Algonquin Park

Just spent three wonderful days in Algonquin Park. For those of you (Americans!) who have not heard of it--and I had not until a few years ago--it is a fantastic place full of enough lakes and streams and so devoid of significant roads that one can paddle and portage for literally hundreds of miles in peace and quiet.

The park is huge--7725 sq km, bigger than Delaware, smaller than Connecticut--small states, but remember folks this is a park. It is nearly as large as Yellowstone, the crown jewel of our American National Park system.

The highlight of our trip--aside from seeing 4 black bears roadside, Mama and three babies--was our 24 hour backcountry trip. Before you think us too hardy, remember "we" includes a 3 year old, a seven year old and a ten year old. We paddled a full two hours to find a campsite. Tara and Baker spotted it from far afield, a bright orange sign, flickering in the sunlight reflected off Rock Lake. The park service uses the signs to mark usable campsites and, as we approached it, we hoped that nobody else would have already taken it.

To hedge our bets, Riley and I headed off in our canoe towards another campsite, inspected it and then decided to paddle back towards the others. What a paddle that was. It was about four in the afternoon and a big north wind had risen up and pushed our canoe this way and that. The half kilometer or so that we paddled from our inspected site to the one discovered by Tara, Baker and Tae took a full fifteen minutes.

But we were well rewarded. The site was nestled in a little bay, created by a rocky outpost to the north that perfectly blocked the wind. There was ample pine-needle layered forest floor to lay down our tent and an enormous water-front granite rock upon which to rest, cook, build a fire and play. Great spot!

We set about to the business of camping--setting up tents, gathering wood for a fire, getting the camp stove going and digging up dinner. It is all so much fun, in contrast to the same tasks at home. Who enjoys making the bed? Not I. Who enjoys making yet another dinner of spaghetti on the stove at home? Not I. Who enjoys cleaning up after dinner? Not I. But, transfer these tasks to the outdoors--erecting tents, cooking over a fire or campstove, hanging a bear bag!--and they become almost magical. They are done with some excitement and joy, rather than drudgery.

OK, before I get too carried away--yes, the kids did not hustle up all the time to gather more wood and they were not thrilled about doing dishes after dinner, even under a starry sky. But, the joy of camping--of a night spent in the outdoors, of the feeling of going to bed with nothing separating you from the forest but a zipper, of waking up and stepping immediately on pine needles and earth--has a quality that is difficult to match. And, I think that was true for all of us, adults and kids, despite tough night's sleep (Tara, who shared a sleeping bag with Tae) or nasty falls (Tae, who bit (almost) all the way through his lip.)

We swam. We fished--caught a nice bass. We washed up in the water. Roasted marshmallows. Paddled. Told stories. Looked for constellations. Mused about folks 10,000 years ago looking at the same constellations.

It was very, very nice.