I slept well despite the heat, but again I awoke to a smoky haze. I missed the weather radio, my mind racing to the absolute worst case scenarios. Pancakes and bacon calmed me as I thought about the day. I knew I could paddle completely out, but I feared tackling the Tusc-Missing Link monster so late in the day, even more so with the nightmarish threat of a forest fire. I was slow to pack this morning as it started to sink in - I am close to leaving.

The portage to Tarry starts with an impossible landing. Imagine boulders the size of cars stacked right into a six foot deep plunge. I can’t imagine how “dry footers” handle this. It would be easier to flip the boat and toss the floating gear up.

Crooked reminds me again of my desire to camp on it, although I have always just paddled through. It was burned over some time ago, but it is dotted with steep islands, and some day I will explore its surprises.

By the time I was to Tuscarora, the oppressive heat had sapped my strength, and I knew the mile portage on the other side would be too much. The first point in the lake was open, and I knew I would enjoy a final peaceful night before returning to reality. I ended the quick day there, swimming away the afternoon.

All day the smoke built; at times, the far shore was hazy. I cast from shore dispiritedly, almost out of boredom or guilt. I find myself fishing less and less on these trips. A lone hammer handle struck, tenacious even in the afternoon heat. I didn’t have the heart to clean him. A few boats passed, but I expected much more traffic on the holiday. Perhaps with the country slowly reopening, the masses have returned to its pre-covid pastimes. It is an afternoon for baseball, corn on the cob and ice cream.

By evening, I was not interested in a fire of any kind, but all my meals required flame. I managed to use the stove one last time; I had decided to jet out early, counting on Cliff bars and nuts to get me out. The Packit Tuscan Beef Stew was delicious; I simply lost all appetite in the heat.