Bonnechere River Trip

Naked John ready for action.

Terry contemplates packing. It's a bit like Tetris really, trying to fit all those shapes into a confined space.

Not-naked John breaking camp.

Nigel packing up the rain gear.

We're ready to hit the road.

Farm Lake. Stubborn bit of snow.

Farm Lake. Sombre, chilly, snow-sustaining weather.

Heading towards our second night destination, McKaskill Lake.

Heading toward our first real trip night destination, McKaskill Lake

Taking the canoe off was about as much undressing as not-naked John was willing to do. Or so we thought.

Naked John was always a big fan of portages. And powerbars.

Scott and Terry take on the wind, heading towards Dove Lake.

Portage, Shrew Lake to Dove Lake. How smooth the ground, how clear the path.

Nigel enjoying a nice easy day.

Scott walking the portage from Shrew to Dove. Note the lack of dinglethwacking.

Trillium, or so we think.

Terry eating his lunch rations. Tuna in re-sealable foil packets seemed to figure prominently.

Detail 1, Dove Lake

Detail 2, Dove Lake

Detail 3, Dove Lake

Detail 4, Dove Lake

Detail 5, Dove Lake. I had some time to take pictures while waiting for the other boats to load up. You may have guessed that.

Heading toward McKaskill Lake, Wednesday afternoon.

Two Johns, one canoe. Heading toward McKaskill Lake.

A contemplative moment, McKaskill Lake.

Nigel demonstrates that comfort can be had sans thermarest chair. Terry is not impressed.

McKaskill Lake. In case we forget what they look like.

McKaskill Lake

8am departure from our McKaskill Lake campground. Our trip will soon get complicated.

...and my paddle will acquire a few more scratches.

Not-naked John loading up.

The lime green dusting atop the stands of deciduous trees is a visual treat limited to spring time paddlers.

Entrance to the Bonnechere River. "The Bonnechere River between McKaskill Lake and the hydro line is shallow and rocky. The necessary portages have not yet been developed and the trip is a rough one." No kidding.

...oh, and no one has been through here in living memory.

At the end of our first bushwhack. Nigel had guessed a travel rate of 2.5 km/hr. We actually managed less than 1.0 km/hr.

It does look pretty though. Very wildernessy. Even though we're right in the middle of the very travelled Algonquin Park.

We had to clear branches from these put-ins so that we could roll down the canoes with more predictable results. Not-naked John seems proud of his handiwork.

Bonnechere River, Thursday, bushwhack portage #2.

Nigel checking his maps with calm assurance. "You're never lost, you just know your position with less accuracy."

Scott and Terry emerge from the undergrowth, setting off from one of Thursday's bushwhack portages.

Detail, Bonnechere River

The two Johns emerge from around the bend, heading down one of the navigable swifts we found. Anything to avoid portaging.

Bonnechere River

My Blair Witch moment. Middle of nowhere, Bonnechere River. I was feeling pretty down at this point.

Falls #2, Bonnechere River

Detail, middle of nowhere, Bonnechere River. It can't have been that bad if I was still into taking pictures.

I am looking up even if things are not.

Not the best campsite. But there was a dent in the rock right under my butt, so I was comfortable.

"Why are you smiling Nigel, we\'re facing the day from hell."

Break time. Somewhere along the newly and gratefully discovered logging road.

"It's okay, John. We're almost finished lunch. You'll be able to take your clothes off any time now."

Someone's Homestead, Bonnechere River.

Scott thinks about all that terrain he'll never have to cover again.

Bonnechere River, looking out from where someone's homestead used to be.

Homestead, with remains of root cellar (we think) in the foreground.

Marshy lake by the side of the road at the start of the Basin Depot Death March.

No, John. Clothes are mandatory on all portages. My trip, my rules. Sorry.

Sure, Terry, you're happy now. Let's see you smile 10km from now.

The Basin Depot Death March. It was certainly long, but the true threat to life was boredom.

Wilderness porn shot #1.

Out there somewhere is Couchain Lake. Sunday morning.

Couchain Lake, detail 1

Couchain Lake, detail 2

A pause en route to Turner's Camp.

Waiting for the shuttle, Turner's Camp.

Finally I figure out my self-timer. The after shot. Screw the composition, it's the body count that's important.

Post-trip PVC explosion. We probably shouldn't have unloaded John first.

What to do while waiting for the cars to come home.

What to do while waiting for the cars to come home #2.