Head Lake, May 8, 4pm
Afternoon sun warms the chilly breeze that sways the boughs of pine and raises goose pimples on my skin. It is a hot/cold kind of day– cool in the shade such that I am invited to don an extra layer and pull my wool cap out of my pack and onto my head. Warm in the sun so that I am forced to strip a layer and remove my sweaty cap.
The ground bees on this site must be feeling the same as I — chasing patches of sunlight, retreating in the shade. We noticed them as soon as we landed here to check out the site, their drilled holes in the sandy soil revealing that this was their home. We decided it best to have a long lunch before setting up camp to see if they were willing to share nicely. Soon we realized that we could cohabitate as long as we chose carefully, respectfully, where to sit, where to pitch our tent.
Chores are now done— you know, the basic four- shelter, water, food, fire– and we are relaxing in this moment’s sunny patch with a view out over the open water of the lake at our feet, and the waterfall that pours into it over left shoulder. The sound of those falls is a rush of ‘white’ noise, quite literally, as that waterfall is full and flowing fast with white water. While we are appreciating it now, I suspect that after 2 nights of that constant ‘noise’ we will have had our fill.
There are quite a few piles of mooseberries behind camp, where we went searching for firewood earlier. The knob of land upon which we are now seated was picked fairly clean, surprisingly so for so early in the season, though we suspect this is likely a well-loved landing spot for many, just one portage from the access point and with that waterfall next door.
I remember visiting that waterfall in August of 2017, with Cheri, Kristen, and Chris. Then it was merely a trickle, so dry that we climbed its rocky walls to the creek overhead. I pause now in that remembrance to surround my dear friend, Kristen, with Love. May my prayers for her and her beloved be carried with this breeze, lifted, to rain down upon them.
The far shoreline is rimmed with spires of balsam and spruce, behind which the deciduous forest is already beginning to blush, subtely, with the red buds of maple, the bright greens of poplar and birch. Here on this almost-an-island we are surrounded by white pine and cedar.
The forest floor along the trail from Cache to Head lake this morning was carpeted with trout lily leaves, trillium with newly nodding buds, fiddleheads already unfurling, and so many dutchman’s breeches– vast swaths of them spread out across the hillside. The trail itelf was quite soggy! Downright soupy in places. But being a portage that departs from a front country lake, there were also numerous boardwalks over the muckiest of sections. I was grateful for that for the sake of the habitat– and my boots.
It took us 2 1/2 hours from the time we paddled away from the docks on Cache Lake until we were paddling away from the portage onto this lake. That was just enough for us today, as I have been remiss in keeping up with my home exercise program that last few months of winter, and though the 1600meter portage was mostly flat and the packs are quite reasonable in weight (nothing over 35 pounds this time), my legs were grateful to be done with the portage after the 3rd time across.
We headed first for the site on the point on the west side of the lake, but these same cool breezes quickly dissuaded us from making camp there, exposed as it was to the wind. And so we made our way across the lake and into the protection of this small bay.
The loons are already making themselves at home here– delighted to be back as am I, I presume! As we were loading up the canoe on Cache Lake, two of them were engaged in some ‘wing-paddling’, which the local fisherman explained to us is a territorial exercise which at times can become quite rowdy. The pair on this lake seem to be on more friendly terms, mates perhaps. Grouse were thrumming their own mating desires along the trail, back in the bush, and as we came out onto the lake, a crane flew overhead warbling its unusual call.
I don’t know what sort of spring serenades we might hear from this site tonight. Likely the roar of the waterfall will drown all else out, but I will enjoy its own sort of music lulling me to sleep and waking me in the dawn. There will be many more days and nights to sit and receive the music of this place, to let my heart settle to its rhythm, remembering.
Day 2, Head Lake, May 9, 3:15 pm
Sixty degrees in the Sun, cooler by at least 10 degrees in the shade, I expect. Again we are chasing patches of light. We went chasing waterfalls today too! (despite the song’s admonition to not engage in such flights of fancy)
It took us a bit to get out of camp this morning, so we didn’t have time to make the full circuit, down Head creek to the Madawaska and back, that I’d imagined we might, but in the end all was as it should be and we had a lovely day. It got quite chilly overnight, dipping into the 30’s , and I had some trouble with my thermarest. It wasn’t holding air and I’d wake every few hours lying flat with just a thin layer of nylon between my body and the cold ground. I would re-inflate the mat– taking 30 full breaths each time–and instantly feel the warmth beneath me, radiating into my chilled body, but a few hours later I’d awaken cold once again. At last, I placed a few of our closed cell foam camp chairs beneath the core of my body– from shoulders to hips–and that helped quite a bit. So, I spent some time this morning in camp trying to find the leak, piling a few heavy rocks on top to mimic my body weight and pressing upon the mat that I’d brushed with water to look for air bubbles, but I couldn’t seem to find the leak. I’m wondering if perhaps it is a valve problem since I couldn’t seem to get it to lose air as it did overnight– though I tried putting water around the valve as well and couldn’t find evidence there either.
So after spending most of the morning playing around with the thermarest, and deliberating over our best plan of action, I decided I’d give it one more night (in case I was not closing the valve fully). The alternative is to paddle back out of the park, drive to a local outfitter and purchase a new sleeping mat, which we may still have to do if tonight doesn’t go any better. We’d considered doing so today, but we figure that trip will take us 2 hours round trip in just paddling and portage time, plus the drive out of the park and the shopping time, and if we don’t absolutely have to do that, we’d just as soon not, though, I’m also less than thrilled with the prospect of 2 weeks of sleeping on the bare ground! So we’ll see how tonight goes (we’ve also decided that we’ll put the mylar sheet underneath our mats tonight, just in case) and paddle out tomorrow, if necessary, while we are still close enough for that to be a possibility.
The morning spent, we packed a lunch and set out to do some exploring, making our way towards Head Creek by way of the detour to the campsite across the lake where we’d first stopped yesterday, and where Don suspected he’d lost his pocket knife. Sure enough, it was there.
Head creek was full and flowing fast in the rapids and waterfalls, wide and high in the open flats, the portage landings flooded and forcing us to enter and exit from the riverbank downstream. Completely different, once again, from my last visit here with my ‘sisters’. In August we’d walked across those flats and scrambled over the rocks at the base of the rapids, leap frogging our way to the marshlands which today were underwater. I remember watching the late summer dragonflies as we ate lunch there that day. Today’s lunch was next to a roaring waterfall. A massive log jam at its head, the water rushed- boiling, frothing, rolling down some 40 feet to the base where it quieted into a wide foamy pool before meandering around the bend towards the next falls.
We sat for about a half hour at the edge of the water, about halfway down the fall, where we could witness both the intensity of the white water and the pastoral scene below. We might’ve gone further, but the thermarest we’d left inflated back in camp was still on our minds (we were even considering paddling out late this afternoon if we’d found it deflated completely upon our return) and so we turned back.
Along the way, we counted some 8 or 9 beaver lodges along the banks of Head Creek — a mecca, or at least a village. Clearly enough to sustain them in that habitat. It really is a lovely area and I’d love to return one day when we can take it all in more leisurely, with more time to explore. Of course, I say that so often, as if what I have seen and tasted is so satisfying that I am not satisfied!!
The high waters of this spring are certainly gracing us this time and for that I am grateful– as I would be, of course, if the waters were low, for their own gifts of beauty. How different the mood of this place, how different the feelings in me that are evoked — wonder, awe, peace, delight, quietude. This makes me wonder about the persons I meet– and those who meet me, likewise— how different my perspective of them (and theirs of me) might be depending upon the season of life we are in, or how much rain we have been blessed, or cursed, to receive…
There was more waterfowl in the creek today— a male merganser courting a female, several black ducks, a pair of Canada geese, and what appeared to be a mallard(?) with 2 females (though I am not at all certain that they live here)
As it turned out, it was just enough activity for the day, as we are still in the ‘conditioning’ phase of our trip. By day 3 or 4, especially on a first trip of the season, we are typically hitting our stride, but this year, coming off of the winter I’ve had with its significant emotional stress, my hope is more that this trip will simply offer healing to both body and mind, spirit and soul.
Oh— I almost forgot to mention here, the thermos. I opened it to pour last evening’s boiling water for this morning’s coffee and discovered we’d missed packing the inner cap!. Not the end of the world, just an inconvenience as I have really come to appreciate having hot water first thing in the morning without needing to make fire. It makes makes either enjoying a slow, quiet morning in camp, or getting out of camp early so much easier. However, with these cold overnight temperatures, I might appreciate a fire in the morning just as well. If we do need to paddle out tomorrow in search of a sleeping pad, I may purchase a thermos while we’re at it.
Either way, all will be well.
an algonquin affair 