Fortunately, nobody died on the first day, so it was a surprise (to say the least) when somebody almost died again the very next day, but we’ll get to that. We were back on the water in the morning after a hearty bacon and egg breakfast…to a day of cold boggy portages and blowdowns. Mark led the way down one Craig Lake 'portage' that turned out to be merely a game trail. It took some time and effort to discover that the 'portage' petered out and led nowhere, so we reversed course and got back onto Craig.

The weather seemed to go from bright and sunny to wind, rain and hail about every fifteen minutes. Out of nowhere came a major squall on little Craig Lake. Pete and Bryan’s canoe went broadside between breaking waves and absolutely would not steer out of the cresting beam sea. Bryan's calls to head for near shore were lost to the raging wind. All they could do was aim for the more distant steep rocky shore ahead and try and hang on until the storm passed. On reaching the jagged shore they were tossed from the frying pan into the fire as they struggled to keep their canoe from being destroyed on the rocks, even as they were pelted by wave after wave of stinging hail. The cresting waves relentlessly worked to loosen their grip and slowly started to dump the packs into the wet and icy crashing waves even as they tried to stand on the slick sloping shore rocks.

Dave and Mark suddenly appeared like the rescue team in the midst of the gale. They had managed to land at the actual portage and bushwhacked and crashed through over 300 yards of undergrowth and bush like a couple of angry moose to help secure the packs, canoe and paddlers - leaping thigh deep in the icy waters of Craig Lake without hesitation to save Pete, Bryan and their gear.

The storm passed quickly, followed by still another bright sunny calm. Pete and Bryan reloaded their canoe and joined Mark and Dave at the portage, once again soaked and humbled by nature. This next portage was complete with many blowdowns, knee deep bogs and steep rocky inclines. Bryan sawed through the larger obstacles with Pete’s Corona, clearing the way for future adventurers, and continuing his decade long 'ad hoc' Quetico portage clearing campaign.

Midway up Robinson Lake, we found a beautiful island campsite in the afternoon and decided to pitch camp and to Mark's delight, go fishing. This campsite is clearly marked by a cairn of small rocks. Someone had taken the time and effort to engineer a fantastic fire place, elevated to the perfect cooking height, the rocks fitting together neatly. (Dave referred to it as the Granite Viking Range). Campers from the previous season had also kindly left a supply of cut and seasoned cedar and birch bark. Clearly, there was a group that base camped here.

The crew returned this favor at every camp as they journeyed through the awakening wilderness.

Other than a delicious Laker that Dave caught, the fishing was unremarkable.

They discussed the next day’s route over that grilled Laker, as well as ham and potatoes cooked in Mountain Dew, an excellent recipe Pete had discovered somewhere. Never leftovers on this trip.

Pete was clearly intent on a bushwhacking adventure. Mark, on the other hand, was focused on fishing - this would lead to a few 'conversations' between the Lt. and the Sergeant about differing goals, but it all worked out.

As Pete studied the next day's route, he put his grimy finger on McIntyre Creek. Figuring that the waters would be high, he proposed saving hours of paddling and portaging by taking this surprisingly unmarked shortcut. Everyone agreed and hit the sack.

The second day they had paddled 8 miles, and but crossed 4 portages (48, 24, 73, 70 rods). Pete and Bryan had nearly drowned a second time in as many days.