On the way up through the usual North Shore fog. The dangers of bears, hypothermia, big-water canoeing while drinking, chainsaws while drinking, playing with fire while drinking, all pale into insignificance compared with driving on not enough sleep. Generally I feel, if we make it to the border we'll survive the trip.
Made it to Ontario! Just enough fog left to look cool.
Dan is pleased to be in Canada, and I think to not be driving.
Kay's: last outpost of civilization, where we stop for fishing licenses, I mean 'licences', camping permits and bait.
Chad's truck, with Kay's sign reflected oh so artistically in the window. (Thanks for letting us use the truck, Linda!)
OK, now that's art.
Chad, buying nightcrawlers and negotiating to buy the place.
We have left pavement behind; let the irresponsible behavior begin!
Put-in on the Brightsand River. Water was low this year; note the mud beach.
Another beauty shot of the put-in.
While portaging stuff down from the trucks we left people at both ends of the trail with the packs, because there were fresh bear tracks.
Me piloting up the Brightsand. [Photo by Chad]
The portage trail from the Brightsand River to Rude Lake.
Ron and a load of gear and his awesome hat.
Bear tracks here too!
The beautiful Brightsand River, and our leaky boat.
Our campsite on an island in Rude Lake. To our skilled woodsmen's eyes, there were signs that people had camped here before.
Chad, with his hat that makes him look like 'Magnum P.I' only more handsome.
One of the official Jeffrey Mark Adelmann cigars.
Gearing up for fishing.
A bench, presumably built by prehistoric natives for worshipping the lake. [Photo by Chad]
Ron enjoying the bench built by the ancients.
Chef Jeff.
More gearing up for fishing.
More fiddling with gear.
Crank that baby on tight and it'll stay. For a while. Better tie it on, too, just in case.
Pretty.
Typical shot of the sky. I believe this is the first Canada trip ever during which I did not ever put on my rain gear.
Our neighbors across the lake, passing by.
The slightly disturbing grave-looking hole behind our campsite.
Pretty.
Typical forest floor: squishy moss over decayed wood over bedrock.