On one occasion we would endure an escape during the daily building of the wind, only to take off the water and wait out the weather an hour later. This particular occasion yielded us a SWEET place to stop, probably one of the most perfectly protected bays and beach campsites (multiple) that one could ever wish to encounter, yet we had to press on after the wind settled down in order to effectively keep moving.
Another time, we made it as far as lunch, which landed us in this hole of a bay, no beach, rocks, spiders, poison ivy, excitement, all those things. Upon departing from that ‘sanctuary’ we paddled an entire twenty minutes on the water before accepting the reality of 15-20kt winds we were not going to make it anywhere in such seas. We sought refuge on an island and waited out the wind. Patience eventually lead to calmness in the waters of the lake and we pressed on, towards an amazing view of Michipicoten Island and one heck of a campsite to boot!
Nestled somewhere, between beauty and amazing-ness we had the perfect beach-protected bay combination, one begging us to partake in its’ imminent bounty of blueberries; HECK YES!! This locale bears the name of Les Petit Mort Rocks, which to our infinite knowledge of the French language (this is a joke) translates to “Little Rocks of Death”. Understandably so in heavy seas, that this here place could pose a problem for travelers, it also could serve a façade for berry-lovers that is to deter people and beast away from this locale on account of its name of demise. That next morning we foraged and made some delectable blueberry pancakes (pretty much the best ever). Fueled up for a glorious day of paddling, we traveled on until the Wheat bin where we did some lunch/dinner combination (you can do those sorts of things every now and again you know). A note to future travelers this place hosts one amazing beach, a great place to camp and a dank-o-rific place to chill out.
Alas, the Pukaskwa finally graced our presence after many anticipated miles and stories about its’ legendary allure. We paddled in around Pt. Canadienne to find an untouched, (as it appeared from several hundred yards out), beach blessed with a mighty maple leafed banner. Upon closer inspection, deductive reasoning skills determined this a campsite, one used several times before, sometimes by others much sloppier than ourselves; nonetheless it would suffice to call home for the evening. As the sun dropped beyond the western horizon and night encroached our surroundings a lone figure, (a paddler as it were), masked by dusk arrived to the beach to ask “If we minded he camp on ‘our’ beach.” ‘Our beach?’ There’s a preposterous thought. Whose beach is it anyway? Certainly not any of the travelers whom set foot upon it- regardless to avoid digression, and keep on a rambling, we gracefully told him ‘there were no worries,’ in his camping here.
We would later learn this fellow was from Ann Arbor Michigan (originally from Marquette) and out for his yearly solo pilgrimage to the Puck. Commendable for certain, as our pre-emptive impression had all but rattled our nerves and we were just trying to make due. The next morning, which was bloody cold, we exchanged information about campsites, we told tales of a fat blue berry cache, and he of some commendable campsites. We then made about finishing our breakfast and paddling out into the vast wilds. Upon departure we would see a few folks (from a far) enjoying a canoe excursion, (covered canoe this time), and find an infamous Pukaskwa pit. Although there is no exact certainty as to what these pits were used for; there is speculation that they served purpose in vision quests. Though we can neither confirm nor deny these postulations, the one we did encounter had a pretty glorious view; and given sufficient time, one could imagine that life would of a sudden seem much simpler and enchanting.
Through out the days journey we paddled beyond Deep Harbour and through Otter Island, where as luck would have it we would see not one, but two otters. Fancy that, certainly not false advertising. We enjoyed the geologically endowed shoreline and a brief jaunt passed the final plunge of the Cascade River into the Lake. Shortly after that twisting torrent of white we triumphed beyond Triangle Harbour until our arrival just north of Newman’s Bay, which was recommended by our new friend. A delightful place it was indeed, big beach, tucked back and away from the lake. A small river off in the distance and an obvious desired location by paddlers and hikers alike. We took the afternoon to re-group the thoughts, strategize for the upcoming days, and bathe in Superiors’ then, frigid water. Ohhhhh what a RUSH. We’d conclude that daily experience with a dank meal and glorious sunset. A peaceful end to a peace perusing day…
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