Solo Trek into Quetico - No Country for Old Men
The birds - earlier singing and flitting about - grew silent as the clouds darkened and the weather closed in. No chance I was going to miss this blow. I walked down to the lake and pulled my little solo canoe up on shore, flipped it and tied the bow painter off to a handy branch… testing the knot with a tug. The wind started to quicken as I dropped the sides of my tarp, and buttoned up the packs. I walked over to my Hennessey Hammock and double checked the tarp and anchor pegs. The first drops pelted me as I walked over to my waiting campstool under the tarp. I have never - in nearly 40 years of camping in the Canadian Boreal Forest - seen a rainstorm like this one. Based on nothing but a guess, I'll wager over 4" of rain fell in a six hour period. Wave after wave of rain drenched my little island and whipped my campsite, fortunately the wind wasn't bad - but that would change. And soon. Everything got damp as I read my book, smoked my cigar and sipped my Sour Mash. I eventually decided that the rain, rolling thunder and cracking lightning were going to continue all night so I retired to my hammock.