Mississippi River Ontario Camping 2001

Originally, we had planned to bike to a camping spot on the Mississippi River. Mysteriously, Linda had a flat on her new bike. Time was running out so we decided to drive instead. The truth is that because of time constraints etc., neither of us wanted to go. Foolishly, I played the devil’s advocate and talked Linda into going. We got a late start, leaving my house (Buck Lake, north of Kingston, Ontario) around 2:30 p.m. Drove to Westport and took the road to Godfrey and then north to the Ragged Chutes Road on #509. I parked at my usual spot and checked the odometer – 95 k or 59 miles. We geared up and hiked 20 minutes in to the falls battling the blackflies, deerflies and mosquitoes all the way.


PREPARING TO HIKE	GRIZZLY ADAMS	WILD WOMAN OF THE WOODS

We were each carrying a 45 lb pack (I had weighed mine previously and Linda’s felt pretty much the same). Of course, her pack looked perfect – almost as if she had taken it off a store mannequin…no doubt she has a backpacking trophy somewhere. I’ve never known anyone with as many trophies, medals, awards and certificates. In one of her rooms at home, she has a large railroad spike hammered in to the wall. Hanging off it are a variety of about 75 medals from biking, swimming and running marathons in various parts of the world. The spike seems to be bending from the weight and, it could be an illusion but the wall appears to be buckling inwards.

Previously, I had told Linda it was a 20 minute walk in to the trail and then 20 minutes to the rapids, then a quick wade across the river and another 20 minutes to a good campsite on crown land. I tried to make it sound simple.

“So”, said Linda gazing at the falls, “Where’s the trail to the camping spot.”

That was when I realized that it had been about 12 years since I had camped here. I had made my own trail most of the way until I ran into an old road which headed in the right direction. Of course I had remembered it as an easy trail all the way there.

By the look on Linda’s face, and the way she rolled her eyes, I could see I wasn’t having much luck in explaining this. I left her and ran back up the main trail to see if I could find where the old road started. I did and returned.

Linda swatted a few flies, struggled back into her pack and grumbled, “I hope it’s a decent trail – I’m still recovering from knee surgery, you know.”

We backtracked 10 minutes to the trail which was overgrown and started in a swamp. Weeds were up to our shoulders. Already we both had soakers.

“It gets better up ahead”, I said encouragingly as Linda extricated herself from a prickle bush.

Once we left the swamp there were trees across the trail spaced at about 50 foot intervals.

“You know, this isn’t very good for my knee” said Linda as she precariously straddled one of the larger trees which had fallen across the trail. “Are we almost there?”

Forty minutes later the road ended. We continued on. I led Linda cross country through the woods. I sensed from some of the names she was calling me that she was rapidly losing her amusement.

“Wait here. I’ll scout ahead and see if I can find a trail”. I left Linda sitting on a stump in a cloud of blackflies. I remember hearing the words “kill” and “you” floating by in the breeze as I bushwhacked quickly away from her. By a stroke of luck, I relocated the road again (and I use the term “road” very loosely). Even more amazing, I was able to find where I’d left Linda. She was poking at me with her walking stick as I led her to the trail. I am quite perceptive and sensed that she wanted to be alone so I ran on ahead to find out how much farther we had to go. I wasn’t gone more than 20 minutes. I returned to find that Linda had been standing undecided at a trail junction, blocked by a large tree that had fallen across the path. She had been yelling my name in four directions wondering where I had gone and if I was coming back. I had only heard the last yell. I helped her crawl under the tree nearly pulling her arm out of her socket not realizing her pack had become caught. She yelled something about her knee. I kept just out of reach of her cane as she followed me to the river. I kept hearing a swishing sound go by my head.

At the rapids we discovered that it was too high to wade across as I had done in the past. Time was running out. It would be dark soon. We searched our side and finally found an ideal spot on a cliff as long as neither of us were sleepwalkers. The two of us pitched the tent in an inviting patch of poison ivy overlooking a breathtaking view of the Mississippi River. Now that we had a place to stay, Linda’s humour returned. However, the real turning point came when Linda found a Looney washed up on shore. I don’t know how many of you have seen “The Money Dance” before, but to have a command performance by a professional such as my campmate was a real treat. The pirouettes were flawless and the depth and emotion that went into the act almost brought on tears. I have seen this performance by other entertainers but I would have to say none could match the caliber of talent that was displayed at this remote site on the banks of a small river in Ontario.

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OUR HOME & NATIVE LAND

I dug out my cookstove while Linda prepared a vegetable/pasta dish with parmesan cheese for 12. It was excellent although I could only eat enough for two. I couldn’t help noticing that Linda labeled everthing she owned with an “L”. Any thoughts I had of stealing her equipment were shattered.


PICKING MOSQUITOS OFF THE FORK	THINKING OF PAST & FUTURE CLOSE SHAVES	CDN FLAG IN THE BACKGROUND EH!


THE CHEF BEGINS PREPARATIONS	THE GALLOPING GOURMESS	"LINDA ROCKS" IN HER CAMP CHAIR


SAMPLING THE MEAL	"I WISH I'D BROUGHT MY VACUUME"	AAIIEE!! GET IT OFF ME!!


OCCASSIONALLY LINDA BURNS ME UP	"WHAT'S FOR DESSERT?"	TEETH TAPPING TIME


LIFE DOESN'T GET MUCH BETTER	PERFECTION	DIGESTING PASTA FOR 12


A GLIMPSE OF THE STRANGER I CAMPED WITH	"MISSISSIPPI BURNING"	MOSQUITO NETTED CAMPMATE

“What are you doing, you idiot!?” screamed Linda affectionately. “You’ll have bears ripping the tent apart if you put the food in there.”

“Oh come on…I’ve only ever seen one bear up here before and he wasn’t more than a couple of feet taller than me. What am I supposed to eat later if I get hungry?”

Linda insisted on, as she called it, “hanging the bear bag”, although I’m sure there is a technical term for caching your food out of the reach of predators.

“Can’t I even keep a couple of cookies for later” I whined. “I can hide them under your sleeping bag.”

We put all our staples into our two sacks (one had an “L” on it) and tied them together in some special knot Linda remembered from her Brownie days. I recalled seeing a knot tying medal somewhere in Linda’s house – I think it was being used as a coaster at the time. She attached one end of the rope to the bags while I searched for a suitable rock to tie on the other end. There was an ideal tree in a clearing with a branch about 25 feet up. I tossed the rock over it on my first attempt. Linda removed the rock and tied the bag to the rope. I hoisted it up and she tied the remaining end around the tree base. It was an excellent team effort.


BEFORE: TESTING THE ROPE STRENGTH	AFTER: "HANGING THE BEAR BAG"

Back at camp we sat by our driftwood fire, drank hot chocolate and juice and talked while watching the fish jump. I took some requests on my harmonica…the last one being, “please don’t play anymore.” The sound of the rapids, mingled with Linda’s “wry” humour were very relaxing. Since time on the Mississippi means nothing, I can’t say when we retired for the evening…but eventually, we did, after thoroughly dousing the fire.

Inside the tent we discovered a million flea-like flying insects that had congregated on the roof. They were kind enough to keep us amused throughout the night by biting all of our exposed areas. We removed one earwig that was hiding in a flap by the window. Linda spent twenty minutes killing mosquitoes by squashing them with pieces of toilet paper (accompanied by diabolical laughter) which she placed at one end of the tent. It looked like a tiny bug cemetery. I performed the last rites and tossed them outside. As I was preparing for bed, I moved Linda’s arm out of my way, lovingly placing her wrist over the open flame of my candle lantern. She became quite animated, bouncing around the tent and screaming “Look what you’ve done to my arm”.

“Is that ever neat”, I said admiring the brown, singed “D” shaped scar thinking to myself that she is not the only one who likes to carve her initials on her belongings.

“Do you have any butter I could put on it”, I asked in a rare display of sensitivity.

“Why?” she asked sarcastically, “What do you want to do to it now…saut頩t?”

Linda seems to get agitated quite easily. Over time, I hope to have a calming effect on her. Eventually, she stopped rocking back and forth, while holding her arm and murmuring “sssssssss” through clenched teeth. We both drifted off to sleep to the faint odour of burnt flesh.

Awoke to a beautiful sunny day. We spent half an hour or so talking and watching the shadow profile of a caterpillar as he made his way over the outside of the tent roof. One tends to become quite mellow in this area. By 7:30 a.m. we were outside. Linda heated up some interesting tea when she mistook the Gatorade bottle for water. I went for a swim then we loafed around all day talking and tanning. For lunch, I cut up an avocado with lemon and salt, then we went back to relaxing. We worked very hard at it and by 4:00 we were exhausted. We had seen no one since we came in. It was perfect.

Much as we both hated to, we began to pack up our belongings. I shaved then we left paradise and hiked the 40 minutes to the main trail. We took a half hour detour to see the small, fallen down bridge at Ragged Chutes. We ran into some people there. I had found a kayak paddle yesterday and had been using it for a walking stick for so long, I’d forgotten about it.

We retraced our route back to the car. Linda took the muddy pointed end of her walking stick and used it to carve her traditional “L” on the back seat of my car. It was her best work yet. At the Country Kitchen in Sharbot Lake, we had an excellent meal while a helicopter hovered overhead - probably looking for us.

We took the Crowe Lake Road home. At one point, Linda screamed at me to “pull over”. She leapt from the car. I parked and found her peering through a magnifying glass while using a special tool to chip away at the asphalt.

Apparently, she felt this could be an excellent road for a bike trip but first she would have to send some road samples to the lab to make sure the pavement was the right consistency for her standards. The results came in a few days later and unfortunately, Crowe Lake Road did not make the cut.


LINDA'S PACK	...AND HER WALKING STICK	MAIN FALLS


LIKE DEER IN A HEADLIGHT	JACKALS CIRCLE FOR THE KILL


LAST VIEW FROM THE CAMPSITE	THE OLD FALLEN DOWN BRIDGE


SUPPER AT THE COUNTRY KITCHEN	SIDEKICKS