Lynda Beckett

On the weekend of June 23-25, over 60 avid kayakers and campers gathered on the beautiflul shores of Georgian Bay for Rendezvous 2000. What an excellent introduction to the Great Lakes Sea Kayaking Association for a newcomer like me!

On Friday, participants arrived and set up camp around the picnic pavilion in Cape Croker Indian Park. Branches cascading over the winding entrance road enhanced the sense of spirituality and history of the location. Bob and Marie Knapp, two most friendly and efficient organizers, had the events and workshops listed in the pavilion. Long-time members greeted each other and renewed friendships while new members eagerly anticipated the days to come.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny. Some groups set out on the lake early to enjoy the calm waters. Others relaxed with a second cup of coffee and shared stories. It didn’t take long to meet people. We soon found out Bob’s favourite way to summon the masses. Not everyone take a cowbell to kayak symposiums! The president, and Bob and his wife greeted everyone at the General Assembly at 10:45 and outlined the day’s events. Bob and Marie Knapp gave out name-tags to encourage mingling. In no time at all groups were talking shop.

At 11:00, land-based workshops included trip planning, cooking and navigation. Bob Knapp led my group with information about trip planning. Various trip planning books were shared to assist groups with camping destinations. Suggestions from experienced kayakers were welcomed. Marie Knapp facilitated a sharing of ideas for taking non-perishable food items that aren’t store packaged. Everyone agreed that freeze-dried foods all taste the same after five days tripping! Len Disenhouse and Sam Wyss gave an informative workshop on the perils of fog and the use of navigation equipment. It was interesting hearing about others’ foibles. Experience is a great teacher.

After lunch, Ron Coulson and Michael Daly took some groups for Braces and Rolling and Rescue training. Some eagerly (and some with trepidation) set out for the beach area to learn and practise skills. Yes, the water was only 10^o C! Even so, some brave souls rolled and intentionally dumped in the frigid water. The merits of wearing a wet suit were soon evident.

Bob Knapp introduced a lighter side to serious kayaking: Kite and Umbrella Sailing. Golf umbrellas and kites lifted the spirits, relaxed the arm muscles and made kayaking a breeze. Oh by the way, another use for duct tape is to reinforce the umbrella framework for sudden gusts!

Glenn Davy led a land-based workshop on Weather. Participants emerged predicting an imminent thunderstorm. One did come, but less than imminently.

After these sessions there was ample opportunity to practise newly developed skills on a longer paddle with Jim Mark and Sam Wyss, or enjoy a shorter paddle with Don and Donna Smith. Others relaxed and renewed acquaintances or met new friends while some people took advantage of the wind to kite sail to Benjamin’s Point.

At 5:00, Bob once again rang the cowbell to gather everyone to hear Darlene Johnston relate the history of Cape Croker. She enthralled the audience with traditional storytelling and many were enlightened about the original First Nations Treaties and recent land claims of the Chippewa of Nawash. The time passed too quickly, but Darlene stayed to answer individual questions.

No one needed the cowbell to call people to the pavilion for the Pot-Luck Dinner. Wonderful smells and delicious recipes materialized out of tents, stoves and coolers to feed the ravenous multitude!

After clean up, local musician Steve Dickinson entertained us with some 60s and 70s ballads. We relaxed and tried to "sing" along with some better known tunes. At certain times the wild lament of a hound dog could be heard joining Steve during his rendition of one Evis’ hits. During his encore, the storm that had been brewing let loose with heavy rains, bringing an end to an inspiring evening, and cancelling the Night Paddle planned with Sandy Richardson. It took a little persuasion to encourage Bob and Marie to tell some tall and other Tales of Kayaking and Tripping under the shelter of the pavilion. The bear stories were pretty tame compared to the electrical storm that night!

Sunday the cowbell summoned us to meet to plan individual excursions or join some hikes. Bob Knapp took a group along part of the Bruce Trail that led to a magnificent view of Sydney Bay and gave them a chance to explore overhanging cave formations. Marie Knapp led others to the Boardwalk Trail, which enabled hikers to enter areas of a wetland with beautiful Lady Slippers, Irises and marsh habitat. All who joined these groups felt a connection with nature and understood the significance of keeping these natural areas preserved for future generations.

Wolf Kushke and Hart Haessler and a group set off for the beautiful Fishing Islands and warmer waters of Lake Huron near Red Bay. Some of their navigational skills came in handy when fog shrouded the lake.

Michael Daly

I’d been intending to join GLSKA on one on these trips for quite a while, but my schedule never allowed. This year was different. Amie and I loaded the kayaks on the car and drove off with time to spare. We arrived and I despaired of finding a parking spot. We met on Lake Shore Blvd., just west of the Palais Royale and the lot was rather full. But, as Sandy Richardson, our organizer, pointed out, the parking spots turn over quickly and we found a good one. Sandy was there when we arrived and Neva and Lyn pulled in moments later. We unloaded and set up the kayaks, not forgetting such extras as lights and glow-sticks.

I was in the water first; I always prefer floating to waiting on shore. The others launched and we paddled off to the east. Our destination, Ontario Place, was only a short distance away and we arrived with plenty of time to spare. We took advantage of the time to do a little tour around the canals through the park. (There was no problem getting in this year.) We then headed out on Lake Ontario and into a little bay just in front of the barge used to launch the fireworks. Scanning the horizon yielded a view of more sail and powerboats than I’ve seen at once in a long time. Many were brightly lit, still carrying the lights they no doubt used a few days early for the festival of lights tour of Harbourfront on Canada Day.

The breeze was coming from the shore and the gentle waves opposed them. We had trouble finding a spot close enough to shore to keep from being slowly blown away and far enough away to keep from being washed ashore. Our plan of rafting up was abandoned in favour of slowly paddling to stay in the little bay.

The fireworks started. We could hear the music on the Ontario Place sound system. Spain was the competitor this night and the music and fireworks were lively, as expected. From close range, one could hear the hiss of the launch and the loud BOOM of the explosions. The dazzling sparkles seemed to be directly overhead. The vibrations from the explosions thumped deep into my chest – every bit of colour and light was emphasized by the physical sensation.

Donna Griffin-Smith

We were seven GLSKA members (first names only are mentioned here but readers will probably recognize us – names have not been changed to protect the innocent) on Elke’s trip – a weeklong, leisurely exploration of the outside of Philip Edward Island, located on the north side of Georgian Bay, just south of Killarney Provincial Park. Although the island is only about 20 kilometres from end to end, and could be paddled in one day, there are many sheltered bays and inlets, and a myriad of smaller islands and channels to explore. It is also possible to circumnavigate the island returning via Collins Inlet, a long narrow channel which is the main boat channel and a more sheltered route, but less spectacular as far as scenery and paddling opportunities are concerned.

We met the evening before and finalized plans for the trip over a supper of fish and chips from Mr. Perch – a "must-do" when starting a trip from Killarney. The next day, Bob, Wolfgang and Heinz started out from Killarney village and paddled the 6 (or was it 8?) kilometres to meet Elke, Joe, Linda and myself at the Chikanishing River, which is just opposite the western end of Philip Edward and the most popular place to begin the trip. Headwinds and a forgotten map were blamed for their slow progress, but at last we were on our way.

We chose Le Haye Island for our first campsite where we stayed for two nights. Then we paddled to the far eastern end near Beaverstone Bay where we camped at Hinks Island for two more nights before returning to Desjardins Bay where the bear lived. From each campsite we explored the surrounding area – the Outer Fox Islands, the Chickens, and all the bays and islands in between. We were lucky in the weather department – sunny with some cloudy periods, a few showers and enough wind to make it interesting but not dangerous. Weather is always a "hot" topic on a kayaking trip. Does 30% chance of showers mean there is a 70% chance of sunshine?

We were probably the best equipped group of paddlers ever. We had seven of everything! Seven kayaks, seven tents – you get the picture. Joe even brought the kitchen sink! But when we started to cook it was really funny. Only Bob and Heinz teamed up, so there were six stoves in a circle as each of us prepared our special of the day. Meal times were a social get together as we compared menus, exchanged ideas on equipment and paddling, shared stories and teased each other. Like how many kinds of chunky soup are there? And what kind of wine do you drink with chunky soup? Did you know that there are two kinds of campers? Those who eat Red River cereal and those who don’t. And did I mention that someone even brought his electric toothbrush? (Well the battery lasts a week if you only brush twice a day.)

As environmentally conscious campers we packed out our garbage but agreed that vegetable waste would biodegrade. Elke was especially competent in the areas of rock lifting and can squashing, but my ability to toss green pepper seeds left much to be desired (just ask Joe if he ever found them in his tent). And Linda will never again bring meat with a bone in it.

In camp there was never a dull moment. Even when it rained we gathered together and admired our unique method of hanging the tarps, using a large branch as a ridgepole. It was great until the wind blew, as the branch was still attached to the tree. Hiking around the island was a favourite evening excursion – for those of us who brought shoes. At Le Haye one evening, Elke, Linda and I watched two beaver feeding on branches near the shoreline while thousands of mosquitoes fed on us. In the pines nearby a family of young peregrine falcons attracted our attention with a persistent "kik ,kik, kik." The Hinks Island campsite was home to more wildlife – a mink ran into the cedars near Wolf’s tent and never came out, and the largest leaches I have ever seen waited for unwary kayaker’s feet. And then there was the bear at Desjardins Bay. Did I mention the blueberry-filled droppings that we found not too far from camp?

A day with strong westerly winds led us to invent a new camping activity – tent flying. Linda had chosen the perfect spot for her tent, overlooking the bay with a magnificent view of the sunset and Manitoulin Island. But since it was pitched on solid rock she was not able to peg it down and had to resort to using rocks. Luckily she returned to her tent just in time to rescue it as it danced toward the trees. Now some of the guys thought it appropriate to tease Linda about her tent. But the wind goddess must have heard, because a few minutes later she blew over another small tent, and its owner had to run quickly to save it from blowing into the lake. Larger rocks and a sturdy rope tied to a tree prevented further mishap.

Then there was the daily paddling – just getting in and out of the kayaks was entertaining. We weren’t keeping score, but how many times did you fall into the water, Linda? As we explored each bay and island we saw many mink, beaver and a raccoon along the shorelines. One day, thanks to Heinz’s "eagle eye," we spotted a bald eagle – a first for many of us. The eagle perched atop a pine and stared back at us. Finally it decided that we were not food and flew away. At the Fox Islands we climbed to the top of a high rock to look out over the bay and bushwhacked a new trail back to the kayaks, followed by lunch and a refreshing swim. Then we paddled around the outside in the BIG waves. Low water levels made paddling through the maze of islets at the Chickens a challenge and we left many a streak of white gelcoat on the rocks. At Hen Island, which guards the eastern end of the group, we stopped for a snack and discovered a sheltered sand beach and campsite where you would least expect one. I made mental notes for the next trip.

Bill Lanning

Provide a sunny day, Saturday September 9^th, with temperatures in the high seventies (25+ C), low winds, calm waters and add 29 spirited paddlers, 28 kayaks, a good supply of garbage bags, rubber gloves and the odd shovel, and you have all the ingredients for the third annual cleanup of Franklin Island. This island continues to be one of the most popular destinations by boaters of all persuasions.

Setting out from Snug Harbour, the paddlers were broken up into three groups by Doug Cunningham, Rudy Rauch and Howard Williams – GLSKA's Georgian Bay Committee. Ron Coulson, Wolfgang Kuschke and Doug led their groups along designated shoreline, stopping to cleanup campsites, talk with campers and boaters and pack out assorted debris and crap (generically speaking, of course!) on kayak decks. The end result was that the complete perimeter of Franklin Island with it’s compliment of campsites was cleaned, assessed as to cleanliness and use, and a pile of about eighteen garbage bags and assorted chair frames was accumulated at the end of the afternoon. Many of the garbage bags were only partially filled, leading to some speculation.

The low volume compared to previous years, was a pleasant surprise to cleanup veterans. Last year high winds prevented the west side of Franklin Island being cleaned up, however the low volume was gratifying to everyone. This is especially true if you are paddling "with the wind" and have a stern deck full of odouriferous cargo! Are users becoming more conscious of the need to treat our resource/playground with the respect it is due, or is the volume of usage down due to weather conditions this summer? One can only hope that the "respect" aspect is the stronger factor.

It was disappointing to note the lack of newly constructed "thunderboxes" that GLSKA had purchased. These were to have been located on some of the island’s more heavily used campsites over the past season, but as yet have not been assembled and located. A follow-up by the Georgian Bay Committee will ensure that these facilities are put in place during April of next year. (Do they have magazine racks?)

An evening group campfire, in Killbear Provincial Park, heard tales of John Cross paddling the Saguenay River, Elke Gruenewald’s trip to Phillip Edward Island and of Sam Wyss and his hearty group, who explored Quebec’s Lac Matagami area. Non-paddling summer trips, and future trip plans for some during the upcoming winter, were also topics discussed with great glee.

Sunday morning was again a great day for paddling (isn’t any day?), and many did so between breaking camp and heading back to assorted home bases. The Georgian Bay Committee met for several hours, during which they expressed their delight with the trip guide articles appearing in Qayaq – a tip of the hat to editor Sandy Richardson, for taking this material, originally intended for a guide book publication, and pulling it all together in a standard format.

Another concern expressed at this time was whether or not, to return for a fourth cleanup of Franklin Island, or should another location receive attention next year? Possibly alternating between two locations in future years. If you have any concerns or ideas regarding this, speak, write, or e-mail one of the committee members.

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.

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