Algonquin Camping Trip

On the last official weekend of summer, 1999, camping turned out to be a very memorable way to wind up what had been a wonderful and busy summer for us.

Our friends, Annelies and George, arrived at our home in Toronto early on a Saturday morning; it was lovely and sunny with the promise of a warm day to come. We arrived at the park around midday, entering through the West Gate.

Annelies and George wished to camp on an island although John and I were skeptical at first. I thought of all the hard work and portaging involved to transport all our effects over to such a location. Checking in at the West Gate Tourist Centre (after we had taken time out to enjoy a tasty lunch of chicken sandwiches and canned pop), George asked the young woman at the computer if such a camping spot would be available and she said yes, so the die was cast! There was no turning back!

Using the excellent directions we had been given, we drove a further half-hour into the park and left the cars on a side road near Sunday Lake. We trekked down a fairly steep hill a good distance and came to the shoreline. A picturesque view greeted our eyes; a small, pristine, calm, and inviting-looking lake, encircled by birch and fir trees with some autumn colour already evident. Gazing out across the clear water, we could clearly see our island and the orange camping sticker posted on a tree. We figured it would be about a five to ten minute canoe trip across to the site.

Arriving back at the cars, we mapped out our strategy and discussed the best procedure to embark on our adventure. It was decided Annelies and I would go across with the first load of camping equipment. It was necessary to leave some of the supplies behind in the car (various medications, our purses with cosmetic cases, and tea and coffee). So Annelies and I went "au natural" on the island, with not even a comb to tame our wayward locks! One can't expect immaculate grooming while camping - but that's the fun of the whole venture; one relinquishes civilization and all its trappings, becoming free and uninhibited if only for a short period of time!

John, Annelies, and I paddled over in the canoe, and John went back to get George. The fellows would arrive on the island later bringing the rest of our supplies. Annelies and I explored the island with great delight. It was a very small island, but well treed. There were two clearings in the woods for tents, a big firepit, and an outdoor privy missing its door! The surroundings were very primitive but absolutely beautiful. We were utterly captivated. The wind soughed through the fir trees and the haunting and exquisite cries of loons reverberated across the lake.

We decided to relax while waiting for our husbands and sat on a rock by the water's edge, listening to the gently lapping waves. Two loons suddenly appeared in view and we watched them dive gracefully under the water and surface again, displaying the trademark white "necklaces" on their slender necks. We then decided to erect the first tent, Annelies choosing their site at the other side of the island.

John and George finally arrived with the rest of the gear, and John and I assembled our own tent not far from the firepit and near the water. As the day was turning out quite warm, Annelies then suggested a swim. I said, "I didn't bring my suit," to which she replied, "Who needs one? We'll skinny dip!" Annelies and I went right along with the flow, but we couldn't persuade John and George to join us. That was their loss! The water was shockingly cold at first but we gradually became accustomed to it, and found it very invigorating and refreshing. We felt like new women after we towelled ourselves off. We could go out and conquer the world!

That evening, we built up our fire and heated the spicy chili John and I had made for the trip. Annelies had brought along some homemade cake and we cracked open bottles of ginger beer and also enjoyed some homemade red wine of the "Steward vintage". We spent the evening lounging by the firepit, grateful for the warmth of the dancing orange flames as it now was getting very cool. Darkness fell very quickly to the accompaniment of the loons' symphony. The wind was still soughing through the trees and the air was clean and fresh. We bedded down early as the four of us suddenly realized we were very tired. The all-encompassing silence was a balm to the soul; the island was truly a little piece of heaven on earth.

Our sleep, however, was fitful and restless as the enigmatic loons echoed their eerie, unearthly, and mysterious calls all through the night. We also were not very warm in our sleeping bags and although we felt the next morning that we hadn't really had a restful night's sleep, we still felt very thankful for the priceless experience of being surrounded by nature on that tiny island. We were in another world entirely, eons removed from the hurly burly of life in the big city.

The morning dawned very misty and the trees on the bank opposite the island were shrouded in a white, hazy, ghostly mist. Early morning calls of various birds soon abounded. Breakfast was instant porridge heated up with hot water boiled on the fire. We peeled large juicy oranges to eat section by section. We missed our coffee; but how could one complain in the midst of the spectacular beauty that Algonquin Park is renowned for?

The sun eventually burned through the mist and another gloriously sunny day presented itself. We relaxed for a while and read the city newspapers, and then decided to break camp. Annelies and I treated ourselves to another skinny dip while John and George began ferrying supplies back to the mainland. John then came back for us. Annelies and I felt strangely reluctant to leave that wonderful little island, it seemed to be tugging at our heartstrings. Back on the mainland, we found it to be a delicate operation getting the canoe uphill. John balanced it on his head while George indicated where to step along the uphill winding trail. We had lunch on the roadway by the cars, a savory Bavarian salad, more cake, bananas, and pop. By now, it was mid-afternoon, and we headed off to our respective destinations. George and Annelies started their journey back home to Hamilton and John and I exited by the East Gate of the park, en route to our friend, Dale Campbell's home, near McArthurs Mills.

It was indeed a unique weekend, and we all agreed that we would love to return to the magical island on Sunday Lake. The next time, we will know how to arrange our supplies to include important items like tea, coffee, and grooming supplies. I remarked to my husband, "The first thing I'm going to do at Dale's is take a long, hot shower!"

Dale said she had made the same statement to her partner, that, "as soon as Annie comes through that door, she will make a sharp right to the bathroom without even stopping to talk to us!"

I never appreciated a bar of soap and hot running water as much as I did that Sunday at Dale's. Bed was very early that night as John and I were both "dog-tired"! We slept like logs and were really thankful for the soft, warm bed.

I do hope we go back to Sunday Lake someday; I will remember that enchanting island on days when there is a howling blizzard outside. When I'm up to my ears in housework, laundry, and other chores, I will draw deeply into my memory bank.

Sunday Lake Island has affected the very essence of my soul, and I can visualize it in its entire splendor throughout the various seasons. In winter, I can perceive it as a bleak expanse of unsullied white snow, yet with a great ethereal beauty; the ice and frost garlanding the stark bare trees with wispy strands of fairy gossamer; the clear air crisp and frigid. Tree branches crack like fireworks in the cold; the lake lies still and eternally silent beneath its thick blanket of snow-covered ice. The whole atmosphere is charged with a pervading and otherworldly, spectral silence. Where are the loons, I wonder?

That island wrote poetry on my psyche and it is nothing short of a miracle how nature unfolds the changing seasons each with its own particular and unique charm. Sunday Lake Island has left an indelible and immeasurable impression upon all of us.