by Jim Fitton
It is amazing what road distance can be quickly covered by one who relishes the prospect of a paddle on the Big Lake; 880 kilometres in 10.5 hours with just three short stops at Tims. It was the last day of June, cool and rainy as the season had already been, and would continue to be that year. So much for global warming!
The five voyagers assembled and what an assemblage! There was Pallas Athene, the leader, two older divinities, Saturn and Juno; there was Vulcan and the musical Orpheus. The group was entertained on the eve of their departure by Jupiter himself who regaled them with a slide show and a witty commentary. They drank the good Falernian and took leave in the morning. By midday they were disembarking at their port of departure at the National Park. Old Saturn of the failing neurons had most foolishly forgotten his sprayskirt, but the goodly guide luckily had an extra one for loan.
It was a 16-kilometre pull to Shot Watch Cove. Unfortunately, the tiny Harpies beset them here, and they were constrained to set up in the cooling breezes. All were glad to seek the refuge of their tents.
Next it was off to the White Gravel River, via Cave Harbour. The group stopped at a beach where Saturn had many years before camped on a solo trek down the Coastal Trail. Boreas continued to blow, cold and strong. The tail wind was helpful to the paddlers, but they were warm only when paddling. On both nights, fires were lit to provide heat, but it was still a challenge to stay out of the breeze.
The party was small and very compatible. All were experienced paddlers with good equipment. First there was our leader, the lady Athena, accompanied by her dog Cerberus. Another lady was Juno, an aficionado of raw foods. Then there were Orpheus and Saturn, both vegetarians, one from the north and the other a southerner. And finally there is Vulcan from the south.
The weather improved with clearing, but Boreas continued to blow and help us on our way. It did not take long to reach the North Swallow River. Some would have liked to continue, but one of the number found the pace exacting. However, Helios’s appearance was a pleasure. A cold night closed in and the forecast was for colder, rainy weather.
The temperature dipped to 7 overnight, and the summer sleeping bag needed to be cinched over the head. Nevertheless, the morning was tolerable as the breeze had subsided. There was a leisurely paddle of 16 kilometres with a sunny sky, but the cool breeze had returned which would chase some into their tents early after camp was made.
The party stopped at the mouth of the Swallow River. No one ventured to hike up to the notorious “bridge to nowhere.” Saturn had visited this on a trip with another group some years earlier and even had his picture taken on it.
What a waste of resources to put in a suspension bridge and then not bother to continue the trail to it! And, indeed how viable is the trail? I hiked it many years ago, down a little past Oiseau Bay, and found it a challenge at many points. Anecdotal reports suggest that there really is no trail now beyond Oiseau. And we had been told at the park office that both the suspension bridges were closed for repairs! Surely it would be no great expense to hire some locals to hike down once a year with flagging tape and simple brush clearing equipment.
Paddling a Feathercraft Khatsalano, a low and slender skin boat with an extensive internal frame, has made me a most parsimonious packer of goods. On my last voyage on this route, I did not bring enough food. Despite the generosity of my fellow paddlers, I lost 7 pounds from my scrawny frame. Two days after my return, I honoured my bimonthly commitment to give blood, and almost collapsed after the donation. On this trip, I had taken care to pack enough food, but I was short of warm clothing. This would be a trip on which I would never feel warm.
Old Saturn’s forgetfulness regarding the sprayskirt haunted him. He could not find his water filter. While this is less of a problem when camping on the Shining Big Sea Water, it is nonetheless worrisome. Finally he located this item, lodged far up in the stern beneath the rudder, among the ribs. It took help from Vulcan to shake the item loose by upending the little craft. The next day the tent posts went missing, only to be located far up in the bow, again caught in the ribs.
One of our number had experienced some grief. Even the 16-kilomtre days were proving a challenge, and this paddler’s vast array of equipment seemed to take an inordinately long time to pack and then to put away. A conference followed with the redoubtable Pallas Athene, who suggested an “evacuation.” This suggestion seemed to clear the air. It was a longer paddle today. We visited the lighthouse at Otter Island, where on a prior trip Saturn had taken refuge with his co-paddlers to wait out a violent storm. The group visited the settlement at Imogene Cove and explored the old buildings. Every time I visit this wonderful site, I go a little deeper and discover more buildings.
But the wind and the wave were up, and we pushed on to the Pukaskwa River gravel spit. And then the rains came in earnest. We gathered the abundant wood and made a fire, but only the part of our bodies facing the blaze was warm and dry. We retired early to our tents, wet and cold.
It rained all night. Each time I awoke, there was a steady patter on the tent fly. It subsided enough for a quick breakfast and then down it came again. A soggy breaking of camp! I put on my wetsuit, and immediately wondered why I had not done so before on this trip. Today’s high would be only 13, and it would be a chilly paddle.
And a rough one, as the waves were up again. We lunched by Crane Island and then rode into Le Petit Mort. The wind rose throughout the morning and we had 1-metre waves with some choppy and challenging moments. Athena’s original plan was to shoot for Floating Heart Harbour on this leg, but she had already modified this objective, and the weather confirmed her judgement.
There was a cold west wind, and it was a relief to get out of wet gear. Even in the tent, it was cool. This was a nice spot where I had camped many years ago when running this trip in a tandem canoe. The approach is difficult in a west wind, with offshore shoals, but the beach and the lagoon before it are protected. The funny old cabin with the tall chimney seemed to have deteriorated, just as the buildings at Imogene Cove were slowly disappearing.
Athena had extended our schedule by a day to compensate for the poor weather. We camped at the Flats and you could see your breath. Orpheus made a welcome fire and I ate my peanut butter sandwiches. It was hard to credit that the temperature would be 23 tomorrow.
We had been entertained by the antics of our four-footed companion. He is a ball of energy and very affectionate. I am amazed how well he handled confinement in the bowels of his mistress’s boat.
The paddle past Point Isacore was uneventful. This is an awesome place: the view upwards, with cedars projecting out from the rock face is wonderful and inspiring. We needed a break and Athene knew of a waterfall nearby. For a time, this spot eluded even her keen sense of memory and direction, but finally it was found. In the early afternoon, we arrivde at the Dog River gravel bar, and saw a tandem kayak and a gorgeous Betsy Bay, one of which Juno has ordered for herself.
Orpheus and Saturn, alone of the party, hiked up to the Denison Falls. The trail is slippery and in horrid condition. After a fall, Vulcan demurred, and departed from this little venture. But, for the two who persisted, the trip was worth the effort. What a majestic sight! And the water was up because of recent rains. Orpheus took many photos.
We paddled on to Minnekona. Next morning, one of the party was up at 5:30 and paddled into Michipicoten by 8:30 solo, hoping to evacuate early. He was in a hurry, but a lovely young Diana with two of her hounds offered conversation to old Saturn, and he was delayed long enough that his colleagues caught up. It would be an 11 hour drive back home.
I have paddled the Coastal Canoe Route three times now and have enjoyed it very much each time. What I most remember from this trip was the cold. In just two weeks time, I will be visiting family in Australia, my first trip back in 8 years, and, just as on my most recent Puk voyage, I do not have enough warm clothing to be comfortable in my brother’s cold house in the antipodean winter. How could I have forgotten those years of my nerdy youth, studying for exams with a strip heater focused on my feet? I will phone my wife and learn that it is warmer on one day in Sydney than in Toronto. This was indeed the summer I never felt warm.