I can get a little obsessive about some things (no, really, you say, as you are reading through a whole site which documents my obsessions!). For the past six or seven weeks, ever since Lee and I did a weekend trip out of Britt, I've been obsessing about a certain campsite on the Naiscoot River. The day we found it was also the day we were paddling out, so we couldn't stay there. Another trip got ditched before it really got planned. My all-girls trip was supposed to go there, but the water was too rough and it was deemed too far for that group. So here it was, near the end of August (August! where has the summer gone?) and I *still* hadn't camped there. This was not acceptable. So I decided that, come hell or high water (or big water, thunderstorms and rattlesnakes, same thing), I was going there. And sleeping there. Dave unsuspectingly agreed to a quick little trip, I kept the whole obsessive agenda to myself. No sense scaring off somebody who doesn't know the Johanna tripping style yet...

So... I've got the plan, even if it did get adjusted due to silly things like power outages and work commitments and a few other things. No matter. I decided to play hooky from work to make this happen (you thought I was kidding about the obsession? Nope, not kidding). On a Thursday in late August, with disgustingly hot air temperature and even more disgusting humidity, we were heading out of Bayfield Inlet.

Obsession or no, I'm still on the safety-conscious side (that, too, is one of my obessions, the avoidance of unacceptable risk. Except my definition of unacceptable is, well, my own). Dave, though he's canoed for many years, had never sea kayaked. But I showed him only 10 minutes worth of stuff, and already he was faster than I was, so I figured he'd have no problem. With a casual, if you feel unsure, just keep paddling because every paddle stroke is a brace, I blithely led him onto Georgian Bay.

See, to get to the site of this obsession, you have to travel north - and there are few sheltered options for a bit. This part of the Bay is a minefield of horizontal rocks that kick up huge surf. And it was fairly windy. So our options were killer surf or two meter waves. I picked the two meter waves (truth be told, I was surprised that they were that big once we got out there). I like water that big. Dave clearly had an aptitude for kayaking, so...

It may not have been the brightest decision, I'll admit. I was absolutely sure we could do a rescue out there and not get into surf trouble. The waves were rolling, rarely breaking. And, if need be, I could always put the sponsons on Dave's boat. But I didn't really give him a chance to have an opinion in all of this. It was sea kayaking, and here you go, here is a sea, now kayak (this reminds me much of my father's instructions when I wanted to learn to drive: gas [points finger], brake [points finger in a different direction], drive! we ended up in a ditch that day. I never learn, do I?)

But give me some credit - we were only out there for maybe 1 km when it became clear to me that Dave - though he had no difficulty handling the boat and was not in any danger of dumping - was not as happy to be there as I was. Maybe paddling up and down waves the size of cube vans is not as much fun if it's your first time out there - I know I would have turned into a sobbing mess if anybody had tried that on me. So I reminded myself that not everything is about me (really, you say? it's not that common for me to recognize it, but I do know it!) and led a way back through the shoals to calmer water.

Okay, don't give me too much credit - I didn't do this until we were past the really tricky bit and I was sure we were far enough to make it to *the site*. Heh. It took a long time, mostly because I navigated us into many dead ends (water levels when the map were drawn do not match current water levels), but we got there. And it was every bit as great as I remembered.

We set up camp - including my tarp, because there was a 30% (40%? it was less than 50% anyway) chance of rain or thunderstorm in the forecast, and of course I am a firm believer that, if you hang a tarp, it won't rain. Then I went swimming. And then the skies looked gloomy. Dave said, it's moving this way. I sat beside him, way out on the rocks, for a few minutes, before realizing that, if I didn't get out of my wet stuff soon, there would be no point, since I would be even wetter.

What happened next, you ask... (like you need to ask). Well, it was the best thunderstorm I've ever been in on Georgian Bay. The wind ripped at the tarp (and pulled enough to undo one of the anchors that I clearly hadn't placed well enough). We huddled under the tarp, which essentially became a big rain poncho, and watched buckets of water being flung down.

There were hundreds of lightning strikes. It was noisy. It was so cool! And then, suddenly, like someone flipped a switch, it was done. Eerie silence. We fixed the tarp anchors, and I got a pot full of water to make tea. The water off the site was at least 30 degrees, which added to the weirdness (I realized later that this was a storm surge, and the rain - which had already been warm - had run over the hot rocks and thus gotten even warmer). I wanted to start cooking in the area that was obviously the kitchen, but Dave thought we should stay under the tarp. I scoffed, but then (perhaps feeling guilty about the big water paddling) I deferred.

Good thing, too, right after that, we were in for round two. The light show was no less spectacular this time. More deluge, more noise and bright flashes, but comfortable lounging instead of huddling under the tarp now. With tea and dinner. I can't even begin to tell you how very much worth the price tag Integral Designs Siltarps are (what, you thought I'd do an entire trip report without talking about gear? Ha! Did you forget about the obsession theme of this page?)

And then it really was over. Well, the rain part was. We continued to have very unusual light - that show continued. And we got a brilliant rainbow, and orange sky, and a soft glow from the rocks. I felt like I was in a whole other world. But I also didn't trust that it was done (once burned, twice shy) and got the dishes and other chores done really quickly.

The wind didn't stop either. But I didn't care - it was cool to go to bed in a storm, and my Eureka tent (yes, gear plug again), though not being a high end tent, once again proved itself to be wind-worthy and dry no matter what the conditions.

For hours, lightning continued to light up the sky, and the wind whipped the trees into a frenzy. I was amazed by how much energy was out there, this was something I had only experienced on Superior in the past. I like it. It gives me a whole new respect for the Bay - I'm glad I got to see such a different mood out there.

And then it was morning, and clear, and still windy - but nothing like the storm that had raged that night. I got up, and wandered around, and almost stepped on a rattlesnake. It didn't rattle, but I learned to identify rattlesnakes last weekend. It didn't move, so I thought maybe it was sleeping (I don't know much about snakes), so I pestered Dave to get up and look at it.

You can look at it too. Notice anything? No, not the rattles, all rattlesnakes have those. See the tail sticking out of its mouth? For a while, we thought the snake was dead. Dave even poked it with a short stick. It was eating breakfast. That's a mouse! Don't you hate being caught with your mouth full? I'm sure this snake did. But he gets no dignity, we took lots of pictures. Too cool.

It was a pretty, pretty morning, and those of us who are caffeine addicted shamelessly indulged while those who have healthier lifestyles shook their heads. No matter. One of my new obsessions is the cardinal flower - see how pretty? - but I even learned a new plant, the bristly sarsparilla. But I forgot to take a picture.

Tell me you can't see why I obsessed about this spot! No, don't tell me, if you don't see it, I don't want to know. *I* think it's phenomenal.

Small problem, though. It was still windy - and windier than when we paddled out. The waves would be more than 2 meters. And Dave wasn't itching to be out there just yet.

And I'm not always a little dictator, either. Especially not when the alternative is to explore the Naiscoot (North Channel) some more, because it's not exactly ugly either. So that's what we did, exploring in sheltered water.

Except that was only postponing the inevitable, and the wind just kept getting stronger! I knew there was a back channel - and I suspected it was a tough slog - but out of respect for the Bay (see that? respect, she says. All because of a storm) I gave Dave the choice of open water or potential swamp bashing back to the Alexander Passage.

Me, I was cool with either. I love (obsess about?) the big water, but my other big love and obsession is exploring. I must go to every part of the map. I must see what is there, and if few people do it, even better. Maps to me are less to answer "where are we" but "where haven't I been yet?". So I was excited when Dave picked the swamp bash option. Shaddup, I know I get excited all the time.

Ok, look at the map. See how there's a little creek connecting the North and Middle Channels? Yes? Well, Carol and I kayak-skied through that last weekend, and then painstakingly worked our way through the Middle Channel. And see how much water there is marked for the South Channel? It's gotta be possible, right?

Possible, but not easy. You can walk on some of that blue stuff! I scouted (and found dozens of lightning strikes on one point, very weird) and reported that there was *some* water further on, so we dragged our boats through the muck. Tough slog. Dave discovered sit-on-top kayaking, and I immediately copied it. Muck, slime, reeds, nothing stops us!

Ok, snacks stop us. My response to a pretty expanse of rock next to some water is, of course, looks like a great place to take a break and eat a snack! And snack eating happened, shortly followed by more kayak-skiing and dragging and even some paddling. My carbon paddle was parked from the time we left the North Naiscoot, this was definitely a bash-paddle type of trip. And I bashed. Gleefully.

And eventually, completely covered in muck, we came out into good (navigable) water. There was swimming. There was a round of boat cleaning. There was basking on rocks in the sun. And there was putting my carbon paddle back together, and feeling like it was brand new again because it felt so good after a whole day of bashing (the carbon paddle was the object of a previous obsession).

So, the way I see it, obsession is a good thing. It gets you doing things you want to do, and going places you want to go. In my case, it often pushes my limits, though this time I chose to push someone else's. Amazingly enough, Dave claims he liked the little trip of storm and bashing. He liked it enough, he's writing songs about it. No, really, he is. Here we go, "My Weekend" by Dave (there are three versions, I'm not sure which is the definitive one!):

"Bashing through the bogs, on a sunny summer day. Through the mud we go, bitching all the way."

"Bashing through the bog, On a sunny summer day. Over the dam we slog, Bitching all the way."

"Bashing through the mud, On a sunny summer day. Stinky, dirty crud. Hauling all the way."

(me, I like number three. any excuse to use the word "crud" will do. And it did stink. But don't let that take away from the merits of numbers one and two, I did my share of bitching. More than my share. It's not a great trip if I can't bitch about *something*. And I was, after all, in charge of this caper, so I was hardly going to bitch about the food or organization, now, was I?)

More obsessive documentation on my home page