Cracking' Up in Killarney- O' Solo Mio Style

It all started last Thanksgiving.  My back-packing pals and I decided we had so much fun hiking the Pig Portage in Killarney Park the year before, we were heading back to hike "The Crack".  The plan was to hike 5.3 km in the first day and stay at Sealy Lake.  The next day would be a 10.7 km hike through the Crack up to Heaven Lake.  We would return back to Sealy Lake the next day and hike out on the last day.

As with any well laid plan there was a glitch.  We made it to Sealy Lake and my friend started questioning if she could make it to the Heaven Lake the next day.  I knew that I had it in me to make it to the Heaven Lake, but questioned if I could make it back the next day.

Could we or couldn't we?   That was the question.....

We couldn't- was our answer.

The never ending climbing.....

We hiked back to the main campground the next day and  "Cracked" it day-hiking fashion using the Crack Access entry point (yes, that really is the name of this road ).  Entry via the access road reduces the overall km's one has to walk.  We were all about reducing walking distances on this trip.

The beginning of the access trail lulls you into a false sense of security, it is wide it is fairly even, it is a treat.  Then you pass a creek and you look up and dread fills your soul.  As far as you can see the trail keeps climbing and climbing.  When you emerge at the top you realize the climbing is not done. Nope.... you have at least another 20 minutes of up and down before you are even reach the "Mid"-Crack.  Rugged would be an understatement.... but the views and peacefulness at the top are well worth the pain of getting there.

View of OSA and Killarney Lake from the top of the Crack

We spent the night at the main campground- car camping, minus the luxuries of car camping.  Then we headed home.  Incidentally that was one of the coldest nights of my life.  I had on all my clothes and jackets, a toque, mitts and four Hot Paws activated in my sleeping bag and I still shivered all night.

Enter the Jar of Possibilities.  When I was coming up with my challenges for the Jar I knew that one of the things that I wanted to cross of my bucket list was to hike the Crack with my pack on.  To accomplish this, would prove that I am more resilient than I think I am.

Lake George and Freeland Lake

Challenge issued, challenged planned.  When I drew Challenge #3-  Plan and book a trip for the future-  the Crack was the trip that I planned.  I could not convince my back-packing crew to join me on this adventure, so solo trip it would be.   All I had to do was wait for August to arrive.

Now I am fresh back from my trip.  Battered,  bruised and walking with a slight limp, but I survived.  If I had started typing this post on the night that I came back it would have had a very different tone.  When I left Killarney I did not look back.  I was over the moon thrilled to be getting out of there and be on my way back to the land of the Timmie's Creamy Chocolate Chill.   When recounting my stories to my brother he said "And you do this for fun??????".  Trust me that same thought ran through my head a bazillion times during my hike on the shores of Lake Superior and again on the La Cloche trail.  The only thing that kept the Beast from appearing on this trip, was the knowledge that I was not a canoer.  I ran into a few Mr. Canoehead's on the trip and all I could think was.... you poor, poor sucker.  First you have to carry a canoe up and over this crap and then go back down and carry a pack over it again.

No

Thank

You

Any desire to canoe has been permanently eradicated from my mind.  Not gonna happen.  No sireee.

Trees-  Nature's Clotheslines

But it is now another day and I have experienced the transformative powers of a hot shower and a sleep in my comfy bed.   If someone asked me to hike Killarney today I would probably say yes.  In fact, I have started planning my next solo Killarney trip.

I could not have asked for better weather for my trip.  It was a perfect temperature for hiking and there was a breeze.  Most of the rain happened over night and didn't last long in the morning.  The route I was taking was the same route that we planned in the fall.  On the walk into Sealy Lake I thought "Why did we think this was so hard in the Fall???".

I had plenty of time to set-up camp, bear hang the food and pump water before retiring to an enjoyable evening of reading Harry Potter.   I also found an unlikely bonus of hiking alone.  You can strip down to your sports bra and tra-la-la around,  as there is no one else around.  Clothes dry so much faster when you get rid of the layers.

Sealy Lake-  my playground the first night

By 8:30 pm I started nodding off, only to be awaken by lots of splashing in the lake.  Was that a large hoofed animal that was coming onto the site?  I couldn't bring myself to open up the tent flap to find out.  Then there was what sound like foot fall on the other side of the tent..... Was someone there?  Crap why did I leave the knife in the pack.  In the twilight of night my fears were heightened.  Too heightened to sleep.  It is a good thing that I had the company of Mr. Potter to help pass the time.

I awoke at the first light of dawn and packed-up camp.  I was on the trail by 7:30 ready to attack The Crack.  I knew what the first 3.3 km had in store for me-  an easy trail trot followed by km after km of climbing up hills, up rocks, up more rocks and then finally the top.  At the crest I stopped to admire the view and to have a break from the pack.  The breeze was delightful.  All in all I felt victorious... I had conquered the Crack.  Now on to explore new territory.

Pre- Crack warm-up & up & up & up

What would the rest of the trail be like?

Hard!  Very, very hard.  There continues to be lots of downs followed by up, up, ups.

At one point the trail leads right up to a ledge, that from a distance, looks like it has a sheer drop on the other side.   There is a cairn at the edge indicating the trail continues on the other side.  I tentatively sidled up to the edge and peaked over.

Are you FREAKIN' KIDDING ME!!!!!!

I don't recall any notes on Jeff's Map or in the trail guide that indicated the need to include Bat Man's utility belt as part of your camping gear.  I would have paid good money for that belt or at least the grappling hook.  I will admit I was nervous.  It was a long bumpy way to the bottom.  I was half tempted to roll my pack down the hill so I wouldn't have to contend with its tendency to pull me off balance, but fear that I would break the stove or water filter stopped me from going through with that plan.

It was time to choose a path, say a prayer to the trail gods and start descending.   I was glad I was on my own, as I would have been embarrassed as all hell if anyone had witnessed my lumbering bear walk/Ninjaesque skulking down the narrow ledge to the next level.  This 4-point walking mania continued until I reached the bottom.

I know that I am prone to exaggeration, but this time I don't even think I could come close to embellishing this experience.  Here is my photo graphic evidence.  PS if you are hiking the La Cloche trail this section is directly before you get to the turn off to the Little Superior Lake campsite.  If you don't like heights you might want to rethink your hiking plans.  When I reached the bottom I shuddered, knowing that I would have to climb this the next day.

UGH!

The Top notice the cairn to the left

The middle

The last 15-16 feet-  there is more up there.
It was too steep to fit in the picture

Before I continue there is something that you must know.  My mother has the ability to place "curses" on her children.  The curse is usually disguised as some sage piece of advice, you don't heed it, what she says happens to you.  Don't believe me.... here is an example.  In Grade 3 I received a pair of jeans that had a shiny silver star on the back pocket for Christmas.  How I loved those jeans, they made me feel special.  So special I felt that covering the star somehow diminished the power of the jeans.  I was prepared to suffer, not to let that happen.  My plan-  I would not wear my ski pants at recess. Who cares if it was -35 degrees Celsius with a windchill.  I didn't!   The star must been seen.  Now my mother guessed my plan and said to me that morning- "You better wear your ski-pants at recess".  I looked her in the eye and said I would, all the while fully planning not to.  Well recess came and I boldly exited the school sans ski-pants.  Ohh the thrill of doing something that you're not supposed to.  I was giddy with the power...... and that is when it happened.  I tripped and fell.  As I stood up I looked down and there was a gaping hole in the knee of my jeans.  No more special pants and a lot of inventive story-telling to cover-up my walk on the wild side.

 Mother 1-                   Max- 0.

Will you be climbing on any rocks she asks?
Just a few.....

The night before I left for this trip my mother asked "Will you be doing much hiking over rocks?"  When I responded yes, she said "Well walk carefully so that you don't slip and fall."

Do you see where this is headed.....

Yep.

La Cloche Trail /Mother- 4-       Max-  sore..... I mean 0.

It was not like I was doing cart-wheels or daredevil balancing on one leg.  I tried to be very cognizant as to where I was placing my feet with every step.   But whether my legs were just too tired or I lost concentration for a brief second... it just seemed to happen. I fell and I fell lots.  As the falls continued I realized that downhills are not my friend.  I would far prefer, sucking wind, climbing a hill vs trying to go down them.

The first fall was on a short steep decent.  I had just lifted my left foot to take another step when my right slipped out from under me.  I saw the jagged edge of the tree trunk heading for my torso and I instinctively rolled my body to the right, landing on my back, wedged between the tree truck and the rock.  I felt a momentary pain in my hip and realized I must of hit it on something on my way down.  The pain was quickly replaced by the laughter the welled up in me.  Picture it.  I am lying there facing the blue sky, feet dangling not touching the ground with a 58 lbs pack strapped to my back, sandwiched between a rock and hard place.  I could not get the picture of a topsy turvy turtle out of my head, especially as I struggled to get back to an upright position.

I dusted myself off and continued on.  The next two falls resulted from my feet sliding out from under me and end with me on my ass... thank goodness for bubble butt padding.

The last fall of the day was the substantial one, it could have been a game changer.  I was half-way down a hill and my right foot started sliding while my left foot stayed planted.  The pack weight shifted and I went down at an odd angle.  I felt a pop as I heard a snap.  I couldn't feel my left foot.

Crap, Crap, Crappity,  Crap........ did I just break my fibula?

No.  I refused to accept that I had a broken  bone.  It was not happening.  I tried but could not move my left foot.  I tried again and saw some movement of my boot.  That was around the time the searing pain set in.  It burned...  it let me know that yes in deed,  I did have an ankle and that ankle was not happy with me.  I slowly stood up on my right leg and tested putting weight on the left foot.  It hurt, but the leg didn't crumple under me, so worse case scenario it was a sprain.  I was just thankful it wasn't a break.

See the next closest peak... I was there a few hours before

I ended up taking on some interesting roles on the trail.  The first role was messenger.  I was stopped by two dudes who asked me to deliver a message to their friend who was hiking down from Silver Lake.  They were supposed to meet him but were unable to make it to the lake, but wanted to let him know that they were okay.

See the yellow blaze... yellow blazes= home

The next role was benefactor.  It seems that Heaven Lake is aptly named because hikers who make it here are too exhausted to take another step.  I know when I rounded the corner and saw the yellow blaze I started weeping, at least that's what I would have done if I was not so dehydrated  (and to think I drank over 3 liters of water while on the trail).  

Later on that day when I went to hang the food pack I saw someone laying on their pack guzzling down water.  It was the other solo woman back-packer that I had met earlier in the day.  She had taken a wrong turn and walked 3.1 km in the wrong direction.  This meant she had 27.1 km to walk that day and from my site she still had 20 km to go.

She looked at me and said "I am just sooooo fuckin' tired.... can I camp here tonight!"  I agreed and then we were two.

About an hour later a group of 5 teens showed up.   I was in my tent reading Harry Potter.  I thought they were just replenishing their water but later on I found out that they too were to tired to walk to their stop which was 1.9 km further up the trail.  They asked if they could camp on the site-  I of course agreed.... they had about 30 minutes of daylight left and a storm was coming in fast.  They just got their tents up when the rain started pouring down.

And then we were seven.

Heaven Lake

I was hoping that sharing Heaven Lake would buy me some good karma for the walk over slippery rocks the next day.

As it turns out it was lucky that I agreed to let them stay on the site.  Without those tents I would not have been able to find mine.

Yes-  I lost my tent.

I had to pee in the middle of the night so I meandered over to a quiet locale to pee (you had to walk about .2 of a km to the privy on this site and that was not going to happen).  I was just finishing up when the batteries in my flashlight died.... too much reading by flashlight.

What the hell!

Okay don't panic, you can do this.  Sure it is pitch black and you can hardly see and you are having trouble putting weight on your foot but you can do this.  Slow and steady.  Use Lefty to feel the ground and direct you.

I could vaguely make out the ledge that dropped down to the campfire area... I quickly backed away from that.   I knew there as a rock section before my tent and then some grass followed by rock again.  I could feel the difference under my feet and saw the vague outline of the tent, I bent down to undo the fly and that is when a small voice said......"Is this your tent?".

I thought I should check first.   Nope not my tent.  It was one of the other hiker's tent.  I reoriented my body squaring off and then headed back across the rock toward where my tent should be.

I found it.... I found it....... 30 second dance party (arms only as my ankle and legs were hurting too much to participate).

I took this as a good omen

Everyone was up by 6:30 the next day.... I probably instigated that...oops it is hard to be quiet when you are stuffing things into a stuff sack.  I was packed and ready to head out by 7:15.  That is when the trail gods decided to send us all a sign that it was going to be a fantastic day on the trail...... a double rainbow.  It was bright and vivid and so close it felt like I could touch it.  Definitely a good sign.  I waved good-bye to the crew and set off to head down the Crack.

Upon my return trip I became a trail guide.  A large group of teens were headed out.  I met up with them will I was standing at the top of a slick rocky section, contemplating how I was going to get down it.  The teens came prancing up- dee do doolly dee dee dee and practically skipped down the slippery rocks.  Well at least the first two did, the third took an epic wipeout.  After that it seemed every second or third teen was down on the same section.  I will admit I was laughing in the inside.  I am not the only one who falls on downhills.

Well the last teen was the weakest link.  It did not take long for her to lag behind the group.  At one point she turned off the trail and started up the side of a hill.  I pointed out she was going the wrong way and directed her back to the trail.  This happened two more times.  One of her friends eventually came back to find her and took her pack.  I did not see them again.... the teenage herd was moving too fast for me.

I don't know when I got it in my mind that I wanted to hike out but once the seed was planted I could not stop thinking about it.  The plan had been to stay at Sealy again and hike out the last 5.3 km the next day.  I had visions of all the things that I could do if I hiked out-

• I could go buy apples. Yum- crispy crunchy apples.
• Mmmmm- Timmie's Creamy Chocolate Chill
• Burger's a Harvey's-  a post Killarney tradition
• Washing in a sink- finally getting rid of the multi-layers of salt, perspiration and grime.
• Clean clothes.
• My bed

All of it sounded delightful.  I made a deal with myself- if I made it to Sealy Lake by 2:00 pm I would hike all the way out making my grand total km for the day a whopping 16 k.  I reached Sealy Lake 2:02 pm.... close enough.  

The last 1.5 km were the hardest.  By that time my toes were blistered and I don't know what burned more- my feet, shoulders, neck or ankle.  I had "Just one more step, just one more step, just one more, one more, one more step" looping in my head.  I made it down the last hill and was euphoric.  I did it, I am steps away from the truck and freedom.  I made it out.  

The first thing I did was dump my boots and sit on the tail-gate letting the breeze whip at the soles of my stinky, stinky feet.  I feel sorry for anyone who was down wind, but I was not prepared to move at that moment.  

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Next stop-  Harvey's for a Bacon Cheese Angus burger, followed by Timmie's drive through for beverages.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

Three hours later I was home and content.

A just cause picture

Maybe this might be a safer way to camp in the future.

Till next year Killarney-  I bid you ado!

Superior Adventures in Beast Mode.....

August long weekend marked the official start to my back-packing season.  The plan was to take two days to back-pack the portion of the Lake Superior Park Costal trail from Katherine's Cove to Orphan Lake.  10 km of rugged scenic trail.  The group would then convalesce at Orphan Lake for 4 days before returning to civilization.  That was the plan, until my friend decided the terrain for this section of trail might be too rugged for her to navigate with a 55- 60lbs pack strapped to her back.  She was out and so was her son.

And then there was one.

I was faced with a decision.... continue with the trip as planned or proceed with my friend and her son and go in at the Orphan Lake parking area.   I waffled in my resolve for only a second and then my decision was made.  Solo back-packing it would be.

I still intended to hike the 10 km's over two days, as originally planned.  See I had back-packed the first 2.5 km of this section with the dog and knew a little of what I would be in for.  Boulders, slippery rocks, etc.  Breaking the trip into two days would ensure that I was able to move by the time I made it to Orphan Lake.

Well I should have cc'd Mother Nature in on my plan.  On the day we headed up to start our adventure, the weather predictions had changed.  The promised six days of sun and minimal cloud coverage had been replaced by one day of sun and multiple days of rain and rain cloud mix.

Enter dilemma.....

See Lake Superior rocks can be slippery without rain... add rain and they become treacherous... a lesson I learnt last year when my foot slipped and I impaled my shin on a rock (yep, you could see the bone).

Now what do I do?

Hike the whole thing?

Stick with the original plan and hike 1/2 and 1/2, risking further rock encounters?

Hike as far as I could and then stay put until the rain let up and then hike the rest of the way?

So many things to think about on the 2.5 hour drive up.  By the time we pulled into the Katherine's Cove parking lot I still had not made up my mind which option I was going to go with.  I said good-bye to my friends and told them that if I was not there by Monday evening to go and get some help. I waved good-bye and started my trek down the sand beach.

Robertson's Cove 

An example of boulder beaches

I made it to Robertson's cove in less time then I predicted I would need.  I rested here for a while.  It was heavenly to have an excuse to take off the pack.  I longed to set-up camp there, the private sand beach makes this cove a little slice of paradise, but knowing that would make the next day a 7.5km hike in the rain I decided the safe option was to press on.

I wiggled and squirmed my way into the pack straps. Locked and loaded the journey continued....
next stop Coldwater Creek.  From the previous excursion to Robertson's Cove with the dog, I knew that the trail increased in ruggedness the further north you head.  What I did not anticipate was how poorly the trail was marked in some places.  At one point I looked up to see this smooth rock wall looming in front of me.  I commented under my breath-  "Surely to God I don't have to scale that!"  As I rounded the corner I saw the trail leading into the forest.

Whew!

This reaction was short lived.   The trail ended 2 feet in the forest.  There looked like there might be a trail that wound up the side of the rock wall.  I followed it until I reached a chest high rock face.

My lunch time view from the top of the Wall O' Rock

Was this the trail?  Did it go through the bush??????  Did I miss a turn?  This is around the time that "WTF!!!!!" became my go to statement.  I used it with reckless abandon for the rest of the journey.  No censorship required... there were no juvenile ears to here my dazzling combinations of swear and curse words.

This rock barrier provided me with an excuse to take my pack off (truth be known there was no way I could have climbed this section with my pack on.... there were no toe or hand holds, so it required a good ole' heave ho to climb it).   I was loathe to put the pack on,  my worry was I would hike on only to find out that I made a wrong turn at Albuquerque and I would need to back-track down the rock wall.

Solution:  Scouting pack free.   It took a few minutes but I eventually found a blaze that confirmed I was on the trail.  Since the pack was already off I decided this was the perfect spot to have my lunch.

Cairn's and Blue Blazes.... without which I would be lost.

 I prolonged lunch as long as I could but there was no escaping the inevitable.  I needed to put the pack back on.   Now if you have never put on a fully loaded back-pack my one piece of advice is pack placement pre-donning is very important.  It can make the donning process easy or  very, very difficult.  Sadly there was no "boost" area to place my pack and it was too heavy for me to do the one arm hook and toss.   I sat down on the rock and scooted my way back to the straps.  Arms in the straps I leaned forward, but I leaned too far and the weight of the pack tipped me over so that my forehead was touching the ground.  I shifted back to correct the weight distribution and was able to make it into a reasonably upright position and then came the hard part..... standing-up.   Noises came out of me that I had never heard before.  A new respect for Olympic weight-lifters blossomed in that moment.

If I wasn't before, I am now convinced Lake Superior has it out for me.  See I have a "small" obsession with rocks and Lake Superior rocks are absolutely fantastic.  I spend hours combing through piles of cobble beaches to find my "favourites".  Each year I en masse a big collection of rocks that have the potential to make it into my collection.  I then spend days agonizing over which specimen(s) I am willing to schlep out the 4km of uphill trail.   This has been my habit since starting back-packing 8 years ago.  I think Gitche Gumee has had enough of my thievery and has decided if I don't cease and desist it will take out its revenge on my shins and body.

What finally convinced me?

My wipe-out on dry rocks.  I can't say what caused it, all I know is one moment I was standing up the next my face was hurtling toward a rock.  I stuck my left hand out to save my face and the last two fingers on my left hand bent in a way they were never meant to bend.  I screamed..... "FUCK!" (Yup... I went there).  I was sure the fingers were going to break but luckily my shins hit the rocks and took some of the weight off my hand.  I am sure "FUCK" repeated incessantly while I assessed the damage to my hand and legs.   The fingers had gone numb but I could bend them..... not broken but potentially sprained.  The shins were scraped and bleeding, but no gaping holes, so that was a bonus.    There was no recourse but to stand-up and keep walking.

You would think that after that, my sunny disposition would have gone the way of the Doo Doo but nope... that would come later,  much later.

An example of what I could have landed on

I continued on my merry way and made sure that I took extra time crossing over the boulder beaches and areas where I needed to step from stone to stone.  Somewhere in this section of the trail the "foot path" on the rocks narrowed and became a small ledge that was about 5 feet above the water.  I knew  I had to navigate this section with care,  because one slip of the foot or a shift in the pack weight and I would drop down into the waves that were crashing in below me.   Luckily there were small crevices in the rock that I could hold onto while navigating this 30 foot section of trail.  I made it out the other side and continued on.

Tom Hanks in Castaway had "Wilson", I had my pack and my pack's name had finally revealed itself-  Dirty Rotten Bastard or Bastard for short.  Bastard had become an entity of its own.   I would go left it would pull me right.  The shift in weight to the sides, front or back threw- off my centre of gravity and made balance a dicey thing.  I regretted inviting Bastard to join me on this trip.  I felt my general outlook on life would be better if Bastard had remained at home.  But alas, Bastard was needed.  He housed all my essentials.  My love/hate relationship with Bastard would continue for the remainder of the journey.

By this time I was close to the half way mark.  I was getting excited-  then I saw the crevice.  That gaping

No crevice pics.  I was too busy praying.

hole in the rock.  I tried stepping over it- it was too wide.  I headed to the bush to look for a way around.  No go.  There were too many trees down and I could not get over or under them.  Back to the crevice.  I knew that I could jump it without Bastard on my back, but Bastard was to heavy to toss to the other side and I couldn't leave him.... as much as I wanted to.  The only solution that I could see was to jump.   I had reservations.  Could I even make the jump??????? I stood there pondering and then decided Fuck It.... I'm jumping.  Sure, there was at least a 12 foot drop from the top of the crevice to the rocks below,  but what the hell!  I figured best worst case scenario would be my bubble butt, child-bearing hips and pack would create a tri-fecta of perfection which would save me.  I would be wedged in the crevice, Winnie the Pooh style and would have to wait for help, but at least I would be alive.   Worst case scenario....... well no point in going there.  I lumbered up to the crevice at full lumbering speed and jumped.  I landed on the other side, the momentum drove me forward, nothing a few quick steps couldn't handle.

That obstacle down.  It couldn't get worse right?  RIGHT???????

Coldwater River-  This is the longest beach section of the trail.  You would think that by this point, after the rocky ledges and crevice jumping that I would be thrilled to have a long stretch of beach to walk on.  You would be wrong.

Instead, I had a very long "What do I hate more "list going in my head.... boulder beaches, sand beaches, cobble beaches, or any combination there off.  With each step I added another con to the growing list of cons for each and every type of beach I had encountered or knew was coming.  The end result-  I loathe walking on beaches.  Beaches + Bastard = feet burning, sand getting in your boots, extra effort to take steps..... all things that are the exact opposite of delightful.

It was beach walking or staying and given the close proximity of these sites to the Highway and possible encounters with dubious humans, I decided to keep walking.  Fear, such an excellent motivator.

The Voyageur map that I was referencing talked about a bridge that you can use to cross the Coldwater River.  I figured there would be a foot bridge further up the coast.  Nope.  The makers of this trail guide meant hikers had to walk-up to the highway and cross there.

NUTS!

I was in no mood to double back so I forged on.  I stood at the edge of the river, which by this time of year was more liked a large stream and contemplated my options.

• I could walk through the river.  This option had merit but the risk of a double soaker was high and not a popular option as I detest walking in wet boots.   
• I could change my mind and walk back to the bridge... boo, hiss!  
• I could try and levitate over the water
• ..... maybe build a bridge of my own using Lake Superior cobble?  

Although the subsequent options made me chuckle, they were not helpful.  If I didn't want to back track, I would have to suck it up and try and fjord the river.  Luckily I found a shallow section and was able to cross without water flooding into my boots.  A small celebration ensued.

The celebration was short lived.  I was tired and sore and regretting not staying at the Coldwater campsites.  That is when I looked up and saw the second section of rock wall climbing that I would have to do.  This section was shorter than the first and had only a 3 feet drop to the pounding surf but it lacked hand holds.  I threw my weight toward the rock, fearful that one twitch of Bastard would send me backward and lead to death by drowning.  Just imagine my surprise when I ran into a family out on the trail who took not only their toddler but a baby out over that section of the trail. Maybe that is why they were sitting there looking glum.... they knew they had to go back over it and were not looking forward to that circus.

Enter the Baldhead.  All these years of camping at Orphan Lake we have called the Baldhead-  Baldhead Mountain, as it looks rather mountainous from the other side of the river..... but according to the trail guide the proper name is Baldhead Hill.  Let me tell you, it does not feel like a hill when you are climbing it.  At one point I found a rock I could sit on to take off some of the pack weight.  I came dangerously close to falling asleep like this, not once but twice.  I made myself stand up and forge on.  The view from the top of "the hill" was worth the climb.

View from the top of the Baldhead

See, very steep

Making it down the other side of the Baldhead I had a choice stay at the campsite at the base or traverse the looming cobble beach...... cobble bitch is more like it.  What made my decision for me was the closest camp site involved a big hill and rock climbing to get water.

Water access.... sure to slip in.  

Tally ho!!!!!!

As soon as my feet hit the cobble I wanted to cry.   I forced
myself to walk 10 steps at a time until I reached 100.  I figured that meant I was 100 steps closer to ending this torture.  I was having a hard time controlling the vile thoughts in my head.  The preceding 9 km of walking had successfully unleashed my inner Cracken.  If I had encountered a bear at that moment I would have invited it for a throw-down. I was that mad..... that ornery!  I had entered Beast Mode!!!!!!!

Trying to distract my inner beast I started fantasizing about my friend and her son coming down the
beach and offering to carry Bastard back to the campsite.  That did not happen..... Beast was not happy.... Beast was very, very ANGRY!  This is about the time I caught up with the day hikers who were in front of me.  They were standing on the bridge that I needed to cross, blocking the whole thing.  Dad was giving his son a lesson in bridge building......

"See what they did here son is they put slats of wood side by side and they laminated them together.... let's see 1, 2, 3, 4......... 20!  20- 2X4's placed side by side, then they drilled a hole through them all and stuck in a lag screw.  And well see this lag screw........."

This is what I listened too, not so patiently, while I glared at them.  I could have asked them to move, but I didn't trust that nice words would come out of my mouth.   I was barely able to control my desire to  "Choke Slam" and pound the crap out of the lot of them.

Eventually my piercing stare caught Mr. Blah Blah Blah's attention and they moved.  Blah Blah was so apologetic, my Beast Mode was broken and I grunted out "Pack heavy, want to be done!", as way of explanation.  As I broke through the clearly and walked down my last stretch of cobble beach.... Fuck I hate cobble..... I sighed knowing that Bastard and I could file for a trial separation for the next 5 days.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The view from my resting place.

Prologue-  I have a habit of not weighing my pack before hiking.  There are somethings that are better left unknown.  In this case my best estimate was the pack was 58 lbs.  Well I was sorely mistaken.  See I broke my cardinal rule and weighed my pack prior to my next back-packing trip.  It was 58lbs but way, way smaller.  The pack I carried into Superior was loaded to the top tier.  So in essence the pack was topping 60+ lbs.  I am glad I did not know that then..... 58 lbs seems like such a more manageable number.  

Glory Days

Photo from Wikipedia

I don't know about you, but for me nothing brings on a flashback like a song.  Today while travelling to Elliot Lake- 92.1 "The Moose" played "Glory Days" by Bruce Springsteen.  Instantly I was back in the family trailer.  It was a hot prairie day and my brother had pester me into submission.

I had agreed to play table hockey, as long as he spotted me two points and we could listen to "Born in the USA" on his ghetto blaster.  I was intent on winning,  mainly because my brother had a tendency to gloat when he won and I did not want to endure a week of " I won, I won, I won" taunts.  I let the music guide my playing.    The players slide down their track and twirled around in-sync the beats of "Born to Run" and "Dancing in the Dark".  Bruce helped me win that day and his album became my go to back-ground music for any and all board hockey games for the rest of the summer.

Picture from www.discogs.com

For the rest of the trip "The Moose" acted as my time-machine.  Every song they played brought me back in time and set off a memory chain reaction in my head.  My favourite recall of the drive was this particular memory from my pre-teen years.

Picture from www.amazon.com

Picture it, a small prairie town where imagination is your best friend, as there is little for a pre-teen to do to occupy the long months of summer.  I was rocking the dreaded Nana Mouskouri hairdo;  as much a one can rock the "Mouskouri".  Every night I would pray to the divine powers that be, that Mom would finally relent her stance on feathering + bangs and would let me get the TJ Hooker-  Heather Locklear hair-cut of my dreams.  All would be right with the world if my hair looked like Heather Locklear's.  I could forget about the fact that I now needed to wear glasses and that there was an ever present gap between my front teeth.

If I had "the Locklear" people would not notice my glasses or  the gap because they would be entranced... neigh... mesmerized by my glorious, glorious, hair.  Alas, my mother's stance did not change.  The Mouskouri was to continue to be my fated hair-style for a least one more year.

As I mentioned there seemed to be little to do in those pre-teen years.  I was getting too old to ride my bike up and down the dirt hills and although I still enjoyed tips to the playground, it felt blasé.  The Mall was pretty limited even back then and the fact that it was on the outskirts of town made it impossible to visit without assistance from parental transportation.

The Pool was what turned out to be the hottest ticket in town that year.   I became addicted and a self-appointed pool rat.  I and my BFF could be found at the pool rain or shine.  Sure my best friend and I loved to swim, but what was more important that summer was our love for the lifeguards.

We were    L     O      V      E...... in love.

Many a night was spent on the phone planning on how we would win the hearts of our hero's in little red shorts.  Her love interest was David Wildepants..... mine Peter Enigma (names have been changed to protect the identity of objects of our affections).

The "Plan" usually ended up being a variation of the following:

BFF and I would head down extra early to wait in line for the pool to open. We would bring entertainment in the form of the most recent issue of Teen Beat, a tape player and  taped copies of The Smothers Brothers or Bill Cosby albums to listen to while we waited.  We felt that this would demonstrate our grasp of current pop culture and our sophisticated sense of humour.

Who doesn't love an informed funny girl?

The other reason why we wanted to be first in line, was it gave us close proximity to the office where the Lifeguards hung-out and talked.  Each day we had a mission to learn something new about the objects of our affection.  It may have looked like we were absorbed in leafing through the glossy pages of magazines, but really we were engrossed in the Lifeguard's idle chit-chat.

What they like Duran Duran...... Cory Hart!!!!!!

Photo from www.papermag.com

The next day our musical selection would reflect this new bit of intel.   We didn't mind this type of variation in our routine.  It gave us a chance to dedicate some quality time to another one of our obsessions that summer- fantasizing about our "celebrity" crushes..... (it was important to have a back-up boyfriend choice.... you know, just in case we were unsuccessful in winning over our lifeguards).

Every now and then David and Peter would comment on our music choices or reading material and we would be on top of the world for the rest of day.... okay truthfully the rest of the week.  This little bit of attention seemed to solidify the fact that it was possible that the predictions scribbled in our journal would one day become true...... yes I would be Mrs. Peter Enigma and my friend Mrs. David Wildepants.  How I wanted it to be true.  How I prayed for it to be true.

One fateful day BFF, another classmate and I showed up to take our post by the pool doors,  only to read the pool was closed.

WHAT????

How can you woo Lifeguards when you can't get close to them and you cannot show off your swimming and diving skills?

Solution:  Spend the day at the wading pool.

 Lifeguard adjacent.

Awesome.

Initially it appeared our plan was doomed to fail.  The Lifeguards did what they were paid to do.  They cleaned the deck, checked on the pool, etc.  How sad.  All our scheming and we would have nothing to show for it.  Luckily for us our classmate was more vocal and out-going than us.  Her constant laughing and hamming it up got the attention of the Lifeguards and low and behold they invited us to join them in the big pool area.

(Insert teenage girl shrieking and giddiness here)

Photo from www.elvispresleymusic.com.au

What ensued was fun and frolicking on the deck of the big pool.  A private pool party with the Lifeguards of our dreams.  My BFF and classmate were skilled flirters and they put their talents to good use.  They orchestrated water fights and being tossed into the pool.  It was awesome fun to watch.

Where was I?

Initially I participated in the hi-jinx, but eventually I found myself retreating and sitting on the diving board.  See I was and still tend to be on the shy side.  I have a clear awareness of my strengths and limitations and my flirting skills are definitely not up to par.  It was safer to sit on the side-lines and watch vs. crashing and burning while attempting to flirt.  I did not want to be the reason my BFF did not get her man.

While I was sitting there wishing that I had been blessed with the ability to flirt and hoping that by some stroke of genius I would be able to tap into my inner extrovert, Peter Enigma snuck up behind me and flipped me off the board into the pool.

EEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

He noticed me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well if that moment was my last moment on the earth I would have been guaranteed to pass-on with a perm-a-grin on my face.  Thinking back on this particular memory- the perm-a-grin returns and I get all tingly and giddy.

Peter Enigma did the impossible. With that simple action he managed to make me feel like I had been transformed from my Nana Mouskouri gapped-tooth self into someone to take notice of, someone to be revered.   I was Heather Locklear in that moment.  I was memorable!!!!!!!!

I am forever thankful to Peter Enigma for making that summer one of the best summers so far and for being the perfect first crush.

For all the Peter Enigma's of the world, from all the girls that feel or have felt invisible

THANK-YOU!