Ready to leave camp 21 at 07:12 August 4, a decent looking sky.
The following show ancient Cree pictographs painted on sheer rock faces in a narrows a few km after leaving camp 21. The photos are in pairs, the second in each set a closer view. I think about the artist sitting in a birch bark canoe perhaps centuries ago to make a drawing using natural ochre pigments. The bright orange lichens may eventually overtake the red paintings.
Approaching a narrows leading to the bay where camp 22 lies.
Nearing the landing at camp 22 at 13:37. It reveals a much lower lake level than when I was here at old camp 6 in the spring. The point of the narrow peninsula though is still mostly under water.
Intending to stay for several days, I erect the canvas Tent and stove when I land on August 4. Note the lazy way of "cutting" larger firewood poles overlaying the fireplace.
Starting the stove requires giving good access to fresh air to get the wood burning well, hence opening the small top damper, lid and lower damper. As the flames take hold well, the lid is closed most of the way, then fully closed. Next the top damper is closed and finally when burning well the lower damper closed the desired amount.
Because of heavy cooling rain, I start the stove on August 5. Behind me hanging over the stove to dry can be seen my clothes as I sit to eat a combined breakfast and lunch.
After two days with the stove on, the stovewood beside it has dried considerably; stovewood poles were soaked from all the rain. On August 6 I collect birch bark cylinders in abundance at the falls when I go to catch walleye for supper. Inside the cylinders is kindling split from a fallen spruce tree trunk.
On August 8 I erect the nylon tent beside the Tarp shelter which I then move to a more protected location.
Two shallow steps dug on the steep bank allow me to safely fetch water or have a bath.
Wearing an entirely clean outfit after a bath.
Strong wind is still hitting the back of the Tarp shelter so I place the canoe behind to serve as a windbreak. The chair towel hung from the Tarp ridge rope is being blown by the wind.
Two walleye landed near camp in the lee of the small point shown in the photo. To reach the shore I have to go through some thick bush. There is only a small piece of rock to stand on at lake edge that slopes into the water so I have to be careful not to slide in. With only limited space to cast I have to be careful not to get the lure hung up on branches. There is no space to clean the fish where caught; I carry them to the peninsula on a forked stick to fillet.
Orange bunchberries and fireweed flowers, seed pods and leaves for supper.
On August 6 between 14:12 and 14:24 I spot a moose over 500 metres away feeding on water plants under the surface near shore. The photos below are in pairs, the second in each set a closer view. I spot the animal with naked eye from camp shore, then move near the end of the peninsula to get a bit closer.
These last two photos below are taken 30 minutes after the moose has moved back into the bush.
August 6 at 05:35, a beautiful clear morning.
August 7 at 06:09, dark clouds blow over leading later to a nice day.
August 8 at 05:48 (top photo), dark clouds are later replaced at 14:50 with white grey-bottomed ones.
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Summary:
Jeanette reports that the fire on my route is now "contained". Photograph several ancient Cree pictographs. Forgo meals and have to go out of my way to avoid being windbound. Embarrassingly get hung up on a boulder, the same one that I grounded on in the spring. Travel 21 km (18 plus three extra km due to taking the wrong heading when leaving camp 21, and to help evade strong wind in long open passages). Very strong wind and heavy rain with lightning lead to using stove, harder to start with limited quantity of poor quality birchbark. Awesome sighting of a moose feeding in the water. Excellent walleye fishing except when windbound. Due to my mistake, I am plagued by many mosquitoes in the Tent, forcing me to vacate in the dark while I light a coil, having to pace back and forth outside fending off mosquitoes for 30 minutes.
August 4 Thursday:
Darker in the morning, the alarm is now set for 04:00 instead of the previous one hour earlier. Going outside to check the weather the sky is clear, 10°C. With only tools prepacked and having to take down the stove, I still leave camp 21 by 07:10. Just before departing I check for messages; a text from Jeanette: "No fires 4u. Not many. Much rain. Route fire contained. Ok here." I assume rain may be widespread when Jeanette says "Not many" [fires]. It is good to hear that the fire on my route is now "contained" (which is forest fire speak for appearing to not be spreading). (Fires are not usually fought on ground or from air unless endangering community or infrastructure. Structures such as cabins in the path will have sprinklers installed to help prevent fire from overtaking the buildings, listed on the fire map for the area as "protecting values".) A pileated woodpecker serenades my departure with its loud tapping on a tree on the adjacent island where I have heard him every morning. Mosquitoes are bothersome for the first one km. Taking the wrong heading too far west I have to paddle into a moderate east wind to correct. Once I reach a long narrows with steep rockface shore I keep along the lee shore. Now with protection against the wind I am able to stay close enough to readily photograph several ancient Cree pictographs. As I pass by I think of the artist sitting in a birch bark canoe perhaps centuries ago to make a drawing using natural ochre pigments. Along the precipitous shoreline I do spot one possible levellish spot behind a large spruce tree that might serve as a campsite. Paddling in some areas is hard when hit with wind swooping downward over the steep banks. On route I see several bald eagles, one being chased by a tiny songbird quite high in the sky, diving at the big bird who keeps swooping down, up and sideways trying to avoid the attacker for at least one km. Intending to stop for breakfast, because the wind is picking up I push on; even a 30 minute delay in the wrong place can cause me to be windbound. Once past the narrows I head east into the now strong wind to the "wrong" windward side of a small isle. This will give me a better route to be able to slip at an angle across the wind over a long stretch of open lake to reach protection of a big island. The latter is off a direct heading but will provide better shelter. I have to paddle very hard and fast at one point to escape being swept into a big boulder, shipping some water, much too close to shore for comfort. I breathe a big sigh of relief when finally out of the worst of the wind again. Now I am thinking that perhaps I should stop to camp at a site on a small island that I checked in the spring, though not an ideal one. However proceeding opposite to the direction I took then, before I realize, I am past the location amongst a group of islands so I keep going. It is amazing how different the return trip looks, not recognizing many spots. In hindsight I remark that it is good that I missed the isle because it would have been miserable, very exposed, no really good tent or Tarp shelter sites. To my consternation, even embarrassment, I ground on a hidden boulder lurking just under the surface, embarrassment when I realize it is the same one hit in the spring. Both times I have to step out of the canoe in water on top of the boulder to push off. This, after trying to paddle and wiggle off to no avail, as I swing around the pivot point in a circle. The boulder is about 100 metres from shore surrounded by deep water that I desperately hope I do not plunge into. Once in the lee of the east shore I make good time though I do have to paddle hard again to get past another one km open stretch. Still afraid of becoming windbound I stop at the north end of a large island with lots of open rock. There are good areas for nylon tent and Tarp shelter. However the shores are very steep long slopes up to the top so unloading and loading gear and fetching water would be difficult, slippery if raining. Interestingly there are lots of woodland caribou droppings and a defined trail disappearing into the bush inland where they walked earlier in the year. Quite possibly a cow overwintered and calved here. Farther on I realize that the wind has changed from east to northeast so I have a quartering tailwind and really make good time, heading directly across a three km stretch that was my nemesis in the spring. Until this point I had thought I would very likely become windbound. I reach the three islands investigated in the spring as campsites where I struggled against strong wind to cross to the lee shore. Finally I enter the channel to the last bay heading towards the objective. Once I turn out of the channel I have a headwind for one km as the wind shifts once more but I am almost in sight of the target island. Near the shore I almost go past the path where I fetched water; it looks much different now, the water level down about 18", what a difference. Rather than land at the point farther up the island as I did in the spring I can stop right here for a much shorter carry to camp. After unloading camp gear I take the remainder in the canoe to the end of the peninsula to park. Unloading is a bit splashy in the wind that is now even stronger. I am happy to have landed before becoming windbound. On walking back to camp as I fetch water from shore an otter greets me before disappearing under the surface. Later I notice lots of otter sign on my island, rather his isle. I tell him "Sorry, you'll have to settle for another of your stopping places until I'm gone in a few days."
Camp 22 is the same as the old camp 6 of spring, having travelled 21 km (18 plus three extra km due to taking the wrong heading when leaving camp 21, and to help evade strong wind in long open passages). It is 13:50 so I decide there is time to erect the canvas Tent; all the poles are here from last time. The wind is getting even stronger, the sky much changed, completely overcast looking like rain. I sit on the Tent pack to eat late breakfast and lunch; I am famished! The bad thing is I have not had any water since two litres when breaking camp, so I drink lots of LifeStraw® water as I eat. As I finish eating there are a few drops of rain so I erect the Tarp shelter to cover the packs. Fortunately rainfall is quite light as I put up the canvas Tent; wind is very strong. I discover a better procedure for locating the back sod cloth, turning it inwards, as designed, to be held in place with a row of packs instead of on the outside with a pole. Makes sense and should have thought of it long before; I just stuck with all the sod cloths turned out which is still necessary for the side and front because there would not be enough weight on the inside to anchor them. (What is intended is to anchor the bottom of the Tent all round with pegs which do not work well for my use.) Without stove or spruce branches for doorway I decide the Tent is "good enough" until tomorrow. While a mosquito coil burns I use the fireplace to boil water and make supper of macaroni and cheese, eaten in the Tent. Not bothering to wash the single pot, I just fill it with raw water to soak overnight. Weary and tired, a long hard day, I am in bed by 20:00. I give thanks for a good travel day, reaching a good campsite, getting the canvas Tent up. In spite of the really strong wind that blasts all night bringing continuous rain after midnight, I sleep well. I remark that to sleep so well I just have to paddle steadily all day with no breaks or food. The wind rattles the Tent nonstop, heavy rain pounding the roof.
August 5:
Not up till 07:00, I had a wonderful long sleep. Very strong wind and heavy rain were both steady all night. From my journal: "For two hours after midnight there's a cacophony of wind and thunder with continual bright lightning. Some of the thunder and flashes really close startle me, making me jump and yell aie, aie, aie. The storm just sits overhead to continue hammering lightning, thunder and heavy rain. I remark that rain is so heavy hopefully lightning strikes might be doused. Before midnight when I awake briefly a few times I see flashes of light but think it is static electricity or my eyes playing silly beggars. Later I realize it was distant lightning flashes before the storm reached me. I have experienced closer lighting and thunder directly overhead but I do not think any that lasted so long." So far I think there have been no Tent problems, but on arising there is a small puddle on the floor tarp beside my bed because of a roof tarp leak at the ridge. However when I move the Rubber Pack there is a large puddle on the small doorway tarp which I sop up with my handkerchief, having to wring out a few times. I check all around the floor but there are no other leaks thank goodness. The roof leak is minor at a seam but not so the doorway because I do not know how it happened. When I check outside I find that the roof tarp is tied incorrectly for such rainy windy conditions. All I have to do is reposition the tarp so that rain runs off the roof over the side of the Tent as it should; definitely something to be more aware of. Another example of when I think I have a system down pat there is always something new to learn. Shortly after I get up the rain stops, though just temporarily, and the wind has dropped considerably. After solving the leak problem, I next want to start the stove to dry clothes and some gear. About 50 metres away there is slumped shore along the peninsula where I fetch exposed soil for inside and under the stove. After setting up the stove, I need to find birchbark tinder which is in short supply here. I walk the entire small island to salvage two handfuls of small birchbark pieces and cylinders, only some of it dry. I manage to ignite enough birchbark to start the kindling for a fire in the fireplace which I keep feeding with small and large firewood to create coals to light the stove. (Seldom required, I do carry a supply of Vaseline® coated cotton balls to use as tinder.) There is some sheltered kindling that I previously stored at the base of a spruce tree and one dry pole under the Tarp shelter to saw to get the stove going. All other poles are wet on the surface which will slow the burn. It takes a while for the stove to burn well, with me blowing through the damper. Then I fell and limb more standing poles to saw a good stock of stovewood. The stove burning well, I fetch spruce branches for the doorway. Hungry, I finally eat combined breakfast and lunch at 12:00 in the warm Tent, clothes hanging to dry. It is now raining steadily again. Stomach appeased, I get dressed again to saw more stovewood under the protection of the Tarp shelter. At 17:45 I am eating supper in the Tent, cooked on the stove. It has rained all day, 13°C, strong wind again. I do go out to collect salad (fireweed flowers and seed pods, almost ripe bunchberries) for supper and to fell more stovewood poles to stand against a nearby spruce tree. Having hoped the Silky saw blade would last the season I give in and change to a spare. The new blade works wonders; the old felt like I was just gnawing at the wood. While outside I light a mosquito coil in the Tent. I am glad that I already have caught fish for supper four days this week, all at the previous camp; fishing in the strong wind today would be fruitless, not to mention unpleasant in the rain. Because all the stovewood so far is still damp on the outside I make sure to keep the stove well stoked and the damper open enough to keep the fire alive. At 19:30 I close the window and door for the night but even sitting with no clothes on it is still too hot. I am letting the stove die but there is lots of residual heat. So I open the screen door again and open the stove damper wide to hasten the process until closing the door again at 20:05. The sound of the waterfall is very clear and loud carried on the west wind. It has been another busy day, the second in a row with late breakfast combined with lunch. From my journal: "Sleep well again, no rain, no wind, no thunder, no lightning ... no ... oh, only one mosquito killed on my nose in the dark while in bed. Use a stealthy approach, slowly approaching the mosquito with my hand after being patient enough to let her land. When I get close with my hand, but not too close, I slap vigorously like a mad man, rubbing and patting all around my face. Works maybe 50% of the time."
August 6:
Up by 05:00, 10°C, I catch two mosquitoes who are quite dopey. Starting the stove with the little birchbark I have will be difficult if not impossible. It is difficult enough to start a fireplace fire. For kindling I split off portions of a fallen spruce tree trunk. I try the wet birchbark stored under the Tarp shelter; it is a no go because it is just small pieces that were laying on the ground from which I cannot peel any dry oily bark. (Bigger thicker sections of birch bark can be peeled back to expose sections that will easily ignite even if outer surfaces are wet.) So I get some birchbark from the Tent dried beside the stove yesterday. Then I start a small teepee-style fire using the kindling, gradually adding small then bigger damp branches until going well enough to ignite the wettest wood. Long poles I lay over the fire to be burned through to then feed again across the flames. After fetching more firewood there are enough live coals to start the stove, carrying them to the stove with the shovel. Water on to boil, I mix a bannock in the Tent to bake at the fireplace while sawing more stovewood. The new saw blade is a marked improvement cutting twice as fast as the old one. From my journal: "Ironically I start the fireplace to start the stove and then bake the bannock at the fireplace." By 07:40 I am eating bannock in the Tent. It is now beautifully clear, sunny, calm. A loon calls nearby, probably glad to give voice after the big storm; it must have been quite a ride in the gale-force winds. Taking advantage of the nice weather I canoe to the falls to fish and to collect salad and birchbark. As I paddle I notice a bald eagle perched in a tree top near a white patch along shore. Landing I see a down birch tree but it has only fallen recently and the bark is not detachable. I am able to break off a big dead branch to carry back to camp. It sits behind the stern seat, a silent partner sticking up well above the gunwale. At the falls I catch three plump walleye. I paddle to the next portage to check if it needs any clearing. There is now some bare shore to make it easier to land. Walking along the trail I pick a salad of red currants, fireweed flowers and a few raspberries. Scattered in the tall grass and brush are bright red clusters of poisonous baneberry. At the upper end where I landed at the small lake shore in the spring it is above the lake several metres and too shallow to float the canoe. The portion of the trail that was under water in the spring, I can now walk through tall soaking wet grass another 30 metres where I will be able to launch the canoe. None of the portage needs clearing. There are many big hollow birchbark cylinders some of which I carry back to the canoe. From my journal: "I remove my solid birch branch partner from the canoe and place it on shore under a big spruce tree. I tell him that I have a better offer but will remember where he is and think about him." Paddling back to the small island between the split falls I fillet the fish and repack gear. Hoping to gather Saskatoon berries on the isle, the search proves truly fruitless.
Back at camp I eat lunch in the Tent at 12:15. Temperature now is 20°C. The west wind is much stronger so I close the Tent window. I am glad I went to the falls when I did before the headwind would have made it difficult. One positive feature of this site is that the wind exposure helps keep bugs away, although it can also be a negative. Everything is nicely dry now including suspended sleep gear so I let the stove die. After lunch I fetch more firewood and prepare tinder and kindling for the stove to store in the Tent: two 12" long x 6" diameter birchbark cylinders full of kindling, two 6" cylinders stuffed with loose birchbark to use for tinder. There are several more cylinders full of bark under the Tarp shelter. When I go to the shore to fill the bailer with water I notice a suspicious brown object about half kilometre away in a bay bordered by water plants and willows and spruce bush behind. It sure looks like it could be a moose standing in the water. As I watch I can see movement as it dips its head under the surface to eat immersed plants. The moose is submerged at least half way up its sides. I think a bull or possibly a cow with no calf but there appears to be antlers. Fetching the camera I get "closer" by walking near the end of the peninsula. Taking several photos I watch for about 15 minutes hoping to see him step out of the water onto shore but I give up. Awesome! When I look later he is gone. The stove has died completely by midafternoon. Perhaps swayed by the fact that today has been a very good bug day, which does not happen very often, I decide not to light a mosquito coil. Dark clouds blow in looking like rain but pass completely over. Not sure where to bathe, the strong wind dissuades me so will just have a handkerchief wash before bedtime. Supper cooked at the fireplace is eaten in the Tent. After dishes done and fireplace well doused I walk to the point; the moose is back in the same spot. Nice! Killing one mosquito in the Tent, I update journal and do several puzzles, finally retiring by 20:30. It has been a good day.
August 7 Sunday:
Up by 05:30 I nab a mosquito full of my blood. I swat a dozen mosquito-like midges in the Tent thinking at first they are mosquitoes that had bitten me because some are filled with red fluid; they are more slender, with long legs, have no proboscis and can contain their own red hemoglobin; they do swarm after hatching which would explain why there are so many. There is a strong west wind, very cloudy looking like rain, 17°C, no need for the stove. After starting a fire in the fireplace I mix bannock in the Tent. While the bannock bakes at the fire I gather salad and firewood. After eating in the Tent I check for messages; the fire on my route is still listed as "contained". In preparation for a bath I dig out two shallow steps on the steep bank where I fetch water. Until now I have been stepping up from the rock shore while grabbing a small spruce tree to pull myself up. Now the process is safer and I can have a bath without getting dirty climbing back up. After lunch in the Tent I paddle to the falls to catch three walleye for supper; I manage against a moderate headwind. The Tent is in full sun, 23°C, later 25°C. From my journal: "Each of the past two days I have eaten three walleye for supper, the pan crammed full. When I first started in the spring one would be enough. Don't feel extra hungry ... it just is. Last year I felt it because of the loss of butter to bears."
In Tent by 19:25, I kill two mosquitoes with the fly swatter. My 20:20 I am falling asleep while doing a puzzle. In bed by 21:00 it is hot in the Tent so I lay unclothed on the bedsheet. From my journal: "Then the attack begins, at least 10 or more mosquitoes! Aie! So I do pay for not lighting a mosquito coil today. I got overconfident with my luck yesterday. They're masters at hiding till dark. After killing some I get dressed. In my pockets I put headnet, headlamp, flashlight, clock, bandana, handkerchief. Light two lengths of mosquito coil. Exit Tent and close door at 21:40 which means I can't be back until 22:10, hence the clock, easier to read than my watch. So much for not 'seeing any' mosquitoes when I decided to not light a coil this afternoon. Aie! I walk back and forth along the peninsula swatting continuously all round with a spruce bough to keep mosquitoes away. It's not too bad if I keep moving and swatting. There is a beautiful gibbous moon, golden yellow. Still a bit of light in the west, a remnant of sundown. Waiting for 30 minutes is taking forever so after 20 minutes go to Tent but coil is still smoldering. So half hour it is for a 2" piece. Aie! This after I carefully swatted all over before opening the door to minimize the risk of more bugs getting in. Back outside, door closed again, repeating the camper's dance along the peninsula. On getting back in the Tent the second time I see that one mosquito coil did not burn; I didn't light it to a good flame before blowing out. That's what happens when hurried and at the worst time ever! All sweaty I remove clothes. Laying on bed again I am not bothered the rest of the night. However awake at 04:30, a few mosquitoes after me. Kill several, easier now that I can see in daylight. Were they here all along, did they come in with me when opening the door (twice!) or are they getting in somewhere? Aie! Mosquitoes seem worse this year." (I admit that I may have been using stronger words than "Aie", at least the first time I realized I had screwed up by not lighting a mosquito coil before bedtime.)
August 8:
Soon after arising I pack the stove. I erect the nylon tent beside the Tarp shelter which I later move to a more sheltered location. When all the gear in the canvas Tent is transferred to the nylon tent I hang sleep gear on clothesline for awhile before placing in tent. Taking no chances, I light a mosquito coil. At 07:40 after eating breakfast in the canvas Tent I pack it and the stove. I had thought about better sealing the periphery of the canvas Tent with moss and taking down the stove pipes to help make sure mosquitoes cannot enter anywhere except doorway. But I plan to move on tomorrow or the next day and I want to prepack as much as possible before then because there will be as many as four portages; the canvas Tent takes longer to pack than the nylon tent. I drag the canoe up the peninsula to park near the shore where I fetch water. Since I cut out steps in the bank it is safe to load the canoe in the new spot which is much closer. The west wind is very strong and gusty making me windbound preventing a trip to the falls to fish. Dark clouds move across the sky; temperature at breakfast is 17°C, 22°C midday. After a bath, I change to all new clothes, now near the 2/3 journey mark; it is good timing because my dirty clothes are all dry so it is safe to pack them as backup.
After lunch of hot bannock I try fishing from shore on my island. There are very few spots that I can safely cast from and those cause the lure to snag in water plants. Chuckling, my attempts remind me of the happy old farm couple years ago that we met when family camping in Alberta. They were fishing from a small bridge across the road near our campground. The baba wearing a traditional babushka scarf was casting and only pulling in water plants. When I asked if they were catching anything, she laughingly said in a Ukrainian accent "First we clean weeds ... then we fish." I search all the way around the island with no luck finding a decent location. Back at the camp landing I look down the shore to see a bit of rock 50 metres away. Walking over I thread my way through spruce bush and down trees to reach the spot which is exposed rock only two metres long and very narrow sloping into the lake about one metre straight down from the moss and brush bank. This the only location on the entire island with few water plants. Feeling I would be lucky to get a pike, I land two nice size walleye, a pleasant surprise. Thinking the fish are smaller than their 18" size, I try to catch another but hook a very large pike. Being so much bigger than I need, luckily it escapes the hook, so I call it quits. Carrying the fish through the bush on a forked stick I go back to the end of the peninsula where there is a small section of bare flat rock to clean them. Before finding the one and only spot to fish I considered canoeing to the falls but doubted if I could paddle against the strong wind. As it was I had to go out of my way to manage the moderate wind yesterday by paddling along the leeward side of my isle, stroke hard to reach the mainland shore then to the waterfall.
I give thanks for managing to make supper before a thunderstorm rolls through on the strong west wind with lots of heavy rain, a real downpour. I eat under the Tarp shelter after the worst of the wind passes. Thank goodness I had moved the Tarp to a more protected location and that the back faces the wind. The storm approaching, I take some gear to the tent and place loose items in the Rubber Pack under the shelter. Significant wind still makes its way under the Tarp but nothing gets wet that should not. I place a big log on the fire before rain hits. The wind has the fire burning fiercely shedding sparks that cannot live in the rain or the wet ground. As the wind passes I eat a delicious fish chowder and salad under the Tarp; by the time I finish, the rain has mostly moved on. After washing dishes under the shelter, dried and stored for the night there, the only things to take to the tent are the chair, Rubber Pack and me. By 17:30 I am in the tent, very tired after such a poor sleep last night. The tent was really rattled by the wind and soaked with rain but I do not see any leaks. It is certainly darker than usual for this time of the day. Lightning and thunder continue as the storm moves slowly to the east. By 19:20, after updating journal and screwing up a puzzle, I am in bed, sleeping well, rain falling throughout the night but relatively calm.
August 9:
From my journal: "Up at 05:15, 15°C, laying in bed waiting for sunlight that doesn't happen, not a good sign. I'm thinking that I hope I don't want to put up the canvas Tent again. Would not be happy." After carrying some gear to the Tarp shelter, I start a fire. Too sloppy, my initial fire sputters out, so I have to build a proper small pyramid of drier wood before adding progressively bigger stuff. Before breakfast I carry spruce boughs used for the canvas Tent to the shelter, a short move of one metre. West wind has increased to moderate and wearing a heavy shirt over the light one feels good until warmed up. The good news is the wind has cleared the clouds leaving blue sky. The Tarp roof is covered with bits of moss and bark driven by last night's heavy rain and strong wind. I was relieved to see everything in the tent dry when I went to the tent for the night. I watched how the elements buffeted the tent, giving an effective wind and rain tunnel test, the tent performing admirably. There is a cool wind blowing under the Tarp; trying to weigh down the bottom rear ropes does not lower the Tarp enough. Placing the canoe immediately to the rear of the Tarp helps tame the wind and provides a good place underneath to store pots and pans out of windblown rain. At 10:35 clouds are very dark and there is a very strong gusty west wind. One good thing about the wind is that there are few bugs. Fortunately seated under the Tarp on a bed of boughs in the lee of the canoe I am not bothered much by the wind. In order to easier get to my new fishing spot I cut a path through the bush, providing more firewood and spruce boughs for the shelter. Midafternoon I attempt fishing but the wind has shifted to the northwest just enough that the location is windbound in the presence of light rainfall. Temperature has fallen from a high of 21°C to 18°C. After much effort I land a small 15" pike that when boiled will be added to supper of stuffing mix mixed with Parmesan cheese and sardines. As I clean and dice the fish at the peninsula, the strong windswept waves leave just enough bare rock for the job. I have to fasten the chin and neck straps on my hat to prevent it from blowing away; the filleting board almost gets carried away once. My hopes for clearing weather are dashed at 16:00 when heavy rain falls driven by very strong wind. I add big firewood to keep the fire going to make supper. Donning my heavy shirt feels good. By 16:25 the thunderstorm has moved east, only light rain now but the wind remains as strong as ever. Some sunshine breaks through and now small flies are very bothersome, annoying when they land on any bare skin. After supper, I prepack as much as possible and head to the tent at 19:00. As I do some puzzles bright sunshine hits the rear of the tent. By 20:05 I am in bed, hopeful of a good day to travel tomorrow. I sleep poorly, thinking of the next string of four portages.