We departed in the morning with the storm moving off to the east. We traveled up the channel to the west of Rose Island and through a narrow passage leading to a fork where one direction leads into Shelly Lake and the other into the Kahshahpiwi Creek and the lakes that follow its course.

We planned to make no more than two portages that day, one from Kawnipi into the Kahshahpiwi Creek, and then another into Heronshaw Lake. Unfortunately, our plan was about to be changed. While I did not know it at the time, I was about to break the promise that I had made earlier to Nathan, when I said, "There will be no days harder than our first day on the Wawiag River." 

As we approached the area marked on the map for the portage into Heronshaw, we could find no trace of it visible from the canoe. Another portage into Heronshaw farther along the creek was also marked on the map, so we started down the creek for that portage. We made a short portage around a set of rapids and then realized that we had somehow missed both of the two portages into Heronshaw. Rather than to go back across the portage we just crossed, we decided to push on to Cairn Lake, another two short portages away. We felt confident that even with our four (still quite full and heavy) packs, we would make it without much trouble.

After the next portage we were no longer so confident and were feeling quite tired. We also knew that there was yet another portage coming up in order to cross into Cairn Lake. I recall saying to Nathan, that all we had was one more short portage before making camp. Not surprisingly, my remarks were met with skepticism and he grunted, "Yeah, sure." 

We made the final portage into Cairn and were as exhausted as we had been when we exited the Wawiag on our first day. In addition, as we entered Cairn, a headwind was rising. With the wind whipping up, we rounded the point of an island and were greeted with the sight of a beautiful windswept campsite with great views to the east, south, and west. Never had I been so glad to see a campsite as we had again covered about thirteen miles with four portages and our offending four packs.

Cairn Lake is beautiful, with dramatic high cliffs on the eastern shore, alternating with shallow calm bays. Near this excellent campsite on Cairn on both shorelines are creeks with small waterfalls that cascade into the lake. In the evening after the wind dies down, the sounds and echoes of water cascading from these rivulets is incredibly soothing.

We decided to stay on Cairn the next day and recuperate from the two hard days out of the three we had been in the Quetico. My body was giving indications that it was time to slow down as evidenced by my rate of consumption of Motrin. We fished with moderate success, catching a few large Northerns, but basically we rested, swam, and admired the glorious scenery.

I contented myself by going through the packs, working to make our four packs converge into three. After some grunting and snorting, I managed to consolidate the gear and personal packs into one #4 Duluth pack, which now looked like it was beyond its design limits. Triumphant, I was almost looking forward to portaging with one fewer pack. That is until I tried to pick the darned thing up. Performing what looked like a weight lifter doing a dead lift, with much grimacing and shuffling of feet, I loaded the big pack into the canoe.

The portage from Cairn to Sark Lake was a little over a mile to the south, and as we traveled between the shoreline and a small island, we were also given the chance to test the design limits of our Kevlar canoe. Abruptly, in what appeared to be deep water, we heard the scrape of rock on canoe with the sound stopping just below me, directly between my legs.

With what looked to be deep water on both sides of us, I certainly did not wish to hop out. It seemed as though we were impaled on a rock with a sharp tip smaller than a dime. I knew this because to my horror, when I looked down at the spot where the offending rock was stopping us, I could see a large indentation and color change in the fabric of the Kevlar. While I had heard great tales of the resiliency of Kevlar canoes, I was sure that we were about to drill a hole into the bottom with our efforts to paddle ourselves off this spike upon which we were firmly perched.

I recalled that our outfitter had graciously provided a roll of Duct Tape for this very contingency. Unfortunately, this thought did not offer much comfort as I attempted levitation. Listening and watching as the rock directly beneath me poked into the Kevlar as we tried backwatering, rocking, and the highly technical "scootching" maneuver, made seconds seem like an eternity.

I was near the point where I was going to have to go overboard in order to escape the capture of this evil little piece of Gneiss (or Granite, or dare I say, Schist). At that moment, a breeze came up that seemingly provided us with the additional impetus we needed to be able to back off the rock. Counting our blessings, we examined the rock as we passed, and could see that it had been busy collecting Royalex, Aluminum and Kevlar.

I think that it is a good idea to carry both Mackenzie and Fisher maps as they often show different locations for portages, which allows you to make a choice when two such portages coexist. The portages from Cairn to Sark are shown to be on one side of the creek on the Fisher maps, and on the opposite side on the Mackenzie maps. From the shore, both looked about equally used so we selected the shorter of the two. It was here that we learned that there is a wilderness rule that states that when you make a choice, you will curse colorfully at yourself, since the portage that you did not select would have been the easier of the two.

We were getting stronger and more capable each day, thanks to the fact that each portage so far had offered a new educational experience. Earlier, I had learned that carrying two packs was not physically possible. I had also learned that carrying a pack and the canoe was not feasible on portages with deadfalls and poor footing (which all had been to this point). The education that this portage would provide was the teaching of wilderness body mechanics.

After the consolidation of two packs into one at the last campsite, I had lifted the now monster pack only into and out of the canoe. I had not yet attempted to get it fully onto my shoulders. In order to do this, what worked best was to sit on the ground to my get arms into the pack straps, then perform a sideways roll and twist to get onto hands and knees. With the pack now on my back in an all-fours position, heaving and grunting were used to gain an upright stance. If correctly performed, you can safely rise, avoid embarrassment and not fall backwards onto the pack to resemble an overturned turtle. Not that this happened to me of course.

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