I woke up for a while in the middle of the night, then again at 4:00 a.m. when the sky was glowing red in the east. In the dawn light I heard a few irregular Barred Owl calls right overhead. I recalled then that the Barred Owl has a variety of vocalizations in addition to its signature "Who cooks for you." So that was probably what the "fake owl" was last night.

Lying in the tent at dawn my thoughts turned to home, and I had a sudden minor panic attack. The day I started this trip, the tree guy was going to come out to the cabin to take down a giant old aspen that was on the decline and looming over the canoe shed and LP tank. The only place to fell the tree was next to a rock ledge, with the canoe shed and LP tank just a few feet from where the big aspen was supposed to fall. It seemed chancy to me, but the tree man said it was no problem. Now I was seized by the thought that it had all gone wrong, the tree had smashed the LP tank, the cabin had gone up in a conflagration - and no one had told me because I was out on a solo canoe trip.

Despite those thoughts, I dozed off again until about 5:30, when I got up to start the day. It was cool and misty, but warming fast. I retrieved my foodpack, which was again safe and sound. The morning sun lit up a pine in the little grove where the pack had been stashed -

The mist burned off while I had my morning coffee fix. Looking back toward the Moosecamp River -

And around the corner to the southbound route I would take today -

As I was boiling water for my second mug of coffee, a male Ruby-throated Hummingbird buzzed right through my kitchen, his throat blazing bright in the morning sun. I wasn't fast enough to get a picture of the hummer. But the logs around the firepit stood still for me. I was wondering if this notched log had been used in a flume or something similar upstream in logging days -

By 7:00, I'd peeled off my fleece and was wearing short sleeves. By 8:00, the weather was perfect for a swim. Not typical mid-June temperatures, I'd say. While I was in the lake, a nearby Herring Gull was trying to get a meal by tussling with something just under water.

After my refreshing dip and basking on shore a bit, I finished packing up camp and launched the canoe about 10:00. I was not in any hurry at the moment, with just a few hours paddling and portaging back to the Jeep at the Mudro parking lot.

As I started paddling I had on my sleeveless tshirt and PFD, and it already felt like it was baking out on Fourtown Lake. For the first time on the trip, I wished I had my Tilley hat along instead of just a baseball cap, to keep the sun off my face. Probably the temperatures were in the mid-60s, but with bright near-solstice sun and no wind, it felt a lot warmer. The possibility of a mishap in these conditions seemed vanishingly slight, but I resisted the temptation to take my PFD off. If something did happen, I was still completely alone, with no one to help.

Heading south on Fourtown -

A whole lot of blue -

After paddling down the middle of the lake for a while, I arced into its broad southeastern bay for a little tour of campsites from the water. It was a lot busier down here than "up north" where I had camped.

At one point I noticed something atop one the trees and backpaddled to check it out. A Turkey Vulture was sunning itself up there -

By 11:15 I was paddling up the narrows to the series of portages back to Mudro -

I was hoping to see some other people at the first portage, because I wanted to see how they managed the crazy landing. And I was in luck. As I approached the portage, a group was coming over in the other direction -

I could hear those first guys talking as they got to the landing, wondering where to put in. One of them suggested the slope straight ahead looked easier than the steep area, which I had used coming in (to the right as seen from the water in the picture above). But after inspecting from the water, I decided that the steep area was still the best landing, despite initial appearances -

I decided to unload before the other group brought their canoes across. It was easy enough to get the packs up the steep slope. But the canoe was another matter. I asked one of the young guys if he would help out. He obliged by pulling the bow up from above, as I carried the stern from below.

Just as we got my canoe out of the way, an older guy (i.e., a decade younger than me) came through with their first canoe. After scoping the situation for a minute with the canoe on his shoulders, he easily traversed the steep rock slope sideways down to the water. I was impressed. Maybe next time.

As I crossed the three portages back to Mudro, I didn't pause to take pictures, having thoroughly photographed the area on my way in a few days before. The day was warm, and the idea of lunch at the cabin with AN ICE-COLD BEER was pulling me forward. But I was struck again by the beauty of this creek valley, and enjoyed the songs of all the same birds I had heard on the way in.

On the second, longer portage, I found Greg, the other solo paddler, pulling up as I returned for my second load of gear. He said he had decided to head out today because he dropped his phone in the water last night. I didn't have a phone along (even with my desire to communicate with David, I did not want a phone along), but I could see that if you had one and were planning to use it, you might head out if you lost it. It also occurred to me that if I had been planning to camp another night on Fourtown today, I might have headed out too. The day was a little too warm for my taste to just hang out. And when you are solo, cutting the trip short may always be a more attractive option than when traveling with others.

After I had carried the third portage, I paused to eat an energy bar and purify one more liter of water, which I needed to paddle back to the entry point and then drive back to the cabin. A welcome light breeze was blowing when I crossed Mudro. Soon I was paddling up Picket Creek back to the starting point. A Great Blue Heron was posing picturesquely with his head just above the tops of the marsh vegetation along the creek, but I wasn't quick enough with the camera to get a photo. I also wasn't quick enough with the paddle to avoid running up on one of those stealthy pointed rocks hidden just under the surface of bog-stained Picket Creek.

I got to the landing of the entry point portage about 1:30 and quickly carried my gear across. I had not seen anyone since my brief encounter with Greg on the second portage from Fourtown. And there was no one else at the entry point, despite all the cars. I paused for an end-of-the-trip shot before loading up the Jeep -

When everything was loaded, I headed down the road. It took a few minutes to get the hang of driving. Then my thoughts turned again to the aspen and the LP tank. Not too long afterwards, I got to the gate on our road, and was relieved to see there was no garish police tape indicating some kind of disaster there. Two minutes later I was at the cabin, where the logs from the big aspen were neatly stacked to be split later for firewood, and the canoe shed and LP tank were intact.

David was not due back from Washington until midnight. As soon as I got inside I called him on his cell phone to let him know that I was back and had a great trip. After we talked a few minutes I asked him where he was. "Driving into Ely." He was able to get an earlier flight and would be home in a half hour. I popped open a beer. It was a great trip. And I was glad to be home.