I love when a plan comes together, and this one sure did. Barron Canyon has been my top priority weekend trip all summer, and it was well worth the wait.
I pull into the Sand Lake Gate with a big smile on my face; I had presumed we would need to drive all the way to Archray campground to check in and get our permits. Sand Lake Gate being open is about to save us about 60km of back and forth driving. We need to stash a car at Squirrel Rapids to have a vehicle at either end of the route.
A particularily familiar Pontiac, covered in dust, pulls up beside me, filled with my travel companions. Robyn and Nariman are in the front seat while Appa, the world's cuddliest pitbull/mastiff, lays stretched out across the back seat. Robyn and I head into the office. The parks officer is friendly and promptly prints our documentation. Moments later, we are back to kicking up a massive cloud of dust on the dry gravel road.
I drive for a few minutes before pulling into the parking lot for Squirrel Rapids. Only one problem, we seem to be about 200m higher in elevation than we should be. Either a random seismic event morphed the landscape, or we are at the Barron Canyon scenic lookout trailhead. Oops. Back we go. We find the correct parking lot about 8km back and rush to transfer the contents of an overly stuffed Pontiac to my truck. The drive from Toronto to this particular part of Algonquin was well over six hours, and we still have quite a bit of paddling to do before reaching camp.
About thirty inconsequential kilometers later, we pull into Archray campground. Packing the boats with gear is a pretty quick process. After some negotiation (and bribery), Appa settles into the Aquaglide Chelan with Nariman and Robyn. We push into Grand Lake with a hoot, immediately heading towards the mouth of the Barron River. The day is perfect. Almost unbelievably perfect. Clear sunny skies, a light breeze, and magnificently comfortable temperatures. If you asked me to describe my utopian weather for a camping weekend, this would be it.
The initial paddle across the end of Grand Lake turns out to be pretty quick. I shudder, knowing that the route across Stratton Lake will take at least an hour; we barely have that much sun left. So far, the travel has been more or less the same as any other part of Algonquin; beautiful lakes surrounded by beautiful trees. I'm enjoying it but also looking forward to the adventure to come.
Eventually, we pull into the portage at the distant end of Stratton and hastily lug our gear into St Andrews lake. This is the second portage of the trip; just like its predecessor, it is trivially easy. As we push off into St Andrews, I can't help but notice that the sun is threatening its final plunge towards the horizon. The lake is beautiful, bathed in the sunset, but I prefer not to do a much longer portage in darkness.
The first lap of the portage goes pretty well. I am loaded down with the food barrel and a variety of various nicknacks. I race down the trail trying to outrun the ever-closing darkness. The path is a moody one snaking up and down through rocky terrain and uneven ground. Eventually, I shrug the gear off in a pile and head back. I'm well ahead of my companions as I have to do two laps for each portage so try to go as fast as possible. (there are perks to sharing a boat.) I'm alone at the end of the portage; night is here. Like an idiot, I left my flashlights at the other end, and I also am still wearing my sunglasses. Well played, Ryan. I take a deep breath, call on the force for guidance, then plunge back down the dark trail.
I encounter Robyn and Appa pretty quickly; it seems poor Nariman is taking the hike slowly well behind them. I continue my near-blind jog back down the trail. Eventually, I encounter a large shadow slowly creeping through the forest, a surprisingly cheerful shadow, all things considered. I tell Nariman to wait for me to return. The trail is now too dark to safely navigate with forty pounds of boat on his head; I will be coming back with my canoe and some desperately needed light sources.
Somehow I get back to my canoe without falling on my face. I shed my sunglasses in favor of something more nighttime friendly. I pull out my headlamp, toss the canoe on my shoulders, and shuffle into darkness. Soon I catch up with Nariman, and together, we continue down the trail guided by the piercing glow of my headlamp. After what feels like an eternity, we are back in the boats and headed to our campsite on the far shore of High Falls Lake, about 100m away.
Fate continues to be kind, the first campsite is vacant. Setting up camp in the dark is annoying but nothing particularily challenging. We quickly have a roaring fire and are enjoying a well-earned meal along with more than a few chuckles. Day one was fantastic!
In the morning, we scarf down a feast of bannock before backtracking to check out High Falls. The water is low, so the falls are pretty tame, but we still have a blast exploring the various rapids. Appa even decides to scare us all by walking into the water at the top of the falls. Other than Appa's dangerous swim and misplacing a Nariman, the side trip to High Falls is the perfect beginning to our day.
We don't want to dawdle for long. The route today isn't overly long, but we know it has quite a few portages. Well... I know it has quite a few portages; the official correct answer to the others is always: "Just a couple short ones left," regardless of reality.
We quickly make our way across High Falls Lake and portage over to The Cascades. The first three portages are more or less uneventful. Tiring, but uneventful. However, as we close on the fourth, another group is preparing to begin their portage on the shore. Impatiently, I edge my canoe over to the rapid that the portage is designed to circumvent. Water is low; it's bony but easily manageable; I decide to hop out of the canoe and guide it through the rapid rather than wait for the portage to clear.
Wading a manageable rapid with a canoe is a blast. Not quite as much fun as running one, but the water is much too low for that. Not only do we end up through the portage faster than the group we would have been waiting for, but we also have so much fun doing so that we decide to float the next portage too. One of the "second last portages" has a waterfall on it, so we have to return to carrying, but the floating was fun while it lasted.
Finally, we are through the cascades and slowly drifting towards the mouth of Barron Canyon. Despite lingering exhaustion, we are giddy with anticipation. Nariman reaches into his pocket to grab his phone. The pocket is empty, to his surprise and dismay. A frantic search leads to no results, so we spin the boats around and head back to the portage to begin searching. It must have fallen on the trail.
Nariman and I go rocketing back down the trail, our eyes fixated on the ground for any sign of the phone. About twenty feet from the far end of the portage, we run into the other group of paddlers and ask if they have seen a phone. To our surprise, they answer yes and produce Nariman's phone. It turns out that the phone had fallen out at the previous portage and was found completely submerged on the shore. After expressing our thanks, Nariman and I zip back down the trail to return to the boats. I've now done this portage trail five times...
Barron Canyon is incredible. As fate would have it, the extra delay caused by the phone hunt meant that we are paddling through the most impressive part of the Canyon bathed in sunset light. Speechless, we saunter along as the towering rock walls rise from the water. It isn't often that Ontario can serve a scale of awe that is reminiscent of the Rockies. Today, however, is one of those days.
About halfway through the Canyon, my GoPro chirps annoyingly and turns off. What a miserably annoying time for the battery to die! I'm surrounded by the most impressive sights of the trip, the cliffs mean there is no shore to pull up on, and my spare batteries are buried awkwardly out of reach while in my canoe. The logical course of action would be to paddle over to the other boat and get them to help me pull out the batteries. Naturally, I'm impatient and don't want to wait for them to catch up. I zip along the edge of the river until I spot a relatively flat rock just under the surface that I can hop out onto and stand on while I swap my batteries. The ledge doesn't look more than a foot or so below the surface. Easy peasy.
Carelessly, I slide out of the boat. Ok... so maybe I misjudged the depth of the ledge just a smidgen. The water is up to my chest. No big deal, I should still be able to do what I hopped out to do. A few minutes later, my GoPro is mounted again with a fresh battery. Nice one, only one small problem; re-entering the canoe is a bit harder when the only platform you have to stand on is more than a meter below the surface.
Somehow, I manage to get back into the canoe without tipping it. I had to make several attempts and probably looked absurd trying to balance the boat while hopping into it. Fortunately, I was utterly alone; no one even got to see the spectacle of my battle with gravity. My companions were still far enough back that they would only learn about this ordeal if they happen to read this post!
I wait patiently, taking photos until the other boat catches up, and we continue through the Canyon. Eventually, we exit the rocky terrain on the far end and sadly leave it behind. The sun is near set; we have a campsite to find, so we must pick up the pace.
Again, fortune is on our side. Not only is the first site vacant again, but it just might be the most beautiful campsite in Algonquin. Situated on a small outcropping along the river, camp has a panoramic view. What a wonderful gift at the end of a euphoric day.
I climb out of bed early. Long before my companions. My initial intent is to photograph the sunrise, which isn't happening as fog has thickly permeated the area. Even better! Fog makes for a spectacular atmosphere; I spend the next two hours wandering around, taking photos while enjoying the morning air.
My companions finally drag themselves out of their tent just as the fog is clearing. The brightness of the morning sun finally convincing them that maybe we should continue on our way. The final day's paddle is pretty lackadaisical. Other than a single medium-sized portage, we enjoy a relaxing float all the way back to Robyn's car.
The perfect end to a perfect trip. This was one for the hall of fame.
