I awoke to the sound of birds chirping overhead. Opening my eyes, I looked past the back of DW's head, through the screened opening of our tent, to see the moon, almost full and with a pinkish hue, hovering just above the tree line on the far shore of George Lake, its still, glasslike surface casting a perfect reflection.
The temptation to grab my D-SLR and capture this beautiful sight was powerful, but not so much to pull me from my warm sleeping bag. My camera was locked in the car, and I would make too much noise in getting from the tent to the car. Plus, I would have to walk about 100 metres to where I could get a clear shot of the lake and moon: from our tent, I was looking through our neighbour's site and several trees. While no tree obstructed my view, what I saw wasn't the best view for a photograph.
I decided to simply enjoy the view from where I was.
Our first full day in Killarney Provincial Park was potentially going to be a challenging one, with DW and I setting our kayaks into Georgian Bay and paddling around the islands to the south of Phillip Edward Island, the largest island between Killarney and French River Provincial Park, on the north shore of the bay. Our destination was the cluster of islands between West Fox Island and East Fox Island, on the lower-west side of Phillip Edward Island.
Though we were planning to stick close to land, Georgian Bay is so vast and is known for its strong winds that we were a bit nervous. Weather can change on a dime and swells could be large. DW and I had purchased water skirts for our kayaks, which would mitigate any water that could try to swamp our kayaks, and we also packed a spare tent and emergency equipment, should we be forced to take shelter on one of the islands if it was too dangerous to paddle back to mainland.
Best to be prepared for the worst, though we hoped for the best.
We started our morning with a western omelette, juice, and coffee. We packed lunch, which was spicy salami, cheese, and lettuce in a whole-wheat pita wrap, veggie sticks, and peanut butter cookies. We packed enough water for two days and protein bars, in case of emergency. We cleaned up our site and headed out, our kayaks already on the roof of our Niro.
The put-in for our kayaks was at the Chikanishing Trailhead, where we had been the night before. Two men were packing a canoe for a multi-day trek, around Phillip Edward Island, complete with their cat, Maui.
"He loves canoe trips," one of the men said, "but this will be his first multi-day trip." Indeed, Maui seemed comfortable on the packed canoe, trotting along the gunnels and leaning toward the creek to get a drink. "We tipped over only once with him in the canoe," the man said, "and somehow he was the only one to stay dry."
"Cats have a way of doing that," I said.
As we were getting ready to set out, some sunrise-seeking kayakers were paddling to shore. "The water is flat and still," a tanned and fit woman said to us, "you'll have a great time out there." Based on her report, DW and I decided that we wouldn't put our skirts for the cockpits on, even though the woman had one on her sea kayak. If the water was calm, we knew we'd be fine. Instead, we packed our skirts into hatches, reserving them for if the conditions changed. We could always paddle to an island and retrieve them, if necessary.
The woman who greeted us at the put-in was right: the wind was still and the water calm. Not glass-like, but easily navigable. We pointed our crafts due south, toward Mocking Bird Island, and began paddling.
Once we approached Mocking Bird Island, we moved south-eastward, pointing ourselves toward West Fox Island. The wind picked up a little but was still no problem for us. Having battled strong currents on the St. Lawrence River, near Hill Island, we were confident that we'd be fine. I think that DW and I imagined metre-high waves and gale-force winds, and this was nothing like that. How long would it take to paddle to Tobermory, at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula, I wondered.
Too long. Far too long.
Just to the north of West Fox is an unnamed island, and just to the east of this unnamed island is a smooth, rounded outcrop of rock that makes a tiny, also-unnamed island, and I decided that I wanted to stop on it, to stretch my legs, take some photos, and capture some video footage. This tiny island had a natural basin that was perfect for putting in my kayak. I climbed to the top of this island, no more than a hump of granite, and took in a great 360-degree panoramic view of the area.
Back in my kayak, we decided to find an island where we could stop and have lunch. We chose to move due east, toward Martins Island (no apostrophe). This island is between West Fox Island and East Fox Island, and is slightly larger than West Fox Island. It has a perfect mix of rock outcrops and wooded areas, and we pulled into a bay to see if there was easy access to the centre of the island. I got out of my kayak and moved only a bit inland before I discovered that a fallen tree and dense growth prevented us from going further in at this spot.
We decided to make our way back to the western tip of this island, which was flat rock that swept upward a bit inland, above which tall trees offered shelter from the wind, which was growing but still not a threat.
At this put-in, we discovered what is known as a 'pothole,' a depression in the rock that makes a natural pool. We set up here for lunch, dipping in the chilled, clear water of this pothole to cool down.
We stayed on the island for about an hour. According to my Garmin watch, we had paddled for more than eight kilometres. I was tempted to continue south-eastward, toward the Hawk Islands, but DW suggested that we make our way back. To the south, we could see heavy cloud, and because we couldn't tell the direction in which they were moving, she didn't want to risk getting caught in a storm. She made a good point that the Hawk Islands were several kilometres away, in more-open water, and we didn't want to risk being too tired to paddle back to Chikanishing Creek.
We headed north and followed close to the islands that dotted the western coast of Phillip Edward Island. We kept a largely straight line back to our put-in that by the time we reached it, my watch had recorded only 6.9 kms. By the time we had packed up the car and were ready to drive back to camp, I was glad that we hadn't paddled the the Hawk Islands. I was tired and wanted a cold drink.
At camp, we had a brief rest and snack, and then DW suggested that we walk a trail that was close to our site and circled a bog that was just to the other side of our cluster of campers. The Cranberry Bog Trail was only 4 kms long, she said, so I said sure.
It was the longest 4K I've ever hiked. More of the Precambrian Shield geology surrounds the park, and DW and I found ourselves climbing and descending steep, rocky terrain. With my camera bag on my back, the sweat thoroughly soaked my shirt, and we had to stop several times for DW and me to catch our breaths.
I'm thankful for all of the cycling that I've done this year. While I would be huffing at the top of a long, steep climb, my legs never failed me. I was also reminded of the reconstructive surgery that I had on my left foot, a couple of years ago. Before that surgery, there was absolutely no way that I would have been able to walk after this trek.
It took us more than two and a half hours to complete this trail, which ended one camp site away from ours. I cracked open an ice-cold bottle of wine, which I felt DW and I deserved, and plopped myself into a chair by the campfire.
"We should make dinner," DW said. "Can you start the barbecue and put the chicken on?"
"I don't think I can get out of this chair," I said. "I think I might just die here."
Our dinner was to be chicken souvlaki. We had been marinating two chicken breasts since Friday afternoon. If we didn't cook it tonight, we wouldn't feel that the cooler would be cold enough to safely preserve the chicken any longer.
I finished my glass of wine and forced myself from my chair, retrieving our barbecue from the car and watching over the chicken. DW prepared lettuce, red onions, cherry tomatoes from our garden, and feta cheese. When the chicken was cooked, I cubed it and we added everything into pita pockets. We finished the bottle of wine, which was perfectly paired.
I was fading as we ate, but knew that if I didn't keep moving, I would be finished for the evening. We finished dinner and quickly washed up, and packed the barbecue back in the car. As the sun set, we walked down to the beach at George Lake to watch the fading light.
"I'm too tired to build a campfire," I said as the blue hour started and the mosquitoes started coming out. "I'm going straight to bed."
"That sounds fine," said DW. "Maybe, we'll take it easy tomorrow." Our plan for Monday was to take the 6-km trail, known as The Crack, which leads up a steep incline through a fissure in the hillside and ends at a spectacular view high above the park. The trail is challenging, involving a lot of climbing. "We can do The Crack trail on Tuesday."
"Maybe, we'll just putter around George Lake tomorrow. Nothing strenuous," I suggested.
I was asleep almost immediately after zipping myself into my sleeping bag. I was utterly exhausted but I felt it was a good exhaustion. We had seen some beautiful scenery. We love kayaking and because our crafts handled Georgian Bay so easily, I loved my craft even more. We had done some rigorous hiking, but my legs were up for the challenge and carried me without fail. We pushed ourselves to the end of the day, but it was a very good day.
An exhaustingly good day.
I'll continue this story, on Monday, but will leave you with this spoiler: we did anything but putter around.
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