If you've read one of my trip reports you already know they are always very long.  if not, make yourself comfortable, grab a snack, and enjoy.  I've included lots of pictures for skimmers.....yeah, I know you aren't all going to hang on every word!!!

This was a long-awaited trip for my buddy Don and I to take together.  We met 11 or 12 years ago, when my son got involved with Cub Scouts.  Don was the Cubmaster at the time, and was like a pied piper to the kids.  He and I struck a fast friendship, bonding over scouts, camping, being family guys and both being Eagle Scouts.  I succeeded Don as Cubmaster since I was the next sucker standing there who…..well, it turned out I had some pied piper qualities of my own.  I think we’d both agree that if you give a young kid half a chance, they’ll never disappoint you.  Kids that age are just the best. 
 
In 2016 I rekindled my canoe-tripping adventures after a 16-year layoff, and that included soloing.  Once or twice Don mentioned that if I wanted a companion,  he’d love to go.  He’s a very experienced camper, but he’d never been to Algonquin or done a portaging canoe trip.  Last year we finally got serious about finding a time to go, and settled on the last week of September 2022. (09/29 - 10/02)
 
 
Don's the old guy on the left.  I'm the old guy on the right.

My previous trip was in May 2022, and was what I’d call a “Challenge trip”.  I was travelling 5-6  hours a day, and was exhausted by the time I’d limp up to camp.  In planning the route for Don and I, I made it a point to stay more in the 3.5 – 4.5 hour per day range, which is much more manageable at least for me! I’ve got five years on that young upstart (57 vs 52).  This route shows the variety pack of what Algonquin has to offer, with a good mix of small and large lakes, some river travel, and varied portage lengths.  The longest carry was 2400+ meters, and I’m betting it was a former logging road it was so wide and level.  The weather was postcard perfect, and the leaves were at peak (or very close to it).  Gorgeous.
 
Our route:
Day 1 – Magnetatwan-Hambone-Ralph Bice-White Troute-Queer.
Day 2 – Queer-Little Misty-Misty
Day 3 – Misty-Petawawa-Daisy
Day 4 – Daisy-Acme-Hambone-Magnetawan.  
(Done in this direction to avoid facing Bice with a prevailing westerly wind).
 
Aside from Cub Scout weekenders, this was our first camping trip together.  Certainly the test of a friendship, but there were zero concerns in that regard.  Don is about the most easygoing guy you could ever meet and a solid citizen, and I like to think I’m pretty easy to get along with.  We met about a week beforehand to work out the gear.  Basically, we divided the menu, made a few decisions (his bear barrel, my stove, his cooking pot), then we swapped some stories and agreed that our lack of detailed planning would result in us carrying some redundant stuff.  As an act of mercy, I insisted that we sleep in separate quarters because I am horrible to share a tent with.  HORRIBLE.  It was for his own good.
 
We met briefly the night before the trip, mostly to get the food squared away, and then parted ways to make final preparations.  I picked up Don at 4:30am, and checked off the few remaining items on my list.  Fuel for the stove?  Yes.  Lifejacket?  Yes.  Paddle?  Yes.  What’s that thing?  A paddle.  For a kid maybe, it only comes up to your ribs and has a big crack in the blade.  Let’s stop by my house and I’ll set you up.  Donny soon had a legitimate paddle to use.
 
We made terrific time, and were in the water by about…..oooops, I have to stop here.  When Don camps, he doesn’t take his watch.  Life is governed by the clock enough with his work as a pharmacist, so he leaves that little contrivance at home.  I, on the other hand, love to know when I push off, how long a paddle took, how long a portage took, how long it took to travel that day, how long it took me to break camp, etc.  So, I had my watch, but I told Donny I would avoid telling him what time it was.  What I can tell you is that I had hoped for 3.5-4.5 hours of travel per day, and this route worked out well for that.
 
We pushed off from Magnetawan under a cloudless sky, with virtually no breeze, encouraged by a comfortable air temperature, but leaving behind a very disappointed chipmunk, who really felt he was due a little something from us. 
 
Then we had a fist fight on the first portage.  Just kidding, there was zero drama.  Mostly we spent four days making each other laugh, swapping stories and enjoying some of the same juvenile humor that sustains two guys who refuse to grow up.  The biggest argument we’ve ever had was years ago, when I insisted that a particular tree was a Tamarack and Don insisted it was a Larch.  Don’s better on tree identification than I am, so I defer to me.  It was a Tamarack and that’s that, and if he wants to fight about it he knows where I live!
 
After the Magnetawan to Hambone portage, I paused a moment to show Don the place where I fell in love with the park, which was at that end of that carry, looking out onto Hambone.  It inspired me when I first saw it at age 14, and I still think it is a magnificent view.  It is also the spot where I peed on the moose at the end of my first canoe trip (in the middle of the night, no flashlight, super-dark, never saw it, hence my AA nickname). 
 

Check out the Moosewhizzer Designs hoodie (Not a marketing ploy, this is the one and only, Moosewhizzer Designs is totally made up.  I had it custom-made a few years ago.  On the back is the image of a solo canoer and a slogan: "Until I can't".  My favorite hoodie.  Also the only one I have that fits, so....

Don had assumed we would do a two-man carry with the canoe, since that’s what his experience had been with scout canoe outings (with 800-pound Grummans), so he was a bit surprised that I carried the canoe solo from Magnetawan to Hambone.  He then carried the canoe from Hambone to Ralph Bice, and a whole new world opened up to him.  As anybody who carries a canoe for the first time learns, “hey that thing is really well-balanced!”  I use a painter on the boat, so he learned the shoulder-easing balance adjustments a painter permits.  It was probably the only new-to-him camping tip I had to share!  I’ve done more canoe trips, Don’s done way more camping.    
 
Ralph Bice in an unusual state: calm.




Ralph Bice was incredibly kind on this day.  The breeze was mild, and at our back.  Bice is a funny lake – when the weather is nice, it is a strikingly beautiful lake, but when the weather is unfavorable, it is a belligerent, tempestuous menace with which to do battle.  I made a discovery on Bice.  Don’s a pretty aggressive paddler, and with that big fat beaver tail paddle I loaned him, he was influencing the direction of the boat quite a bit.  I had my work cut out for me in the stern!  He’s also the only person I’ve ever seen he changes sides per lake.  If he was on the left side on Bice, he’d be on the right side on White Trout.  My rule in the stern is I follow whatever the bowman is doing, but yeesh!  Pride prevented me from ever recommending a switch.  The good news for me was that after a little while on one side, he’d wear down just a little, and then I was able to direct the boat a little more easily. (My paddle is a Grey Owl with just a little sliver of a blade.  I don’t use wide blades anymore, too much resistance and my elbows start to feel it.)
 
Soon after we crossed into White Trout, something pretty large surfaced right next to the boat, immediately in front of my paddle.  A loon, I guess.  Unknown, but it burst over a pretty substantial amount of water, then disappeared.  Shortly after, we were on Queer; home for the night after a drive, a decent paddle, and four pretty easy portages.  We chose Site #3 over Site #2.  Both had a nice layout and sun exposure, but Site #3 had some deeper water for Don to cast a line, and I prefer getting water from depth instead of kicking up sand in shallow water.  As we paddled between those two sites, Don spotted a trout in the water which was encouraging.  The PCI project describes Site #3 really well, and we were quite happy with it.  The following morning I walked over to see Site #2.  The PCI more or less describes this as adequate, and I guess that’s true, but I thought it was a very nice site with a particularly impressive fire pit.  Plus whomever put the “table” together there made it look like a big xylophone.
 
Here's our site on Queer:
 



Clouds = ZERO.  It was absolutely beautiful.  Kind of makes up for some other trips....

After lunch and camp chores, I nodded off in a chair while Don tried his hand casting from shore.  Upon awakening, I shot a few pics of Don casting.  The sun was opposite him, and the way the water was misting off his line looked like a fine photo op to me.  The air temperature was almost too warm with the sun facing us, but the instant it dipped behind the trees, that changed.  Our campfire was not spectacular that night, comprised of wood that had been dampened by rain earlier in the week, so we enjoyed a nice smolder.  The temps dipped overnight, but we were prepared and slept in warmth. 
 

Don caught me in my natural state, passed out in my camp chair in the late afternoon.  


The sun was opposite Don, so the sun was dancing off the water that came off his line when he cast.  Nice photo op!

Here's two old guys living large.


We awakened to a substantial amount of fog on the lake, which was soon escorted away by the sun and breeze.  An American Mink completed his morning patrol along the waters’ edge of our site.  A little later on I heard (but did not see) a Great Blue Heron.  Those birds have a remarkably unattractive call.
 
The morning fog gave way to one of my favorite pics on this trip.
 

Before we departed the site, Don pointed out something near his tent site.  It looked like a melted marshmallow that had been splapped onto the branches of a very small pine.  Some had dripped down, but most stayed on the branch.  Don was wondering if maybe it was owl crud dropped from a branch above.  I thought it was too dense for that, thinking owl crud would have been liquidy, and would only have painted the branch on the way through.  Still, I had no better suggestion.  It became known as “that white crap”.  We discussed it several times during the trip, because this was somehow important to us.  Fortunately for you, not important enough for a photo.
 
Ahead of us were our two longest carries.  A 2400+ to Little Misty, and a 900+ to Misty.  If I had ever been on the 2400 before, it was decades out of my memory, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.  Turns out it is the most gentle 2400 you can imagine: wide, level, and well-maintained. 
 
I generally carry the pack first to scout out the carry, and then take the canoe.  I did a pretty fair job of keeping up with Don as we carried the packs through.  He’s a backpacker first, and whether he is carrying a load or not, he keeps a pretty stellar pace.  I hung in there!  There’s a split-log crossing about 2/3rds of the way through.  It is solid, which is a good thing, because the consequences of a fall on this one are not “oops I fell in the muck”, it is more like “aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh….crunch”.  Probably a 2-meter drop at least.  It was dry, but I did slip out on a bit of moss near the end.  Scary.  We got off the bridge, and Don calls back “Well THAT makes you think!”  Yeah, as in wake up screaming!  So, lesson re-re-re-re-learned.  The log is dry, but that doesn’t mean you traverse the bridge inattentively.
 
Here's a photo Don took ahead of the bridge that drops into the pit of hell.  But to the left there was a really pretty pond, so there's that...


We more or less decided on splitting the canoe carry, switching at about the halfway point.  Don took the first “shift”, and down the trail he went.  I had (secretly) timed the portage, so I knew when the halfway mark would occur.  Then I discovered I couldn’t keep up with him.  I was walking at a pretty good clip, carrying NOTHING, Donny was flying, and ultimately I had to let him go.  I realized he wanted to have a go at the full carry.  This guy……he stopped at the bridge, pulled out his cell phone, and took a photo of the bridge, with the canoe balanced on his shoulders.  I caught up to him there, and when he continued on, he again left me again in his wake.  It was impressive.  We commemorated Don’s first long-carry Algonquin portage with a little GoPro movie. 
 
I’ve not stayed on Little Misty, but I’d like to some time.  It is just an incredibly pretty little lake.  While paddling toward the 900+ to Misty, I decided to regale (torture?) Don with my singing of “The Loonicorn Song”, my Algonquin tradition.  If I don’t sing it at least once on the trip, the trip doesn’t count.  I used to sing stuff like that for the Cub Scouts at their campfires, so it wasn’t the first time Don has been subjected to my vocalizations.
 
The 900+ into Misty has a few ups and downs.  It isn’t bad, but you’ve got to mind your steps on the final descent to Misty.  Don spotted a toad so large on the trail we had momentary concerns that it might consume us both, but it moved not a single muscle.  I carried the boat through, and nearly had a misadventure on the final descent down toward the water.  The bowline got knocked free by some brush while I was picking my downward steps carefully.  Suddenly I had a bowline underfoot.  Couldn’t reach it, so I had to hold the boat a little sideways and sidestep the moving-target-bowline to get down.  That caused a little muddy misstep-slip-slide in a place you don’t want to do that, but I got my footing quickly and no problem.  Don says “that was impressive.”  I ask “The stability or the instability?”  He says “the a-bility”.  This is the kind of clever linguistic interchange we enjoyed.  Jealous?
 
Here's me wearing the big green hat on the carry from Little Misty to Misty.


Here is the view toward Misty on the Misty side of the portage.  Beautiful day. 
 

This is a little island you encounter as you enter the lake.  The colors were beautiful, but I really admire the pine that dug into that island and made a home, finding purchase on a rock.  Hopefully it outlives us all right where it is.


Soon we were paddling Misty, which I’m sure you know, is gorgeous.  I mentioned to Don a few times that the site on the nearest island (#2) was a fantastic site, and although it was facing east (so we wouldn’t get sun), the west side of the island was easily accessible for watching the day go by on a nice rockface.  My hints were insufficient, and Don suggested we explore.  So, after admiring the aerial work of what we believed to be a Cooper’s Hawk, but which I now think was a Sharp-shinned Hawk, we paddled to the large island (with three sites).  The very first site we saw was a westerly site with a commanding view of a bay and the surrounding area (#6).  I’ve encountered very few sites with a view like this, and we took it.  What a fantastic site.  If I’m torn between Site #2 and Site #6…both are terrific, but I’d probably go with #6 because that cliff view is one you rarely have at a site.  Don pitched his tent up there, I went down below, nearer the firepit (and just steps away from some moose poop).

 The view from our campsite.  Can't do any better than this!






 



We gathered firewood from the mainland, and that was the difference between a very enjoyable campfire and a smolder like we had the night before.  We left plenty behind as a courtesy pile.  This trip was kind of nice from my standpoint in that the camp chore workload was shared, and that translated to me pulling out the camera more often.  It also provided the unusual circumstance of me being in a couple of the photos, and I like this one Don took of me, surveying Misty like I owned the place.  I was very pleased with the silhouette shot I got of Don at his tent.
 
By the way, I thought I was a camp-futzer, but Don can futz around with camp chores like few, and he does it with such ease.  I’m always kind of back and forth between little campy chores, but it is a little chaotic.  Don’s futzing around is futzing around with purpose.  Because, what else is there to do?   
 
We were entertained by a few loons, and a small family of Mergansers (nature’s craziest bird).  In the late afternoon I shared a couple of other Irish Rover songs with Don, “I Don’t Mind if I Do”, and “The Irish Rover”.   I was singing a lot on this trip it seemed, and poor Don was to be subjected to two additional offerings the following day!

Loons doing Loon stuff:
 

Mergansers doing Merganser stuff:


Another of my very favorite pics of this trip, a silhouette shot of Don getting gear into his tent.


The next morning we again awoke to a little fog, nothing serious.  Our intent was to get an early start, so we could (stop talking for once and) stalk moose on the Petawawa.   Don had the canoe on the 900+ this time, which enabled me to see a little further into the woods and spot this impressive fungus.
 




On Little Misty, I had to satisfy an ear worm Rovers song that had been stuck in my head since the night before (and it worked, once I sang it, the song was finally out of my head), “Liverpool Lou”.   We then stealth-paddled the lower part of the Petawawa, in hopes we might come up with a moose.  The wind was in our favor, but alas, nothing.  We pulled over a pair of beaver dams, and then stopped at the waterfall area by the first Pet-to-Pet portage for a couple of photos, and got on our way.  On the way to the second Pet-to-Pet portage, we pulled over another pair of beaver dams, and came pretty close to dumping the boat.  Somebody, not naming names, knocked his own baseball cap off with his top hand while paddling, it plunked into the river, and in a reflex moment, that individual made an ill-advised reach for it.  He checked himself in time, realizing the potential (the boat rocked severely, and the sternman knelt forward and lowered to brace the boat), then the brave and able sternman made the grab and retrieved the hat.  As we departed the second Pet-to-Pet portage, I entertained one last time with my favorite Irish Rover song, “The First Love in Life” (about a rogue drunkard whose first love in life is whiskey).  “To worry for riches I’m never inclined, for the greatest of misers must leave them behind.” 
 
It might seem odd for me to sing Irish Rover songs in the middle of nowhere, and I get that, but to me they are terrific camp songs. There are nearly 20 I can just sing off the top of my head, and I enjoy singing them when I’m camping, alone or not.  I try not to be a pest; I don’t belt out songs at night when campers are enjoying a quiet evening, in fact I typically only do it when there’s nobody around.  Mostly these are paddling songs to me, though it is VERY hard to control your breath when you paddle and sing.
 
Pics from the first of the two Pet-to-Pet portages.  
 





 

We arrived on Daisy in good shape, although the wind was kicking up.  Somebody we encountered said the wind was expected to change direction this day, and start coming from the east.  We certainly noticed when it happened on the Petawawa, and the breeze had quite a chill to it.  Fortunately, it was largely behind us on Daisy.  We passed on the first site, a small island site (#2), though I’d like to try that one someday.  A few others were occupied, including the sunny-sided site on the big island.  We decided to try our luck with the last two, furthest west.  The last one was taken (#7), the closer one was not (#6), so we pulled up there.  It is a very nice site with good water access and a nice open area.  It did not provide any late afternoon sun to speak of, but it did provide reasonable wind block from what was becoming a pretty unpleasant gusty breeze.
 
While approaching this site, we spotted three canoes in a party heading the opposite direction.  They were struggling to keep the canoes pointed in the right direction against the wind.  It was pretty clear they didn’t have a great deal of experience, so I was just hoping they’d get wherever they were going without issue.  Later on, a party went past, looking for a site.  We knew they’d find our site and the neighboring one full, and debated offering them a place for the night, but that debate occurred too late.  They apparently decided to bag it when they saw the furthest site was taken, heading across Daisy toward the portage to Acme.  A little while later, another boat came by in search of a site.  We concluded that if they returned our way, we’d offer them to stay with us.  We weren’t sure there were any sites open, and speculated that some parties might be traveling off permit.  It was probably 5:30 when they went by, a bit late in the day to be searching.  They did go by us again, so we made the offer.  They declined, and were planning to return to another site they had seen open.  We kept the offer open for them, but they did not return, so I guess they found a site.
 
Fall colors from our site.
 

Don spotted these red fungi on a dead tree.  (They were already detached from the tree).  I guess he figured they would make good ears.  Somebody contact Van Gogh.
 



Cloud cover had gotten noticeable during the day, but the skies were clear again by dusk.  The breeze slowed but never fully died down, so it was a bit chilly in camp.  Firewood was pretty scarce, but we cobbled enough together for a fire and a courtesy pile.  We let the fire run a little longer this night, our last, and swapped story after story with one another.  We don’t see each other very often, so we had a lot of entertainments to share.  The real beauty of a trip like this is that it allows two friends to sit and share not-edited-for-time versions of great stories.  Sometimes it is nice to have a camping companion. 
 
I packed out a duct-tape bucket from this site so it wouldn’t spend eternity decomposing there, and a cheapee fish-grilling basket that was left behind.  It was encouraging and refreshing to me that the ONLY junk we found left behind on this trip were these two items.  The only camper-induced damage we noticed was a white birch with circles of the bark torn off.  Really hate to see that, but it is very common. 
 
We awoke on Day 4 to a decent wind, so no fog.  It wasn’t bad, but we didn’t cool our heels getting out of there.  Daisy isn’t the biggest lake in the park, but the wind can certainly whip up the water, and we didn’t want to find ourselves broadside to nasty if we could help it.  Our paddle across Daisy wasn’t bad at all, and we made the portage to Acme quickly.  On the Acme side, we encountered a party of three, each in kayaks, day-tripping.  They really seemed unprepared for the cold wind they were facing, and for the waves they were about to face.  I was a little worried for them, but figured they’d turn back when things got choppy.  They were just starting to carry the kayaks across as we were departing.  One person on each end, for 400 meters.  Three times.  Hopefully they did ok.
 
Paddling across Daisy - before the wind picked up.  By the time we were packing the car, people were arriving with their stories of Bice.


We crossed Acme very quickly.  I feel bad for Acme every time I paddle it.  No campsites, which I’m sure flora and fauna alike appreciate, but the little lake becomes an unappreciated bypass.  Next time you’re there, take a look around, because it is a pretty lake.  From there, it was a quick and windy jaunt across Hambone and Magnetawan.  The remarkable thing was that (with only one exception, and for only a few minutes), we had the wind behind us the entire trip.  I felt like buying a lottery ticket. 
 
We encountered a couple of gents on the last portage, and one agreed to take our “we survived” photo at the access point.  So now you know what a photo looks like when a professional photographer uses a 25-year-old SLR point-and-shoot camera.  Not bad!  (Thanks again!!)
 
Here's the pic of the two paddles that made the journey and the two guys who carried them along the way.  Another of my favorites on the trip.  The gent took four photos of us, and as is often the case, the first one was the best one.
 

I’m starting to develop a history with Daisy.  My dad and I stayed on site #5 on the only camping trip we ever took together back in the early 1990’s.  We saw a momma moose with her calf on the carry from Daisy to Acme – the only moose dad ever saw (he’s 90 and in skilled nursing now).  In 2018 my family (plus my daughter’s best friend) stayed on the #4 island site, where the best friend took a photo of our family that we used as a Christmas photo.  On a solo trip in 2018 or 2019 I stayed on Site #6, after having a Bald Eagle fly just a few meters over the boat as I exited the Casey portage to Daisy, and now in 2022, with Don on this trip.   He was impressed that I have a memory for this kind of thing and that I can remember features of portages.  It surprises me as well, but there’s something about these trips, the moments, the battery recharge that canoe tripping provides, that just sticks those things in my memory banks.  I pointed out a small dead tree on the Petawawa saying I “thought” that was where we had seen bear cubs climb in 2018.  In truth, I knew for sure that was the tree, I just felt funny saying that.  Part of the recall is attributable to writing up trip reports and reinforcing the memory.  But there’s something special about the park that just stays in your head and fosters your memories.  Anyway, now I can add a very enjoyable visit with Don to the memory list for Daisy.
 
The weather forecast we had going in was spot on.  No rain, daytime highs ranged from 15-17C (59-63F), overnight lows around 1-5C (34-41F).  The wind was indecently minimal for the first three days, and manageable the morning of the fourth.  To ask for anything better would be greedy.

Here is the grand total list of our wildlife and fungi encounters…in order.  It isn’t super-exciting, but far more than we’d have seen staying at home!  Always look for the interesting little things in the park!

1 - Turkey (on the drive in) – in the fields by the access road entrance.
2 - An incredibly bold Easterm Chipmunk at the Magnetawan access point.
3 - An incredibly bold American Red Squirrel at the Queer campsite.
4 - A trout of some kind.
5 - A Wolf Spider that thought Don’s shin was a  good place to rest.  (Don had multiple spiders getting on his face this trip, very entertaining).
6 - A daring little White-footed Mouse who hung out inside the hollowed log “table” of the Queer campsite, who tried a daytime heist of Don’s zip-lock bag of venison jerky but only managed to get a hole in the bag before we found him out.
7 - An American Mink.
8 - That White Crap.
9 - Black-capped Chickadees.
10 - The Great Blue Heron (heard one on Day 2, saw one on Day 3).
11 - An American Dagger caterpillar.  I used a stick to move it into the brush, that’s a caterpillar to be careful with.
12 - Fattest American Toad ever witnessed.
13 - A Sharp-shinned Hawk (probably).
14 - Common Loons who, for some reason, were quiet overnight.
15 - A family of Common Mergansers.
16 - Some weird white fungus on a tree.
17 - Some weird red fungus on a tree (they had already fallen off when Don posed with them)
18 - Ruffed Grouse – bravely standing on the side of the access road as we exited.
19 - Whitetail Deer – in the field opposite the access road entrance.      

Last edited by MooseWhizzer Dave (10/08/2022 9:00 pm)