Day 4 - There Are No Bad Trips, Only Bad Attitudes
Heaven on Anchor Island
What a day.
As I write this, I'm stretched out in a hammock surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen in my life. Honestly, this place doesn't even feel real. There have been multiple moments today where I've looked around and genuinely thought, "did I die and go to heaven?." I took photos and videos throughout the day, but I already know they won't do it justice. Burntroot Lake, and Anchor Island in particular, is one of those rare places that seems almost impossible to capture properly.
Last night was cold, reaaaaaally cold. I had on underwear, shorts, thermal long johns, pajama pants, joggers, wool socks, an undershirt, T-shirt, long-sleeve shirt, another t-shirt, hoodie, and a rain jacket. I was fully zipped up inside my sleeping bag and still woke up every hour and a half or two hours because of the cold. Oddly enough, it wasn't bad sleep. The wind moving through the trees and the sound of the lake somehow made it peaceful despite the constant waking up. I think although I was awake, my body still got 8 hours of uninterrupted movement. It was one of those nights where you're aware you aren't sleeping well, but you're still happy to be exactly where you are.
Around 5 a.m. I woke up again and partially unfurled the rain fly so I could sleep with the tent door slightly open. By then the temperature had warmed up a little. Hearing the lake more clearly with the rain fly open was worth the trade-off of getting up for a few minutes. Eventually I drifted back to sleep and didn't wake up until around 10 a.m. Honestly, I think my body needed every minute of it. The previous three days had taken a lot out of me; physically, mentally, and emotionally. For the first time all trip, there was nowhere I needed to be and nothing I needed to accomplish.
The morning unfolded at an appropriately slow pace. Two coffees. A couple BLTs, minus the tomato because I still maintain tomatoes are an overrated vegetable. Or fruit. Whatever they are. The important thing is they weren't on my sandwich. What I lacked in tomato I made up for in bacon.. I figured if this ended up being my only BLT, or BL, of the trip, I might as well do it properly. Sitting in my chair overlooking Burntroot Lake while drinking coffee and eating bacon felt like a pretty good way to spend a rest day.
After breakfast I mostly just existed. I read more of Chris Hadfield's book, An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth, which has been fantastic so far. At one point I even shook the book upside down. In the past Nicole has hidden little notes for me in books and I thought maybe she'd slipped one into this one too. Nothing fell out, and I felt surprisingly disappointed. I continued reading and enjoying the scenery. I then spent some time gathering and processing firewood, which is one camping task I thoroughly enjoy. Chopping wood is oddly satisfying. Sawing is fine, but sawing only exists so you can get to the chopping part.
The more time I spent on Anchor Island, the more convinced I became that this might be my favourite campsite I've ever stayed on. Before this trip, the island site on McIntosh Lake held that title. Not anymore. Anchor Island has officially won the Nigel Applewhaite Top Campsite Award (Think of it like the speed dial episode of Seinfeld). The scenery is ridiculous. Massive white pines tower over the site. Beautiful rock faces rise behind camp. Incredible views stretch across the lake in multiple directions. I can already imagine somebody writing a campsite review complaining that the site slopes too much or that the fire pit isn't perfectly positioned, I couldn't care less. This place is magical. Perfect.
Eventually I started thinking about exploring. One of the reasons Burntroot had always fascinated me was its history. Sitting beside me on Anchor Island was a massive anchor from the logging era, and down at the south end of the lake sat the remains of an old alligator logging tug. Years ago, when Nicole and I first started researching Algonquin routes, I remember reading about the alligator and being completely confused. Why was there an alligator in Algonquin? Of course, I eventually learned it wasn't a reptile. It was an old steam-powered logging machine used to move massive booms of logs across lakes during the logging era. The moment I learned that, I knew I wanted to see one in person someday.
After enough coffee, hammock time, and reading, I finally got moving. First was lunch (can’t explore on an empty stomach). I made pizza, well two pizzas to be exact. Absolutely delicious (note to future self, don’t top your pizza with chili flakes if you have a slight sunburn on your lips). I also made sure to hydrate heavily. Mio mixed with extra salt became my drink of choice because my body clearly needed the electrolytes after the previous few days. Looking back, yesterday's tropical Kool-Aid may have been one of the greatest beverages I've ever consumed. Amazing what happens when your body desperately wants sugar.
The paddle toward the south end of Burntroot was beautiful. A gentle side wind occasionally became a tailwind depending on how I angled across the lake. The travel felt effortless compared to the previous three days. There was no pressure. No schedule. No destination I absolutely had to reach before dark. For the first time all trip, I was simply exploring. Eventually I reached the clearing marked on my map and started searching.
Almost immediately I began finding artifacts.
Old metal fragments. Rusted cookware. Machinery parts scattered throughout the forest. Remnants of a completely different era hidden among the trees. At first I actually searched in the wrong direction because my brain betrayed me. I always associate west with left and east with right, but since I was facing south, west was actually to my right. Naturally, I went left. Even though I was technically lost, I still found some incredible things, including old root cellars and what appeared to be the remains of larger structures.
Eventually I returned to the clearing, got back in the canoe, and followed the shoreline properly. The farther I went, the more every strange shape in the woods started looking like machinery. The forest plays tricks on your eyes that way. Then finally, through the trees, I saw it. The alligator. Holy smokes. It was so much bigger than I imagined.
The wheels alone were enormous. Massive steel gears lay partially buried in the earth. Thick cables still wound around parts of the machine. The boiler was gigantic. Standing beside it, it was impossible not to feel a sense of respect for the people who worked out here over a century ago. I still don't fully understand how they managed some of the things they accomplished. The idea that these machines could haul logs across lakes and even pull themselves across sections of land is mind-blowing.
Seeing it in person after years of reading about it felt surreal.
Eventually I made my way back toward camp as the sun started setting, and honestly the return paddle may have been one of the most beautiful paddles of my life. The sky turned pink and orange. The water became almost perfectly still. The wind that had followed me for days finally seemed to take the evening off. Everything reflected across the lake so perfectly that at times it felt like I was paddling through the sky itself. I took my time the entire way back.
As I drifted across Burntroot, I found myself thinking again about one of the mottos that had followed me throughout the trip: there are no bad trips, only bad attitudes. The broken thwart. The cold nights. The headwinds. The exhausting portages. None of those things had disappeared. They were all still part of this trip. But sitting there in the middle of Burntroot Lake, surrounded by colours that almost didn't look real, I couldn't imagine removing any of those hardships from the story. No no, this is a good thing because without the struggle, moments like this wouldn’t have happened for me.
At one point during the paddle, I started thinking about my dad.
My dad passed away when I was nineteen years old from complications related to cancer. Over the years, I've heard lots of people talk about receiving signs from loved ones who have passed away. A bird appearing at the perfect moment. A dream. Some coincidence that feels too meaningful to ignore. I've never really experienced anything like that myself. I've never been particularly spiritual, and I've never had one of those movie moments where everything suddenly clicks. But something felt different out there.
I wasn't seeing signs or hearing voices. I just felt close to him. Sitting alone in a canoe on Burntroot Lake, watching the sun disappear behind the trees, I found myself talking to him quietly in my head. Thinking about life. Thinking about where I've been and where I'm going. Thinking about how much has changed since he died. People who have lost someone important will probably understand what I mean. Sometimes there isn't a big moment. Sometimes there's just a feeling. And for whatever reason, I felt that connection very strongly out there.
By the time I reached camp, darkness was settling over the lake and the loons had started calling again. Later that night, after dinner and a fire, I found myself standing beside the historic anchor looking up at the sky. The moon had finally dropped below the horizon, and suddenly the stars exploded into view. Every other night of the trip had some amount of moonlight washing them out. Tonight was different. The Milky Way was faintly visible overhead. The Big Dipper stood out clearly. I've always loved the Big Dipper. Ever since I was a kid. And for the first time in my life, I finally saw Ursa Major.
I've looked at the Big Dipper thousands of times before, but suddenly my brain connected the whole image together. It was like one of those optical illusions where once you see the hidden picture, you can never unsee it. Suddenly there was the bear. Standing there beside the fire, beside this historic anchor, hearing loons echo across Burntroot Lake while staring up at a sky full of stars, I found myself thinking about Al's Three A's. Attendance. Aptitude. Attitude.
Showing up matters. Building skills matters. But if this trip has taught me anything so far, it's how much attitude shapes the experience. The weather doesn't care about your plans. The wind doesn't care about your schedule. Canoes break, forecasts are wrong, portages hurt (I called the portage butler but they never came). Yet somehow those challenges often become the very stories we treasure most afterward.
I have tears in my eyes as I write this. This has genuinely been one of the best days of my life. I'm fully present in this moment, and it honestly doesn't even feel real. For years, Burntroot was a place on a map. A destination in trip reports. A lake I'd read about and dreamed about visiting someday.
Tonight, it's still home.
Trip at a Glance
Trip Length: 8 Days / 7 Nights
Solo Trip #: 3
Backcountry Trip #: 8
Planned Route:
Canoe Lake → Otterslide Lake → Big Trout Lake → Burntroot Lake (3 nights) → Big Trout Lake → Burnt Island Lake → Canoe Lake/Home
Actual Route:
Canoe Lake → Burnt Island Lake → Big Trout Lake → Burntroot Lake (3 nights) → Big Trout Lake → Little Otterslide Lake → Canoe Lake/Home
Paddling Distance: 88.8 km
Portaging Distance: 27.6 km
Total Distance Travelled: 116.4 km
Total Portages: 26
New Lakes Travelled: 6
New Creek Travelled: 1
Favourite Campsite: Anchor Island, Burntroot Lake