by Marti Uher
What? You went to Ireland? Did you kiss the Blarney Stone? Well not exactly, but parking oneself with one’s derriere on the rocks of Killarney may well be considered an act of kissing its stones. Seems when family have asked me what I’ve been up to this summer and I mention, “Oh I went kayaking in Killarney, and…” Here I get interrupted with, “You went kayaking in Ireland?” Some of my family members, who have spent time in Ireland, know much more about the Killarney of Ireland than our own Killarney right here in Ontario.
The two places seem to have a lot in common, albeit, one is in Ontario and the other Ireland. Though I haven’t been to the latter, Killarney, Ireland is written up in Google as a premiere tourist destination, situated at the base of Ireland’s highest mountain range consisting of acres of mountains, valleys, parklands, woodlands, forests, and lakes.
Sound familiar? This could describe one of Ontario’s premiere kayaking destinations with its woodlands, parks, windswept islands, rugged rock formations, numerous channels, embayments, all set against the backdrop of the La Cloche Mountains and the pristine blue waters of Lake Huron’s eastern waters, the beautiful Georgian Bay.
According to the legend, to kiss the Blarney Stone in Ireland is to be then endowed with the gift of gab (great eloquence or skill at flattery). Hmmm, I think our trip organizer has been endowed with some of the magic from the stones of Killarney. Great eloquence may not necessarily be a trait used to describe our friend and trip organizer Dan but he is blessed with a great sense of humour, a trademark smirk, and enough charm to gather a Canadian following.
So it was that we (Dan, Grant, Melissa, Sean and I) who hadn’t seen each other in the better part of a year, could connect as a group, paddle, camp and hike so easily and comfortably together. We met up in Killarney and launched at the usual put in, Chikanishing Creek. We paddled in placid waters and made a beeline for the Foxes, a series of islands quite popular among kayakers and some canoeists. Instead of setting up camp here, Dan suggested camping on Hawk Island as it was a lesser know destination and not as busy. Tents were erected in the crook of two large rock monuments each of us selecting our own suitable location to “play house” as one of my friends likes to call kayak camping.
In the afternoon, we elected to paddle a somewhat triangular route and made our way to the first of two islands. The lee side of Green Island was incredibly calm and tranquil. There are great lengths of flat rock ledges that adorn the shore. Here we saw, the haliaeetus leucocephalus, the white headed sea eagle, the infamous bald eagle. In awe, we watched this powerful predator perched so “kingly” on a branch keeping out an “eagle eye.” We paddled in closer, but that was not to its liking, and it took off, wings to the air, beautifully silhouetted against the sky.
We rounded Green Island and continued our paddle to Scarecrow. Some of us took to circumnavigating this island as well, taking care not to wreck up on the many shoals surrounding it. We came upon a rookery of blue herons, an aptly named herony. Some of the teradactyl-like birds took to flight at the sight of us. Others entertained us with their delicate balancing act on the branches of their lone tree. Farther along, we noticed a massive cairn, an inukshuk, erected from the unworked stones of this island. We clambered out of our boats and took some photos of this well known symbol of the Canadian north with its traditional meaning, “Someone was here; You are on the right path.”
We paddled back to camp to enjoy the evening festivities of supper and idle chit chat by the firelight. The winds quieted, which boded well for those of us who set up our tents in precarious locations; the windward side of Hawk Island. But the view!
The next morning quietly passed with us performing our breakfast duties. We headed for “The Chickens,” a maze of small low lying smooth rock islands, spanning the length of approximately a kilometre. We ate lunch, luxuriated in the warm shallow waters and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on this most beautiful of summer days. We paddled home to our island camp late in the day and bade adieu to another beautiful day in Killarney.
The next morning, another beauty, we leisurely packed up camp and departed company with the agreement to meet later for lunch at the famous fish place in the town of Killarney. Those of us who departed earlier than the others had time to enjoy a relaxed paddle and swim. The others were given the luxury of time to pack their boats without the rest of us breathing down their necks.
We paddled into Killarney fighting a very strong headwind which increased significantly towards the latter part of the morning. We all met in town and agreed that the winds were exhausting and that the paddle from the Hawks to Killarney had been a slog. Nonetheless, we “parked” our boats and merrily made our way to Herbert’s to fill our stomachs with their famous fish and chip dinner.
Stomachs satiated, muscles relaxed, we hopped back into our boats to deal with the severe headwind till we could round George Island. Here we looked for the campsite with the ideal sounding name, “Sandy Bay.” Much to our disgust, Sandy Bay didn’t really exist and we found ourselves a little unsatisfied with rocky and bouldery campsite we chose instead. Some of us took to looking for the trail that winds itself from the interior of George Island to the shore.
The next morning we woke to incredibly calm conditions. We paddled great lengths apart, each of us lost in our own thoughts in the open water and among the islands. We made our way back to Chikanishing Creek, packed up boats and gear and made for Roche Rouge, the campground we stayed at earlier in the week located conveniently on the outskirts of town. After supper, I took my boat out into the interior bays for a lovely solo sunset paddle.
The next day dawned bright and sunny once again. We made our way out of town, pulled up our shorts, and hiked “The Crack” a 6-kilometre somewhat challenging trail to the top of the Killarney Ridge. From this vantage point, the panoramic view of the white cliffs of the La Cloche Mountains is stunning. The latter part of the climb has you climbing up and over huge boulders, tumbled about in random fashion. The linear trail took us approximately four hours to hike.
Our return from the hike found us relaxed and comfortable at camp by a fire. The next morning some of us decided to enjoy the other day hikes available in Killarney, the George Island Trail being one of them. This trail can be accessed from the Sportsman Inn which offers a ferry service across the channel to the trail head. This is a relatively flat trail with some rolling terrain; a 7.5-kilometre round trip. The trail winds its way through coniferous and deciduous forests, among beaver ponds, and out towards Georgian Bay where hikers can see far off islands. We hiked out to the shores of Sandy Cove, the illusive campsite we looked for so valiantly the night previous. As we rounded a bend not far from the end of the hike, we were stopped short by the screech on an owl. Indeed this owl was not a Screech Owl but a Barred Owl as I later discovered. It was highly vocal and it took great curiosity in us. We were able to take photographs as we enjoyed its antics. At the merest sound, it spun its head around to determine the noise, whether it be the chirp from another bird, the call of another owl, or us. This deep moist forest, wooded swamp and woodlands near a waterway was the perfect home for this opportunistic hunter who was perhaps looking for a tasty snack before dark.
It was time to part company with this favoured destination. All in all, it was another wonderful paddling and hiking experience in Killarney. Here the clear, blue waters, the white cliffs of the La Cloche Mountains and the vast tracts of wilderness beckon many of us year after year to “kiss her stones.”