I have wandered the wilderness for as long as memory serves. It is a place of great mystery and wonderment. This Blog will help me to share some of the many lessons I have learned while wandering and paddling the forests and lakes I call home.
When canoeing in Algonquin country, you will pass many ancient walls of granite which rise high above the lake over which they preside.
Most of the time, it is well worth the effort to find a way to ascend to the top of these monoliths to catch a birds eye view of the world through which you paddle.
Portage trails are as much a part of a canoe trip as a paddle. Some trails are easy to navigate as you trundle along with your supplies, other trails; however, are brutal on the body and mind.
Boulder and root strewn with steep inclines and declines, these trails will test the most experienced trippers.
A misstep on a portage trail could potentially end your trip or worse, leave you wondering how you are ever going to get out of the bush.
There are other hidden dangers though, like the camouflaged wasp nest shown in this video. These nests are made from the pulp of dead trees. Wasps and hornets masticate the pulp into paper which blends perfectly in with the forest.
The nest shown in this video was built at the exact height of a canoe bow if it were being portaged, that means you could bump into it and find yourself running for your life from hornets which have awesome eyesight and can fly at well over 30 kilometers per hour - you will never outrun them.
The secret to having a great trip is to be aware of everything around you. After all, that is why we do what we do.
Please don't destroy these nests when you find them, take some photos and keep on walking, the paper makers will not bother you.
In the 1800's, people moved into the Algonquin region hoping to find employment at lumber camps. These homesteaders cleared land and attempted to grow crops in the shallow soil. Their homesteads were built on stone foundations; the beams and wood of the home were cut from the surrounding forest.
Heating the home was done with wood and their cookstove was the heart of the kitchen.
There is an old foundation which fascinates me on a quiet piece of land close to where I live. I look at the flat rock, piled, row upon row, to form walls and I wonder at the perseverance of the people who built it. This foundation formed the basement of what was once a homestead.
A water well, hand dug and lined with round boulders, sits just to the west of what was once the front door of the home. The ground is still, to this day, cupped from the passage of humans who once dragged cool water from the well and carried it in a bucket to the kitchen.
I was digging around in the detritus in the basement and discovered the old cookstove. It had fallen through the now non-existent floor of the home and lay buried by leaves and dirt. I decided to make use of the old relic and dragged it home.
The stove was in bad shape; however, I was able to convert it to a serviceable firebox for my tipi.
I had no idea that this old stove, which had serviced a family long ago, would prove itself to be still useful one hundred years later.
As I sit on my bunk and watch the flames within the old stove, I wonder who the person was that used it to cook their family's meal. I wonder if they are watching me as I use the stove to simply live, out here.
