Woodland Adventures

I woke before them, but I only needed to do a quick pee. I was not making breakfast either.

There was a chipmunk on our fire pit, but otherwise we had the site to ourselves, so I walked naked to the privy. I didn't need toilet paper. I grabbed a handful of fern to do the wipe, then returned the lid to the down position without dropping it and waking the camp.

Neither of them woke, though I snuggled in between them. It was cooler, so I pulled my sleeping bag over my shoulder and soon I was asleep.

I woke again, feeling like a glazed donut, but hungry for the bacon that I could smell. I came out of the tent naked, and ravenous.

"We have company, Simone," Nick warned me.

I doubted that it would be kids, but I ducked back into the tent for my clothes.

"I was talking about a squirrel," Nick yelled as I found my shorts.

I came out hoping, with one leg in and the other snagged in the lining.

The brothers watched intently.

"Watch that bacon!" I warned the cook.

The first morning is usually bacon and eggs. We can't keep fresh eggs for more than two days in this heat. Our coffee was real coffee, brewed in a percolator. I had to show them how it works last year, but they were experts now.

"Irregular Lake is our destination, gentlemen, so we had better get moving." The guide in me had surfaced.

We broke camp smoothly, and I saw both of them do a double check to make sure that we left a small pile of wood for the next adventurers, and nothing else. No cans, wrappers, leaflets or cigarette butts. We practice 'low impact' camping, and we take it very seriously.

I have my own mental checklist. The five most commonly forgotten items are: paddles, fishing poles, water filter or reservoir, tent pegs and cups hung on trees. The last two items were a bit of a coin flip, but the other three could easily be accounted for while loading the canoe, so off we went.

I gave them all the time that they needed when we got to the first pictographs at the western end of Paull Lake. The images are very hard to make out, but we can still marvel at the thought of people marking this route over 200 years ago.

We were still on the Gammon tributary but this section passed through the Aegean Lakes. I wanted to avoid the low water levels in the Zig Zag Lake route, so we went further north, through Welcome and Beamish Lakes.

We trolled some more on the deeper lakes where the water stayed cold enough for the big ones. Nick had one hit that almost made him lose his balance. Not from the tug of the line, but from his jump and grab of the fishing pole.

Pete hit the water with his paddle, performing an emergency brace that saved the day. Whatever monster had taken the bait, spit it out just as fast, so there was no fish for day two. We made it there before 6, so we had plenty of time to get the camp set up, and dinner prepared before the sun set.

After a splendid meal of re-hydrated Curried Chicken, I went back on the water for some sunset fishing. The wind was down, but the insects did not venture far out on the lake. I was hoping for a lake trout, with the water being deeper at this corner of the Park. The 5 inch golden twirler was set to dive, and I kept a steady strong pace as I wound around the irregular lake. I saw that the brothers were out too, and soon they were hollering and pulling in a big one, but it was a pike. They can be big and fun to catch, but they have a funny bone structure and a gamey taste. I usually give them a pass. I have some Native friends that will gladly take one for a soup, but otherwise they go free when I catch them.

I finally got a hit and pulled in a beautiful lake trout. It had some blue on the tail and belly. I was still full from dinner so I let it slip back into the depths, to be eaten next time.

When I got back to the camp the sun was nearly down and the brothers were filleting their pike. Since they were doing the work, I got hungry. We had to get the oil down from the food barrel, so I pulled out the spice pack and found the dry rub that I use to tame the flavor. Nick fried up more than 2 pounds of fish, and we ate it all as a late snack.

We shared a joint before bedtime, but all I could smell was basil and garlic when we made love that night.

Our third day was our heaviest travel day. We would be traveling north to David lake along a river system that links one narrow lake after another. As the glaciers retreated they gouged out the rock, then the water flow created an odd landscape of craggy lakes connected by narrow rivers.

"You said to make sure that we are up early, Simone," Nick whispered in my ear, then he kissed my ear lobe and trailed his lips to my neck.

"Hmph," I replied but then I casually slid onto my back.

I could smell the coffee, but I wanted some morning sex, and Nick would do nicely.

"You must service me first," I insisted, but my invitation was not needed. He quickly had a condom in place, pushed my legs apart and mounted me, like there was a lineup! He held my legs up and stayed on his knees, while he pounded into me. Not romantic, but effective. He lasted less than 5 minutes.

I was not ready for oatmeal, and Pete was still available, so I sent Nick out to mind the stove. He tapped his brother on the shoulder as they passed me off.

Pete was slow enough to let me wake up and enjoy the stroke. We twisted our tongues together, in spite of the morning breath that had the tent smelling of garlic.

We were paddling north now, heading up into Mather Lake then a few short portages mixed with small unnamed lakes and we came out on Haggart Lake just as the wind picked up out of the northwest. I thought there might be rain coming, and we didn't want to be out on the Lake when it did, so we put up a tarp and made a fire to have our longer dinner break for lunch.

We listened to our satellite phone which gives updates on the weather every half hour, but the forecast was for off and on rain with clouds all day.

I always have a rest day included in the schedule, but it's not uncommon for it to become a foul weather day. I was hoping to get up to David Lake where we could check out a string of waterfalls and rapids at the east end of the lake and enjoy a day of fishing for the big ones that love the deep cold waters, but I could take us east at Bulging Lake if I want to shorten the trip.

We played some poker using matchsticks, but the sun made another appearance so we filled up our canoes and pushed off.

There was a long section of burn from a fire in the 80's but the regrowth was already more than 30 feet high in areas with good soil deposits. Fires are a natural occurrence from lightning strikes. Poorly doused fires are also a threat so we only use proper fire pits, with stone foundations, and we use a lot of water to be sure that we don't burn out our home.

We stayed close to shore so that the wind affected us less, but it still gave the guys trouble.

"Paddle on the right side, dough head!" Pete called out to his younger brother in the bow. "The wind keeps trying to turn us around."

I moved in to help shift some of their load forward, to keep the bow lower.

"How come you are always in command of your canoe, Simone? This wind is a real pain in the ass," Nick whined.

"You need to get off your ass, and onto your knees, city boy. That way you can hold your vessel with your heels under the seat. That gives you a lower center of gravity, and it allows you to lean forward or back, like you're on a bronco. That helps with the gusts.

Pete followed my lead, moving his feet under the seat and leaning his ass back on the front rim of the webbed seat.

"It works for the bow man too, Nick. I know that we don't do rapids very often in this park, but it lets you lean forward to reduce your exposure to the wind."

I showed them how they should always hold the flat of the blade parallel to the water to reduce the wind drag during the return stroke. I use my single blade in the wind since you almost always want to paddle on one side instead of alternate sides. The double blade is constantly in the wind, so I tie it in and use my spare, a square bottomed, hickory model.

I was planning on buying two more Kevlar canoes at the end of the season, and this trip had me convinced that they should be 16 footers. I always bought used ones from the Algonquin or Killarney Outfitters. I have friends that can refurbish any material, from cedar strip to carbon fiber. They make beautiful web seats too, using deer hide over maple. I love to recycle, and support my local economy.

We skirted islands on the west side, staying out of the wind, but we were going to have to cross over, to get to the waterway through to the north.

We stayed low and close as we traveled through the open, middle stretch of the lake. Nick was on his knees too, either saying a prayer or taking my advice. They both kept their paddles flat. They really impressed me with how far they've come as backwoodsmen.

It took us 20 minutes to travel a few hundred meters, but we did it safely. The wind died down as we went through the narrow pass into Bulging Lake. This time we were against the current, so I pulled out my kayak paddle so I could keep up with my crew who were now making good time with the bow low and two fine looking athletes cutting the water.

We were still not on schedule, so I turned us east at the main body, determined to still have a rest day. No trip plan survives more than three days. Wind, heat, cold, forest fires, low water, all come into play by day three.

"I hope you guys don't mind if we have our rest day on Hansen instead of Donald. I wanted to show you pictographs, and Hansen has some good ones., but we will be pushing the sun today," I warned them.

They didn't even moan. The day was miserable with a slight drizzle and clouds, but the wind was now unusually calm making the lake travel easier. The portages were through dense jack pines and spruce, keeping most of the rain off of us with their dense canopy. We quickly hauled our loads up to Sea Horse Lake.

"I guess the English named this one, Sea Horse," Nick deduced. "I don't think they have creatures like that in Canada."

"True, smart guy," I replied. "The English were bastards toward the Native Peoples. The French would keep the Ojibwe names or alter them slightly for pronunciation. Of course, they also brought the Jesuit priests, and for that it is hard to place them above the English."

It was not a cheery topic so the sight of beavers playing in the lake was almost lost on us.

"Hey, are they doing what I think they are doing?" Nick asked.

I was wondering the same thing myself, but I'm the guide, so I had to know something.

"They might be fishing, if there's another one over there." I said, turning and pointing to the southeast.

The third beaver slapped the water with his or her tail, then dove.

"Is that how they fish?" Pete asked, but the answer became obvious before I could answer.

Two of the three came up with fish!

"Maybe we should try that technique?" I shouted to my clients, and we all laughed and felt much better than the weather deserved.

It was dark when we put in on Lake Hansen. The granite cliff along the northwest arm of the lake has some wonderful native art. It was hard enough to see it in full sunlight, but it still felt eerie paddling through this sacred watercourse, using the light of the moon. We were camping on one of the islands ahead, and staying here all of tomorrow, so we would spend an afternoon puzzling through pictographs of caribou and canoes and stick figures with bows and arrows. I never get bored during these touristy parts. The sights given to us by these paintings and creatures, and by the waterfalls and valley overlooks of this watershed, were still fresh and inspiring for me.

It was chilly, so I helped to get a fire going... in the fire pit. There was always a marshmallow or 6, so we got sticky together. The sucking of fingers led to more, until both guys had to scurry for water to quench our fire, just so we could make another one, in the tent. I was too proud to help. No self respecting girlfriend would raise a finger for 'man' chores like that.

I was anxious to start some of the lady chores, but I was the Captain, so I had to maintain discipline.

"Two more pails on the coals." I commanded, but then quickly added a please and thank you. They had been good boys, and they were paying 40% extra for me.

I was thinking of the Paddle Brothers and I smiled, wondering if they got the kind of tips that I got.

My patrons were not too tired, and their lust made me horny. I mean, the honeymoon kind of horny. New lover kind of horny. The 'can't get enough' kind. If it was going to be Nick's last trip (or was it Pete?), well, they were going to remember it!

I sucked and fucked, taking as much as I gave. I think that Nick fell asleep first, but none of us woke until my bladder demanded it.

It was a cool June morning, with the sunrise trying to shine through the mist, giving a golden hue to the airborne water droplets. I found my stash and my lighter, then headed up the trail to the lookout. My clients would either start breakfast, or follow my smoke trail to my perch. I don't mind the solitude. I will be sharing these views with 30 or 40 special friends this season, so I would enjoy the few moments of self reflection.

The haze burned off as I enjoyed my entire joint, alone. The view was of the lake, and the valley beyond. There were no birds of prey. These heavy clouds would not keep them afloat until the afternoon heat. Then the updrafts and bright light would make them a menace to mice and moles. Even the waterfowl would keep their young close to them when the sun was high overhead.

I could smell the coffee before I got to camp, and I was delighted to find the brothers preparing their canoes for a day of side trips. We ate a Native blend of porridge, with dried berries.

We had our personal fishing tackle and I let them haul the small pack of food and emergency provisions. I insist that they bring their life vests, since they have multiple purposes. They are orange, so hunters might be warned that we are not wild game. They provide warmth if you cinch them tight, and they will protect you if you fall.

Fishing was on the agenda, but I wanted to go over to a small lake on the south side, where I have had success fishing for brookies. They wanted a laker, but they would take whatever the fish gods gave them. They would go down the north arm, trolling two lines, then they would swing around and come back, hoping for a strike. I preferred to cast across moving water. Not like a fly fisherman, but with steel lures and rubber jigs.

Two alone times in one day! Just as that thought went through my head, I knew that there was someone in the woods. Someone, or something?

I had been too quiet. I was actually lucky that it wasn't a bear and her cubs. Instead it was a Caribou. Both sexes have antlers, but I didn't see any calves. It was 50 meters away, through some deadfall, but this one was skittish.

They are not hunted in the park, but they don't know that, so it ran, making quite a racket as it broke through the pines.

Some guide I was. That's what my first thought was, but then I let myself enjoy the moment. The next two hours passed without a bite, and I found myself hustling to get back to my canoe for a rendezvous with Pete and Nick. I would guide them down the granite walls with the ancient paintings, explaining what I could, and offering my own guess when I had no other information to divulge. I took my job seriously, and my clients often recorded my voice, as they panned their cameras past the pictographs.

More word of mouth. That's how I fill my schedule.

The brothers had a pike and a gorgeous lake trout. It was a lot of fish, but they would do the work, and I had a wonderful cajun breading...

We ended the day with vigorous sex.

They did me like they were the invading army, and I was the conquered damsel. One, then the other, then back again. My heart was beating hard. My lungs were heaving. I was on top, then under, then doggy and cowgirl. If there was a camera going, it would not look out of place. We screwed like we were making a porno.

This time I was awake when they were both spent and exhausted. It was late, but brighter than normal.

I left the tent, then swung around and saw the northern lights dancing across the horizon. Shades of orange and blue and yellow undulated across the sky. It looked like waves, then they morphed into amoeba, then a platypus. It was amazing!

"Are you guys seeing this?" I burst out, turning to my customers.

They were both looking at my silhouette, instead of the real piece of art, cutting across the sky behind me.

I rolled my eyes as they took their time. Then they saw the lights.

"Wow," they both exclaimed.

We still had one more night, so there was no reason to have another sex marathon.

The sky continued to play magic across the northern sky, while we fell asleep, before anyone could let their hands wander.

We made gentle love in the morning. Nothing vigorous or loud, just two people pulsing into each other, then another pairing to keep everyone happy. It was still very nice to remember that moment, when all they could see was me.

We took our time on day five, checking out the waterfall coming into the Lake from the east. It drops about 20 feet in that 'bridal veil' falls, but there is no name on the map.

I made a mental note to ask about it, the next time I see a local friend. There were two more drops along this portage, making the hours work seem more like a Sunday stroll.

After Glenn Lake the route was against the current again. We had to walk, using ropes to line the loaded canoes. Again we had to carry for a few hundred meters.

It was another great day to be in the woods. This area had wild marigolds in the meadows. The butterflies fluttered between the flowers, while the dragonflies zoomed around the edges of the forest, picking off the mosquitoes that prefer the shade.

There is no logging in the park, but that has a lot to do with the lack of tall white and red pines. This area has always suffered from lightning strikes that bring fires. In a 20 year period there is always a drought, and then, poof! Back to bare, charred rock. Even with modern efforts to quench and control these fires, we only slow the process down.

When we came upon the caribou we were as surprised as they were. Four adults, standing in the shallows.

This pond had a narrow channel that we had to stay in, but the pond extends for hundreds of meters with reeds and cattails in early spring growth. The large animals were scratching their undersides on the vegetation, while eating the soft water plants.

"Holly Fuck," Nick let out without thinking.

They jerked their heads up, and jumped back, then continued their escape across the rock shelf and into the woods. Nick only robbed us of a second or two, so he would be forgiven.

"You dumb fuck," Pete scolded, but that would be the end of the issue.

We would treasure those seconds.

Crossing Mexican Hat Lake, Nick asked me if the names were made by the map maker, instead of the Natives or the explorers. Another good question, but the answer was obvious.

The eastern brim of the hat brought us to more waterfalls and a well traveled path to our campsite on Jake Lake. This would be our last night together. They had another week booked in late September, but that would be a much colder one.

We got to our destination early, so I wanted a swim. I was still wearing my harem pants because of the frequent portages, so I hopped around to get them off. Again the dogs stood and watched my jugs bounce.

"The tent can wait. Come swim with me." I instructed my team.