Moon River Loop

The 190m portage to Buckhorn Lake was at the base of a steep embankment at the southeastern tip of that channel. There were a couple of tin-can fishing boats there and I had to squeeze between them to take out. The portage was short but was tricky in a spot or two as it followed along the rocky ridge of the embankment. It led directly to someone's private cabin. Not wanting to disturb anyone, I was able to put in quietly next to a small dock just to the right of the trail leading up to the cabin. 

I paddled to the island about halfway down the lake and was pleased to find the campsite there vacant. It appeared that I had Buckhorn Lake to myself! The site was an obvious fishing spot as there were three cleaning stations set up on it, but it was immaculately clean; not a speck of rubbish was to be found anywhere. Some old camping chairs that were carefully placed under a shelf and an old bucket were the only discarded items to be found.

It was nearing dusk and with that came even more mosquitoes. Luckily and unusual for June, there weren't any blackflies. I quickly got my bug shelter and hammock in place. 

The humidity hadn't broken yet, and I was positively drenched in sweat and bug repellent when I had finished. I jumped into the lake for a swim to wash off. It was glorious. The water was unseasonably warm for the second week of June; Ontario had experienced an incredibly hot spring thus far. Just as I was emerging from the lake, the clouds broke and the sun came beaming in from its position low in the western sky. It was after 9 pm and that was my omen to finally get some food in my belly. 

I capped off the night with a couple of gentle sniffs of whiskey in the bug shelter as I watched darkness engulf the lake and the mosquitoes fruitlessly trying to get at me (Thanks, NoBugZone!). 

I paddled to the south end of Buckhorn Lake, enjoying the sunshine that was absent the day prior. I noticed 3 or 4 aluminum fishing boats resting near and on a half-submerged dock at the southwest corner of the lake. There, I got out precariously on the dock, hoping it would hold the weight of me and my gear. It did somehow, and I loaded up for the long single-carry to the Moon River that headed south from the dock into the bush.

The portage was not a fun one. (Are any of them "fun"?) It was a wide ATV trail that was a giant bowl of mud. A high ridge was on the left and my map demonstrated that the ruins of a fire tower sat upon its crest. The trail had deep tire gashes all over it from the countless ATVs that run amok on it; with all the rain the previous day, it felt like I was negotiating a series of ponds. To make matters worse, after about 1100 meters, a side trail veered to the left, but I kept following the main trail as it turned right, running parallel to the river. I went a few hundred meters like this before realizing that this trail wasn't going to meet the river but rather run the high embankment next to it. Knowing I had made a mistake, I was forced to backtrack and take the left turn that took me down to the river where I unloaded with a sigh of relief. I had turned a 1200m port into about 1700 meters. Doh! And did I mention that I had to stop twice on the portage, once to douse myself in deet and then again to put on my bug jacket? There were a few mosquitoes along the way.

The put-in was at a grassy, treelined section of the river. I was surprised at how wide the river was at that point.

A few hundred meters downstream, I startled a large doe grazing on the left bank. It darted into the bush upon seeing me and then let out a couple of ominous and weird bleating noises that approximated an intoxicated goat. I thought about answering back but didn't, just in case I wasn't alone on the river. I wouldn't want anyone to alert the authorities about a crazed, sweaty, middle-aged man paddling alone on a river in the middle of nowhere making pained, animalistic noises to himself. It's a good thing, too, because there was a cabin about 100 meters downstream from there that I hadn't noticed. 

After about 15 minutes of paddling, the river began to narrow, and the banks started getting a little rockier with more coniferous trees. I was happy to get back into the Canadian Shield terrain that I know and love. I almost immediately spotted the top of Curtain Chutes ahead.

Hap's guidebook warns of the approach and mentions how canoeists have died by accidentally going over the falls; but on this particular June, after a very early, hot and dry spring, the river was probably at mid-July water levels rather than the dangerous torrent of water that it would be shortly after ice-out. The falls looked benign. There was a father and his young son playing around in the water and on the rocks at the top of the falls.

I portaged on the left bank after scraping my boat over some exposed ledges to get to the take-out. The portage rose up a steep bluff where there was a campsite in the woods and then descended to the river past the rapids. Upon completion, I rock-hopped back up the river along the bank to get a better shot of the falls. It was hard to believe that the falls that I was seeing could result in death, but it just goes to show the extent of the change of flow that this river can possess.

By the time I arrived at the top of Twin Falls, it was about 2:30 and I was hungry. I had read in Tearknee's report that taking the Upper Twin Falls portage on the north branch of the river was a mistake because it leads to the impassable Chimney Falls -- a veritable gorge. However, I still wanted to get a glimpse of the falls, so I paddled to the portage, left my boat and gear at the take-out, grabbed my food bag and hiked up past the campsite to have my lunch above the falls.

Not a bad spot at all to enjoy a couple of wraps!

After lunch, I went back to my canoe and did the short paddle to the south branch portage that bypassed the Lower Twin Falls, the prettier of the two in my opinion. 

The portage running to the right of these falls was a steep, rocky scramble that involved a bit of boulder and log hopping to get to the water. I had to tread very carefully there! 

I fished for a while at the base of the falls. I had something monumental take the hook and give a good fight, but I lost it after about 30 seconds of battle. Grrrrrrrr. Of course, that kept me there fishing much longer than I normally would have! 

I eventually continued downstream and soon came to a couple of small rapids. The first was a small ledge that I easily ran, but the second required a liftover as it emptied into a beautiful little bay where the two channels of the river reconnected again. On the right bank was a nice, rocky slope that had a campsite at the top. Looking around at the stunning scenery, it took a microsecond to decide to spend the night there.

Even though the fabled Moon Falls was just a further 10-minute paddle downriver, I knew the sites in that area would be busy on this first weekend after the lockdown. On the other hand, where I was, I had the entire area to myself with an awesome little campsite above a gurgling rapid just a stone's throw away from Chimney Falls. Moreover, I had a beautiful little bay where the two channels met that would be excellent for fishing. I was in heaven!

Here is a short video I took immediately after arriving to show how pretty the view from the site was.

I quickly set up camp and washed off the day's sweat by jumping into the river below the small rapid and letting the current carry me downstream. Fun!

Then, I got back into my canoe with my fishing gear and explored the area. Paddling below the Chimney and looking up into that gorge was something to behold.

After dinner, I walked back over to the Chimney and got an even better shot from the top of some rocks. 

I was not wrong about the fishing, either. Unfortunately, I had all my success after dinner when I was full, so I didn't bother keeping any to put in my belly. I caught four nice pike and one beautiful yellow walleye. I even had a muskie smash my lure earlier in the day, but couldn't keep that guy on the line. 

There was enough of a breeze to keep many of the mosquitoes away until dusk. I don't think I saw a single blackfly. The deer flies were another story, however. Those b$%&#rds were out in abundance. It seemed that we were getting July in the second week of June.

I enjoyed a sip of whiskey in the bug shelter, venturing out only to catch the sun retiring over the trees to the west. I stayed up just long enough to catch the sliver of a yellow, crescent moon and unlike the night before, slept like a log in my hammock until 6:30 am. I am happy to report that those first-night camping jitters had been swept away down the Moon River. (cheesy end to the paragraph, I know, but it's true!)

Getting closer, I could hear the falls well before I spotted them. I located the portage fairly close to the top of the falls on the right. There was a vacant campsite there, as well. Knowing there would be a lot to investigate and see on the return trip, I decided to double carry this one and explore the area on the return walk for my canoe. I'm glad I did because the falls and the steep rapids below them are quite special. 

I mountain-goated up to the top of the falls and took the following video. 

Below the falls, it was tent city. Not quite as busy as Algonquin Park in August, but nearly. I was very grateful that I had made the decision to camp where I did in my own private oasis.

I moved west through the centre of Arnold's Bay and was back in motorboat territory again. The wind started to emerge a bit and I could smell the big lake. The Great Lakes have a unique odour that lets one know BIG water is on hand.

Every campsite on the northwest shore of this area was occupied. Getting into Moon River Bay in very favourable conditions, I was firmly back in cottage country. That is a bit of a misnomer in this case because the structures on the eastern shore of the bay couldn't really be classified as cottages -- exquisite upscale waterfront mansions would be more appropriate. It might have been the first time I had seen security cameras installed at the ends of docks. I gestured...I mean waved...to them as I paddled past.

I found the narrow creek at the east end of the bay and paddled up it a couple of hundred meters. Just before the creek veered to the right, I exited my canoe next to a very creaky old dock and yanked it ashore on a grassy area covered in goose poop. I was bound for Healey Lake, or thought I was!

Knowing this portage was close to 1000m, I strapped in my paddles, and fishing rod and loaded up for the single carry. I walked toward a cottage (the one with the blue tarp in the photo above). In front of the property is a cottage road that went left. I couldn't see anywhere else to go, so to quote Jim Morrison, I "walked on down the hall!"

Well, I did this for about 1000m, mostly uphill as the road turned here and there, and saw no signs of a portage, lake or anything else resembling part of a canoe route. I unloaded and consulted my GPS. Doh!!! I was going the wrong way!

After a few choice words to the leaves and the mosquitoes, I humped it back down to the cottage. I looked around. There was no sign of a portage anywhere. Again, I looked at my map and my GPS. Yes, I was in the correct place. I was at a loss.

I decided to try and consult the owner of the cottage, praying that Cujo was away at the kennel. Walking closer to the door, I called out several times. I couldn't see a vehicle. No one answered.

I sat down, somewhat dejected for a moment, with my head down. It meant I would either have to do a crazy bushwhack somewhere, but it seemed to be all private property, or paddle quite a distance further north into Wood's Bay and Blackstone Harbour and circle back into Healey Lake. This would add a couple of hours to my trip. Then, I heard, "Are you looking for the portage?"

Standing before me was the owner of the cottage and what an interesting man he was. Sporting a long grey beard, this Gandalf-like man pointed me in the right direction. He was so nice! He apologized for not coming out sooner and pointing the way. He explained how he sold part of his land to the municipality so that the portage could still exist. Wow! We chatted a bit and he wished me well as I thanked him profusely. Perhaps, erecting a sign would solve a lot of problems, but I suspect the man might like to have a chat with the canoe adventurers passing through. 

So, if any readers of this blog are planning to do the route, here is how to find the portage in case the man isn't home: From the creek where I took out, walk up toward the cottage, turn left and walk about 20 or 30 meters along the cottage road. On your right, you'll see a grassy meadow between the forest and the man's cottage property. Turn right into the meadow, following the forest tree line on your left. The trail is hardly discernible.  (Wear long pants on this port...a lot of long grass that might hold ticky ticks.) When you run out of the meadow and come to the forest, the faint remains of a logging road will appear in the forest. It is overgrown with grass but wide and easy to follow to Healey Lake, where a lovely dock awaits you to put in above the dam! Easy Peasy! (Ya, sure, easy...I had turned an 800m portage into 3000m of walking. Doh!)

Healey Lake is a big cottage country lake. It took well over an hour to get back to Kapikog Bay at its south end. I found this part the most difficult to paddle anywhere on the trip due to the endless parade of massive motorboats blaring country music whilst towing screaming people on gigantic inner tubes. They gave two #$%@s about the dude in the red canoe, worming his way up the shoreline and hanging on for dear life as their wakes wreaked havoc. Oh well, it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and I smiled and waved to them nonetheless. Why wouldn't I? I was wrapping up one of the best weekend trips I've ever had.

I unloaded at the landing dock, immediately located my swimsuit at the top of my bag, and jumped in the water off the dock to christen the end of a fantastic trip. I was tired, but very content while driving home. Hap was right. In the heart of cottage country is one of the most scenic and amazing trips a paddler can have over a weekend, and I was so grateful to have experienced it!