Seems like there is always something to repair, and duct tape does not fix everything. My 45 year old down sleeping bag zipper split and for a while I thought I was going to be using a crippled bag. It has retained its loft despite being stuffed into a drawstring bag when packed and stored. It remains relatively clean because I have always worn cotton long underwear and socks in the bag. The vice-grips that I use for holding up the Dutch oven handle to the rescue, while using the axe file to file down the stop on the lower slider so it can be removed. Then I manage to get the zipper together again and sew the bottom closed with waxed dental floss. The stops at the top of the zipper had worn out so I replace the function with dental floss. Back in full use.
My utility belt bag (a camera bag) had a seam on the belt loop fail. The bag contains a watch, pocket knife, lighter, nail clipper, safety pin (to remove splinters), lip balm, three pieces of flagging tape. So I do not want to lose the bag from my belt. Waxed dental floss is used again, but the repair job would be very difficult without a curved needle.
The socks have three holes to sew up with polyester thread. When sewing holes I just pucker up the material and gather the material together with a whip-stitch ... I call it a pucker-stitch. Not pretty but effective.
I make the repairs in the tent with the stove on while it rains for two nights and all one day. From my journal, "Aah ... life is good. Got my energy back. Just needed a good night's rest. Thank you to rain gods for holding off till camp set up, and for this nice rain which lets me use stove and get a rest." My journal states several times "Still smiling about the sleeping bag zipper fix." Sometimes the importance of a certain item is not realized until it fails.
Camp 12, two km including the 1200 metre portage. I build a stone dock as a step to get out to the boulder in this small unnamed lake, where the water is deep enough to fill containers. The tricky part is stepping back up to the boulder on shore while carrying water. This is where the five litre canoe bailer comes in handy to fill the pots on dry land.
There was a moose in the water at the upper end of the lake when I first arrived.
Looking towards the lake outlet where I will create a portage trail to reach the target lake.
A duct tape repair of my raincoat. This holds until I replace the jacket on return to my vehicle in July.
This is a winter bear den beside my trail. Do not assume bear dens are empty! Early aboriginals would mark where bear dens were located. After den up, they would get several men with two poles scissored across the opening to capture the bear when they provoked him to exit. A dangerous task, before firearms, where sometimes people probably got hurt or killed.
The first day of cutting trail to the next small lake, I clear 200 metres, the next day 900 and finally on the third day the last 150 metres. I had hoped to finish the trail in two days, but when I stumbled I said out loud "Okay Barry, time to quit for the day, this is when accidents happen." It takes many exploratory walks through thick bush to find the best route. There is no sense cutting trail only to find out that section is in the wrong place. I often cut pieces of trail separated from each other before finishing up to join the sections. Occasionally I have cut trail incorrectly and have to block it to avoid taking a wrong turn with a heavy portage load or the unwieldy canoe.
My trail goes through an area of beautiful birch trees beside the creek.
My boots and lower pants are sopping wet from walking over the boggy muskeg. I try to find a route around, but ultimately I have to go straight across, a distance of about 200 metres. In some places of deeper water I build a corduroy "bridge" using alder brush to avoid getting wet to my waist. Note the tamarack trees which are an indication of wet ground and always a bad sign for trail making.
Just to one side of my trail, the entrails and feet of a snowshoe hare killed and eaten the night before, probably by a lynx.
Holes on the trail and a section of the creek filled with down birch logs to make it safe to carry the heavy portage loads. The trail crosses the creek three times.
Wet socks hanging to dry after a welcome change to a dry pair at lunch. The fire was beside the creek overlooked by my seat and table of spruce boughs.
The start of the portage trail, just beside the creek which empties the lake.
A large shorebird, a greater yellowlegs (I think), scolds me nonstop once I get close to the target lake. Somewhere nearby will be the nest. I feel bad because every time I get to this point the bird flies over and around me, nattering all the time.
The target lake, looking towards the creek outlet. Further beyond this over the hill is where I first attempted to find a trail to come directly to the lake. It sure would have been nice to have a single one km trail instead of two such trails, but was not possible.
From my journal, "I celebrate July 1 Canada Day by finishing cutting the trail earlier than expected. Yeah! And catching a 24" pike for fish chowder supper. Canada ... a great country with wide open spaces like this, free to explore. Canada a country where we take freedom that we have for granted. A great country!"
From my journal, "I celebrate July 1 Canada Day by finishing cutting the trail earlier than expected. Yeah! And catching a 24" pike for fish chowder supper. Canada ... a great country with wide open spaces like this, free to explore. Canada a country where we take freedom that we have for granted. A great country!"