the wires. Obviously, I lived to tell the tale.
The bridge was guarded by old beams and sharp irons piercing the water and scattered like pick up sticks and too thick to paddle through. The water was too high to paddle underneath the bridge, assuming one did not get stabbed first.
I managed to pull up onto shore and get out to see what was there. It was a decent looking road and the bridge still looked serviceable. There were very flat grassy areas on each side of the bridge which spoke to me of dreamless, flat sleep. In spite of the allure, I did not relish pitching near a road, no matter how little used. I did get another perspective of the lake, my island, and in the other direction, the enormous powerlines of Hydro Quebec.
I managed to pull up onto shore and get out to see what was there. It was a decent looking road and the bridge still looked serviceable. There were very flat grassy areas on each side of the bridge which spoke to me of dreamless, flat sleep. In spite of the allure, I did not relish pitching near a road, no matter how little used. I did get another perspective of the lake, my island, and in the other direction, the enormous powerlines of Hydro Quebec.
Also on display were wildflowers. My favorite bottle gentian.
I threaded my way back through the wreckage of previous bridges and headed toward the south end of the lake. Again, the weather was spectacular, the paddling easy. I didn't want to go too near the cabin, but was close enough to see it was old and fitted into the landscape in a manner that newer fancy cabins do not.
I headed for the little islands. I was surprised to find that what looked to me like one small island from the point of view of my camp, was actually three smaller islands. Practically rocks, save for the few spruce trees and understory located there.
*******
It's amazing the thoughts that run through one's mind when lying pinned, head down, in the moonlit dark. Once the barking, snarling dogs of disaster have been quieted, the mind is free to float where it will. Did you know that the French described the American six-pack of abdominal muscles as "tablettes de chocolat?" (Chocolate bars, think Hersheys.)
Basically, contraction of the rectus abdominis allows the person to have better function from the body core and perform exercises in the gym. I'm sure it help with basic canoeing also. But did you know that belly dancers develop amazing control of their abdominal muscles, of which there are five sets, ten muscles and fractions thereof. They can contract and release each of these in isolation creating precise rhythmic pulses, fluid undulations and waves that travel from the diaphragm to hips. And they can do it even lying on the floor.
So as I was pinned to the trees on the slope, I pondered my options and there weren't many. I'd done belly dancing, but it was some years ago and I wasn't sure if I could awaken all the neurons needed to execute deliberate control. A regular sit up wouldn't work because the left side of my body was blocked. I needed to engage the muscles that would pull me up on the right alone, enough to give my right shoulder and arm a chance to escape.
First try analysis: Correct muscles, not enough force.
Second try analysis: Correct muscles, more force but still not enough. I could tell I barely had enough energy for a third try so it was going to have to work, drawing from that well of impossible performance.
Third try: I lifted up my body enough that my left arm could scoot back far enough so it was supporting me on the ground and my right hip was no longer leaning so heavily on it's tree.
Now, it's caterpillar time. I could scootch my left arm up a bit and the slowly word each body segments uphill until I got to my shoes. Then repeat. Belly dancers do this also as floor work. This was slow, agonizing and felt faintly ridiculous, but it was successful. I got up out of the trees and next to my pack. It was still a struggle to get turned around and sitting in a nomal-ish position, but I did it.
Resituated, all parts working, but the brain was becoming overtaxed and I was getting cold. I decided I needed to set up the tent and get into a warm bag as soon as possible and stop worrying about being organized or "right." I can recognize when I'm on the verge of hypothermia and need to shift my priorities into life-saving.
I brought the tent down to one of the mattress-like benches and spread it out. I put the first pole in okay, but the second pole was not behaving like it should. I must have put it in the wrong slip even though they are clearly color coded. I tried to fix this several times but the problem did not improve. Frustration was growing.
I decided to get the dry bag with all the tent ingredients and I hoped my brain would recover by the time I got back. But after I brought down the dry bag, I could not find the tent. The tent is red and turquoise. I had the iphone flashlight. I thought I knew where I was, but I could not find the tent. Again I had to abandon the tent erection and just go with the sleeping bag.
Locating a place where I could see that I could curl around the various lumps, I set out a large plastic tarp, my two sleeping bags, sleeping clothes, insect repellent, evening meds, water bottle. I got myself snug as a bug in a rug and curled up in the tarp and shivered until I finally fell asleep.
Next morning dawned beautifully; it found me sleepily wondering why I wasn't in the tent. Memories rushed in, I sat up abruptly and looked around panicky about finding the tent. It was not more that 20 feet from me. I expressed gratitude for a safe night, the lack of rain, and a bright beautiful morning.
I still had to face all the gear, getting it down off the trestle, getting the canoe down off the trestle and finding a "real" place to camp for the night, for I was sure I was not going to be in any shape to progress further down the river.
I took a look at the river. Running swiftly with lots of rocks, but a definite current. I didn't see how the boat could make it down at this water level. My heart sunk. This meant hauling packs and canoe further.
Before moving any more packs, I walked the river to see where I could reasonably expect to put in. It was much further than I would have preferred. The first place where the river was deep enough to launch was just upstream of a major strainer that spanned half the river. Walking past the strainer, I did find a place I thought I could launch from. I would have to haul everything through the tulgy wood. My heart sank.
On the walk down I had miraculously found a spot that was relatively level and clear and thought this would be a good place to set up the tent. This raised my spirits some. So I grabbed the tent and walked back to the site and it was no where to be seen. I looked all over for that spot without success. I did find a tiny spot where vegetation had long been discouraged by either beaver or muskrat and I could use this for my kitchen. So that was pleasing to me.
Although my kitchen was high above the river, I was pleased to discover that a forked branch could lower the pot down to the river to bring up water. Some food should raise my spirits.
Lugging the packs around really took it out of me. I was on the verge of dispair because I thought I should be strong enough to move these packs. I was beat up and exhausted and hadn’t even gotten on the river.
Back on my perfect island vacation I continued to enjoy the spectacular weather, the lovely vistas, and picking off and squishing ants. Various songbirds paid visits. Cedar Waxwings, A small sparrow-sized bird with one wing bar who flitted and fluttered through the brush exposing a vivid green and white rump. Also a tiny olive warbler which I've seen at every camp so far. I heard distant loons and the louder more raucous calls of Sand Hill Cranes. Ducks bobbed on the water. You really can't ask for more than this.
Suddenly, I also heard voices. I'm on an island. I look all around, mystified. There are no people. Hallucinations? Sometimes when in wilderness the wind or the trees sound almost like voices. Could it be my cell phone talking to me? No. I paw through my baggage and finally found the source - my blood pressure cuff. Apparently the start button had gotten pressed, so it was ineffectively trying to take a blood pressure reading. It talks me through the process which I hardly need and is actually annoying, but I haven't figured out how to turn it off. The voice, that is. I turned off the entire cuff.
I've had two moderately concerning injuries. I'm choosing to diagnose both as muscle strains. One is on my right hip, traveling from hip to lower back. The other, on the left shoulder, hurt sharply, but only when moved in certain ways. Interestingly, it did not hurt at all while paddling. I could work with the pain during the day, but at night I was unable to sleep as both resisted efforts to find comfortable positions. I was also very cold. The pleasant sun warmed island disappeared with the sun and I was so cold. By 3:30 am, I resorted to my low grade opioid pain killer and slept till 8 am. The persistent weakness and dyspnea were also somewhat concerning as even extended rest did not seem to lead to recovery.
I was content to continue to rest, but decided I would like to paddle around this expanded lake section of the Rivière Mégiscane. Remembering how skittish this boat is when empty, I dumped some packs in the bow and stern and we rode just fine. I watched a kingfisher swoop and dive; it's call like a disruptive rattle over the water. Over to the east, the view was not as good, if one is looking for wilderness. This section of the river is closely followed by the high, high-powered electric lines of Hydro Quebec.
According to Wikipedia, Hydro-Québec is one of the largest producers of hydropower in the world. There are huge generating stations and enormous transmission lines bringing electricity to the south for distribution in Quebec and northeastern US. (Forty percent of Canada's energy and 10% of New England get their energy from Hydro-Quebec.) According to the Hydro-Quebec website, there are 262,474 kilometers of transmission lines in Quebec. Paddling even in remote Quebec waters, one is likely to see them. This photo is from Wikipedia.
Thirty years ago, on the Megiscane, I first encountered these transmission lines. They were crossing the upper river and to be honest, I was afraid to get near to them or go under them. I realized this fear was irrational (maybe) but it was real. They were so big, and they went right over the river which was narrow and shallow at that point. I looked around. I could see vegetation was lush and green. There was evidence of beavers living in the area. Did the beavers know not to go under the transmission lines? I didn't see any scorched earth or dead beavers. I finally gave in to my rational self and paddled through under the wires. Obviously, I lived to tell the tale.
The bridge was guarded by old beams and sharp irons piercing the water and scattered like pick up sticks and too thick to paddle through. The water was too high to paddle underneath the bridge, assuming one did not get stabbed first.
I managed to pull up onto shore and get out to see what was there. It was a decent looking road and the bridge still looked serviceable. There were very flat grassy areas on each side of the bridge which spoke to me of dreamless, flat sleep. In spite of the allure, I did not relish pitching near a road, no matter how little used. I did get another perspective of the lake, my island, and in the other direction, the enormous powerlines of Hydro Quebec.
I managed to pull up onto shore and get out to see what was there. It was a decent looking road and the bridge still looked serviceable. There were very flat grassy areas on each side of the bridge which spoke to me of dreamless, flat sleep. In spite of the allure, I did not relish pitching near a road, no matter how little used. I did get another perspective of the lake, my island, and in the other direction, the enormous powerlines of Hydro Quebec.
Also on display were wildflowers. My favorite bottle gentian.
I threaded my way back through the wreckage of previous bridges and headed toward the south end of the lake. Again, the weather was spectacular, the paddling easy. I didn't want to go too near the cabin, but was close enough to see it was old and fitted into the landscape in a manner that newer fancy cabins do not.
I headed for the little islands. I was surprised to find that what looked to me like one small island from the point of view of my camp, was actually three smaller islands. Practically rocks, save for the few spruce trees and understory located there.
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It's amazing the thoughts that run through one's mind when lying pinned, head down, in the moonlit dark. Once the barking, snarling dogs of disaster have been quieted, the mind is free to float where it will. Did you know that the French described the American six-pack of abdominal muscles as "tablettes de chocolat?" (Chocolate bars, think Hersheys.)
Basically, contraction of the rectus abdominis allows the person to have better function from the body core and perform exercises in the gym. I'm sure it help with basic canoeing also. But did you know that belly dancers develop amazing control of their abdominal muscles, of which there are five sets, ten muscles and fractions thereof. They can contract and release each of these in isolation creating precise rhythmic pulses, fluid undulations and waves that travel from the diaphragm to hips. And they can do it even lying on the floor.
So as I was pinned to the trees on the slope, I pondered my options and there weren't many. I'd done belly dancing, but it was some years ago and I wasn't sure if I could awaken all the neurons needed to execute deliberate control. A regular sit up wouldn't work because the left side of my body was blocked. I needed to engage the muscles that would pull me up on the right alone, enough to give my right shoulder and arm a chance to escape.
First try analysis: Correct muscles, not enough force.
Second try analysis: Correct muscles, more force but still not enough. I could tell I barely had enough energy for a third try so it was going to have to work, drawing from that well of impossible performance.
Third try: I lifted up my body enough that my left arm could scoot back far enough so it was supporting me on the ground and my right hip was no longer leaning so heavily on it's tree.
Now, it's caterpillar time. I could scootch my left arm up a bit and the slowly word each body segments uphill until I got to my shoes. Then repeat. Belly dancers do this also as floor work. This was slow, agonizing and felt faintly ridiculous, but it was successful. I got up out of the trees and next to my pack. It was still a struggle to get turned around and sitting in a nomal-ish position, but I did it.
Resituated, all parts working, but the brain was becoming overtaxed and I was getting cold. I decided I needed to set up the tent and get into a warm bag as soon as possible and stop worrying about being organized or "right." I can recognize when I'm on the verge of hypothermia and need to shift my priorities into life-saving.
I brought the tent down to one of the mattress-like benches and spread it out. I put the first pole in okay, but the second pole was not behaving like it should. I must have put it in the wrong slip even though they are clearly color coded. I tried to fix this several times but the problem did not improve. Frustration was growing.
I decided to get the dry bag with all the tent ingredients and I hoped my brain would recover by the time I got back. But after I brought down the dry bag, I could not find the tent. The tent is red and turquoise. I had the iphone flashlight. I thought I knew where I was, but I could not find the tent. Again I had to abandon the tent erection and just go with the sleeping bag.
Locating a place where I could see that I could curl around the various lumps, I set out a large plastic tarp, my two sleeping bags, sleeping clothes, insect repellent, evening meds, water bottle. I got myself snug as a bug in a rug and curled up in the tarp and shivered until I finally fell asleep.
Next morning dawned beautifully; it found me sleepily wondering why I wasn't in the tent. Memories rushed in, I sat up abruptly and looked around panicky about finding the tent. It was not more that 20 feet from me. I expressed gratitude for a safe night, the lack of rain, and a bright beautiful morning.
I still had to face all the gear, getting it down off the trestle, getting the canoe down off the trestle and finding a "real" place to camp for the night, for I was sure I was not going to be in any shape to progress further down the river.
I took a look at the river. Running swiftly with lots of rocks, but a definite current. I didn't see how the boat could make it down at this water level. My heart sunk. This meant hauling packs and canoe further.
Before moving any more packs, I walked the river to see where I could reasonably expect to put in. It was much further than I would have preferred. The first place where the river was deep enough to launch was just upstream of a major strainer that spanned half the river. Walking past the strainer, I did find a place I thought I could launch from. I would have to haul everything through the tulgy wood. My heart sank.
On the walk down I had miraculously found a spot that was relatively level and clear and thought this would be a good place to set up the tent. This raised my spirits some. So I grabbed the tent and walked back to the site and it was no where to be seen. I looked all over for that spot without success. I did find a tiny spot where vegetation had long been discouraged by either beaver or muskrat and I could use this for my kitchen. So that was pleasing to me.
Although my kitchen was high above the river, I was pleased to discover that a forked branch could lower the pot down to the river to bring up water. Some food should raise my spirits.
Lugging the packs around really took it out of me. I was on the verge of dispair because I thought I should be strong enough to move these packs. I was beat up and exhausted and hadn’t even gotten on the river.
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