Believe it or not, I had three of those accompanied by a couple of coffees! I was not worried about calories on this trip. In fact, I had already pulled my belt one notch tighter since the trip had begun. (In the end, I lost 11 lbs on the trip! Don't worry, it was all regained by Christmas of that year...sigh...) 

While munching on those glorious pancakes smothered in maple syrup, I was forced to make a very reluctant decision. My original planned route was to continue north on Agnes Lake and then take a series of portages west through Silence Lake, a bunch of other small lakes, Trant Lake and into Kahshahpiwi Lake. From there I would continue north through Keefer Lake, Sark Lake, and eventually back into Shelley Lake. The problem was that there was a lot of portaging along that route. In fact, had I gone that route, I would have had 15 portages between where I was and Shelley Lake. 

My knee was just not up for it. It had become more swollen over the night and I was feeling pain while walking on it without being loaded down by gear and a canoe. I would have to take the most direct route back to my vehicle with the least amount of portaging lest I damage it more seriously than it already was. This meant I would have to paddle the full length of Agnes Lake to the north and do the three portages that would take me back into Kawnipi Lake. Unfortunately, from Kawnipi Lake back to my vehicle, I would be retracing the same route that I took on my way south into the park on Days 1 to 3. That would be three full days of seeing what I had already seen on the trip. I was not happy about it, but it was the prudent decision. My mindset at the time was that I was just hoping my knee would get me back to my vehicle without having to call for a rescue. On the bright side, I always bring a sports knee-wrap on my trips in case what actually happened happened. It helped me a lot for the remainder of the trip. (I wasn't a Boy Scout as a kid, but I have done enough canoe-tripping to know how to be prepared for such things, especially when traveling alone.)

I convinced myself that all was not so bad, however. I mean, the journey from Pickerel Lake to Kawnipi Lake was stunningly beautiful and I would get to see the Poet Chain of Lakes and those stunning waterfalls once again. There are certainly worse places in the world to revisit! 

I got onto the water just before 9:30 AM and turned to take a shot of my island home as I paddled north on Agnes Lake. A party of 4 canoes was heading south on Agnes simultaneously. 

Agnes Lake is a very large lake and I was grateful for the glass-like conditions as I emerged into the large bay to the north. 

I was making good time, and after about an hour of paddling, I passed the western outlet of the lake that would have taken me into Silence Lake if I had stuck to my originally planned route. I looked at it longingly, wishing my knee was in shape so that I could explore what lay beyond in that direction. 

Just to the north of that on the western shore, I paddled beneath some small cliffs. I was on the lookout for some pictographs that were supposed to be there. This time, I found them! 

Two animal figures, most likely a pair of moose in bright red ochre, were distinctly depicted. In compliance with the wishes of the First Nations people of Quetico, I will not display a photograph of them here. The pictographs are sacred and of intense spiritual significance to the indigenous community of Quetico, and they have asked people not to photograph and publish them. I feel that is something that should be respected. For those who would like to see them, they'll just have to paddle there themselves! 

It truly is a magical experience seeing these ancient works of art on the most sublime of rock faces, especially from a canoe -- the method from which the creators of art intended. The fact that they have survived exposure to water, ice, wind, and even fire over the centuries is nothing short of phenomenal. They demand respect and reverence. 

By that time, it had started to rain. I pulled ashore on a rock and donned my rain gear that I had on the ready at the top of my canoe pack.  It was a good thing I did so at that time because almost immediately following that, it started hammering rain. I had a lot of lake to cover on Agnes and it really looked like those rain clouds were socked in for the day, so I just kept paddling. 

I was the only one on the lake who was foolish enough to be paddling in a driving rain. What an incredible sensation to have such a beautiful lake of that size all to oneself. The weather conditions were not optimal, however. Unfortunately, the rain also brought along a headwind. It was not super strong, but it was enough to bother me a little and drive the rain into my face. To help me through it, I started through my old friend, Bruce Springsteen's, catalogue. To test my memory, I thought I'd progress in chronological order. I started with Growing Up and It's Hard to Be A Saint in the City from Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J.  From there, I moved on to Rosalita and Incident on 57th Street from The Wild, The Innocent, & the E-Street Shuffle. By the time I got to the crescendo chorus of Incident...you know, the part where Bruce is bellowing out, "Ah, good night, it's all right Jane. I'll meet you tomorrow night on Lover's Lane. Now, we may find it out on the street tonight baby. Or we may have to walk until the morning light maybe!", I was absolutely howling the words into the driving rain at the top of my off-key lungs. 

I was one with The Boss. The power of New Jersey was spurring me on. The lyrical ode to romantic freedom made the rain oblivious. It made my aching back and shoulders from a week of solo paddling non-existent. It made the dreary monotony of water driving into my face and getting under my hat and hood exciting and vibrant. The potency of the Bruce was real! 

In all reality, what those lyrics really did was make my voice quite hoarse by the time I had completed Thunder Road, Backstreets, and Born to Run.  And I'm sure they made anyone on the lake that I hadn't noticed howl with laughter if they heard my lame attempt to hit those high notes at the end of Backstreets. You know..."Was all right! We're all hiding on the backstreets tonight!!!!!" I'm not sure, but I think I spotted a bear giggling behind a tree on the shore. 

Ouch. Was my Waldeinsamkeit turning into plain old bush-madness?! Can a very real case of Cabin Fever begin with a spontaneous burst of "Madman, drummers, bummers. Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat..."? 

Well, I was getting into the northern reaches of Agnes Lake by inching up the western shore amongst sporadic wind gusts. All the heavy paddling and singing had made me quite hungry and thirsty. I spotted a nice-looking campsite on the south side of a small island in the middle of the bay and paddled on over to filter some water and eat a bunch of snacks. It was quite a great site and a relief to get out of the rain under the protection of some tall pines. I changed into a dry shirt and that made a world of difference. I spent a half-hour or so there, and miraculously, as I was packing up to leave again, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. I took a shot of the island site as I paddled away feeling happier.

 It is amazing how fast a person's mood and sense of well-being can change on a canoe trip. The transition between highs and lows can occur like the flick of a light switch. One minute, I was ecstatic from viewing ancient works of art in their natural setting on a massive beautiful lake that I had to myself. I was the only person in a wonderful universe. The next minute, I was frantically throwing on my rain gear, worried that lightning and thunder would strand me on the shoreline. This was followed by paddling in a heavy downpour, singing aloud to alleviate the rough conditions somehow. This led to feeling tired, hungry, wet, and depleted -- a little miserable, to be honest. A quarter of an hour after that with a dry shirt on, something in my belly, and a half a litre of water gulped, I was a new man once again and ready to tackle what Quetico could throw at me. 

Humans are basic creatures. How we function is entirely based on our needs. If ever a person needed an example that would give prominence to the bottom two levels of Maslow's Hierarchy, take them on a canoe trip. Perhaps, this is why I love it so. With all of the creature comforts people have in the modern world, we need a reminder from time to time of what it means to be alive. I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again in the future -- you have no choice but to live in the moment when on a canoe trip. You are truly living on a canoe trip. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know that I feel alive when out on a canoe trip. This is Type 2 fun. One just has to make sure that the boundary between Type 2 fun and Type 3 fun is not crossed. 

The beauty of Agnes Lake did not diminish at all in its northern reaches. I can never get tired of paddling amongst a thick pine-clad forest that somehow emerges from a rocky shoreline, especially when the water is calm and reflective. The distant rolling hills just add to the allurement. 

At the very northern tip of the lake, I spotted a tent and a tarp erected on the eastern shore across from a small island. As I approached, I noticed a large bald eagle perched atop a tall pine looking down upon the site. A young couple from Duluth, Jessie and Teresa, was camped there with their pooch, and they greeted me as I paddled past. I paused and we had a nice chat about our respective trips and the wonderful fishing that Quetico had to offer.  

I pointed the eagle out to them; they had no idea it was even there. It made me wonder how many times I have had interesting wildlife right next to me, watching me, and I was completely oblivious to it. Without the right vantage point or perspective, I believe most wildlife largely goes unnoticed by humans in the wilderness. I recently watched a video of Jim Baird and his brother Ted on a trip down the Hood River in Nunavut. A caribou visted the beach area in front of their campsite and whlie they were watching and filming it, a grizzly bear sauntered past about 50 feet behind them. They never even saw it. It was only when went back to their site that they spotted the extremely fresh bear tracks in the sand. Once in Algonquin on Mouse Lake, I had a similar experience with a moose that walked right beside my canoe on the beach next to my site while I was making camp. I neither saw nor heard it. Incredible. 

I said goodbye to my new friends from Duluth and found the portage out of Agnes Lake. I felt a little melancholy bidding farewell to Agnes Lake. She was beautiful and I wish I could have spent more time with her.

Keewatin Lake sported a couple of interesting cliffs along its shores. It was pretty and though there were a couple of campsites on the lake that I had marked on my map, they did not seem appealing. To be fair, I only got a glimpse from the water and never really properly investigated them. It was only 2:30 PM and I wanted to get some more distance behind me, so I wasn't really interested in making camp just quite yet. 

As I approached the north end of Keewatin Lake, the weather was looking like it wanted to behave a bit more. The sun wasn't out, but the clouds got a little lighter and less dense. It gave me hope that the rain would be gone for the day. 

In addition to being the longest, the 460-meter trail from Keewatin into Kawnipi was the most difficult of the three out of Agnes. It was to the right of a bouldery log-choked creek and the trail was equally rocky.     

The heavy rain earlier in the day made this trail a bit treacherous for me, especially while favouring a bum-knee. I took my time; I had no choice. I was happy when I reached the end of that one. The put-in was a little difficult. Someone had attempted to clear some blowdowns along the trail, but the cut logs were blocking the put-in. I guessed that the spring highwater had washed them down the trail and deposited them in places that were not optimal. 

Paddling out onto Kawnipi, I had mixed feelings. On one hand, I was happy to be done with portaging for the day. My knee was feeling it and I was still somewhat concerned if it would hold out until I got back to my vehicle. On the other, I was feeling a bit down about spending the next three days paddling the same route I had taken to get into the park. I had driven all that way from my home and spent a week exploring one of the most amazing areas I have ever paddled only to retrace the same steps for three full days on my way out. Sigh. I just didn't want to chance further injuring my knee. 

Another minor concern I had at the moment was finding a nice campsite for the evening. During my first time through the area four days earlier, I didn't really see any sites along this northwestern part of Kawnipi Lake. I wasn't super concerned, though; I made something work back on Fauquier Lake and I was confident I could do it again if push came to shove. 

I ended up paddling 12 more kilometres north past Rose and Kasie Islands without noticing a decent site that I wanted to call home for the night.