You know, there's a lot to be said for houses, when it comes to comfort. That whole thing with having a roof, and being dry and warm and having a cosy bed, not to mention the kitchen with the kettle and a bathroom. So why leave all that comfort only to try and recreate a very rudimentary version it somewhere else?

Is sitting under a tarp in pouring rain in 8 degree weather in the middle of a copse of trees on an island in Georgian Bay really better than my living room with a good book and a mug of tea? That's kind of the thinking, isn't it? And I'll admit, it's even my thinking when I'm sitting inside said living room on a day like last Saturday. When I look outside at nasty weather, it's hard to want to be there. But when I'm there, heh, it's a whole other story. And that's what part of this past weekend was all about, being there.

I have a new boat. I had not had time to take it anywhere, though. I hadn't been on a backcountry adventure in a month. So a poor weather forecast wasn't about to stop me from tagging along with Lee and Doug when they decided to head out onto the Bay on a weekend in October. Lee and Doug met doing their Level 2 certification at White Squall this past spring. Being certified kayakers and all, I would expect them to ignore nasty weather, cold water and dripping noses. But while they were doing said certs, no doubt I was holed up in my living room with a mug of tea…

So, Saturday morning, we launched from Britt. Our plan was to head north to Dead Island, pretty much re-creating a route that Lee and I had taken last year on a fall trip in warmer weather. It was not warm on Saturday, and a couple of hours into it, as per forecast, it started to rain. My nose started to drip. If you described what this day of paddling with certified kayakers would be like to the version of me that hangs out in living rooms with tea, I would have amended certified to certifiable. But the version of me that was all suited up in cold weather paddling gear from my waterproof socks and neoprene booties up to my toque, she wiped the drip from her nose and was of the opinion that it was just a lovely day for a paddle.

We had a very brief pit stop on Champlain Island. Getting out of boats is not recommended on blustery days when the place you get out of them is exposed. I couldn't wait to get the extra insulation of my PFD again, stick my hand in my pogies and most importantly get moving again. So, as it turned out, we went to Dead Island pretty much without stopping.

On the island, we found a site in the trees that was very well protected. It had everything you'd need on a site (firepit, a little table, flat spots for tents, good tarp hanging trees), a bunch of things you don't (a lot of garbage strewn about, a strange cinderblock shaft full of broken beer bottles and the like) and a bunch of things that were just mysterious (a platform built high into a tree that had rungs nailed to it, a door handle screwed into a different tree, another cinderblock foundation-looking shaft). I declared the site creepy, but I was also cold. We stayed.

Douglas used to be a boy scout. If all former boy scouts immediately make a fire on cold blustery days and then follow the fire-making up with picking up all the garbage in sight (even the gross stuff) and burning what can be burned of that and then go to work hanging a tarp that is plenty big for everybody, I want to meet more former boy scouts!

An hour or so after our cold landing on Dead Island, my tent was set up, my sleeping bag was regaining its loft, I had on dry clothes, and I sat under a tarp near a comforting fire. I was warm enough that the beer I had in my boat even became appealing again, and there are worse ways of spending an afternoon than under a kicking tarp shelter by a fire out in Georgian Bay. Like sitting in a living room with a book.

Not everything was perfect. For starters, Douglas had brought a tent that had a little beanie of a fly perched on top of it. Now, these tents may be great for a number of reasons - they may be lightweight, they may be cheap, and I'm sure they have other virtues. But they are not designed for rainstorms. Particularly not when you take their groundsheet away to use as a tarp over top of the beer drinking companions you happen to be on a trip with. He didn't complain, I think it's against the boy scout rules, but his tent did not look dry as it got closer to bedtime. But after dinner, he claimed the site of the kitchen under the tarp as his new tent pad, in an attempt to supplement the beanie cum fly.

The creepy factor wasn't so perfect either, for me. I had all sorts of ideas that involved the name "Dead Island", the bit of history that I know about native burial grounds and this island, and an overactive imagination. I responded to any attempts at telling spooky stories with something that resembled sticking my fingers in my ears and going "la la la la la" (ok, I'll be honest, it looked and sounded more like a whiny "doooooon't" every time Lee or Doug tried to say anything spooky). Despite that, it wasn't the most restful sleep I've ever had in the backcountry that night. But, unlike Douglas, I had a dry tent - and unlike his sleeping bag, mine stayed dry and cosy.

But I slept, even if it wasn't soundly. And the next morning… it wasn't raining! Not even a little bit. No, it was clear, and the sun was coming up, and by the time I got dressed Doug had a fire going and was toasting bagels on the boy-scout approved bagel toaster that had been repaired after the fire-stoking Lee had stepped on it the night before. Sitting around in warm clothes hugging coffee cups on a crisp morning on an island in Georgian Bay… well, good things come to those who make it through blustery wet days in kayaks.

It was just so lovely. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, it got warmer. We ended up spreading a lot of gear on the rocks to dry, and then went for a wander around the island. Lee and Doug took empty bags and picked up a ton of garbage. I, um, took some pictures. We chatted with two women who had spent the last nine days set up on the island, and we saw some cool rocks. It was one of those wonderful fall days - as long as you're out of the wind, you could be wearing a t-shirt and be plenty warm. No toque required.

When we launched, finally, at noon, the Bay was smooth as glass. I was down to just a polypro shirt under my PFD. Paddling doesn't get any nicer than this.

It got a bit chillier as the wind picked up a bit and the sun had to make its way through some cirrus clouds, but paddling was not difficult and I was comfortable. We had lunch at some old fishing shacks halfway back to Britt, and lazed in the sun some. After that, it got a bit colder, but we put on more layers, and merrily paddled our way through Black Bay and back to the put-in.

I love my new boat. I love Georgian Bay. I love being out there when so few others are. I love fall. But most of all, I love adventure weekends, and this one was all the more special because it feels like so long since I've had one.

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