Going it alone on the Bay

Going It Alone on the Bay                   Tim Dyer  Oct, 2015

This summer, White Squall offered an opportunity for people to be on their own for two nights and three days on a remote outer island in Georgian Bay.

The inspiration came from solo experiences my wife Kathy and I both had in our youth.  Hers was in the Rockies of BC while mine was in the Sangre de Cristo mountains of southern Colorado.   They were very strong moments in our lives, with the endless wondering that comes from being  ‘out there’.   It invokes a special connection to the wilderness that has stayed with us all this time.

Four people took up our challenge, and so it was that one fine summer day I accompanied them out to a wild island looking out on the sweep of the open Bay.  The island had three large points of land jutting out, separated by crystal clear inlets. Perfect for the purpose, we landed each one on a point, and the fourth chose another smaller island just to the south.  Far enough away that they would have to look hard and faraway to see each other, it was far more rewarding to gaze westwards to wind, waves and wide-open skies.

They set up shelter in small trees and made small campfires near their tarps.  Keeping vigil with flame and warmth is a powerful part of a solo.  As a group they had decided to go with almost no food and just a few tea bags.  That first night brought a cold rain and I’m sure they were happy to tuck into their shelter and wait out the night.

My job was to camp nearby on a rocky islet and make a daily check by boat.   Without words exchanged, I would wave from offshore and look for their reply to ensure they were ok.  The days passed quickly for me, as I wandered surrounding islands pretending I was Huck Finn on the loose.  For them, time passed more softly and when it was time to gather up for return on Day 3 – I couldn’t help notice the reunion was absent the usual pent-up energy we give off in our normal life days.  Instead, they were happy to listen, to share what happened and to be together diving into a big bag of nuts and chocolate!

So what does it all mean?  Who knows, and who cares!  The whole point was simply to get out there and do it.  There can be some fine things that come of being alone in the wild and then again maybe it’s just a simple knowing that a warm bed, hot supper and people who love you are worth celebrating. We’re all just travellers and this journey was one they took on with courage.  The Bay gave them back all they needed..

GEORGIAN BAY’S NORTHEAST BAY COAST

There is a certain mystery to this wild corner of Georgian Bay, brought on by few roads, far too many islands for one short lifetime and sparkling reefs just waiting for a southwest blow. It’s a land that needs respect. Never a hub of commerce, there was a time a few short decades ago, when steel magnates dreamed and schemed for a “Pittsburgh of the North” to spring from its shores. Distance, weather and her own secret ways kept this human intervention from happening. It’s our blessed luck, because today this land of rock, trees and water has become a paddler’s dream.

Nobody has really said for sure, but the northeast seems to begin at Parry Sound. It’s a good place to start. Historic and deep, “The Sound” has been home to people for thousands of years. To the west are the Mink and McCoy Islands, ancient summer home and fishing grounds for the Algonqians, the first people of the Bay. In more recent times, the southern Minks were home to several families working some of the most productive fishing grounds on the Bay. Now, the islands are left mostly to themselves, with a few very determined summer residents. These rocky isles are some of the last as one looks to the open west. There is a special feeling to be camped out there and experience a westerly blow from a well-anchored tent! The Mink and McCoy group is lonely yet close. From Snug Harbour, a quiet cove north of Parry Sound, a three-hour paddle will bring you there. But those can be three long hours if the wind rises. Go with care.

Journeying north to Pointe au Baril, cottages, powerboats and summer people abound amongst the myriad channels. But for the intrepid paddler, a more solitary challenge awaits. Keeping to the outside, the Hangdog reefs guard the near wilderness of that place where Bay water meets shore. Once past the Hangdog, the coast becomes both quieter and tougher. Perhaps the most difficult piece in a southwesterly blow is the Head Island reefs. Innocent looking in a breeze, they need to be given a wide berth when things get wild. But the Bay gives back. The outlets of the Naiscoot River empty on this shore, and provide a wonderful refuge from Bay winds. You can spend days exploring these calm channels.

North and beyond lies Byng Inlet, the mouth of the Magnetawan River, and home to the villages of Britt and Byng Inlet. A hundred years ago, the people there thrived on trees. Logs, floated down the “Mag,” were gathered, milled, boomed and shipped to insatiable southern markets. Much quieter now, today’s residents are a friendly, community-minded folk who have made their own way with the rugged landscape.

Byng is a good starting point for the real northeast corner of the Bay. A few kilometres up lies Champlain Island, site of an old fishing station and dotted with excellent camping spots. Paddling north, the Churchill Islands and the One Tree Island group appear. The latter is well out and exposed to the open Bay, but affords spectacular vistas for the adventurous traveller.

In this corner of the Bay, Key Harbour is the last access on the east shore. Be ready though for a 13 kilometre paddle up the inlet to Highway 69 and the nearest road connection. This distance, and the lack of other access has been the single most important reason why the area hasn’t been overrun with boats and people. Simply put, it takes some effort and will to get here. It could have been different. The harbour of the Key was the site of iron ore loading docks back in the early 1900s. Huge deposits in northern Ontario were to be processed at the Key and shipped south. Some ore was transported, but developers finally realized the costs involved and shut it down, closing the door on a future of industrial development. For several decades afterwards, coal was shipped into the Key to supply rail operations farther north, but that activity too, quietly passed on.

Heading westward brings the Bay traveller to the French River delta. The outlets of this famous river of the fur trade and the labyrinth of channels and smooth granite could be cheerfully explored for a lifetime. Protection from Bay winds is gained here, and many a summer’s day can be whiled away in special spots, picking blueberries and swimming in the clear water. It’s a favourite place for boaters, but paddlers can escape by seeking the shallow channels and reefs where larger boats can’t venture.

The Bustard Islands offshore from the delta have been called the jewel in the crown of Georgian Bay’s islands. Once home to a flourishing fishing station, like other out-island communities along the Bay, the commerce has now gone. The islands beckon by seeming to be close, but many a paddler has been caught confidently heading out to them and having to turn tail with the rising wind. Once there, the possibilities are many. The east and south sides provide the most relief from powerboats, and with all the places to explore, a couple of utterly unproductive and perfectly lovely weeks could be spent here.

There is a sense of heading out when paddling westward from the Bustards. The coast is still friendly, but there are very few islands for protection. The big hurdle for paddlers has always been Point Grondine. Not a large obstacle, but what can make it nasty is the shallow reefs offshore in a southerly blow. It supposedly got its name from the fur-trading voyageurs who thought the rocks groaned from the voices of lost canoemen. One wonders if it was simply their groans from long hours battling a headwind. Whatever the reason, this spot can be gentle and calm … sometimes.

The reward farther along is an enchanting scatter of islets called the Chickens. They are a paddler’s delight with a maze of routes through low-lying rock and pine islands. Once through, heading west, a paddler comes to a decision point: Whether to be gathered into the bosom of welcoming Beaverstone Bay and the shelter of Collin’s Inlet, or to be the carefree adventurer and explore the exposed south shore of Philip Edward Island. The former has history on its side. The first people of the area, and afterwards the voyageurs, both chose the quietness of the inlet whenever the Bay looked threatening. But to take the exposed side is to laugh the adventurer’s laugh, face the wind down and carry on. Beckoning the stalwart forward are the Fox Islands, a grouping of high, pink, smooth granite with campsites one can only dream about. The white quartzite hills of Killarney are a striking backdrop to this wild waterscape.

Collin’s Inlet is framed by the north side of Philip Edward Island and the Killarney mainland. Deciding to paddle its narrow, sheltered water west takes the paddler past the historic mill town of Collin’s Inlet. In its day, the mill churned out hundreds of thousands of board feet of pine. A lumber schooner was reportedly constructed right there at the millsite. Farther along, native rock paintings give silent record to the passage of ancient canoes. At the westerly mouth of Collin’s Inlet is Chickanishing Creek. There is a road here and the creek gives access to both the inlet and the south side of Philip Edward Island. To the open west lies Killarney Bay, a large, exposed stretch of water. Once it is traversed, the paddler can escape to the Killarney village channel and a deserved stopover. The townsite was once a native fishing encampment, a fur trade post, more recently a fishing village and now home to a few hundred year-round residents. Thousands of summer vacationers visit Killarney by car and boat each year. This is the last major community in the northeast Bay before Little Current and the entrance to the North Channel. Between the two is an enchanting paddling area comprising Frazer Bay, Baie Fine and McGregor Bay. Cloaked by the Killarney hills, this area deserves exploring, with many opportunities for hiking the quartzite hills from water’s edge campsites.

A very special part of the Bay, the northeast coast is wild and gentle, travelled and remote. A place of contrasts, meant to be visited softly and with grace. A place meant for paddling people.

Tim

First World Problems……FWP’s – we all have them.  They fill our minds and hearts as being of the most importance.  And other people surely can’t have the depth of trouble we do.  But of course that’s nonsense, and all one need do is cast our eyes to other corners of this planet to realize both our good fortune and our utter arrogance.   I wrestle with that every day when someone worries about whether a boat has a rudder vs a skeg or if a particular colour clashes with their PFD.

Deriving happiness from paddling is pretty simple. I’m convinced you could have the most basic of craft (why even a 2x4 would work if you were light enough) and still embrace the joy and electricity of heading out into fresh air, waves and sunshine.  We ‘GET’ to do these things while so many cannot.  That’s a special entitlement and we need to pay that forward whenever we can.

A few weeks ago our dog Charly insisted that I take him on one last ski out on the Bay.  In case you think I’m a blithering idiot, you should know that on that morning, there was over a metre of clear blue ice out at Red Rock Lighthouse, so ol Tim figured we would be fine heading north in Shawanaga Inlet.  And we were!  The previous night’s snowfall had bonded down with the morning sun, and we were treated to a morning of perfect kick for skate-skiing on sparkling ice – flat and endless to the horizon.  Far out in the inlet, we discovered the track of an otter who had decided to kick and slide a distance of several kilometres right across the inlet.  Why would someone do that, but on a sun-filled, fresh morning, do you really need a reason?  If there is a church for wayward souls, this was it.  

We explored the outer islands and I shared my lunch with Charly on the porch of a Bay cabin in a t-shirt .  Charly took the opportunity to check out every nook and cranny of rock and snow chasing late-winter oak leaves as they skittered across the ice .  A few hours later, we’re heading home tired, happy and glad that there are wild places to explore out our backyard.

  

Life on the Edge

There is a world of difference between paddling from A to B with a neutral hull vs one that is taken up onto its edge.  The former is safe, more predictable and commonplace while the latter is for outliers and that’s where the fun is.

When you consciously put your boat on edge, you are introducing new possibilities to the water.  Instead of a long wetted surface, now those bored water molecules can interact with a shortened, curved and multi-dimensional surface.  All of a sudden the monotony of a hot afternoon gets all jazzed and crazy and you’re along for the ride.

Paddling on edge takes concentration and effort.  You want to focus on applying weight onto one cheek of your bummy-wummy down into the seat, while consciously letting the weight lift up and off the other one.  There is a corresponding pressure upwards in your alternate knee and thigh but that’s just a happy consequence.  Don’t focus on pushing up with the opposite knee because you’ll cause your lower unit to seize up and folks, do you really want a seized up lower unit – really?   You’re better off controlled and relaxed and that comes from the cheap trick – oops, I meant “cheek” trick.

The follow through is in the legs and feet.  Experiment with relaxing your ankle and relaxing your leg on the edged side.  Let it lie in the belly the hull along the seam.  If you are feeling rambunctious, , you can even take your foot right off, fully extending your leg and again letting it lie low on the seam.  That gives you more weight to the side of the hull, offering a more solid paddling stance with quite a noticeable change in turning ability.

Once you got that figured out, you have to address your upper body and best for that is remaining overtop the midline of the kayak looking end to end.  If you start leaning out – then it’s Good Night Irene, unless you have a decent brace. We want the centre of your weight to remain inboard.  As you get cockier and edgier, you can start to lean out onto your paddle, but that’s another trick. 

So why am I doing this Tim?  Well, it’s all about exploring the edges, and you’ll discover some interesting things about how your boat behaves under various degrees of tilt.  It takes  your garden variety afternoon paddle and turns it into a challenge with a darn good workout for your lower core.  By switching back and forth – throwing in some short power sweeps, maybe a diagonal draw or a cross bow rudder and you are now messing around.  And messing around in boats is so much more fun than just plodding ahead as if you’re on a treadmill.  You won’t go as fast, but you’ll have a ton of fun.  Give it a go, take chances and let your kayak take you for a ride on the wild side.

Tim Dyer