Algonquin by Canoe

Lake by lake

Jul 16, 2024

Returning from the five day canoe trip in Algonquin with my brother, Lyle, I was exhausted but exhilarated. This trip tested me, no question. I’ve camped in tents before, but self-sustained backcountry camping was new. My brother offered then opportunity, so I jumped at it.

We were out for five days and four nights. Starting relatively easy, Lyle laid out a progressively challenging itinerary. He planned everything. I showed up like I was on safari. I slightly overpacked. Lyle reminded me we’d be lugging this stuff on the portages, so “don’t bring anything extra”. Not fully comprehending what that meant, I tentatively left a few things behind in my car before we set off.

I still brought a few too many clothes. The reality was putting clean clothes on every day was silly when the mud, salt, sunscreen and bug repellent began to settle like strata on your clothes and skin. Pulling on the same stiff cargo pants and sun shirt was just easier. Getting soaked from the lakes, rain, and sweat was temporary. My clothes quickly dried, as the heat was intense most days. I chose to remain fully covered rather than trying to catch some rays along the way. I don’t do well in the sun, and then there were the bugs…

The black flies had, mercifully, receded for the season, but the mosquitos, deer, and stable flies made up the difference. They came in a vicious crescendo, a daily multi-part symphony of spilt blood. Lyle got it the worst as we paddled part of Burnt Island Lake after our longest day of portaging (6+ km). I heard him curse while paddling and slapping hundreds of stable flies. We weren’t safe even out on the water. The breeze was largely our friend except when paddling into it.

Lyle found a leech attached to his ankle after warning me, “There are leeches in these lakes.” The squirmy bastard was stubbornly drawing a delicious meal. He left a bloody mess as Lyle tore him from the sticking point.

At the end of one of our longest portages (2.7 km), I stood at the lake’s edge (more of a beaver pond). With my fully loaded pack still on my back, I prepared to step into the brackish water, set my pack into the middle of the canoe, and then assume my usual position at the front. With a tiny step forward, I plunged, up to my hip, into soft, murky silt. Lyle lept into action, helping me take the pack off my back so it wasn’t pinning me in the dense, dark water. Once again, I felt my sandal wanting to give way. I prayed and heaved on my foot lodged far below. I was drenched. My phone, in my other pocket, was getting wet too—one thing at a time. I finally was able to lift my leg enough that I could use my arms to haul myself back onto the bank. I climbed into the canoe after repositioning it closer to the bank. My phone was fine, but I kept it less accessible in its dry case for the last two days. (I used a bit of oatmeal in a tissue to dry it out as we didn’t have rice — it worked a charm).

Plunging into the pond was the 3rd of 4 times I fell or struggled to escape the mud that day. I carried a 45lb/ 20kg pack on our portages, including a 1 litre water bottle. I could hardly lift the pack to get it on my back, but once it was there, I trudged ahead. I often thought of the extra body weight I used to carry, the inflammation in my knees and hips, and my mobility issues. When I fell, or my foot got stuck in deep mud, and I struggled to free myself, I was reminded of how it feels to carry that weight. It wears you down. By the end of our longest day, almost 20km, including the last 8km paddling into a headwind, I was wiped out. No tears, but I was done.

I developed blisters and hot spots from thick mud taking up residence under and between my toes as we portaged, rubbing my feet raw. I taped them up and each day I had a new angry sore to contend with.

I wore Teva sandals I bought while visiting Kauai about 15 years ago. They have served me well, hiking over lava rock and granite ridges and in and out of the kayak/ water. But this trip might have been their limit. I was fortunate not to lose a sandal, or perhaps worse, for my sandal to blow apart in the greasy, thick mud or on the slippery, rocky, at times steep terrain. Mercifully, they held together.

On the last day, I resorted to wearing my merino wool running socks to mitigate the uncomfortable grit accumulating in my sandals. I looked ridiculous but was far more comfortable. I wish I had done it sooner. I rocked my socks-in-sandals vibe because being protected from the sun and bugs was my go-to fashion. The socks were saturated with silt and lake water, but my feet felt awesome.

I also portaged the canoe in our final day’s 250m section. Aptly known as ‘Yonge Street,’ this portage trail was wide, relatively smooth, and busy, with canoeists constantly heading back and forth.

Then, I fully appreciated the incredible stamina it took for Lyle to get us through the preceding days of portages over pretty formidable terrain — slippery rocks, roots and logs, steep inclines and declines, deep, foot-sucking mud, climbing over deadfall, along with vicious attacks from waves of mosquitos all with a 35+ lb pack and balancing a 50lb canoe on his shoulders. Bravo Lyle!

We also saw a huge bull moose, heard and saw many loons, and had a beaver swim by and slap the water as it dove. We chose a campsite for our last night to enjoy the sunset. The skies did not disappoint. I can only imagine what incredible colours erupt there in the fall. No wonder Algonquin was a favourite muse for the Group of Seven.

The silence and isolation were wonderful, and the weather was mostly perfect. The menu Lyle planned, dehydrated and prepared was awesome. I was becoming more useful in camp, but there was still much to learn. I’m happy to say I can still rock a one-match fire.

I’m grateful Lyle and I had the opportunity to do this trip together. I hope you enjoy some of the photos we captured. Thank you for reading.