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We'll have a moment of silence in memory of Ron and Art. Please hold your Tilly hat over your heart and try to look solemn.
I regret to inform you that, at last sight, Ron and Art were headed east on the 401. Due to an unfortunate oversight, in which Ron placed both pairs of wet, smelly water socks and boots in the front seat area, the two of them were overcome by noxious fumes. The spirit of their forefathers is guiding Ron's truck to Newfoundland where they will paddle the waters off Gros Morin forever.
Och lads, we hardly knew ye!
On a lighter note -- and assuming that Ron *eventually* twigs on to the fact that he missed the turn-off to the 416 -- it was a bonnie weekend!
Some housekeeping first: since a copy of this report goes to Art's mother, I have to apologize. I think we neglected to reconnect the front doorbell. (We had disconnected it Friday night to discourage Alana from finding us Saturday morning, but in a moment of typical stupidity, we forgot to hide the kayaks on the cars out front. She just came around to the back door and startled the bejaisus out of us. I wouldn't want to say "pushy broad", but....)
Art, John, Ron, Darryl, Alana and Julie.
We launched at 9:30 into a calm sea under a clear sky. Out the Cataraqui River past RMC, we encountered a long-boat from the St. Lawrence II -- lads in full period costume. Art berated them for not working hard enough. Fortunately, they had forgotten to bring gunpowder for the little canon mounted on the bow of the long-boat. We next encountered a sailing skiff from the mothership. More men in period costume, but we're wondering about the authenticity of the outboard they were using. We weren't sure we could take them, so we were less antagonistic. Finally, around the corner, we saw the St. Lawrence II herself. I tried to get them to "stand and deliver", but they were having none of it. "Look, the natives have paddled out to greet us in their primitive craft", they commented.
Vowing to take our revenge against those upstart Englishmen, we continued down river. We crossed to Wolfe Island and followed its never-ending shoreline until lunch. Choosing to paddle even further, to the near end of Howe Island (rather than to stop on a nearby islet), we eventually landed at noon.
During the half-hour lunch break, we launched Alana's kayak while her back was turned -- another attempt to discourage her that didn't work. Between them, the men in wooden boats retrieved her boat before it got too far, and the entire party set off on the return voyage.
The wind (and waves) had picked up somewhat during our down-river run, and they made things interesting on the return trip. It's always a joy to have wind *and* waves in your face when you're tired!
We turned back into the Cataraqui again, and once under the causeway, the wind and waves completely disappeared. Not a puff of wind nor a ripple on the water. John wanted to go out and challenge the many- person sculls that were out from the Cataraqui Canoe Club where we launched, but they overheard him and headed straight into the docks to avoid the embarrassment. (That's our story, and we're sticking to it.)
We landed at 4:30. A *long* day on the water under a hot sun!
Back to Art's for a sponge bath, beer, measuring distances on the map, beer, change of clothes, beer, discussion about where to go for supper, beer....
We ate at a great little curry restaurant located right next door to the Lone Star on Front St. Excellent food! End of restaurant critique.
Visited the Toucan Pub in behind Chez Piggy's for -- all together now! -- beer. Went home to bed.
Estimates of our paddle -- using the ever-reliable stretching-string method -- were somewhere around 35 km round trip.
Sunday morning we drove to Gananoque for brekkies. Having failed to embarrass Alana out of the group, we worked for a bit on Julie, but she held her own. Even the waitress got in on the game, and it may have turned some heads in the restaurant, but it didn't get rid of Julie. Although I leave the details to your sordid imaginations, trust me, they won't match the real thing! I blush to think I was a party to it!!
With Ron in the lead, we toured around most of dockside Gananoque before finding the pubic launch. (Little did we know this was to be a prelude of things to come. See para. 1.)
John had to return to Ottawa. Or so he said. Our theory is that, disgusted by our behaviour, he found an excuse to ditch Julie and to run away. Not to be denied the pleasure of a goodly number of victims to taunt, we shanghaied an innocent Almonte woman who had come to the same launch site for some peaceful paddling. Daphne -- a former white- water paddler recently come to her senses -- turned out to be a good sport in the face of our incessant inanity.
Daphne, Alana, Julie, Darryl, Art and Ron. (Ladies, please note that I put you first this time.)
We toured around the island group just west of Gananoque, getting almost as far as the east end of Howe Island.
With Visa and ATM cards in hand, we landed on one of the Parks Canada islands -- taking up all the dock space in the process -- and found ourselves unable to pay the landing fees. Note to Parks Canada: sorry, but it was all we had! We'll have to get you next time, OK?
I'm disappointed to report that no one fell in trying to get into their kayaks from the docks. (I cheated and launched from a well- positioned rock, and Ron copied me. But we were certain that one of the ladies, or Art, would go in.)
Crossing the main channel from the islands to the mainland east of Gan, we had to wait for one of the Gananoque Boats Lines boats to go past. Hoping for some big waves to surf, we were disappointed due to having to wait for a sailboat under power that was too close behind to nip in front of her. And going after meant the wake had subsided. It was almost like trying to cross the 417 at rush hour: a steady stream of boats heading in and out of the Gan marina.
While the others explored the Gananoque River, I cut across the mouth and headed for the docks near the customs shed and the boat lines docking area. I chatted with a couple of old lads from the neighbourhood, out for a breath of the fresh on their electric scooters, until I found that there were a couple of fair-sized motor boats heading for the same section of dock I was using. And not impressed *at all* with the fact that I was taking up a fair stretch of said dock.
I decided I'd head back to the river mouth to see if I could see the rest of the group returning -- you can't go far upriver before running into a power station -- and I was just alongside the docked cruise boat when I discovered a second cruise boat steaming in with designs, apparently, of docking in front of the one I was now beside. With passenger screaming to get off the boat, I didn't think the captain would care too much about some stupid kayaker in his way, so I reversed direction again. Dodging power boats vying for the limited docking space, I gave up and got outta Dodge City.
I was back at the launch and had my boat back on my car when the other arrived.
A final visit to the Tim Horton's and we were off home.
Alana and Julie leave for their annual trip next weekend, so this was their last paddle before then. Group hug in the parking lot!
Alana said she learned four things this weekend. She learned how to launch from a three-foot high dock without going for a swim. She learned how to splash other idiot paddlers without capsizing herself. I can't remember right now what the third thing was. But, and this is of special note to Mike, her "significant other", she learned to get her kayak on and off her car by herself. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mike, but she says you're only good for thing now --- insert pregnant pause --- wait for it! --- working on the cottage. (Had you worried, didn't I?)
Photos were taken: they may appear somewhere, sometime. But I'm looking forward to the story Art and Ron come up with to explain their being totally asleep at the switch on the 401 and 416 exit. Ball's in your court, boys!
--
Darryl
The 'Paddle Poker Run' at the Crysler Park Marina (outside Morrisburg) this past weekend was quite a success. It was the first year it was held and was pretty well organized and atttended. There were approx. 60 people, with a mix of single kayaks, a few doubles, and pairs of canoists. Ages ranged from ~12 to 70ish. Due to its success this year, I'm sure next year it will be bigger. They had good weather, good prizes, and a barbecue to cap it off.
Ottawa kayakers were well represented in the 12K race by Tersh, who after the first few minutes was but a speck in the distance. He really flew. He easily came in first, won a nice haul of prizes, and managed not to mock those who followed (including Dave Smith and myself).
Thanks to Dave Smith for letting us know about the event in the first place. See ya there next year.
Alana
Event webpage: www.cryslerparkmarina.com/events.htm
March 28 trip report
In the style of Darryl or the best I can manage.
You just don't get many days in March like this one. Alana, Julie, Francois, John, Art and Ron made up the first official paddle of the 2004 season. Everyone met at the Tim's in Arnprior for 10:30, or at least Ron made it for 10:30 everyone else was early. We hung around for a bit in case anyone else showed up and hit the road.
The original launch point near Burnstown was iced up so we continued on towards Calabogie and put in at the picnic area just above the rapids. We got on the water at about 11:45. Chunks of ice ( up to 10" thick) were floating downstream with the current, while 6 happy paddlers headed upstream. Apart from the very boisterous geese and a two stroke motor off in the distance it was peaceful and serene.
The original plan was to paddle from Burnstown towards the picnic area a distance of 11.5 Km and turn around when we got tired. The new location required a change of plan and we went from the picnic area to the hydro dam just below Calabogie a distance of about 2.5 km.
We managed to find a large sheet of ice that had separated from the shore ice and John tried to make it through the crack, which started to close up. Problem you say, well only if you believe kayaks are water vessels. The antics began with Ron trying to push the ice and wedging his boat between the two sheets. Francois saw this as an opportunity to go over land (so to speak) and with full speed ahead was able to launch his boat onto the ice sheet. John attacked from the other side and in short order we had two boats up on the ice.
John ditched his kayak paddle in favor of the traditional dog paddle and in no time he had crossed the ice sheet propelled by his palms. Francois thought this looked like fun and tried the same thing only to learn that short arms are not the proper equipment. He persevered and managed to get across the 20 feet of ice and back into the water. Yes we have the pictures to prove, it Julie and Francois were the official photographers for the trip.
Alana and Julie are first time paddlers with the group and had some of the normal concerns anyone has with joining a new group. After seeing just how nuts we really are they confided that the paddle was better than they had expected, I think we can expect to see them again. We all rafted up in the middle of a large bay to chat and have a bite to eat. All that laughing works up a good appetite.
We headed back to the launch site for some more fun, arriving back at 1:30 with Julie, Alana and Art calling it a day. John, Francois and Ron decided they wanted to risk taking a bath and decided to run down the rapids. I guess you could call it class II white water and the sea kayaks handled it without any problems. We played in the bottom of the rapids for a bit and Francois headed back up river to see the others.
John and Ron decided to continue downriver and paddled another 6 km downstream to the bridge. There were noisy geese at every turn and a fairly strong wind in our faces. We turned around at the bridge and started back up river against the current. The easiest paddling was to stay close to the shore where there was less current. By the time we got back to the rapids we were both getting a little tired .
We made it about 1/3 of the way up the rapids to the point where Francois took out. Instead of carrying the boats back (paddling against the current with tired arms was out of the question), we opted to walk along the edge and pull our boats behind us. This took about 10-15 minutes with the deepest parts getting up to our waists. We did not freeze but John found his wet suit getting a tad chilly around the ankles, he didn't comment on any other body parts.
We pulled out of the water at 4pm loaded up and headed back to Ottawa. What can I say, it was an absolutely fabulous day. A sunburned face while paddling open water in March life just doesn't get much better than that.
Where are we going next weekend?
Birdie
John P. and I happened to be launching from Shirley's Bay at the same time on Saturday. After a quick introduction, we headed off on a liesurely paddle at 12:15. John wanted to get 2 hrs in, so we headed upstream. There was a slight head wind, and only minor waves. We headed to Aylmer Island, and then north pass the YMCA camp. John suggested heading for Pinhey Pt, so off we went.
The was very little motor traffic, but plenty of sail boats. We pulled into Pinhey Pt at 14:10. We took the opportunity to stretch our legs and grab a quick bite. A dark cloud, filled with rain and thunder rolled over the Gatineaus, missing us by a couple of kilometers.
We headed back at 15:00, with the wind at our backs. We could see that Ottawa was getting dumped on by the same storm. We landed at Shirleys Bay at 16:45. John was pleased, as this was the longest he had paddled.
Paddled 21.6km and 4 hrs
Rod
Trip Report
Alana, Julie O., Julie F., John, Ron and Darryl.
We departed on a warm and sunny Friday morning. Some of us departed a little late, because some of us forget about morning rush hour traffic which somewhat delayed our arrival at Ron's. But forgetting about rush hour traffic beats the pants off dealing with rush hour traffic every day. Hehe!!
As part of Ron's plan to get me to put on weight, we stopped at the Antrim Truck stop for breakfast 1, and then again at Generations restaurant in...uh...Barry's Bay? for breakfast 2. We finally arrived at the lake, paid our fees and transferred our gear from cars to boats.
The three-hour paddle to the campsites was somewhat truncated due to the fact that Ron had used his solo canoe travelling time as his estimate, and by the fact that we found a nice, large campsite on the island about four or five kilometres short of the planned destination. It took about two hours to get to where we ended up.
Tents set up, boats unpacked and drawn up on shore, we commenced a more-or-less non-stop eating fest. Julie F. lost some votes in her membership campaign by bringing along Caesar salad. (It's just not DONE!) She won back more, however, by bringing a four-litre box of wine. She also provided much amusement by bringing a borrowed tent -- "just a standard tent" -- that ultimately took five of the best minds in tentdom to figure out how to assemble.
Saturday morning John, Julie F. and I emerged from our tents at roughly the same time. To be fair, Julie O. emerged as well, but like Whiarton Willie, decided that it wasn't time for Spring yet and she retreated to her den for another snooze. Ron waited until he could smell coffee before he emerged. Did Alana ever come out? Yes she did: I remember her wandering over from her tent with a cold Coke in the crook of her arm, hands withdrawn into the arms of her jacket.
By common agreement, Saturday was declared "do nothing" day. Later in the afternoon, Julie F. and I circumnavigated the island we were on, which took about an hour. Ron and John went off into the deep woods and dragged back to camp about twelve cords of dead wood. Ron gave sawing lessons. I was completely embarrassed -- not for the last time -- by Julie F. who can saw much better than I can.
Saturday was also the first day of the magical disappearing table knife. Mine went missing and a THOROUGH search did not turn it up. Saturday was when John brought out the first two of the Smallmouth Bass he had thoughtfully purchased from LaPointe's earlier. He and I fished for hours from our kayaks, but it was only when he disappeared around the corner that he "caught" something. I didn't get a nibble. I knew there were no fish in the lake, so I wasn't surprised at my lack of success.
However, we humoured John as he told his story of the mighty fight he had to land these two.
Sunday the "boys" went fishing. Ron trolled, John and I did some spot casting. No nibbles. We went up into Deadman Lake, then Slot and another whose name I have forgotten. On the return, Ron spotted smoke from a deserted campsite and we went to investigate. A single log was smouldering in a large fire pit that was otherwise completely empty. I filled my paddle float with water and dumped it onto the log. There was a huge reaction: the ground was so hot that the water literally boiled and bubbled on the ground. We ended up dumping three full bags onto the pit -- about three gallons by rough estimate -- before we were certain it was out.
On the return, Ron took us over to a shoal he had found while trolling and John and I stayed a bit to cast. John decided to try the inside of the shoal and I started out trolling across the open water over to the island where we were camped. AFTER I got back with my line all knotted and tangled, Ron kindly informed me that I should have put a second swivel on the line. Hmmm.
The ladies had ventured forth in their boats and ended up going up into the same little series of lakes until, ramming her boat into impenetrable weeds, Alana declared the end of the line.
Back at camp, Ron and I made an attempt at cleaning ourselves up. Miracle number three: John turns up with another fish. Supposedly caught right after I couldn't see him any more. Sure, John. (But it was interesting that he managed to somehow keep them alive during the long drive up from Ottawa; they moved their mouths and gills as he held them up for inspection. Nor did I know that LaPointe's sold Smallmouth Bass. The things you learn!)
Another supper with too much food. Another ritual fire and sitting a round sipping drinks and waiting for the moon to set so I could go to bed. Julie O. ("I am NOT the official photographer.") took pictures of the sunsets. Another night lying in tents listening to critters unknown bustle about the campsite.
At least one red squirrel took it as their goal in life to drop sap- covered pinecones onto people, tents and kayaks. From twenty or thirty feet up, a pinecone makes quite a satisfying thunk when it hits a wooden kayak! I'm glad none of them hit my wooden head!
Monday the wind came up, as winds are wont to do on travelling days. And, of course, it was coming from right where we were going to be headed. Julie F. was supposed to be attending class that night, and there was some desultory talk about she and Alana leaving a bit earlier in order to make it on time, but nothing much came of that. We all set off together sometime around 11:30.
With Julie O. and John lagging behind over a three-course lunch, Alana, Julie F. ("ZZ"), Ron and I came to the last corner and the store and docks were visible. An aside: when we launched, I was the first to spot a small beach area while Ron and John prepared to launch from the dock. I'm not as dumb as I look!
On the return, Ron suggested that first person back would get the beach site to land at, and the race was on. Julie F. gave Ron a good run for his money most of the way. (I was smoked by both of them.) Alana showed the most good sense and just kept paddling at her steady rate. Eventually we all got to land at the beach.
A light shower as we unloaded the boats was the only "bad" weather we had all weekend. With different agendas, we all headed off in different directions as we left the park, although Ron and I were sitting in a Tim Hortons in Renfrew when John and Julie O. showed up in the drive-through line. They saw the two of us inside and came in for a chat.
I made a washroom run at Tim's: while it was nice to feel warm water on my hands, it was NOT nice to see myself in the mirror above the sinks. At least I know why the busload of senior citizens that pulled into the Tim's parking lot left after only a minute or two, with several of the ladies covering their eyes and crying for mercy.
At Ron's house later that evening, Ron pulled my kitchen knife out from where he's been hiding it all weekend and tried to convince me that it had been in the bottom of the food bag -- which I had already searched more than once! -- all the time.
After we took Ron's saddles off my roofrack, we decided that the next time Ron was going to be paddling was on our Thousand Islands trip, when we'd be using my roofracks again. But we were too tired to put the saddles back on again, since it would have meant lifting the kayak back up to test the setup. We'd better be handsome, Ron and I, because we're not all that handy -- to misquote Red Green.
Two weeks to recuperate and diet before the Thousand Islands weekend.
Notes to self: take less food. Eat a lot less food. Keep an eye on kitchen utensils and don't leave Ron alone with them. Remember to take chilled water bottles out of fridge before leaving -- they don't do a lot of good back in Ottawa. Bring more coffee and more Scotch (and Advils for the morning after). Leave fishing rod at home.
--
Darryl
Course Participant Report
Alf and Others:
Great report. [ed: referring to the Coastal Adventures Course Report] Sounds like a superb course. It reminded me that I owe an account of my sojourn in late May at White Squall doing their version of the CRCA Level- II course. It is slightly different, taking four days (two nights out on Franklin Island) rather than six and on Georgian Bay rather than the East Coast, but the proficiency requirements are technically the same.
In my case, the weather was more than challenging. It rained pretty well the whole time. The winds ranged from brisk to unmanageable. To top it off, the last night on the rocks of Franklin Island, were spent in our separate tents clinging to our thermarests (separated for safety reasons so the survivors could do what they could to help the victims) as the lightning flashed, followed disturbingly closely by the roar of thunder, the rains pelted down and the wind collapsed the tarps and nearly blew away the tents as a massive low passed just to the South.
Meanwhile, the waves ran from half a meter to significantly more and this on water that clocked in at 3 degrees celsius. I learned a number of lessons:
In all, I would highly recommend this course. It fully meets CRCA requirements but sounds a little less demanding than the longer program run by Coastal Adventures. It is also a little closer. But the weather conditions in late May were pretty extreme. Perhaps one of their programs later in the year would be a little less difficult.
Regards to all,
Gordon Ritchie
Course Participant Report
Hi all,
Just came back from a 2-week vacation out on the east coast. I spent the first week taking the CA-Level 3 course from Coastal Adventures (CA from here onwards) (http://www.coastaladventures.com). The second week I spent touring Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and PEI (by car).
First off, I was really well fed during the course. You will not go hungry, Cookie at CA pretty much guarantees that. At the risk of offending some vegetarians, I have to say that nothing beats steaks over an open fire.
This particular session was kind of special. It was a combined instructor's level 1 and CRCA level 2 course. The two students taking the instructor's course had to opportunity to practice their teaching on the students just taking the level 2.
The first three days were spent at the Coastal Adventures headquarters. Each day was divided b/w on shore lesson/discussion and practice sessions later in the morning and afternoon. After dinner, a debriefing session was held that covered what we learned that day. I found this to be invaluable as it helped to reinforce what we learned.
Having a second and third set of eyes during the practice sessions really helped me refine and improve my strokes. The instructors here were Gayle Wilson and Jim Price. Both were very competent and easy to learn from. Jim was a riot. He was entertaining both on and off the water. If you get the chance, you should watch his video from his Grand Canyon trip.
I think it was the second day, we were introduced to something really ingenious called the "Bothy Bag". In a nutshell, it looks like a parachute that serves as an emergency shelter. (Think bubble boy, except the bottom isn't hermetically sealed) Basically, the "bag" is sized for x-number of people. Each standing person takes hold of the edge and pulls it up and behind them. You then pull it down towards your feet as you're beginning to bend your knees into a squatting position. Following that, you sit on the "Bothy Bag" and lean back into it making the walls taut.
The fourth day also had an on-shore lesson. However, the practice session was actually trip planning and packing as the next two nights we were camping out on an island in a neighbouring harbour. Peter Oickle was the instructor of the day. He also accompanied the students out to the campsite. Scott Cunningham and guide-in-training Simon Jansen (who was also taking the course as well) came later that evening.
Scott took those of us who elected to, on a night paddle the second night to simulate reduced visibility. The night paddle was interesting and wierd. I fell into the trap of disbelieving my compass and forgetting that silhouettes of the separate islands all look connected in the dark.
On the way back to CA headquarters Scott took us through rock hopping around the islands (actually, I think he was a little dissapointed that the weather was so clear and the sea so calm ... as we did quite a bit of rock hopping on the way back. I didn't really mind, but, it would've been nice to have some more waves and see how my loaded boat would've handled and felt).
Scott, Gayle, Jim and Peter were all fantastic instructors. They made the course worth every minute of my time.
If you get the chance, I highly recommend this course. It's offered again July 19th-24th and August 30th-Sept 4th this year.
Cheers,
Alf.
Addendum:
Regarding clothing, a true drysuit with integrated socks and relief zipper is well worth if you can afford it. If you choose the dry pants & dry top route, make sure when you roll the internal tunnels together, they are done right. Otherwise like me, you'll be walking around like John Wayne. But, instead of having a jingle in your step, you'll have the squish from your neoprene booties and slosh from water jostling inside your lower "dry" pant legs.
Perhaps the saving grace was that I wore a wetsuit underneath my "dry" wear. Mind you, we were practicing rescues, so I spent a lot more time in the water than you would normally.
Trip Report
Day 1
Ron and I drove up to Grundy Lake P.P. at the intersection of highways 69 and 522 on Tuesday, Aug. 24th. Since we looked like good, upstanding citizens, the young lady at the desk gave us a spot in the "no noise" section. If only the park rules applied to the train that passed nearby at frequent intervals, tooting its whistle each and every time, all night long!
Day 2: Innocents abroad
They were resurfacing the road surface in to Killarney P.P.: a layer of fresh oil and a ton of loose gravel on top. Ron's truck took two hits from flying gravel that damaged his windshield. The cockpit tapes of that portion of our trip had to be destroyed since the CRTC refused to certify them for public broadcast.
We launched at the Chikanishing Creek Access Point and paddled up a quiet little stream out onto the expanse of Georgian Bay. There was a bit of a breeze in the trees at the launch point, and an even stronger breeze out on the water. However, we could see our first GPS waypoint -- the easternmost tip of Philip Edward Island -- a short distance out across the water and away we went.
Once past the point, we spied a few kayaks who had been launching while we loaded: they seemed to be heading for the escape route back into the inside channel across the top of PEI. Little did we know!
"Wow! Lots of spray from those breakers, eh Ron?"
"Big waves, eh Ron?"
"Very big waves, Ron."
"Holy Perfect Storm, Batman! These are REALLY big waves, Ron."
We found out from the next day's weather that the waves were running one to two metres. We definitely met some of the two metre ones! And lots and lots of four and five footers. But we made it to our planned destination for the night, so all's well that ends well.
Day 3: Hincks Island
A rest day. There's a nice sandy beach with -- slightly warmer -- water for bathing and washing clothes. By slightly warmer, I mean that your skin doesn't go blue instantly: it takes a few minutes.
Ron and I got our fishing rods out and began testing my theory that there are no fish in Lake Huron.
Day 4
A day trip out to Hen Island, where we are planning to over-night on our return from The Bustards. There is an infinite maze of smooth rock shoals and islets called "The Chickens" near Hen Island. The scenery is straight out of a White Squall kayaking brochure.
When we return to Hincks, we supper and clean up in time to head to the southern end of Hincks to drink Scotch whiskey and watch the sunset. This sets the pattern for nearly all our nights.
Day 5
We wake to silence. For the first time since we've been there, the constant noise of waves breaking on the shoals like an express train in full flight is gone. The wind, what little there is of it, is coming from the north -- off-shore -- and the water is calm. We head out after breakfast, launching at 9:30 am.
After some detours and dead ends in The Fingerboards, we stopped for a last water and snack break at 3:30 pm. There was a crossing of about 2 km to the nearest point on The Bustards, with a large shoal about half-way. We officially arrived just after 4:00 pm.
Although we did arrive into the main channel across the island grouping, we were surprised at the number of cottages and large boats moored. This was almost like touring in the Thousand Islands.
We eventually found an acceptable campsite at about 5:00 pm. A seven and a half hour day.
Day 6
Another rest day. And another successful test of my theory about there being no fish.
Ron is checking out the maps and decides that there appears to be a narrow channel leading back to where we came in to the islands, that will cut off a couple of km on the return. We launch the boats and go exploring. The channel is narrow, and shallow. Barely boat wide and we wonder if we will have to walk the fully loaded boats through, since we barely make it with empty boats.
On our return, we went around the point past our campsite and found a father and daughter from Lanark camped on the next point down. The daughter is working for the Ontario MNR for the summer, tagging Massasauga rattlesnakes. We find out that the young ones are just as potent as the older ones: a cheerful thought to take back to our camp!
Over supper and more Scotch, we decide that we might be pushing our luck to expect north winds for three consecutive days. Instead of staying for a third day, we'll head out in the morning for the return trip.
Generally, we were disappointed with The Bustards. We both agree that we wouldn't bother coming back on any subsequent trips up here.
Day 7
The shortcut through the narrow channels works; we do not have to get out of our boats. As we bob in the waves off the eastern edge, we notice a large Coast Guard boat to our south-east, near the lighthouses. Rather than cut across in front of him, we head towards the lighthouses.
He's going really slowly. We decide to take a chance and cross the channel without waiting any more. Part of the way across, we realize that he is at anchor, loading supplies or doing maintenance on the lighthouses. He WAS going really slowly!!
Another long day of paddling, although it started off well. After our mad dash across the bows of the anchored Coast Guard boat, we reached the mainland of the French River P.P. and did a GPS check to discover that we'd averaged something like 7.5 kph! We got slower as the day wore on. (Well, I got slower. Ron just paddled like an automaton: wait 'til he's my age!)
There was no one on Hen Island when we got there at about 2:30 or 3:00 in the afternoon. There is an even nicer sandy beach in the bay on the island, and we bathed and washed clothes. After setting up the tents, we tried throwing lures into the waves, but still no luck.
After supper, we found a great "chair" in the rocks and sat and watched the sun setting. More Scotch. (Ron may have run out of Scotch by this point, but he had a thermos full of brandy as back-up.)
Day 8: I discover Ron's packing secret.
By now, we've eaten a TON of food. But either Ron has discovered how the miracle of the loaves and fishes works, or he's getting back at me for making him do all the cooking; my boat is as jammed to capacity as it was when we started. I don't immediately accuse him of this, of course. We paranoids like to let things fester.
We're getting a bit silly (trip-speak for "starting to lose our minds"). We're forgetting where we put things, forgetting who has things, forgetting what we just said. I keep leaving my extra dry bag -- the one with my pillow in it -- inside the kayak when we unpack at nights, for example. I also keep putting my sneakers on BEFORE I put my long pants on -- the ones that will NOT fit over my sneakers.
Day 9
We postpone a decision about going back around the exposed "front" of Philip Edward Island, or around the back channel until we have a chance to see the waves off Popham Point. I have been noticing that the old batteries aren't recharging overnight the way they did the first few nights out: I am getting tired earlier and earlier in the day.
When we get there, we decide the waves and wind are going to be an issue -- although they are only a shadow of what they were on our first day on the water! -- and we opt for the back channel. Of course, since we hadn't planned on doing the back channel, we didn't have any maps, and we had no idea of how much further it was going to be. Sigh!!
We miss the channel markers for the larger boats while trying to hide from the wind up the lee side of a large island in Mill Lake and we end up at the southern end of the "lake", barely three km from Hincks Island. Looking at the topo lines on the map, we figure there are going to be cliffs on either side of the water for the rest of the channel, so we putter about looking for a campsite for the night.
Once we find one, the narrowest of ledges on a rocky point, and get the tents set up, Ron decides to further even the score by throwing his hat into the water and making me volunteer to go and get it. At this point, Ron's beard is beginning to look quite frightening and I am too afraid to do anything except jump into my boat and paddle out to his hat as it slowly settles down, water-logged, into the waves.
Day 10: Where the Hell are we?!!
It's a long way back up the lake to the channel markers we missed the previous afternoon. Pretty soon though, we onto the map again and we can see where we are. The wind is more or less at our backs -- although it swirls around the front every now and again, just to keep us honest.
Ron throws his water bottle off his front deck and pretends not to notice. I have to go back and pick that up out of the water. (It's like being with a small child, really!)
We come to Turning Island. We think. Off to our left is a marshy bay. Yes, that's on the map. OK. we're good. We know where we are. Just a little ways down, there should be another island that we can pass on the left -- it's the shorter distance -- and then only a kilometre or two past that island, we'll can sneak down a channel leading out to the front of PEI where we hope to camp for the night.
We paddle and paddle. The inside of the island seems clogged with marsh, but the outside of the island will get us there. We paddle some more. When is this island going to end?
Suddenly, without warning, the channel opens up into The Western Entrance and we are at our starting point. Oh well, we know where we are now.
Our first choice for camping is occupied. Our second seems inhospitable -- rough rocks and uneven ground -- but we eventually find a site where we can get two tents up. Once more, so close to the end, Ron tries to get even by tricking me into setting up my tent under two dead trees, but I select a different spot instead.
After an early supper, we go to find a tree to hand the food -- what's left of it, although my boat is STILL stuffed. At the first tree that has a suitable branch, we discover a pile of bear -- uh - droppings. Mostly undigested blueberries, of which there are a legion near the tents.
OK, we'll just hang the food a little further away.
Oh look: a LITTLE pile of bear scat. Even better! A sow and cub. This IS going to be an interesting night!!
We go a LONG way off to find a tree to hang the food, making certain to find every scrap of food and garbage and put it in the food bags. No midnight snacks tonight, lads. It's at least the length of a football field between our tents and the tree with the food.
More fruitless fishing. Not even a nibble on any of Ron's "Secret Weapons".
For the first time, at sunset, the sky is more or less clear. We watch jet contrails in the sky while we drink the last of the liquor and wait for the stars to appear. Ron advises me to lie in bed with the Walkman turned up really loud until I fall asleep: it will help calm my fears about the bears, he says.
Sure Ron. You just want to be the first one to hear them so you can make your get-away while I'm in my sleeping bag singing along in a falsetto to some Beach Boy tune. The bears will attack just to get me to shut up, if nothing else.
Day 11: No bears.
Actually, I slept very well. I was up at about 6:30 to catch the end of the sunrise, while Ron snored away. I finally had to wake him up about 8:00.
We packed and paddled in to the put-in at Chikanishing Creek. Ron demonstrated his "strong finish" technique that makes him the most hated person on his dragon boat team. I landed about two minutes after he did. I didn't have a "strong finish" in me.
We drove into downtown Killarney for brekkies. Fish and chips at the "world famous" "Henry's" (or something starting with an "H"). The fish was excellent; the chips were so-so. I drank two large bottles of fruit drinks from the vending machine, having had nothing but water, tea and a little tootle of Scotch at night since we left Ottawa. Ron drank water from his nalgene bottle: that man has no taste buds!
People kept stopping us and asking us if we were related to the two stunned women who had passed through earlier that summer from Ottawa. They had apparently left their vehicle a hundred or so kilometres away and they were looking for some one to give them a drive.
We denied all knowledge. (Some of those people looked dangerous!) "Doesn't sound like anyone WE would know", we insisted. "Are you sure they were from Ottawa?"
A long drive home. Stops for gas, for coffee, and discussions about quantum physics and things you'd like to do to people who tail-gate. (Not that we'd actually DO any of those things.)
A hot shower! Ahhhhhhh!! A soft bed! I slept for 10 hours.
So, when are we going back?
--
Darryl