This is long.  Fair warning.  All my trip reports are long.
 
The teaser: I should have dumped the water out of my neoprene boots when it happened.  I just don’t like to stop when I’m traveling.  Point A to Point B.  As it turns out, this decision about the boots, or rather non-decision, was the defining moment of my trip, and it happened right off the bat.  But you need context. 
 
My trip route was from Magnetawan, a route I’ve tried to take for some time.  In 09/2019, it was cancelled by lake non-availability, then COVID for 05/2020, 09/2020, and 05/2021.  FINALLY, booked for 09/2021!!!!...then a road closure near the park a week before the trip forced me to re-route.  yaaaaaaaay.... When I saw the road closure notice, I knew a LOT of people would be replanning, so I worked out a route as fast as I could before spots disappeared.  So this trip can be called “This will do for 2021.”
 
Day 1: Rain – Wenona (quite a distance for a double-carrier)
Day 2: Wenona-Misty
Day 3: Misty-Petawawa-Jubilee
Day 4: Jubilee-Rain (out)
 
I left Buffalo at 4:30 a.m., drove 275 miles (443 km), and at 10:50 a.m., pushed off into the welcoming waters of Rain Lake.  A lengthy journey toward Wenona was in front of me, six portages away.  I like 3-4 hours of canoe travel, closer to 3 on day 1, but that was not to be.  Instead, I had a long Day 1 and a “get there” mentality to surpress. 
 
This was my first Algonquin trip with the Curtis Nomad I bought a year and a half ago from the original owner.  He had it for nearly 30 years and I am not certain he ever got it wet.  He pointed out one scratch on the hull.  I couldn’t see it so I took his word for it.  It has scratches now. 
 
The Nomad moves like a bat screaming out of the red hot gates of hell with a tailwind, and I was pretty much surfing on Rain.  This was especially true in the narrows, where the wind was more focused.  Felt terrible for people going the opposite way. 



Rain Lake, as the wind picked up.

As I neared the Rain-Sawyers portage, I was concerned.  The put-out is a giant rockface, protected by boulders, and waves were crashing on it all.  I was worrying about a rock-bashing festival when a husband and wife, preparing to load, waved me in.  They held the boat for me, and helped unload.  For real.  At first I was kind of put off; you travel solo, you have a self-sufficient attitude, right?  But the guy grabbed the bow, said I had a nice-looking boat and they thought they’d help keep me from creaming it on the rocks.  How can you dislike a guy who says you have a nice-looking boat, and stands in the water to help you out?  Anyway, it looked like a reasonably shallow place to step out, and….the water crested my neoprene boots and went right down to my socks.  I mentioned it.  She says “I thought you said you had waders on.”  I said “I did.  I couldn’t find the right word….”  The right word, that I found so difficult to find in the moment, was “boots”.  If you are going to get stuck on a word, make it a more formidable word that “boots”.  It is ok to struggle with a word like “serendipity”, but don’t’ get stuck on “boots”.  Anyway, those folks were an 11 out of 10 on the awesome scale.  They declined my offer of assistance in loading their boat.  They really didn’t need the help.  He was already up to his knees in the water, so it was a pretty straightforward for them. 
 
For me, the self-damage was done.  The neoprene boots are the ONLY footwear I take on trips.  Should I carry a pair of boots for being in camp?  Sure.  Do I?  Never.  Why?  Weight.  Plus, I know for sure I’d never take the time to change shoes once I’m in camp.  Lazy?  Sure.  Dopey?  For sure!  Will I change?  Unlikely.
 
On the carry, I could feel the water in my boots, but it didn’t seem like it was that much.   It felt more like my socks had soaked it up.  The water was warm, nothing felt blistery, so…..should I dump out the excess water?  Nah.  Who cares.  It feels squishy good.  Let’s keep going.  Only five more portages.
 
The carries toward Wenona are in the 400-450 range, so that wasn’t bad, but I took them all with water-squish boots, the left one particularly.  The Rain to Sawyers carry features a bit of a root staircase on the Sawyers side, but not difficult, and a sandy landing. 



Entry to Sawyers from Rain if memory serves.

The Sawyers to Jubilee landing is also sandy.   That portage has some up-and-down, nothing outrageous, but on the Jubilee side, the trail naturally concludes right in front of a beaver dam-ish area, so everybody goes around it and puts in beyond that point.  It would be a good place to have one leg much longer than the other.  Jubilee to Juan packs a lot into 450 meters.  Muck, wood bridges, a notable hill or two…lets you know it is there.  There are worse, but this one stood out.  The 185 from Juan to Moccasin does not wish to be overlooked.  On the Juan side is a giant rockface with a tangle of roots , etc., that make exit/entry exciting in an unpleasant way.  Also, there’s this one turn on the carry…if you were to lose your balance, you would disappear into the underbrush down a hill, never to be seen again.
 
Moccasin is a uniquely attractive lake; an oddly-shaped lake that looks nothing like a moccasin, with an island, lots of little pockets to explore, portages leading off in four directions, and two campsites, (where water access looks a bit challenging). 
 
The carry to Bandit was a flat walk, so it was a bit odd when my right knee started to hurt, on the outside edge.  A lot.  And it came on like gangbusters.  “Hmmm, my knee hurts a little.”  Two steps later, “Hmmm, my knee is killing me.”  Mostly on declines, but it was sudden the way it came on.  Also, as I trudged ahead, I was remembering a trip in 1990 or so, that I took with a friend named Jim I had gone through scouts with……<fade-out to semi-dream sequence of old memory…..>
 
…..I know this is dopey, but I remember on the drive up I was driving Jim crazy because I kept futzing with the air conditioner and Jim wanted me to knock it off.  I also got us on old route 11, so we lost a lot of time getting to the park in the days of paper maps, and we had left Buffalo at 2:30 am or 3:00 am.  I no longer remember our route, but the plan was to make Misty.  In 1990, I had a 72-pound Grumman, and I think we took turns carrying it.  We made Misty very late in the day.  All sites taken.  I am sure we did not check every site, but everything we looked at was taken, it was getting dark, and we had to formulate a plan.  No good options.  We backtracked to Muslim, Wenona, and ultimately Bandit, deciding that if both those sites were taken, we would camp on the portage trail.  The easternmost site on Bandit was open, and we gratefully took it.  I was exhausted and not feeling great.  Long, exhausting day.  I kept hallucinating animals along the shoreline.  The next morning didn’t feel a whole lot better, so we stayed at that little site for the day.  That was the last time I was on Bandit, until this trip, and I always wanted to thank the little lake for taking us in during our moment of need, when we were young and so fantastically dumb……
 
<Fade-in from semi-dream sequence of old 1990 memory….>
 
I reflected on that memory while on Bandit, thanked the lake for its kindness so long ago, thought it was a pretty lake worthy of future exploration, and continued on my way.  One more portage.  A 540 to Wenona.  My right knee was screaming when I walked, and my left knee was getting that way as well.   To say “my knee hurt” is incomplete.  The outside of the joint on both knees hurt sharply anytime I was on a decline no matter how slight, and the whole joint ached deeply moving my lower leg both forward and back.  I couldn’t get relief from it.  This was a solid 7 or 8 out of 10 on the ouchie scale on the right side, and a 5 or 6 on the left. 
 
Wenona is a pretty little lake with one campsite.  I love a lake to myself, but I’m always nervous somebody else will be there off permit.  This is part of the reason I pushed so hard all day.  Anyway, I pre-determined that if there was an occupant, my end of the discussion was going to be they could stay or go, I didn’t care, but I wasn’t going another inch forward, both on principle and because I wasn’t sure I could.  The site was open.  I got there at 4:30pm, 5.5 hours after pushing off.  Long day.
 
A word about being an old guy.  Aches and pains creep in, and it is only with great reluctance you start to accept your youthful ways will no longer work.  For example, eating lunch at 4:30 as I did, comes with knowing you’ll need to wait a few hours before eating dinner to avoid massive indigestion as opposed to typical indigestion.  Or, re-learning how to portage after cataract surgery, because you have to dedicate more direct attention to the terrain to not trip over everything.  Or, your back absolutely kills after spending the night in a tent, regardless of the steps you take to avoid it.  Or, your knees start bothering you.  The other stuff I can deal with, but ambulatory issues are vital.  The knees were worrying me as I hobbled around the campsite.  It was bad enough I was minimizing my steps around camp and plotting out chores in advance.  After sitting a while, they stiffened up. 

I thought I’d see if there was some water in the neoprene boots or if it had all soaked into the socks as I thought.  Water poured out of the left boot, cartoon-style.  That surprised me.  I really did not think it was that much.  The right boot was not as bad.  Was this why my knees hurt so?  I figured it was one of three things.  1) Arthritis.  Except I don’t really have arthritis.  Yet.  2) Did gradual old-man loss of muscle mass in my legs cause me to rely more on tendons/ligaments than muscle?  Maybe.  3) My terrible ankles?  [Explanation required.  My ankle joints are not aligned well at all.  I am very flat-footed, and my leg connection to the foot looks like my legs are sliding off toward the instep.  A podiatrist once told me to put my shoes back on because looking at it was making him sick.]  Was the moisture in the boots causing my feet to slide off the support insoles and torquing my knees?  Probably.  Did it matter?  It was hard to imagine hobbling onward on Day 2, but it was harder to imagine hobbling 2375 meters back to the car!  I determined to press on; to find a way to make it through Day 2.  That meant I could also make it through Day 3, and I’d be leaving Day 4.  So my answer was tough it out.  Suck it up, buttercup. 
 


The Wenona Site.



More of the Wenona Site.



Even more of the Wenona Site.

The Wenona site is pretty nice, and I’ve never seen a better courtesy pile of firewood in my life or one for which I was more grateful.  Do you see that pre-split wood on the right?  I always try to leave a courtesy pile, but on this night, I just could not.  (Made up for it on the Misty campsite though).
 
Worth a mention is that this was my first trip ever using a bear vault.  This was the first night EVER that I did not have a food sack, and it was marvelous.  My most disliked of all camp chores: gone.  The hardest part is remembering where you put the bear vault….     
 
In the morning, new socks sponged up much of the remaining moisture in the neoprene boots.  The knees weren’t so bad, I just tried to go real easy on them in camp.  I knew the right knee would blossom before long.  The left knee was doing ok.  Just two carries today.  A 370 to Muslim, and a 1030 to Misty.  By the end of the 370 to Muslim, I was already grinding it out.  Just as bad as last night.  
 


The entrance to Muslim lake gave me an encounter with this brave little guy.  It bothered him not in the slightest that a canoe was put in the water right next to him.  By the way, this was a VERY froggy trip! 
 
The 1030 to Misty was about as friendly a 1030 as you will find, although in my direction it was more downhill than uphill, ordinarily a good thing, but not on these knees.  I wanted to get a campsite near the Petawawa, to get a good start on day 3. The island site nearest the Pet was open, so I grabbed it.  Two and a half hours of travel time today.  A nice respite after Day 1.  I am not always a fan of island sites, but this one?  Fantastic.  There is a broad expanse of open shoreline at the landing, the firepit area is quite nice, and there are several decent tent pads.  The thunderbox offers privacy and a commanding view.  It is a throne fit for a king.  The back of the island features a large, sloped rock, perfect for keeping an eye on the Petawawa.
 
Sadly, a previous occupant cut down a standing dead tree that was twenty feet from the fire pit.  The tree was a good 20 cm in diameter, I’m guessing 12 meters tall, and they dropped it right next to the fire pit.  Then they cut it into meter-ish long sections, cut a few branches off the bottom and left the rest right there.  Basically, you’ve have a dead pine tree, bone dry, two feet from the fire pit.  Great job.  The photos don’t suggest 12 meters in height, but there were two sections near the top that were broken off, and laid alongside the tree.  So, a cut tree and a fire hazard, all in one.  Nicely done.
 









I had no plans other than hobbling around, so I decided to cut all the branches off, pile them off to the side, and pile the log segments as well.  Here are before/after pics.  I used some of the wood but had mixed feelings about it.  The thing is, once the tree is down the wood gets used or goes to waste.
 
I should mention that my efforts did not go unpunished.  I was inattentive for a moment with the Silky saw, and just as I thought “that is not a good place to put your hand” the saw blade popped out proved me right with a puncture in my right index finger.  It was a small wound, but the blood-letting resembled a Monty Python skit (‘Tis but a scratch!).  I got blood all over everything, including both the outside and inside of my first aid kit.  Got gauze on it and stopped the bleeding within a few minutes, applied Neosporin, a band aid, and then finished up the tree.
 



Soon after, the biggest, fattest, and maybe cutest Rock Vole in all of Algonquin Park made his presence known.  I spotted his chubby little frame by my newly-formed brush pile.  He looked both ways before crossing to the fire pit as quickly as his chunky little bod would allow.  I didn’t want him to think proximity to me was good, so I said “HEY!”, which didn’t phase him at all.  He hid within the rocks of the fire pit.  Then a few minutes later, his fat little sniffy nose poked into the fire pit, and he started sneaking in there to see what the previous occupants left behind for him (they threw leftover dehydrated food in their fire.)  I scared the little guy off this time, didn’t want him to see me as a potential food source, even though I am confident he sees every bi-ped as a food source.  He didn’t get tubby by eating a sensible diet of fruits and grains, right?



Old guy on Misty.  Handsome?  You be the judge.

It has been a good 30 years since I was last on Misty, and I had forgotten just how beautiful a lake it really is.  Lovely features, and with puffy white clouds on a nice day, gorgeous.  Misty, as a destination or just passing through, is a winner every time.
 


Beautiful.  

My knees were hurting, but moving around camp kept them from tightening up, and they were feeling less terrible as the dinner hour approached.  My previously mentioned third option (wet boots allowing my bad ankle joint to torque my knee) seemed like the source.  While they felt marginally better, they left me with no desire to explore anything other than my little campsite.
 


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This brave little tree is seen off the western side of the island.  There isn't a lot of purchase for that tree to grab, but it has a pretty gold toe hold within that rockface.  I often think there are little life lessons to be learned within the natural world, and this little tree seems to offer a few.

This island was an amphibian’s paradise.  Frogs everywhere.  Moses would have been pleased.  When I stashed my food barrel, a palm-sized frog startled me, jumping out of the way as I put the barrel down.   
 
It was quite chilly overnight.  In my trip prep, I debated the Klymit air mattress vs the foam cell pad, and opted for the Klymit.  Figured it was still warm enough weather.  Nope.  Had to add a pretty heavy shirt overnight, and grit my teeth a little.  This spring I put the air mattress under the closed cell foam, which was warm and semi-preserved my back.  Should have done that here.  No matter.  I lived.  (By the way, pro tip, I find I it helpful to put a quick-dry shirt under the small of my back).
 
I figured my travels toward Jubilee on Day 3 would take around four hours.  A 935 from Misty to Little Misty, an unpleasant 830 uphill from the Petawawa to Addisons, a 140 to Moccasin, a 185 to Juan and a 400-ish into Jubilee.  Not 4 hours.  The paddle to the 935 was pretty, through a semi-creek/river area.  The take-out is quite rock-ish at the 935.  In this direction, it the carry goes uphill early and often for the first 150 meters.  After that it is a reasonable walk in the woods.  Knees were good until the downward end.
 
Little Misty is such a pretty little one-campsite lake, and was gorgeous on this day.  The lake leads up into the Petawawa River.  Water levels were good overall given the time of year, but the sloggy entrance into the 830 to Addisons could have used a few more buckets of water.  The closest I could get to solid footing put me into muck that nearly crested my left boot (no no no!!!!!!!).  Had a hard time schlopping my foot out. 




At that moment, another solo paddler was going down the Petawawa in the opposite direction, and we exchanged pleasantries.  I asked him where he was headed, and he said Jubilee.  I said “So am I!”  He said he didn’t leave himself enough to do yesterday, so he thought he’d challenge himself, and go “the long way ‘round” to Jubilee.  No kidding long way around.  9 portages.  For fun.  We encountered each other later on, so we’ll save more of that for later, but he had gone Rain-Casey-Daisy.  This day was Daisy-Jubilee the hard way, and his final day mirrored mine, Jubilee-Rain-out.  Just prior to seeing me on the Pet, he spotted an otter eating a frog.  He said he was really chewing on it, and you could see the legs sticking out.  Now that’s an image.  The otter kind of snarled at him like it was protecting its meal.  Yours, little otter guy.  Totally yours.
 
Back to me in the muck.  Knees were still unpleasant, right knee mostly, left knee not as bad, but slightly improved over Days 1 and 2.  Good news for my knees, the 830 is an uphill climb to Addisons.  Bad news for the rest of me…uphill.  I was here was in 2018 with the family, heading the other direction.  It was a log flume at the time because an hour prior we’d been caught in a ridiculous rain storm.  In that trip report, I think I wrote “it rained so hard it was difficult to imagine it was even possible”.  The portage was so log flume-ish in 2018 that I almost bit it with the canoe a couple of times, and my wife fell two or three times, cutting her hand in the process.  It was rough, but we were rewarded with two bear cubs on the Pet.  On this current trip, drier was better, but this portage definitely has a few swearable moments.  I wore a GoPro, and narrated as I panted my way through.  I reached a muck spot where I interrupted my marvelous narration because I had no idea where the trail went.  It went something like this:  “So, I can do 1000 meters in about 20 minutes, this portage is 830, so that means Holy Smokes!!!....Where’s the trail?.......I should make the top in 15-ish minutes…except I forgot to look at my watch when I started.”  Now THAT’s quality narrative.
 
This carry starts with a long a series of flat-cut log bridges, in good repair, and fortunately, this time, dry.  I have been up steeper portages, but there’s no denying the uphill aspect of this thing.  I made it through in about 18 minutes (thus sayeth the GoPro).  A quick swig of water, then back for the canoe.  Downhilll.  Knees.  I lived.
 
On Addisons, a minor miracle occurred.  I was able to skip the 140 meter portage to Moccasin by zig-zagging a bunch of deadfalls.  That left paddling Moccasin, carrying to Juan, and then over the aforementioned unpleasant 450 to Jubilee.  5 hours.  Longish day.
 
On the Juan to Jubilee portage, I spotted a mushroom that I felt was worthy of a photograph.  Recently, Steve E, a moderator for AA, shared some photos he took of mushrooms, for which he used his flashlight to enhance the lighting.  I took such a photo myself, and here it is:


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If anybody thinks they can tell the difference between my photo of a mushroom with my flashlight next to it and any of the mushroom photos that Steve took, well, I just think you're fooling yourself.  The quality of this image is undeniable.

(I spotted that mushroom, had my flashlight in my pocket, and just had to take that photo so I could make the above joke.  If you haven't seen Steve's mushroom photos, they are absolutely fantastic, whereas mine is just remarkably good.) 

On Jubilee, I paddled the length of the lake to see what sites were open.  One on the peninsula near the Sawyer portage was open, but I didn’t like it, so I passed, and instead went with the site closest to the Juan portage.  Boring site, but ok.  This turned out to be a mistake because the other solo guy I had spoken with earlier took the peninsula site I passed on, and got to see a cow moose and her calf take a swim into the lake right next to his site.  But you know what, he was such a good guy, it was his first time in Algonquin, and I was glad he got to see the moose.  I’d wish that for anyone. 
 
What EVERYBODY on that lake got to experience was a series of wolf-howling sessions at about 4:30pm.  Magnificent!  It was echoing all over the place.  Such a haunting sound.  Beautiful.  When I spoke with my new friend the next day, he was thinking he was hearing from three locations.  One in back of his site somewhere, howling to a group on the other side of the lake (opposite his site), and a third somewhere else.  I felt the third was an echo, but we decided not to have a fist fight over it.  Since 2018, I have spent a night on Rain, and two nights on Jubilee, and every time I have heard the wolves howl.  It is one of the most special moments you can be treated to.  I’m sure every four-legged critter panics at that sound, however, and perhaps that sent the moose and her calf into the water.



=20pxLate day moon reflection shot on Jubilee.


I opted for a cold breakfast on Day four, to get a jump on any wind as I headed for Rain.  My knees were remarkably improved on this day.  Not coincidentally, my boots were almost dry.  Just saying. 



Jubilee on the morning of Day 4.

Saw my new friend on the portages, and we exchanged stories about the wolves, the moose he saw, etc.  I was ahead of him and alone on Sawyers, so I took the opportunity to sing my traditional rendition of “The Loonicorn Song” (my take on the Irish Rovers “The Unicorn Song”).  He was single-carrying, and passed me on the portage to Rain.  He was well-beyond the big island when I got in the water.  His boat was a tandem that he uses as a solo.  Testament to the Curtis Nomad, I caught up to him.  Fast little boat.  But I also admit to being a man on a mission.  The last day of a trip it is hard not to have one foot in the car.   Plus, Rain Lake…..look, I know it is pretty and leads to a LOT of loops and areas around the western part of the park, but….not my favorite lake.  That is one long paddle.  It goes on forever, on and on, and the last third of it is littered with all these little false hopes of reaching the end.  It should have been called Endless Lake.  I did a time lapse of the paddle using the GoPro, and even watching that I get fooled by where I think the end of the lake is. 
 
In the end, canoe camping beats working, my knees feel fine and I might have learned something but probably not.  It was my first trip to Algonquin since the Fall of 2019, right before COVID ruined everything for everybody.  And I can’t wait until May 2022, to see what else can prevent my desired trip from Magnetawan.    



Traditional I survived shot.