Day 2 - Winded and Winding
I awoke before everyone else. My body and mind were both sore from the paddling, the camping and the wine. I wandered over to the bear hang to untangle our pack so I could boil some coffee. The morning was peaceful and mercifully bug-free.
After about half an hour, Lionel and Charlie finally roused themselves from their slumber. Charlie looked about as haggard as I felt. After a quick breakie consisting of bagels and cream cheese, we got to work breaking down camp and packing up our gear for the next leg of the adventure.
Before leaving, we combed over the campsite, making sure not to leave anything behind. By nine o’clock, everything was loaded into the canoe and we were back on the water.
For those who’ve read Holes, you’ll get this comparison. Stanley Yelnats has to dig a 5’ x 5’ hole every day in the desert heat. After finishing his first one, he’s proud of himself and thinks, the first hole must be the hardest. But when he says so back at camp, the leader, X-Ray, quickly shoots him down: “No way. The second hole’s way harder, you’re sore before you even start.”
X-Ray was right. The second day is a lot harder.
The day’s route had the same number of portages as the first, though thankfully all of them were shorter. Unfortunately, they were jammed into the first hour and fifteen minutes. Just as we’d find a paddling rhythm, we had to stop, unload everything, unclip maps and water bottles, haul gear across, and then reload. Not terribly exhausting, just really annoying. Especially when it meant leaving behind the beauty of those little lakes almost as soon as we entered them. Jenny Lake, for instance, only took ten minutes to cross, but it was one of my favorite locations on the trip.
Once we made it to Knife Lake, navigating became much easier; all one had to do was simply point the front of the boat directly into the wind at all times. We paddled hard against the wind and waves for about another hour and a half until coming to a campsite. We thought there was a possibility that we could portage our canoe and belongings through the campsite to cut off the five miles it would take to paddle around it. After determining we couldn’t make it through, we stopped for lunch. Lionel made a plea to possibly camp there and then for the night, but the campsite was small, un-scenic, and would have had a lot of bugs. After a lunch that consisted primarily of sodium, we solemnly walked back to the canoe. Looking ahead, the direction we were going had whitecap waves, indicating a heavy wind. Charlie and I took some energy gels and began to paddle. It was the hardest paddle yet, but we were refueled from our luncheon and gels. Lionel seemed to perk up as well.
The campsite that didn't cut through
The hardest thing I’ve learned about endurance is dealing with long stretches that seem to go on forever. When the path twists and turns and the scenery changes, you can perceive the progress being made. But when you’re staring at a fixed point in the distance, it never seems to get any closer, you start to wonder if you’re even moving at all. In those moments, you need to look directly down and watch the pavement—or in this case, the water slipping by beneath you. Although it feels slow (probably because it is), simply reassuring yourself that you’re moving in the right direction can give you the boost you need. Unfortunately, in the canoe on that windy day, we were often moving…just not in the right direction.
Before leaving the campsite, Charlie had the bright idea to place some heavier bags in the front of the canoe so the bow could cut through the waves more effectively. It was a great idea, and I’m not sure we would have made it without that adjustment. Still, if the tip of the canoe wasn’t pointed directly into the wind, the gusts would catch it and veer us off course immediately. For the next three miles, we zigged and zagged our way through the waves. While Charlie and I were drenched in sweat and gritting our teeth, Lionel was having the time of his life, bellowing out improvised sea shanties,
“Dancing with the wind, splashing through the waves…”
Finally, we could see the end of the island where the southern arm of Knife Lake met the northern part. Charlie and I sighed in relief—only for a huge wave to slam into us and spin the canoe completely sideways. For a moment, I realized there was a distinct possibility way may tip. Our joy at reaching the end was short-lived; we had just encountered the “final boss” of the day. For the next forty minutes, we paddled our hearts out to cover barely half a mile. We had to get around the corner of the island, but with the way the wind was blowing, we feared the canoe might be dashed against the rocky edge. No wonder they called it Knife Lake.
Still, as we bobbed up and down in the waves, Lionel kept right on singing “And no matter how big the wind, no matter how hard the waves, we just keeping paddling.” Finally, we made it far enough past the island to feel confident we could round it. After six hours of ferocious paddling, we reached our desired campsite, only to find it already taken… and so was the next one.
We were dead tired, but at least the wind was finally at our backs. After another 35 minutes of paddling (with plenty of back-stretching groans mixed in) and 11 miles of into the wind paddling, we pulled up to the next available site.
Reaching the shore felt incredible, and our new campsite was somehow even more stunning than the first. A steady breeze off the lake kept the bugs at bay—already a win.
Lionel remembered how to set up the tent this time and was actually a big help, especially with blowing up the sleeping mats, unfurling the bags, and making the inside feel nice and cozy. Since we’d be staying two nights, we set up a few extra “luxuries”: a tarp for shade, a hammock for reading, a clothesline for airing out our damp gear, and even some lights to give the place a cozy glow.
Dinner that night was freeze-dried shepherd’s pie and green beans. The pie was surprisingly tasty; the green beans, however, came in mammoth proportions, far more than any one group of campers could reasonably want. After dinner, Lionel scrubbed the dishes, and then we all settled in for our favorite evening activity... listening to the weather channel on Charlie's hand radio.
The weather channel was the only station that came in through the radio, looping the seven-day forecast on repeat. That day, it also warned that the AQI was dangerously high. Having lived in China for 13 years, I know that what Americans consider “dangerous” air quality is clean breathing comparatively. But as I stared directly into the blood-red sunset, I had to admit the air was smoky.
One particular knack of Lionel’s is his acute auditory memory. After listening through the report twice, he could recite the percentages of precipitation for each day, “Slight chance of rain Thursday morning, slight chance in the afternoon, Thursday evening there is a chance of storm clouds.” He was quick to note that the weather channel sure does say the word chance a lot.
After sunset, we had a spooky walk to the latrine. Later, I tucked Lionel into my sleeping bag as the one we borrowed for him was way too thin (basically looked like a sack for carrying nectarines). After reading a bit, he promptly went to bed, and I joined Charlie by the fire. We spent a wonderful evening reliving the day’s adventures and savoring the fact that tomorrow would be paddle-free.
When I finally slipped into the tent that night, a profound sense of accomplishment settled over me.
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