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I'm up at six, but I can't face the morning yet.  I wake up again at six forty-five.  Remembering that the wind usually starts blowing strong by ten, I'm suddenly motivated . I don't want to be stuck on this island.  The sky is clear when I get out of the tent and start making some pancakes.  Clouds move in, then clear sky again.

The first large bay on the southern half of Irregular Lake is shallow, and I cross it quickly with the wind at my back.  The wind blows strong now and there's no place to hide in this dwarf forest.  It's impossible to follow the western shore, especially through the southern part of Irregular.  If I tried that route, I would paddle ten times further than my path along the eastern shore.  Large islands are near my route, and I scoot from island to island, stopping on the leeward side to scout out my next move.  I make it to the small gap that leads to the northern part of the lake.

A few odd plants are floating here in the shallows near the shore, similar to the ones I saw in the channel coming into Sylvia Lake.  The roots of these plants are very large, about a meter across. I've never seen anything like them before.

The eastern shore is no good any more.  I have to go north, but Irregular spreads out east and west.  Large, long islands and peninsulas run from the southeast to the northwest.  I find that I can make my way to the northwest behind these islands, then let the wind blow me on an exciting ride to the southeastern tip of the next island.  It's ten o'clock now, and the wind is roaring across the lake, raising whitecaps on the open water and waves that crash and spray as they break on the rocky shores.  I'm following the eastern shore of the largest island, being very careful to stay as close to the shore as I can.  A small dent in the island turns my path due west, directly into the wind.   If I can keep going for fifty meters, I'll be in the lee of the island again.  I give it my best try, fighting to keep the boat into the wind and paddling like a mad man to make some headway.  It only takes thirty seconds to know that it isn't going to work.  I let the bow fall off and paddle hard to get back to a lee shore.

It takes a few minutes to find a landing.  This island was over run by the fire and the shore is thick with downed trees and small brush.  It's a little early, but there's not much to do now, so I cook up a bowl of noodles.  I unpack my saw and clear a path to the top of the island.  The bare rock is warm, and I can use the rest, so I lie down and sleep for a few hours. The wind blows and the waves crash as the hours drift by.

By two o'clock the wind slacks off a bit so I pack up and give the shore another try.  This time I make it and I'm able to keep going, but just barely.  There's a small island to my east, and if I can get behind it I think I can make it to the northern shore.  I go as far as I can to the northwest, then launch myself into the wind and paddle hard to the north.  There's a tiny island just east of the island I'm heading for, and my plan is to go around both.  The wind has it's own plan and I get blown into a rocky gap between the islands.  Is there enough water for the canoe?  No, there isn't.  Crash!  I back paddle to soften the blow, but the canoe is caught on the shallow rocky gap between the islands.  As I grind against the rocks, waves come in from the lake and smash against the canoe.  I rock and lurch, trying all of my tricks to move the boat.  No good.  Can I wait it out, wait for the wind to die down a little?  A series of big waves smash into the boat, slopping water over the gunwales.  Evidently not.  Being careful not to break my paddle, I push and rock and shift my weight.  It takes a few minutes, but finally I drift clear of the rocks.  Whew!

It's a hard pull to a campsite on the northern end of the forty meter portage north of Irregular.  There's a small current coming into this small lake, so I cast my diver and eat jack for supper.  A burned tree, halfway down, makes it easy to hang my food pack.  It's cool now, partly cloudy, and still pretty windy.

Light comes early in this high latitude.  A faint light at four o'clock wakes me, and at five I roll out of my tent.  The weather is almost clear with only a wisp of high thin clouds.

I mark a campsite at the southern channel leading into Mather Lake, then slowly paddle past fire scarred shores.  A patch of green on the northeastern shore catches my eye.  Maybe I'll be out of the burn area soon.  The 475 meter portage has about eighteen trees down, but they're easy to step over. This part of the forest is unburned and the path is covered in cool green moss. 

I have some trouble finding the start of the next portage.  I finally land the canoe and walk ashore for a few yards.  I know what direction I have to walk towards, but I can't find any trace of path on the fire burned shore.

This problem turns out to be entirely my fault.  When preparing for my trips into Woodland Caribou, I make enlarged copies of sections of my topographic maps.  I mark my route and bearings on these copies, then add in the portages from the park map.  A coat of Krylon or fixative makes these copies waterproof.  I always make two copies, one for the non-food pack, the other for my map case.  I find out that I made a slight error in locating the end of this portage when I transferred the mark from the park map.

Within a few minutes I'm on the portage.  It starts on the rocky shore, and crosses a wide hill of solid rock.  I hear a plane as I walk down the hill, there's a Green fly in camp on Haggart Lake, not far from here.  Poles mark the path as it crosses grassland, dry now but probably soggy after a few rains.  The grassland ends and I push through thick brush that completely covers the faint trace.  I'm coming out of the fire area now.

It's calm and sunny as I cross Haggart Lake.  I'm going slower now, worn out by a few hard days.  I have to decide whether to go north to Bulging Lake or head east - start back to Leano.  As I paddle through the narrow channel that leads to the eastern bay, the skies start to cloud over and the air gets the feeling of rain.  There's a trap line cabin on the western shore, so I land the canoe on a sandy beach and dig out my gas burner and some macaroni and cheese.

The cabin is old, the logs aged, dry and cracked.  Over the last few months pine needles and green moss settled on the tar paper roof, and heavy brush grew back in the small clearing in front.  A narrow window is broken open, and a sleeping bag is half pulled out.  A small, red door is jammed open and the top is ripped and broken.  I poke my head into the doorway and look at a well ordered room ripped to shreds.  I can only guess that a bear broke in and made the awful mess.  A lot of work went into this place; there's craftsmanship and care in the construction inside.  I'm sure that the cabin will be put right when the trappers return.  As I eat my lunch, rain starts to fall.  I decide to go east rather than north, and I'm already looking forward to the next campsite.

There's another boulder field to cross and a hard climb that's tough after a day's paddling.  The portage path follows the steep side of a hill and the footing is tricky.  I cross a blown down tree, hanging on to the branches as I step through.
 

The lake east of Haggart has high shores and high islands.  I'd like to explore a little, maybe try to catch some supper, but thunder is rumbling now to the west, so I search for a place big enough for my tent.  I spot a small clear area on the heavily wooded shore and quickly get my rain fly up just before it hits.  The landing here is lousy, with large slippery rocks.  There's not much room to camp on either.  The rain isn't stopping, so I re-rig the fly a little higher and put the tent under it.  It's a real chore to hang the food pack, but I find a place about fifty meters from shore and take care to do it right.  It's only five o'clock, but it's been raining for two hours now so I call it quits.  Storms roll in with thunder and lightning then fade off into the distance. It rains on and off all night long, hard and driving then soft and soothing.

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