Canoeing in the Land of the Voyageurs

Published in Anglo-American Spotlight Verlag, Munich, Germany Jan 1994

It was slightly after dawn.  The mist was slowly starting to lift from the surface of the Amable du Fond River as we loaded our canoes silently.  Upstream from us, we heard the sound of something enormous wading through the river toward our direction.  The form of a magnificent bull moose slowly appeared through the early-morning haze, it's massive rack of antlers reflected the first light of the autumn sun.  He stopped to observe us as we finished loading the canoes and launched them into the river.  Slowly, the moose turned and ambled off deep into the awakening forest.  We started paddling our boats downstream, following the brisk current eastward toward Kioshkokwi Lake .

Algonquin Park , Ontario 's oldest provincial park, stretches across 7600 square Kilometres of forestland, rivers and lakes in the southern Canadian Shield.  Located close to the province of Québec , between the Ottawa River and Lake Huron, Algonquin Park lies in the heart of frontier Canada.  It is a region filled with endless wilderness and a fascinating history.  Algonquin Park is covered by hundreds of canoe routes that reach throughout the park.  Numerous portages, ranging from a few metres to a few Kilometres in length, allow canoeists to explore many secluded regions in Algonquin.  We planned to canoe a 60-kilometre route through the isolated northwest corner of the park, an area richly inhabited by wildlife.  Our trip had started well; the moose that appeared on the river that morning would be the first of many animals that we would encounter over the next five days.    

One hour later, the wind remained quiet as we reached Kioshkokwi Lake.  We took advantage of the morning calm and paddled across the deepwater lake.  On the shoreline, characteristic pine trees reminded me that I was back in the familiar wilderness of Algonquin.  The weathered, solitary pines trees are what new visitors to Algonquin remember most often -- they have become a national symbol of the park, both today and throughout the park's history.  

Algonquin Park was officially established in 1893, in order to preserve the tall, beautiful pine trees found in the park.  Before the establishment of Algonquin, the park's large white pines were harvested to build masts for the ships of the British Navy.  Rivers flowing through the park were used to float away these huge trees, and many stretches of these rivers were marked by graves where the occasional lumberjack drowned.  Their scattered graves can still be found along portages throughout the park.  Today, canoeists such as our group paddle these rivers to retrace the routes traveled by these turn-of-the-century timbermen.

We made our first evening's campsite along the south end of Mink Lake.  Years before, I had found a small cross marking the gravesite of an early settler who once lived on this lake; we paddled there briefly to acknowledge the soul of a man who would forever be a part of the park's history.  We spent that evening talking about the many phantoms that were said to roam throughout the wilderness of Algonquin.  I recited my favourite legend about Wendigo, the Ojibwa spirit that ran across the treetops on the twilight wind, searching for companions to join him in his lonely journey across the night sky.  We all dreamed wonderfully that night, the sounds of the forest gently stirring our imaginations as we drifted into sleep.

After dawn, we broke camp and paddled the remainder of the morning.  Our route took us past Mouse Lake and into a series of rigorous portages that would carry us much further into the park.  During a short traverse between Tillie and Raven Lakes, my brother met a young black bear who was foraging for berries along the side of the trail.  

Although Algonquin is filled with bears, very few attacks on humans have occurred over the last century.  Algonquin's bear population is more at risk from poachers and habitat destruction than are the canoeists traveling in bear territory.  Black bears roaming in Algonquin are very timid of any contact with humans -- our bear quickly ran into the bush when it realized that my brother was headed in its direction.  Hoping that the bear would reappear for our cameras that evening, we decided to set up our camp on an unnamed lake along Ravens Creek.

Autumn is by far the most beautiful time to experience a canoe trip through Algonquin.  Fall temperatures are cooler, but the fragrant scents and crisp colours of the late September woodland are amplified vibrantly during this season.  As the autumn sun sets, the comforting light of a campfire settles the heart as much as it warms the flesh.  As dusk descended upon our second campsite, we settled quietly to listen to the haunting sound of loons calling from some lake in the distance.  As the stars slowly appeared through the darkening sky, animals in the forest around us slowly awaken to roam the night.  Overhead, the glowing radiance of the aurora borealis -- the northern lights -- appeared like a tapestry over the horizon.  We all agreed that tonight, we would forsake our tents and sleep underneath the stars.  Within minutes, we had brought our sleeping bags onto the shoreline and lay watching under the star-filled galaxy.  It was one of those dream-filled nights that made us all think about life, death, God and space travel.  Peacefully, we all drifted off to sleep.

The next day, we followed the current of Birchcliffe Creek to the clear waters of Biggar Lake .  As we approached the entrance to the deep lake, we were met by a family of river otters who were fishing for speckled trout at the river's mouth.  The young otters approached our canoes tentatively, until a whistle from the mother otter brought them back to her side.  The otters swam with us for a short while, diving occasionally to bring up freshwater clams and the odd fish.  We watched them as they watched us: here in Algonquin where there is little hunting pressure, most animals are not completely afraid of humans.  Like these otters, some animals living in this park are as curious about humans as we are about them.  We traveled with the otters for half a Kilometre, until they disappeared suddenly -- a few seconds later, they resurfaced in the distance, the mother grasping a large, wriggling trout in her jaws.  We continued across the lake to search for our next campsite.

As dusk again arrived, three female moose appeared out of the marsh on the north shore of the lake.  They were followed almost immediately by a young bull moose with a sturdy rack of antlers.  We filled up our coffee cups as we watched the young bull eagerly courting the uninterested females.  I decided to paddle my canoe solo across the narrow opening to photograph the animals closer.  Within minutes, I was filling my camera with pictures of this courtship.  The young bull did not impress any of the females, who were more interested in harvesting water-lilies and other plants in the shallow waters.

Algonquin's moose are the most common animal seen by canoeists traveling through the park.  These majestic animals, the largest land mammal living in North America , can be found all across Algonquin.  During autumn, bull moose anxiously attempt to mate with any female that they came across.  Sometimes, males will spar and challenge each other with their impressive antlers, which can weigh as much as 30 kilograms.  At this time of year, male moose are obsessed with mating, and can be quite dangerous to any human that may cross their paths.  I can attest to this, having personally been charged by an angry bull during the autumn of 1986.  Fortunately, that particular moose ended the chase when I ran into a frosty Algonquin lake.    This evening, I decided to photograph the moose from a distance, returning to my companions to enjoy another hot cup of coffee before the evening sun set completely.

Our second-last day was spent paddling northward against a steady wind on Manitou Lake .  Canoeing with the wind is always a pleasure, but canoeing against the wind always makes one wonder why they selected to travel this way in the first place.  Around noon, the sky became dark and swollen, suggesting that we could possibly see the first snowfall of the year that afternoon.  We pulled to shore to secure our equipment in case the winds became stronger.  After a quick shore lunch, we continued to paddle north across Manitou Lake .  Overhead, two ravens appeared, spiraling and diving above us, playing in the strong north wind.  Within minutes, the snow came; a transparent wall of white powder -- gentle, yet announcing to us that winter would soon come in the following month.  We felt lucky to be experiencing this first snowfall -- the official changing of the seasons -- here in Algonquin.

There wasn't much of a sunset that last evening.  As the sky darkened, we took turns on the flat water practising our solo canoeing skills.  In my mind, paddling is the most enjoyable way to travel through the wilderness: the feeling of harmony when a wooden paddle-blade cuts through the water is remarkable.  Over the years, I have developed a paddle-stroke that allows me to move a canoe gracefully and silently through the water.  I always try to spend at least an hour during every canoe trip practising this paddle-stroke, which I use mostly when viewing or photographing wildlife alone.  I stopped paddling briefly to look at our camp; from my canoe, the flickering candle-lanterns and campfire looked like a reflection of the stars overhead.

We camped that final night on the north shore of Manitou Lake .  Around the fire, our conversation again turned to native legends.  Manitou, in Ojibwa, means "great spirit"; it was easy to understand why native story-telling was so important to the many tribal groups that lived in this region centuries ago.  We talked about the wind, nature, the coming of winter and the passage of time in the wilderness.  It was difficult to convince ourselves that we would all be returning to our regular lives on the following day.  We slept outside again that night, and as the light of our glowing embers dimmed, the wind carried the distant songs of howling wolves across our lake.  I lay awake for a long time, listening to their timeless serenade.  Overhead, the Milky Way stretched like a white band across the heavens; I drifted off quietly, thinking that this was the perfect ending to a perfect trip.

We returned to Kioshkokwi Lake the following day, paddling the short distance up the Amable du Fond River to the stretch of dirt road where we had parked our cars.  As we loaded up our equipment and tied down the canoes, I took one last look at the slow current of the river.  Around us, the lonely outlines of a few white pines stood tall above the surrounding woodlands.  Somewhere to the east, a raven's call echoed high on the wind.  The sound was comfortably familiar.  I started to wonder when I would see Algonquin Park again.

As we drove out of the park, I thought quietly about how much a part of my life Algonquin Park had become.  I had traveled throughout the park since my youth, and many of my first experiences with nature had occurred inside the park's boundaries.  Algonquin had helped me shape my whole attitude toward wilderness; it had taught me to respect wildlife and to strive toward preserving nature whenever possible.  In a way, my entire personality was shaped by this magnificent realm of Canadian wilderness.  I continued to think about this silently while my brother drove us closer toward the city lights of Toronto , away from the freedom of the wilderness.  Our canoe trip was completed.  I looked to the west where an orange glow rested over the horizon.  The sun was almost gone.  It was slightly before dusk.