As the largest lake in Algonquin, Opeongo is the perfect getaway to start the summer camping season. It has been over one hundred and sixty days since I have been allowed to camp, and the immensity of stir-crazy has me ready to scream. Relief is here.
This first trip isn't a mighty adventure. I gobbled up the reservation during the booking wave in early spring. Only relatively close campsites in Opeongo's south arm were available. I didn't know which site other than I must choose in the "south arm" area. The closest camp is within swimming distance of the put-in, while the farthest site lies roughly 6km away.
During check-in, the ranger mentions that the weekend is busy and most of the sites are likely already occupied. It is advised that I make camp at the first empty site I encounter or find myself doubling back. I groan; there is no way I will choose camp within a few hundred meters of the parking lot. Obviously, this isn't an acceptable option, and I vow not to bother looking at the first few.
Opeongo is known as a moody lake, and today it is having a temper tantrum. Violent winds are rocketing down the length of the lake, conjuring up a torrent of small waves. As I load my boat at the dock, I muse that I am in for a strenuous effort because I brought my inflatable today. When paddled into a headwind, an inflatable boat will constantly fight to spin around, no matter how much weight you dump in the bow. I will be using a lot of energy just to make sure that my kayak is pointed in the right direction.
To make matters worse, I realize that someone left one of the self-bailing ports on the boat's bottom open. I wasn't the last to use my inflatable and so didn't think to check; I usually don't open them myself. Self-bailing ports are fantastic in an inflatable if your boat is filling with water. Because of the buoyancy of the hull, water will drain from the floor if there is an opening. You can never get all the water out this way. Still, if your kayak is filling with water due to rain or crashing waves, it will ensure that no more than a few centimeters of water is ever in your boat. However, when the kayak has no water, the tiny opening allows water to flow and fill up to that same few centimeters. This is what happened today, which doesn't introduce any risk. It just means my loaded boat is now carrying an additional fifty pounds or so of water, making a sluggish beast even more lethargic.
The first three kilometers of the paddle is a battle. Probably the most exhausting stretch of paddling I have done in a long while. It's my fault. Instead of following the shoreline, I plunge into the middle of the lake, where the most tremendous force is ripping down the surface of the water. By golly, if I am doomed to only a short journey today, I am going to make sure I am exhausted when done.
Once through the initial stretch, I float around a bend and breath a sigh of relief as the gusting wind relents. To my left is an impressive and vacant campsite at the top of a steep hill. I toy with the idea of ending my journey here, but I haven't had enough paddling for the day, so opt to roll the dice and continue on. A while later, I encounter another campsite just to the left of Bates Island with a gorgeous view down the lake; this will be my home for the night.
The evening is more or less unremarkable. I'm on the shore of an Algonquin lake, so I am very much in paradise, but beyond that, it is just a typical night of camping. Bugs are present and biting, but not nearly as much as they could be. I make camp and cook a delicious meal over the fire while enjoying a pristine view of a slowly dimming sky. Exhausted, I turn in reasonably early, well before the setting sun kisses the horizon.
I wake suddenly. An obnoxious loon with a death wish has decided to start singing right by my tent. I groan and look at the clock, 4:00 am. The first light of morning is already creeping along the horizon; it must be the longest day of the year or some such nonsense. Annoyed, I bury my head under the sleeping bag and try to go back to sleep. After dozing for half an hour, I give up and drag myself into the morning air.
I'm a lazy camper in the morning. I often have delusions of cooking breakfast over the fire. I even usually have the ingredients to do so. Instead, I scarf down an energy bar and begin breaking camp. I'm on the water by 5:30.
Opeongo is delightful this morning; yesterday's windy rage has calmed to a light breeze. I effortlessly paddle across the lake, enjoying the morning mists. Soon, I find myself on shore packing my gear into the truck and returning home.
