Friday, September 28, 2012 Day Two: Horace Greeley (Following his advice I go west and then turn north for an equal measure)

Lakes: Brule, South Temperance, North Temperance, Sitka, Cherokee, Gordon, Long Island.

18 miles paddled 350 rods portaged

Some trust the wolf they have kept since birth not to turn on them.

I had read the weather forecast but decided to not quite trust it. The day had called for minimal wind and warm temps – but I had a lapse of faith I suppose. As so, I was awake in the dark and packing up my gear before light eased its way over the water. I had a few almonds and dried blueberries with a slug of water for breakfast, knowing I’d stop at some point for another wee snack or two that morning. The sky lightened and there was a mist on the water as I left my campsite. I love paddling into the mist. I always half hope I'll disappear -that the mist may be some portal into an infinite lake and woods and I can spend my days being part of it all, the water, the sun, the mist. The mystic. Into the Mystic - our man Van had it right. I wanted to paddle Brule before the day warmed and the wind came up. And oh, but wasn't it brilliant? The water was glass and calm and I sliced my way quickly down the lake – not pushing so much as paddling with intent. Can they arrest you for that, do you think?

I stopped once about midway to eat a clif bar (I don't much like them) and have a drink but was then on my way again quick as a wink.

I saw a pair of nesting eagles near Jock Mock point, one sitting higher than the other in a tall pine. I suppose they were looking at me too, disappointed that I was a person and not a fish. Join the club. I paddled across the larger stretch of open water and made the length of Brule in just under 2 hours, pulling over to the creek linking to South Temperance without so much as a whisper of wind. I’d never been on a Brule that calm. Someone was smiling on me that day. I hoped she was pretty.

On South Temperance I saw a pair of fisherman in an aluminum canoe. They’d cast their lines into a snag and said they normally fished that way. They may have been Welsh, but more likely Iowans. I left them to their tangle and continued on my way.

It’s pleasing to be on the move. I’ve always liked it. I spent my time criss-crossing paths with the sun and paddled my way through North Temperance and Sitka, picking my way along the rocks and root strewn hills of the portage and came into Cherokee. I stopped for lunch and took the sun at the peninsula campsite mid-way up the lake.

Lunch was tuna fish with mustard, relish and pepper in pita bread. Pita bread is fine when it's fresh and abysmal when it's not. Mine was moving towards not. I took off my boots and socks, my shirt and stood and sat and had a lie down over the next hour, enjoying the sun. I heard but did not see a loon, saw, but did not hear wood ducks and in general enjoyed what was being given to me. I saw no one else on the lake and thought it strange. It was a Friday after all. None of the campsites I’d passed appeared to be occupied. When I got back on my way and paddled up the narrows of Gordon Lake, the feeling of solitude continued.

The portages and put ins to and through Gordon lake were rocky and I’ve a few new scratches on my canoe now. As I expected, a raven waited for me at the portage into Long Island Lake looking at me with its ancient eye. I looked back, wondering if it would go get me a beer.
I paddled then not quite halfway down the lake, noting no other canoes on the water or at camps and put out at a nice site with a southwest exposure just behind an island. I like islands - they're proud. It was early and I could easily have made it to Kiskadinna yet that day but I decided to spend time exploring Long Island Lake instead. I set up camp and then paddled up and around the largest mass of land on the lake, jumped the 35 rod portage and paddled back to camp. I had a bit of a scare when it seemed I’d left my hammock back at last night’s campsite. Eeejit! Are you kidding me? I was giving out to myself and pissed.

I decided to sleep on a groundcloth beneath my tarp and began setting camp for that when I realized my hammock was only snuggled up next to my sleeping bag in another pile I’d made when I unpacked my pack. Exclamations of relief ensued but I still felt myself an eejit! I did NOT want to retrace my steps from today and changing my route but was prepared to do so if I’d indeed forgotten the sling. I gathered enough firewood for an hour or so of burning, changed clothes and spent 11 minutes making dinner. Tonight's feast was dehydrated chili made at home with fritos gone stale in the ziplock but once added to the chili softened and tasted just fine. There was still only the smallest of breezes while I washed out my pot (a snowpeak 900 cup – my 700ml cup, trangia, matches, spoon and fork all nest inside) and put it all away – deciding I didn’t need to bother with a hot chocolate later that night. I just ate some more of the Cadbury bar I’d brought along. I’d rationed 4 thick squares for each of the nights – which turned out to be enough even though I’d worried it mightn’t be.

And then it was dark. The moon had not yet risen, there was blackness on the water to match that of the trees and the stars began to unveil themselves for me. I sat for awhile before making the fire and thought some of the things I yet wanted to do with my life, the things I want for my children, for myself, for others. All those desires. I looked into the sky and realized that it’s always there, never exactly the same, but for the most part unchanged by time, by us, by desire. The air cooled then a bit and though I was dressed for success I made my small fire, ate some more chocolate, drank wine and water from my chalice and decided it had been a good day. I let the fire burn low to just embers before giving it a stir and a douse and climbed into my warbonnet with a book and read awhile before deciding on sleep.