Thursday, June 19, 2025 I've spent four nights on Takucmich without seeing another person. At five o'clock, I climb out of the tent and begin breaking camp. The forecast calls for calm winds, but the lake tells a different story. Strong gusts already sweep across the open water. I hope conditions improve by the time I reach Lac La Croix. After leaving Takucmich, I'm sheltered from most of the wind. That changes the moment I round the point and enter Lac La Croix. A stiff northeast wind meets me head-on. Far to the north, a storm is moving across Canada, but I'm feeling its effects here. For a while, I'm able to stay tucked behind Twenty-Seven Island, but eventually the protection disappears. Now there's nowhere to hide. Two- to three-foot rollers pound against the canoe. I should have waited. Instead, I keep paddling. Each stroke gains only a little ground before another wave lifts the canoe and pushes it backward. Hugging the shoreline isn't much better. The waves crash against the rocky cliffs, rebound, and collide with the next set, sending confused water in every direction. For twenty minutes, I feel less like a canoeist and more like a fishing bobber. My heart pounds. The paddle never stops moving. Gradually, I begin quartering into the waves, angling south instead of fighting them head-on. Finally, I gain enough ground to turn and surf diagonally into the shelter of a broad bay. Almost immediately, the water calms. I laugh to myself. I should have waited. Although my pulse was racing during the crossing, I never felt out of control. I've spent enough years in a canoe to understand both my abilities and my limits. Had I capsized, however, the consequences would have been serious. Sometimes confidence and good judgment are separated by only a few minutes of patience. With the difficult crossing behind me, I continue east, following the southern shoreline of Lac La Croix. Eventually, I reach the Pocket Creek portage. Standing quietly along the shoreline is a cow moose with her calf. Neither seems particularly concerned by my arrival. For several minutes, we simply watch one another. Then, without hurry, they turn and disappear silently into the forest. I sit quietly in my canoe for another minute before continuing on, grateful for one of those moments that can never be planned. A short portage out of Lac La Croix leads into Pocket Creek. The creek looks quite low, probably due to a beaver dam or two. It's a short paddle to Gebe Creek, and right away I'm met with a small beaver dam that is fairly easy to cross. The next dam is much larger and requires me to get out and pull my canoe over. The portage into Gebe-on-Equat is straight uphill but relatively short. It took me four hours to get from Takucmich to the north end of Gebe. To my surprise, three of the five sites are occupied. The last few years I've stayed on the lake, I've seen very few people. The two best sites are taken, so I'm forced to take the "Chairs" site. This is the site where people made Adirondack chairs out of slabs of stone. To my surprise, they are quite comfortable. I also realize the actual campsite is down and a bit south of where the chairs are. The site itself is average, but it will suit me fine for two nights. Unfortunately, the previous group threw fish remains into the lake. By two, I've got my camp set up, and I feel exhausted. I decide to set up my tarp, with all the thunder and dark clouds around me. I don't think I'll need it, but I don't want to set it up in the pouring rain if it comes. I have dinner, make a fire, and enjoy a bug-free evening.