Algonquin Park Solo Canoe Trip Spring 2016 Magnetawan ......Algonquin Park Solo Canoe Trip 2016 –...

AlgonquinParkSoloCanoeTrip2016–MagnetawanLake

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Table of Contents

Chapter1

Introduction... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

Chapter2 Day1:MagnetawanLaketoGrassyBay.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Chapter3

Day2:GrassyBaytoCatfishLake?.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Chapter4

Day3:BurntrootLaketoCatfishLake,andbeyond?... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Chapter5

Day4:CatfishLaketoWhere?DecisionTime ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29

Chapter6

Day5:BurntrootLaketoMistyLake .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

Chapter7

Day6:MistyLaketoMagnetawanLake.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52

Resources YouTubeTripVideos.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 Maps... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65



Introduction On May 6, 2016, I set out on a 7-day solo canoe trip to Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario, Canada. I planned to start at Magnetawan Lake on the west side of the park and paddle and portage all the way to Cedar Lake and Radiant Lake in the northeast side of the park, looping back down through a different set of lakes and rivers until returning to Magnetawan 7 or 8 days later. If I complete the loop, I’ll have travelled 203 kms, portaged 40 kms and visited 42 unique bodies of water. Among those water bodies are several that offer great fishing for Lake Trout and Brook Trout, and catching fish is one of the goals of my trip. The other is to capture the beautiful scenery on film, and there’s certainly no shortage of that on this route.

It’s a trip I’ve been planning for awhile, so I’m really hoping I can pull it off. What could go wrong and prevent me from completing the full loop? Since this route crosses a number of larger lakes, my biggest obstacle is



sure to be the wind. Burntroot Lake, Big Trout Lake, Cedar Lake, Hogan Lake, Lake la Muir and Burnt Island Lake all have the potential to whip up into frenzy if significant wind speeds develop for an extended length of time. Of course, I may reach my physical limitations as well since my desk work at home doesn’t exactly prepare me for 7 days straight of all-day exertion. We’ll see. Starting out from home early Friday morning, I was elated with the updated forecast – warm and sunny on the first day, followed by two days of possible rain showers and cold temperatures, and then 4 days of sunshine and warmth again. I don’t mind a couple days of poor weather in the middle of the week, but it’s hard to get excited by a full week of rain and/or cold weather. The only question was; how would the changing conditions on Saturday and Sunday affect wind? Even the forecasted low temperatures at night of below/at 0C didn’t bother me – a hot fire and warm meal will keep me toasty just before bed. The other nice thing about the forecast is that the last half of the week is expected to be dry and getting warmer each day, giving me something to look forward to on the cold, rainy days. It’s also an opportunity to dry my gear out before the end of the trip.

YouTube Video Introduction: https://youtu.be/6WxSP5Uj7LQ



Day 1: Magnetawan Lake to Grassy Bay I arrived at Kearney to pick up my permit before 7:00 and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the office was already open (since 6:00am). With permit in hand so early, I was able to get out on the water by 8:00 am, right on schedule. My first day was ambitious so I wanted to get an early start.

My destination for this evening was Grassy Bay, about 31 kms from the access dock on Magnetawan Lake where I was launching from. There were 9 portages on the way, totalling 4.6 kms. I didn’t have any major lakes to cross so I wasn’t concerned about wind today. I figured that if everything else went smoothly and the portages were not too covered in blow-down trees, I should be able to make it to Grassy Bay in 10 hours. It also depended on how often I stopped to fish and take pictures and videotape. Leaving the busy parking lot and paddling out onto Magnetawan Lake, the water was smooth as glass. The



sun was already warming up the air and lighting up the western shoreline when I portaged into Hambone Lake.

The water was high, so I was able to skip the short portage and paddle straight through Acme Pond to the portage into Daisy Lake. The 450m portage was surprisingly dry considering the late ice out and snowmelt in this part of the park. Footprints at the dock showed that a few parties had been through here, but since Algonquin’s backcountry just opened a couple of days earlier, traffic was light.



I paddled down the short creek into the main body of Daisy Lake, pleased that the calm conditions continued – Daisy was calm as well. I stayed close to the north shoreline, cognizant of the very cold water and what a capsize in open water would mean, especially since I was solo and there may not be anyone nearby to help me make it to shore. Besides, my destination lay east of here, and the northern shoreline guided me directly to the portage into the upper reaches of the Petawawa River so it made sense to avoid the open lake. The 135m portage into the Petawawa River was relatively easy and so was the next one, a 450m portage that would take me to the river above Little Misty Lake. This section of the river was serene, especially on such a warm day when the shallow depth and narrow size of the river allowed me to let my guard down and remove my outer layers of clothing. Paddling in a tee shirt was much more



comfortable than with the full dry-suit and wool under-layers that I forced myself to wear on the open, cold lakes.

Passing through Little Misty Lake was uneventful. It’s pretty, but relatively featureless and I didn’t think it was somewhere I would want to camp for a day or two, given the choice. The 925m portage out of the south end of the lake brought me to the shallow, west end of Misty Lake, where I took a few moments to cool off in the water at the base of the shallow rapids. Spawning suckers scattered at every footstep and dip of the paddle, much like they do in all of the small rivers of Algonquin at this time of the year. Taking a look at my map, I realized I was a little bit behind schedule due to a few too many breaks to take pictures and fish. My original plan was to continue on down the Petawawa River directly to the east campsite on Grassy Bay. Instead, I decided to cut a few minutes off my trip by heading south into McIntosh Lake, because I



knew the Pet was likely to distract me with it’s reportedly excellent scenery and fishing.

I portaged into and out of Timberwolf Lake in less than two hours and then headed east again on McIntosh Lake into McIntosh Creek. These portages were a a little bit rougher with more blow-downs and some snow in sections. Pre-trip, I wondered how much snow I would find on the portages this year, and so far it had been better than expected. That would change later in the trip. The three McIntosh’s (Lake, Creek and Marsh) were pretty, and the 745m portage in particular was with its waterfalls and boardwalks. When I got out into the open water of the Marsh and Grassy Bay, the light east wind I’d been paddling into all day intensified a bit and I wondered if it was going to make it difficult to reach my destination in a reasonable amount of time. But because it was approaching 6:00 pm as I got closer to my campsite for the night, the wind died down, making the final couple of kilometres of paddling effortless.



There are two campsites on Grassy Bay, about 1 km apart. If I had come down the Petawawa, I would have stayed at the one closest to the confluence, but since I was coming from the west, I was content to take the first once I came to. It was nice. I wasn’t sure that it would be since it’s essentially in the middle of a massive bog, but it’s actually high and dry and offers great views to both the east and west, perfect for enjoying sunrise and sunset respectively. What I assumed after looking at maps during my planning stage, was that it would be a good spot for viewing wildlife, and I wasn’t wrong. In the summer, I’m sure the area is immensely popular with moose, but at this time of year when the water is cold and the aquatic plants have not yet emerged, moose were expectedly absent. However, there were plenty of birds and aquatic creatures to make up for the lack of large mammals. I unpacked my gear and set up my bed, which is very quick since I use a bivy that is rolled up with my sleeping pad, sleeping bag and bag liner already inside. That done, I went for a walk to find firewood. At this time of year, firewood is typically easy to gather since the campsites haven’t been used since the previous fall. Winter tends to knock down a lot of trees and branches, all over the campsite and surroundings, and this was no different. Immediately behind camp to the south, a steep embankment shielded the forest from the spring sun for most of the day so there was quite a bit of snow between the campsite and the thunderbox where I searched for wood. In no time I had enough firewood for a good-sized campfire to sit around as the evening got progressively cooler. I cooked my meal over the hot fire, and my water was very easily boiled on my Kelly Kettle using the abundance of pinecones, pine needles and twigs found scattered around the fire pit.



I had planned on photographing the Milky Way that night as the moon was essentially new (black sky) and the sky was perfectly clear. However, the steep bank on the backside of the campsite obscured any view of the south sky that would have been visible. Instead, I spent the late evening sitting by the fire, photographing the sunset and settled into bed early, tired but very satisfied with the first day of my spring Algonquin canoe trip. YouTube Video Day 1: https://youtu.be/G12tkqcDrQQ



Day 2: Grassy Bay to Catfish Lake? What a beautiful morning! As usual, I woke up around 5:00 and got a fire going to make a cup of hot chocolate and a cup of oatmeal while watching the breath-taking sunrise. As if the still water, amazing colours from the sun and the cacophony of birds wasn’t enough, a family of six river otters paid me a visit, whistling and barking at me in curiosity, no doubt surprised at what was probably the first human they’ve seen this year.

I was on the water well before 8:00 am this morning since I had a lot of ground to cover and I wanted an early start. I knew the weather was supposed to change for the worse today, and I wanted to get past the big lakes of White Trout, Big Trout and Burntroot before the wind picked up if I could. The problem was, between the beautiful scenery and excellent fishing, it was after noon by the time I reached the far side of Red Pine Bay. By



that time, the clouds had really rolled in and I could hear the wind rattling through the bare branches of the trees on the high hills surrounding the lakes.

Easing around the northwest corner of Red Pine Bay, I could see that the waves were starting to build at the south end of Burntroot Lake, but they looked manageable. With a little bit of trepidation, I eased out into the main body of water, intent on making the far-east shore as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, when I was just a quarter of the way across, gusts of wind started to broadside me and whitecaps developed where none had been just minutes earlier. I have a lot of experience paddling in the rough waters of Georgian Bay, even in this light, narrow canoe, but it takes on a new meaning when the water temperature is just 3C. When I travel in rough conditions, I am very aware of how far I would drift with the wind and waves in the event of capsize, and I always try to keep that estimated time to less than 15 minutes in the spring and fall (or whenever



cold water is present). I was too far out this time, and the distance to shore was beyond my comfort range. I settled deeper into the canoe, kneeling low and spreading my legs wide to add stability. As much as I wanted to quarter into the wind to ride the waves better, a methodical ferry would take me much further from shore since the waves were heading straight down the center of the lake from the north. White-knuckled on my kayak paddle, which I was glad I was using rather than a single-blade paddle, I finally got closer to shore and made a dash for cover in the lee of a point of land. Ironically, it was exactly the same spot that I was waylaid last year by a sudden rainstorm, and exactly where I caught the two biggest fish of my 2015 trip. Fortunately, the point was also a nice campsite, albeit much too open and exposed for these conditions. But, it was better than being on the water, so I pulled ashore and tied the canoe and loose gear to a tree while I assessed my situation. The campsite was a beautiful spot, and I would have loved it had I been here in the summer when a breeze would be welcome to keep oppressive heat and the biting insects at bay. But right now, the cold wind, and now the rain, blew right through the campsite, making it very uncomfortable. I dug my tarp out of the canoe pack and built a simple windbreak with a slight overhead canopy to deflect the wind. I then made a small fire with the branches that littered the forest floor, very much appreciating the immediate warmth. Once comfortable, I scanned the site in more detail to assess it for what could be a long and cold day and night. There was virtually no good sleeping areas that were well sheltered and close to the firepit - I would be exposed to the wind all night. Besides, it was only 1:00 pm, and really did not want to stop this early in the day. Doing so would set me behind schedule by at least 4 hours. I knew I could make that time up or extend my trip by another day, which I didn’t



mind, but I had several more big lakes to cross and chances were good that I’d need extra time to navigate them later in the week, possibly adding more time to the trip than I wanted. Just as I was resigning myself to the situation and settling in to get comfortable, the worst of the rain stopped and wind died down to a manageable level. I gathered all of my gear back up, took down the tarp and packed the canoe to resume my paddle up the shoreline, confident that I could handle anything that the big lake could throw at me now that I was paddling along the eastern shoreline.

As I approached the north end of the lake after an uneventful hour of paddling, the skies opened up again and the cold rain resumed. I was just around the corner from the portage into Perley Lake and the Petawawa River, so I pulled ashore at each of the two campsites nearby to check them out for a brief respite before continuing on. The campsite at the portage was too open



and rough for my liking, so I went back to the one around the point to the south. It has a nice sandy beach and southwestern exposure. Dense cedars and pines provided good shelter from wind and rain. I started a small fire in the fire pit to warm me up, and considered my options. My destination, Snowshoe Rapids on the Petawawa River, was still several hours away and the delay I experienced earlier in the day at the south end of Burntroot meant that it was now late afternoon. Rather than continue on, I made the difficult decision to stop now and make camp. I wasn’t sure if the bad weather was going to continue, and I didn’t like the thought of travelling right until dark with the possibility of deteriorating conditions and a questionable campsite destination. What if I got there cold and wet to be met by poor site conditions, soaking wet firewood or a site already occupied by another party? I reasoned that although I would be several hours behind schedule on my loop trip, if weather conditions cooperated tomorrow, I could make up some of that time on my way to Radiant Lake, and then add an extra day on at the end of the trip to make up the rest. This ended up being a fortuitous decision.



Feeling justified in my decision, I unloaded my tarp first, again, and made a simple lean-to shelter by the fire. This would be utilized while resting, making dinner and breakfast, protecting my gear and for sleeping under as well. When I switched to this smaller 8’x10’ tarp from a larger one recently, I thought I would find it too small, but it does the trick when I’m camping solo. I didn’t keep any fish for dinner today either, mainly because I thought I would be much further along and I’d catch some immediately before stopping for the day. Instead, I had hot chocolate and rehydrated quinoa, buckwheat noodles and TVP (dehydrated soy). It was actually pretty good. By the time I was ready for bed, which was pretty early since it was still raining and I didn’t feel like sitting up, the temperature was dropping fast. I put on all of my dry clothes and climbed into my bivy, using my Kokatat dry suit as a pillow since I was wearing my down jacket,



my usual pillow. I was still cold, but tired and pleased as a trio of loons sung me to sleep. So, did I make it to Catfish Lake? Obviously not – I was waylaid on Burntroot Lake. Tomorrow will be a better day, won’t it? YouTube Video Day 2: https://youtu.be/yahHg9PUUxw



Day 3: Burntroot Lake to Catfish Lake, and beyond? I woke up cold. Despite wearing all of my warm clothes, I was still cold from the damp and chilly night. The temperature was a couple of degrees below freezing, which shouldn’t be unbearable, but the dampness in the air sucked the heat out of my body. Even the firewood did not want to burn hot. I brought a +2C sleeping bag on this trip, which should have been more than adequate, so I was a little baffled. The high humidity is the only thing I can think of to explain the chill I was feeling. I definitely ate enough calories before bed, although a dearth of fat in my meal may have been the culprit.

The good news was that the rain clouds and wind seemed to be gone, and I hoped that meant it would stay that way for the rest of the week! The weather forecast before I left called for this day, Sunday, to be the coldest with a mix of sun and cloud. It was certainly cold, but I hoped the sun would stay out to keep me warm. After a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, muesli and hot chocolate, I



packed up and loaded my canoe. Right on cue, dark clouds rolled in and the wind started to pick up. I wasn’t too concerned about inclement weather at the beginning of this day since I would be paddling down a small lake and the Petawawa River for the first several hours. It was the bigger lakes later in the day that concerned me.

The portage to the bottom of Portal Rapids between Burntroot and the Petawawa River was short and easy – since I would be travelling downriver today, it also meant downhill on the portages. There are actually two rapids here, and the pool at the base of them is very scenic. The fishing is pretty decent too, but the cold temperature this morning turned the fish off - the bite was light. Continuing downstream into Perley Lake was easy with the wind at my back, but the cloud cover was getting heavier and the wind was picking up. By the time I was halfway down Perley, the wind really started to howl and it began to snow lightly. When I left camp this morning, I expected decent weather, albeit a little cooler than normal, so I didn’t wear my base layers. I started to shiver and I knew I had to pull ashore to add more



clothes and warm up by a fire. I headed straight for the nearest campsite, which was a beauty and I was soon able to appreciate the scenery once I warmed up.

Now comfortable, I continued on, approaching the 380m portage at Cedar Rapids. Rounding the last corner, I found myself paddling hard into a strong north wind, and whitecaps despite the fact that this section of exposed river was only a few hundred meters long and should not have been affected by wind! Surprisingly, this portage had no footprints on it yet, meaning I was the first this year to use it. What that usually means at this time of year is that I would be the one tasked with busting a path through all of the winter deadfall. Sure enough, two large trees blocked the trail almost immediately at the portage landing. The only opening through the branches (and this is true on almost



all of the portages) was where a moose had busted through. The base of Cedar Rapids is scenic as well, and in fact, this whole stretch of river is. It’s very clear that the Petawawa is gaining in size considerably since leaving the headwater sections up by Hambone Lake. It’s benefitting from the additional volume added at each lake and all of the smaller tributaries, and it’s not hard to imagine how big the river is further downstream, particularly below Lake Travers where it becomes a true whitewater river in the spring. The next portage, a short 85m beauty, I could have bypassed by running the small section of whitewater if I had scouted it before climbing out of the canoe to make the carry. As soon as I launched my canoe at the bottom of the rapid, two guys in a canoe rounded the bend, travelling upstream. They informed me that they spent the night at Snowshoe Rapids, my original destination last night. If I had made it, my trepidation yesterday would have been justified – I would have arrived at dark only to find that the site was already occupied. Travelling back upstream and portaging back up the 425m portage to make camp at the head of the rapids would not have been fun in the dark and cold. And what a portage it is! I stopped for a snack and to check my map to gauge my progress and likely destination for the day. Once I started down the trail, I found out immediately why it’s called Snowshoe Rapids – it was still covered in snow, and lots of it!



Thinking back on the history of Algonquin Park, I had already envisioned loggers conducting log drives down the Petawawa. The portage trails were well-worn paths, sometimes grooved deeply from steady use for probably hundreds of years by loggers, pioneers and First Nations people. This rapid was probably named by the loggers who would have experienced the same thing – snow in the shadows of this trail for most of it’s length, well after most other areas were completely devoid of snow from the spring melt. Fortunately, a moose and the two guys I met earlier left footprints in some areas that lessened the difficulty of walking on loose, granular snow - somewhat. The next portage is located just a kilometer downstream. Heading 425m downhill around Catfish Rapids was easy, and I wasn’t surprised to see that the campsite located at the base of the rapids was occupied. I had tried to reserve this site for the previous night but it was already taken. Nobody was home when I reached it – they were out fishing, as I would learn later. I caught a couple of brook trout for lunch, and then pushed off into the



current heading out into the pool between Catfish Lake and Sunfish Lake. Heading north, I ran straight into a powerful headwind funneling down from Catfish Lake. When I paddled into the lower end of Catfish Lake above the two southernmost campsites, I knew immediately that I should change my plans for the canoe trip. Catfish Lake was a mess, whitecaps as far as I could see, coming out of the north. I’m sure I could have eased my way up the west shoreline and made a dash across the narrows leading towards Narrowbag Lake, but then what? Cedar Lake was sure to be impassable, and Radiant not much better if I could make it that far in a day. It was early afternoon, and I really did not want to make camp early again, but I felt like it was the most responsible thing to do. Solo spring canoe trips are not a good time to take chances – an accidental capsize could be extremely inconvenient and uncomfortable, at best, fatal at worst. I pulled ashore at the first campsite at the bottom of the lake, a nice island site that had many things going for it – open pines, plentiful firewood, protection from the worst of the wind and great views to the south and west.



On most solo canoe trips, I don’t make large campfires since I don’t do a lot of sitting around. However, on this trip, I made them regularly simply because I appreciated the warmth more than usual. This was no exception. As soon as I pulled my canoe and gear up onto the island into a protected pocket, I set up a tarp to block the wind and started a fire. It was still extremely windy, and it felt like it was blowing right through me. With wind-chill, the temperature was well below freezing, and it was hard to stay warm. After a snack, I put most of my clothes on and climbed partially into my bivy sack in the shelter of the tarp for a short nap. Feeling refreshed, I decided to have an early dinner. I got the fire going again and cooked both fish, one roasted on a hot rock and the other coated in Fish Crisp and fried in olive oil. I gathered wintergreen and cedar tips and made a healthy, hot tea.



I ate again a couple of hours later – a pasta and chili mix again. Since the lake was still too windy to explore by canoe, I instead explored the island from tip to tip on foot, photographing scenery and wildlife. The west end of the island appeared to be regular nesting site for turtles. The rest of the island was a regular feeding area for beavers. Sure enough, a disappointed beaver noticed me as he was swimming to the island from his mainland lodge and slapped his tail at me disapprovingly before turning and heading back the way he had come. I gathered firewood and piled it near the fire pit for the next visitors, noting that there was probably enough on the island for many more days before campers would have to gather firewood from the mainland. The wind did not really subside in the evening like it usually does, and clouds obscured the western sky thwarting my plan to photograph the sunset. Instead, I went to bed early,



hoping for a calm day tomorrow before making my final decision on which way to go for the rest of the trip.

YouTube Video Day 3: https://youtu.be/8h2UUJUsHOE



Day 4: Catfish Lake to Where? Decision Time I woke up cold – again! It was 3 below zero Celsius, and the wind was still a problem. I spent some time photographing a nice sunrise before lighting a fire to make breakfast. I fried bannock on the open fire and ate it with peanut butter while considering my options for today. Overnight, I had decided to push on with my intended route, adding an 8th day on the end to make up for the lost time. Now that the wind had not subsided, I wasn’t sure if that was going to be possible, but I postponed the decision until I got out on the water, paddling north to the tip of the next island to see what the conditions were like. If the wind was more from the west and not north like yesterday, I may be able to safely navigate Catfish Lake, Cedar Lake and Radiant Lake. Before heading out on the lake, I went for a walk around the island to the east, marveling at the spectacular sunrise. Even if the wind did turn out to be unreasonable, it looked like it would be a pretty day with high clouds and blues skies.



Reaching the northwest tip of the next island with the campsite on it, I was not surprised to see whitecaps breaking on the shallow point. It was no better than



yesterday and in fact may have been worse, and it was still coming out of the north. That’s it, plans changed. I consulted my map one more time and made a decision – go back up the Petawawa River to Burntroot and then cut over to Lake La Muir, back on schedule (La Muir was my reserved lake for the 4th night), but cutting about a 40 kilometres loop out of my total intended trip. I paddled back to Catfish Rapids, where I met the occupants of the campsite. We talked for a bit about the fishing, the wind and the cold weather, and then I started the climb and paddle back up the Petawawa. Heading up the river was not too bad, despite the wind. Since it was more from the north, it didn’t funnel down it from the west like I feared. The sun was shining, and even though it was still cold, it was turning out to be a pleasant morning on the river. While fishing and admiring the lower end of Snowshoe Rapids, a juvenile Bald Eagle swooped down and grabbed a fish from the surface of the water. Life was good. Reaching the top of the portage around Cedar Rapids, I gazed out at the river to assess wind conditions. I suspected that Perley Lake was going to be a problem, and there was a hint of it in this section – the water was rougher than it should be in such a narrow section of river. It was wind, coupled with the current, and I would be heading directly into both. Sticking to the north shoreline, it was fine, from completely placid in the lee of high ground in some sections to just small waves in others were the river was exposed to the wind. That changed when I got to the far west side of Perley Lake near the narrows into the pool below Portal Rapids. The wind and current combined made forward progress next to impossible. If I weren’t using a kayak paddle, this section would have taken forever to paddle though. With the double blade, however, I was able to push through it, probably more efficiently than a tandem canoe with two strong paddlers. It’s for this reason that I carry and



often use a kayak paddle when canoeing solo. It’s a lifesaver when dealing with strong headwinds or when making fast time on a large lake is required. Fishing was pretty good today, and I think the sun was helping turn them on. The wind often makes them more active as well since it churns up the shoreline, attracting baitfish and other aquatic creatures. I caught a couple of fish at the bottom of the rapids and then carried my gear up the portage back into Burntroot Lake.

Burntroot was inconsistently windy, and while some sections for the shoreline were buffeted by wind and waves, other sections were flat. It was confusing, and I took some time to consider my options. When dealing with wind and rough water on large lakes, there are two main options. Canoe down the lee shoreline, taking advantage of land to block the wind and create a calm zone. The other is to paddle the windward shoreline, taking a beating from wind, waves and reflection waves



that bounce off the shore, especially if it’s a steep shoreline with rock. Each has its pitfalls. The former option (leeward) is great until you have to cross a deep bay – like Whistle Bay in the attached map. Capsizing in the mouth of that bay would be a LONG drift downwind to the south or east shore. The latter option (windward), is difficult to paddle and risk of capsize is significantly greater, BUT, time spent floating in the water is short because the wind blows you to shore. What did I do? Since the lake didn’t look overly rough anywhere, and I wanted to explore the western shoreline because I had never seen it closely, I did just that. I didn’t make the decision lightly. I was suspicious of the seemingly reasonable wave conditions – the wind howling through the trees on the high shoreline suggested that the lake should be in turmoil. But because I was low to the water and hugging the western shore, the lake appeared relatively calm. So, I kept paddling until reaching the north end of Whistle Bay, and then made a foolish decision. The lake sure looked safe enough to me. I decided to cut behind the east side of an island out from Whistle Bay and then cut over to the largest island in the middle of the lake before crossing over to the north side of Anchor Island on my way to the narrows into Red Pine Bay. It sounds good on paper. The problem was, as soon as I left the shelter of the island, I was broadsided by gusts of wind. I was sitting low in the canoe for stability, but that stance puts me further forward and the trim of the canoe is nearly dead level. That’s generally fine, but when I’m broadside to the wind, my pack catches more wind than the bow, even loaded low, so the canoe wants to stay broadside. Normally, a higher bow is desired in this situation because the wind will force it downwind, resulting in a more stable quartering or downwind direction of travel. I was fighting the wind on every stroke, paddling hard on the right side and weakly on the left to avoid falling into the trough of



each wave. Once again, I was looking at shorelines and trying to stay within floating distance of the closest one, which was now the large island. I white-knuckled it to the lee of that island, where I took a rest to assess my new position. The wind was strong north by northwest, so the calmest water was between Anchor Island, and me with just a few rough patches in the middle. Paddling to the east shoreline was simply out of the question, - it was just far too rough. I reminded myself that I have never unintentionally capsized a canoe in my life, and that I had more than enough experience to deal with these conditions. It’s the cold water that was making me more cautious than usual, which is a good thing on one hand. I realized that I was too tense on the last crossing, and that was affecting the looseness in my hips and causing instability. I relaxed, and then calmly paddled across the open water to the windward side of Anchor Island, where I was tossed about by reflection waves and breaking waves on the shoreline. As soon as I rounded the southwest corner of the island, where it was a different world – calm, serene and beautiful.



I pulled my canoe up on shore and tied it to a tree. It was so windy that I could envision the wind picking up the canoe and tossing it into the lake. If that happened, the canoe would be crashing on the far shore in a matter of minutes, or lost further down the lake. I would be stranded. I stowed the rest of my gear up by the fire pit where it was somewhat protected from the wind, then I proceeded to investigate my home for the night. If I had any hopes of making up for two days of delays, this unintended midday pit stop dashed them. As happened each of the two days prior, it was clear that I wouldn’t be leaving this island today and I would have to cut my day and travel distance short – well short of my intended destination. Fortunately, Anchor Island is beautiful and not a bad place to be shipwrecked for a day or two. It was a strange day for weather, and it was hard to get comfortable. The cold wind continued to howl out of the northwest, and the open pine forest and bare rock of this



island didn’t do much to deflect it. However, when standing in a pocket of shelter, an intense May 9th sun made it very nice, heating up the rocky ground and providing much needed warmth. I lit a fire and then stripped down to wash some of the dirt and sweat from my body and clothes. The lake was freezing cold of course, but it was exhilarating and extremely restorative to feel clean after three days of stressful paddling wearing too many clothes. I hung my clothes to dry on the antique anchor that inspired the name of the island – an anchor from an “alligator” (a modified amphibious tugboat used for hauling rafts of floating logs) left behind by logging crews of the late 1800’s or early 1900’s.

Now that I was clean, warm and comfortable, I took some time to explore the island near camp. I was on the southwest island campsite – there’s another on northeast side of the island, but I didn’t make it that far to check it out. The thunderbox is located well back in the pine



forest, which is not a dense forest, and at least two tent pads are found back in this area as well. In fact, tent pad location is about the only negative to this site -they’re quite far from the campfire. The area near the campfire is fantastic though, with mature red and white pines scattered around the island, cedars and alders along parts of the shoreline, bare bedrock and erratics, and pine needles and moss cover the ground. The namesake anchor leans against a rock, tethered to a huge steel pulley by a length of heavy chain. The fire pit is huge, mounded high with stones, but not so massive that it’s useless to cook on. The high back acts as an effective windbreak, and heavy wood benches and log tables complete the functional kitchen. I was getting hungry, so I set about making dinner – another early one. I skewered a fresh caught brook trout on a forked alder branch and slow smoked and roasted it over the fire. I boiled several litres of water – some for drinking and some for rehydrating my meal of pasta and chilli. It tasted fantastic after a long day of paddling and fighting the weather! I cleaned up the dinner dishes and packed everything away neatly. I didn’t expect bears or raccoons to pay me a visit on this island, but good habits are important to keep regardless.



After dinner, I laid out my bedding between two large pines trees just upwind of the fire pit area. One of the first things I do when I arrive at a campsite is investigate at least a 100 metre of surrounding forest to see what species of animals are using the area. If I find sign of bear, fox or raccoon, I know I need to be extra vigilant with my food, dishes and canoe pack. If wolves, moose, deer or beaver are active locally, then I’m careful about where I put my gear and especially my bivy. Since I’m not using a tent, my bed is very low profile and animals often walk right up on it without noticing it. I would hate to be stepped on by a moose in the middle of the night, or have a beaver drop a tree on me while I sleep. The same applies to my canoe pack. I don’t keep food in it, but curious wildlife can still tear it open to see what’s inside or step on it if it’s in the way. I either stash it under the canoe if I’m sleeping beside or under the canoe, or I buckle it to a tree to make it more difficult for an animal to drag it away. My food is stored in an Ursack, a bear-proof Kevlar sack purpose made for holding camping food. A scent-proof bag inside hopefully



quells odour enough to prevent a bear from finding it in the first place, although I doubt that’s possible. In any event, I tie it firmly to the base of a sturdy tree, hidden from view in a spot that would not typically be travelled by an animal.

People often ask me what I do with my spare time when I’m solo tripping in the outdoors. They assume I have plenty of time to sit around the campfire, read or write. The truth is, I never seem to sit for more than a few minutes at a time. This day was no different. By the time I set up camp, made dinner and cleaned up, I was almost ready for bed. This early in the season, the loons are extremely vocal. Burntroot Lake has a particularly large population of loons, and their mating calls could be heard throughout the evening, and then sporadically all



throughout the night. Watching the sun set over a beautiful lake while listening to the voice of nature in the loon’s call is a perfect way to end a day on the water – any day for that matter.

YouTube Video Day 4: https://youtu.be/z7l8Lt5Cco0



Day 5: Burntroot Lake to Misty Lake All night long, I listened for the sound of the wind to subside. It started to calm down last night at dusk, and before sunrise this morning it was perfectly calm. By the time the sky started to lighten, however, a gentle breeze started drifting across the lake, and the glassy surface of the water transformed into a rippling kaleidoscope. An occasional gust made me nervous, and the thought of spending another day stranded here spurred me into action. I got up and packed up my gear, thankful that I had it well organized the night before. I skipped a hot breakfast, something I had planned in advance, and was content to munch on homemade energy bars and peanut butter balls while I paddled. By 6:00 am, I was paddling along the south shore of Burntroot Lake, comfortably beyond the lake that could be exposed to waves if the wind picked up again. As it turned out, my fears were unfounded. By the time I reached Longer Lake, it was clear that the high-pressure system that was forecasted to arrive today was in fact here. The wind was non-existent, and the lakes were literally as smooth as glass. I hoped it would remain so, particularly while crossing Big Trout and White Trout Lakes.



I had made up my mind to cut my losses and start heading in the direction of home via Magnetawan Lake. I would be cutting about 60 kms out of my planned trip, bypassing the entire western and southern portions of the loop. It didn’t bother me – I was seeing more than enough beautiful country and the weather was now picture perfect. I was in no particular hurry to end the trip, so I slowed down and enjoyed the scenery. Physically, I was feeling good. My canoe trips follow a predictable pattern as far as my energy is concerned. I’m strong on day 1, slightly more tired on day 2, very tired on day 3, and then on days 4 through the end, I get a second wind and I seem to get stronger. On this day, day 5, I paddled easily, mainly single-blade, as it’s more enjoyable and serene than the kayak paddle. It was so calm that I often stopped paddling and simply drifted, taking in the scenery. Loons often swam by me closely, reflected in the water before diving and swimming beneath my canoe. At one point, a beaver did the same, swimming just a foot or two beneath my paddle.



I was surprised to see people today. The first was a group of fishermen just getting out of their tents in the top end of Red Pine Bay. The second was a single canoe at the waterfall campsite on Longer Lake. I suspected it was the brothers I met last year on this same date, who told me they come here every year around the same time. The third was an older couple camped on Big Trout Lake – the man gave a unintelligible grunt in response to my friendly hello, clearly not impressed by the early morning intrusion as I paddled past. And that was it - solitude for the rest of this beautiful day. I retraced my path back through Red Pine Bay, Longer Lake, Big Trout Lake, and White Trout Lake, arriving at Grassy Bay before noon. I generally don’t like paddling through the same area twice on a trip, but this time the weather conditions were so much better that it was a different experience. I was particularly enamored with the cliffs on White Trout Lake, and I paused often to inspect and film the broken shoreline. Once at Grassy Bay, I made a hard right turn, taking me off the route from day 1. I was headed up the Petawawa River to Misty, the path I had originally planned to take on day 1 but detoured from at the last minute.



The waterfall where the Petawawa River empties into Grassy Bay is a beautiful spot. I wasn’t overly hungry, but I stopped for a while at the bottom end of the 200m portage to eat GORP and fill my water bottle. Taylor Chute was equally beautiful. Above that area, the river is slow moving, shallow and serene. It was now hot out, and I stripped down to a tee shirt to keep cool now that there was no danger of capsizing on an open lake. Once above the 195 portage, the river grew wider and shallower yet, and I’m sure would it would be a great spot to view wildlife when summer arrives and the aquatic plants emerge. The falls below the Misty Forks dam is a very scenic spot. I again lingered here for a while, soaking in the moment. This is one of those times that I find memorable and why I trip in the off-season. There was no sign of anyone so I had the place to myself. It was perfect weather – no wind, calm water, bright sunshine, and not a single biting insect to be seen or heard anywhere! Perfection.



When I finally moved on and emerged on Misty Forks at the top of the 850m portage, I was happy to see that the lake was still calm. It was late afternoon, about 4:30, and the sun was just low enough in the sky to create that fantastic silver sparkle on the lake’s surface. As much as I was looking forward to filming the lake during the final golden hour of the day, I was immensely enjoying the silver hours of late afternoon on Misty Forks and Misty Lake. I had a destination in mind as I paddled down the south shoreline of Misty Forks and then the narrows of Misty Lake – the campsite on the peninsula pointing southwest into the lake. From what I could tell on Jeff’s map, it looked to be the perfect campsite. The western exposure would be great for bug control in the summer, but for my purposes right now, it looked to be a great spot to take in a sunset over the expanse of the lake. If the map was right, it also looked like the rising sun would be visible from the southeast tip of the campsite in the morning. The entire shoreline was relatively steep, suggesting a high rocky elevation, my favourite kind of campsite. My only fear is that anyone else camped on Misty tonight would recognize the same great features that I did, and that it would be occupied when I got there. As I approached the site, I passed several other decent campsites that I thought would be occupied in the event that the great one was taken. This could mean one of two things; the number of parties on the lake was small so the site was taken and there was no overflow, or there was nobody else camped on the lake at all and therefore every campsite was vacant. With the beautiful weather we were having and the great spring fishing in the area, I found it hard to believe that the latter would be the case. When I rounded the corner, I was pleasantly shocked to see what I did – the site was free!



It was even better than anticipated. The first thing I saw was a gentle shallow beach, facing southwest, a perfect place to park the canoe and for cooling off with a swim. The bank behind the beach rose steeply to a high, open campsite interrupted by the perfect ratio of towering pine, birch and cedar trees. The dry ground was covered in pine needles, and the huge fire pit, perfectly constructed of dozens of rocks, was similar to the one on Anchor Island. It too was surrounded by wood benches and tables, but with the addition of flat rocks serving as the tabletops. Upon further inspection, the thunderbox was located in a relatively open area back in the pine trees, complete with a great view of the water. Several level tent pads were spread around the peninsula campsite. The beach and south shorelines were gentle sloped, shallow and riddled with moose tracks. The north shoreline was steep, look great for trout fishing and the water here was well circulated and aerated for collecting drinking water. I was happy with the campsite, and since it was after to 5:00 pm, the landfall was



perfectly timed. The only downside, and it was relatively minor, is that it was clear by the state of the thunderbox and the garbage scattered about the campsite that a large group of campers had recently occupied the site. It was May 9th, and Algonquin Park’s backcountry has only been open since May 4th, so the damage was recent. It wasn’t too bad, but they left behind garbage that could attract bears – butter and other food wrappers, tin foil and a Styrofoam container of rotting worms. On my regular campsite survey, I collected garbage while looking for sign of bears. Thankfully, only mice and squirrels had found the garbage by the appearance of the tooth marks and droppings, and moose were definitely recently feeding on the twigs of the alders and maple trees that lined the back of the campsite. I burned the combustible garbage and packed a few other pieces in my bag for taking out with me.



It was a long and rewarding day. I had travelled over 30 kms, saw new territory and enjoyed perfect weather, but I was hungry and tired. I settled into my usual routine – boil water in the Kelly Kettle, rehydrate pasta and chilli and prepare my bed under a massive pine tree. Usually I make bannock in the morning, but since I skipped a warm breakfast this morning on Burntroot Lake, I wrapped a batch of bannock around a stick and baked it over the open fire. I mopped up the remaining sauce from my Toaks titanium pot, a great way to minimize the effort of cleaning it.

It was well before dark, so I had time to practice some photographs with my Canon 80D, a camera that was new to me. I haven’t had an SLR since I was in my teens, and I was hesitant to bring it with me on this trip. It wasn’t that I couldn’t figure out how to use it, I was just very nervous about using it in the canoe with the possibility of



capsize. I didn’t bring a super telephoto lens, so when I heard, and then saw, a couple of moose on the far shoreline, I had to do my best to capture them with my shorter lens and camera on video mode at 10x digital zoom. The resulting video is not great, but I was happy to see the moose at a time of year when I rarely see them in the backcountry.

Sunset was peaceful, but not the type of sunset that makes breath-taking photographs. With no clouds in the sky to illuminate, the sun simply dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow on the opposite shore. A loon and a number of geese were the only other signs of life – I had the lake to myself yet again – a fact that I still find hard to believe. More times than not, I’m the only one on the lakes that I camp on. How do I know? If you’ve ever paddled or camped in the backcountry, you know that sound and campfire smoke travels far, particularly on calm days. You can clearly hear precise details of conversations taking place a kilometre distant,



and general campsite noise travels many times that distance. There wasn’t another unnatural sound on Misty Lake this night, and the only smoke drifting gently across the lake was from mine. Once again, I fell asleep to the mournful song of the ubiquitous Algonquin loons.



YouTube Video Day 5: https://youtu.be/keenx2s7pkI



Day 6: Misty Lake to Magnetawan Lake To me, the absolute most rewarding thing about retiring in my forties is freedom. The freedom to wake up each and every day, and think, what do I WANT to do, not what do I HAVE to do? When I woke up this morning after an absolutely perfect, restful sleep, I decided to go home today, a day or two earlier than my family was expecting me to. It’s not that I wasn’t enjoying myself – I was. The sun wasn’t yet up, but the wind was non-existent again and it was relatively warm – slightly above freezing, and I expected another perfect day. If I went home tonight, I would fall right back into routine and almost immediately miss wilderness. But, other than familial obligations (a good thing) and time spent managing my investments, I am free to spend as much time enjoying my passions as I want. Going home today didn’t mean the end of my days in Algonquin, it meant I could go home to regroup and plan my next adventure. So I made the decision to head home, endeavoring to take my time again today, stopping as much as I wanted to take it in, absorb nature in all of its glory. If I was distracted enough that I needed to spend another night in Algonquin, the so be it. So rather than head back the way I came in – straight up the Petawawa to Daisy and then Magnetawan Lake, I instead headed south through a chain of small lakes, starting with Muslim Lake.



After a leisurely breakfast, I pushed off from shore before 8:00am, a little later than usual. Once again, morning on an Algonquin Park lake was spectacular.



I headed straight to the south shoreline across a glass lake, checking to see if the two moose were still in the area. They weren’t, but I still paused in the area for awhile, photographing the sunrise and a couple of loons that startled me by surfacing five feet away while I was sitting on a rock gazing in the opposite direction. Of course, by the time I got my camera ready, they dove underwater and resurfaced on the other side of the small island, 70 meters in the opposite direction and through knee-deep water. Amazing!

When I had exhausted the ducks, geese and loons in this area, I continued on down the shoreline to the portage into Muslim Lake.



I was not surprised to see no footprints, other than moose, since the route through these smaller, shallow lakes did not attract spring trout fishermen, the predominate trippers at this time of year. Despite the length of 1030m, it was a pleasant walk and I enjoyed it, even with a canoe pack and a canoe on my shoulders. I expected a moose to appear around every corner, but no such luck. The lake itself when I arrived was absolute tranquility. No campsites clutter its shoreline, and it was easy to imagine moose wading through the shallows, munching on lily pads. All I saw was a beaver. I had to paddle right to the very west end of the lake to see the 370m portage to Wenona Lake, another small picturesque lake. This one has one campsite on it, and it’s a nice one. It would be extremely peaceful to camp here for the night, uninterrupted since it’s the only campsite on the lake. It’s unlikely that travellers would be passing through here early or late in the day. The only downside for a fisherman is the absence of game fish.



The 540m portage out of Wenona Lake is a steep one. The 20m elevation gain is almost all immediately upon leaving the portage landing on Wenona, and a huge fallen pine tree blocked the way. The hill is steep enough that it casts a shadow at the lake edge and some snow remained un-melted here. Other than those obstacles, either the rest of the trail was easy or I was gaining strength and endurance – I barely noticed. When I arrived at Bandit Lake, I didn’t hesitate long at the portage landing, but I did once I got out on the water. I inspected the first campsite and made note of the other one from a distance. Many people would find Bandit uninteresting and maybe unappealing, but I think the hermit in me liked it for that very reason. It just felt remote and peaceful.



The 440m portage to Moccasin Lake is like a walk in a southern Ontario. It follows a ridge along the edge of a creek through a deciduous forest before dropping back down to the coniferous fringe forest around Moccasin Lake. Moccasin was interesting in another way. It’s quite small and shallow, comprised of four distinct arms; long bays that project north, east, south and west. It’s unique in that it was stocked with smallmouth bass in the late 1800s along with a number of other lakes along the highway 60 corridor and along the historic railway that used to snake its way through the park. I’m not sure how they made it to Moccasin, though – perhaps there was a network of roads in this area that provided easy access to this lake and some of the surrounding water bodies. In any event, they’re here in decent numbers, and the two campsites on the lake are perfect basecamps to sample the fishing after the season opens in late June. The campsite on the north shore is far superior – the one on the south shore is small and better suited to a soloist or a couple. The west end of the lake is shallow and muddy,



and I saw several turtles and ducks in the brief time I lingered there.

The 185m portage into and 480m portage out of Juan Lake were uneventful. Juan is really just a small pond and there’s no reason to spend much time here. It is peaceful though, and I did take a few minutes to filter some water and eat a snack. Jubilee Lake, the next in the chain of lakes between Misty and Rain Lakes, was a different story. It’s not very scenic or large and I was surprised to see that there are six campsites on it. It’s also where I encountered my first people of the day, leading me to believe that it’s probably quite busy during peak season the summer. It’s just two portages in from popular Rain Lake, so it’s easily accessible by less adventurous visitors. First, a young couple passed by me in two kayaks, loaded with camping gear and headed for the east end of the lake. Another two people were camped at a small site at the south end of the lake closest to the portage to Sawyer Lake. This 450m portage was interesting. The landing was on an old beaver dam were a creek flows out of Jubilee and into



Sawyer. After a muddy climb from the waters edge, the trail leveled out and was very well worn. It ended at a nice beach on Sawyer Lake, where I took time out to rest and eat a cold lunch.

Sawyer Lake is a bit of an anomaly. The entire lake is ringed with sandy beaches, some clean but most well vegetated or cluttered with deadfall. Presumably the entire lake is a sand basin, and it too was stocked with smallmouth bass. It also holds a population of lake trout, so it must be quite deep and cold, and I observed several redhorse suckers spawning in the sandy shallows as I paddled over them. I had never been to Rain Lake, so I was looking forward to seeing it, at least the small portion of the north end that I would be passing through. Rain Lake can be quite busy compared to other lakes in this area of the park. There are 14 canoe campsites, 2 backpacking campsites, 2 ranger cabins a cottage on the lake, and some motorboats are allowed, similar to other cottage lakes scattered throughout the park. Fortunately, I arrived on a Wednesday, well before the busy season, and the only



person I saw was a lone solo canoeist and his dog. The lake was very scenic, but the most interesting thing I saw was at the southern-most campsite on the only island on the lake. For some reason, the campsite had a full sized, full height stone fireplace. I can only guess that a cabin or lodge originally stood at this site, and the stone fireplace would have been the centerpiece of the main building – it was that grand. If the campsite had not been occupied at the time, I would have pulled ashore to investigate further. Instead, I respected the campers’ privacy and carried on to the portage to Casey Lake on the northwest shore. The portage landing was pleasant – a pebble beach with a nice view of the lake. I pulled my canoe up on land and grabbed some high-energy snacks and energy drink powder out of my pack. I filled up on food and water and made sure I was well rested. There was a reason for me stalling. The 1030m portage to Casey Lake is reported to be one of the most challenging in the park. It rises 47m in elevation over that distance, and the 1235m portage out the other side to Daisy Lake drops back down 43m. It would take a lot of energy this late in the day to complete this challenge in a reasonable time frame. It was late afternoon by now, and I expected to be back at the truck by 6:00pm. If for some reason I tired out at the top, I was perfectly fine with spending the night on Casey Lake. I had looked at it on maps for years, intrigued by the stories of good brook trout fishing to be found here and the adjacent lake. Setting out along the trail, I was surprised – pleasantly. The trail was in fantastic shape and seemed as if it was a well-worn path to somewhere important. It actually seemed to be level, and even slightly downhill in section for the first half. I feared that it would mean a very steep ascent over a shorter distant at some point, but it never materialized. I guess I had been gaining elevation slowly, and I was pleased when I saw a steep embankment heading



downhill – to Casey Lake. I had made it without taking any breaks and it couldn’t have taken any more than 20 minutes.

Casey Lake is striking. It’s small, but the two campsites are perfect. The water is cold and green-hued, common in headwater lakes that are fed only by underground cold-water springs. It’s these features that make it ideal brook trout habitat. I didn’t stop to fish, however, and instead paddled slowly around the lake before ending up at the exit portage at the far end of the north end bay. Starting down the portage to Daisy Lake, I couldn’t believe it. It was actually like an old logging road, and I suspected that it must have been exactly that in the past. It didn’t last that way the entire length, but I was sure it has been an important path at some time in the past, and I was grateful for it now. The only real challenge came near the end when I was forced to navigate through a few particularly difficult deadfall trees, including some huge pines. At one point, I was on my hands and knees, pushing the canoe ahead of me along the ground and through the branches. When I reached Daisy Lake, I was



soaked with sweat, breathing heavily and dehydrated. But, I was glad I did it, and I deemed it worth the effort.

It was so warm at this point that I had to remove my shirt and soak my Tilley hat in the lake to cool off. I passed a campsite full of fishermen, several of them jumping off a small cliff into the lake. That was a little much – the water couldn’t have been much more than a few degrees above freezing. But I can’t say I blamed them. I paddled along the west shoreline, taking my time and soaking in the ambiance of the late afternoon sun on a calm lake. I was within easy striking distance of my truck parked at Magnetawan Lake, and I was in no hurry to arrive. Loons and common mergansers watched closely as I paddled slowly past, and a mink swam across the lake in front of me, passing just a few feet from my bow. It climbed up on shore, shook off and then turned to watch me paddle away. At the portage landing at the end of Daisy Lake, I hesitated again as I lifted my canoe up on to the wood dock. It was here 6 days earlier that I started to feel that I was entering the backcountry. Now, I looked at



the path and muddy landing and saw many footprints from recently passed campers and fishermen, themselves just now heading out on their own adventure. A very small print from a child inspired me, but also made me miss my wife and two daughters just enough to make me glad that I was heading home in a couple of hours, a full day ahead of schedule. There would be other trips soon, I knew, so leaving early did not concern me.

The last three lakes, Acme Pond, Hambone Lake and Magnetawan Lake passed under me effortlessly and too quickly. By 6:00 pm, I had my truck loaded in the parking lot at the Magnetawan Access point. The 45 minute drive to Kearney seemed longer, as did the ride into Huntsville where I stopped for the traditional post-trip McDonald’s meal, something I’ve been doing for some reason since I was 16 years old. My wife was at a Pilates class when I arrived home, which I knew in advance, so just as she was finishing that I sent a SPOT OK message that I knew would indicate that I was home, not 30 kilometers in the Algonquin backcountry like she



expected. My family was happy to see me home, and I was more than satisfied with my 2016 Algonquin solo canoe trip. As usual, the following day while considering writing my trip report and reviewing my photos and video clips, I started looking longingly at my maps subconsciously planning my next trip.

YouTube Video Day 6: https://youtu.be/73Xvo0v-JAY

The End



Resources

YouTubeTripVideosYouTube Video Introduction: https://youtu.be/6WxSP5Uj7LQ YouTube Video Day 1: https://youtu.be/G12tkqcDrQQ YouTube Video Day 2: https://youtu.be/yahHg9PUUxw YouTube Video Day 3: https://youtu.be/8h2UUJUsHOE YouTube Video Day 4: https://youtu.be/z7l8Lt5Cco0 YouTube Video Day 5: https://youtu.be/keenx2s7pkI YouTube Video Day 6: https://youtu.be/73Xvo0v-JAY

Maps

All maps are courtesy of Jeff McMurtry of Jeff’s Maps. I wouldn’t trip in Algonquin without them.

http://www.algonquinmap.com/

For more stories, tips, tricks and tutorials on outdoor recreation, health, wealth, homesteading and freedom;

Please visit http://myselfreliance.com/



About the Author From an early age, I had a love for the outdoors that distracted me from just about everything else in life. Because I was so passionate about fishing, canoeing, hiking, bird-watching, archery, hockey and soccer, I had little interest in school or work. I was a dirt-bag wannabe, but I kept one foot in middle class society, trying to figure out where I fit in. Really, like most people, I desired the comfort and trappings of wealth, but without sacrificing my passion to acquire them. It took me many years, but I soon realized that I could earn more than enough money during short bursts of high intensity and focus. Working less than 40 hours per week but legally earning twice what my friends did, allowed my to focus on my love of the outdoors. This discovery turned into a life-long obsession with self-reliance, but not in a survivalist/prepper kind of way.

Growing up in suburban York Region, I was fortunate to be surrounded by farmland and a navigable river where, as a young boy, I could wander endlessly, fishing, paddling and skating on the river, collecting wild bird eggs, foraging wild edibles, building outdoor shelters for overnight forays and playing native with my primitive archery equipment.

Summers of my high school years were spent working hard in construction, and at the age of seventeen, I purchased a couple of acres on an island in a small lake north of Parry Sound, preparing for a life focused on the outdoors. At twenty years of age, I sold that property for more than double what I paid for it and invested the profit in five and a half acres on the mainland of the same lake. This experience was my first lesson in leveraging and passive income, and I liked it! By twenty-one, I decided school and work were not that interesting and I prepared myself to spend twelve months building and living in a small log



cabin on that property. It was my first mini-retirement, a sabbatical of sorts. It was also the fulfilment of a childhood dream and it was extremely rewarding. But, once again, middle-class society sucked me back in. Fortunately, the lessons I learned during this time prepared me for my current life of passion, prosperity and self reliance.

Now in my mid-forties, I’m living the life of my dreams. I’ve had expensive cars and boats and travelled the world, but I always come back to what truly makes me happy – the outdoors. For that reason, I’ve opted out of the corporate world, constantly turning down opportunities for increasing my wealth. Instead, I choose to live simply and free. For many others, a dream life includes the typical status symbols – the big house, lavish lifestyle, expensive toys. That’s fine if that’s your dream, and I’ve been there and enjoyed that too. But now that I’m middle-aged, I realize that I’m much happier to live free, without the stress that accompanies attachment to material things. And, without the need to sacrifice my freedom in exchange for the hard work and time required to increase my wealth or maintain that expensive lifestyle.

I’m constantly asked how I was able to retire so young, working no harder than average while spending most of my time with family and pursuing my passions over the years. Efficiency, focus and strict adherence to wealth principles are the short answer. This website, and a few other sites that I’ll reveal soon, will provide the long answer, in great detail. I’ll show you exactly how I designed my self reliant life. In the meantime, myselfreliance.com is a platform for me to explore and reveal my



passion for the outdoors, and why I believe focusing on nature has provided me with the tools to succeed in life. As one of my success habits, I’ve kept detailed journals of many of my exploits, business ventures and relationships over the last thirty years. I refer to these journals while I chronicle my life, detailing how I got to where I am today; economically, physically, emotionally and intellectually self reliant, free to live life to the fullest.

About My Self Reliance

My Self Reliance is, at its very core, the life plan I used to achieve freedom in the shortest amount of time possible and with the least amount of effort. My number one passion is outdoor living, and I decided early that I would dedicate my life to that passion, but not at the expense of meaningful relationships, personal health or financial wealth.

In order to build the wealth required to live a life of complete freedom as early as possible, I had to develop systems that were extremely efficient and highly productive. With these systems, I’ve been self reliant since my late twenties and independently wealthy by age forty-five. I didn’t necessarily recognize each habit as a system while I was applying them, but I do now. MySelfReliance.com is my effort to pass this knowledge on to others so they too can live a satisfying life, by design, not happenstance.

The majority of people in my life fit into two distinct categories; those who are wealthy and self reliant, and those who are not.



Unfortunately, both groups are missing something critical to their happiness. Those in the wealthy group are slaves to their profession, consumed by the never-ending, never-satiated quest for more money and more power. They seem unable to enjoy life, are never satisfied, have failed marriages, poor relationships in general and become bitter and resentful.

The latter group has passions that make them happy, but their lives are inefficient and they can only live their passion in small doses while they toil away day after day, counting on good health and sufficient wealth accumulation when they retire after forty-five years of sacrifice and unsatisfying work.

The people in each group are relatively equal in intelligence, opportunity and natural ability. However, they have different habits, use different tools and have different priorities. Jim Rohn said something along the lines of this; success is the result of utilizing right, small habits every single day. Failure is the result of making wrong choices every day, often the same bad habits applied every day ad nauseoum. It’s easy to form good habits. It’s just as easy not to.

I have my own set of habits and systems that are the “secret” to my success. It wasn’t one wealth-creating event that got me where I am today – I didn’t win a lottery or invent the next wheel. I applied good habits and created efficient systems. That’s what I have tried to convey on this website. Yours truly, Shawn James

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