Sunday, June 04, 2023
I woke up early with sunrise and the birds. On this trip I remembered to install the Merlin bird app on my phone and download all the data in advance; you can press record and it'll identify the birdsong around you. Over 30 seconds at 4:25 am, it picked up a song sparrow, yellow warbler, common loon, adler flycatcher, and white-throated sparrow, along with my shuffling in my sleeping bag as I tried to breathe as quietly as possible. I was sore, I was tired, I wanted to sleep in, but I also knew that winds would be between 0 and 2 miles per hour all day, and there would be no better day to cross Insula, Thomas, and Fraser. I was maybe 25% of the way through the miles on the first day alone -- that's fantastic. But I wasn't sure if I really still wanted to do this. I could turn back; the current would be in my favor through the narrow bits, I could take a few days and really lounge. If the weather had been rougher, maybe I would have? I really don't know for sure. But the lake was glassy, the forecast called for near zero wind all day, and I had more big water to cross of lakes Insula, Thomas, and Fraser. And with things looking like this, once I was on the water at 6:30 am, I knew I had to keep going, and was greeted with this glassy silence:
Did I make breakfast? I did not. I brought twelve packets of maple & brown sugar oatmeal, intending to have two each morning with coffee. I ate zero. I didn't make a single cup of coffee. I barely ate on the entire trip, which had its pros and cons. On a family trip, when it's mealtime, I'll gather firewood, I'll cut and trim it, I'll get the fire going, I'll cook the meal, we'll eat, I'll wash the dishes, and it's a social activity. But doing all of those steps, when alone? That's just too much. Even using the stove to boil a few cups of water, that's still a few minutes to get it out of the pack and set up, a minute or two to boil the water, and a few minutes to let it cool and put it away again. Or, I could just eat a breakfast bar or two and call it good. I have no real explanation for it, other than camping meals are a social activity, and without the social aspect, I had no interest in it.
That began to worry me a little. With the physical exertion, I knew I needed to eat, but I had no desire to eat -- not just no desire to cook, but no desire to eat. I had no hunger at all, and even forcing myself to eat more than a few bites was a chore. But I kept telling myself, when I set up camp for the night, surely I'll be hungry by then, right?
I crossed Insula, and had a 164 rod portage into Kiana Lake. The mosquitos were bad, I didn't get the camera out, but the portage started with a steep incline and a deadfall across that, enough that it'd make it a challenge to get under it with a canoe on your shoulders. This portage sucked. Triple portaging meant 2.5 miles of total hiking here, across uneven ground, swarmed by mosquitos, and flicking ticks off of my pant legs. I was less sure I wanted to do this. I felt a little confident -- not once did I have that anxiety of solitude that had happened on previous trips, but that was because I was either constantly pushing or physically exhausted -- but as I then portaged from Kiana to Thomas, I knew that I could detour to the west here. Head out through Ima, Disappointment, Snowbank, and I'd get to an entry point only about five miles on dusty gravel back to my car. I could be a coward, I could give up, I could come up with any excuse -- claim the some injury flared up -- and just give up. I'm still not sure why I didn't.
Stopped at a site on the east end of Thomas, slung the hammock, climbed in, set an alarm on my phone for 45 minutes later. I was tired, but it was a beautiful day, and the waters were still so still and quiet. I hated to give up the good weather in exchange for a rest, but ... I was still halfway to convincing myself to leave. And if I took a short nap, and the wind picked up, and I had to say that I had to change my plans because of the weather; well, that wouldn't be my fault, would it?
It would. Fifteen years ago I decided, out of nowhere, that I wanted to be a marathoner. Not a competitive one, but just someone who runs marathons. And I trained all spring and summer for my first, but also had no real idea what I was doing, and when race day came I ran and bonked and walked and the sweep bus came and passed me and I kept going on the sidewalk, finishing after the six hour limit. A DNF in the official records, but I still crossed the finish line with friends and family waiting for me. That came unbidden to my mind when I was in the hammock there on Thomas, that I could quit, I could come up with any excuse, people wouldn't question or press me on it, but I would still know that I gave up when I wasn't forced to.
I pressed on, got to the north end of Fraser, and set up camp for day two. I pinged my wife on the Garmin, she messaged back to EAT SOMETHING, and so I boiled two cups of water and dumped them into a package of Backpacker's Pantry lasagna, and realized too late that I thought I had packed Mountain House lasagna. If you like Backpacker's Pantry, skip the next sentence or two, but it was just awful. No taste of seasoning, or tomato sauce, or even recognizable noodles. I forced myself to eat it, not just forcing because of the comparatively low quality of the meal, but also because I just felt like I had no room in my stomach. At all! The physical exertion had suppressed my appetite so much that even the sight of food was unappealing.
Daily distance: 13.2 miles, 10.1 paddling, 3.1 portaging. Total 29 (22.6/6.4).