Route Information
Over the course of eight days (four full travel days, two lazy days of rest, and the put-in and take-out half days), we travelled from Canoe Lake to Opeongo Lake (Sproule Bay), a distance of some 65 km, give or take.

Our route was as follows: Canoe Lake - Joe Lake - East Arm - Litle Joe Lake - Lost Joe Lake - Baby Joe Lake - Burnt Island Lake - Little Otterslide Lake - Otterslide Lake - Big Trout Lake - Merchant Lake - Happy Isle Lake - Opeongo Lake (Sproule Bay).

Our first night was spent in the East Arm of Joe Lake (second campsite on the north shore); our second in Little Otterslide (north shore); our third and fourth in Big Trout (southernmost); our fifth in Happy Isle (westernmost on south shore); and our sixth and seventh (since we enjoyed our previous day of rest so well) in Opeongo Lake (on the southernmost island in the cluster of islands just south of the narrow opening between the North and South Arms of the lake).

Our route required considerable portage. Day one required 290 m between Canoe and Joe; day two required three stages totalling 730 m between Little Joe and Burnt Island and another 780 m between Burnt Island and Little Otterslide; day three required five stages totalling 1730 m between Otterslide and Big Trout; day four was a day of rest; day five called for 1400 m between Big Trout and Merchant, following a labyrinth of marshy paddling in the eastern side of Big Trout; day six required 330 m between Merchant and Happy Isle and then a whopping 2150 m between Happy Isle and Opeongo; day seven was a day of rest; and on day eight we emerged from the lake system without needing to portage.

Trip Information
Rick and Lyn Bodmer (the masterminds of the enterprise), John Taylor , Susanne Lamb (now also Taylor), Matt Elkin, Patrice and I were on the trip. The seven of us shared the use of three canoes and one kayak among us; Matt, being the only singleton, had primary use of the kayak, but occasionally he would pair up with Patrice or Lyn, and Rick or I would buzz around in it. The maneuverability and speed of the kayak made for the most fun paddling, but here is what we learned: one man can, in a pinch, carry a canoe and two backpacks for quite a considerable distance; a big touring kayak, unless it be one of those ultra-light $5,000 ones, requires a minimum of two men to portage, and four to do so comfortably.

When we arrived at the park we were told that it hadn't rained in eighty-three days, that the entire lake system was as dry as a match and liable to erupt into flames if we weren't careful about sparks when our paddles scraped the sides of our canoes. We were assured that campfires were entirely out of the question, since no rain was expected for months to come. The information saddened us, but we were willing to accept it.

The first day of the trip found Matt and I paddling a canoe, with Patrice nipping about in the kayak. Matt was at the prow, monkeying about with a labor-saving sail while I paddled in the rear. "Labor-saving," that is, in that Matt was able to avoid paddling while footling with it; it saved no labor for Your Chronicler for the simple reason that there was not a hint of breeze. Sez Matt: "You pour frequent and generous libations to the gods, and are on their good side: why don't you call on some wind spirit to fill this sail?" Wellsir, that's just what I did. Within minutes a gentle breeze sprang up, but only a gentle one. Tantalized by my partial success, and getting a bit carried away, I went so far as to taunt the local stormgods, daring them to really lay one on us. Literally ten seconds later, the first raindrops began to fall, and a minute later it began to hammer down in earnest. We were all forced to take shelter on an island; I was practically gibbering with the cold, having failed to bring any raingear whatsoever, or even long pants. After a time the downpour leveled off at an intensity which permitted us to carry on paddling, but the rain never really left us, touching us every day at least briefly, and dominating five of our eight days.

The rain may have played a constant background role, but it in no wise prevented us from enjoying every moment of the trip. The country was wild and lovely; we saw one moose and the tracks and droppings of many others; we swam and played in the water; and we paddled like fiends. And we ate like kings! Our seven-night dinner menu follows:

• smoked whitefish with couscous and pine-nuts and baguettes
• pasta with puttanesca sauce and goat cheese
• pasta with Andouille sausage and fried fresh sage
• pasta with pesto and Gorgonzola
• burritos with refried beans, avocados, pepper jack, onions, jalapeños and rice
• pasta with sherried mushrooms and cream sauce
• black bean and polenta pie.

...Furthermore, the rain brought with it the very great benefit of permitting us to raise a glorious and roaring fire every night, and occasionally in the morning too!

One true highlight of the trip was Merchant Lake, the highest-elevation lake in that part of the lacustrine system, and for all I know in the whole park. The water there was so crystal clear that there was simply no way of judging the depths down to which we could see plainly; our visibility, so far as we could tell, was unlimited. No need to filter such water to make it drinkable... so sweet.

Another geophysical feature well worth noting for future reference is an island in Big Trout Lake on which we did not spend any nights but which would have been the perfect setting to while away some time with a bunch of fun guys. The island had a perfect camping area, between beaches on opposite sides of the isand. To one side of the choice sleeping spot the island is heavily wooded, and to the other side it extends into a long narrow neck, widening at the end to permit a clearing with a great huge slab of stone like an altar. A return expedition must be organized at once.

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