Once we pulled the gear and canoes up to the portage trail we stopped for more coffee, jerky, cheese and Swishers. Philosophers that we were we philosophized and sat and relaxed. Talking about the section of water we fished and where we each caught fish. Looking at the map we though it would take about 40 minutes at the most to the Fern Lake portage to B-chain. Being delusional and not being of sound mind, we agreed to not fish Fern until the portage. Jumping up like a heard of racing turtles we headed east, it was our destiny and we would not be denied. I crossed the goat portage first and arrived on the east end to whitecaps and a brisk wind. Joined by Gary, we laughed and thought if we just stayed in the portage area we could live for several months and abscond with food and necessities from groups moving through. Hell, it was the bears that did it! But with wet feet and smelling of wet wool we decided to head out.

The plan was to hold to the north shore and meet at the portage on the NE corner of Fern. The whole trip I used my BB bent shaft paddle and would paddle away from Gary, he could keep up or make a little more progress with his kayak paddle. With my Popeye forearms and shoulders of sinew, I headed into the tempest. I could only hope Gary was following and would stay on the shoreline and not try to cut across the small bays. I can paddle for hours and put miles behind me either solo or tandem. I paddle straight and steady with power and efficiency. You wouldn’t know it this day, keeping into the wind was especially important because the gusts would grab the canoe and attempt to swing you around. I was loaded heavier in front trying to get the weather vane effect to keep the stern where it belonged. It took some hard draw or pry strokes to keep going straight.

I glanced back several times for Gary making sure he was following the edge and not out in the open. He was falling behind but still moving. I noticed people on the island site watching our progress, they waved but being the way I was, never waved back. Hell, I didn’t dare. I found a small cove mostly out of the wind and backed into shore and waited for Gary. A large section of the north shore was hit by fire, not very much blocking the wind. Gary paddled in and we took a long rest, maybe all of 5-10 minutes. The portage at the mouth of the river dumping into Fern was our goal and then we would push on.

Paddling hard along the shoreline has a distinct disadvantage at times, I sure could of walked the shoreline and made better time, while skipping stones. It was getting to the point of wearing out some part of the body. Eventually the neck, back, arms or hands are going to drop off and float away with the waves. Did I mention it was RAINING. Rain jackets were kept the water off you body, but it would slip down the back of your neck. Ohh and we were a little off the estimate of 40 minutes. When finally landing at the portage we found it took, 2 ½ hrs. Hitting the shore I waited for Gary to finally round the point and work hard on getting the front headed back to shore. The portage and campsite are the same spot and I didn’t care, we were done for the day.

We broke out the tarp and began setting up a wind break and tent. If someone walked through the site, they would of earned the right. After supper we fished the mouth of the river and caught a few walleyes and bass. Heading to bed we got into dry clothes and socks, Gary was very glad I bought 6 extra pairs from the start of the trip. I decided to head down to the river mouth and fish after dark. Wow, did I have fun! 8-10 casts were a fish, mostly walleyes with a few bass. Largest eye about 27”. Tried to get Gary down to lake to join me but wasn’t moving from his bag. I fished for almost an hour and caught 35+ fish. Throw a light jig up in the current and then wait for a tap or subtle pull and set the hook. A great way to end a another tough day. It was still raining as we fell asleep.

Day 8 We woke to high winds and light rain, got the coffee going and made pancakes for breakfast, a little extra energy for the day. Gary had headed out early and had his bags packed and was fishing until the pancakes were ready. We discussed the wind and rain, how far we could go and the route if were split up and I needed to backtrack to find him. We finished packing, packed the canoes and waded up the river to get past a fast stretch of water. This another of the confusing stretch concerning lake names, we were on the B-chain but not sure of the order. Gary fished the pool below the falls, while I mover across the portage. Since things were slippery and wet I doubled portaged and meet Gary just as he was coming across the first time.

I told him of my plan to slip behind a island to get out of the wind and would double back and watch for him. Given the strength of the wind and waves it made a interesting challenge of keeping an angle with the waves and actually make progress and not be pushed to shore. I rounded the island and worked back in the shelter of the mainland to watch for Gary. I looked over and saw Gary heading out from the portage, since my departure the winds had picked up and waves were big, really big. Gary was headed to the island in the middle, the man had a plan. Getting to the island, allowed Gary to quarter the waves and would give him the wind to his back on heading to island passage where I was sitting. I waited until he was rested and starting to turn his canoe in my direction, and then I stood on the tallest rock and started to wave. He finally waved his paddle and headed my way. With the wind behind him and waves rolling he was surfing coming across the lake.

The only thing was he could do little to try and turn and hit the channel, I scrambled down and waved him to shore, we could portage over a stretch of land and be ok. He was very excited by the time he got to shore. Something about 3ft waves and not touching the water with paddle. This brief moment of talking in “tongues” passed. We headed up the next stretch of river out of the wind and fishing on the way, knowing the whole time that the wind and waves were looming around a corner. Lollygaging along we caught fish, many large boulders to fish amongst. But alas the next lake called! Ohh, it was raining again. Then Gary mentioned meeting a young couple he meet at the falls before and they had capsized in front of the falls but received no injuries and only lost a couple of items to the water.   Hug the shoreline and paddle like hell, that was our motto. Hug the shoreline and paddle like hell, Hug the shoreline and paddle like hell, Hug the shoreline and paddle like hell, Hug the shoreline and paddle like hell. Kinda catching isn’t it.

Well hugging the shorline wasn’t hard the waves wanted to smash you onto the shoreline. I decided we were done for the day when I looked over and I was losing or maintaining my position on the shore. It was a small stretch of lake but huge waves. We made it to a point and I called it quits. The rest of the day would be into the wind and no let up in sight. I quickly moved the bags on shore and turned to help Gary get out. We had a established routine, I would help him out and he would always help me in, my knees had started giving out in the last few years. Standing up was ok, sitting down into canoe was hazardous.

The portage was 100 yds away and 10 yds wide. Just as well been across the Mississippi during flood season. There were a group of scouts and leaders camped on the rock ledged between the two lakes. They were standing in the wind, no tarp, barely a fire and only tents for shelter. Pulling the tarp out, we quickly had a wind shelter, tent cover and cooking area setup. Making some coffee and settling down for the day we watched the scout group and shook our heads.

Another day of listening to rain, hearing waves smash on rocks, branches breaking in the trees and decided we should try fishing from shore. The point provide a good current break, but only provided a few small fish, a loon and a small brown bat. The bat fell out of a big crack after one big wave, swept it up with a net and set him higher up in the crack. We spent the afternoon and early making snacks, popcorn with butter, casadeias, pancakes and coffee. I had my Swisher Sweets. We napped and then went to bed hoping tomorrow would be quieter. Scouts were still standing in the rain. Slipped on the wool socks and fell asleep in the tent.

Day 9 Two days of hard rain and wind put us behind our schedule. Yesterday we made less than two miles and were facing strong winds again, but out of the east. We would have some protection by hugging the shorelines. Rising early we had coffee and pancakes for breakfast, while packing and getting to the tasks of the day. Walking down to the canoes my left knee gave out and I started to roll into the lake, luckily Gary grabbed my pack and I didn’t go all the way in. Getting one leg wet to the knee, legs and arms kicking in the air like a upside-down turtle. Very lucky it was deep water there, having two previous shoulder surgeries I have a hard time getting packs on and off. Hum, faced down pack on top, trying to get out, only want to try that in warm water where I can stand. It was just one more thing we faced and laughed about, one more done that, don’t want to try again.

Loading the canoes and heading all of 50 yards across the lake we hit the rock peninsula and portage the 20 yards at the most to the next lake. Bud, Bernie, Bob, ohh one of the B-chain of lakes. We headed up the southern side of the lake hugging the shore, paddling like hell. Stopping a couple times talking about coming back to this stretch and fishing another year, which we did in 2005. Taking our time to begin with we drank coffee, paddled and discussed areas to fish, but kept pushing forward. The rain and wind picked up and we smiled at each other and laughed, give us what you got because “We ain’t scared”. Getting to the next portage and rapids/falls, I portaged my gear across and came back to fish with Gary for ½ hour, he then moved his stuff across and we headed across to the next portage. This time we were directly into the wind and working hard to make progress, but no complaining just accepting the tasks.

Coming to the start of the river section from Pickerel Lake we started to fish areas and were catching eyes and bass. Finally I moved as far up the river as possible and pulled to shore and headed up the portage, Gary was still fishing. I had most of my gear/bags across before Gary started his portaging. I headed back to help him and he was sidetracked to the pool in the middle stretch and started fishing and catching. I headed to the dam area and looked for the group that had two canoes sitting by the dam. They were camped just to the east of the dam and were settled in for the day. They came over and introduced themselves after awhile. Imagine they thought it was really windy and rainy over the 3 days they had been in. I was shocked!!!

I laid down in the sand and took a short nap, with the rain falling on my rain jacket, the rhythmic pattern that was the norm this trip, not the exception. Gary showed up and we started loading up and reviewed the map and got squared away with the compass.

We headed up between the islands, song in my head, planning to use the islands to shelter us from Tess and Mariah. Our constant companions on this trip, lulling us to sleep at times and beating a rhymithic tune on our coats and hoods. Then snatching us awake with a ferocity of chaos and uncertainty. We headed out to face what would be come a classic one day challenge and search in the Marshes of Lost Canoes. 15 minutes paddling and we were enveloped by fog that dropped visibility to less than 50 feet at times. We hedged our way to the east believing we could keep out of the wind and gradually work north.

The map showed some marsh area but didn’t seem to cover much territory. Tess would be our companion today, tapping us with her drops of magical music, lulling us into thinking we had a plan. While working to the east and north, “I” made the decision to cut through a gap. Little did I or Gary know this was the opening to a maze of cattails, lake weeds and small islands and unseen creatures of the lake. We found ourselves at a shallow area that faced more open water after paddling ½ hour. Stopping to look at the map, there was no telling where we were other than being on Pickerel Lake and in a marshy area. Fog limited our ability to find landmarks get our bearings. But what the hell, we were on Pickerel Lake and would make due.

We covered a large area of shallow water 3-7 feet deep, it looked like heaven for bass and northerns later in the year. The next two hours were navigating the labyrinth of waterways, seen ghostly images out the corner of your eye, fleeting images of islands in the fog, open passages beckoning, come this way. Finding a island with an blow down pine tree we stopped to rest. Pulling one canoe up and putting it over the stump we could then place the tarp over the canoe and stump and have a good area to avoid Tess and reflect on our predicament.

We agreed that our location was just to the south of the mainland and near the area that would lead us onto the main part of Pickerel Lake. To the NE was an area that invited a unwary traveler to conceive the idea of bushwhacking/ paddling through an area to say distance and time. We discussed this option and decided against it, we would look another day. Taking time to dry socks and eat a hot lunch with coffee we rested. Patience is important under stressful situations and wanting for options is best when not faced with a immediate disaster.

Suddenly the fog lifted for a brief moment and we picked out several landmarks from orienteering the map to north and taking headings and layout we could view. We were less than a quarter mile from the spot we needed to be to follow the mainland east to French Lake. We were free! With a sense of relief we relaxed and made preparations to head the next point of our journey. While resting we repeated a ritual that started several day before. My fingers were wet so often and under the constant conditions the skin on my finger tips were splitting. From the nails to the first joint, just the lightest of pressure would cause the to split all the way to flesh. Gary would cut small strips of duct tape and then using paper towels would wrap the finger tips to keep them protected. They would continue to split but it did lessen the pain.

We donned our semi-warm, smelly wool socks and packed the canoes. ¼ mile and we would be moving down the Pickerel to French. Heading north we made to the point, getting closer to the main lake we noticed whitecaps rolling from the ENE, Dejavu. Getting to the point I told Gary to hold still until I found out what the lake condition was just around the point. Coming around the point it was quickly evident that we were done for the day. Yelling back I told Gary to not come out. I was quickly feeling a pucker factor of 8-10 building, but spotted a small cove big enough to turn one canoe around and them work back around the point. Gary was worried since it took awhile to maneuver around the cove and come back, he had visions of the first day. Luckily we discovered a campsite with needles for cushion and out of the reach of Mariah. We were down for the day. Gear hauled up the shore we watched a couple canoes slip out behind some islands and headed to the small island just north of mainland we were on and setup for the night.   Out came the tarp, food on the stove and coffee was brewing, we discussed the trip and what could be different, but no major regrets. Things happen deal with them. Sitting on the west shore we watched the whitecaps roll to the island where we spent our first night, in the same conditions. Moving back to the tarp and tent, we worked on drying two pair of wool socks, with limited success. Beat-up but not beaten down we made a beeline to the tent, planning on getting up at first light.

FINAL DAY: RACE TO FRENCH LAKE Up at first light, I let Gary sleep and walked to the west shoreline and looked across the lake. Whitecaps from the north point across the lake with Mariah whistling her song among the pines. Crawling back into the tent, Gary rolled over and I told him to go back to sleep, we needed to wait. My private thoughts started with some anxiety, what if the wind didn’t die down, we would need to wait another day, would it be a day of switching winds or paddling all day into the wind.

Looking at the map, I estimated about 10-12 miles to French Lake. We would wait, patience is the solo caners necessary guidance in many situations. Checking about 3 hours later the waves were still rolling but definitely smaller, but not gently rolling. We decided it was time to leave. My feet were sore from being wet for days, but I had another plan to deal with this predicament.

I needed my feet dry, dry for the whole day, not just for the start of the day. I pulled out a large contractor garbage bag, always carrying extras. Starting from the bottom of the bag, I cut upward at an angle with the cut ending equal to the length of my knee to my toes. I repeated this process with the other half. Taking the duct tape, I carefully ran tape down the length of the cut seam, tight no wrinkles no bubbles. Since this was our final day, I was willing to sacrifice my bone dry sleeping bag socks. Pulling the socks on and following with the plastic water socks. Taping the socks above the ankles and above the calf, they were adequate with the Teva sandals on, but don’t ever try to walk with the just the socks on, then are skis on pine needles.

Coffee cups filled and a small snack eaten we asked each other “ARE YOU READY?”. We loaded the canoes and were determined to make French Lake. Heading north we rounded the first point to head into a strong 20-25 mph wind, few gusts but steady from exact directions we were headed. Tess had taken the day off. Clear skies but it was going to take perseverance and stronger willpower and personal strength.

Much like the days before we would use islands to block some wind and work east. There was a point in the lake that islands would not be an option and I planned to hug the shoreline. I figured we left about 7am that morning. Once we headed east Mariah gradually began to build in strength , but was consistent in direction. We were in for a paddling challenge of determination and strength of which would challenge many solo paddlers. I began the rhythmic pattern of switching sides as needed holding the SR solo into the wind. Focused on holding a straight line, not losing time or distance.

Time was replaced by cadence, strokes automatic with songs from the Allman Brothers and Marshall Tucker dancing, meditation at the basic level. Body on auto-pilot and brain having a quiet day. Moving along the south shore as needed we noticed the group from yesterday, they were watching our progress and waved. There was a sense of encouragement and protection cast across the water. Gary was having difficulty keeping up with the wind and strong waves. Pulling close to the next island, I pulled his kayak paddle from the back and he pushed it together.

Suddenly there was a ringing coming from my big pack, MY PHONE had risen from the depths. Submerged 9 days earlier it had finally dried out enough to tell me the battery was low. While I found the phone Gary headed to the next island. Following Gary, he suddenly headed toward the south shore and something of color on the shoreline. When I arrived he was pulling on a rain fly that was buried under a foot or more of sand and gravel. The tent itself was farther down the shore, but buried to deep to recover without shoveling and working for hours. Time we did not have, Gary threw the rain fly and a water bottle in his canoe and we headed out.

We had talked about the conditions in the last week and how ad it would be to lose your tent. Made us wonder about how that group faired and if the went back, forward or faced a tragedy. Silent prayers were sent across the lake to help protect all. We were making progress but it was slow, turtles could swim faster then us. We decided to take breaks when we could, knowing our energy was needed if Mariah decided to call louder. I can’t tell you the timeframe or stops needed, but remember shoulders calling for relief, but being encouraged by instinct that the next shelter was just ahead. Keep a straight line, keep a straight line.