The solo route I originally planned had to be changed to ensure there would be water underneath my boat.  I designed the revised trip around the Day 1 leg from a trip taken by my family in 2018, from Magnetawan to Casey.  We had planned a visit to Salvelinus but blah blah blah Salvelinus never happened.  My solo trip was Day 1 Magnetawan to Casey, Day 2, stay there and visit Salvelinus.  Day 3 “halfway back” to Daisy, and Day 4 “out”. (my longest solo trip.  Please, sit back down.  I can bask in my glory absent the standing ovation.

I had a new (used) Lumix camera with me, with a brand new memory card, which I later learned, was unformatted.  Short story, no photos survived.  Super-duper unhappy.   Only photos are my “I survived” photo and one on the access road taken with a different camera.  I’ll make up for the absence of photos with snappy, engaging narrative.

I bought a Granite Gear Superior One Portage Pack shortly before the trip.  This is a modern day version of what, in my youth, we called a monster pack; a giant canvas sack with thin leather straps flossing your shoulders and sometimes an intact tump line to flatten out your forehead.  The Granite Gear pack is a giant Santa sack with back/hip support, good strapping and no tump line.  I packed 100% with stuff sacks.  It worked well, just heavy, because….EVERYTHING fits in there.  Nothing strapped outside, nothing hand-carried.  The shape allows you to get it in and out of the canoe easily.  The downside is you need a stump or big rock to get it partway up, and that isn’t always handy.  Heaviest pack I have ever carried at 60 pounds.  I had too much food, cold weather gear adds weight, plus too much clothing in general – plus EVERYTHING was inside.   

For once, I packed in advance, which allowed me to awaken at 3am Thursday and get in the water by 10:30.  I knew another party was arriving for one night on Casey that same day.  If I wanted my choice of campsites for two days, I needed to get there first.  But I strove for efficiency, not a race. 

Why I didn’t just go in on Rain Lake and do one portage rather than four?  I like a mix of portaging and paddling, and the Casey entrance of the Rain-Casey portage is miserable in the Casey to Rain direction.

At Magnetawan, as soon as I exited the car, a stiff, very cold wind in the face went right through me.  The forecast before and after this trip had pretty moderate temps in the park, but I caught it at just the wrong moment: two cold days followed by two less cold days.  I encountered a gent swapping out rental canoes.  We concluded we were both old and had aches and pains, but his comment was great – “this place just pulls you back in”.

The portage from Magnetawan to Hambone (Moosewhizzer name origin location) offered the first test.  How the hell am I going to get this backpack on?  It took time to find a stump high enough to allow me to get enough of my right arm in there to wedge it up, then shimmy like crazy in a bending dance, until I got both arms in.  For a minute I envisioned having to return home, confess my inability to put on the pack, and hear my wife say “told you so.”

On Acme, I serenaded the lake with my special version of The Irish Rovers “The Unicorn Song” as “The Loonicorn Song”.  It takes a degree of trust that you are the only person around….

<Lost movie - me singing as I paddle across the lake.  Humanity is better off for the loss.>
<Lost photo – looking at the entrance to Daisy from the portage dock>

The cold wasn’t bothering me at this point, I was wearing my winter jacket and a balaclava.  The paddle across Daisy was windy but reasonable, plus a couple of loons left me a little downy feather in the water as a gift!
My 2018 memory of the 1200M to Casey was a veritable river streaming down the middle of the trail for almost the entire length.  This time it was dry.  My new memory is of ever-increasing elevation.  I did figure something out, however.  The trail is quite wide, and knowing the Salvelinus ruins were nearby, I realized this must have been part of an old logging road at some point in the past.  Where the trail turned down to Casey for the last 50M, I could see the ghost of the “road” continuing toward Salvelinus.  Similar to the portage from Mink to Club, except the terrain here was more rugged.

On Casey, success!  I got there first.  Middle campsite.  An hour later, the other party came down the Rain to Casey portage.  They were not smiling as they went past.  We waved, but it was wordless.  I thought “Sorry, boys” – and I was.  My planning and effort paid off, but I don’t like success at the expense of someone else.   

In the campsite was a felled tree, I think done by rangers.  That’s my theory.  It had been cut into segments and left largely in place, though the branches were strewn about, leaves still on them.  Too green for firewood, kind of an eyesore, plus a bit in the way.  I moved some branches that were laid atop some small pines.  Those little pines weren’t going to succeed with dead tree laying all over them.

<Lost Photos – a couple of campsite shots>

The tent pad was wind-protected, a definite bonus.  There were two big leaners there, but I examined them closely and concluded they could not find their way onto the tent.  The campsite area, as is frequently the case, was not wind-protected.  It had rained almost imperceptibly a little during the day, but as the sun fell, the rain grew more earnest.  I didn’t want to set up the tarp, because “lazy”, but did anyway.  The Granite Gear pack is not water proof, plus, I didn’t want wet firewood.  The tarp was up in about ten minutes, in the dark, without a flashlight.  Yeah, I’m that good.

<Lost photo – a shot of a campfire blazing away.  Crackle, crackle.>

That night in the tent was a night like no other.  At home, I sleep on my back to start, then I choose a side.  On my left, eventually that shoulder will hurt from an old injury.  On my right I’m generally ok.  I rarely sleep for more than two hours at a crack, however.  I wake up, flop around, and sleep some more.  When camping, same routine, but the result is extended dozing with the occasional hour of sleep.  On this night, after a sweaty fight to the death to get zipped into a sleeping bag liner and then into the sleeping bag I was settled.  The compressed foam pad offers insulation, but is hard, so sleeping on my back hurt straight away.  I couldn’t last long on the left side.  On the right….I had pulled some muscles in that shoulder and neck during the day.  It hurt so much to roll on that side I can’t even describe it.  I whimpered like a sad little child every time I rolled to or away from the right, and I was very audible with almost tearful whimpering.  It hurt so, so much.  I spent the night flopping, nearly weeping, dozing, and occasionally sleeping.  But I mentally invented a foam core mattress that is integrated with an air mattress.  In cold weather the air mattress will lose some air and be cold, but the attached foam core would offer insulation from the cold air of the mattress.  Brilliant.  Please go design it.

My shoulder/neck was much better after this first night, but that first night was brutal, and I was such a baby about it.    

The morning of day two was drizzly, but it cleared by noon.  Definitely colder.  I swapped my northface balaclava for a wool one; a good move.  Imagine a winter coat, balaclava, Indiana jones hat, and neoprene knee-high boots with my pant legs tucked into them.  The look was “don’t talk to that guy.”

<Lost Photo – photo of Casey with blue skies, puffy clouds, and Fall colors.  Ooooh.>

I had seen only a single photo of the Salvelinus ruins, and a description that said “follow the sort of trail….”.  On my visit, “sort of trail” meant bushwhack.  It wasn’t bad.  I marked where my boat was with a gps (precaution), and when I did reach the ruins, 400 or 500 meters in, I marked it, as well as some artifacts (coordinates at the end of this report).  I’m not going to promise that the coordinates are super accurate, however.  The Garmin etrex 10 doesn’t even mark my own driveway accurately, and it was unreasonably off in marking the boat location.
I was starting to wonder if I was on a fools’ errand when I spotted four pieces of a good-sized clay jug.  I picked them up, had a look, then placed them together on a downed tree immediately next to where they were.  Probably not supposed to do that, but I did anyway.  Moments later, the bottom half of a fifty-gallon drum with chain across the top of it appeared, then cot bed frames from embedded in the soil, and suddenly I was right next to the cabin-ruins.  I’m not sure if it was one structure or two, really, very little remains of the structure(s).  Remnants of rubber roofing material nailed to roof segments had survived.  I realized I had better watch my step to avoid upturned nails.

There was a very large kettle, I bet 20 gallons, and I thought that’s a lot of stew for men who are burning off energy like crazy.  Here I saw the lake proper; a really pretty lake, with Fall colors much more evident than on Casey. 
I went down a short, steep scramble to the mucky water’s edge.  It seemed like such lousy water access, but they needed the encampment on level ground more than they needed convenience to water.  When I turned to go back up to the structure, I spotted something green, nearly completely buried.  A bottle – with the cap still attached.  Who knows what beer or white lightning was in that a hundred years ago.  I put it near the large kettle, in as protected an area as I could find.  Maybe I should have left it buried, but I thought other people should get to see it.  I admit I was tempted to pack it out, but that’s illegal I believe, plus this is where it belongs so other people can see it and gain an appreciation for what was once here. 

I wandered south, along a trail, toward better water access.  Here I sat on a downed log and ate lunch.  My PB&J was likely different than anything the loggers ate, I probably smelled better and swore less, but it was fun to commune with the memory of those men for a few minutes.  I thought of the hardships they faced, leaving family for the logging season to go live minimally, performing a dangerous, exhausting dawn-to-dusk job for not much money, in varying weather conditions, for a logging company to whom a logger was just another body in the woods generating revenue.  I thought of the unpleasantness of field dentistry, illness, or broken limbs being dealt with as best they could when care was not immediately available.  I wondered how many men stayed here, how they got along or didn’t get along, and the variety of accents – German, Scottish, Irish, French, Swedish, English one might have heard.   All lean but extraordinarily strong men, and tough as nails.  The only thing I would have had in common with them was rugged good looks and an appreciation for not shaving.       

<Lost Photos – 1 - broken clay jar, 2 – broken glass jars right next to clay jar, 3 - buried cot frames, 4 - large kettle, 5/6/7 - various shots of the structure, 8 - roofing material, 9 - green bottle that I found, 10 - a very pretty shot of Salvelinus under a clear blue sky with nice Fall colors.  Sigh.>

I returned to the canoe, using the GPS.  I had my bearings, but followed the GPS just to see.  I reached the boat, but the GPS disagreed by about eighty feet.  Jerk.  I loaded firewood, and scooted back to camp.  On the way, I took a photo (of a rock), and realized the battery was done.  From then on, I could still take an occasional photo, but I had to snap it as soon as the camera turned on.  Point and click immediately, then the camera would shut down.  I was surprised, because to date the battery life had been outstanding with that camera.  Cold weather I guess – and movies.

The lumberjacks would have been disgusted with my firewood.  Most was stompable.  Afterward, I sat in my camp chair and watched the afternoon, sometimes dozing.  Enjoyed a momma loon and her offspring on the lake.  The young one kept nuzzling momma; very cute.  Sunset was at 7pm, and with all my little camp chores completed, I had a righteous little fire going. 

<Lost photo – best of the trip by far.  Night photo of Casey, half moon over the trees, reflection of moon on very still
lake, outline of shoreline….it was a terrific photo.  Losing the Salvelinus photos was disappointing knowing how few there are online, but I’m genuinely upset about losing this photo.>

Then at about 8pm, when it was as dark as can be, I became aware of lights to the west, where I had left my boat during my jaunt to Salvelinus.  It was a group of people, in canoes, paddling from that point.  They got their boats in the water quickly, and paddled in my direction.  I thought they must be looking for a campsite, but why would they head this direction rather than toward the nearby campsite to the north unless they were confused in the dark? 
When they passed, I could see there were two solos and two tandems, and they were just flying.  I thought they must be heading for the eastern campsite, and expected to hear them ground out on huge painted rocks I knew were over there.  Instead, I heard one say “There it is!” -  referring to the portage. 

The entrance, in the direction they were heading, is abysmal.  There is no room at the take out, and it is a nasty, steep, rocky scramble to get up to the portage proper.  The next five minutes was filled with the chaotic sounds of canoe hulls and paddles banging around with complete abandon, creating sharp echoes reporting deep into the woods.  Within moments, they were gone.  Six people in four canoes, down the trail, their headlamps with them.  Darkness and silence was completely restored to the lake. 

It was the damnedest thing you ever saw.  At the risk of offending some of my forum-mates, you’d have to be out of your ever-living mind to tackle a 1300-meter portage at night armed with a headlamp and youthful enthusiasm.

My theory is they were camping on Rain, and decided to take a late afternoon bushwhack trip along a little creek/river that comes from Rain toward the Salvelinus area, possibly to see the ruins or maybe just paddle Salvelinus, then return via the Casey-Rain portage.  I worried for them.  It is one thing to take a late night paddle to see the night sky, but portaging like that, at breakneck speed as they were….to me they were just begging for an injury.  I’ve read a few trip reports where people have portaged at night, but those instances were of necessity.  This was just reckless to my thinking.

Now watch somebody from that group respond to my trip report with a perfectly reasonable accounting of what their trip was and what they were doing and me saying “Oh.  Well that makes sense.”             

Both nights on Casey I heard an owl popping around.  I think it was a Great Horned Owl, but will have to listen to recordings.  On Daisy I think I heard a Screech Owl, but have to find recordings of that as well.

Day three, Saturday, was “move to Daisy” day.  Temperatures were noticeably improved, it was sunny and warm in the protected campsite.  I was sweating in my coat and tempted to remove it while packing.   On the water, the wind was at my back.  The difference a day and a half made to the portage was remarkable.  Every aspen in the forest had dropped leaves since I left, carpeting areas of this trail in yellow and green, creating a mystery trail of hidden ankle-breaking rocks and roots.  I had done something to my right knee earlier, so it was a bit tender on steeper downhills, but ok.  Upon reaching the Daisy end, I dropped the pack and took the coat off; noteworthy because the camera was in the coat, and guess what, something happened!

I carry a storm whistle with me, and occasionally give it a single tweet to forewarn bears that I would prefer not to meet them.  On the trail, after having blown the whistle only moments before, I spotted a momma moose and her baby.  So much for the storm whistle.

They were maybe 15-20 meters away.  The baby was the size of a small horse, and momma was, as moose go, very pretty; sleek, and slender.  Her coat was beautiful, and I felt she was fairly young, maybe this was her first baby.  She stood between me and her calf, and kept an eye on me.  We watched each other for a few minutes.  If I was a bull moose and not already married, I’d have seen if I had any game.  “Hey, baby, come here often?”  She was definitely checking me out, thinking “if I was a bi-ped….”

After a moment or two, I took a few steps further on the trail, which put me just slightly closer to them, as I passed.  Then I realized there were no branches between us.  A completely unobstructed view.  I stopped to observe for another minute, and momma’s eyes were locked on me.  I couldn’t tell if she was thinking “Oh no, a bi-ped!” or “One more step and you’re dead.”  I said something gentle and soothing: “Its ok momma moose and baby moose”, which they interpreted as “ROOOOOOOAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!!!”.  Baby trotted off, and momma followed.  In the past, I’ve felt the impact of moose footfalls through the ground.  These two trotted off deftly and silently.  Had I closed my eyes, I would have heard only the rhythmic rustle of leaves and not the thumping of hooves.  A great encounter.  And my camera was 800 meters away. Not that it would have mattered.  I felt a bit sorry for the calf.  It has no idea of the bitter cold and challenging conditions it will face over the coming months.

<Imaginary Lost Photo – pretend I took a photo of the moose while momma was looking at me, and that I subsequently lost the photo.  Might as well.>

As I neared the Casey end of the portage to retrieve the canoe, I regretted taking my coat off.  The wind was right at me, stiff and cold.  I carried the canoe with a song in my heart (downhill) and moose on my mind.  Upon arriving at Daisy, I spotted a penny on the trail, and grabbed it.  “Find a penny, pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck.”  I wasn’t on Daisy five minutes before a Bald Eagle flew across the narrows from left to right, 40 meters off my bow.  This was my first Algonquin Eagle.  DDT was such an atrocity on birds of prey for so many years there really weren’t any Eagles in New York State to see – I never saw one until I was 35.  Anytime I see one I’m grateful for their rebound.  Always a thrill.  Just minutes later, a Common Merganser shot past me, a couple meters to the left and a couple meters off the water, going about 4,000 Km/h (roughly).  It had been coming pretty much straight at me, but I never saw it until it was just off the bow.  The first one I’ve ever seen in flight. 

That was a pretty good penny – got me an Eagle and a Merganser!

On Daisy, I knew a lot of the sites were booked, so I wasn’t sure what would be available or where I wanted to go.  I rounded the bend to the right, and found a family staying at the first site.  The next site was open.  The remaining sites were pretty distant, and didn’t feel like bucking wind the next morning, so I took it.

The site is nice.  Very open, pine-dominated, a terrific view of the lake and the Fall colors.  There were five downsides: 1) water access a bit steep.  2) Shaded all day.  3) most tent pads sloped.  Those that weren’t were rain-catchers.  4) Very uphill walk to the thunderbox.  5) the general slope didn’t help my knee much.   On the upside: 1) Outstanding lake views from slopped rocks.  2) several tent pads.  3) nice firepit with courtesy pile.  4) new thunderbox.  5) In position for a sunset view.  6) proximity to both the Casey Portage and the Acme portage.
I gathered enough firewood that I left the courtesy pile alone.

<Lost photo – Daisy Lake with blue skies on a lovely sunny day, showing a lot of shoreline in Fall colors, looking exactly as it should.> 

The family next to me departed, so I visited the site.   It had a unique fire pit, well away from the water, surrounded by large log benches, one so elevated that a footrest had been improvised, resembling a bench version of a barber’s chair.  I liked my site better, but this was very nice.  There was a yellow nylon rope between two trees as a clothes line.  It had to have been fifteen meters long.  I packed it out.  I hate stuff like that.  It is a courtesy I suppose to future occupants, but nylon rope will be there five hundred years after we’re all dead.  It just ticked me off. 

When I returned to camp, I had a seat on what might be the most conveniently placed, nicely contoured tree root in the park, atop a sloping rock overlooking the lake.  Perfect butt groove.  So comfy I dozed off a couple of times, but only a little, or I’d tumble into the lake.  At 4:30, a tandem went by with two gents.  Now, remember that sunset is at 7:00pm, then flashlight required.  Except we know I can put up a tarp in the dark unaided by artificial light because I’m that good.     

I told them the next site was open, welcome news to them since they had literally passed every other site on the lake, and they were now distant from all those other sites.  Scary position to find yourself in.  We exchanged pleasantries, they said more in their party were coming, and they’d try not to keep me awake.  I said that would likely be impossible (figuring they would be 400-500 meters away). 

Moments later, a couple of canoes showed up.  Kids.  Then another.  Then three more.  In one of these groups, a bow man was threatening his stern man with bodily harm if he didn’t start paddling.  I laughed, having had that same argument when I was a teenager on my first trips.  The kids said they were a school group.  They had arrived Thursday and were leaving tomorrow (just like me).  In the trailing group were two adults, one was this poor woman who looked absolutely spent.  They either came from Misty, a long paddle, or, heaven help them, near Moccasin, and came down that blankety-blank portage from Addison to the river.  Seven canoes.  Four adults, ten teenagers.  Long day.

My original Day 4 plan had been to get up at 7:00 a.m., cold breakfast, pack and go.  When the seventh canoe went past, my plan revised to get up at 6:00 a.m.  No way was I getting caught up with seven boats crossing three portages.  In the early evening, a momma loon and her offspring were diving immediately in front of my site for quite a while.  It was fun to watch them. 

By 8:30pm I had defeated the sleeping bag liner and bag again and was bedded down.  My tent was in a terrible location, a rain-catching depression, BUT, I had decided it was not going to rain.  Never mind that the sky had gone from cloudless to cloud-filled, and had blotted out the sunset.  During my usual dozy camping sleep, I awoke at 11pm, aware that I heard the bass line of some crappy rock-ish song.  My powers of deduction told me it was coming from the large group next door.  It wasn’t super loud, but who can sleep against that?  I flopped around, thinking bad things, then remembered I had earplugs with me.  Problem solved. Back to dozing.

But really, you arrive at a campsite with a little less than two hours of sunlight left, some members of your party are clearly exhausted, and at 11pm you are going strong with music?  Who does that?  Any outdoorsy trips our kids have gone on – scouts, school, church - the electronics were banned, to ensure the kids would be present in the experience.  More importantly, you’re bugging ME with music at that hour?  ME?  Don’t you know who I am?  I’m some old bald guy!  The Moosewhizzer no less!  Grumble, grumble, grumble.  Earplugs.

I revised my plans again.  I would awaken at 6:30 rather than 6:00, knowing there was no way they would awaken before me.  I was off the site an hour and ten minutes after waking up.  The Granite Gear bag packed with stuff sacks helped the speed.

The wind was substantial, but for the first time since September 2016, in my favor on a large-ish lake.  Whooossh!  The 400 from Daisy to Acme was easily cleared, and I skipped the 55 from Acme to Hambone (my first skip ever).  On the 135 into Magnetawan, I encountered a father and son who had just completed a weekender on Hambone.  At the Magnetawan parking lot we took photos for each other.  I think I was on the road by 9:30, my earliest exit ever, and for the first time made it home for dinner! 

Yay.  This photo taken with the other camera.  Hooray.  It shows the Granite Gear pack, so….who cares, I lost everything else.




My wife worries about me on solo canoe trips.  The real worry is Toronto traffic (sorry if that offends).  This trips’ best attempted murder was a guy in a big pickup pulling a long box trailer who swung across in front of me, missing by a narrow margin, and continued in a straight line across three lanes of traffic.  Impressive, terrifying, and irritating.  I encourage the Province to build a bridge from Barrie to Hamilton that has no exits.  You can do it!!

Solo trip number four is in the books.  I saw things I had never seen, enjoyed the natural beauty of this marvelous place, encountered wonderful people, saw spectacular wildlife, spent my coldest camping night ever, witnessed logging history, tested my mettle, and unplugged to recharge my batteries.  Nothing more could be asked of a canoe trip.  Every time I visit, I have a moment early on when I’m not excited to be there.  Then I get into it, but grow convinced this is the last time I’ll be able to do it.  Then as I leave the access point, I’m already planning my next trip.  Like the rental canoe guy said – this place just kind of pulls you back in.

Here are the Salvelinus coordinates I recorded.  All were taken using my Garmin etrex 10.  Experience tells me these may not be super-accurate.  I used Geoplaner.com to convert to dd.ddddd format.

Broken Pottery: 17 T 0660053 5055622  (dd.ddddd format = 45.63569, -78.94642)
Broken Glass Jars: 17 T 0660041 5055622  (45.63569, -78.94658)
Bed Frames: 17 T 0660039 5055619  (45.63566, -78.94660)
Big Kettle: 17 T 0660013 5055610  (45.63559, -78.94694)
Steel Drum: 17 T 0660043 5055622  (45.63569, -78.94655)
Cabin Ruins: 17 T 0660018  5055611  (45.63560, -78.94687)
After returning home, I eyeballed the location of the ruins on Google Maps at these coordinates: 17 T 0660018 5055612  (45.63560  -78.94687)

The green bottle is super close to the Big Kettle, on the ground protected by cabin ruins.
 

Last edited by MooseWhizzer Dave (10/11/2019 11:46 pm)