A miraculous calamity of errors is the only way to describe this particular jaunt. Serpentine Lake is a gorgeous weekend trip, and it would have been marvelous had the strands of fate decided not to test my limits at every turn.
Serpentine had been on my todo list for quite a while, so I eagerly booked a weekend to explore it as soon as the COVID restrictions lifted. I tried my darndest to coax at least one friend along, but I set out across Anstruther lake all alone. Thus begins my forty-eight-hour odyssey.
Heat
The trip begins as all summer trips do, by leaving the delightful embrace of an air-conditioned vehicle. Today, it is like walking into a wall of boiling humidity. The thermometer built into my truck had been bragging about 35°C (95°F) all day. I had naively ignored it, thinking that it must be residual heat from the engine. I realize instantly that that nasty device was taunting me with nothing but the truth.
Without hesitation, I begin inflating my boat while reminding myself that I have over ten pounds of drinking water and will be paddling in cool lakes all day. The sunny armageddon can't possibly be as bad as it seems. As I push away from shore, the first sign of the torrent to come is the fiery warmth of my paddle shaft that had been sitting in the sun for all of two minutes.
The weight of the blazing son continues relentlessly throughout the day as I manage to go through all ten pounds of water faster than I ever thought possible. I instantly wish I had packed my water filter instead of thinking that I'd be fine just to boil more clean water upon arrival at the campsite.
Oh, and for those who think 35°C (95°F) is normal because they grew up in sweltering heat, don't forget that I am a northern boy. Frosty temperatures are where I feel at home, 35 degrees is like trying to paddle through a grumpy volcano.
Weight
Given that I was running this trip solo and mostly is paddling with minor portages, "yesterday me" had the brilliant idea that I should pack a whole bunch of photography gear. "Today me" is much less enthused about the idea. Between all the extra water weight and entirely too much photo stuff, my backpack is well over a hundred pounds.
Even such, typically, that much weight wouldn't pose too much of a problem. When coupled with several surprisingly steep portages and the heat, I quickly found myself wondering if it is worth abandoning several thousand dollars in photo gear as an investment in my sanity. Fortunately, my willpower continues to prevail, and the equipment remains safe and sound.
I never even take any of the gear out of its bag the whole weekend.
Wind
I'm a pretty simple fellow; I generally expect that if in one direction the wind is in my face that when I turn around, that same wind will be at my back. Apparently, that only happens in normal universes, and this weekend is far from one of those.
Throughout the trip, I am blasted with the wax and wane of satanic sneezes always directed from whichever angle will incur the most strain. I would also take this moment to mention that while the Aquaglide Chelan is an excellent boat in still water or when the water flow is carrying you forward, it is a veritable demon when facing strong gusting opposition.
Stove
I arrive at camp in an exhausted, sweaty, and dehydrated state. My first step is to whip out the stove and start boiling water. Feeling relieved, I meander off to start setting up my tent. Suddenly, I hear a crash only to see my pot of nearly boiling water rolling away, bleeding the precious liquid back into the earth.
I rush over, assuming a gust of wind had blown it over only to wish the catalyst had been so simple. Instead, the wretched wind had pushed the flame in a single direction and focused it onto one of the little arms of the stove, which had caused the arm to bend.
My stove has become rather useless. Being able to support a pot of water is the only thing that it is suitable for. The obvious solution is to make a fire and boil water the old fashioned way, but wretchedly hot windy summers lead to fire bans. I am suddenly in quite the predicament; Dehydrated with no (legal) way of making drinking water. Oops.
Fortunately, right before leaving, I tossed my Skeletool into my pack. I had initially planned to leave it at home as I seldom use it. It turns out that my hunch was a savior, I manage to bend the stove arm just enough to support my newly architected "leaning tower of water."
Critters
I spend the evening relaxed, the site is beautiful, and the snacks are scrumptious. After rehydrating, I even have the energy for a delightful swim in the lake.
Once the sun has finally dipped beneath the horizon, I turn in for a well-earned sleep. After snoozing for about an hour, I suddenly hear chaotic flapping followed by something slamming into my tent's side, bouncing over the top, and landing on the other side. Yup, you guessed it, a bat just flew into my tent. Luckily the little cretin failed to do any damage and appears to be just fine after the impact, so I roll over and pray that the wee devil will stop squeaking and bugger off.
I am finally starting to doze off when I become distantly aware of a scratching sound. Assuming it is just some critter in the brush, I try to ignore it. Luckily, I fail and slowly wake back up, becoming more and more aware of the sound until it dawns on me that the sound is coming from my tent vestibule. I quickly pop on my flashlight to take a look and discover a tiny little mouse building a nest in one of my shoes.
With a mildly irritated grunt, I send the little beast scurrying off into the night. Assuming my excitement for the evening is now over, I roll back over and try to sleep. Apparently, my little rodent friend is stubborn and likes his new real estate. For the next few hours, we engage in a dance of me chasing him off only to have him return fifteen minutes later.
The dance of the devil mouse goes on all night until I finally get fed up and give up sleeping around 4:30 am and drag myself out of bed to eat and break camp.
Yoke
On my last portage with the Chelan, I vowed to design and build some sort of yoke so that the whole boat doesn't have to rest on top of my head during walks.
I was pretty smart about it and built a structure out of the PVC pipe that perfectly fits the boat's frame while still able to fold down nice and flat for stowage. Feel free to shower praise at my brilliance at any time.
The thing mostly works fantastically, allowing me to carry the kayak like a canoe making portages pleasant. Well, at least that is the case so long as things go well. When they don't, one of the little feet pops out of its joint, leading to the whole structure exploding apart and dropping forty pounds of boat right on top of my head.
We will call the design a half success. Version 2.0 is going to be splendid!
Storm
Remember that little mouse who wouldn't let me sleep? The little monster was my guardian angel. His insistence that I not be allowed to sleep led to me breaking camp several hours earlier than I usually would have. This is a rather lovely thing when it turns out one of the most extreme storms in years is about to slam into the region.
I get back to my truck with almost no time to spare and drive away as the torrent slams down. Rain is pelting so violently that even with my wipers on max, I struggle to discern the taillights cars only a few feet in front of my bumper. Meanwhile, lightning is forking down all around. So close that I repeatedly see it strike in fields beside the highway. This is one of the most aggressive storms that I have ever driven. The only choice more dangerous than continuing would be to stop. I am sure glad that I wasn't still in my boat when this rain struck.
Years of driving winter storms in mountain passes pay off, however, and I manage to get home without incident. I collapse into bed while reflecting on my awesome weekend!
