Rosy sunrise at camp 15, July 19 at 4:10 a.m. and 4:45 a.m. (two exposures each).
7:45 a.m., heading down the big lake on route to the cabin after crossing the eight metre portage.
8:20 a.m., chilled after I stop paddling, breakfast stop with a welcome warming fire on a small unburned island. (Wearing headnet to break camp because mosquitoes were very bothersome at camp 15, I left without eating.)
9:15 a.m., some threatening sky in one direction, but much more blue otherwise.
11:45 a.m., jumping at the chance as soon as I land to hang the many wet items to dry before it rains at 3 p.m., nails hammered into the cabin walls which I remove when done.
12:30 p.m., also hang sleep gear to air and dry.
July 20, kindling and stovewood split for use in the stove to dry wet clothes.
July 21, stovewood sawed for the woodshed to leave for the cabin owners.
My red squirrels are still here, probably equally annoyed at me for invading their home.
July 22 and 23, weather varies day to day.
Seven common loons swim past my shoreline, at least two broods joining together; the eighth just dived below the surface.
One of the common mergansers that are always at my shore every morning.
Some of the welts from blackfly bites received sometime at the previous two camps and portages.
July 24 at 9:40 a.m., a "de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver" float plane from "Osprey Wings Ltd" lands to carry me, gear and canoe to my vehicle. https://www.ospreywings.ca/
Pilot Dave does an excellent job of fastening the canoe above one pontoon. I appreciate the half hour or more that it takes to firmly tie the canoe so that it absolutely will not move, an exercise in scientific stringing and tying of the heavy ropes. Learning the technique takes at least one day of practice. Each plane must be certified by Transport Canada to carry a canoe, and the pilot also must be certified for each type of plane, very reassuring when in the air.
Photos at the start of the trip, June 2, compared to near the end, July 23. Only two months, so beard not too unruly.
July 25, Alberta prairie skies and crops on the trip home (yellow canola, green wheat, blue flax).
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Summary:
Make good time back to the cabin, hanging up all my wet gear as soon as arriving to dry before the next rain. Jeanette calls for a float plane to transport me, gear and canoe back to my vehicle. Home on July 25, after a planned 16 week canoe trip cut short at eight weeks.
July 19, Sunday:
Up at 3 a.m., very cloudy with sunrise more orange than red, but still not a good sign, 15°C, calm, with a bit of blue sky in the east. Mosquitoes are bad so I have to don headnet right away, breaking camp without breakfast even though I am hungry. Everything is damp or wet. Aie! Canoeing unnamed lake 9.6 the half km to the eight metre portage, I hope for the best weather-wise. Blackflies and mosquitoes follow me on the main lake from the portage, but after about half hour of paddling even though it is dead calm, I remove the headnet and the bugs are tolerable. The canoe does not have the advantage of a motorboat of speeding away from the pests. In the absence of a headwind I make good time, taking the shortest route between points, not having to hug the shore to avoid wind. The large Tarp is spread over the canoe load in case it rains. Stopping at one of the few small unburned islands for breakfast, I am chilled when no longer paddling, so make a big fire. With some birchbark found inland, it is easy to start a fire with a dry stump right where I land. The fire is on sloping rockface one metre from water's edge, facing the rising sun which manages to shine through the still very cloudy sky. Sitting on the surprisingly dry bare rock face right beside the fire, it feels good, nice and warm. After eating what might be lunch as well as breakfast, I feel much better. Having asked the rain gods to hold off until I get to the cabin, I apologize for stopping but say I have to stop to eat something. A very light headwind arises after breakfast, but still make excellent time. Arriving at the cabin at 10 a.m., I am ecstatic that I canoed the 11 km so quickly, not expecting to arrive until noon, but the absence of wind sure played in my favour. My fear had been that the cabin would be occupied. However, there is nobody here except the resident squirrels. Later a bat flies out of the front side of the cabin when I hammer a nail to hang gear to dry. My priority on arrival is to hang gear to dry in case it rains. As I remove each pack from the canoe, I deal with it then, placing dry items in the cabin on one specific spot for each pack. Wet or damp articles I hang on the front or side of the cabin in the sun on nails I hammer into place, removing them when no longer needed. The wettest items are the external packs and the two tent flies. The gun has a bit of rust on the hinge, no surprise after the wet portages; I will deal with it later. Next I dig the hole out again for the butter cooler and cover with the small aluminum boat; I always make a "fridge" as soon as possible to minimize warming of the coolers. Right where I remember leaving the old leather mitts, I find the right hand unharmed but the other is gone, the one I always wear out first, perhaps more sweat stained and attractive to animals; I ask one of the squirrels if he knows where it is, but cannot decipher his reply, suspecting that it may very well be in his nest. Then I do other chores (dig firepit, gather firewood, fill three pots with raw water, remove nails from cabin walls used to hang gear, drink lots of LifeStraw® water, erect inner tent in cabin and lay out sleep gear). By 3 p.m., when a rainstorm passes through, everything is dry or almost dry and put in the cabin. The only damp items are clothes which hang in the cabin on two lines I string up. On one line, directly over the stove, are the clothes worn today and yesterday including the dirty clothes that had been packed away dry but had to be used after the wet portages. There is also a wet towel after having a very cold bath, the last chore, in the rain and strong onshore wind. I am very pleased that everything else is dry, and that I will only have to use the stove to dry these few clothes. It would have taken a long time to dry everything in the cabin.
Shortly after landing, Brian and Candy motored up on their way to go fishing. They generously invite me to supper, and I do not hesitate to accept; Brian will pick me up at 5:30 p.m.. Their lodge is one km away, half hour by canoe in favourable conditions, not guaranteed, five minutes by boat. More good news, my cost for the boat is much less after Brian took the motor apart to find that the gear is okay and the problem was the control arm which could be adjusted. After explaining why I am back, I mention that I am going to phone Jeanette to see about a plane ride out and they kindly offer to let me use their satellite phone (but I will use mine).
There are many mosquitoes in the cabin so when I hear the motorboat approaching to fetch me for supper, I light a mosquito coil and close the shutter and door; I always carry a supply of this insecticide item for use in the canvas Tent. I am all dressed for the visit in the clothes I wore for the last portages, the newest cleanest, all dry except the jeans are still quite damp. Having been very busy all day, I am glad that I ate some extra food at late breakfast as I have had no time for lunch. I have some time to sit in the cabin, on newspaper to help dry the jeans. With moccasins on, I place crumpled newspaper in my boots for awhile. The meal is scrumptious (deep-fried seasoned pike pieces in taco soft shells with tomato sauce, cheddar cheese, a white sauce; two beer, water, ice cream on chocolate cake). I eat more than anybody else; and talk too much after not having the opportunity for almost two months. Candy sends me home with fresh food for several meals, very much appreciated. [I did consider the risk of COVID-19 and rightly or wrongly deemed it safe; at home now in December, Jeanette and I do not associate with anyone in close contact including family, possibly until 2022.]
When Brian taxis me home by 9 p.m., I phone Jeanette with my satellite phone to ask her if she will arrange to fly me out, also that I owe considerably less for the use of the motorboat. This is also the first time I tell Jeanette about having lost five weeks of grub to two different bears so did not have enough to continue the planned trip, also that the weather has been very bad for most of the trip, worse because of no canvas Tent and stove. From my journal: "Lose connection and have to call back, a common occurrence when using a handheld SAT phone. Jeanette not happy about float plane. Aie ... I'm a hard guy to live with! Says to call back Tuesday at 10 a.m.." I certainly understand Jeanette being concerned at the cost of float plane; I am so lucky to have such an understanding and supporting partner.
July 20 Monday:
On arising, it is humid, very cloudy, mosquitoes very bothersome, definitely not cold weather. Regardless, I start the stove first thing to dry clothes in the cabin.
From my journal: "At 9 a.m., I phone Jeanette back to say I can probably canoe out if I am careful with food and if I make good time. (I have about three weeks worth of grub remaining.) But she has already booked and paid for a float plane for Friday at 10 a.m. to fly me directly to my vehicle. Yay! Jeanette seems to be in a good mood. Lose connection but we have finished the most important discussion, so do not phone back." [In hindsight, I should have informed Jeanette earlier that I was short five weeks of food so that it would not have been a surprise. I tend not to mention any issues, which is usually not a problem (to be discussed, if at all, on arrival back home).]
After starting the stove first thing this morning, the temperature at 9:45 a.m. is 22°C in the cabin (with the door open), 19°C outside. There is not much wood for fireplace or stove near the cabin, but I find a long large dry pine about 100 metres away that provides excellent stovewood and kindling. Luckily it is leaning into a birch tree which kept it from rotting. After a big hot breakfast with hot water to drink, I am quite hot myself so move outside in the shade near shore to be cooler in the very light breeze and to escape the mosquitoes in the cabin. At 10:20 a.m. rain starts, so I move back inside to do some chores (clean gun and oil rusty area, aliquot grub for the week, pack paddles in paddle bag, fit empty cooler in Barrel-2). When the rain stops, I do more chores outside (clear the whole width of shoreline of brush to make it better for plane to park, gather more firewood from the dry alder stumps that I saw off). After dealing with bothersome blackflies and now sweaty, at 2 p.m., I have a welcome bath while the clothes worn hang on the outside line; they dry quickly but I take them down at 2:30 p.m. when a thunderstorm moves in. Three thunderstorms pass through with no rain. Mosquitoes are bothersome all day in the cabin which reaches 26°C, 24°C outside. At 5 p.m., I move back outside in the shade where it is cooler and the breeze keeps the bugs at bay.
July 21 Tuesday:
Temperature reaches a hot 30°C by noon with clear skies, but thankfully cools to 25°C by bedtime. My boots are gradually drying more each day. There is a text from Jeanette confirming the float plane for Friday at 10 a.m.; I send a reply text that I got the message and will check each morning for a text with any change in plans. My squirrels are cavorting on the side of the cabin, a warbler is merrily singing, so too a red-winged blackbird and a robin nearby. It is good to hear a robin, not occurring very often here. There are more chores done today (saw more stovewood from the dry pine pole, finish clearing the shoreline, write a thank you letter to the cabin owners, fetch the remainder of the pine pole from the bush, sort papers in Writing Bag).
July 22 Wednesday:
I have been managing to sleep in until 5:30 a.m. at the latest. Each day I hang my sleep gear on the inside lines to air and dry. Besides updating my journal I read Reader's Digest and do many puzzles (crosswords, sudokus, variety puzzles). When in the cabin I use my fly swatter to endlessly dispatch flies of all types and sizes from minute to huge, hundreds by the time I leave. Thankfully there usually are not so many mosquitoes which I often manage to catch by hand as they fly around me or land on me. My squirrels continually scurry in and out of the cabin outside, running along the walls and across the roof. Eight loons today swim along shore, ignoring me until finally they dive under to surface far away. I try fishing from shore with no luck. Trolling while canoeing out to a small nearby island, I still have no luck fishing, including from shore. After eating my lunch on the island, I had planned to canoe all along the mainland shore back to camp, but the onshore wind is too strong, especially with the canoe so lightly loaded. Instead I paddle hard against a quartering wind to fish along the lee shore of a large island, still with no bites. Then I have to paddle hard to get back to the cabin, trolling as I go but no success, a river otter accompanying me, "standing" up in the water to check me out several times. Knowing that I will not be using the canoe again, I clean the canoe, hang up the PFD, sponge, yoke pad, canvas tump and painters to dry. I pack the fishing gear and the paddles. Thankfully today is cooler, reaching 26°C, with very light rainfall three times. With the strong wind I get chilled while canoeing. In the evening a thunderstorm gradually approaches, the smell of ozone strong in the air with flashes of lightning repeatedly above the lake surface from the very dark cloudy sky; I go back into the cabin where it is safer. The wind becomes very very strong onshore driving lots of rain with continual lightning. Even with the strong wind the storm moves quite slowly onto and over me before gradually moving on, still hearing thunder rolling far in the distance long after. The wind and rain cool the temperature considerably, which feels good (inside). The last two nights I dressed in PJ's in the cabin outside the tent but then, because of the heat, had to undress again in the tent to lay on a sheet on the bed until cooled. After donning PJ's I would close the outside shutter and the door and use flashlight to get into the tent in the dark cabin. Tonight I prepare for bed by 8 p.m. (before the mosquitoes get really bothersome) as I do in the bush, inside the tent. Because I need a light source longer, I use the candle, typically a no-no in a nylon tent, but I place it in a metal dish pan on a canvas mat, well away from anything flammable. After entering the tent with the aid of a flashlight, I safely light the candle until prepared for bed.
July 23 Thursday:
Early morning, a merganser greets me just off shore, quacking madly as he flies away at my intrusion. Several loons are splashing nearby. After checking for messages with the SAT phone (no news is good news) I pack it away. Today is hot, starting at 18°C first thing, rising to 29°C for most of the day, so I have three baths, two of them being just dips to cool off. Continue packing items. Take down my two indoor clotheslines. Place some more damp items outside, the canoe sponge and painters and the Tarp shelter bag of ropes. There are two heavy long poles floating about 50 metres offshore, blown in by the previous strong wind, too far for me to swim and push away. Hopefully they float or blow away by morning; if not I will canoe out to remove them so they are not in the way of the plane, or make the pilot nervous on approach. [I made the mistake once of extinguishing a fire beside shore at a campsite by throwing the burning sticks into the lake, where I thought they would be out of the way around the point. Unfortunately by the time the plane was landing the sticks had floated back near the best parking spot. When the pilot steered to shore he parked in a more out-of-the way spot because of the obstructions in the water. Then I had to carry gear over a steep rockface to hand to him, totally my fault, for which I apologized.] There is no shade outside, so am sitting in the cabin on a towel with no clothes on. Using my flyswatter, I am killing many bothersome houseflies (or housefly-size flies) that land on my legs. For some welcome reason, there are no horseflies today, could be their season is over. By 2:30 p.m., now dressed, I move outside to the front corner of the cabin in the shade of two large birch trees and a spruce, getting a very light breeze so more comfortable than the cabin. The two poles in the lake have moved on, pushed by the now stronger light wind which sure feels good. Well before supper I pack as much of my gear as possible. I finish my last Reader's Digest but still have lots of puzzles to work on. Yesterday, Candy dropped off food for another scrumptious meal which I prepare for my last supper. Brian says Candy is one main reason customers come back, because her cooking and care are so good; I also see that Brian's care and duties are top notch, definitely excellent teamwork. Sweaty after cooking supper on the open fire, I have a fourth bath, this time with soap again, before eating at the table. With no shirt on and my bare feet in moccasins, the darn mosquitoes are silently sneaking in and biting my ankles, so I don socks. The socks I put on are cotton sweat socks, cooler than heavy ones, and now flies are biting through the socks, buggers have a hurtful bite. Finally I put my feet up on another chair which helps deter the flies and mosquitoes, plus I can see them easier to fight back with the flyswatter. There is a light rain shower just before bedtime with rain and a thunderstorm during the night. I sleep poorly, very hot in the closed cabin, sleeping unclothed on the sheet most of the night. [I carry a single-size cotton bed sheet specifically for such hot weather.]
July 24 Friday:
Up by 5:30 a.m., I complete the tasks on a cabin checklist that I wrote yesterday: Finish packing my gear (sleep gear, tent). Finish packing small items in Rubber Pack. Get cooler and fill the "fridge" hole. Move the boat covering the hole back to its original spot. Fill the firepit. Put firestick under the big boat, along with a supply of birchbark tinder and kindling. Tidy firewood, standing up by a nearby tree. Return any moved cabin items to their original places. Hang Candy's last food bag outside the cabin to be retrieved after I leave.
Almost all packed, I have a cold breakfast at 7:10 a.m., ready well before 10 a.m. pickup time. Weather is not looking promising, very cloudy but light wind. Provided the wind stays down, it should be okay for the plane to land, rain or not. However, it would be much better to load the plane if there is no rain, and to unload at the destination and transfer to my vehicle. I have asked the rain gods to hold off rain if possible until my gear is in my vehicle, though my success at such wishes has not been good this year. After breakfast I do some puzzles, until 9:30 a.m., time to finish last minute packing.
By 10 a.m., Dave, the Beaver float plane pilot, lands after circling to check conditions. I hear the plane coming and have all gear near shore, close the cabin shutter and lock the door. Luckily the weather has cleared a lot and by the time we leave about 11 a.m. it is sunny and clear. After Dave secures the plane to shore with a line, I hand the gear to him where he is perched on a pontoon to pack into the plane. As usual and reassuring it takes Dave about half hour to securely tie the canoe to the struts above the pilot-side pontoon. I am impressed with Dave's competence and professionalism. The light onshore wind makes it harder for Dave to shove the plane off, impossible with just a paddle. Dave takes his shoes and socks off and gets into the water, wet up to the top of his thighs to push far enough from the sandy beach so he can get back in the plane to taxi away. From the passenger seat in the plane, I ask if he wants me to help push the plane, but he of course knows what he is capable of and manages quite fine. The flight time is 20 minutes at about 100 mph, in a straight line, not like my circuitous canoe route. After circling the destination location as a safety check, Dave lands, my gear is unloaded and soon transferred to my vehicle.
Thanking the lodge owners Kelly and Sara for a safe and secure parking spot the past eight weeks, I leave by 12:30 p.m., as always in a bit of shellshock, after weeks in the bush alone to now driving at speed, meeting other vehicles (the most dangerous time on any canoe trip). Stopping once I get to paved road, I change into city clothes, no longer feeling as clean as I thought. I drive all the way to Prince Albert, the only excitement being a slowdown where there are several emergency vehicles, a patient on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance ... welcome to civilization. Stopping at a store, now I have to don face mask, physically distance and sanitize hands before re-entering vehicle after buying some groceries for supper. I had thought to drive the entire 1000 km straight through to home in Alberta, but am tired so not a good idea. I hate driving, I like getting somewhere but hate the trip there, especially a long one; ironically a wilderness trip itself is all about the journey, not the destination. So, mask on, I stop at a hotel that is not crowded, has wide hallways, automatic main doors, all good for pandemic purposes, and am soon checked into a room for the night.
July 25 Saturday:
Up well before 5 a.m., to get ready and to eat breakfast in my room, by 6 a.m. the skies open with rain like a tap turned on full blast, straight down, very dark angry sky with strong wind. Very familiar! Home to Airdrie by 5 p.m., weary and tired. I only have to stop for fuel, eating in the vehicle for two break stops. Jeanette is just barbecuing chicken, asparagus and small potatoes. I eat three plates full, with added sour cream. MMmmm ... good! We chat to catch up for quite awhile. Good to be home, safe and sound, albeit after a planned 16 week trip cut short at eight weeks.
The next few days I empty van, place a few items in the sun to dry more, cancel the satellite phone subscription for this year, start sorting camp gear for storage and in preparation for next year, already thinking about finishing this year's trip down the target river.