Summer's end in Temagami

[Odyssey]

Day 1 - Wind and waves before the calm.
It felt satisfying to feel the Temagami Mine Rd. undulating under our wheels as we made our way to the put-in to start our September trip. Thirty minutes later we felt far less satisfied to feel the same undulating sensation rolling under our canoe as we crossed the busy hub of central Lake Temagami. What started as rhythmic slapping against our hull grew into something much more when we left the protective lee of Temagami Island, with westerlies pushing up long rolling black water swells shouldering us broadside and short chop from a few degrees further to port. The occasional passing motorboat gave us a wide berth but still added their deep rippled wake to an already rollicking ride. I'd meant to leave hours earlier than our noon departure, but my plans hadn't worked out. Oh well, we were here now and the adventure had truly begun. Let's go!
My wife M was unnerved in the bow (as was I in the stern), but I tried to reassure us both with encouragement. "We can do this." "Steady as we go!" "Just stay calm and let's take our time." "Find the wave,not the trough..." Nevertheless I soon decided to change course a few degrees into the wind and waves to better manage the seas. This eventually took us around the wrong side of a couple numbered islands, only adding minutes to an already delayed trip. We followed a rock-strewn channel between them, which lead us back to our chosen route north. Within the hour we stopped at a grassy campsite on the western shore, where we got out to stretch our legs. M went up a dark trail in search of a thunderbox while I stayed behind and sipped water. She soon jogged back down the trail in a cloud of hungry mosquitoes. That decided it for us, we'd continue on to find a less buggy site for the night. I was already regretting having passed up the chance to investigate 4 attractive spots on the opposite shore, all of which looked sunny and open to insect chasing breezes and warm swimming rocks sloping gently into the lake. Maybe we'd return one summer to rediscover those quiet idylls.
Continuing on another kilometer we came upon a pretty spot. It was a mossy green place with a wide granite shoreline surrounded by open forest. Across the narrow bay there lay a slim island barely screening us from the other shore. As we stood with packs and barrels at our feet admiring the view a small beaver set out from just a few feet away, seemingly unperturbed by our presence. It didn't slap it's tail, but instead swam a slow lazy arc across to the backwater and out of sight beyond the small perfect island. And a moment later, peace had found that corner of the north once more.

M set up the tent on a bed of bright green moss while I secured the canoe. A narrow slice of clear water bit into the shield at this spot where I could coax the canoe up and out of this natural slipway. A rotting log lay crossways here amidst deep forest duff, providing me with an easy drag over the spongy forest floor. Gently rolling the canoe over and tying it off, I then went in search of firewood. Next came repairing the collapsed fire ring. We like cooking our evening meals over fire, and M decided to make this first one special. She set some thick cut steaks sizzling in the fry pan with a dab of butter and splash of oil; foil packets of potatoes and veg were nestled in the coals. It might've been minutes but felt like forever before the meal was ready. We saved on dishes and manners, choosing to wolf it all down straight from the pan; veg tossed into the meat and melted buttery gravy. We laughed as we looked at one another, faces smeared with soot, sauce and food. Whew!! We hadn't eaten since breakfast!

Later I stoked the fire to blaze, and then let it burn low, while we sat just within the flickering glow, watching and waiting for the changing moods of dusk; the inky darkness seeped into the forest glade around us, and silver starlight gently flooded the world above. Eons might have passed before M crawled exhausted into her sleeping bag. I placed one more log on the fire. I waited patiently, keeping vigil for one last star to put in an appearance. When the sky was full to bursting with diamonds, and a midnight breath of wind teased the treetops and tickled the bay, I gave up my watch and called it quits. Sometime later when the embers had long since crumbled into cooling coals I finally roused myself from slumber. I doused the fading fire and crept to bed. The last sounds I heard were the soft rustling boughs, and a strange and curious whistling coming from the forest. I strained my ears to listen for more, but sleep overcame me at last.

 

[Odyssey]

Day 2 - The Owl. (Kokoko means owl, in Ojibwe.)
This was to be a short and easy canoe trip for us, barely escaping the front country. This meant late morning starts, slow paddling, and early afternoon happy endings. Cooking over fire is my preferred method of burnt offerings but my wife loves instead the 2-burner Coleman propane for it's ease of lighting and unfailing heat control. It also makes quick work of a breakfast routine, so the chief bottle-washer me doesn't argue with the head chef her. I comply so long as there's coffee. I lit the stove and set the coffee pot in place. Not before long and just in time it blurped to life, sending out wafts of dark roast scents. Eggs went into the fry pans, which became our eating dishes for the second meal in a row. Clean up was a snap this morning. We lazily packed up our gear, segregating our damp fly and small tarp from all the dry. Every night I tarped our 2 Woods Special 100 canvas packs against the heavy dew. Even draped over bushes down by the waters edge where they caught a light breeze and the early morning sun, the tarp never did dry completely. Our 60L barrel holding only dry, light materials like sleeping bags, pads, clothes etc. stood in the middle of camp. I retrieved our 30L food barrel from under a ground hugging spruce bough well away from camp. The stainless carabiners on its handles jangled as I wrestled it free from it's hiding place. These four packs and barrels not only just fit between gunnels and thwarts, but trimmed the canoe perfectly for this trip. I love when that happens!
The sun was already ascending the sky when we at last pulled away from shore. Our resident beaver slapped its tail telling us to get a move on! An easy 3 km paddle took us to the widening top of the bay and behind a small island where we heard our portage before we saw it. We could hear the liquid music of water tumbling over stone, signalling our trail. This is where Kokoko Lake trickles down a rocky gap in the hills, into Kokoko Bay on Lake Temagami. We had a choice of two paths, river left and river right. I didn't much care for the looks of the "easy" route. That one on river right has a high dock standing 3 feet above the water. I balked at the difficulty of standing up in the canoe doing my awkward best at balancing and heaving up our gear to M crouching on the dock above. No thanks! We opted for the rocky but level take-out on the other shore. I felt better about this decision despite the bouldery rooty trail and subsequent muddy landing on the other end when we greeted 8 canoes of students pull up on the opposite shore. That would've been a crowded portage for all of us! They tiredly heaved canoe and gear across their chosen trail, while we slipped quietly away from ours.

Another early finish was the order of the day as we inspected a string of islands on the map. No two maps agreed on the exact location of every campsite, but as we approached the first of three islands we knew we'd found our Shangri-la. I was too impatient to circumnavigate the small island, instead choosing to land at the first spot of smooth granite shore we reached, even if it was a little too steep. It was a lot too steep. M sat on shore grimly holding onto a gnarly twiggy tree trunk and her legs anchored over the gunnels, while I bruised my shins and skinned my knuckles clambering out of the canoe and up the slope. She told me I got what I deserved, and she was right. Moments later after we'd managed to hoist the canoe and gear up onto shore, she'd returned from a little foray around the island to announce "There's a perfectly lovely little harbour on the other side of the island. We should relocate there for tomorrow's put-in." She's not just another pretty face. And the island is pretty too, with a large sheltered campsite and several sloping granite shores perfect for sunning, swimming, gathering water etc. But like most islands the firewood was limited. There are several stashed boats at the previous portage, and this island site clearly showed signs of seasonal habitation. A thick plywood realty sign (oh, the irony) has been nailed to the top of a standing stump, making an ideal but ugly table top. We located our stove and kitchen there. I rearranged the fire ring into a smaller and more manageable one, complete with flat cap stones used as shelves.
M set the tent up above the clearing on a little grassy plateau overlooking the lake, while I gathered and processed a few days of firewood. I cached a good supply in a dry spot under broad pine boughs. A large pine had blown down and there were obvious signs campers had tried to harvest the still green wood. I scattered the huge piles of cut greenery away from our site. They might be good to gather and burn next year. Now we could turn our attention to dinner. M conjured up a curry, using an off the shelf kit of chickpeas and sauce, to which she added fresh onion, garlic, chili pepper and dried sweet roasted red pepper. It went well with a mountain of Basmati rice. Our food barrel must be getting lighter by now! But not our stomachs!
M sat on a smooth rock beach to meditate while I cleaned up the kitchen and kept an eye on the fire. Her zenith of happiness is reached in a quiet spot in camp on these trips, finding stillness all around her, while mine is found in canoe travel and portage, slowly passing through these surroundings. Each in our own ways, we find what we're looking for, together and apart.

Later, cradling hot mugs of tea in our hands we resumed a nightly ritual of waiting for the evening sky to change her cloak, from vibrant blue to blazing crimson shot through with fiery orange, then dusky rose. Soon after we see a mysterious sombre grey, and finally that dramatic depthless black, sequined with stars.
My Scotch and her Remy Creme were only tippled with morning coffee. None was needed in the evenings to find a perfect "buzz". This second night passed exactly as the first had done, with M eventually falling into bed fatigued from a day of fresh air and fun, with I following not long after; just one more small log on the fire and another slow hour spent under the stars. I watched and waited, hoping for any Aurora Borealis, but the sky was radiant enough, no more sparkle was needed to impress me. No green and yellow flames shot through the heavens that night, only a dazzling display of starshine raining down and dancing on the water below our tent. I saw one, two, and three shooting stars that night, but didn't think to make a wish. I'd nothing else to wish for.

I leave both vestibules on each side of the tent partially open, my side facing the campsite beyond and her's facing the lake below, to give us a cool cross draft. I was sleeping like a baby, but was jostled in the middle of the night by M shivering and complaining of the frigid night air keeping her awake. Crawling out in just my base layers "pajamas" I understand her complaint; the temperatures have dipped during the night and it's near freezing. Fastening closed down first her side, and then mine, I stand just long enough to admire the night sky before plunging back into my down bag. On goes my wool socks and toque, and it takes me some time to find sleep; she's already in dreamland beside me. I'm gonna hear about this in the morning.

 

[Odyssey]

Day 3 - A walk with the Devil.
Late next morning we reluctantly dragged ourselves away from our island get-away. I stood ankle deep in clear cool water with one hand on a gunnel and the other helping M walk down a smooth shiny tree trunk lying parallel along the water surface like a narrow cedar dock, and extending out as long as the waiting canoe. It wasn't my idea she try a balance beam routine, but she recollected happy hours spent on her high school gymnastics team, so decided to "give it a go." I wisely didn't remind her how long ago that was, and insisted I lend a hand. I pleaded for a sensible dismount and she complied, stepping gingerly into the bow. I enjoyed feeling the water slide up over my boots and soak my socks, as I eased our canoe into deeper water. Finally I stepped in, and we were off. We'd planned an afternoon hike up a mountain, but there was a portage trail to find first. We hugged the southwest shore on our way to our walk in the woods, threading through islands in the midmorning sun.
We easily spotted a trail clearing from a distance, and headed for it with one eye on the compass and the other on the landscape. I knew it was the wrong trail for us, as this one took a longer route past two small lakes towards our destination. I preferred a more direct trail in the next bay over, but not wanting to waste an opportunity to pee and explore, M asked that we stop first. So I sat in the stern holding onto a large boulder while she tried to step out onto a series of crazy contours of stones separating us from shore. Huge angular blocks of stone lay just beneath us, looking very much like they'd been cut and fitted for a great fortress, and had been toppled into the shallows in centuries past. Some of them were uncomfortably near our floating hull. M hates getting her feet wet. Something I've never understood on a canoe trip; but for the sake of tripping harmony we don't discuss this. On this morning she'd decided to wear rubber mocs; all the more perplexing for me to understand the dry foot phobia, and they were to be maintained in a perfectly dry state (if I knew what was good for me. That part I do understand.) Anyway, it must've been just one of those days, because I waited as patiently as I could, listening all the while to the Kevlar hull grate and grind on the granite teeth below, sounding every bit like monstrous claws raked down a blackboard. So I did what every foolish husband does; I eased the canoe ever so gently out from shore, an inch at a time, trying to find that sensitive balance between the length of my wife's inseam and the fading sounds of Kevlar screams. I didn't quite get the balance right. Consequently, when she tentatively plunked her first bootie down onto a tiny rock islet, she missed, and went over the gunnel and planted both feet clumsily into the depths. I swear to this day it was an accident. But man, I couldn't have planned it better if I'd tried. Two boot-fulls later M shlogged to shore, no longer caring about where she planted those perfect little feet. I queried "Maybe while you're ashore you can check out the trail? It should angle to the left and south towards a small lake, before curving back right and west again. That might be only a kilometer, give or take." For whatever reason, I received a disgusted look as she went in search of a place to pee, and then M walked up the trail and out of sight. It took only a few minutes for her soggy sounding steps to disappear into the forest. And I waited. And waited. I tossed around the possibility she'd gotten lost. Or hurt. Or maybe she finally got fed up and left me? No, that can't be. We're having such a good time. Eventually I heard her water filled boots coming back down the trail "shlop, shlip...shlip, shlap...shlap, shlop...", and she had a smile on her face as wide as the big blue sky. "It's a lovely trail, through a beautiful forest!! Really beautiful!! Oh, and it is the wrong trail."
Well, with map, compass and landmarks confirmed we pushed off from the bouldery shore. But before picking up her paddle M leaned back against the gear barrels and splayed her boot clad feet to the sky, giggling as she drained them back into Kokoko. I must learn to keep a camera handy. We skimmed across the mirror surface of the small bay to a tiny cove tucked around the headland, and found our trail take-out.
This portage from Kokoko to Temagami is about 670 m and passes through mixed open woodland and over rolling topology. The variety of fungi, fern and forest is delightful, and highlighted by several enormous old growth giants standing sentinel right next to the trail and on a rise. One old denizen of the forest has fallen, it's root pan nearly eight feet tall, and clutches boulders between clenched rooty fingers. It's massive four foot diameter trunk lays on the forest floor, and disappears off through a maze of saplings. A mossy community is already covering the chiselled old bark, returning this tree to whence it sprouted centuries ago.

As on all portages we double carried, M starting with the 60L barrel and I T-ing the 30L barrel on top a canvas pack. She carried the remaining canvas pack the second trip and I the canoe with paddles lashed in. A day pack if any goes on my back for this trip. It was a long but manageable portage for both of us. Although it had been some time since we last carried, we were determined to enjoy our walks in the woods, which we did. We chose not to portage in "pauses"; preferring instead to walk all the way back empty handed for the second pass. It gave us the chance to slow down and soak up everything the trail had to offer.
The put-in also serves as a campsite on the Lake Temagami side, and is another pretty spot I intend to return to. A wide granite surface gently slopes 30 feet down into a shallow cove. The charred remains of a fire scars the granite face; a small clearing above in the forest provides a tent location. I would much prefer the openness of the broad rock landing to the confines of the forest if we were staying, but we had other plans this day. We still had a mountain to climb. We rested there sipping water sweetened with fresh lemon slices, pouring over our maps to confirm our destination. Signage in Temagami, when it is present, is minimal compared to some other parks. Campsites and trail heads usually have a small 3" square marker mounted diagonally, often hidden away from the water's edge. I try to find these signs to confirm our wayfaring, but rely always on map and compass. We'd never been to the hiking trail before, and didn't want to miss it.
Bright red dragonflies busily buzzed all around us, pausing to land on our maps, shoulders and hands. I could see dozens of them swarming around the entire cove, each individual protecting a territory in the sunshine. After our rest we loaded up and slid out across the cove, returning that tranquil place to the crimson dragons.
Devil Mountain overlooks Lake Temagami at the mouth of the bay we were paddling down, and it sits above a confluence of large stretches of water. The conditions here are sometimes rough. A short trail climbs up to a summit from a campsite below; we just had to find it. Skirting the left (south) shore we admired the view but grew concerned with the stiffening breeze sweeping up the bay mouth. The lake's north arm was passing our right shoulders; and was a destination we'd had in mind for camping, but the growing chop looked uninviting. I figured we must be near as the mountain loomed just ahead. The campsite clearing was easily spotted, and I felt relieved to see it was close...and then from just around the point streamed a group of canoes. The two in front dug in for shore, and the young paddlers looked bound and determined to beat us there. They looked like a school outing, with adults trailing the flotilla and chatting. I had no doubts there couldn't be any real issue with us sharing a site with them, either briefly to hike the trail or to stay the night, but the euphoric spell of a quiet night spent at the foot of the Devil was broken for me. I leaned forward and hoarsely whispered "What do you think about just moving on?" I wish now we'd returned to our dragonfly cove, but we chose instead to push on. The school group were all smiles and friendly banter, but we'd come to find peace and solitude. We paddled on into the growing headwind, shouting out greetings and adieus. Just then I saw an eagle lift off from the base of the mountain and soar not twenty feet above our heads, floating aloft like a feathered kite, and crossing the bay. I called back over my shoulder "EAGLE!!" I heard gasps of wonder before the wind blew all sounds away. We were buffeted as we continued around the point, and headed into the lee of Devil Island resting in the deep waters below the mountain. -----------
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[TD]Five different channels and water bodies of Lake Temagami meet in the open stretch of water off Devil's Island. Unassuming winds often slip in through two or more channels, churning up the water into hazardous canoeing conditions that can swamp an unwary canoeist.
There is a small rock squatting on the shore of Kokomis Island (aka Granny Island), now private land, in the center of this stretch. Early in this century, members of the local First Nation left food, flowers or tobacco at its base whenever they passed, and never lingered long or dared to camp on the island. The rock bears a striking resemblance to a small woman. Big Paul was a Teme-Augama guide at Keewaydin in 1904. He cautioned the people at Keewaydin with this tale.[/TD]
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[TD]When the Teme-Augama First Nation came to Temagami, the area was dry and rocky. They prayed to Gitche Manitou, their great spirit, for help. He responded to their call by scooping up a great handful of water from the sea and sent it splashing down among the stones of the parched land. As it fell among the rocks and hollows, it splashed far and wide. The largest spill became Lake Temagami and the smaller splashes formed nearby lakes.
Their lives were contented and peaceful until Matche Manitou, a bad spirit, appeared. He made his home on Devil's Island and amused himself by annoying the Anishnabai with blackflies and other nuisances. After a time these activities bored him and he moved to the high granite ridge Devil's Mountain, behind the island.
The Indians knew they would not be able to tolerate his growing malice. To placate him or even distract him, they offered a woman of their band to be his wife.[/TD]
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Illustration by Hap Wilson[/TD]
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[TD]Her presence only moderated his vehemence but did not stop his persistent devilry. She could not tolerate watching him drown hapless fishermen or hurt the people. They frequently quarreled as she did her best to stop him. As time passed and the woman grew old, the Teme-Augama came to think of her as their grandmother and good spirit, and they started calling her Kokomis.
The quarrels grew into fights and eventually, one day escalated into a fierce battle. Matche Manitou broke pieces of rock from the mountain side and hurled them her, chasing her up and down the mountain and over neighboring ridges.
When he began to overcome her, she sought refuge in the lake, knowing he could not stand the cold, pure water. She swam away as pieces of the mountain landed around her, forming new islands. Eventually, she became exhausted and unable to swim further. She crawled up on the shore of Kokomis Island.
Out of the water, she was vulnerable. Matche Manitou turned her to stone.
There Kokomis has sat since, a melancholy figure of a little woman, her head bowed in her hands. Fed up, Matche Manitou disappeared and was never seen again.
From The Keewaydin Way by Brian Back[/TD]
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There is a narrow neck of water separating the island from the mainland, called Devil's Cut, and we chose to navigate through this rather than circumnavigate the island and face worsening conditions on the open lake. In just a few yards the channel opens up into a breadth of water protected from the winds. But we still had a decision; return north to look for a campsite, cross the lake in search of a site, or follow the shore south to a site here on the near shore? I much preferred the selection of sites across the open lake, but decided instead to hug the shore and head south. In a little more than a kilometer with a freshening breeze in our faces we approached Devil Point, where we saw the vacant campsite. We might keep an appointment with the demon after all.
An onshore wind kept our canoe locked into the pebble beach while we surveyed the site. A large pine stands a dozen feet up a steep gravelly slope from shore, and separates the two eroding paths up to a grassy plateau above. The open grassy site is spacious, but heavily used, and it does slope towards the lake. Not ideal tent arrangements.
After a sweaty climb scrambling up with our gear I tucked the canoe behind some willow scrub and tied it off to some very large exposed tree roots. M transferred the gear over to the site and arranged it. We stripped down for a well needed swim, but the icy water convinced us to settle for another 'splash and dash' instead.
I'd made up a thermos of re-hydrated hot pea soup for our intended mountain hike earlier, and it came in handy now for an afternoon lunch; we ate it straight from the Thermos. Then we considered our options: continue on to campsites further down the shore, cross the lake for some choice sites there, wait for the winds to calm down, or commit to stay here? We sat in the sun awhile surveying the lake. Just over yonder lay the infamous Sealrock Pt, and behind it Granny Bay. I'd much prefer to sleep in Kokomis' arms sheltered from the winds, than on a windblown point named for a demon. But there was the small matter of wind and wave. While we pondered we got busy. There were brush piles of green branches and piles of fireplace rubble to sort out. M set up the tent in case we stayed. I went in search of firewood, which there was a scant supply of. And I found the site encircled by the bright red glossy 3- leaved ivy I'd read about on a map. We had to be extra careful not to walk through the poison ivy on the way to the thunderbox; and that was a creepy shady walk through a dank dark stand of trees. Despite a growing list of reasons to leave, she sat down under the big pine to read her book while I sought 40 winks in the tent.
80 winks later I found M walking the shore collecting driftwood for the fire. After a walk in the sunshine, and finding yet more poison ivy, she started plans for supper while I worked with the hatchet to flatten the huge log laying in the campsite. I stuck shims under it to prevent it from rolling off into the lake below, and managed to chisel a workable table top for our stove. We saved the limited firewood supply for a small evening fire for ourselves, and a future one for the next camper. M rehydrated a chili con carne with added onions, garlic, and peppers, while I made corn bread in the pan.


Although I lit rather a nice fire our hearts weren't in it. With the last of the logs blazing we discussed tomorrows. We actually had another 2 days left in our itinerary, but there were warning signs of changing weather. As the last golden rays streamed through a bank of purple clouds we knew we'd better be prepared for rough weather. A windy sunny day was transforming into an evening of creeping cloud cover and unsettled skies. We asked ourselves which we favoured; ending our trip in stormy weather and on time, or in fine weather a little early? So early it was. I kept an eye on the stars again that night, and was pleased to see them shining down from over half the sky. The clouds weren't rolling in quite yet, thankfully. To be sure, unlike previous mornings, tomorrow's departure would be early. With nearly everything packed up and ready for a quick breakfast and an even quicker breaking camp, we crawled into bed. It might've just been nerves worrying about the weather, but we both slept poorly in the night, tossing and turning, chased with harrowing dreams of a devil brandishing sickly poison plants and grimacing wildly. I whispered to M a notion of leaving that place in the dark, and following the shoreline south to a better camp, but when we poked our heads out from the fly our world was shrouded in a clammy mist, and it drifted eerily through the forest, with tendrils snaking past our tent and across the wet grass. We both got out for a bathroom break, but couldn't find the nerve for the long careful walk through sentries of poison ivy and down into a foggy wood, so we watered the edge of our campsite and hurried back to bed. Morning couldn't come soon enough.

 

[Odyssey]

Day 4 - On our way home.
I woke up mumbling "Red sky at night...red sky at dawning..." , and we crawled outside to a grey, grey world. The great and lidless eye that tormented my dreams hadn't yet peeked over the forest rim, so we had no idea if we faced sun or storm, wind or calm. Our predawn was damp and cool, the mist was even now flowing down through our camp to the lake below. It would be some time yet before it all burned off. Low thick cloud covered the sky like a dark felt hat scrunched down around our ears.
We juggled our jobs, taking down the tent and fly, cooking a quick breakfast, organizing the gear into bags and barrels, and brewing that all important pot of coffee. In fact the coffee pot and mugs, Scotch and Remy, were the last things packed away as I loaded the canoe. The cold lake pushed our hull gently but firmly, still leaving us guessing what mood she was in, and which way the weather might turn. When we'd embarked on our trip, a storm had been forecast for 2 days from now, but had things changed? Had I misread the evening sky last night?
Mist rose above our gunnels to stream across our bodies as we pushed out into the lake. We might have been paddling our very own flying canoe skimming through cloud, had it not been for the ghostly shadows of pine and birch a hundred yards on our left to remind us we were still earthbound. After a few silent minutes I leaned forward to whisper "Let's see how it goes this morning. If things get nasty there's a bunch of sites ahead to choose from. Otherwise, we'll just take our time, and keep paddling." The boss agreed.

Along the eastern shore the forest falls away, to reveal the exposed craggy side of the rocky spine of Devil's Mountain. This feature continues for some distance down the shoreline. I couldn't make up my mind whether I preferred to float down the middle of the calm wide North Arm of Lake Temagami, or to skirt along under the watchful eye of the cliffs. So I did both, gradually veering in and out of the shadows reaching out from the shore; these ethereal shadows seemed to creep down through rocky fissures and trunks of trees to slide into the water and cling to our hull. After a few minutes I'd glide back out into open water and dissipating fog to watch the shadows fade from sight.

Less than two hours later all the mist had burned off as an egg yolk sun cooked across another blue enamelled sky. It was high time we shed our rain jackets, pause for yet another sip of lemon water, and have another whispered conversation. According to the calendar it was no longer summer, but if you believed the elements, we might just have one more day of summer left.
There should've been a campsite or two on one or more points of land along this shoreline, depending on which map you believe, but the points themselves were difficult to find. We were in a slightly soporific mood, and not too inclined to investigate every campsite we might pass, except for one. Witch Point is a crooked finger of land jutting out into the lake, and has room enough for at least 2 sites. This place and name piqued our interests, so we just had to swing around the point and slide into the shallows. To be honest, I was too comfortable in the stern having my own little picnic of lemon water and a snack bar to bother exploring. M just had to look however, and the all important restop as well. I called out the wishlist and she responded. Roomy for tents? Yes. Okay firepits? Yup, pretty okay. (She knows I'm fussy about that. http://www.ottertooth.com/Temagami/T...place-diag.htm) Good swimming spot? I could've answered that myself; I was drifting in shallow clear water with a sandy bottom. Definitely yup! Is it open enough? Not too buggy? Yes, it's all good. Okay, a deal breaker...any witchyness going on!? Nope. None! Not today!! Okay then, another campsite ticked for future visits.

We didn't dawdle long, and were back in the canoe heading due south passing Garden Island, and then turning west to pass Mule Bay, before heading due south again to skirt Bear Island. We gave it a thought to stop at Temagami Island to hike some old growth trails but chose not to on this trip. Maybe next time. Pausing to wait for boat traffic to clear near Matagama Pt before crossing the channel, we wondered where everyone came from and where they were going to in such a hurry. Even the aging houseboat churtling along as it approached looked in a hulkin hurry. We crossed ahead of it with acres of space and hours of time, but chose to drift in the swells and wake of other boats to watch as the big square box of a boat struggled past. The guy with the captain's hat looked at me and I at him, and dollars to donuts we were both thinking the very same thing. "You call THAT fun!?" With another channel to cross we waited once more for fishermen, an ambulance and excited cottagers to thunder by. One lone older woman sitting back in her old square stern lowered the thrum of her engine just a tad dipping the bow, and left not a ripple as she passed. Gotta love old school. I lifted my hand and nodded my head, and we both pretended not to notice our old fashioned normalcy, as we headed in opposite directions on the lake, yet on the same path in life.
Minutes from the boat ramp take-out we passed a tourist snack bar. "Feel like an ice cream?" "Yeah! Sure!" I immediately had visions of licking messy ice cream cones, with vanilla cream running down our chins, sitting on the dock with stinky wrinkly feet in the cool lake water, and thanking summer for holding on for just one more glorious day. But the rustic homemade sign read CLOSED. dang. Summer must be over.

An hour later we'd exchanged the gentle sway of hull on water for wheels on dirt, and eased our tired and happy selves back on down the road.

 

[dougd]

An excellent read! I liked how it was some time between posts, made my days spending the time to be on the trip! You paint a great view with your written word! Thanks!