"The Great Canoe Trip" by Jeff, Seth and Jenee, Chuck, Tanya and Brian, Brian, Rachel and Grunt. Or "Will our kids ever talk to us again". Or "Why do I always do things the hard way". Or "It's a good trip if everyone lives". A slightly embellished log from June of 1998 by Grunt.
The Plan (I always like to start my trips with a rigid plan - There is no other way. There can be only one…Plan.) - Met at my house at 5 pm, June 7 to inventory, load up and take part in three family last supper on the grill. Leave from Grunt's house Sunday morning at 7 am., nine of us and our four canoes in one van arrive at Ely at 4 pm. to pick up our permit. Scout Lake One entry point, Snowbank exit point, supper in Ely, tent camp overnite in national forest campground. So far so good, I love it when a plan comes together.
Monday am., entry Lake One paddle and fish 11 miles to Hudson Lake with four 10 to 40 rod portages, serious fishing in the evening. Plan, written in pencil on perma-press parchment, began to break down in the rain on day one (That's the last time I take any pointers from any original 1600 vintage voyageur journals). Decided to add the portage to Insula (That's the last time I add a portage to the first day's plan). Longest 105-rod portage I ever made. Also seemed to be the longest for the other eight novice crewmembers as they explained to me continuously during all three portage passes from Hudson to Insula. Who could know the multiplicative property of 20 pounds of charcoal over a reputably short portage. Who could know what the weather would be! And why would kids come down with the puking flu after a meatless supper on the first night of a motherless child canoe trip. Why is there no taxi service to a wet windblown campsite on Insula. These are mysteries that may only be observed and never answered.
At least I had forgotten the five-pound bag of leeches in the van - again, it's traditional. Leeches in the van, in the cooler along with nine pounds of rib eye! Instead of a fantastic first night's supper I've got something to look forward to after a week in the wilderness, wondering if I will actually have to burn out the inside of my van or merely drive all the way home with the windows open.
Tuesday, serious griping commences. There are no fish in Hudson, food is already rationed but on the bight side the malnutrition headache seemed minor compared to the early bad blackfly hatch. Wilderness tripping can be so much fun - when it's over. (Actually this experience brought a whole new connotation to the term Wilderness Tripping.) Day two we explore and fish Insula just to add miles to the trip, there are no fish in Insula. Maybe made 8 miles that day, all into the wind to camp in wavy Lake Alice, She Was Ten Feet High. Experienced hallucinations or premonitions of probably paddling the whole damn circular trip into a headwind with driving cold rain.
By the third day I realized that we were in fact seriously behind schedule on the first day, so I pushed the pace but with no positive response from a listless crew, no doubt whispering of mutiny. (Besides always doing things the hard way - I know people say I always do things the hard way. It' not paranoia if people actually are talking about you.) Six small portages and three more 60 to 90 rd short portages find us at Boulder Lake, a nine mile day. We are half way, this trip was all a big mistake, we decided to turn back after a good nights rest. After fishing Boulder for our supper, no luck, hungry and without light or fire we cast ourselves upon the wet cold ground, unconciousness is bliss.
Unable to sleep due to cramping leg and back muscles, Rachel and Jenee find
upon the shore a burning torch and an arrow marked with initials A.S. We
realize that we are not at Boulder Lake at all, but following the trail to the
center of the earth left by Arny Sachnewson.
Thursday am. By luck Jeff has a map to Cap Lake via a 200 rd portage from the earth's center. Otherwise lost, we can not go back. The 8 FOREIGNERS trudge on gallantly humming 8 different tunes - no concept of team work remains. I am of course the only happy hunter humming appropriately "Dirty White Boys".
Jeff tries to negotiate extra food rations in exchange for his map. Chuck counters by offering to leave Jeff's body hung in a tree for the rangers to retrieve latter. Negotiations stall, however no blood is spilled, instead it is collected by the two Brians (distinguished by their initials, BL) as lure for a leech trap they have cleverly constructed from only duct tape, thereby saving the party from certain starvation. Thurs. p.m. after eight miles including a 200 rd, 140 rd and a few short portages, we camp at Thomas Lake. Jeff is DRAGGING behind, so I attempt again to explain his mistake in packing in as a voyeur. We spend any remaining time and energy fishing without luck for Lake Trout. At this point Chuck realizes that we are also fishing without his daughter, Tanya. Seth points out that Tanya has been missing since she and he argued at the Hudson-Insula portage on Monday. Most suspicious eyes turn to Seth. The Brians however continue to eye Jeff nervously!
Simultaneously, Tanya appears on the near end of the portage to Lake Alice from Thomas. A grueling 232-rod jaunt all uphill, both ways. Kiana Ya' believe she made that portage alone without a canoe? Reunited again, or perhaps more accurately each of the 9 of us Alone Again Naturally, together in the same camp, we dine on the providence of the "BLS" and the torch left by "AS", boiled leech soup, the first protein since Ely.
Friday morning the weather, which has been rainy, windy and cold since day 1,
turns really bad and most of us are forced to spend the entire day in our tents. Except for Chuck, who seems to be having an intolerable abdominal reaction to the leech soup. Chuck is forced to stay out of the tents, but in a true spirit of self preservation, Jeff loans Chuck his extra chartreuse chiffon ball gown which has been pretreated with silicon. Except for Chuck, we spend the day playing sheepshead for no money in the tent. Nobody wants to know what Chuck did by himself all day in the rain gown.
Saturday morning the nine paddlers gotta go! Significantly later (there is only one latrine per campsite regardles of leach soup suppers), we pack up camp and leave. Thirteen 50 rd and 85 rd portages and 13 miles later we pass through Disappointment and end our adventure battling 25 hp motor boats on Snowbank. Anticlimactically, it is a five-mile walk from the Snowbank landing to the van, where the clean cloths are, and a nine-hour all night drive home. But whatever else, it's always good a trip if everyone lives.
Posted by Grunt on March 04, 2000 at 09:51
