Day 5 - There Are No Bad Trips, Only Bad Attitudes
Glass Water and Burntroot Bliss
Well, it's about 11:06 a.m. on Friday morning and today is absolutely gorgeous. Cold? Very. But outside of the temperature this day has been perfect. Right now I'm stretched out in the hammock watching the wind move through the pines surrounding camp. The lake is sparkling, the sun is out, and the site is quiet. The canoe is packed and ready to go because today is adventure day. No travel or deadlines. No wondering where I'll sleep that night. Just a full day to explore Burntroot Lake and enjoy being here. Like I said yesterday, I'm in heaven.
Last night ended up being another late one. After finishing my journal entry, I spent hours sitting near the shoreline staring up at the stars. Three shooting stars crossed the sky over the course of the night. The Milky Way was visible again. The Big Dipper hung over the lake. Every time I thought about going to bed, something else in the sky convinced me to stay up a little longer. Sleep continues to be weird out here.
I'm not tired exactly, but I'm definitely not sleeping well either. I probably crawled into the sleeping bag around 3 a.m., then spent most of the night waking up every hour or so because of the cold. That's definitely one thing I'll be changing before future spring trips. I need a better sleeping pad and probably my own high-quality cold-weather sleeping bag instead of piecing together gear and hoping for the best. The funny thing is that even though the sleep hasn't been great, I still feel fantastic.
This morning felt surreal from the moment I crawled out of the tent. There wasn't a breath of wind. Nothing. Burntroot Lake looked like glass. Not mostly calm or pretty still. Completely glassed over. The reflections were so perfect that while filming videos I genuinely had moments where I couldn't tell which shoreline was real and which one was reflected in the water. It was one of those rare wilderness moments where your brain almost struggles to process what you're seeing.
So I sat there for a long time. Coffee in hand. Just staring. No podcast or music. Just me and a perfectly calm Burntroot Lake. Eventually I made oatmeal, brewed a second coffee, and tackled a few camp chores that had been piling up. The mug desperately needed cleaning, so everything got a proper wash. I also finished some laundry that I hadn't been able to complete the previous day. Right now as I'm writing this, wool socks, sleeping socks, undershirts, and a few other items are hanging from the clothesline drying in the wind.
By around noon I finally pushed off to start exploring the lake. And wow what a day. I ended up exploring almost the entirety of Burntroot from south to north and back again. One of the coolest realizations happened gradually too. As I paddled from bay to bay and wandered along shorelines, I started noticing something. There was nobody here. Nobody. This enormous lake was essentially mine for the day. I'm pretty sure Burntroot is the largest lake I've ever had completely to myself. That feeling was incredible. For a few hours it genuinely felt like I had my own private lake somewhere deep inside Algonquin.
The paddle north was leisurely in the best possible way. I stopped at multiple campsites along the way, including one that made me far more excited than it probably should have. It was the campsite used by Mark and Iain during Season 2 of Mark in the Park. And yes, maybe that's nerdy. I don't care. I remembered specific things they had mentioned about the site years ago, especially around the fire pit area, and it was genuinely cool standing there in person after watching those episodes so many times.
Eventually I reached the north end of Burntroot near Portal Rapids and the 150-metre portage into Perley Lake. Behind the nearby campsite sits one of the things I'd been looking forward to seeing most. The root cellar. And oh my gosh. I finally got to see it. I even climbed inside.
It was one of those moments where years of maps, videos, stories, and imagination suddenly collided with reality. I'm almost positive I first learned about the root cellar through Mark in the Park years ago, so actually standing there after travelling all this way felt incredibly satisfying. It's hard to explain, but there was a real sense of fulfillment standing inside something I'd thought about visiting for years.
While I was exploring the area, I heard voices coming down the portage trail. Eventually four guys appeared. Two older gentlemen and two younger guys, probably around fourteen and seventeen years old. They sounded like they were searching for the cellar, so I called out, "It's over here." Turns out their names were Barrett, Mike, Talon, and Ivan. Honestly, pretty good memory on my part.
They were on a fishing trip and planned to spend the night on Perley Lake while fishing around Portal Rapids. We chatted for a while and I asked if by some miracle they happened to have a square-head screwdriver or bit that could help with the canoe repair. Instantly all four of them started digging through gear trying to help. No luck unfortunately. Still, just seeing how quickly they jumped in said a lot. Eventually we exchanged pleasantries and headed our separate ways.
The paddle back south was beautiful. I took my time, checked out more campsites, drifted through bays, and simply enjoyed the lake. One of the things I love most about a layover day is that there is absolutely no pressure. No weather window to beat. No destination that needs to be reached before dark. No portage waiting around the next corner. The entire day felt like a reward for the work it took to get here.
I ended up back at camp sometime around 4 p.m. after leaving around noon, so probably a solid three or four hours of exploring altogether. By then I was starving. Lunch ended up being Kraft Dinner and another pizza. It may not sound like a gourmet meal, but out here it felt elite. I ate all the pizza and about half the Kraft Dinner before finally reaching that familiar point of, "Okay, that's enough." Then came one of the greatest luxuries in backcountry camping: absolutely nothing.
I set my chair up down near one of the lower rock ledges by the water and settled in for a long afternoon of doing very little. I had Chris Hadfield's book with me, a pile of snacks, juice, and a towel over my head for shade. The bugs had picked up slightly during the warmer part of the afternoon, but nothing unbearable. The Chris Hadfield book continued to be phenomenal. Honestly, every time I picked it up I ended up reading more than I planned. The combination of a great book, a beautiful campsite, and nowhere else to be felt almost unfair.
Eventually the evening started creeping in and I loaded back into the canoe for another paddle. This time I explored the western side of Burntroot instead of the eastern side and slowly worked my way toward Whistle Bay. Part of me was hoping to spot a moose feeding along the shoreline somewhere, but unfortunately no such luck. What I did find was another reminder of why Burntroot has such a legendary reputation among paddlers. Whistle Bay was stunning. The shoreline, reflections, and complete solitude are wonderful. At one point I shouted across the lake just to hear the echo come back. I know. Childish. I don't care.
Hearing your voice boom across an empty lake is one of those simple pleasures that never seems to get old. The echo rolled back across the water and disappeared into the trees. For a few seconds it genuinely felt like I was the only person in Algonquin.
Afterward I paddled out into open water and simply drifted while the sun began setting. Ate some trail mix, sipped on Mio, and just existed. Just me, a canoe, and one of the most beautiful evenings I've ever experienced. As I drifted there watching the colours change across the sky, I found myself thinking again about the philosophy that had quietly shaped the entire trip. There are no bad trips, only bad attitudes.
The broken thwart. The freezing nights. The headwinds. The exhausting portages. The uncertainty. None of those things had disappeared. They were all still part of the story. But sitting there in the middle of Burntroot Lake, watching the sunset reflect off water so calm it looked like polished glass, I couldn't imagine removing any of those challenges from the trip. No no, this is a good thing because moments like this mean more when you've worked for them. No no, this is a good thing because the hard days make the beautiful days even better. No no, this is a good thing because someday this is exactly the part I'll remember.
The paddle back to camp happened during that strange period of twilight after sunset where everything feels almost like pre-dawn. I don't think I've ever paddled in lighting quite like that before. The lake was completely calm again and the canoe seemed to glide effortlessly across the surface. For long stretches I barely paddled at all and simply drifted. It felt like the entire lake was slowing down for the evening.
Back at camp, I reorganized gear and started preparing dinner. That's when I realized I had officially run out of stove fuel. Classic me. I've never been particularly good at fuel calculations. The funny thing was that I barely reacted. A few days earlier that might have stressed me out. Instead, I just shrugged and started building a fire. By this point I actually felt confident cooking over the flames. Somewhere between Canoe Lake and Burntroot, I had become far more comfortable adapting when things didn't go according to plan.
So I got a good fire going and started cooking rice while reheating curry beside the flames. And honestly? It was one of the coolest meals of the trip. Then came a brief disaster. While draining the rice, the pot slipped and roughly two-thirds of it dumped directly onto the ground. Gone. Finished. Instantly converted into squirrel food. And honestly? I didn't really care.
There was still enough rice left for the curry and naan bread. The meal was still going to happen. The fire was still crackling. The lake was still beautiful. Looking back, I couldn't help but laugh at how different I felt compared to the beginning of the trip. On Day 1, a broken thwart had me wondering whether the route was even possible. On Day 5, I dumped most of my dinner onto the ground and barely reacted.
The problems weren't smaller. My perspective was different. No no, this is a good thing because I still have enough rice. No no, this is a good thing because now I get a funny story out of it. No no, this is a good thing because dinner still tastes great.
As I sat there eating curry beside the fire, I had Pardon My Take playing quietly in the background, specifically the Bill Belichick interview episode. The historic anchor sat nearby. The moon reflected off the lake. The fire crackled in front of me. And I remember having one of those rare moments where you become completely aware that you're experiencing something you'll remember for the rest of your life. Not because anything dramatic was happening. Because everything was exactly as it should be. It felt…… right.
Earlier in the day, the guys from Perley Lake had told me about a black bear they encountered near Cedar Lake. Apparently they had been sleeping in their truck because they arrived late the night before, too late to start their trip. While sleeping, one of them heard banging in the truck bed. At first they assumed paddles or gear were shifting around. Then another bang. Somebody realized there was actually a bear back there. Apparently all it stole were two beers. Naturally my response was, "did it leave any beer money." That got a pretty good laugh from everyone.
By around 12:30 a.m. I was still sitting by the fire. The moon was out. The lake had gone completely calm again. Reflections stretched across the water like a mirror. Somewhere off in the distance, an owl started calling. That's actually pretty rare for me. Despite all the time I've spent camping, I don't hear owls nearly as often as people might expect. Listening to that owl call across Burntroot Lake while the fire slowly burned down felt like the perfect ending to an incredible day.
Tomorrow would be Day 6. Officially the longest Algonquin trip I'd ever completed. That felt pretty surreal. The plan was to begin heading back toward Big Trout Lake. Only three portages, with the longest around 300 metres, but I had already learned that routes that look easy on a map can quickly become challenging when weather decides to get involved. Longer Lake had certainly lived up to its name on the way in.
So I slowly started preparing for the morning. Coffee packed near the top of the food pack. Oatmeal ready. Water filtered in the pot. Gear organized. Hammock down. The hot water bottle still needed to be prepared, while a few final camp chores remained before bed. Even knowing I was leaving Burntroot tomorrow, I wasn't sad. I was happy.
Completely, deeply happy.
The kind of happy that comes from being fully present in a moment and knowing exactly how fortunate you are to be experiencing it. For five days, this trip had challenged me, surprised me, humbled me, and rewarded me. Tonight, sitting beside a fire on Anchor Island, listening to owls and watching moonlight dance across Burntroot Lake, that felt like more than enough.
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