Up at 6:00, which is my normal time to rise, and works out really well in the canoe country, since that is the very best time of the day! It was a beautiful misty morning. The thermometer said 50 degrees, but it felt colder.

We had decided to paddle the stream before breakfast, so we grabbed a quick snack and got on our way. The lake was foggy, and the feeling was almost surreal as we paddled out of our little bay and into Square Lake towards the stream.

and as we turned the corner to head into the stream, the sun rose behind the trees:

I played a bit with photographing the spider webs:

and the “dimples” that the grasses make in the water:

and, as always, the reflections in the stream were lovely:

We saw two otters and one beaver on this trip, but missed photos both times. It was a very pleasant morning for a paddle, and we were back at camp by 8:40, ready for breakfast. I cooked scrambled eggs with bacon, potato pancakes, and we enjoyed cups of hot chocolate while it was all cooking. This morning we also treated ourselves to Tang. Now, you may not think that Tang is so much of a “treat”, but it has been along on every canoe trip since 1971 (when we also took “Space Food Sticks"—astronaut stuff was big back in 1971—and we have them along with us this time for nostalgia’s sake!) Some traditions are hard to break.

This breakfast was interrupted at about 9:45, with apologies, by Richard from the U. S. Forest Service. He appeared at our shore right between the eggs and the potato pancakes. We eat in courses, since we only have one stove. That turned out to be a good thing in this case, as I could just stop cooking and socialize without completely ruining the meal.

Richard was friendly and a bit chatty. He asked to see our permit, of course, and to check on the condition of the latrine. He mentioned that we had the best site if we wanted to see a moose, and said that he had seen moose on the portage to Baskatong. He asked if we had had any problems with the condition of the campsite, and we told him about some trash that had been left in the second tent pad that we were intending to carry out. He went over to retrieve the trash and returned laughing—holding the USFS trash bag. He said, “If you are going to litter, you shouldn’t throw away your trash bag with the permit number on it, should you?”

We mentioned the noisy neighbors and he said that he had noticed the keg on the shore, so he supposed that they were partying pretty hard. I wondered if he would speak to them about it.

After Richard left we finished our breakfast, which had now become more like brunch. We noticed that we could smell smoke and remarked that we wondered if it was from the Pagami Creek fire.

We were breaking camp at about 11 o’clock. It seems like we get slower and slower at doing this. Perhaps because we keep bringing more “stuff”. Perhaps because, at age 66, we are just generally getting slower and slower. I know I am. Spartan1 wouldn’t admit to that, however.

The paddle across Square Lake didn’t take long. The lake was calm, the sky clear, and it was warming up to be a hot day. We passed our neighbor’s campsite with the keg in evidence on the shore:

We had heard them loading up their canoes earlier so we knew that they had arisen from the quiet sleep they had appeared to be enjoying when we paddled silently by in the fog at 7 in the morning. We assumed that they were out fishing somewhere.

When we got to the portage and had our gear unloaded, I had Neil put the food pack on my back and began on the short trail. Immediately I was met by two men carrying an upright aluminum canoe with fishing gear in it. I stepped aside to let them pass, and they said, “Another canoe coming, we aren’t making the portage. It’s too dry for us.” I found that discouraging, so I stepped back and looked a bit crestfallen, I suppose.

They reassured us that we could make it, since “we were set up for portaging”. But they had hoped to just go over to Kawasachong for a day trip of fishing and they didn’t want to portage—just to paddle the stream. The stream didn’t have much water and they weren’t prepared to carry on a portage.

They also mentioned to us that they were, indeed, our “neighbors”, and that they were very sorry for being so noisy the night before. I suspect that our friend Richard had mentioned to them that we weren’t happy with being awakened by loud partying at 1:45. It sort of made me feel like an old curmudgeon, but since I do go to the BWCA for a modicum of peace and quiet, I did NOT say, “That’s OK”, I just smiled and replied, “Well, it was a bit noisy last night.”

The portage is short, but it is rocky.

It opens into a grassy path that is a longer portage for when there isn’t enough water to float the canoe in a shallow stream. The stream was very shallow, and Neil let me walk the path while he brought the canoe through the shallow stream to the longest take-out point. It was hot, sunny and breezy. The trip to Kawasachong Lake consisted of the portage and float-through, a little paddling on a small stream, a pull-through in a rocky area, a pull—over on a beaver dam, some more stream, another pull-through, a big rock where I got out and Neil pulled the canoe through again, and some more stream.

We met Ranger Richard as we were coming out of the stream and he told us that all four campsites on Kawasachong were open. We asked him which one was the best and he recommended the first one after you come into the lake. So we checked it out.

It has lots of dead trees and not much shade, with a big grassy field. Several paths, to where. . .remains to be seen. The fire grate is OK, and the view is nice: an offshore view of a little island with some rather photogenic trees. A mourning cloak and one orange comma butterfly greeted us, and each was never to be seen again. Also, as I was exploring at the very beginning I met up with a chubby-dum-dum in the shrubbery by the lakeshore.

A word must be said here about the chubby-dum-dum. I know that this bird is called a grouse. This appeared to be a young one, and it was alone, as far as we could tell. It lived at this campsite, and it seemed to have an injury; it walked with a slight limp and it had one wing that was deformed or wounded, lacking in the long feathers.

Why do I call it a chubby-dum-dum? This goes back to a family story from 1988. When we took our one-and-only trip with our children, they were teenagers. We camped at Back Bay on Basswood Lake with them and our particular campsite had a family of spruce grouse that entertained us for a delightful family afternoon and evening. We had no idea what they were and we were amazed at their antics. We could get very close to them; they appeared to have no fear of humans. But they would climb (or fly) into low trees and shrubs and then walk out onto branches that it was painfully obvious were not strong enough to hold their fat little bodies. Then they would fall off, fluff up their wings, act surprised, and repeat the process over and over. Our daughter, amid giggles and guffaws, decided that since we didn’t know what to call them, we would call them chubby-dum-dums.

And the name has stuck.

Anyway, we made camp on a warm and sunny afternoon. Neil put up the tarp first, so that we would have shade. I wandered the length of a very long path along the shore that seems like an animal path, but may indeed have been made by human animals. I engaged in a minor cleanup (a shampoo felt so good!) and tried to drink more as I was feeling dehydrated after the time in the hot sun on the river. By this time we had realized that the chubby-dum-dum was our camp “pet”. It was wandering all over the open area of the campsite, appearing to eat the small clover-like grasses and/or peck up gravel. It stayed for most of the evening.

The local squirrel has been socking away some pine cones for winter:

Our supper was a late one, after 7 P. M., and consisted of Mountain House Beef Stroganoff, Mountain House corn, and Back Packers Pantry Apple Delite, with coffee. Neil busied himself hanging the packs in the evening light and I photographed what I thought would be the sunset photo.

and if I had realized it, I could see the smoke from the Pagami Creek fire on the horizon. But it didn’t really register in my mind at the time.

Spartan1 left about 7:30, saying that he was going to go out in the woods to look for a better pole for the tarp. I didn’t really pay much attention when he said he was going, nor did I look at him to notice that he didn’t take his headlamp along. I began to photograph the waxing moon against the darkening sky:

and then I noticed that the sunset, which I had thought would be pretty unspectacular, had improved considerably, so I began to work with that a bit:

and suddenly I realized that it was DARK and Spartan1 was nowhere to be seen! I called out and there was no answer. It wasn’t as long as it seemed, but it was too long. . . .and by the time he finally called out to me that he was finding his way back to camp I was pretty upset. I had already decided that there was no way I could start out into the woods in the dark to look for him, so it was going to be a long night waiting for his return if he truly was lost and didn’t come back until morning. But I also knew that he would have the sense to quit thrashing around and stay put somewhere close by until morning came and he could find the lake.

Of course all of my worry was for naught. He arrived safe and sound, with a good tarp pole, and I washed the dishes by headlamp while he was hanging the packs in the same manner. We were in bed shortly after 9 P. M., none the worse for wear. Instead of loons on this night there were some ducks quacking to lull us to sleep.

It was a much warmer evening, with a few mosquitoes. Nothing to require bug dope, just a little swatting now and then.