Rain be damned, I waited months for this new canoe, and I'm going to get it out for a weekend in Algonquin!
Back in January 2021, I pulled the plug and put down a deposit to have a canoe custom-built by H20 Canoe in Tavistock, Ontario. Completion lead times are pretty slow with canoes this year because the makers have to work under lockdown restrictions, supply delays, and unprecedented demand. I had initially hoped that the canoe would be ready for my Opeongo weekend in June, but alas, that wasn't meant to be.
Fortunately, my canoe was ready a few short weeks later, in early July, I picked it up. Specifically speaking, it is a Pack Boat, a canoe designed to be paddled like a kayak. Pack boats are narrower than a canoe and have a kayak seat rather than ordinary canoe benches. They are also generally designed to be paddled solo. My particular pack boat is thirteen feet long and made of Carbon Innegra Basalt which is just a fancy way of saying reinforced carbon kevlar. I chose to order the kevlar-based canoe rather than pure carbon fiber because I wanted something designed to take a pounding. At 28lbs, it is more than light enough for me to be able to dance a jig with the thing on my head if I want to. It is by far the most lightweight boat I have ever portaged. Not as featherlight as its carbon fiber cousin, which is a ridiculous 20lbs, but I know that I can trust this boat to keep me afloat.
Needless to say, I am excited about my new boat, and I want to take it on its first portage. I gleefully counted down the days until my next planned weekend trip, and it has finally arrived. I'm ready! Only one problem: the weather has decided to be rude, and the forecast is reasonably heavy rain and violent winds. I study the satellite weather map praying that the giant weather system will break up. It is like a massive wave stretching from Thunder Bay all the way to Buffalo. I guess it is unreasonable to expect that it "misses" Algonquin.
The expected timeline is for the edge of the storm to impact east Algonquin sometime in the mid-afternoon, with the main body of the storm showing up shortly after dinner. Not too bad really, I will just have to make sure to arrive at camp early, enjoy dinner, then shelter in my tent as mother nature decides to have her tantrum.
Knowing that I probably will spend quite a bit of time in the tent, I stuff my North Face Big Fat Frog into my pack. I've had this tent for more than a decade; it is still going strong. I bought it because it featured a large canopy with plenty of space for a massive (often muddy) dog with who I shared my life at the time. It is a sturdy tent that leverages a triple pole structure similar to those designed to withstand a snow load. It's heavy at about 8lbs, but I know I can trust it in heavy wind. I'm also confident in its ability to repel water as its fly enjoyed a fresh new waterproofing extravaganza after its last use.
My weekend adventure begins beautifully as I push off from the put-in at Magnetawan Lake. The weather is still beautiful; I'm thrilled to be able to enjoy a gorgeous paddle in the backcountry while I can. The first portage is only a stone's throw away; I quickly find myself unloading for a short walk to Hambone Lake. The trail is well marked, broad, and straightforward. Besides a few delectable mud pits, the short portage is a pleasant walk through the forest.
The paddle across Hambone is also pretty short, though, thankfully longer than the first leg of my journey. I enjoy about twenty minutes of paddling before I reach my next portage. The second portage is twice as long as the first and has a similar easy path. I quickly find myself pushing off from the edge of Ralph Bice Lake, excited for a long paddle. Ralph Bice stretches about 6km in length; my next portage is at the very end of it.
The paddle across Ralph Bice is charming. The waters are calm, and the horizon is beautiful. I even get to continue to enjoy nice weather most of my crossing. I spot a majestic Great Blue Heron at about the three-quarter mark, just as the rain shows up. The rain is merciful and light; I may not have initially noticed it if not for the countless tiny impacts on the lake around me. I grumble; I had hoped to reach camp before the rain arrived, even though that was probably just wishful thinking at best.
The final portage is just as easy as the others despite being the longest. I am all the way through it and paddling across Little Trout Lake quickly. I am motivated to reach camp before the rain intensifies. However, to my delight, just as I pull into camp on the far side of Little Trout, the rain stops. What is this sorcery? Well., whatever it is, I will take it, though I still hurry to build my tent and start a fire as I am confident that a mighty downpour is still in my future.
The rain ends up resisting its onslaught for a few hours, to my surprise. I'm able to enjoy a lavish meal and relax by the fire. Around six, the wind starts to pick up; my time is running short. Hastily I pack up my kitchen and set my bear cache just as the torrent begins. I manage to slide into the tent before getting too wet.
Comfortable in my sleeping bag, I settle in to watch a couple of movies. I had strategically downloaded two the night before, knowing that I would spend a fair bit of time in the tent. The storm continues to build, and before I know it, the tent is shuddering against the weight of violent winds. At the same time, the machine gun of heavy rain relentlessly pounds against the fly.
About two hours later, I notice distant dampness in the tip of my toes. Annoyed, I reach for my light. The fly was recently waterproofed; there is no way that it should be letting rain in. Is there a tear from the wind? Nope, everything looks good, but sure as day, there is a small puddle at the very tip end of the tent. My only explanation is that the waterproofing on the tent floor has worn out. That water is seeping upward from below. Regardless, I cannot do much tonight, so I shift my position to keep my toes out of the water and go back to my movie.
Fortunately, the puddle doesn't grow overnight. Other than the impossibility of sleep under the noisy onslaught, I have a comfortable night. The storm breaks just before dawn, and as the first light starts to illuminate the tent, my bladder decides that it is time to climb out of bed.
The morning is beautiful, and after a quick and glorious bannock breakfast, I break camp and am on the water before five-thirty. The return trip mirrors my path from yesterday. I enjoy an excellent morning paddle back to civilization.
