Woodland Caribou Park - Good Land for Canoe Travelers

The Story of a Solo Canoe Trip Through Ontario's Woodland Caribou Provincial Park
By James Hegyi

CHAPTER 7
Tracks in the Sand

The air is heavy and damp as early light creeps into the tent. I pull myself deeper into my sleeping bag and try to go back to sleep. It's not an inviting morning.

A few hours later I emerge and make some hot coffee with lots of sugar. Two bagels are left in my food pack and I have one for breakfast. The tent and the rain fly get a good shaking out. It's cold and wet - there's no chance of anything getting dry. By nine o'clock I'm on the water, paddling through drizzling rain. It's good to be afloat after sixteen hours in the tent.

I'll be traveling through a series of channels and lakes that connect Haggart Lake to the eastern tip of Welkin Lake. There's a small falls to portage through, the first falls I've encountered on this trip. The small lakes beyond mark the edge of the fire zone. The shores to the southwest are burned, but trees on the northeast shore are still standing. The travel is slow through channels that join the lakes together. In one part, the channel widens as sand fills the bottom. Bear have been through here, and moose too. I follow their tracks as I walk the canoe through the shallow water.

It's almost noon when I reach the next lake, so I troll for a few minutes and land a nice size jack fish. I don't want to bother with oil and a fry pan to clean, so I boil the fish in a pot and eat it in the drizzle. My clothes are wet now, but I'm not cold and the good food makes this day all right.

An odd call greets me as I emerge from a portage. The call comes from one shore and it's repeated from the shore beyond the lake. I really have no idea what type of critter I'm hearing. Sounds in the woods can't be learned from reading books, and I've hardly ever traveled with someone that knows the wildlife. I'll have to wait for the day when I see one of these when it's talking.

Howard Holtman fire ring - woodland caribou provincial park

Thunder starts to rumble again, so I take a campsite on a barren island in Welkin Lake. There's a "Howard Holtman" fire ring here. I remember reading Howard's story about his solo trip into the park. The flat slab in the back, the walls on each side, the careful selection of rocks - it's exactly to Howard's specifications. After getting my tent and rain fly up, I walk across the flat barren rock and throw my diver from the shore. Another jack fish grabs the lure and I drag him ashore. It looks like the rain may hold off for a while, so I bread the fish and fry it in oil. It's another great treat after a hard, wet day. Next I boil my stinking clothes and spread them out on some bushes. It's still cool and threatening rain, but the rain doesn't come and my gear starts to dry out.

Later in the evening as the sun goes down, the last light falls on the land around me and I realize that I'm in a beautiful spot. My island is bare, but the land around is rich and full of life. Clouds still cover the sky, but they don't block the final rays of the sun. Later, lying in the tent, I can hear the faint rushing sound of falling water rising and fading with the wind. There must be a falls to the east and another to the south. At times I can't tell if it's the wind or the falls that I'm hearing. It's a soothing end to this drizzling day.

As I wake up something tells me to get moving. It's only five-thirty, but I hop out of my bag and pack up quickly. By. six it's drizzling rain again so I get the tent down and move my gear under the rain fly. Oatmeal and coffee are my breakfast, then I pack the canoe and get on the water. It's very cool this morning; without my life jacket I would be shivering.

Welkin is a lake with high shores, an alpine lake in a land without mountains. Trees cling to each small crack in the stone cliffs. Some may be fifty or more years old, but they're small and gnarled and twisted - Bonsai of the boreal forest. The morning sun shines, then fades as clouds move overhead on the cool west wind. I'm paddling slowly now, caught up in the gray mood of the dark clouds, entranced by the tall rocks and the broken, wild forest that looks out at my tiny canoe.

The canoe moves into a narrow channel that leads to an area burned by fire. I'm hoping I won't have to get my feet wet, and it's a close call as the canoe scrapes sand and I push on the paddle. The next portage clings to the face of a hill and I grab at rocks and bushes to keep my balance. I don't want to slide out here! There's a downed tree to wiggle through, but the portage ends pleasantly. The wind is gusty at times and it's still cool. I've heard that Jigsaw Lake has pickerel (walleye) and I'd like to give it a try. If the 850 meter portage into Jigsaw is as bad as the last portage, I'll not be happy.

As I start the portage it begins to rain, but only for a few minutes. My plan is to walk halfway through, then go back for the canoe. The portage, however, turns out to be easy, and I push on almost to the end before going back for my second trip. The Jigsaw end of the portage is wet and marshy, and there's no avoiding wet feet as I launch the canoe. I can immediately see that I'm on rich waters. Plants cover the surface in shallow areas. This lake has plenty of vegetation and cover for fish. It's very windy now, and I'm not sure where to go, so when I spot a well-used campsite I assume that the fish can't be far away. Twenty minutes later, after fishing from the shore, I'm cooking two pickerel for lunch. It's a cool, windy day, and I spend it loafing on the shore. In the afternoon, I catch another two pickerel in the same spot. This really must be a great fishing lake.

Later that evening, I land two more pickerel for supper. It's quite cool now, and there's plenty of wood lying around, so I build a small fire and relax nearby in it's warmth. There's a spot for the tent behind a stand of trees, out of the wind. Since the rocky surface of this peninsula is flat and unbroken, I look carefully at the trees to windward of the tent. Their roots seem to interlock and none is rotten or weak. They should be fine to camp behind, even if the wind gets stronger in the night. I bring up the canoe and turn it over well inland where the wind can't touch it. My food pack is getting lighter, and it's no problem to hang it properly away from the tent. The chores are finally done. I'm pretty stiff and sore, so I take a few aspirin and forego my shot of whiskey before hitting the sack. I haven't seen any people for several days now.

Woodland Caribou Park - Good Land for Canoe Travelers

The Story of a Solo Canoe Trip Through Ontario's Woodland Caribou Provincial Park By James Hegyi

The Story of a Solo Canoe Trip Through Ontario's Woodland Caribou Provincial Park
By James Hegyi