There were now many mother ducks with their young which would all madly paddle away while the hen played injured to lure me in her direction. One set of ducklings went into a beaver channel near shore and I followed them to see where they would go. All of a sudden I had balls of feathers scooting past both sides of the canoe, some even swimming under the canoe. I felt bad and apologized because I scared them more than necessary.
On reaching the next lake all I could see was forest fire razed landscape with no chance of a good campsite. Note the pink fireweed growing out of a very little bit of soil on the top of the boulder. The weather was becoming progressively more threatening and I knew I would be lucky to reach a camp before rainfall. I stopped twice to check sites unsuccessfully. I kept canoeing until I saw in the distance a small grove of spruce along a shore but with steep burned hillsides behind. Quite often such growth will indicate a wet boggy area not suitable for camping. As I canoed the two km, I remember chanting "Let this be a campsite." and then "Come ooooon campsite. Come ooooon campsite. Come ooooon campsite. ..." over and over.
When I landed at the copse of spruce, I walked 100 metres from one end to the other through the 50 metre width of trees. It was already raining, but hallelujah, with some work there would be a campsite.
Camp 17, after travelling 25 km including four km searching for a campsite, portaging 180 metres and running two rapids (200 metres). As with many campsites, it is also popular with other animals such as the bears that use this trail near shore.
The rain was nonstop for hours, and I burned a lot of wood, but there was an unlimited supply up the slope. Failing a much needed bath, a hot water wash before bed sure felt good.