Our main piece of organization was that each of us would take two of the days and be the leader. We were all peers and competent paddlers, so we simply wanted to make sure that at least one person was thinking for the group at all times.
We drove up to Rossport on a Saturday, and stayed at the Serendipity Gardens guest house. It's a custom designed building with 4 rooms, and it was delightful. Equally delightful was their Cafe, and both are highly recommended. http://www.serendipitygardens.ca/
On our first day we headed off towards Nirivia. When we reached the "long day/short day" decision point, we decided to go for short day and stop for the night at Woodbine Harbor. As we were making camp, a couple in a power boat stopped at the beach to stretch their legs and let their dog run a bit. We chatted, and heard their story of the kayakers they'd had to rescue (it seems that every power boater has one of these stories) and how they would never go out in one of those boats. The woman mentioned that she worked for Canada Post and had a resupply package waiting for a kayaker who was paddling around the lake, and that he was overdue. She said it had coffee in it, because she could smell it. We asked about the name. Sadly, we discovered that the package had been sent ahead by the kayaker who had died near Pigeon Point a few weeks ago. We gave the woman enough information to try to contact his survivors, not knowing if there was anything personal in the box that they would want.
We paddled on to Nirivia the next day. Nirivia is the name given to land on St. Ignace Island that a group of folks from the area had claimed as an independent country. They had built some geodesic-inspired wooden buildings (a bunkroom/kitchen, a second bunkroom, and a sauna) and at one point appeared to have marketed it as a tourist destination. Rumor and even published guides claimed that the enterprise was defunct, but our friend Bernie had found Nirivia on a trip through the area earlier in the spring and had seen signs of activity. He had a contact, and we eventually managed to track down the Nirivians and made and paid for a reservation to stay there for a couple nights.
On Monday, we found the land of Nirivia tucked into a bay behind Armour Island. We landed and walked up a bit of a hill to discover first the sauna, then the bunkhouses and kitchen. It was a bit dilapidated, but nonetheless charming and wonderful.
We walked back down to the dock to start hauling our gear up to the bunkhouses and saw a powerboat motoring towards us. It turned out to be Russ and his wife checking in to make sure that we were the people who had made reservations. We were, and we talked for a while. Russ said he was the one who started Nirivia. He'd researched the historical treaties and determined that this island had not been included in any treaty or land claim. We discussed fishing (no, we hadn't brought any fishing gear) and paddling destinations for the next day, and then he put the boat in reverse, backed off, and powered away.
We settled in after desginating a boys bunkhouse and a girls bunkhouse, and had a splendid afternoon. Sam hung his hammock. Some reading and walking and exploring occurred. In the evening Tony fired up the sauna for a couple rounds of steam and lake dips. On only the first of our two nights at Nirivia, it was clear that Tony might never be the same again. His post is here.There was a thunderstorm that night, and I awoke to the sound of dripping water in my room. I found a pot and put it under the drip. I'm not sure how long these lovely structures will survive without some repairs.
The next morning we listened to the forecast. Later in the week the winds were expected to build to 25 knots. We decided not to move to a more distant campsite, but rather do an out and back paddle and spend another night at Nirivia. With no pressure to get to any particular destination, we poked around rock formations and into bays. We noticed the difference between the lake facing sides of the islands (weathered, eroded, eaten into by lake storms) and the land side (steep rock walls.) We listened to loon calls. We paddled by the arch on Hope Island. We visited the falling down boathouse and fishing boat on Bowman Island and paid our respect at Thomas Lamphier's grave. We paddled by the terraces on Paradise Island, which mark the increasing heights of the land as it rebounds from the glaciers of the last ice age. We paddled by a lovely small islet with stunted trees.
Back at Nirivia that afternoon, the cabins were hot -- the skylight in my bunkhouse let in warming sun as well as light. It was another delightful afternoon to spend outdoors, and included a bit of an argument about personal property rights with a pushy raven. In the evening we had another sauna.
We had an encounter with some other non-humans that night. The guys had gone to bed in the boys bunkhouse and I hadn't fully settled in yet. I heard some very loud splashing down by the boats. I was a bit puzzled – if someone was messing with our boats, they were making a heck of a lot of noise. So I went out and walked down to the water and stopped when I saw a mother moose and two calves wading along the shore. I watched for a couple minutes and went back to get the guys. They came out in their jammies and bare feet, and we watched at a respectful distance and not terribly far from the bunkhouses. It got darker and darker, and finally the family headed off into the woods, we got cold, the bugs started biting, and we headed back to our beds.
The next morning I was down by the water and heard a splash, then a distance away another one. It was an otter. Who knew an otter was as splashy in its own way as a moose?
On Wednesday we tidied up the cabins and headed back towards Rossport. We found a rocky island that had a channel between it. We had some fun taking turns taking photos of our intrepid paddles through the opening. The photos didn't look nearly as impressive as we imagined they would, but the island and rock formation were still wonderful. As I paddled around the outside of the island to circle back to paddle through again, I spotted some fluffy young birds on the rock who hid from me by turning their backs and facing into the rock wall.
Paddling on, we came across two women breaking camp. They were paddling a canoe from the Sibley Penninsula to Neys Provincial Park. We compared notes on their route so far. Their experience at CPR Slip was the same as we and others had experienced on previous trips – despite word that the slip was open to all, the power boaters who were there told them that they weren't welcome.
We headed up Moffat Strait, just because we'd never been there before. We were using a map from Superior Outfitters website that suggested some campsites, and there were two along this stretch. It took a while to find the site on Sabena Island. It was a great location for a small group, perched on a rocky outcrop. Masses of mayflies swirled overhead, but didn't bother us as we relaxed before dinner.
Tony was going to take over as leader the next day, and announced that we would be getting up at 6 AM for early morning calisthenics, followed by self criticism, Tai Chi, and meditation at 8. Somehow I missed all that activity.
During the night I did wake up when it started raining lightly and listened to the pitter patter of raindrops on my tent. Just as the rain started easing off, I heard the sound of hard, driving rain moving across the lake towards us and then drumming on the tents. A nice sound when you're warm and dry in your tent. Fortunately the rainy weather had passed over us by morning.
On Thursday we continued north up the Moffat Channel, then paddled east over the top of Simpson Island. As was consistent with what we'd seen earlier, there weren't many campsites along that stretch. There were a few places farther east where you could squeeze in a tent or two if you had to, but they were marginal.
Eventually Simpson Channel opened up to the lake to the south and we saw the lighthouse on Battle Island. We headed across to Vein Island. It was a 4 mile crossing with a 10 knot headwind. In terms of shortest distance, our route was the best option and it was well within our skills. But psychologically, it was a slog. Thinking of leading a group across in a similar paddle, it would be good to give the time it would take, because there was a long stretch when we saw no progress.
Reaching Vein, we landed on yet another lovely rocky beach for lunch, then headed on to Minnie and the campsite where we would stay for the next two nights.
On Friday we headed out to Battle Island, where the lighthouse stands tall and proud atop a cliff. We all started the day feeling a bit loggy, and the dark clouds developing in the east didn't inspire confidence. But Tony was still leading, and the self professed lazy man took us on the longest paddle of the trip. We continued past the lighthouse along the south side of Wilson Island, then headed north through Copper Island channel.
We wanted to visit the sandstone cliffs that Tony and Michelle had seen on a prior trip, but weren’t sure where they were. We checked the topo map and guessed, and bingo – we found them. Layers of sandstone. Ledges that extended underwater. Fallen rock, sized from rubble to huge slabs. A few sea caves. We may have left a bit of gel coat here and there.
We paddled into a bay to check out another campsite marked on the Superior Outfitters map at Little Lake Harbor as a possible future destination. As we were walking up a grassy lawn we heard the buzz of a few mosquitoes (scouts, no doubt), then suddenly we were attacked by the main force. We broke and ran for boats. The mosquitoes followed us out into the lake and we barely escaped with our lives.
We kept an eye out for Tim and Dan that day. They were paddling from Silver Islet to Rossport, but they apparently passed our campsite while we were out of sight on our day paddle.
Back at camp, we took a quick swim. It started to sprinkle. We debated about putting a tarp up and finally decided yes. Typical day on a camping trip. The tarp was a good move, as it ended up raining for an hour or so.
That night in my tent I listened to the water slap gently quietly along the shores of the surrounding islands, in contrast to the previous night's distant sounds of waves from the open lake crashing on the rocky shores of the islands to our south. In the morning we heard the sound of a large bird's wings, and looked to see an eagle launching out of a tree overhead and flying off.
On Saturday we headed back to Rossport. We unloaded our boats and packed up our cars. We stopped in at Superior Outfitters before we hit the road, and I mentioned to Dave Tamblyn that I was torn about whether to tell people about this wonderful paddling destination or keep it a secret. He said he felt the same way. Good to know that I'm not the only one who is so conflicted.
Photos are here.
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