Sept 19-22, family camping trip in Killarney!
One of my goals for 2010 was to get out canoe camping with the whole family. Easier said than done, but much better done than not done! The number of opportunities for all of us to get out together is limited at best.
Earlier in the year we did get out for a 2 nighter in The Massassauga Provincial Park but I wanted to take them to Killarney, my favourite of Ontario’s Provincial Parks. More specifically I wanted to take them to O.S.A. Lake. The logistics of this were slightly more complicated as O.S.A. is four lakes back of the access point meaning quite a few paddling kilometers and 3 portages. Not a bit deterred we set out planning for September.
I had picked O.S.A. Lake for reasons which, if you’ve ever been there, don’t need explaining. For those of you who haven’t however, here’s what I see and know about this special lake:
I first paddled through O.S.A. sometime in 2006 or 2007. I was totally impressed by the natural beauty of this lake. To view pictures, or for me to try to describe it verbally would be in vain… It simply has to be seen.
Back around the turn of the last century the lake was named Whiterock Lake. The area around the park was being logged, dams were being built to raise water levels sufficiently to float logs out. The building of these dams connected smaller lakes making it easier to get the logs out, and to travel in the mountainous wilderness of the area. Threenarrows Lake, just to the northeast of O.S.A. is a great example of this. Remains of century old dams can still be seen, and the lake is maintained at the post 1900 level by a newer dam.
The Group of Seven, some of Canada’s most notable artists of the time, were spending their summers paddling and painting in Ontario’s lakes and rivers. One of them, it now escapes me whom, was in Baie Fine (pronounced like ‘fin’) talking to some of the loggers. The topic of Whiterock lake came up, which had yet to be reached by the advancing loggers, ever hungry for the straight beautiful lumber that can only come from a tree that has been around for a few hundred years. As these trees were now gone from all the accessible areas, plans were being made to access Whiterock to begin logging the yet untouched forest there. The artist went to Toronto as quickly as possible and began rallying support for a movement to protect the lake and it’s trees. Support was gained, the Ontario Government was persuaded, and shortly thereafter legislation was drafted to protect and rename the lake. The name O.S.A. was selected because of the Ontario Society of Artist’s valiant efforts. That land preserve was the beginning of what is now the “crown jewel of Ontario's Provincial Park system.”
Back to our story! On the 19th we loaded the carefully packed food, supplies and canoes onto the van. Five hours later we arrived finally at George Lake campground in the park. We stopped by the park office to register and while there we had a look at the “problem campsite” that they had set up. I asked Kade to identify the problem areas of the campsite for the girls. He quickly found the food left out, the campfire still burning, snacks in tent etc.
We headed down to Second Beach on George Lake to load the canoes. Upon our arrival at the beach a strong westerly was driving the waves up on the beach, but I didn’t mind as I knew this would help us along our way at least on the initial part of the trip.
Shortly after getting the canoes loaded and seating arrangements made we pushed off at around 3:00 in the afternoon. The strong wind pushed us quickly across George Lake towards the portage to Freeland. This helped Georgia who still has some difficulty making RedBoat (the “Bob Special” she and Kade were paddling) go where she wanted! I just made sure she was trimmed a little aft for the wind making it easier to keep the boat pointed downwind.
Emma and I reached the dock at the beginning of the portage and began unloading. We carried some of the packs across and when we returned Georgia, Kade, Ainsley and Aurora were approaching the dock. Suddenly Aurora began crying about something and I could see Georgia trying to maneuver the canoe. I slid the Prospector into the water, grabbed a paddle and took off towards them while Emma watched from the dock. When Georgia saw me coming she called out that Aurora had lost her hat. I made a search of the area but never did find it.
Finishing the portage to Freeland we continued on the easterly track in search of the portage trail to Killarney Lake. The wind continued it’s assistance and got even better when Ainsley, my boat partner for the rest of the trip, decided that she wanted to be the “sail!” So, she stood in the front of the canoe with a sleeping pad on her back and her arms outstretched holding it. In this manner we sailed down most of the rest of Freeland Lake.
After the portage up to Killarney Lake, I trimmed Georgia’s boat slightly nose down as I was expecting headwinds during our mostly westerly travel from here on. However, the wind was calm to slightly contrary due to the fact that we were mostly in the lee along the shoreline. The water levels caught my eye however. Killarney was about 2 feet lower than I'd seen before so, upon approaching the west arm of the lake, I headed to the longer portage thinking that the pass to the short portage would likely be a lift up and a very shallow approach. The longer portage was muddy in places (as always!) but fairly good. We pushed off through evening shadows onto beautiful O.S.A. A dying, but still stiff, breeze added to Georgia's difficulty somewhat and she was having trouble, even with Kade's help in the bow, making headway. I sent her along the north shore of the lake thinking that we could race the sunset over to the westerly sites. With the faster speed I was able to make in the prospector I planned to check out the site near the eastern short portage to Killarney for occupancy. When I reached it I found it vacant. I looked to where Georgia and Kade were and they had yet to make it as far as the first island in the NE corner of the lake... Quickly deciding that there was no way we could make the Bay of Islands before dark I gave her the signal that we would make camp here. As I paddled to meet her Ainsley kept up the pre-arranged signal (a waving paddle) until we were certain that she could see us. I met her east of a line between Iceberg Rock and the campsite and we paddled together to the beach just east of the site from which a faint trail leads to the site. We made camp, finishing as darkness fell. After a hearty meal of rice and meat sauce we all fell off to sleep quickly, all crowded into the Coleman tent (thanks Dad!) skipping the fire for tonight. Georgia said she slept better than she usually does on her new air mattress, but maybe it was just the good food following a 5 hour paddle with plenty of fresh air!
The next day we woke up not too early and began the process of acquiring breakfast. The water was calm and as beautiful as could be. As I stared off into the depths of the lake from the campsite the azure colour of the water was captivating to the eye. I decided there and then that, regardless of the temperature, I would swim. The morning was cold however and we all had coats and sweaters on. In spite of the fact that the sun was shining brightly, the ridgeline to the south of our campsite was shading the site and keeping it as cold as an icebox. Not exactly the weather one would hope for for swimming! None-the-less I knew that if I didn’t swim I’d wish later that I did. So following breakfast I headed over to the little beach, changed and fished a swim mask out of my pack. The sand was freezing my feet and I wasn’t exactly feeling like a swim was still a good idea! However on first contact, to my feet which were half frozen the water initially felt warm. It wasn’t however; I would guess that it was only about 12-14 degrees Celsius. Once I got over the initial chill however I was amazed at the clarity of the water. A peaceful feeling settled over me as with a few strokes I headed into deeper water. Blue, blue, blue and more blue! Centuries old logs peeked up from the depths as well as rocks the size of Volkswagens... As I toured along the shoreline the bottom would be smooth sand for awhile, about 30 feet deep, then there would be a ridge and the bottom would drop away. At one point while in fairly deep water there was another ridge and a rock pile that came close enough to the surface that I could stand easily and wave to the kids on shore. I continued eastbound along the shore, towards the portage to the beaver pond that leads to Killarney Lake, for about 10 minutes before turning back. On the return trip the kids had gathered on the rocks in the little bay on the east side of the campsite and were waving. I headed into the bay and chatted with them for a few minutes pretending I was going to splash them! All of us laughing I pushed off the rocks letting the water, as it has so often done, carry me once more.
After my swim we decided that it would be fun to paddle around the lake and explore the western bays and islands. I was especially interested in checking out the sites in the bay of islands area on the north shore of the lake near the western end. I remember paddling through that area years ago and thinking that it was the prettiest place in the world... Little islands just big enough to have lunch or a snack on, all perfectly ringed with rocks, almost as if they were in a park in some city somewhere.
We headed west along the south shore of the lake, around the bay and on into a smaller bay on the western portion of the lake, just south of one of the campsites there. As we paddled the sun kept poking its face out now and then. The rays were powerful, imparting some much needed heat to all of us but especially to me after my swim! After warming me the rays kept travelling deep beneath the surface of the glassy lake making sparkling shafts of light that danced in the endless blue beneath the hull of the Prospector.
We found a small, smooth rock island in the little bay, so we stopped, got out and dipped our feet in the water for a while. Aurora had fallen asleep during the paddle, so we just lifted her out and let her keep sleeping on the rock while we all snacked and relaxed. I washed out the canoe while the kids played, running all over that rock as if it was the local playground.
Time was slipping by easily. I swam again. The kids snacked again. The baby woke up. As time went by a thin layer of clouds started to thicken slightly. I wasn’t worried. It didn’t look like rain to me. Georgia was sitting quietly helping the kids with wet shoes and socks. Emma had gotten her pants wet and a solution to the situation was in the works when Georgia said “I think we better head back, looks like rain to me.” I assured her that there wasn’t a chance of rain. She, however, had a differing opinion. I wanted to just tour the rest of the end of the lake where we were so that I had an idea of what the campsites were like. Georgia said she didn’t think we had that much time. I thought she was wrong, but the kids were getting hungry anyway and had eaten all their snacks so we headed back.
The clouds continued to thicken and then the wind started. Out of the east, gently at first, then it began to stiffen and chill. “Maybe we will see rain” I silently mused. The wind continued freshening and before long the lake was churning out whitecaps a-plenty. Another canoe party had come out of the portage from Muriel Lake and had passed us eastbound just as we pushed off of the rock island. Four canoes were just ahead, and two more well ahead. I decided with the weather deteriorating the way it was that we wouldn’t go around the south bay again, but instead cut across the mouth of the bay along an island’s shore. I figured if things got really bad we could always pull out on the island. The canoes ahead of us began signalling and shouting to each other. Two of them decided to stay close to shore and began to trace the south shore of the bay. I, on the other hand, only had to cross about two hundred metres of water and then would be in the lee of a big island. They were directly into the wind however pulling hard for the shore. There was no longer any question about the rain, the only question that remained was how many minutes we had before it broke. Once we made the lee of the island we made much better time. Now there was only a small gap of open water, maybe a hundred metres or a bit more, between the island and the lee of the shoreline that led to our site. Kade and I pulled hard across the gap then continued along the shore to our site. Because of our much more direct route we now were far ahead of the group of four canoes. The hull of the pretty Kevlar Prospector slid up onto the sand beach and we piled onto the shore. Still no rain, so I wandered into the site and began arranging things under the other canoe in case of rain. While I was fixing up the Bob Special, and retying the tarp, I heard the canoe party beaching their boats out on our little beach. I looked out across the lake and there it was... A solid wall of rain was moving across the lake at at least 40 kilometres per hour. I thought we might have a minute, or maybe only 30 seconds. “Everyone!” I shouted, “Here, now!” I ran to the tent and unzipped the door. Kids were arriving on the run and I just tossed them, shoes and all into the tent. I pushed Georgia through the door as the rain started. By the time I got the door zipped shut the rain was coming down so hard that you could only see maybe a hundred feet. The tarp tore free from one of it’s grommets and started flapping, banging like the cracks of a rifle. I had my Tilley hat and my Gore-Tex jacket so I just stood there and watched in awe. Within two minutes the site, which was on a hill, had four to six inches of standing water. I couldn’t figure out how it stayed there! I kicked my shoes under the red canoe and went barefoot.
The people in the other party had donned their raingear and were standing huddled in the trees just off the beach. I invited them to try to get under the tarp but with one corner loose it was useless. So, relatively secure in our raingear, we chatted while the rain came down in sheets. I eventually got the stove lit, (man I love that alcohol stove!) and started heating water for coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the kids. The rain was still coming down so heavily though that it was somewhat futile. The thunder and lightening were happening almost in unison telling me that the centre of the storm was directly overhead. Emma started to cry. She didn’t like the thunder she said. I told her not to worry, and just be glad we made it back to the camp in time!
The little Coleman tent stayed totally dry, much to it’s credit, and the overturned hull of the Bob Special did a remarkable job of keeping the packs dry too. As the rain tapered off, the visiting voyageurs decided not to wait for coffee but rather to push off for Killarney Lake where they were camped. The water quickly drained from the site, not too surprising since it was on a hill! However things remained a bit muddy for the rest of the day.
On Tuesday we woke up a bit earlier, and after breakfast we headed off to Killarney Lake to try a hike to “The Crack.” The Crack is a split in the cliff face in the white quartz ridgeline that runs above Killarney Lake. It’s a beautiful hike that I have many warm memories of hiking with my Mom, sister, brother and son a couple years ago during an abnormally warm week in November. We all piled into the Prospector again, and this time we took the short portage to the beaver pond then lift-over to Killarney Lake. Arriving at the portage landing that leads to the trail to The Crack we encountered an extensive mud beach. It was ice cold and really gooey. I went barefoot, as I did for most of the trip, and helped the others to shore. It was a great day and a nice hike although actually making it as far as the Crack was a bit beyond the capabilities of some of the little ones.
An easy paddle, via the long portage, got us back to the campsite easily. A fire and a nice supper came shortly thereafter with the kids all trying to identify the Big Dipper. It was there, bright as could be in the cold night’s sky, gleaming out over the mountain to the north. I tried to get some pictures while one by one the kids begged to go to bed. Georgia and I sat by the fire watching the lake return to it’s most placid state. As the flames of our campfire flickered and finally died the stars shone brighter still. It was a cold night, but one for dreamers and lovers. We did a little of both until the efforts of the day finally pulled the girl of my dreams off to dreamland and I was left alone with my thoughts. A happy place when one is as content with one’s life as I was with mine at that moment.
Wednesday morning was lovely but was unfortunately the last day. None-the-less we had a lazy morning whilst breaking camp. I went for a solo paddle in the Prospector sprinting to the west end of the lake. I checked out the three campsites there as well as looking at Artist’s creek as a possible passage west. Artist’s creek, after a shallow part that took some wading to pass, I found myself in a large pond and after a turn some more flatwater. Things looked good until I rounded the next bend and encountered a tangle of fallen trees. A casual observation gave me the easy conclusion that the portage would be easier than the creek. The campsites seemed fine, only one was occupied. The island site would be cool but puts one rather close to neighbours on the nearby shoreline site. The site on the north shore took some finding as the map I was using had the site in the wrong spot. We get so used to things being exactly as marked while using maps that initially I thought the mistake was mine. The wind was calm on a bright sunny morning however and I was absolutely certain of my position. I finally paddled off to the east across the bay of islands toward our campsite. It was then, 500m further down the shoreline that I found the site. In the cartographer’s defence, I was using the hiking, not the paddling chart as it’s scale more closely matched the planned trip than did the other. This site was really the best choice on O.S.A. for a shoulder season trip as the sun would get into that site much better. Also, it’s on the Bay of Islands so it’d be fun for the kids to explore by canoe within easy range of the campsite.
On the return trip I basked in the sun and chatted with an eastbound boat before we separated ways near Iceberg rock.
After loading the canoes we too proceeded eastward over the longer portage, then through beautiful Killarney Lake towards the portage to Freeland. Across Freeland then into George we bucked stiff headwinds until finally reaching the landing at Second Beach. As we drove into the evening we laughed and reflected on what was truly a trip to remember. “Even the rain,” Georgia said, ‘made the trip better.” “And the fact I listened to you when you saw it coming!” I replied.
So ended our first whole family backcountry trip. If they’re all this good we’ll have no shortage of great memories someday!
Here's a
link to the pictures...
