Highlands Trail - Algonquin Park, Day 2, September 27

I planned an easier second day on the Highlands Trail:  just a 4.5 km hike along to Harness Lake.  But first I wanted to revisit Head Creek, where it flows out of Head Lake.  I'd passed the creek late the previous day, too tired and too hurried to stop to appreciate it.  I'd seen wetlands where I hoped moose might venture in the morning, and some lovely waterfalls.

I rose around dawn, after a good night.  As usual, I'd woken a lot, tangled in my sleeping bag every time I shifted or turned.  But I felt rested and surprisingly pain-free.  After the usual fumbling into clothes in the tent, I emerged into the early light.

It only took a few steps to work out the kinks and get my legs working (with a hobbled gait that reminds me more and more of my father).  I put off breakfast and coffee, grabbed my binoculars, and headed back down the trail toward the creek and the wetland.

Sadly, no moose awaited me in the wetland.  In fact, I didn't see a moose all weekend, although every muddy section of trail seemed to hold a few tracks.  I heard them calling, though, from across the lake at night, or from a bog behind a thick screen of spruce.  Given more time, I would have followed the calls, or staked out some more promising locations.  But with only 48 hours to complete the hike, I didn't have much time for stalking wildlife.

I did, however, find a great blue heron lingering in the wetland, as the morning light brushed the tree-tops.

I took my time walking back to camp, stopping to explore the short stretch of rapids and waterfalls along Head Creek between the lake and the wetland.  The passage of time has blurred the history of the area, and only a tangle of bleached logs at the head of the creek tells of the old lumbering days.  With more effort, I probably could have found signs of a log chute, or maybe hints of an old weir.  But I preferred to let the past lie and to concentrate on the beauty of the present.

By the time I arrived back at camp, the sun had risen well into the sky and fully illuminated the shoreline and hills on the west side of the lake.  I prepared some breakfast:  freeze-dried scrambled eggs with bacon, and Starbucks Italian Roast instant coffee with sugar and powdered milk.  Not a gourmet meal, but still satisfying.  I then packed camp slowly, taking time to enjoy the day.  I re-filled my water bottles at the lake, pumping it through my MSR water filter.  On the opposite shore, a young man and woman set out from a campsite and paddled down the lake toward the creek.  They paused as they passed me, and we talked about the night just past and the glorious weather.

About 10 AM, I broke camp and made the hike to Harness Lake.  The trail was easy.  Apart from tenderness under the shoulder-straps, I carried my pack comfortably.  A barred owl called in the distance.  I crossed a narrow wetland, where the sun had not yet reached.  Dewy spiderwebs hung from shrubs beside the footbridge.  Reaching Harness Lake, I investigated each campsite in turn, finally settling on the farthest one.  It perched on a rock outcrop, shaded by pines, beside a small, marshy creek mouth.  The distant sound of tumbling water carried across the lake.  A pair of loons cruised slowly along the shoreline.  Again, I set up my tent and hung my food bag from a tree, then prepared some lunch.  I ate a creamy, black bean soup while sitting on billion year-old Canadian Shield, overlooking an impossibly beautiful contrast of water, hills and sky.

 

After lunch, I decided to explore the trail ahead, to get some sense of what lay before me in the morning.  Taking just my camera and a survival kit, I traveled an easy 3 km to the first crossing of Mosquito Creek.  I ambled along, taking small side trips to look out over small wetlands, or to follow the sound of running water, always hopeful for wildlife.

Along the way, I passed a group of students and their young instructor coming from the opposite direction, struggling along the trail under their packs.  "How far to Head Lake," they asked.  "About 5 km," I answered.  "Thank heavens," one replied.  A little farther down the trail, I found where they'd stopped for a break.  Several band-aid wrappers lay beside the path, suggesting that at least one person was suffering from blisters.  I thought of them tackling the hills between Head Lake and the Mew Lake Campground on blistered feet, and wished that I'd warned them of what lay ahead.

Back at my camp, I cooked supper and ate it beside the lake.  Two men set up at the next camp down the lake, set out on a smaller point of land.  We exchanged greetings, our voices carrying easily over the intervening water.  I stayed on the lakeshore a long time, lying back on the hard, grey stone to watch the sky.  The sun set behind the hills and the crescent moon re-appeared.  I stayed up until the moon had also slipped behind the hills, and Milky Way curved above me like the dome of a cathedral.