The birth of the Bandits: Year One - Day Two
Day Two
"We were beginning to accept the fact that we were lost..."
We awoke to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, we were now seeing our campsite in daylight for the first time. Our spot was surrounded by a sandy beach, enormous pine trees and the ominous white-capped Pickerel lake to the East. We were at “the Pines”, an infamous camp spot amongst paddlers and hikers alike.
Fifty feet from where we were camping there was a family of four with their canoe hanging out at the beach. The father told us they were planning on paddling out onto Pickerel lake but the headwinds were making conditions too dangerous. He was a frequent visitor to Quetico Park and asked us about our route. We gave him the break-down and he seemed slightly concerned, nonetheless he was excited for us and wished us well.
We made breakfast and broke camp. With the weather being a concern we decided to wait another hour in hopes of the gusty headwinds to die out. We walked around the beach and hung out as the family of four made themselves lunch. After waiting a solid hour, the winds showed no sign of dying out. Daylight was wasting and we had a twenty five kilometer (15 miles) paddle to reach the Pickerel Narrows campsite marked on our map. Twenty five kilometers of open water, white-caps and gusty headwinds…
As we were loading the canoes, the father approached us, he addressed his concerns about the big waves and gusts, but our minds were made up and staying another night at “the Pines” was not an option. We pushed off the beautiful sandy beach and reluctantly headed into the white caps.
"the Pines"
Our massive aluminum canoes rocked up and down and water began spilling over the bow, we knew we were in for a heavy slog. Our pride was on the line, this made us paddle harder, zig-zagging inch by inch across the dreaded Pickerel lake.
After what must have been a few hours, we collectively decided it was time for a break. There was an island ahead on the map called Lookout Island, a perfect spot for us to seek refuge. We aimed our bow to the target a couple kilometers ahead and dug deep, paddling with everything we had.
Once we were positioned behind the island close enough, we could feel the drag of the wind less and less. When we pulled up, Adam was so eager to get out of the canoe he didn't even bother finding a proper landing spot. Instead he impatiently climbed out of the canoe onto a sketchy rock. The rock was wet and slippery from the crashing waves and just as he got both his feet on the giant boulder, his feet slipped, causing him to fall forward onto the Canadian shield island. We all burst out laughing but stopped quickly when he showed us the damage. His knee was covered in blood and he was now limping. First injury of the trip.
Our late lunch on the island consisted of trail mix and lake water mixed with Gatorade. Both these food items have remained staples of our canoe trip diets today. Adam cleaned his wound and the three of us discussed a game plan. We decided to strategically travel between Emerald Island and Long Island to get some coverage from the wind. We would then proceed to navigate through the maze of scattered islands in Pickerel narrows and set up camp at mosquito point, the gateway to Batchewaung Lake.
Replenished by the lake water and trail mix, it was time to set sail again. With ten kilometers (6 miles) behind us and fifteen kilometers (9 miles) to go, the day was far from being over. We paddled away from our sheltered island and to our amazement the weather was beginning to make a turn for the better. The sun poked out from behind the clouds and the wind began to die out. We stuck to the game plan and made our way towards the center of Emerald and Long Island.
With nothing but a light breeze and sunshine, the channel between the two islands was happy paddling. The water sparkled in the late afternoon sun, revealing how crystal clear and full of life it was. A beaver gave us a stern warning with the slap of his tail as we passed by his lodge, then soon after a loon passed under our canoes like a torpedo honing in on its soon to be dinner. To us this was a good sign for fishing so we threw in a line to try our luck. We ended up catching a few pickerel on the Eastern side of Emerald Island but threw them back.
It was now evening and we had entered Pickerel Narrows. According to the map, our campsite at Mosquito Point should be an hour's paddle away which would time out perfectly with the little daylight we had left. The Narrows is an area in which experienced paddlers should have no problem navigating IF they're paying attention but we were neither of those... As the sun dipped behind the horizon the map started to make less and less sense. We weren’t seeing any of the landmarks or geographical features on our planned route. We were beginning to accept the fact that we were lost... and to make things worse, we were out of daylight.
As the night crept in, we had a decision to make, we could either back-track and try to navigate to Mosquito Point in the dark or set up camp nearby and pick up where we left off in the morning. We decided it would be wisest to set up camp as soon as possible and worry about our coordinates in the morning.
Most of the surrounding area was muskeeg and not an option for us to set up camp. Our only other option was to scout the steep and dense North shore for a spot to sleep. So the four of us hopped out of our canoes and started to bushwhack in hopes of finding a flat area to spend the night but the further we entered the forest, the steeper and more dense it became. We pushed further in with our headlamps on, scaling what were now becoming cliffs in hopes of finding anything relatively habitable. Tom nearly took a nasty spill during our scout mission which made us rethink our current plan. Adam and Evan had recalled seeing a potential tiny rock island half a kilometer back so we decided to get back into our canoes and check it out.
The rock island, if you can even call it an island, had one tiny dead tree poking out from it. It was about ten feet by ten feet and was absolutely not flat. If we wanted a campfire to cook food we would have to gather firewood somewhere nearby and bring it over by canoe.
We managed to fill our canoes right up with firewood then made the short paddle back to our rock. With no room for a tent, we built a small makeshift shelter with a tarp, rope and the lone dead tree. We then docked our canoes on each side of our rock bed in hopes of blocking some of the wind. We started a small fire with my flint stick in true Survivor Man fashion but we were way too tired to make a proper meal, besides, there wasn’t even enough room to prepare a meal. Instead we made two batches of Jiffy Pop and ate burnt popcorn for dinner. We sat around the fire for a short while and laughed at our pathetic situation. That night the rock was dubbed “Mickey Mouse Island”.
I don’t think anyone slept that night, I know I didn't. I was too busy trying not to slide into the lake in my sleeping bag. That was okay though, I just stared at the stars and listened to the loons calling.
Day Two's Stretch
Jiffy Pop
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