All the Rivers are My Swimming Pool
           
Day three dawned with yet more beautiful weather, though the cool wind was still there - and now it had shifted to the southwest and was thus in our faces when we left Oiseau Bay. I didn't mind this, since my boat (and I guess its owner) loves rough water, and performs better than you'd expect in headwinds. I'm convinced that the speed disadvantage of a highly rockered plastic boat diminishes tremendously in rough water, and even more so in headwind. It was, however, only a tiny bit of headwind.
Whether I love the conditions or not, I have a weak bladder - and this is aggravated by what Keith explains is wet bum syndrome: soak an otherwise happy bum in cold water, and you have to pee more. This was a fortuitous thing for me, though, since where I chose to pull out was the base of an easily scramblable bluff. While the others waited for me (I didn't exactly give them much choice - I yelled something like "I'll be right back" and started making my way up!) I enjoyed some terrific views of the lake. If you enlarge the picture at the far left, you'll see my fellow paddlers on the water. Wet bum syndrome has its perks.
And then, some more beautiful water, ancient rock and boreal forest. You'd think I'd get bored with it. Nope. Exciting every year.
A long break at the White Gravel River (you see why we wanted to stay for a while, don't you? Beautiful.)
The White Gravel River was one of the few rivers on this trip that I didn't feel the urge to poke up - mostly because I was hating my water shoes at this point and the river has not nearly enough water to paddle. While the others trooped to the outhouse (developed site here) to view the porcupine, I lazed in the sun and rearranged my maps. And dried my bum. Again.
The slight headwind slowed our group speed down a bit more than Keith had anticipated, and by the time we stopped for lunch near the Hideaway Lake campsite (not a campsite I'd recommend - the landing for kayaks is terrible, and the site doesn't seem to have much to recommend it), he proposed changing our destination.
Instead of Cascade Falls, we were now heading to the North Swallow River. This is the end of the coastal hiking trail, and the developed site is on a perfect beach at the southern end of a deep protected bay. Even better, it has cliffs that lend themselves to scrambling near them, and I followed a trail to Newman's Bay - and found a vision pit. Sadly, though, it is obvious that this one has been tampered with.
Bums fully dry, we luxuriated on the sand (the only detractors to the perfection were the biting deerflies). The group clearly did not think much of the North Swallow River itself, dismissing it as a mere trickle. Soon after dinner, however, I chose to explore it - and found a wonderland of pools and little waterfalls. In no time, I ditched my clothes and had a fun bath. When I was finally tired of splashing around, I got dressed and shared the secret. Most of the others wandered off for showers soon after.
Just before sunset, I went scrambling with my plant book, and learned what labrador tea looks like. I came back to the site to find a cosy fire in the designated fire pit - Peter as usual had been working hard to assure the comfort of the group. I wanted to contribute something, and found cranberry apple cider mix in my food bags, so I made that for everyone. Peter of course improved the cider with a handy flask he pulled out of the magic Solstice-o-surprises. He's good to us, that Peter!
Despite my not exactly secret dislike of sandy sites, I slept wonderfully - and woke to yet another perfect paddling day. The headwind had strengthened a bit, but it was less than 10 knots in the morning, and I happily poked along the coast, marvelling at the rocks and various members of the pine family (yep, my book tells me that white spruce, black spruce and tamarack are all members of the pine family). I also saw birches, many alders, and some cedars. Very few of the white pines we are so accustomed to on Georgian Bay, though.
I'd been eager (okay, pushy) to make a stop at the Swallow River - I knew there was a waterfall not far upstream, and I wanted to see it. Only Peter joined me in shoving his boat past the rocky bit at the mouth, but we were rewarded with a serene paddle under the Bridge to Nowhere and a beautiful waterfall. I paddled right through the spray. Fun.
While Peter and I goofed off upriver, the rest of them had a long break on the boulder beach (this would not be a good beach for camping). Meanwhile, the wind had picked up to 15-20 knots. I thought this was just fine, since I like paddling into the wind, but our group did not endorse this "fine" judgement unanimously and our pace slowed down dramatically. I was paddling sweep, so had lots of time to eat the snacks that Peter had given me (I had my own, but Peter's were better!) and look at the scenery. The waves were a bit too big to risk pulling out the camera, though.
We got to Cascade Falls just before noon. I hoped the lunch stop would be a longer one, since I wanted to explore - but as it turned out, Keith thought that the group might need a really long break. We discussed, and I proposed that, rather than sit and wait and wonder if the wind gets a bit less, we spend the afternoon and evening there, and treat it as a semi-layover day (we had two of these to play with, in case of wind or fatigue). The plan was accepted.
Once the decision to stay was made, I moved a very recently constructed firepit - I really liked the idea of setting my tent up in the driftwood. It took a while, but I had my perfect (if sandy) spot. Joe set up very near me, in another spot in the driftwood (this one didn't require firepit moving) and Peter was just a few logs away. I then built a patio for a kitchen (don't like sand in my kitchen either), and then decided that it was time to explore. Sarka had already disappeared, wearing her bathing suit, and I put on my hiking shoes and Peter and Joe decided to join me in exploration.
The Cascade River has to be one of the very best exploring rivers I've ever seen. At the top of the falls, we found a huge, deep pool - and saw Sarka come up a different way and be equally delighted by the pool. I decided to continue upstream - the river is a braided stream, and in most places you can easily rockhop. Peter was busy exploring the falls, and Joe turned back at the first bend, but Sarka and I pressed on. We were rewarded with an upstream sand bar that made a lovely beach, and more stunning pools and waterfalls.
So stunning that I felt the need to take of my clothes again! Sarka was kind enough to offer to warn the guys should they come around the corner, and I merrily floundered about the pools and sat in the spray of the falls (they were strong enough that I was worried about an undertow and didn't hop right into the falls). Sarka ended up entertaining Peter (I wouldn't have cared, I just didn't want anybody to feel uncomfortable), and when I was dressed he came and joined me in more exploration.
Peter is a good adventure buddy. He gamely climbed up tricky rocks with me, and bushwhacked upstream without complaint. We sat on a log that was wedged high above one of the cascades we saw, and marvelled at the power of the spring runoff. Maybe we marvelled at the fact that our bums (and at this point our feet too) were dry while we were at it. Our feet stopped being dry when I proposed a different way back and we discoverd that the rocks are slippery when wet (and that it is impossible to stay dry if your way back is *through* the waterfall at right!).
And then... and then! Then we celebrated wet feet and dry bums with cold beer, followed by operation tarp pole. I liked the kitchen - complete with patio - enough that I wanted it to be weather-proof, and stuck a drift log into some other drift logs to investigate its tarp pole potential. Keith saw what I was doing, and in short order we were joined by Sarka - finding the perfect logs, wedging them securley, piling heavy rocks to secure our wedges and tying guy ropes to stabilize them. Peter pulled out his cool new tarp, a Kelty Noah's Tarp, and hung it up - and then he and I collaborated on dinner (Sarka and Keith did the same, but I was so excited by *our* dinner that it never even occurred to me to investigate theirs. I know most of Keith's dinners involved some creative word which was just another way of saying "pasta", but Sarka saved him from this fate most nights!).
The tarp was a good idea. Soon after we (we? ha! I didn't help. I suspect Peter did most of the work...) made a fire in a protected firepit against the cliff, it started pouring. All five of us got cosy under the tarp, and I made hot chocolate (Sarka "improved" it with her brandy flask). When the rain stopped, we moved back to the fire.The flask was brought out again. It was a good evening. The wind picked up further. I fortified my guy lines on my tent with more stones, and crawled into bed.

Though we didn't know it, but that evening marked the beginning of the 36 hours of... well, a low rating on the Bumfort Scale. That night, the wind was strong enough that I felt like my tent wanted to fly away - and I was in the sheltered driftwood spot. I got up to check on the boat, and saw that the surf was coming up the the sterns of the Intrepid Banana (as Keith named my boat, though then he tried changing it to the Brazen Banana, but I would have none of this) and the Gulfstream. I hauled them up, retied my guy lines, and went back to sleep.
This was when the storm really hit. Keith said he couldn't get out of his tent, he was the only thing anchoring it after a while. Peter had trusted his eybrow peak over his door too much, and got his sleeping bag wet. Even those of us in dry, firmly anchored tents were almost tossed out of our beds by the massive electrical storm that hit, and then the wind was joined by horizontal rain. What a storm! I've since learned that there were tornado warnings for the region during this time. I'm not surprised - there was a tremendous amount of energy being flung about that night. That morning, we slept in, and then managed to pack up during a lull in the rain. Shortly after we paddled out toward Otter Island, though, the mists closed in and a cold rain started coming down. The wind wasn't strong, but strong enough to drive the rain at you. I decided to be as intrepid as my boat and suck it up without complaint, but man oh man, was it a cold, wet, miserable day.
           
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