I’ve been singing this all morning, to the tune of “Just Call Me Angel of the Morning.”
🎶 Loon and trumpeters of the morning, baby. They touch my heart before we leave them.🎶 it’s become an ear worm.
Our previous campsite had a huge sloping granite rock, most do, it was out in the open and perfect for drying and staging our gear. Now again, our gear is hanging Halloweenish from tree branches, or strung on the line to flap like flags of camping. As the sun slowly creeps through the trees, we turn our gear, flipping it quickly as flapping a jack.
Oh, did I mention we have sunshine. Nevertheless, we are still tied to the little chores and little successes until 11. When all was loaded and I was standing in the water, lifting my leg, high to board the vessel. Then the captain said, “Where is the map, Skipper?”
“ The map that’s in the bottom of my backpack? You’re asking for it now?”
“I’ll help you get it.” He says sheepishly. As he sits in the stern.
“Never mind. I’ll get it.” I wade in the water. I grab the pack, which is in a big 55 gallon black garbage bag. This is our alternative to the big blue barrel that we have not needed to lug over the portages. I don’t have good leverage, and I twist this weight at an angle that is still talking to me a day later in the form of a back injury. I am in misery.
But with the map out, we successfully leads us through to Portage Lakes. Then we are in the big lake, Lac la Croix. We share this lake with our fun-loving neighbors to the north, the Canadians.
The line separating the two countries wends its way right down the middle of the lake for several miles. The features of the lake are boulders and islands. We don’t see one other canoe. The calm, blue water of the smaller lakes is replaced by a black chop. We don’t see any other paddlers in the near or the far distance.
The sun was shining and seem to be holding tight. Exact location via map and compass wasn’t true to what we were seeing. I used Gaia to get a position. After 3 miles just passed, never failed me, we felt a time for setting up camp. We passed a smaller island with a white marker. Last year we discovered that the white marker meant we were in Canada. Nevertheless, we paddled to the island where our campsite was located. I got out and looked at the grate for cooking, and it said US forest service. This was one of the nicest campsites we’ve ever stayed at. It had the grate with surrounding rocks for cooking, and it actually had a table and chairs made from granite. We were surrounded by water on three sides as this spit of land jutted out. We were in luck just waiting for red skies at night that never show themselves.
Mountain Peace 