A long report....as per usual, and picture heavy.  Barry - I know this takes a lot of bandwidth.  Sorry.

You should know:  1) My wife’s only other trip to Algonquin was June 2000.  The mosquitoes remember.  2) In August 2017, she had to deal with a tumor (benign) running from her ear to her brain on the left side.  It caused some hearing loss and equilibrium issues.  This winter she needed a cane to walk, and sometimes fell.  With physical therapy, by April the cane was gone, but there are moments still.  3) I messed up my left rotator cuff in March.  It is ok, but it threatened this trip for a long time.  4)  This was our first full family canoe trip.  5) We added our daughter’s bestie, Emily, to the crew - a great addition.

In terms of portages, this trip was a slogfest of the highest order.  The terrain was abusive.  I was not aware that all the water in the northern hemisphere had fallen on Algonquin Park to lift the fire ban.  Most of our portages were, in a word, "$&#$((@#$#@".  And you can quote that.

Day 0.  At 5:30pm, I discovered that the Platypus gravity filter was 100% clogged.  The folks at Gear For Adventure in Hamburg, NY broke open a new system and sold me the filter, knowing they would have to backfill a filter for that kit.  Awesome people.  I brooded about keeping pack weight manageable for the kids and Lisa, and gritted my teeth about the food (two sacks, 28 pounds).  In the end: 2 large packs, 2 mid-size packs, 1 canvas bag with shoulder straps, 3 school-sized backpacks, 1 gym bag.  I got to bed at 2:45am, and we left late, 4:30am.  Then I made a wrong turn, ugh. 

Emily and Jessie. 

Emily and Michael

We pushed off Magnetawan at 11:00 a.m., and made Casey later than desired. The end of our first portage (Magnetawan-Hambone), was where, at 15, on my first canoe trip, I realized the beauty of Algonquin park.  I carried a pack to Hambone, set it down, looked up, and had a life-changing moment.  I knew immediately I wanted to be IN that place.  It sparked my love for canoeing and Algonquin, and here I was sharing that spot with my wife and kids plus 1.  Bonus, I got to retell about when I peed on the moose (an accident!), because that happened at the same spot, on the same campout. 

THE Spot!   Photo taken during a retelling of the famous moose peeing incident.

To the Hambone – Acme Portage!  Only 55 meters, yet had muck foreshadowing.  The kids switched positions after every portage (my request), so everybody had turns in the stern, bow, and resting in the middle.  On Acme, Lisa and I were in the Old Town canvas and heard the kids behind us, singing their heads off.  A patriotic song, a garbage radio song, and “Peace Like a River”, all in full voice and high spirits.  Acme has seldom been serenaded so well – so well it rained.  Michael…God bless him.  The girls have five or six “calls” (shrieks, laughs) that means something, and Michael had to crack the code.
  
A light rain.  Get used to it.  The pink thing in front is my daughter as far as I can tell.

Nearly 30 years ago, on the Acme-Daisy portage, my dad and I saw a moose and her calf.  The only moose he’s ever seen on the only camping trip we ever took together.  My memory did not include a boggy rock-hop, or a lengthy muck section.  What was I getting us into?  Then we crossed Daisy.  For the kids it was the longest zig-zag of the day, a demolition derby in the creek.   

A 1,200 meter uphill with attitude took us to Casey.  I did not expect the river running down the portage.  Low areas were sloshy muck, in climbs, A River Ran Through It.  Splish, splish, splish.  I wore close-toed sandals, crudifying my feet.  Each portage was worse than the last, like a competition.   With 300 meters left, while on a surprisingly good section, I saw the kids.  “Was that the worst of it?”  Their depressing response: “Nope.  It gets worse.”  It did.  On Casey, the first two sites were taken.  We headed for the third, open.  Then a teenage boy ran to meet us from the second site.  They were leaving early, said the site was great, just no firewood around.  Sold.  Moments later, the family pushed off.  Dad asked about the 1,200 so I had to depress him.  Bonus: brand new thunderbox.  This isn't it.

If a giant tree falls on a thunderbox but there is no one there to dive out of the way, does it make a sound?

My slow packing and wrong turn cost us a sidetrip to the logging ruins on Salvelinus, and I had unknowingly taken Lisa into portage treachery.  At least the rain stopped for dinner, plus we had the excitement of moose pooh near the site.  It stunk out there in the dark as Michael and I hung food sacks; the most hateful of all camp chores. A tall porcupine could have hit the bottom of the second bag with a paw, but we were spent, and slept the sleep of the righteous.

A view from our campsite.  It was more open than this, but I liked the photo.

Day 2.  While breaking camp I asked how everybody slept.  Jessie casually mentioned that she and Emily had leaks in the tent.  Two on her side, and one on Emily’s that was dripping on her face but she didn’t care because she was tired.  I looked at Emily and she smiled.  Who can sleep with water dripping on their face?  We'll look at the tent later.  We were up at 6:30, and broke camp around 9:30.  Glacial. 

We expected the 1,300 to Rain to be similar to the 1,200 from Daisy.  Nope.  Worse.  It was more downhill than the 1,200 was uphill, more treacherous and mucky, with a rock-hop due to flooding.  The entrance was rude.  The 1,300 meter just had to be worse than its’ 1,200 meter brother.  Good for you, jerk.  It was nice to get on Rain though, having cleared our two longest portages.  Bonus - improving weather!  Jessie helped me put a canoe in the water, and I knocked her right in the drink.  Her boots submerged, soaked, and all she could say was “I am so depressed right now.”  Sorry…Daddy didn’t mean it. 

The kids helping get the Nova Craft into position at the ridiculous entrance to the Casey-Rain 1,300 meter portage.  Note how unappealing the hill and rocks are.  Not an optical illusion.

The entrance to Rain Lake.  For reference, the island is out of view, but to the left.

On Rain, we passed our site from last year, the eastern island site.  I was curious about the carry to Sawyers.  It is so heavily traveled, you’d think it would be ok.  Muckfest.  When we paddled Sawyers, one of the kids asked the name of the lake, and I said “Sawyers…like Tom Sawyer.  Perhaps you’ve heard the song”, and started banging out the famous rhythm on the very musical canvas hull.  (I’m here all week, folks!)  The kids never asked me the name of any other body of water.  Jessie requested “The Unicorn Song” (Irish Rovers), which I have sung for them since they were little.  In Algonquin, I use an incredibly clever substitution and sing “The Loonicorn Song”.  A triumph of the watery stage.

wifey with a quick over-the-shoulder photo while I sang...some cats and rats and elephants, but sure as your born, don't you forget my Loonicorn...

My feet were more brightly pained; the sandals were grindy.  The carry to Moccasin had the usual schlop, ending thirty meters short of where it should have, on the wrong side of a log jam.  I hauled the boats over, muttering.  We pushed off just in time to avoid a canoe traffic jam, and immediately encountered a patrol of Mergansers.  I just love those birds and their single-file lines.  The crazy-looking-wire-haired professors of the forest.  Up close they look like they are completely out of their minds. 

"Hello!  I'm a Merganser and I'm craaaaaazzzzzyyyyyyy!!!!!"

We took a site on the western shore.  Nice access, good tent sites, another new thunderbox (yay us!), and lots of space.  I examined the girls’ tent, The North Face Tadpole 2.  The fly has Velcro loops that attach to the tent poles.  The Velcro loops are sewn to strips of fabric, which are attached to the fly…by seam sealer.  Surprise!  They tear out!  Three of four across the top had torn out, the fourth fell off in my hand.  We staked an extra tarp over the tent, so the girls were dry.  I got 11 nights out of that tent.  We will test The North Face’s limited lifetime warranty.

The "L" tree on our site.  Madness prevails.

The girls went swimming, the height of entertainment.  We’re going in together, right?  Right.  (Sure we are).  One, two we’re going in together, right?  Right.  (Sure we are).  Well…they got in.  The shrieks from the cool water were hilarious.  Lisa went in after, same result.  Everybody on the lake knew they went in.  Michael and I remained dry in our man stink.

Moments later, there was much shrieking. 

When I had Michael fishing, he hung up on something and snapped the pole!  His jaw hung open.  He’s there with a reel and four inches of pole, and asks “can I still use it?”  He thought I would be angry, but no.  Junk pole.  I snapped it into pieces I could tie it to a thwart to pack out.  We had another pole, but caught nothing.  While we were fishing, the ladies started a fire, or rather a smolder (damp wood).  Emily requested a little deet on her neck; the only time the entire trip that anybody applied bug stuff.  Yaaaay us.  We were treated with a full and bright orange moon that night.

A very pretty early evening shot on Jubilee from our campsite.

Michael and I went to hang the food bags.  It was dark, but we had our “perfect rock” from the day before.  Our chosen area was the all-time moose-pooping location in recorded history.  I squished down into a nice soft pile of moose pooh balls.  Then our “perfect rock” disappeared after the first bag was hung, so Michael dashed back to find another.  I was stuck without a flashlight until he returned.  Time passed.  I called out, “Michael, come on Buddy, just grab a rock and let’s go.”  I heard the distant response “There AREN’T any.”  I concluded that he meant he didn’t immediately see a suitable rock.  Time passed, no Michael.  “Come on, Bud!”   “I’m Trying!”  The ladies helped.  I’m back there sniffing moose pooh, thinking how can you not find a rock?  I decided to be helpful.  They must be looking for a “perfect” rock.  So I called out “ANY ROCK.”  “We’re looking!”  I continued to periodically call out “ANY ROCK”, because that was helpful.  At length, Michael came to me with two rocks.  One good, the other an exaggerated pebble.  The good one had a bow tie shape, perfect!  We got the sacks hung, and I kept our new perfect rock. 

Lisa and I slept on a sideways slope.  She slid down the hill on me, so I got elbowed in the face once and jabbed in the eyeball once, but we’ve decided to remain married.

Day three we needed to get moving, but didn’t.  Up at 6:30, out at 9:15.  This was our long day: six carries.  A few shorties, an 800, and river travel.  Jubilee to Juan starts with a slog the size of a garage.  The carry to Moccasin was remarkably ok.  The tops of some of my toes were sanded off by this time. 

Typical.  Just....never mind.  Typical.  I believe these were on the Juan-Moccasin portage.

Just as typical of the photo above it.  Just about every portage had this kind of stuff, in quantity.  Textbook Schlop.

Moccasin is a pretty lake I think I wish we had stayed on.  It would have shortened Day 3, and I would like to have explored it.  I looked at the sky.  Solid, dark grey.  “Find your rain gear, we’re about to get it and it looks like an all-day sucker”.  Michael’s was in our boat.  Oops.  It wasn’t two minutes before the rain started, and “obliteration beyond comprehension” in seconds.  A fantastically hard rain.  We sat a moment, shocked at the intensity.  I looked at the kids.  Emily was smiling at me with a “whattya gonna do?” look on her face.  We gave Michael his jacket, like that mattered. Even with the boats just feet apart, I had to yell over the sound of the rain to tell the kids to keep their bailer handy.  That was probably the hardest rain I have experienced in a canoe.  An overpowering amount of rain, in such volume it stuns you it can even happen.  But by the time we reached the 135 to Addisons, it stopped.

The gentle shores of the 800 meter to the Petawawa River were deceiving, starting off on a friendly bed of pine needles before the torture.  My original plan was to refill water bottles on Addison, but I didn’t remember that until the pack with the filter was on the way down the 800.  Oops.  So the water you have is what you have for a while (I don’t like filling up in rivers).   I expected a mucky downhill, but the intense deluge turned lousy conditions into a log chute with rocks.  Of the 800 meters, I would guess 675 meters was a stream and or muck, and the downhill treachery with a river running through it was incredible, steep and unsafe in many sections.  One hazard after another.  When I was returning to get the second canoe, I encountered Lisa.  My bride had fallen several times (she couldn’t remember how many), and had cut her thumb open.  That was her low point, mine too, knowing she fell. 

I was clouded this trip by the cruelties of the portages.  The terrain is always challenging, but this?  I expected the OPP to pick me up on Attempted Murder By Portage.  This portage especially seemed to be about gratuitously piling on.  We were tired and hungry, but this was no lunch place.  This was a place to leave.

Paddling the Petawawa, upstream but manageable, the kids got the hang of the S-curves reasonably.  They kept the noise down hoping for moose.  I was thinking “we sure could use a moose right about now”.  Moments later, we heard something quick and heavy ahead.  I looked and boom - two bear cubs.  I wasn’t sure what the kids could see, so I called out “BEARS.”  The cubs scrambled up a tree.  We could hear their chirps to momma, the kids heard her, but no one saw her.  We told the kids to get their boat to the opposite side of the river, just in case she was in ill humor.  I had the camera in hand and almost ready when they scaled the tree.  They stayed only a few seconds, just long enough for me to get this shot.  Momma called them right after, they dropped like stones, and disappeared. That lifted our spirits.

I could not have asked for a better photo of these two.  Sooooo cool.....where's momma???

Then we came to the soul-crushing 450.  The next two portages just go around waterfalls.  Big deal.  Unless they are mucky and flooded in sections.  “You think the 800 was bad?  Wait ‘til you get a load of ME!”  We floated, allowing a family of four (young twin girls) to depart.  They loaded the boat on top of some big rocks, then scrape-ingly dragged it in the water.  One girl in the bow, mom side by side with a girl in the middle, dad in stern.  I worried about them. They were late to be far from a campsite.

After the 800 spirit-killer, spirits raised by the bears, and ready to have their souls crushed on the 450 Petawawa-to-Petawawa.

Jessie asked if we could have lunch, I said sure, and that sent up a cheer.  It was a nice spot; good view and muck free.  I carried a boat through, and hinted that they could make me a sandwich.  This portage had it all.  Rocky uphill start, deceiving dry path, knee-deep bathtub puddle discovered the hard way, rocky creek schlop crossings, flooded marsh area so bad and long I floated the first boat through, thigh deep at times, frogs jumping out of the way (oops….a “path” to the right).  It closed with mud.  When I returned, I reported to the crew (who were still eating their lunch, enjoying sunshine, talking about waterfalls and cute baby bears), “this is, without question, the worst portage we have encountered.”  I broke all their spirits at once.  Remember – if you can’t keep a positive attitude, take every one else with you.  (Lisa wondered if the portage conditions were why the twins looked traumatized.) 

I refused to allow Lisa to carry anything on this portage, and walked through with her.  Then I went back for the Nova Craft, which had betrayed me when we unloaded.  When moving it out of the water, I ended up on my backside, with the canoe on my lap.  The boat had taken advantage with a bit of mischief.  When I returned for the Nova Craft, I sat down at the waters’ edge to clean the crud out of my sandals, and to pout momentarily.  When I picked up the Nova Craft, it pinged off a few rocks and I said “If you think I’m gonna feel sorry for you after what you did you can forget it.”  Oh, the things we say to our canoes.  The Merrimack I traded for the Nova Craft would never have fallen on me like that – and I said so.  The Nova Craft hates it when I talk about the Merrimack. 

The kids and Lisa agreed that the 800 meter was worse than the 450.  Wrong.  We'll agree to disagree.  I'm right.  Anytime I have to float the canoe through a portage I'm right.

After a brief respite on the other side, and a quick look at hat map (laminated section of map I keep in my hat), we pushed off for part two of the Petawawa.  We saw another flock of Mergansers, winging like crazy and running on the top of the water.  Find me a sane merganser and I’ll find you a dry portage.

Hat Map!  Two-sided and laminated.


Beauty waterfall on the Petawawa.  I think this is the second of the two portages.

You gotta make the most of it and take that photo!


Old Town Canvas resting on a soft root after the second Petawawa portage.  The Nova Craft did not deserve a photo after its' antics!

Lisa - closet fungi photographer.  She's a fun-gal !!!! Get it?  Get it?  I'm here all week, folks.

We reached Daisy at 4:40pm.  Home for the night.  We had been told that all but one site was booked, so I figured we’d find a site and crash.  I gave the kids a good head start into Daisy, then realized they had the water filter.  Oops.  They passed a peninsula campsite on the left (occupied), and another on the right.  Lisa and I passed the peninsula campsite, and saw four ladies.  One of them called “are you the grandparents?”  They wanted to complement the kids.  I have been referred to as the grandfather many times, which the kids find hilarious.  Lisa was “grandparented” by association.  I responded “Noooo, I only LOOK that old.”  We later learned that the ladies ranged in age from 48 to 63.  They were a hoot. 

Both island sites were open!  We selected the easternmost, an awesome site.  Further to the north, on the mainland, was the rock-sloped campsite my father and I had in 1991.  We set up quickly, anticipating a storm.  Michael had a terrific hammock site, the tents were protected (we avoided areas where people had dug trenches).  Plus, ding-ding-ding, another new thunderbox!  Then the rain came.  Two, maybe three drops of water.  We enjoyed a leisurely dinner.  Michael sat bronco style on one of the big rocks by the fire pit.  He looked for all the world like Slim Pickens riding the bomb in Dr. Strangelove.

Slim Pickens.  Am I right?  I'm right!


Our Christmas photo for 2018????

Socks, socks, everywhere a sock, wear this don’t wear that don’t you wear your socks?  We saw errant socks at every campsite.  I told the kids it was because the bear took the wrapper off his meal.

Lisa worked us down to one foodbag.  Night 3 and we had a full foodbag…..  Still, it was ONE.  Bonus, I still had the perfect rock in my jacket pocket.  Bonus, there was still a little light.  HA!  Glad we hung it too.  We had an untrustworthy red squirrel.  Even with the bag hung I thought we would awaken to a fat squirrel rolling around, saying “Me?  Oh, no, thanks, I’m full.  Couldn’t eat another bite. Thanks though!”

There were enough frogs on this island to delight Moses, resulting in the frog incident. The girls went back to the thunderbox before turning in.  Jessie spotted a frog, but Emily had taken her contacts out and couldn’t see it.  She bent down, getting closer and closer, until it came into view about four inches from her face.  Then it jumped up at her.  You could hear the shriek from a fair distance.

We had a nice fire, Lisa and the kids snacked as much as possible to avoid carrying it the next day.  After some chores, I entered the tent to find that Lisa had inflated both air mattresses, and laid out both sleeping bags. Yay me!  Unfortunately, I got no sleep.  Dead tired, not sleepy. 

My mind raced.  I could hear the girls chatting (I’m guessing about boys, tell me I’m wrong).  Worse, it was hot in the tent.  Then a noisy mouse was in the vestibule.  Our rain jackets were there, I guess there was a wrapper in a pocket.  I wedged my headlamp between the zippers, so it shone on the vestibule area.  HA!  No further noise.  Hours passed.  Still couldn’t drop off.  Plus the wind wouldn’t settle, and I knew it would mean an awful morning paddle.  I had three relatively inexperienced paddlers in the kids.  We’d been wind-lucky so far, but not now, and I worried.  Then, to the north, I heard a long rumble of thunder.  Ruh-Roh, Shaggy.  The thunder rolls were long ones that tore the sky for miles.  You’d hear a gentle roller start nearby, then roll continuously ten or fifteen seconds until it got so far away you weren’t sure if it stopped or was out of hearing range.  Once in a while lightning would light up the tent.

I did the counting thing.  How long after thunder did I see lightning?  I counted to thirty or more, then said wait…it’s the other way around.  How long after lightning do I hear thunder?  That was one, maybe two seconds.  I didn’t like that, so I counted the original way.  Then the rain started.  It passed quickly, but the wind resumed.  It just wouldn’t settle down.  It was about 3am.  I bet I checked my watch twenty times overnight.  We rose to a stiff headwind, and broke camp quickly.  Up at 6:30, off by 8:30.     

I explained the situation to the kids.  This was the stiffest wind they had faced, maybe ever.  I wanted them to shoot across to the mainland, parallel to the wind, and then up the shoreline, against the wind.  When I pushed them off, I was nervous.  They had their life jackets on, but Lisa and I weren’t in the water yet.  Still, the wind was getting harder, and I didn’t want them to wait for us.  I felt strongly they needed to get near the mainland for protection before the wind kicked up whitecaps.  I have paddled in far worse than this, but they hadn’t.  The kids made it to the mainland in great shape, and didn’t really even lose ground to the wind.  Michael was in the bow, Jessie in the stern.  They were along the shore, pointed in the right direction, and passing the opposite shore campsite when

Lisa and I shoved off.  We were digging to catch up, but the kids established quite a pace.
We eventually caught up.  Lisa held the branches of a deadfall, the kids held our canoe, we all got a bit of a puff, and I checked hat map.  Michael was spent after thirty or forty minutes against a difficult headwind.  We maneuvered Michael to the middle and Emily to the bow.  He hung his head, elbows on knees.  Extreme conditions sap your strength and reserve.  Within five minutes, we rounded another bend.  Suddenly the wind was completely blocked from us.  Threat over.  There is no teacher like foul conditions, and the kids did very well.  An impressive crew.  Jessie sterned well, Emily chipped in, and Michael bore the brunt of the headwind.  I noticed Michael took the bow after the next carry.  Attaboy.

And I was never worried about them.  Don’t re-read above.  

We arrived at the 400 to Acme, just ahead of the four ladies.  We learned that they take an annual trip.  In discussing the portages, they recalled one other trip that rivaled these portage conditions, but not this bad.  As one of them approached heavy muck with a canoe, I heard her say “Oh, glory be.”  It was remarkable, because that’s EXACTLY what I said whenever I came across a muck section.  She arrived at Acme with the canoe so well balanced that her hands were at her sides - sooo jealous.

At the access point, they took our “we survived” photos, and we took theirs.  They advised where there was ice cream, and it was clear I was going to be buying the kids and Lisa ice cream in addition to souvenirs I had promised.  The kids were very proud of themselves, telling me “We only got stuck on a rock ONCE!”  Apparently they jammed it up on a rock somewhere and weedled their way off.  Thanks. 

Note that it is sunny...just sayin'.

In the car, I discovered a stuff sack, and remembered my great idea.  I was going to take it with us for the filthy clothes! (we used a garbage bag).  Nobody was impressed.  It may have been my timing. 

Thoughts:
The kids really took charge of the gear.  I enjoyed watching them own more and more throughout the trip.  Lisa carried a pack with two armfuls each time - she did great.  Take that, Vestibular Schwannoma! 

Kind of a Charlie's Angels thing going on there.  Maybe Michael's Angels?

Plan more in-camp time.  I thought I did, except day three.  Chose largely bass lakes for Michael.  Included river travel to give the kids moose opportunity.  Chose small lakes because of the experience level.  Wanted a loop, this was about the best I spotted.  Oh well. 

Packing.  I had to keep packs at a manageable weight for the kids and Lisa, so we needed to spread it over several bags, but there was just way too much food.

Closed-toed sandals = No.  Neosporin-infused bandaids = Yes.  Some toes infected (sparing you photos), but healing.  Shoulder did well!

In the moment, I had the least enjoyment of any of us.  I was the guide, responsible for everybody’s enjoyment.  Travel days too long?  Paddles or portages too long?  Gear too heavy?  Soaked shoes?  Pack covers?  Leaky tents?  Even uncontrollables, like getting rain-killed, or schloppy portages.  My enjoyment has come in retrospect.  The kids did great, Lisa did great, lots of laughter, and we saw bears!  Success! 

I'll leave you with this.  In June 2000, Lisa and I took a couple of "we survived it" photos, one of which was the one on the left.  Awwwwwwwww.  Lisa wanted to recreate that photo this trip - her second ever, 18 years later.  So we did.  Awwwwwwwwwwww.