Day 6 – Saturday 10-01-16 I could not believe my good fortune with the weather I was having. Fantastic weather made it possible for me to solo travel the larger lakes on this route. I double portaged the long portage from Thomas into Alice on fresh legs. Although long, the portage was rather level, and not too difficult. I paddled south across Alice Lake, which was like glass in the morning calm. I was amazed to find no signs of any other visitors on this popular lake. My next stop was Fishdance Lake for the pictographs. I had visited the pictographs with father and some of my brothers on my last BWCA trip in 2006, when we base camped on Insula. I was returning now older, and with a greater appreciation for what I was seeing. As I approached the ancient drawings, the first wind of the day picked up, but would quickly dissipate after I left the area. I was left with an eerie feeling. Had I been visited by “The Spirit of Fishdance Lake?” I continued up the Kawishiwi River to Beaver Lake. The fall colors were starting to turn and were beautiful down this historic stretch. I couldn’t help but think of the countless voyageurs and Natives who had traveled before me down this same waterways and portages. After almost a week of traveling alone, I was really starting to feel a connection to my surroundings. I was planning on pushing forward to Adams or Boudler Lake to camp tonight. As I rounded the point to head east on Beaver Lake, I was greeted by an otter playing off the campsite on the point. I continued east, looking for the portage to Adams. I thought I had located the portage on river right, but was quickly second guessing myself. The portage started out in a dense patch of white cedars, but quickly disappeared. It was getting late, and I really did not feel like getting lost trying to push on. I had a weird feeling that I was not meant to go further, that I was meant to stay on Beaver Lake for some reason. As I back tracked on Beaver, a bald eagle appeared overhead and led me west, right back to the campsite that I had seen the otter playing. I knew I was home for the night.
This site (1967) offered beautiful views on both sides of the peninsula, with nice rocks to sit and enjoy the views. The evening turned out to be magical as the witching hour that Sigurd Olson speaks of set in. The water came alive with fish feeding, almost making the water boil. I tried briefly to fish for one, but found much more enjoyment in simply paddling slowly through the magical evening. The hooting of a Great Horned Owl west of camp put the punctuation point on a magnificent day.