Hi! I'm Grace Evans and this is Dry Spell, my weekly letter of off-season reflections on canoeing.
Gargantua Road to Slievert Lake, 390 m - Lake Superior Provincial Park
The portage at Belanger Lake shook my confidence.
I wasn’t even portaging. It was two weeks before my first backcountry trip, and I was car camping at Lake Superior Provincial Park with my partner. Most of the lakes in the park required a short portage from a parking lot. We decided to walk the first portage to Slievert Lake, the first of a chain of three lakes leading to Belanger Lake, before renting a canoe. Ontario Parks lists the Belanger Lake paddling route as: “a family or anglers' canoe route, with pleasant scenery and moderately good brook trout fishing.” It sounded easy enough.
It was a rough road with very few markers, but we found the tiny lot. We knew the first portage was short, but as we ascended a steep hill I wondered about the family friendly description. The rooty, rocky terrain grew increasingly steep. I began to lose confidence in myself to do my upcoming backcountry trip. If this was what a portage was like, I thought huffing and puffing up another hill, how could I do this with a giant pack on my back? Or a canoe? We finally got to Slievert Lake and it was beautiful. I would have loved to paddle it. But my confidence was shaken.
Canoe Lake to Joe Lake, 260 m - Algonquin Park
The notes from my journal written in my sleeping bag that night say only: “Hard! Crowded.”
My first portage was one of the busiest in Algonquin. My group suitcase-carried the canoes and made another trip for our packs. It was a flat, wide path of hard packed earth; nothing like the rocky portage to Slievert. At the Joe Lake end I watched a family with two kids load their canoe. One of the little kids clutched a dry bag with a clear panel, showing a stuffed animal crammed in with clothes.
I felt overstimulated by the crowds of people and conscious of staying six feet apart. The boldness of chipmunks scurrying under my feet while I ate an apple only added to the frantic energy.
Little Joe Lake to Baby Joe Lake, 435 m - Algonquin Park
After my group carried our packs to Baby Joe, we walked back. Angela and Natalie taught me how to get the canoe on my shoulders, and I took the weight on to my shoulders and started taking tentatively steps to Baby Joe. Allison guided me around roots and rocks and people. I moved slow and cautiously, like a shaky baby deer taking first steps. Passersby called out encouragement which both embarrassed and buoyed me.
It was both easier and harder than I thought it would be. The gravity of the canoe pushing down on my shoulders was intense, and the shifting balance of weight while walking was strange to get used to.
Before pushing off from Baby Joe I ate a Hudson Bay Bar and apple slices. With two portages down, the mystery lifted a little.
Burnt Island Lake to Littledoe Lake, 1340 m - Algonquin Park
Days later, my group arrived at the portage in mist. This was the big one. I had noticed that most paddlers took gear and boats in two trips. Portaging was the best opportunity for watching other trippers to see how they did things, to learn what to do and what not to do. Before I lifted a canoe on my shoulders I watched a group of women in their fifties strap on their packs. They were swift and efficient, prepared and friendly. That’ll be us one day, I thought.
I carried the canoe the first half, feeling it in my already-sore shoulders. Emily and I switched and then we switched back, and I ended up carrying the whole way except for a steep hill where we suitcase carried. My journal reveals that while I was under the canoe I did a lot of reflection about my confidence, doubting my meal planning skills and worrying about my slowness taking down a tent. It’s funny I was so in my head because I remember Emily describing a Youtube video about camping and Anna singing all of the parts to “Alexander Hamilton” while I followed her on a narrow boardwalk.
Joe Lake to Canoe Lake, 260 m - Algonquin Park
On my second backcountry trip we only had the one portage, the busy one. On our way home it was my fourth time passing through. It felt like a brief bit of city life, waiting, negotiating public space, watching people accommodate you or ignore you.
After a vigorous morning we pulled up and had a snack. We did a trip with the gear, and I ended up back at the canoe alone. I’d watched people get canoes on their shoulders alone – with a single canoe lift, which I was not confident in doing. Or the way Natalie taught me, to pick up one end, tilt it up, slowly get underneath the boat, and gradually move your hands as you make your way to the middle of the canoe, lifting the one end higher and higher until you can position your neck under the yoke, lower it down, take the weight into your back and shoulders, and stand up straighter.
I looked around, waiting for Sam and Emily. I wasn’t in a rush but I got curious. I decided to go slow to see if I could do it. I would stop if I needed to. Then the canoe was on my shoulders, so I started walking. I felt so surprised but I kept walking. I met Emily in the middle of the route. How did you get the canoe on? she asked, gasping. I did it myself, I said, equally incredulous and betraying any sense of cool.
Ink Lake to Tom Thomson Lake, 2390 m - Algonquin Park
On another trip I camped on a site on Tom Thomson near the Ink Lake portage. We had a rest day there, so for three days we heard people breathlessly emerge from the portage. The distant sound of canoes knocking against each other, packs thudding into boats, laughter, triumphant shouting. The canoeists paddled into view of our site and their voices carried as they exclaimed relief and tried to orient themselves on the lake.
At home I read what an experienced tripper said about the portage: “The terrain is constantly rising and falling. Straight, flat stretches, when they come, are usually just long enough for you to get your hopes up that maybe the hill training is finally over before you round a bend and start climbing again.”
Huh, I thought. It sounded familiar, like the Belanger route, except over six times as long. Oh well, it was an intense route I was years away from attempting.
But now, five months out from another Algonquin trip, I’ve booked a trip that takes my friends and I through that portage. I guess that’ll be us one day soon. We can do it.
Thanks for reading Dry Spell!