Day 7
(I still find it odd to see a US flag in Canada but Cheryl says John, as well as many of their guests, are from the states and she likes the welcoming, international vibe of both flags… any way, on with the story...)
Not surprisingly, I slept better than I had all trip (although the island site 2 nights prior was close). I piled the sheets on the coffee table, moved gear to the porch and had just swept the cabin when Cheryl and her pup stopped by to invite me up to the lodge for coffee.
I happily took her up on that and spent too much time enjoying the coffee and listening to John & Cheryl tell stories. Many of them centered around her father who, it seems, has lived a truly remarkable life.
I finally pushed off around 8am as the wind was picking up & it was threatening rain. As I paddled toward the portage, I realized that I’d forgotten to sign the guest log… I always sign trail logs on backpacking trips but I'd never seen one on a canoe trip... maybe next time.
I was, once again, glad that I’d gotten the weather I had the previous day as I’d have been wind bound on Ara for sure.
I was also pleased that the decision to paddle on from the outpost camp had worked out as the chop that was developing as I paddled toward the portage was not something I’d have liked to endure for 6 km.
As the lake narrowed to the inlet stream, the water settled down but it started raining.
I paddled on looking for the portage sign that Cheryl had said marked the exit and found that the tree was, indeed, still standing (she’d seemed a little in doubt when she told me about it).
I still had a bit of trouble finding which direction the portage went from the landing so I scouted the shoreline back & forth, eventually finding a yellow, plastic twist tie on the ground and some flagging tape further up into the woods.
I hung the twist tie from a tree and cleared a little Alder so it was more visible from the landing, shouldered my pack & headed for the truck.
I found the portage to be as Cheryl had described it: long (2 km, 1 ¼ miles or 398 rods), swampy, buggy and miserable and I found 4 different places where I had to clear small trees that had fallen across the trail. I was almost grateful for these as they afforded an opportunity to drop the pack but, of course, the bugs seemed to be thicker as soon as I stopped moving.
By the time I reached the road, I was, once again, tempted to just leave the canoe and let MNR tote it away from the shore but, after walking to the truck (the two portage trails are not across from each other but, instead, are about 2/10ths of a mile [300 meters or so] apart), I found that I didn’t have the keys.
They were, of course, in the pack that I carry with the canoe so I had no choice but to return to the Meta landing.
On the return, I discovered the reason for the portage sign that was seemingly in the middle of the woods.
I’d wondered about it on the first carry but, as I was returning, I realized how easily I’d have followed the hollow that I was in and walked right past the trail.
Happily, someone had marked the turn-off much better than they had the split at the trapper’s cabin.
The advantage of carrying the canoe, of course, was that it could be dragged through the swampiest sections and it offered protection from the rain.
On both carries, however, I was pleased to see an old tire on the right of the trail as no one would take a tire very far into the woods and I knew that the road was close.
In all, double portaging took about 4 very wet, bug-infested hours. I think it’s Bill Mason who is often credited with saying that “portaging is like hitting your head; it feels SO good when you stop”... I couldn’t agree more at that point.
The second time across the portage, however, I actually had the truck keys and, when I opened the door, there in the middle of the seat was the launcher for the bear (and moose?) bangers. I hopped in, fired it up and started down the road to pick up my stuff.
I hadn’t gotten far, however, when something felt horribly wrong & I had to get out to see if I had a flat tire.
I did not, so I started looking further and discovered that the upper shock mount on the driver’s side rear spring had broken which allowed the spring to bounce undampened on the wash-boarded road.
It landed on the spare tire carrier when it fell so it wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t going to be able to fix it in the woods anyway so I hopped back in, loaded my stuff and drove a little more slowly on the way back to civilization.
I stopped in Aroland for fuel, turned onto 584 and, as I approached the area where I’d backtracked on the way up, I decided to stop & take one more look...
This was definitely
not a questionable decision as, five minutes later I had found the missing dental prosthesis and was back on the road.
I stopped at the
Rotiss-A-Fry in Geraldton for chicken and my first-ever poutine.
(it’s fries w/ cheese and brown gravy… I suppose it’s faster to write “Poutine” than “Fries with cheese and brown gravy” but still…)
It was very tasty.
Mem wasn't home (I think he was scouting some new canoe route) so I dropped the rain jacket off on the way past his house and then made my way back toward the border, stopping in Wawa for the night & again stopping at Voyaguer’s for coffee, a breakfast sandwich & a fritter on Tuesday morning. (yeah, they’re that good)
As I neared Sault Ste Marie, I stopped at a gas station that also sold sporting goods and, on a whim, asked if they sold bear bangers (I can’t get them in PA). Indeed he did, so I bought some for myself and some extras in case my friend Cathy wanted to carry some on her searches with the
Fowler O’Sullivan Foundation (better safe than sorry and I’d think, in a pinch, they could even bang a lion, right?)
I crossed the border into Michigan where the crossing guard didn’t think it unusual at all that I’d gone camping and fishing in Ontario (he must watch better TV stations) and I was soon passing everything but a gas station as I retraced my path home.
The closer I got to home, the heavier the traffic became and, as the houses got closer together, I started wondering if the bugs had really been all that bad…
Maybe I shouldn’t have been such a sissy or perhaps I could have worn more Deet…
I think I might prefer bugs to people but I realize, also, that those feelings may very well be situational… I’ll try to update you again after the next trip North but that will, almost certainly, not be until 2025.
(wrap-up & final thoughts on the trip tomorrow)
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