Manitoulin - Part 2

Edit note: Blogger for some reason will not allow me to upload pics to the post today. I may end up creating a photo blog of the trip when they get that fixed.

Travel tip: Always book passage. Up front. Don't be that guy that shows up at the dock and expects to get aboard, you know, like I did. So, now I know.

I was on the standby list to board the Chi Cheemaun, luckily first so I did get aboard. The ship has a set of moving decks that adjust depending on the height of vehicles below it. Basically, the more RVs board, the more the upper decks get squished. Less RVs=more deck height. I got lucky. Once on board I took the time to explore the ship and position myself for some cool photos. The trip across is one hour 45 minutes, the weather was calm and beautiful, the ship was crowded, and it had a bar. Perfect. As you're leaving Tobermory you're being passed by the glass bottom boats and speed boats tours to Flowerpot Island and the many shipwrecks that litter the area. You pass beautiful vistas and lighthouses that make up Fathom Five National Marine Reserve, and head to the open expanse of Lake Huron.

At no time on the crossing are you out of sight of land. The islands that dot the region separating Lake Huron and the Georgian Bay are numerous and quite large. Eventually the ship turns course to centre on the distant cell mast marking South Baymouth; the port of call for Manitoulin. When she docks, one striking fact emerges - the ship is about as long as the freakin' town itself. Welcome to Manitoulin Island, population 12,600.

Into the car in the belly of the ship, and eventually get spit out with the rest of them, I hit the highway north. The first part of the highway to Manitowaning is the same as the Bruce, large farms, lots of rocks, and a winding road. As you move farther into the island subtle differences in landscape become apparent, the hills roll a little more, the trees close in, civilization becomes sparse. Highway 6  has been recently rebuilt so its new blacktop makes you feel like you're anywhere else in Ontario. Then you turn off it.

The town of Manitowaning, (population 900) is my destination, about a 30 minute drive north. The town is cute. Really no other word for it. It has everything you'd expect, a bank, coffee shop, car garage, gun shop, LCBO, museum, book store and more. A couple motels offer refuge. It's located on Lake Manitou, one of the largest lakes on the island, so it also houses the SS Norisle, the previous incarnation of the Island's ferry. Currently under restoration in the harbour, where it has sat since it was taken out of service in 1974. 

Two minutes down the highway is Manitoulin Resort, my camp. Pulled in, checked in, found paradise, again.

I got to my site and began to set up camp, but one thing caught my eye; the sheer amount of rocks there. Everywhere. It was even hard to find a place to park the car without sitting on one that might puncture a tire. A few minutes of that and I had it figured out. My firewood was delivered in an ATV trailer a hour later, complete with kindling and old newspapers to get me started. Firewood delivery, that's classy. I wasn't lucky enough this time to get a waterside site, so my canoe was unloaded down by Lake Manitou, and safely stored against a tree. My city mindset kicked in, I almost locked it to the tree with my bike lock I brought along for just such a purpose, but I quickly realized where I was. Once I set up everything, I set out across the lake.

The water was just as incredible as the Bruce. Crystal clear, rocks visible all the way to the bottom, and masses of small mouth bass lazily floating by. I headed out to a small island in the lake; chosen as a first random target. On the way I took notice of a house on the lakeside, a couple of people sitting in Adirondack chairs on the lawn having an afternoon drink in the sun, in front of the house, lashed up to the dock was a small powerboat and his float plane. Yeah, he had a plane in front of his house. Welcome to Northern Ontario.

I arrived at my chosen target about a half hour later, I was really in no hurry, it was only a click or so away, but meh, I was on vacation, not in any hurry. I pulled the canoe up onto the rocks, sat down and stared out at what was one of the most beautiful vistas I'd ever seen. Peace and tranquility. The rocks were basically granite slabs that rose out of the lake to form this small island. Massive slabs gave way on both sides to small boulders, and on the landside, trees found root. What amazed me up here was that vegetation takes hold wherever it can and flourishes. Trees grow majestically out of what seems like solid rock. On the waterside, the boulders get continuously smaller until the fish take over. Again, they are plentiful and visible.

After a while in the sun it was time to head back. I paddled across leisurely, watching kids jumping off the campsite's diving platform and doing what kids do. One of them wanted me to give him a lift as I sailed by him. Sorry buddy, not today. I pulled the canoe onto shore and checked on a couple teenagers fishing, they reported catching 45 bass in a couple hours, one of which while he was telling me that. They through 41 of them back.

Dinner was steak and potatoes cooked over an open fire, with a beer. A roaring fire topped the day off. I settled back with a book and took advantage of the waning sunlight. Once the sun went down and the camp became quieter I took a walk back to the docks. There's something about a lake at night. I contemplated going out after dark as I did in Cape Croker, but this lake is enormous and unfamiliar. Something about that idea was uneasy to me.

So instead I looked up. 

The stars. Oh my Lord the stars.

The entire Milky Way in all her glory, right there in front of me, within the canopy of stars that you could almost reach out and touch. The sensation of seeing that was overwhelming. I'm a city boy, on a clear night if we see Venus and the Big Dipper it's a good night. Here, I couldn't pick either of those out for the vast expanse of constellations. I even saw a falling star. I laid down on the dock on my back, the water under me constantly moving it lazily. I laid there for a long time, maybe a half hour? Who knows, I wasn't watching a clock. Of all the memories I brought home with me seeing the Milky Way will stay with me longest. Of all the vistas I recorded on film, I wish I could have gotten that. But If you pull out any basic astronomy textbook and look at the Milky Way, you'll have seen what I had the chance to experience.

Back at camp my tent was calling. A long day, a good day. And I've got lots of Manitoulin left to experience before the week is out. Tomorrow it would be parts unknown.

Cheers.

Manitoulin - Part One

Last week I went to Manitoulin Island on vacation. I've never been, so why not. And as I went alone, I've found myself wanting to sing the island's praises to anyone who would listen. But like many vacation return experiences, most people were content to say, well that's nice, and turn me off. I can't say I blame them, I do it too. Frankly, who wants to listen to a long drawn out description of how great a time you had off in the wild blue yonder somewhere while you were stuck at work, sweating away in you cubicle, knowing full well your own vacation was months away. When I get subjected to that I suddenly want to drink heavily, not to mention find a way to shut down the person spinning such wonderful yarns about their trip.

So, instead, I'll write about it. Take that.

So without further adieu, here is the tale of Manitoulin, part one - The Bruce.

Paradise Found

I spent the couple weeks prior to leaving making sure I was well stocked for a camping trip in Northern Ontario. In digging out my old unused camping equipment I noticed a few things missing or just plain busted. So I did what anyone would do, I bought a canoe. That of course meant buying all the stuff to go with the canoe including the straps for the roof rack. And wheels. I'm old, I ain't portaging the damn thing anymore, so yeah, I bought canoe wheels.

I also bought camp fuel, tarps, food, beer, more beer, you know, important stuff to support my canoe. Having loaded everything in the car (and on it), I set off bright and early. A long uneventful ride later I landed in Cape Croker Indian Campground on the Bruce Peninsula. I managed to get a waterfront campsite and went to work building a temporary home. Which meant throwing up a tent, tossing the canoe in the water, and cracking a beer. I was home. Across the small bay which led out to Georgian Bay, one of the highest points of the Niagara Escarpment raised itself gracefully out of the treeline, a good 200 feet sheer cliff. The Bruce Trail wound away around the bay and through the trees just yards from my site. Calm water of the bay was my swimming pool for the next couple days. I was in my glory floating there, listening to the small crests lap at the hull, listening to birds, listening to campfires on the beach, and the sound of children playing in the water. Serenity and peace. It was truly a beautiful place.

Then reality set in. Cape Croker is on a native reservation. Yeah, you know, that pesky boil water advisory. I didn't know until I saw a sign in the washroom not to drink the water. My neighbours in the next site loaned me some bottled water to hold me over until I got back to Wiarton for more supplies. They seemed like nice people, very helpful and personable. A middle-aged couple on a short getaway from Windsor. 

Wait, WHAT?

Windsor? Stop following me people! I'm trying to get away from you!

Having passed the water test, as I really couldn't cook with beer, it was off to float more, and actually paddle somewhere to see where I really was. I headed off across the bay all the while realizing that the water was not getting deeper. Only two feet of crystal clear water. Rocks and fish were very visible the whole trip. So many fish I could have simply reached in and grabbed dinner with my hands. A half hour across the bay, water lilies and reeds sprang forth and slowed my advance. A cluster of marshes led to the opposite shore, and soon enough the campers of another park began to emerge from the trees. The escarpment now was in full view, a solid wall of rock rising from the narrow forest. From my vantage point I could see a large cave near it's base, I made a mental note to think about spelunking later. 

I turned back to the camp, and by now it was twilight. If you've never had the chance to canoe at night, you've missed out on the most peaceful serene experiences. As you glide silently across the water the stars begin to appear almost negating twilight itself. The moon lights the way home for you as its reflection casts itself in front of the bow. Nightlife begins, birds, fish, and even bugs create a symphony of nature that must be experienced from the most remote of places. Alone on the water is all you need to truly reflect on life.

I passed a beaver dam on the way back, big enough that I could have pulled the canoe up like an island and gone exploring. However I'm sure Mom and Pop Beaver wouldn't have appreciated me calling on them that late. I carried on, using the fires of the campsites alone the shore to home in on my own, and seeing my familiar car in the driveway, pulled in for the night. Another beer, a crackling fire, and copious quantities of bugspray later, I was in my happy place.

The next morning I headed out for water to replace what I had borrowed. Wiarton was about twenty minutes down the road. It was about that time I noticed my shoes were now shit, and falling apart. So that would have to be rectified. The drive to Wiarton is gorgeous. Past farm fields full of rock piles that were never cleared, down more laneways than highways. Unmarked roads with trees overhanging them, right to the edge, no shoulders. Occasionally I passed a mailbox. People lived out here, sporadically, and mostly alone, and nowhere could I see a house through the trees.

When I got to Wiarton I realized I'd have to keep going. No shoe stores. The next place to get anything was Wal-Mart in Owen Sound (shudder). As I drove back down the Bruce I assembled a shopping list so I wouldn't have to do this again. 45 minutes one way, ran in, bought a new air pump, water and shoes, and ran out. 45 minutes back to Cape Croker. 

It took me an hour and a half on the highway to buy shoes that didn't fit. 

You see, I'm the guy that never tries anything on. I know my size of shoe, I know my jean size, I know my shirt size. I grab and go. This time however, grabbing and going cost me. My mismarked size 9 shoes are still sitting here, waiting for a new home. Yeah. Slipping on my old shit shoes I made myself some dinner, cracked yet another beer, and found my campfire. I believe that night was spicy chicken breasts and garlic asparagus cooked on the coleman stove. 

The Bruce Trail. Notice the trail
marker on the tree. Sometimes,
trees fall down. The trail is 717kms
long, starting in Niagara and
ending in Tobermory.

More canoeing, more talking to neighbours, more bird watching, then I hit the Bruce Trail. I walked a few kilometres of the trail, with my trusty walking stick, and small pack with water, first aid kit, and my bush knife. Basics for this kind of trek, but of course, shitty shoes. I never did find the mouth of the cave. The Bruce Trail is well maintained and marked, but that doesn't mean you can't lose your way sometimes. Once off it, you're done. Backtrack or find another way. I found a road that eventually brought me to my site. Enough for the day. Sore feet, sore back, sore arms, happy heart. I was in my element once again.

The next day was ferry day. I packed up, paid up, thanked my hosts and my neighbours, tied down the canoe and headed up the Bruce. I took the scenic route of course, through tiny villages like Lion's Head and Dyers Bay, and Ferndale. Past lakeside cottages and fishing boats, past local coffee shops and picturesque parks. The Bruce ends in a trap called Tobermory. Sorry, I mean town. Not trap, that would denote pandering to tourists. Oh, wait. Okay, trap.

The saying goes the Bruce beckons. And it does. It's gorgeous. Wiarton is known as the basecamp for the Bruce, and the large billboard outside of town welcomes you to The Bruce Peninsula - A UNESCO World Heritage Biosphere. Simply put one must go here. At some point in your lives you must experience the beauty of this place. It's not my first time here and certainly won't be my last.

And I haven't even gotten on the ferry yet. 

More later.

Cheers.