TomT,

Well, the experience that comes to mind ended up being part of my BWJ story re: the very first "Bushwhacker Jamboree" back in 2005.  My son, Ben, & I were en route to Cairn Lake, the "launching point" for the bushwhack to the targeted interior lake.  Anyway, that was still a few days away and my son & I were still on Day One, looking to portage out of Dore Lake.  Here is the pertinent excerpt from that story:
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Three friendly fellows in an Alumacraft, thoroughly soaked in their makeshift "plastic bag" rainwear, paddled past us. We waved and exchanged pleasantries. Loose gear and small packs lay strewn about their canoe, so we were not at all surprised to learn this was their first trip. As they moved on, Ben and I finished lunch and considered the bathtub-like quality our canoe had taken on in the drenching. We untied its painter and hopped in. It was only a short way over to the portage. We could flip and empty her there. We caught up with the "rookies" at the hump of bald Canadian Shield rock, the portage entrance.

What happened next was the unfortunate highlight of Day One.

I allowed our Souris River seventeen-footer to drift a little too close to the landing area. The three rookies, each wearing a small pack, reached down and jerked their canoe upward, apparently intending to perform a "triple turtleback" portaging maneuver... something I had never seen before. Sadly, the rear set of this odd turtle's legs crumpled and then stumbled backward under the unexpected weight of the canoe and accumulated rainwater. As the AlumaCraft lifted, a sudden rush of bilge surged to their "rear end", nearest the lake... right where we were. Thus, as the vessel flipped, a waterfall of lures, loose bait, and what-have-you gushed out the rear, emptying directly over Ben's head.

Profuse apologies followed. The struggling portage party, still clad in now deteriorating plastic bags, then became fully turtleback. Spacing themselves evenly underneath their shell, they marched toward Twin Lakes. Ben and I beached our canoe, dried off, and watched. A lively stringer of several smallmouth bass dangled at their collective knees from their overturned thwart bar. Hand-carried rods and paddles poked out willy-nilly in all directions. The odd sight jingled, jangled, and stumbled its way down the path. "Tangle rods" snagged bushes, tree branches, and their legs. Ten minutes later, we caught up with them, gasping for air while lying on the portage path beside their canoe. It lay crossways fully blocking our progress with our own canoe and heavy bags. After about a minute, one of them asked, "Do you want to get by us?" We simply nodded our assent and moved on.

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Like in your account, Tom, these dudes didn't have a clue.

I find that true stories are often stranger than fiction.

Later,

Jimbo   8-)