June 2, camp 1 at 5:41 a.m., canoe loaded ready to move on. Note that the gear in the middle of the canoe is covered with the tarp used for the Tarp shelter.
The now empty camp 1 site for the Tarp shelter. Note the large root of the tall spruce tree in the left foreground lifted above the surface of the ground This is the root that was rocking 15 cm up and down by the force of the wind so that I rejigged the ropes on the Tarp in case the tree actually toppled. Because the direction the tree would have fallen would be away from camp, I thought it was otherwise safe to leave the Tarp, just no longer attached to the vulnerable tree.
The vacant spot used for the tent at camp 1.
Looking back at the camp 1 area as I canoe down the lake.
On route down the lake to the next camp, the clouds look like rain. Note that much of the horizon is islands but from a distance looks like mainland.
A happier, not so weary Barry.
Washing the dishes, using some hot soapy water, then rinsing with hot water, followed by drying the metal pans on the coals.
Limbing a spruce tree to use the boughs as a mat, clean and dry.
Baking a cinnamon bannock for breakfast, half saved for two lunches. Note the timer, a godsend, before which I would guesstimate how long before checking the baking bannock, but would often start doing something else and burn it. Breakfast consists of a mint, half cinnamon bannock, seeds, peanut butter and hot water to drink.
Lunch under a spruce tree on a mat of spruce boughs - a mint (in my mouth), vitamins, gum, hot water, quarter cinnamon bannock, almonds, cheese. I am in sock feet giving them and the boots a chance to dry.
Supper June 3 - a mint (in my mouth), pepperoni sticks, "Birthday Cake" protein bar, bulgur (with added nutritional yeast, chicken soup base, butter, Parmesan cheese), birch leaf salad, hot water).
Supper June 4 - a mint, pepperoni sticks, "Birthday Cake" protein bar, potato flakes (with added nutritional yeast, chicken soup base, butter, Parmesan cheese), alder catkin salad, hot water).
The DEAD canvas Tent.
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Summary:
Navigation tools and knowledge required while remote canoeing and hiking. Use of SPOT™ Personal Tracker/Satellite GPS Messenger device and satellite phone. The move to my second camp. A very windy and damp camp. Camp setup activity. Camp sights and sounds. A hot shower. Passing of weary spell. Some meals. The death of my canvas Tent and loss of use of stove. Distance travelled nine km.
Some notes on navigation:
This large lake about 40 km long with over 250 islands is typical of waters in northern Canada where navigation requires topographic maps and compass and knowledge of how to use them. When at water level in a canoe the horizon can all look like mainland, like in the two photos above where in fact much of their view is of islands. A dead-end bay can look like an exit channel, and a channel can appear to be a dead-end. Pick a 10 km dead-end bay as your channel and you will be sure to regret it, paddling 20 km to the end and back is a whole day's work, made worse if there is a headwind on the return. It is absolutely necessary to keep track of landmarks as you progress, as picking out a significant landmark from the canoe is usually impossible if you are not sure where you are. One bay or island looks like another. So you keep the map in front of you, such as I do on the hull of the canoe between my legs, the map turned to the direction of travel, with that direction parallel with the centre of the canoe. Place the compass on the map lined up on the map's north grid lines. Turn the canoe so the compass pointer lines up with the north mark on the compass (adjusted for magnetic declination); canoe and you are now facing the desired direction of travel. As you progress, keep adjusting position of map on the hull towards the desired direction of travel. Landmarks include bays, channels, islands, peninsulas, rapids, narrowing of channels, high points and hills (identified by crowding of contour lines on the map). Do not make the mistake of picking out a distant "landmark" and then steering canoe to it. Rather, use the procedure of orienting map, compass and canoe and then when you steer the canoe to follow the map and compass, identifying an appropriate landmark if possible to head to, not always a possibility if travelling across a large body of water.
I carry a GPS but rarely use it, sometimes not at all during a trip. It is helpful when I generally know my location, but unsure exactly where; the GPS itself becomes the "landmark" to locate position on map. It is very useful when cutting a virgin portage to mark and track start and end locations on a bearing taken with map and compass, and to track progress along the bearing. The GPS also provides altitude from which you can calculate elevation from a water body, checking with contour lines on the map to help confirm location. I would never depend solely on GPS or electronic maps. The Global Positioning System (GPS) on which a "GPS" (GPS receiver device) depends is technology-dependent and can fail, misrepresent or even be politically or militarily limited or modified by the owners that control the satellites. The map and compass will always be the standby. Where a GPS is absolutely critical though is where there are few or no landmarks such as along long large body waters like the ocean or wide river channels, or in dense bush. I have used a GPS to advantage when hiking through bush and not sure exactly where I am, with no visible landmarks. It was after one such instance in 2014 that I purchased a GPS. (http://wildernessfellow.blogspot.com/2014/11/northern-saskatchewan-lunches-and-getting-lost.html) I spent many frustrating hours getting back to camp after I went for an exploratory hike, taking a "shortcut" back to camp but ultimately having to retrace my steps, arriving in camp just before dark. That is when a calm head is required, and I did have a glimpse of the fear and panic that can grip people when "lost" with disastrous results. Fortunately I was able to retrace my route; if not I would have had to bivouac overnight, the reason I always carry a pack away from camp with warm clothing, a tarp for shelter, fire making materials and some food. This includes canoeing for the day as well as hiking. Over the years I have been windbound a few times for many hours while canoeing for the day away from camp, sometimes even on small water bodies; it is especially hard to battle strong wind in an almost empty canoe.
When canoeing, hiking, portaging or cutting a portage I carry a belt bag with emergency materials, including the "SPOT™ Personal Tracker/Satellite GPS Messenger" device which can be used to issue an "SOS" emergency message which alerts authorities for help. Using the SPOT™, I send an e-mail "OK" message daily to notify contacts of my GPS coordinates with a link to a Google map of my position. Occasionally, a day is missing a SPOT™ notification so I have developed a procedure by which my contacts do not notify authorities until after three consecutive days of not receiving an "OK". A satellite phone is also carried which I could use to notify contacts if for some reason the SPOT™ was inoperative. The closest to that happening was once when a bear took the device but luckily dropped it and I found it after an hour of searching. (http://wildernessfellow.blogspot.com/2012/10/northern-saskatchewan-bears-and-wolves.html) The SPOT™ must be placed for 20 minutes in a position where its satellites can be signalled. After the bear incident, I no longer let the device out of my sight and have found that it seems to work even amongst a stand of trees provided I select a somewhat open location. One of my contacts, usually my wife Jeanette, sends me a text once per week to my satellite phone to notify me if the home front is okay, forest fire report for my area and weather forecast. The main reason for the phone is to notify me of fire danger, or for me to request assistance. There are new devices that serve the same purpose as my first generation SPOT™ device, but also allow sending and receiving text, so would potentially eliminate the need and expense for a satellite phone.
June 2:
Up to "Wilson", my alarm, by 3 a.m. to very dark clouds, temperature 10°C. Daylight comes early at this time of the year. Leave by 5:45 a.m., making good time with a light tailwind, especially so soon into camping when it takes longer to get back into a routine. At home I typically arise by 4 a.m., so an hour earlier is not a big stretch, and I prefer to leave early to take advantage of calmer weather and so that I can make camp well before nightfall. In about two hours I pass the spot where I had hoped to make camp the first day but continue on to check out another large island, the fourth such island along my route, the islands varying in size from two to four km long. My average distance canoed on flat water in one day is 16 km, making about three km per hour. For comparison, in the city on flat pavement, I walk six km per hour. Of course walking in the bush is not flat or direct, and walking on water not an option.
At the target island, nine km travelled, I check two places for a possible campsite. They would be suitable if required but not ideal, being hard to land with steep bushy shores. The only camp areas are very open and exposed, several metres above the lake with one levelish spot for the tent between two large pines, very pretty though. Canoeing on farther, I see a lower location with an open area behind a narrow line of spruce trees interspersed with some jack pine, birch, alder and willow. Landing, I see that there is easy access to the lake, bare rock face gradually rising to about two metres above the water. Ten metres inland is an open area about 30 metres diameter, coated with a shallow layer of moss. Behind this is a good spot for the Tarp shelter. I hear the drumming sound of a male ruffed grouse nearby. Tromping through the bush around the clearing, I settle on a thick mossy site for the nylon tent, near which there is lots of deep stair-step moss to make a "fridge" for the two coolers containing butter. There are the remains of a very old fireplace near shore with some garbage to clean up. I have made good time and activate the "OK" button on the SPOT™ at 8:50 a.m., three hours after leaving the previous camp, a short day but I am looking forward to a more comfortable campsite and a bath.
In my usual routine, I unload the canoe, tying both painters to trees to secure the canoe parallel to the shallow rock ledge shore, making it easy to empty the canoe from the side instead of having to balance and walk all the gear off if just tethered stern first. I am concerned about the water that was in the canoe on my first day of travel that might indicate a possible leak. The water was probably from the waves hitting the side of the canoe, made worse by me fumbling a paddle stroke occasionally as the wind and waves hit my paddle. From my journal: "Today no water, no leak ... yeah! Jeff McDougall did a good canoe repair. Place gear for camp inland by the old fireplace. Two of the three barrels go under a spruce tree where I park the canoe. Underneath the canoe I place the Laundry Pail, Canvas Tent Pack, Food Pack, Stove Bag and paddles. [The Laundry Pail, like most of my gear, serves multiple purposes, in this case, besides laundry equipment, totes canteens and some canoe gear on portages. The Food Pack takes some grub, not fitting in the barrels, to be used first.] Clear the tent site of small trees and branches using saw and pruner. Erect tent and lay out sleep gear to dry; very tall spruce and balsam fir, quite shaded so may not dry really well. Blackflies bothersome as I sweat, so create new fireplace with old fireplace stones about seven metres farther inland, three metres from where will erect Tarp shelter. Start smoky fire and blackflies leave after a few minutes. Erect Tarp. Using the branches and two small trees I cut out of the tent site, I place spruce and balsam fir boughs as a mat under the Tarp on one side. Unpack pots and put on to boil water. Then lunch. Hang a few items on branches to dry but starts to rain a bit which passes over. The sky sure looked threatening this morning. I asked the gods to hold off on rain if possible till reaching camp and to give a favourable wind if possible. Successful on both counts ... yeah! 15°C rising to 19°C by mid-afternoon." [Out loud, I usually ask the gods the day before for fair travel weather if possible; I forgot and only asked on leaving camp, so I apologized for such short notice.]
After lunch, from my journal: "Aah ... have wonderful hot shower ... man that feels good ... actually made me smile! Hung all clothes on clothesline before showering. Bugs didn't bother, another reason to smile. Mixed full 10 litre shower bag with five litres very hot water from large pot and the remainder cold. Dried beside fireplace to which I had added fresh wood just before bathing. Has been intermittent sunny periods with big grey-bottomed cumulus interspersed with blue sky. Tent is catching some good afternoon sun which is great. My "weary" spell seems passed."
June 3:
Completely overcast and grey when I arise, 9°C, dead calm, sure looks like rain. Sit near fire for breakfast in the company of a few mosquitoes. Uncomfortable sleep last night as both the head and foot of my bed slope downwards. I put some gear under the head of the bed which helped. It is interesting that sometimes when I prepare the tent base it appears level, or at least the head sloping down to the foot of where my bed will be, but when I lay down it is a different story. Aie! My neck aches and I think it is because of my bed or that I am new to sitting in chair to read and write, but remember the same thing happens every year as my body adjusts to long stretches of paddling. With a full belly, napping as I sit, my head lolls on chest, which position does not help my neck either. As I do a sudoku and a crossword puzzle, a gray jay murmurs nearby, a crow caws amid the loud taps of a pileated woodpecker who gives the occasional raucous call, kind of the Canadian kookaburra. A red squirrel chatters and grumbles at my presence in his domain. Two loons take off from my small bay pattering across the water in their slow lumbering ungraceful fashion, just as a merganser lands smoothly on the lake surface. Canada geese honk as they migrate north, high above. A loon calls hauntingly as he flies overhead. A ruffed grouse drums ... there ... or is it there ... or maybe there? The drumming is hard to pinpoint, and he performs periodically throughout the day. Twice over the years I have made a point of finding such a grouse, but it takes a lot of patience as you think the sound is coming from a different direction than it really is. I spend time fetching more firewood; it seems no matter how much you have it never is enough. Rain starts after lunch and continues all afternoon. Supper under the Tarp shelter is bulgur (with added nutritional yeast, chicken soup base, butter, Parmesan cheese), two mints, pepperoni sticks, hot water and a "Birthday Cake" Pure Protein® bar. The latter is my supper dessert, not as yummy as Dairy Milk™ chocolate bars to which I am now intolerant, but better than no dessert. Lack of dessert was actually better than white "chocolate" that I ended up burning last year. Take two naproxen anti-inflammatory for my aching neck and head to bed. I rarely use any such drugs but I know when the discomfort is this aggravating that I am better taking something early instead of allowing my body to compensate by tensing up and creating more problems elsewhere. Through supper, I keep working on a "hard" sudoku, which I finally solve just as I am about to make an educated guess on one square ... yeah! Extinguishing a large log by emptying the water pots, I leave a few embers in the rock fireplace for the rain to douse which has no sign of letting up. Planning to move on tomorrow, I pre-pack as much as possible (tools, emptied pots, chair, writing bag). As I get into bed, I realize my sleeping bag is still damp from last night; sleep gear did not dry much, if at all, today. I did scout out a place today to erect the canvas tent and stove if need be.
June 4:
Had planned to arise at 3 a.m. but has rained heavy all night, feels "damp" in tent. Up by 5 a.m., 10°C, very cloudy, very strong cold onshore wind. Decide to erect canvas Tent and stove, which I need to dry sleep gear and to warm me up. There is no wind-free spot for the Tent. Move the fireplace farther away from Tarp shelter and Tent site, unfortunately even closer to the windy shore. There is still a bit of rain as I get a good fire going, unpack the tools and pots and get water on to boil. I trim branches from the spruce anchor tree at one side of the Tarp to make room for the Tent. Also fell one medium-size spruce about seven metres tall, and limb and trim it for two Tent poles. Eating fresh cinnamon bannock under the Tarp, I am chilled by the wind. Fell five more spruce trees and limb and cut to size for Tent. Because the Tent site is almost bare rock, I gather large stones from under an uprooted tree along shore to hold down poles which will hold down the Tent sod cloths. Breaking for lunch, I find a sheltered place under a large spruce tree in the bush behind the nylon tent. It is largely out of the wind, and in partial sun. Sawing off some lower branches to allow me to sit, I also carry some boughs from the felled poles to make a nice dry mat to sit on to eat lunch, sitting on the chair, boots off, insoles out ... feels good!
Because the birch tree, which will anchor one end of the Tent, is too small, it bends too much, so for support I tie a rope from it to a tree 15 metres away. From my journal: "Started erecting canvas Tent ... then bad excitement. As I was tightening the ridge rope, the back end Tent grommet pulled out of the canvas. S**t! S**t! S**t! S**t! S**t! [I apologize later.] Followed by ... damn, damn, damn! Then an Aie! I think I said out loud "That's not good!" Removed the chain link (with its attached loop to hold a support pole) now hanging loose on the rope (using vice-grips and multitool pliers). Installed it in the second-from-end grommet, then tried tightening rope ... and canvas ripped, so now this second grommet pulled out! Aie! Aie! Aie! Aie! Aie! (I distinctly remember five S**ts and five aies.) Tried erecting Tent with vertical pole between second and third end grommet. Finally had to accept that this Tent just DIED! The canvas is brittle and weak, as it deserves to be, as it is almost 40 years old. [On checking when I return home, it is 35 years old.] Aie! Rolled up Tent and repacked. Already knew it was on its last years but hoped not yet! It is custom made by a company that no longer does such work. Will have to find someone to make a new Tent of the same design, which is based on Calvin Rutstrum's 1968 book "Paradise Below Zero". I hand-drew a design which I mailed to the company, pre-Internet, pre-e-mail ... the old days. Am already thinking my plan is to canoe off course to Michael's cottage where I stayed in September 2018. Michael is a friend who I met on a portage a few years ago when he volunteered his cottage for me to stay if I ever needed. Trust a canoeist to make such a kind offer. Sure going to miss canvas Tent and wood stove. Can't use the stove without the Tent. On the plus side, one less portage carry and more room in the canoe."
By midafternoon, the wind has died from very strong to just strong, so I move from the sheltered lunch spot to the Tarp shelter. It is 18°C, with white cumulus and intermittent sunshine so I erect a clothesline to hang the sleep gear. Too cold and windy for a shower, I just have a washcloth bath, and put on some extra clothing. If you try showering with limited water in a strong wind, your body dries too quickly to lather the soap. Again I pre-pack, hoping to move on tomorrow to cache the Tent and stove. To tent by 7 p.m., the wind picks up very strong again so I zip the two end windows, just leaving a 30 cm gap at the top. It is cold, 8°C.