Day 3 - Turner Lake to Whitewater Lake (14 km)

After a second mug of coffee and just sitting and listening to the quiet of the lake, I began breaking camp. I had a big day ahead of me with some difficult portages and got on the water shortly after.

Turner Lake was a beautiful lake and I would have liked to explore its northern and western shores a little more, but the big winds the previous day set me back a bit in terms of time. In particular, there were some funky-looking, square rock faces in the northwest corner of the lake that looked intriguing. I'll be back to check those out in the future.

The route into Eagle Lake required a short 160-meter portage into a small pond of a lake called Curt Lake and then a long 1595-meter carry into Eagle. However, first, I had to paddle into a swampy little inlet on Turner's eastern shore to reach the former. 

The portage was a walk through a rock garden up a steep incline; thankfully, it was short-lived. 

I put in off of steep boulders into deep water to get onto Curt Lake. It was a bit of a tricky process, but I used a large fallen log to launch from. 

The long portage was actually not too bad. It had a couple of wet spots, but all-in-all it seemed well-trodden and easy to follow. 

However, like many of the portages on this route, just when a canoeist might think things are going well, Temagami sends the unsuspecting traveller a little curveball. On this particular portage, it was a giant swamp about halfway along. I could see the trail skirting along the right side of it, but in May, that quickly disappeared into water. 

On the bright side, at that time of year, it was deep enough to paddle across once I went back for my second load and brought my canoe there -- an easy solution. I suspect that this would be much more troublesome at lower water levels when the water is too low to paddle across, yet deep enough to cause problems walking. 

From the pond, it was a fairly straightforward carry to Eagle Lake where I could behold the lofty elevation of Eagle Bluff across the lake to the east from the put-in. 

Hap Wilson was absolutely correct in his description of this route, Eagle Lake is worth the hard work it takes to get there. It was easily the highlight of the route for me in terms of beauty and solitude. As good fortune would have it, I had the lake to myself. I spent some extra time paddling amongst and between its many islands and also paddled beneath those marvelous 300' cliffs. It reminded me a little of the eastern skyline along the Spanish River in places. 

I did not have the time to climb Eagle Bluff to get a view of the surrounding area, but, once again, I vowed to return to the area and try it someday. 

By the time I reached the southern part of the lake, it started to get a little gusty in my face, but nothing like the winds that I endured the day prior. I did mutter a four-letter word though. Would I have a headwind in every direction on this trip?! ("Yes" would be the inevitable answer to that question.)

I found the 400-meter portage on the west side of the log-choked Eagle River.  As I progressed down the portage, I turned to get a nice shot of the southern bay of Eagle Lake with the island campsite and Eagle Bluff in the distance. My canoe can be seen hiding amongst the alder on the left. 

The trip down Eagle River into Little Eagle Lake was picturesque. There were pretty little side bays along the river and it was teeming with birdlife. Though there was a flagged portage on the east shore to bypass it, I lifted over a tremendous beaver dam that completely crossed the river about halfway into Little Eagle. It was about a 5-foot drop to the shallow waters below. 

Just south of the dam, I had to portage for another 50 meters up and down a steep esker that separated the river from Little Eagle Lake. From there, I paddled through a narrows that had a small set of swifts and to the campsite on the eastern shore of Little Eagle Lake near the portage to Zee Lake. I pulled my canoe up on the beach there. Even though my map showed that there was another site on the western shore, I couldn't find it. Only thick treeline could be seen there.  

I took my barrel up to the firepit, quickly lit a small cooking fire, and rehydrated a fantastic curry rice meal. I needed the energy for the long and most difficult portage of the route from Little Eagle Lake to Zee Lake. I also needed to filter more water. I sat for a bit enjoying the rest and taking in Little Eagle Lake. It was nice, and so was the campsite in a sandy, esker-like way. 

Knowing what I had in front of me, it took a little extra willpower to stand up, gather my gear, and head over to start the long portage. I was done procrastinating.

Within the first couple hundred meters of the portage, I crossed Eagle Lake Road, a road that leads off of Red Squirrel Road. A few meters to the south of the portage was a locked gate preventing access further north. This location can also be used as a starting point to begin this loop trip. 

For the next 500 meters or so, the trail wasn't too bad. I did have some blowdowns on it, but it was fairly easy to follow and had no major obstacles. After that, it climbed up a very steep hill, and to make matters worse, there were a number of large fallen birch trees along that incline. 

To add insult to injury, right at the crest of the hill, the trail seemed to disappear into a deep swamp. 

The 635-meter trail from Birch Lake into Whitewater Lake was both shorter and more difficult than expected. It was difficult because a massive tree had fallen across it very recently; all of the leaves were still green and fresh-looking. It completely blocked the path and there wasn't a clear way around it on either side. I ended up climbing over it, but it was a good 4 to 5 feet off the ground; getting the canoe over it and through its thick branches required some deft maneuvering.  

On the other hand, the portage was shorter than expected because I put in too soon. I came to the shore of a swampy bay and saw a landing area, so I put in there thinking I had reached Whitewater Lake. I did notice that the trail kept going and wondered about that. I soon discovered, after lifting over another massive beaver dam, that I hadn't quite reached Whitewater Lake just yet. I was in a little pond area west of the lake and had to do another 20-meter portage into Whitewater Lake proper. I assume that the portage continued to bypass that area which would have been easier to continue and follow in retrospect. 

Whitewater Lake, thankfully, did not display any whitewater at that time. I paddled the length of its western bay, veered south around a headland, and looked for the only campsite on the lake on the eastern point of an island at the western end of the main part of the lake. I spotted the island and then a firepit at the base of a steep mound of rock. I would make it my home for the night. 

I had completed 7 portages that day, some very challenging, with a combined length of 4.8 kilometers, each one done in two trips. That's close to 15 km of walking alone, never mind the weight of my packs and canoe, solo paddling against a headwind again, and clearing and dodging deadfall and beaver dams. I was exhausted, but in that fantastic way of knowing that I had accomplished and experienced something valuable. 

Setting my hammock way up on the top of that mound of island rock, I nearly had a heart attack. Not two feet above me next to the tree to which I was tying my hammock strap, a ruffed grouse suddenly flittered away in distress. I hadn't seen it and anyone who has witnessed a grouse do this knows that it's an instant explosion of feathers and wings. I must have jumped 6 feet in the air.  What the hell was a grouse doing hanging around on an island anyway?!? It was probably thinking the same thing about me. 

After recovering and having a good laugh to myself, I descended my lofty eyrie and went back down to the firepit area, where I rehydrated some spaghetti bolognese sauce and spread it on some naan bread with cheese to make a couple of bush pizzas. They were delicious. At the time, I was saying to myself, "This is the best fricking pizza I've ever had!" I always marvel at how amazing food tastes after a hard day of canoe-tripping. I enjoyed them with a full view of the entire lake unfurling before me to the east.