We’d originally planned to drive from home to Geraldton “all in one go”, but after hearing of dusk-dawn-night time encounters with moose, decided to limit our driving to daytime. It also allowed us a family visit 5 hours into a 15 hour trip. Friday morning we departed late from North Bay and after frequent highway construction delays finally rolled into Geraldton. Miranda and I were very nervous meeting our internet friends for the first time, but we needn’t have been. It felt like we’d known each other for years. Perhaps we have.
Rob and Irene threw one heck of a BBQ bash. We feasted and drank while getting to know some of their friends and each other. It was a perfect start to a Marshall Lake trip.
DAY 1
After Rob and Irene plied us with a hearty breakfast and pots of good coffee we drove miles of gravel back roads to begin the shuttle. Gear was portaged 1.2 km from the parking lot to Marshall L., while Rob, Robin and Christine delivered the 2 trucks to the final bridge take-out. The three drivers arrived back before we had finished the carry, and so gave us some much needed help. I remember thinking this must surely be the hardest carry of the trip. Yes it was certainly the longest, but far more challenging trails awaited us.
The wind grew during the carry, but not enough to dampen our spirits for crossing the lake. I dreaded being wind bound before the trip even started. Despite the first put-in being clean and tidy, no one relished spending the first night surrounded by boat trailers. Once we got on the water the slow swells weren’t as intimidating as they’d first appeared, but the steady headwind made us all work for the far shore.
We paddled along the lee of the north shore seeing our first eaglet in a nest, and first pelican bobbing in the waves. The sun burst through the clouds and lifted my spirits. Rob continued on up ahead and around a point to investigate our first campsite. With that site taken by fishermen he decided the best option was to cross to a sheltered cove on the south shore. The following wind and swells made Miranda very uncomfortable as I worked hard to stay with the group.
Once ashore it wasn’t long before tents were up and a fire was lit. Rob had already stocked large woodpiles on many sites on this route. Seeing these sure was a welcome sight! Rob and Christine erected the tarp, and fishing/cooking/coffee making/relaxing was all soon underway. Robin returned from a quick and quiet foray along the shore with 3 nice pickerel. They were cleaned and fried and shared generously amongst the group. Oh gosh they were good!!
DAY 2
We broke camp and loaded up for our first full day of travel on the water. Karin and Christy were already well on their way heading north to Gripp River. Rob and Robin patiently waited for Miranda and I to put in. Although there was never any haste on this trip I felt anxious not to be a slow poke. Before our hull was even in the water I lost footing on the smooth granite slab, and did a slow motion surfer's slide into the lake. A firm grip from Robin helped me ashore. We joked that Robin had missed a golden GoPro action shot. I wasn't keen to repeat my swim for video sake, so eventually hauled my soggy arse into our waiting canoe. The light warm breeze felt good as we rounded the point. I paused to smile and exchange greetings with a couple of guys in their outboard. Why is it that when you ask "How's the fishing? Any luck?" they always avoid a straight answer? The older fella replied " You're heading into that back country? Where you're going, you die there you ain't ever coming out!" I thought "Perfect. That's where I wanna be."
The Gripp River was a very pretty section to paddle. Miranda had the camera in a small fanny pack, and often sat mesmerized enjoying the scenery rather than snapping photos. I'd have done the same.
I heard Karin suggest my first cast for pickerel coming up, but in my haste to pack for the trip I hadn't even unwrapped my new reel! How embarrassing! Rob cut the worst of the blow down along the port before we carried through, and soon everyone had wet lines...except for me. I paddled us around the small backside of a tiny island to sit ashore and try to make sense of my fishing tackle.
The only time I get uneasy on a trip is when we we find ourselves wallowing in shallow mudflat expanses. Imagining myself crawling through life sucking depthless muck and mire gives me the chills. Wild animals, fast water, rough water, lightening strikes and storms, and all crazy combination of unlikely events don't stir me up quite as much as the thought of being stranded a mile from shore in the middle of a loonshit lake. That seemed to be where we wound up...and not for the last time...and not for the last time I said to my wife "I thought I KNEW this guy! Is he trying to effin KILL us or something!?" Later on as Rob, the "guy I thought I knew" found a channel out of the shallow wild rice, Miranda and I calmed down and resumed the regular programming...tuning into the scenery and out of the rat race.
We entered Gripp L and a nasty headwind. Rob suggested M and I continue on ahead and catch Robin while he and the fishin machines take a break. I tried, I swear I tried, but everytime we got within reaching distance Robin would glide on up ahead, impervious to the wind...occasionally dropping a line as he wandered along Gripp's north shore. We at last caught up with him just as he slid into shore. Our Gripp L campsite for the night was on a granite point, exposed enough to keep mosquitoes at bay and provide us with an expansive view of the lake and sky. I would've loved to stay there for days. Some day maybe I will.
Rob was the only tardy one that afternoon into camp, and that was out of character for him. He described his adventure with a shoreline sweeper that sounded both funny and scary. His advice for greater group caution was well taken.
As usual there was an ample wood supply and we all took our time preparing meals as the sun played hide and seek above. I tried my Littlebug Sr twig stove for the first time. I love it! It will be my go to stove in future on all but the wettest days. Next time I'll keep an eye on it while the coffee perks! After a momentary lack of attention (I was busy doing nothing somewhere else) the pot boiled over and quenched the fire. dang!
Christine taught me how to clean pickerel at the water's edge. I loved every minute of it. She made it look easy. Later Karin continued my education (still much to learn) in line knots, lures, fishy behaviour and more. There's book learning (I have some), and there's internet learning (I have some of that too), but nothing can compare with sitting on a northern campsite under a northern sky with a friend passing on their knowledge and skills.
A late night by the fire helped smooth the ache of tired muscles unused to all this paddle & portage fun. A little tipple of Scotch may have helped too. I lay awake for a long while. The skies cleared and the temperature dropped. Miranda is such a "cold sleeper", so I have to wait till she's dropped off before opening up tent windows. Our tent pad was on a thick mattress of moss in the sheltered tiny cove, not very far from the water's edge. Just as I'd hoped the starry skies softly lit up our boreal glade with ethereal magic. The cool night air drifted in while Miranda buried herself deeper into her down bag and under an extra wool blanket. I had a notion to step outside but felt too comfortable gazing up into the starry heavens from my soft bed. I wish I had, for it seems I missed the Aurora that night. I drifted in and out of slumber and marked the crescent moon's travel through the pine boughs and beyond. Pure magic. The next moment it was morning, and a damp grey stillness waited outside my tent.
Rob and Irene threw one heck of a BBQ bash. We feasted and drank while getting to know some of their friends and each other. It was a perfect start to a Marshall Lake trip.
DAY 1
After Rob and Irene plied us with a hearty breakfast and pots of good coffee we drove miles of gravel back roads to begin the shuttle. Gear was portaged 1.2 km from the parking lot to Marshall L., while Rob, Robin and Christine delivered the 2 trucks to the final bridge take-out. The three drivers arrived back before we had finished the carry, and so gave us some much needed help. I remember thinking this must surely be the hardest carry of the trip. Yes it was certainly the longest, but far more challenging trails awaited us.
The wind grew during the carry, but not enough to dampen our spirits for crossing the lake. I dreaded being wind bound before the trip even started. Despite the first put-in being clean and tidy, no one relished spending the first night surrounded by boat trailers. Once we got on the water the slow swells weren’t as intimidating as they’d first appeared, but the steady headwind made us all work for the far shore.
We paddled along the lee of the north shore seeing our first eaglet in a nest, and first pelican bobbing in the waves. The sun burst through the clouds and lifted my spirits. Rob continued on up ahead and around a point to investigate our first campsite. With that site taken by fishermen he decided the best option was to cross to a sheltered cove on the south shore. The following wind and swells made Miranda very uncomfortable as I worked hard to stay with the group.
Once ashore it wasn’t long before tents were up and a fire was lit. Rob had already stocked large woodpiles on many sites on this route. Seeing these sure was a welcome sight! Rob and Christine erected the tarp, and fishing/cooking/coffee making/relaxing was all soon underway. Robin returned from a quick and quiet foray along the shore with 3 nice pickerel. They were cleaned and fried and shared generously amongst the group. Oh gosh they were good!!
DAY 2
We broke camp and loaded up for our first full day of travel on the water. Karin and Christy were already well on their way heading north to Gripp River. Rob and Robin patiently waited for Miranda and I to put in. Although there was never any haste on this trip I felt anxious not to be a slow poke. Before our hull was even in the water I lost footing on the smooth granite slab, and did a slow motion surfer's slide into the lake. A firm grip from Robin helped me ashore. We joked that Robin had missed a golden GoPro action shot. I wasn't keen to repeat my swim for video sake, so eventually hauled my soggy arse into our waiting canoe. The light warm breeze felt good as we rounded the point. I paused to smile and exchange greetings with a couple of guys in their outboard. Why is it that when you ask "How's the fishing? Any luck?" they always avoid a straight answer? The older fella replied " You're heading into that back country? Where you're going, you die there you ain't ever coming out!" I thought "Perfect. That's where I wanna be."
The Gripp River was a very pretty section to paddle. Miranda had the camera in a small fanny pack, and often sat mesmerized enjoying the scenery rather than snapping photos. I'd have done the same.
I heard Karin suggest my first cast for pickerel coming up, but in my haste to pack for the trip I hadn't even unwrapped my new reel! How embarrassing! Rob cut the worst of the blow down along the port before we carried through, and soon everyone had wet lines...except for me. I paddled us around the small backside of a tiny island to sit ashore and try to make sense of my fishing tackle.
The only time I get uneasy on a trip is when we we find ourselves wallowing in shallow mudflat expanses. Imagining myself crawling through life sucking depthless muck and mire gives me the chills. Wild animals, fast water, rough water, lightening strikes and storms, and all crazy combination of unlikely events don't stir me up quite as much as the thought of being stranded a mile from shore in the middle of a loonshit lake. That seemed to be where we wound up...and not for the last time...and not for the last time I said to my wife "I thought I KNEW this guy! Is he trying to effin KILL us or something!?" Later on as Rob, the "guy I thought I knew" found a channel out of the shallow wild rice, Miranda and I calmed down and resumed the regular programming...tuning into the scenery and out of the rat race.
We entered Gripp L and a nasty headwind. Rob suggested M and I continue on ahead and catch Robin while he and the fishin machines take a break. I tried, I swear I tried, but everytime we got within reaching distance Robin would glide on up ahead, impervious to the wind...occasionally dropping a line as he wandered along Gripp's north shore. We at last caught up with him just as he slid into shore. Our Gripp L campsite for the night was on a granite point, exposed enough to keep mosquitoes at bay and provide us with an expansive view of the lake and sky. I would've loved to stay there for days. Some day maybe I will.
Rob was the only tardy one that afternoon into camp, and that was out of character for him. He described his adventure with a shoreline sweeper that sounded both funny and scary. His advice for greater group caution was well taken.
As usual there was an ample wood supply and we all took our time preparing meals as the sun played hide and seek above. I tried my Littlebug Sr twig stove for the first time. I love it! It will be my go to stove in future on all but the wettest days. Next time I'll keep an eye on it while the coffee perks! After a momentary lack of attention (I was busy doing nothing somewhere else) the pot boiled over and quenched the fire. dang!
Christine taught me how to clean pickerel at the water's edge. I loved every minute of it. She made it look easy. Later Karin continued my education (still much to learn) in line knots, lures, fishy behaviour and more. There's book learning (I have some), and there's internet learning (I have some of that too), but nothing can compare with sitting on a northern campsite under a northern sky with a friend passing on their knowledge and skills.
A late night by the fire helped smooth the ache of tired muscles unused to all this paddle & portage fun. A little tipple of Scotch may have helped too. I lay awake for a long while. The skies cleared and the temperature dropped. Miranda is such a "cold sleeper", so I have to wait till she's dropped off before opening up tent windows. Our tent pad was on a thick mattress of moss in the sheltered tiny cove, not very far from the water's edge. Just as I'd hoped the starry skies softly lit up our boreal glade with ethereal magic. The cool night air drifted in while Miranda buried herself deeper into her down bag and under an extra wool blanket. I had a notion to step outside but felt too comfortable gazing up into the starry heavens from my soft bed. I wish I had, for it seems I missed the Aurora that night. I drifted in and out of slumber and marked the crescent moon's travel through the pine boughs and beyond. Pure magic. The next moment it was morning, and a damp grey stillness waited outside my tent.
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