As always, a VERY long trip report, fair warning.  But lots of pictures, and some level of entertainment.

This trip was a loop that had me visiting lakes (and ideally campsites) that were noteworthy to me on trips I took in the late 80’s and early 90’s.  The route was:

Day 1: Rain-Daisy   Day 2: Daisy-Bandit   Day 3: Bandit-Islet  Day 4: Islet-Rain-out.

Squeezing this trip in was rough.  Our family schedule from 8/1 -  9/30 was absurd.  Vacation, kids to college, prep dad’s vacation house for sale, temporary crown on a molar, squeeze in 4 day canoe trip, close on dad’s house, close on purchase of home we’re buying, lots of donating, storage unit fun, carrying, lifting, rental trucks, finances, insurance, attorneys, realtors. Laid down about 6,200 Km in 60 days.   It was hard to fit a canoe trip in, but I had to cancel my May trip, so it was this or nothing for 2023.

A few days before the trip, I started running water through the Gravity Platypus to make sure all was well.  It wasn’t.  Barely a trickle, even after working with it for a while.  Great product, but I grow tired of fighting it.  Found a filter online.  Great news!  Amazon had one supplier with replacement filters!  $92!  What a deal!  In Japan!  Fantastic!  Arrives late October!  Even better!!       So….I bought a whole new Gravity Platypus for $112, it arrived while I was doing my final packing.  Yaaay.

At the Rain access point, I had my favorite moment of indecision – clothing.  Didn’t trust the forecast.  It was coldish and windy-ish, so in a weak moment I put an extra stuff sack of warmer clothes in the pack, and a sleeping bag liner.  Did not use any of it.  Might as well have carried rocks around.  The weight of the pack went from 44 pounds to over 50 for sure, and I paid for that extra 15%.  All because I couldn’t leave my good buddy “Justin Case” at home.  Not a proud moment.  I carried the weight of real estate transactions and extra clothing with me, and it altered my mood a bit.  (When I returned home, I created a VERY detailed list of clothing for my trips, from which I will not vary, and that should end my constant indecision on the topic.)
 
Day 1: Rain-Daisy
Between my schedule and Daisy’s schedule, Daisy had to be Day 1, and for the other lakes involved, Rain had to be the access point.  So, I left Buffalo at 4:30am, got on Rain about 11:00am, with a decent paddle and a 1300m and 1200m waiting for me.  That’s quite a bit of in-park travel after the drive (since I double-carry), but...day 1. 

It was overcast, but the temperatures improved and there was little wind.  On the carry from Casey to Daisy, I scared up a Ruffed Grouse.  To me, this is one of the cooler birds in the park…but then I think every bird is cool.  I never saw this bird, and walked right past it.  It lost its nerve after I went past, and flew off into the woods.  Some birds are silent in flight; not the Ruffed Grouse.  Scared the ever-living bejeepiters out of me. (Last time I entered Daisy from here a Bald Eagle flew over the canoe.  Awesome sighting). 

I was hoping for Site 5, but it was taken.  Took Site 3, on the side of the island.  Site 3 was fine for a small party.  The firepit area was kind of worn out.  



Nostalgia: Earlier this year, I posted that I lost my dad in January at age 91.  We only ever took one camping trip together, around 1991 in the Fall, and our first night we stayed on Site 5.  The trip was a last minute thing when a buddy of mine bailed, and with little notice, dad agreed to go.  Day 1 was fine, but it rained overnight, and then continuously for 36 hours.  On this site, dad’s sleeping bag got soaked (my fault – bad location), but he didn’t mention it until the following night, and even then it was a casual mention to spare me guilt.  On Day 2, we went to Misty; a long day with continuous rain and drizzle, and a 72 pound aluminum Grumman wilderness battleship.  At that time, you could see a campsite on the island from the portage (no longer a campsite).  We stayed there.  I was unable to get a fire started which is a story of its own.  When morning came and the rain continued, we’d had enough, and decided to head out, so we went all the way to Magnetawan.  I didn’t realize until the carry from Daisy to Acme, but there was mud plugging the back end of the canoe, so a LOT of water was trapped under the deck.  Crazy heavy and unbalanced.  On that carry, we encountered a moose and her calf.  At Mag….as the rain let up….we encountered two couples from Poland, who had gotten out at Mag thinking Tim was close by…they needed a ride to get their car at Tim.  So, dad and I, with two Polish guys in the back seat, drove off, and encountered a bear on the access road.  The only moose and bear dad ever saw.  It was a rough trip with the rain, etc., but the animals, the Polish couples, and a host of other things….a very cherished memory.  I’m so glad that trip happened.   

2023: Maybe it was a good thing Site 5 was taken.  I would have been in difficulty trying to sleep in the space I once shared with dad.  But the gents there were kind enough to help me with a photo I’ll share the pic at the end of this report (with some irony to go with it!)

Fun fact.  Day 1 and I was already having to backflush the brand new Gravity Platypus to keep it running in reasonable fashion.  Who knew Daisy was so silty?  Spotted this spider web near the thunderbox, at face height.  Lucky I didn't walk right into it.



Small fire that night, got to bed around 9:30 (and did not roll out of the tent until 7:30am.)  It was pretty warm in the tent.  Thank goodness I brought that extra gear, otherwise I wouldn’t have….had stuff to leave outside in my backpack three nights in a row.  For a while, I laid atop of the sleeping bag in light clothing, and as the evening cooled I added clothes.  All in all a comfy night on a flat tent pad.  (Used a Klymit air mattress with a foam core pad on top of it).
 
Day 2: Daisy to Bandit
This was a longer day than I expected, guess I can’t do math.  6 hours is more than I like to do anymore, yet I keep sneaking those longer days in there.  Will I ever learn?  No.

The early part of this day looked like a postcard.  The sun burned off the fog very quickly, giving way to a cloudless, rich, deep blue sky, and Daisy was a mirror. I felt a twinge of guilt disturbing the water with the boat and blade. 

Here's the view from the site with fog, followed by a photo taken about a half an hour later.  What a difference!



The reflection of the sun dancing off the water was obliterating my right eye, and there wasn’t much do but turn my head.  Still, if that’s your biggest complaint, you have no complaints.  These quiet, still, purposeful moments of solitude are a lot of the reason I love Algonquin.  Even on a populated lake you can still have moments like this.  I chased the remaining fog as I made my way; first, a shorty from Daisy to the Petawawa, followed by a few beaver dams on my way to the second portage, including one really impressive dam.

First view of the Petawawa:


A beauty of a beaver dam.  The drop in water level was considerable:


Substantial chewings on a thick log segment.  Incredible animals.


The view from the other side:


It always amazes me that you can stand on top of those things.  But if you’re anything like me, you worry that 1) you’re going to lose your grip on the boat and watch it drift away downsteam (Wait!  Come back!), 2) get a foot tangled up in the dam, tumble and end up head down in the water, unable to free your foot (scary!), 3) slide off the dam into the drink, or 4) all of the above.

The second carry was a 400-something meter Pet-to-Pet.  I do not like this portage.  We have a history.  (In 2018, I stepped down into a puddle thinking it was a puddle, but discovered it was a bathtub deeper than my knees while carrying a canoe.  Portage’s planned attack. That trip was the first with our Novacraft Pal, for which we traded in my beloved Merrimack, and when I picked it up to move it from water’s edge, I stumbled and ended up on my backside with the canoe on my lap.  I told the boat “The Merrimack would never have done that.”  Had to set the tone with the Novacraft. The portage was so flooded I lost sight of the trail and floated the boat through an area in water up to my thighs, only to discover where the trail was on my return walk.  So…yeah….I could be smarter, but THAT isn’t going to happen, so I blame the portage.) 

On the second leg of the Petawawa, I had a repeated encounter with a Great Blue Heron.  Herons and waterfowl in general have a habit of flying further ahead of whatever scares them.  So, I’d encounter this bird, he’d take off, land around the next curve, then get scared and fly off again.  I took a photo or two at first, then tried to get past it without scaring it, which was impossible.  It must have flown ahead of me eight times.  Just fly behind me and you’ll be left in peace!



My river travel came to an end at the 880 nasty to Addisons Pond.  (in Jeff’s Maps, Addisons Pond.  On the official map, Moccasin).  I’ve done this portage a few times, and it is never a treat.  The goal when landing on the Pet side to not immediately sink up to your backside in muck.  Then a fairly long split-log bridge to get to terra firma.  Then a rather ceaseless uphill, but not before a large rock-hop muck area that is always wet, and rude if it has rained recently, which it had.



The entrance to Addison’s Pond is memorable.  The water looks shallow, but you’ll find out it isn’t if you step in, so you pretty much step down into the boat and experience all the initial instability that a narrow solo canoe has to offer, while frogs escape the drama.  Then you experience something that I find unique to Addisons.  An echo chamber.  Any sound you make, no matter how quiet you try to be, bounces off the surrounding area and rockets back to you with an immediacy that is jarring and far louder than you would ever expect.  Every little sound produced is amplified, sharp, and all around.  I can’t think of any other area where I’ve experienced that level of feedback echo.  Fascinating stuff.  As I paddled through, the largest sea monster in history burst out of the water near the boat and splashed back down.  Or a large fish.  Unclear.  But the splash was tremendous.  Here is Addisons:



Next up is a portage from Addisons to Moccasin (…or Moccasin to Moccasin…).  It is a shorty to clear a rocky/deadfall area in a narrows.  You can skip this portage no problem unless the water levels are really down.

One of these days I’m going to stay on Moccasin and explore it.  There are so many interesting features, and only two campsites, so you can get some solitude paddling around.  On this day, I was thru-paddling to Bandit, so one more carry to go.  On that carry, I encountered a party of six coming the other way.  Looked like two parents with their mostly adult children and maybe a son- or daughter-in-law.  The first one I saw was the dad, carrying a canoe and unaware of my presence, so I gave way on the trail. I think he was singing a goofy song or joking with his wife behind him, because the first thing I heard him say was “Everybody!!!”, like a polka band leader trying to get the audience to sing along. 

Then tragedy struck.  You might think I’m exaggerating, and maybe I am….but I’m not.   I immediately got an ear worm for the rest of the trip from his saying “Everybody!!!”, and the song was “Roll Out The Barrel.”  The chief problems with this ear worm are that it is short, catchy, and as it turns out, extraordinarily difficult to remove from the mental playlist.  “Roll out the barrel….we’ll have a barrel of fun…..roll out the barrel….we’ll have a barrel of fun….”  That’s all I could remember, but I THINK that’s all there is TO it, and that only gets you so many steps before you’re repeating it.  That’s a tough ear worm, and very contagious.  I bet you are already repeating the song in your head.  Trust me, you’re going to be doing that for a while.

Welcome to Bandit Lake!  We’ll have a barrel of fun!!!   Snagged some firewood at the end of the carry.


Nostalgia: Jim O. and I took a trip together in the late 80’s or early 90’s, and the trip started off with an oops.  I got us lost on the drive, so we got in the water very late.  There weren’t lake-specific reservations back then, but our plan was to reach Misty from Magnetawan.  That’s a pretty long day if you ask me, and we were doing it the youthfully foolish way; up late packing the night before, in the car at maybe 3am, wrong turn, getting in the water around noon I guess, then finding that campsites were taken.  I recall the site on Little Misty was taken, so we pressed on to Misty.  We saw no open sites, and were left with the choice of paddling the entirety of Misty to see if a site was open, OR, heading up through Muslim (where there is no site), to Bandit (where there are two.)  It was a tough choice.  It was late in the day, the sun was descending, and we were tired.  We headed toward Muslim.  That’s a long carry to reach a lake with no campsite, but we did it, and then on to Bandit.  We decided if both Bandit sites were taken, we’d camp on the portage trail.  On Bandit, the island site (Site 1) was taken, but the little peninsula site (Site 2) was open.  I was never more grateful for a campsite.  In my youth, I paid zero attention to exhaustion and dehydration, but I was both, and felt miserable.  That evening, I kept hallucinating deer bounding all over this little clearing that was visible from the campsite.  Jim kept confirming they were not there.  The following morning, I was just wiped out.  We stayed on Bandit that day as a result.  The third day was better and moved on, but I’ve always felt a debt of gratitude to Bandit Lake, the little lake that took us in during our time of need.

2023:  Both sites were open.  My plan was to take the same site Jim and I had used, but as I approached, I decided on the island site.  My memory is plagued by retaining useless information, and I recalled back then Jim and I thought that the island site was the better one.  So, in 2023, I took the island site on behalf of our youthful selves.  But I did visit the peninsula site. 

The peninsula site is pretty nice.  The fire pit is close to the water’s edge, and there were some decent tent pads.  The thunderbox was atop this little hill near the site that had a commanding view.  There were great tent pads all around it, but I don’t think I’d want a tent in immediacy to a thunderbox. 

Here's a shot from the peninsula site, viewing the area where I hallucinated deer 30 something years ago.


The layout of the island site is wide open.  Tent pads all over the place.  The firepit overlooks kind of a bluff.  The immediate view is of a rocky outcropping with large trees that have survived ages with their roots clinging well into the rock. Here's the view from the site:



I noticed this little guy near where I pulled out the canoe.  You’ll notice a leech behind, which was very interested in the frog, and kept trying to get on it, but the frog wasn’t having it and kept moving away.  It never occurred to me that a leech would pursue a frog, but I guess blood is blood, or the leech wanted to try some amphibian blood.  Wish I'd had the GoPro in my hand at the time it was interesting to watch the leech move on the frog a couple times.


There was a bag that had blown out of the firepit that initially looked like a dehydrated food pouch.  Instead, it was an indication that Beavis and Butthead had stayed there before me.  It was an empty pouch of weed.  How nice.  Personally, I’m not a fan, and I’m especially not a fan of “Duuuuuude, mom’s not here in Algonquin…..we should get totally baked….”  There was also an empty sleeve or whatever of the rolling paper they used, AND, possibly best of all, a re-sealed food pouch of what they didn’t eat, which was at least half full. 



I was displeased about the weed pouch, so I started quick fire to dispatch it.  The pouch burned up fast, the stink was gone quickly, but the food pouch…..  I was not about to open it up to see what else might be in there, and I certainly wasn’t going to pack out somebody’s gross wet leftover food, so I figured I’d burn that too.  That wasn’t a great choice, but I didn’t feel like there were dozens of options at my disposal.  I just knew I wasn’t leaving it there to attract animals large and small.  Except those don’t burn well.  So when I burned the weed pouch, all I really did was grill that food up, sending the inviting scent of potatoes, eggs, sausage, and peppers wafting gently across the water and into the forest.   (That evening I had a focused campfire specifically intended to burn the ever-living crud out of the previous occupants gross re-sealed uneaten food.  There wasn’t much left by the time I was done, but I could smell that food in my clothing that whole night.  Yay!)

It had been a long day, so I was ready to sit and enjoy the last hour of sunlight.  The mosquitoes were too, but I dissuaded them with some deet.  Water bugs were all over, and fish were surfacing near the campsite.  The frog and the leech made their peace (I’m assuming).  Then the blue jays (or grey jays?) got going across the lake from my site.  I spotted 8 or 9 individuals as they prepared to roost for the night.  Those birds are remarkable in that they never shut up.  They yell at each other all day long, and then as the sun falls, they yell more.  They reminded me of two hockey players with the routine of having to be the last one to tap a goalpost before heading into the dressing room; they both keep circling back and tapping the post until somebody intervenes and makes them stop.  Those jays….each one of them wanted to be the last one to yell before the sun went down.

The tent was warm again this evening.  This time I wore my usual nighttime clothing, and just kept flipping the sleeping bag open/shut as the night wore on.  At a point in time I stepped out to attend to the normal reason one has to get out of bed overnight, and when I returned I was treated to one of my very favorite sounds of the forest.  A Barred Owl near Site 2 giving its very best “Who cooks for youuuuuu?” call.  That’s just a really, really special thing.  I love hearing them, even when they keep me awake.  You know you are in the presence of aviary greatness when you hear an owl.  I could lay awake forever listening to that, and was in no hurry to drift back to sleep.

Day 3 – Bandit to Islet
This leg of the journey held the longest portage of the trip.  A 2120 from Cranebill to Islet.  It was something I was/wasn’t looking forward to.  It is always kind of nice to test your mettle, but nobody ever woke up excited about a long carry.

My usual breakfast turned into a NOPE.  Oatmeal with Maple/Brown Sugar, a cereal bar of some kind, and….a cup of Tang.  If I’m not enjoying some Tang sludge in the morning, it ain’t camping.  But there was a problem.  I added water to my oatmeal, and two dead granary weevils floated up to the top.  NOPE. 

I’m sure that two dead granary weevils won’t hurt you, but gross they are.  (I looked them up at home.  They exist worldwide, but ONLY occur in storage – oats, flour, etc.  They are not found on plants.  Ever.  They adapted to rely upon the need humans have to store granary items.  Fascinating stuff.)  I’m sure they provide quite a challenge to grain producers.  I substituted a few handfuls of trail mix for my oatmeal.  The breakfast of chumpions.

Then I was on my way.  Some light puffy clouds had moved in overnight, mixed with a marvelously blue sky.  I paddled around the side of the island I hadn’t seen the day before, and bid farewell to Bandit Lake, thanking it for the kind hospitality the previous night and so many years ago.  Bandit gave me a Barred Owl.  Thank you.

As I came off the 400-something into Moccasin, I briefly forgot there was another 400-something from Moccasin to Cranebill, but I was soon on it, then on Cranebill.  Cranebill is a good-sized lake, with only one (low maintenance) campsite.  It was a pretty morning and I was just paddling the length of the lake, so I figured this was a good time to burst forth in song with my traditional rendition of “The Loonicorn Song” (the Irish Rover’s Unicorn song, just swapping out Unicorns for Loonicorns, and it happened that there was a loon nearby).  The loon did not appreciate my melodious crooning, and covered his ears by sticking his head in the water.



And just a moment after I wrapped up my beautiful rendition, I passed the low-maintenance campsite.  Occupied.  They didn’t say anything or even look over.  Probably the kindest reaction they could offer, and clear evidence that they heard my caterwalling.

The 2120 had a start that immediately informed of its’ ill intent.  A narrow entry point that goes steeply uphill over roots to what passes for a landing where you can stage stuff.  



I did this carry a long, long time ago, but no memory of what to expect.  As it turns out, the chief thing that gets you on this one is the distance.  There are three or four water crossings, two of which require steep drops down to the water, where rock-hopping is required, then back uphill on the other side.  Those were pretty miserable, and on the uphill coming out of one my ear worm was playing “we’ll have a barrel of fun….”.  But really, the main thing is the distance.  And the too-heavy pack because Justin Case. 

So, old man, heavy pack, distance….it takes the starch out of your shirt.  And “Roll out the barrel” just kept on rolling.  I rested with the pack twice, but did not set it down.  I bent at the waist, puffed to a count of 30, then got going again.  I don’t like resting on portages, and don’t set the pack down if I can help it.  This resting method worked pretty well.  It took me 45 minutes to cross.  I dropped the pack, spotted a moose femur (I guess) and pelvic bone (pretty sure), and thought “the moose didn’t make it either”.



When you reach the end of a long carry, you should be rewarded with a picturesque area.  I was rewarded with a marsh pit.  All lily pads.  Not like Club Lake, which is carpeted in lily pads, but enough to make the point.  Lily pads can be pretty and a couple of my photos I think convey that, but still….you do a carry of that length, you should get a visual reward.  This was not it.

Anyway, I took a look at the bones, contemplated the futility of it all, took a slug of water, then returned for the boat.  40-ish minutes and a lot of renditions of Roll Out The Barrel later I was under the boat, and on the way back.  I can carry the canoe a couple thousand meters without resting, but today I promised myself I would rest every 15 minutes.  I just wanted to cut myself a little break so I wouldn’t exhaust myself.  It probably took 50-55 minutes to cross, and the rests definitely helped preserve some energy, sanity, and mood.  

Getting in the water was entertaining….well, it would have been entertaining for an observer….I got in the boat thinking I had plenty of water under the boat when in fact I did not.  A decent amount of paddle-muck-pushing was required.  Once I did get out onto marshy-side Islet, it was pretty, but the next was carry dead ahead.  Jeff’s Map says it is only 45 meters or whatever, but plan on 30 minutes because it is so steep.  Jeff’s map is just full of accurate little tidbits.      




Actually, I did not see the portage.  Instead, I headed for a split-log bridge thinking that was the carry.  Ages ago, the land mass now in front of me was built up as a road or a train bridge.  The bridge section is now gone, and the pathway is a hiking trail.  Beneath where the bridge was, is a split-log bridge crossing the water at just about water level.  I was heading for that little split-log bridge thinking it was the portage. 

So, behind me was marshy-side Islet, lily pads and all.  In front of me was lakey-side Islet, with downed logs everywhere.  If anybody ever thought “I’ll skip the portage and work my way across these 50 or 60 giant logs laying here in the water and muck”, I’m betting it did not go very well.  On the left and right of the split-log bridge were the support remnants of the old bridge that is long gone. 

As I struggled like a newbie to get the boat positioned next to the log bridge (bow and stern were caught up in floating deadfalls), a couple passed by from the left.  When I got situated, and scouted out the carry, a larger hiking group of 4-5 teen boys and a couple of the boys’ dads came through and rested.  Then a guy on a bike showed up with his dog.  I was portaging in between parties.  Triple carried this one.  Lifejacket and paddles first, basically to scout it out, then the pack, then the boat.    

The hiking trail goes up the side of the surviving bridge supports to the top of the ridge where the trail continues.  The climb includes a tight S-curve past a big chunk of rusty angle iron sticking straight out into the trail, patiently awaiting legs, arms, and gear.  Once at the top, the view of lakey-side Islet improves, and only the downhill carry remains, which is a wide area of loose soil/sand.  “Steep” is a word you could safely use to describe it.  When I carried my backpack, with an audience, I huffed and puffed my way past the angle iron, then slid my backpack down, concerned that I might otherwise slide and tumble down.  Worked out well enough.  The boat was just as interesting.  It was so steep coming out of the S-curve (past the angle iron) that the bow was almost resting on the top of the trail.  Good times.  As I walked toward the down-side, the dad’s called out to the boys to “give way to the gentleman” (and I was thinking “who?”), and they did, but I’m sure they enjoyed the side show of a bald guy trying to kill himself.  On the down-side, I held the boat like you do when you are taking it out of the water to set it down.  Didn’t want it on my head in the event I took a spill.  The leader-dad asked me how much the canoe weighed, and I told him about 38 pounds.  He said his kayak weighed that much, and he couldn’t imagine portaging it around.  I assured him this was pretty light for a canoe, and could not help but think of Uppa and his many kayaking adventures.   

On one of my passes, I saw the real portage I should have taken out of marshy-side Islet.  I’m glad I missed it.  There were at least some footholds coming up the way I did.  The real portage from marshy-side Islet is straight up, sandy/soil, no footholds, no nothing.  Ten or so meters with a consistent angle of 50 degrees or more.  Nope.

Nostalgia:  Thirty years ago I went up and over with my friend Tom P., back when we were young and dumb.  We took the first available site on Islet (Site 1), which has a fabulous and flat rock outcropping for a front porch.  We spent the late afternoon paddling the lake.  On the opposite shore, we spotted the complete skeleton of a buck with a 6-point rack.  It was in a little depression maybe ten meters from the waters’ edge.  It perished there, and was not predated sufficiently to disturb the skeleton.  Amazing.  Back at our campsite, Tom pulled out a snack he’d been saving for our last night, which he called Scooby-poo or Snoopy-poo, whichever dog you prefer I guess.  He had melted some chocolate, put peanuts, sunflower seeds, sesame seeds, etc., in it, and formed the pieces into the shape of dog poo.  Lovely.  So, we enjoyed a snack of dog poo that evening.

2023: I was delighted to get the same campsite. Is this a front porch view or is this a front porch view??


It had two flat, split log benches for seating that were fastened to large diameter round log segments on the ends.  The two benches had been placed one atop the other, forming shelves.  It was very handy for cooking, keeping tinder out of the weather, and storing odds and ends.  Looking up, there was a huge dead tree that was missing the top half.  At some point the top half of that tree fell to the ground and sourced these two benches. Here's the tree where the benches came from and an over-the-head view of me having lunch.  One of these photos shows the stacked benches, but kind of hard to see.  Here's everybody's opportunity to see what junk I carry around I guess!






Some old guy:


A visitor on my canoe.  Helped him find a better place to hang out in the bushes.


The thunderbox view looked off far into the woods through a grove of saplings/young trees.  I prefer a room with a view for my visits to the necessary, and find it a unique and semi-enjoyable feature of camping.  We should always be able to attend to our business in such splendor.  Except I did evict a spider who elected to use part of the hole to construct his web.  I didn’t feel an audience was necessary, especially one who might take a tender bite out of me if he found that what his web was catching was not to his liking.  But what a view!  (If the photo comes out sideways, I'll just point out that the thunderbox was its traditional upright position, as were the trees.



Did not sleep well.  Went to bed too early (huge mistake), plus hot in the tent, plus thinking about the following morning.  Did hear another owl overnight, plus….I’m not sure what the other thing was I heard.  Sounded almost like barking, I figured it was an owl, or some evil devil dog from hell waiting to tear the flesh from my bones.  Either way.

Day 4: Islet-Rain-Out
It seems the creature was not an evil devil dog from hell waiting to tear the flesh from my bones, or if it was, it felt the trip was too distant to bother with the likes of me.

This campsite is the closest to the Islet to Hot lake portage.  That carry isn’t memorable, just rocky on the Islet site and with a deep-water entrance on the Hot side.  Hot Lake is a crossover lake.  There’s no campsite, it is just a go-between, which is a shame because it is a nice-looking lake worthy of exploration.  Kind of like Acme between Daisy and Hambone.

The carry from Hot to Rain is a different story.  Everything is cool (except a large muck section) until you reach Rain Lake.  The trail crosses the same hiking trail that separates marshy-side Islet from lakey-side Islet, and that means a steep drop down to Rain; so steep, in fact, that steps…more or less…have been placed there.  They are eroding away, so it is a scramble to get to the bottom in one piece.  So, 760 meters of nothing special (muck spot excepted), 10 meters of “we’re doing this?  Ok.”

Photos do not do the steepness of this justice.  I didn't take still pics of the Marshy-side-Islet to Lakey-side-Islet portage, but it was similar to this, just no steps.


People were still sleeping/lounging on Rain.  There was one other canoe on the water, a tandem with a younger couple who were paddling out.  I was catching up to them gradually, since she was paddling off and on as they chatted.  They weren’t aware of me as I got closer so I tried to make some noise in order not to startle them, but it didn’t work, and as I got closer I heard him say to her “You can paddle AND talk.”  (Good one!)  We fell into conversation; nice couple.  He asked if I had seen the otters a few moments earlier, and I was embarrassed to say I had not.  He said they were pretty playful, so I guess I missed out.  I’m usually very observant, and keep an eye on the shoreline, but was keeping my eyes on one shoreline more than the other, so I’ll see the otters next time.

Here's my "I survived" photo, taken by the couple I encountered on the paddle out.


The access point was the end of the line, but not the end of adventure.  On the access road I had to stop twice for road crews who were clearing brush, and then further on had to stop and wait for a Ruffed Grouse to get off the road.  Slowest walk you’ve ever seen.  It was like a kid walking down the driveway to get on the bus for the first day of school.  Thus endeth the canoe trip.


Here’s the photo with dad I promised.  I had a picture of dad leaning against a tree on Daisy Site 5, and the gents there took a photo of me leaning against the same tree, in the same pose, on the opposite side.  My thought was to photoshop the images together, so dad and I would be in a portrait together, distanced only by years.  I love this image.  Makes me feel like we’re right there together.  Two interesting things about the photo.  Dad was in his late 50’s at that time.  I’m 58.  So it is interesting to see us about the same age.  The other thing…..when we took that trip, we both needed some outdoorsy clothing.  We each bought the same tan shirt dad is wearing.  I wore mine until it…ummm…mysteriously shrunk.  In 2020, when I was cleaning out dad’s house, I came across his tan shirt.  At first I was thinking “why is my shirt here….”, then remembered about buying the shirts together.  It fit so I kept it.  Fast forward to 2023.  Had I been thinking when that photo was taken, I would have removed my blue jacket, because I was wearing dad’s shirt – the one he is wearing in the photo.  How's that for coincidence!

Here's the pic of dad back in 1991-ish on Daisy Site 5.  I pitched the tent to the right of that rocky feature thing behind the big tree...duhhhh....which is why dad's sleeping bag got soaked.  Also, here's the pic of me on this trip, same place, but the other side of the tree.   You'll notice a few trees are missing, and that the area where I put the tent back then is now overgrown because every single person who ever visited that site after us was smart enough not to put their tent there.  I've had a lot of fun comparing these two photos.



Here's the combined/portrait photo of dad and I.  One of my favorite images ever.  You would have liked him.  He was a truly great man.


Sorry such a long read, hope you stayed awake!