Highlands Trail - Algonquin Park, Day 3, September 28, 2014

I rose very early on the Sunday morning.  I wanted to watch the sun rise over the the lake, and I also wanted a quick start on the trail.  I had 15 km to travel in order to catch my 2:15 PM bus at Lake of Two Rivers.  I wasn't sure of the trail ahead, nor how my body would bear up.  The map suggested a slightly flatter route on my return, but I still counted on six hours of hiking.

Night had just begun to pale when I crawled from the tent.  Mist rose from the lake, shifting form like a phantom.  With my binoculars, I tried to scan the far shore for wildlife, hoping for moose taking a early drink.  It lay dark and hidden.  I lowered my food bag, pulled out the coffee and freeze-dried package of eggs, bacon and red pepper, and cooked my breakfast on the rock overlooking the lake.

The sunrise came slowly.  I don't recall a more beautiful dawn.  It began with the lightening of the sky and the growing definition of the trees.  The mist began to move, flowing like beaded tendrils of spider silk outward from the shore.  As a tinge of pink began to suffuse the air, the colors of the shoreline also began to emerge -- mutely reflected in the still, mist-covered water.  The color of dawn seeped into the high, scattered clouds moving from the west.  For a few magical moments, the world existed in shades of pastel.

After lingering longer than intended by the lakeshore, I quickly packed up my camp.  However, my departure had to wait, while I spent considerable time appreciating the beauty of the forest from the perspective of the "thunder box".  Without going into graphic detail, I will simply advise that a diet of freeze dried vegetarian food is not conducive to a "quick start on the trail", especially if one's system is adapted to a more varied, and less fibrous diet.

Once on the trail, I made very good time.  My legs felt strong, and the trail rolled smoothly through the forest.  I stopped only to drink, and then only for a minute or two.  I took few photographs.  As the kilometers passed, and I began to realize that I'd be early for the bus, I began to fantasize about a burger and fries at the Lake of Two Rivers restaurant -- with maybe a strawberry milkshake for dessert.  The thought kept my pace up, even as the trail became more hilly and the day grew warm.

Civilization returned as I descended the last hill to the Madawaska River waterfalls and bridge.  A crowd of sightseers greeted me, taking turns at the best vantages, sprawling over the ground with soft drinks and bags of chips.  I stopped long enough to finish my water, and then took the short route back to the Lake of Two Rivers -- following the road through the Mew Lake Campground, rather than traversing the last climb and descent of the official trail back to the highway.

As I approached the Lake of Two Rivers restaurant and store, I began to taste my burger and fries.  That hope was dashed, however, when I emerged from the brush to see a traffic jam in the parking lot, and lineups spilling out the doors.  I hadn't realized how the fall colors and warm, sunny weather would bring day-trippers to the park.  I could barely wrestle my pack into the building and find a spare foot of wall against which to lean it.  The number of people milling about with numbered receipts in their hands boded ill.  Looking toward the kitchen window behind the tills, I could count the number of waiting order chits -- at least twenty.  The line for ice cream appeared more reasonable, so I settled for a large waffle cone of raspberry lime sorbet.

After finishing my cone, and shouldering my way back out of the restaurant, I walked the last 200 m to the pick-up point.  My co-passengers sat wearily around the base of a pine tree.  I joined them, shrugging off my pack with a final groan.  Leaning back against my pack, I slipped off my boots and socks, wriggling my pale, wrinkled toes.  They looked vaguely jaundiced, after hours in my hot, humid boots.  I then stretched my legs out fully before me, flexing my toes upward and then relaxing.  The tendons behind my knees stretched with pleasure.  I slid down further in the pine needles, resting my head on the pack, and looking upward at the blue sky through the boughs of the pine tree.  I waited for the bus.

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.

Highlands Trail - Algonquin Park, Day 1 - September 26, 2014

I woke early on Friday morning, had breakfast, hefted my pack and walked down to the Rideau Centre to catch the Park Bus to Algonquin Park.  The sun shone in a warm, blue sky.  I had booked my bus and my back-country campsites two weeks earlier, gambling on decent weather.  The gamble worked:  the forecast called for dry, sunny days in the mid-twenties.  I would spend most of the weekend hiking in shorts and a t-shirt.

Along with a dozen fellow adventurers, I waited for the bus across the street from the youth hostel at the Old Ottawa Jail.  I wondered what would arrive, worried about the endurance of my half-century old bladder if it turned out to be a school bus.  Fortunately, a clean, modern tour bus pulled up.  We loaded our packs into the luggage bins, and then settled aboard.

I relaxed on the ride to the park, even napped for a while.  After stops at Whitney and the Pog Lake Campground, we arrived at the Lake of Two Rivers around 1 PM.  I was first out the door and first with my pack.  I hurried down the road to the Mew Lake office, picked up my permit, and then hurried further down the road to the trailhead.  My destination, Head Lake, lay at the far end of the Highlands Trail.  I wanted to set up camp in the daylight, and I had five and half hours to cover 15 km along unknown trails.

For the first 750 m of the trail, I strode along easily.  My pack felt light, my new boots fit comfortably, and the sun felt good on my face.  The path rose up gently before me, carpeted in leaves and bathed in wonderful autumn light.  Someone left a greeting on the trail.  Life was good.

Then everything changed.

I should have heeded the clues.  First, when a trail is called the "Highlands", one should expect some hills.  Second, when the sign at the trailhead says, "experienced hikers", the hills might be steep.  Third, whenever a trail map shows a "lookout", prepare for some pain.

I followed the recommended route, hiking counter-clockwise around the trail to my first campsite on Head Lake.  The first half of the hike to Head Lake consisted of long, grueling climbs, punctuated by short, steep descents.  The hike really required a full day, with breaks to rest and relax, to drink and cool down.  Instead, I pushed hard to finish it in half a day, anxious to avoid making camp and supper in the dark.  I paused only to take photos, or for brief recovery at the top of the hardest climbs.  The toughest climb came around the halfway point, approaching another lookout:  a one kilometer slog up a stony, muddy path that had me cursing in disbelief.  Oddly, my arthritic knees complained very little.  But my buttocks and hips burned with each step, and my calves threatened to cramp with every toe lift.  Under my pack, my t-shirt turned damp with sweat.  Thank heavens for the summer bike rides in Gatineau Park; without the Pink Lake hill and the Champlain Lookout behind me, I probably would have stumbled into my camp under starlight.

Despite the discomfort and my desire for haste, I still found time to admire the autumn colors.  The maples, beeches and birch shone at their peak of color, ablaze on distant hills, reflected in the lakes, and casting their glow on the forest floor.  The warm air brimmed with the scent of rich, leafy humus, pines and ferns.  Small streams and rills trickled through shady coves and under mouldering footbridges, or tumbled noisily through mossy ravines.  The forest couldn't have looked more beautiful.  Photographs can't do it justice, though I tried.

I arrived at Head Lake around 6 PM, dropping my pack at the very first camp site.  The shadows had grown long in the forest, but I had enough daylight to pitch my tent, make supper, and hang my food bag in a tree.  Evening settled over the lake.  A low crescent moon appeared over the hills across the lake, and the stars spread over the sky.  I sat at the edge of the lake and counted myself fortunate.