Day 18 - Birch Lake (Wednesday, August 20) [full index]

(no mileage, no portages)

The morning began with a beautiful sunrise on this calm, still morning. Nevertheless, by 7 a.m. the distant sound of motors could once again be heard one lake over as boats began transporting more fisherman and canoeists between Moose Lake and Prairie Portage. As the day unfolded I saw lots of canoe traffic back and forth on Birch Lake. But fortunately, the vast majority of it was in the distance on the U.S. side, so I still managed to salvage some peace and quiet.

Tired, sore and lazy, I spent the day lounging around camp, occasionally taking some photographs.

Probably the most exciting event all day was getting buzzed by a float plane as it came in for a landing over by the ranger station. As if there had been any doubt before, the wilderness feeling was now completely gone.

After a little fishing and a nap, I did manage to get a few things done around camp. I cleaned and replenished the meager wood pile, added some rocks to the fire ring, and arranged the site's crucial lost and found monument, which now prominently featured a penny, a small bundle of tent rope, and a rusted-out old pocket knife found in the dirt under the picnic table. I also listened to my little weather radio, and it was forecasting increasing winds over the next few days with a good chance of storms and a very strong south wind on Friday. I hadn't arranged for a tow back to LaTourell's, so I would potentially be paddling into that wind all the way down Moose Lake back to my exit point. Moose is a big lake, so I debated the option of leaving tomorrow instead, one day early.

The fire pit at this mostly overlooked campsite was looking very lonely and neglected, so in the evening I cleared out the cobwebs and filled it with a nice fire. Just offshore I watched with great amusement as an adult loon appeared to be teaching its chick how to fish. Behind them, the reflection of the moon, colored an unusual deep red-orange, glimmered on the surface of the water. As darkness fell the motor boat sounds eventually ceased, and my little corner of Quetico once again returned to wilderness and blissful solitude.

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