From here on out we explored through channels around small rock outcroppings and isles the reminder of the Pukaskwa. I continued a devoted mission to find the beach that featured a photograph of a biadarka on the back cover of Northland Magazine, but to no success I embraced the scenery we did experience. On our last leg of the journey we happened to find ourselves using that crux line, “should we stay or should we go… Now… If we go there will be trouble, if we stay there will be double… Ohhh chorus reprise”.
But really, the wind was predicted to pick on up, the appraised location was somewhere between Picture Island and Playter Harbour which meant a fight to an unknown territory past the Pic river, but there was solitude in this bay. The bay, which at that point was actually behind us (probably due to our beastly paddling skills) meaning in all reality we were in Hattie Cove- not to say this locale is not beauteous in its’ own right, but we kept on keeping on, made it to some little break in the rock (really more of a retaining ground for drift wood and logs, supplied with some sand for prime tent pitching grounds) north of the Pic River and called it home for the night. The next morning we would rise early style and paddle on into Marathon- bit of a shocker after completing the previous 122 miles. The land was littered with industry, sour smelling air and an abundance of Chevy trucks. (Censored inappropriate generalization about pickup gangs). Ahhhh, the great Canadian civilization.
Our motivation for Marathon revolved around hope we had a food box there, which we were not in DIRE need of, but close. Actually who would we be kidding we needed more food. Upon looking for a place to take out, we landed possibly landed on paper mill land, although we can neither confirm nor deny this and come to think of it I can’t remember the exact date in which we may or may not have been there (as I have heard some terminology, I believe called ‘trespassing’), we found a beach, called the post office only to be informed they could not locate our food box…Which, translated into real life, meant the temp worker did not know where to look for our box- a task I can imagine could be quite daunting considering it probably was the ONLY one from the states that said ‘HOLD FOR KAYAKERS’ – but hey, (no worries) hang loose right? I joke around about this, for all the information was gathered from a conversation that went a little like this:“Hello, is this the Marathon Post Office”
“Yes it is”
“Hello, my name is Captain Adventure, and hopefully your cavernous center of communications, bountiful boxes and lucrative letters houses a mighty cache of food for us in the form of a United States Postal Service flat rate box. My partner and I are kayaking around this mighty Lake and we sent the box ahead of time.”
“Wha-? Captain Adventure? Is this a prank call?”
“Look fellow maple syruping, took wearing citizen, the details of our presence concern thee not in the least, doth you have a box from the United States of America denoting the phrase ‘ hold for kayakers’?”
“I am really not certain, I do not believe so, but... I can check.”
-‘Oh CANADA’ plays in the background for hold music.-
“I am really not seeing the box which you seem to desire Capt. Adventure.”
Perhaps you are not looking hard enough. – Censored thought.
“The regular worker is not here”
“Have you kidnapped them? Where are they, did they make off with our food cache?”
“She’s on Holiday.”
“Ah, I see, holiday. Did she need an abundance of food for this for this extended leave? Well, anyway what time are you open until?”
“Actually, we closed half and hour ago; but you can call again Tuesday, because we Canadians also celebrate the day of Laborious recognition Monday, thus we are closed until then.”
“Interesting, so you are not seeing the box?”
“No. But you can call on Tuesday”
“Very well. Thank you.”
“Good Bye”
“Stomp on the weak ones.”
“Wha-?”
Click.
Ah, remorseful day and feeling. It was on the weekend before Labour Day. (Canadian style, you gotta add that extra vowel, make it count). I think Saturday, but as mentioned before we can’t be absolutely for certain due to that whole paper mill land thing. Anyway, Saturday to Tuesday for no absolute guarantee a food box was going to be there… No thanks; we’d been there before ‘Ontonagon –style’. We meandered up towards an actual boat launch and asked some locals where the town was.
“Marathon, you’re here, this is Marathon.”
“This seems like a boat launch to me.”
“The town is right up there, up that hill, you can’t miss it”
“About how far, less than 5 K? (That’s Canadian for 3.2 miles)”
“Oh, its right up there, you can’t miss it.”
Well guess what? We missed it…
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