by Glenn Davy
Autumn is an irresistible time of the year for me, with all its unpredictability in terms of weather, the colours, and the chill of the mornings and warmth of the afternoons. As it turns out, Tom Newton dropped me a line regarding my October trip and we were on. We decided to base camp on Beausoleil Island, which is part of Georgian Bay Islands National Park, and day trip out from there. The scenario seemed perfect, and on a cloudy, misty Monday afternoon of October 16, we met up near the Park offices in Honey Harbour. (A note here about local protocol: The folks at most of our put-in points go out of their way to assist us, and ask a minor fee in return. This certainly was the case for us at the Pro Hardware and Joe’s Parking, and I urge everyone to make use of these local facilities.)
Finally underway, we headed out from the town docks and turned northward up the main channel. The winds were light and the cruising comfortable. Not unexpectedly, the colours on the trees were spectacular, if muted in the mist of the day. Georgian Bay’s temperature doesn’t peak until mid September, thus not that much cooling had taken place by the time of our trip. As such, the warmer climate over the Bay moderates the generally cool temperatures of this time of year slowing the process of leaf change slightly. This certainly was to our benefit as we paddled among the mixed deciduous and conifer shores.
By 4 p.m. we were in camp at Honeymoon Bay on the north end of the island, and setting up the tents. We ate dinner in the gazebo at the mouth of Honeymoon Bay across from our campsite, while watching the antics of a Pileated Woodpecker. The clouds were breaking slightly and the view was superb. Later, with the food hung and an early nightfall, we both decided to retire early.
We awoke to a grey, very foggy day with intermittent drizzle and light breezes out of the southwest. Once again we met at the gazebo on the hill for breakfast and planned our day’s activities. Today was to be a paddling day, but with a bit of a twist since we couldn’t see more than a hundred metres or so. After some planning, we set off on a dead reckoning course for an unseen point to the north that would lead us up to the mouth of the Musquash River. Sure enough, we found it without any trouble at all, and thoroughly enjoyed a lunch site at the small rapids just upstream of the mouth amid beautiful colours and the persistent mist. Our return trip brought us along the shoreline this time, with a stop at the entrance into McCrae Lake.
Back in camp, the heavy clouds, mist patches, and calm winds made for an eerie atmosphere. This, as we were soon to find out, was totally apropos. “Things” started to happen. Tom and I started cooking our respective dinners. The first clue that things were about to go awry was that Tom couldn’t find his potholder. Finally, after considerable searching in all the places it might have gone, he gave up and we shared mine, which I pulled out of my bag. We both thought this very strange, as normally something that is misplaced is pretty obvious when there is no one else around. “It” had either walked off on its own, or it had been carried off – by “something.” Neither of us knew too many critters that use potholders, so the mystery was on. We finished dinner with darkness setting on us quite quickly and retired to our campsite after hanging the food.
As it often does with me, the topic of conversation seemed to revolve around wildlife, and bears in particular. Of course, being a biologist, I have an interest in this area, particularly when all that is between any critter and my posterior is a thin piece of nylon. We were deep into it, as it were, when all of a sudden an “apparition” appeared out of nowhere immediately behind Tom. I saw “him” first and reacted by lunging for my flashlight, as it was totally dark now. Aiming my flashlight to about 2 feet beyond Tom, here was a rather large red fox making his way past us. He did at least glance in our direction, as if to say, “Don’t mind me – just passing through…” before disappearing behind the bushes near my tent. About 5 minutes later, a second fox came trotting again right past Tom, paying us no heed whatsoever. I’ve heard wolves called ghosts of the night, but these fellows aren’t any less stealthy, just a bit less shy perhaps. I expressed the question to them, “OK, which one of you has Tom’s potholder?” At any rate, it was time for bed and we each crawled into our respective tents for the night.
I’m not sure how much later it was, but I was just in that in-between state of sleep and wakefulness when the next “event” took place. I think I was half-dreaming about the foxes when this distinct snuffling sound jerked me completely awake! I heard it again and grabbed for the flashlight and bear spray as quickly as I could! I took aim with both directly outside my front tent flap, ready to do instant battle – to the death, if necessary – with the humungus creature that I was sure was about to ravage both Tom and I any second. I had visions of 10-foot tall bears roaming about the edges of the tents looking for anything edible, including Tom and I, forgetting for the moment that bears find humans rather unpalatable. I listened, and I listened. THERE – I heard it again! It came from right over by Tom’s tent! My heart was pounding, my palms sweating! “It” was after Tom! Suddenly, my can of bear spray seemed totally inadequate for a creature of this magnitude, but I thought I’d at least give it a headache before I succumbed to a slow, painful death. There it was again! It came from the same place. Exactly the same place! It sounded as though it was already IN Tom’s tent! My God, Tom’s tent isn’t big enough to house a… Oh CRAP (which about then wasn’t out of the question, given my mental state). I heard it again. And again. It was extremely regular, much like a human’s breathing pattern. A sleeping human. A snoring, sleeping human. Damn!!
My thoughts shifted from that of saving Tom to how I would write up the “mysterious disappearance” of a sea kayaker from Beausoleil Island. In the end, I couldn’t come up with a way to properly dispose of the murder weapon, so instead I lay back and enjoyed what was left of the night.
Day 3 dawned once again overcast, but not too cold. As we were having breakfast, the skies started to break and we soon found ourselves in bright sunshine. We talked about the day’s plans while watching a mink on a nearby island. We decided that today was to be a hiking day, and we both looked forward to exploring the northern half of the island. Starting out in brilliant sunshine we picked up the Fairy Lake trail and followed it southwestward. This trail winds its way over granite outcrops, past small lakes and ponds, and over wetlands as it makes it way south. At the south end of Fairy Lake we picked up the Rockview Trail and continued on generally southward. This part of the trail is where you start to transition from the metamorphic Canadian Shield onto the glacial till of southern Ontario. Beausoleil is famous for a number of reasons, but none more significant or interesting than its geology. The transition is abrupt and dramatic. Once on the Huron Trail, the transition was complete, and we were now in the eastern deciduous forest biome. Travelling east then south, we lunched at Tonch North. Lunch was a relaxed affair and ¾ of an hour later we were off again, headed north. Diverting through the YMCA camp, we noted several camp buildings and a terrific beach. What a great place to spend a couple of weeks of a summer as a kid. A couple of hours later and we were back at camp relaxing.
Back in the gazebo, one mystery was solved. We found the missing potholder. The “entity” had placed it in my utensil’s sack! This was an extremely intelligent “entity” with very good dexterity to be able to open and close the drawstring on the sack. I was left with a feeling that I would like to meet this “entity” some day, as it may prove sentient and worthy of study. I noticed, oddly enough, that Tom was somewhat less impressed; and somewhat suspicious of just who this “entity” was exactly. Hhmmnn.
Immediately after dinner, a strong cold front hit us with considerable force. Darkness fell quickly as the clouds rolled by overhead, so we called it an early night and headed for bed. This time, I was prepared for the “sounds of silence” and vowed to block out the thoughts of 12-foot bears, etc. It didn’t work. However, the night wasn’t a total loss. About 2 a.m. the clouds started to break up, revealing a very bright half moon every so often through the deck. With their outer linings shimmering in silver, the racing clouds looked like airborne galleons dancing across the night sky. This was just too good to miss, and knowing that rain was now out of the question, I opened up the entire front vestibule of my shelter and lay half out of the tent gazing at the brilliant stars overhead, whilst the temperature dropped to near freezing. It was a night to remember.
They were big – very big. After much thought, I could come to only one conclusion. The tracks on the beach were that of a wolf. They were also fresh. The seiche and incoming waves from the night before would have washed out all tracks along the very edge of the water, where these tracks were. I was surprised that I had not spotted him, given the bright moonlight and another night of little sleep. I have seen them before, up close in fact. They are truly magnificent animals, and while there is nothing to fear from them, they still cause the hair on the back of one’s neck to stand up and take notice. Now, in the bright morning sunshine, the tracks were all that was left of our visitation from the night before.
This was “going home” day. We would paddle down the west side of the island, lunch at the south end, then proceed north to Chimney Bay, out through Little Dog Channel and then back to Honey Harbour. We decided to breakfast in the shelter on the east side of Honeymoon Bay this time due to the stiff northwest winds. It was absolutely delightful eating our grits out in the open on a picnic table. Shortly after breakfast we ducked into the enclosed shelter to pick up our stuff that had been left to dry overnight. This was when we made our next “wildlife sighting”. As Tom lifted his polypro T-shirt, out popped a female mouse. I know it was a female because of the 3 little critters hanging off her teats as she tried valiantly to “scurry” away. The “scurry” was more like a slow scramble, given her extra burden, and these little guys weren’t letting go for love nor money. Still, she made it up into the stove where it looked like the whole extended family were settling in for the winter.
The trip around the island was spectacular, and the colours from Penetang to Christian Island were outstanding! We stopped at the group site on the south end of the island for lunch, then continued on up to Ojibway Bay then over to Little Dog Channel, then back to the town docks.
Having been a solo traveller for so much of my paddling life, it was an absolute delight having someone like Tom along. We spent many hours just kidding around and generally relaxing. This was a very nice change of pace for me, and my thanks to Tom for making this trip a memorable one (even if he doesn’t believe me when I say I didn’t steal the potholder!). Great trip!