Our first canoe camping experience in Canisbay Lake made us hungry for more, so we started looking for other places to explore. At our local Outdoors Oriented we bought a Kevin Callan “Paddler’s Guide To Ontario Cottage Country”. From among the two dozen choices we settled on Big East Lake and soon found that this (once free to canoe) crown land was now managed by the Haliburton Highlands Water Trails Reservation Service. We agonized over the map choices for a while but settled on site 3, which was not far from the access point and looked good from the pictures.
The portage from the parking lot down to the lake was a bit of a chore for us, since we were by no means travelling light, but this was soon forgotten when, after a short paddle, we found ourselves on a spacious campsite perched atop a magnificent rock. The campsite sits all by itself in a large bay directly across the lake from the access point, so all week long we could watch canoes coming and going along the main route on the north shore, and never once did a canoe venture within hailing distance of our site.
Eye Witness
I do not have a camera glued to my eye. I am happy to witness much of what goes by without the aid of zooming and artificial auto-focus. But, with the advent of digital photography and its gratifying feedback loop, I have become a much more prolific photographer than I ever was since I joined the camera club in high school some forty years ago. The personal satisfaction of being able to re-view the people and places of my past is immense. Desktop screensavers randomly cycling through our memories of a camping trip are an effective antidote to being cooped up in our home office.
You would think that a camera cannot see more than the eye can see, yet it does. Being on a quest for the best photograph opens our vision to views that we might miss or not bother with (like a five-thirty sunrise). But the camera also bears witness to our value of the things we see and imprints that value on the photo. The photographer values by waiting, watching, exploring, returning and arranging, and then by editing and viewing. The result, at best, are pictures imbued with love and desire.
In this gallery, I hope to leave evidence of my love for creation and the Creator, my delight in solitude and serenity, and of my desire for light, warmth, water and the woman who shares my life. Consider these pictures, then, as a thanks-giving.
Haliburton Highlands, Big East Lake, Site 3 ~ The Google Earth image shows most of Big East Lake. The distance between the canoe launch and campsite 3 is less than a kilometre. The portage from the parking lot is about 200 metres down a fairly steep trail.
Haliburton Highlands Water Trails, Poker Lakes Area ~ This is a screen shot of the interactive map showing the sites available through the online Reservation Service
The sign at the top the portage trail
Henry is a real man: he engineered the tump line and carried the canoe
The first order of business, after arriving on Saturday, was to set up the stove and heat up our gourmet supper – one of two that Tenielle prepared for us.
That evening, the sun, long out of sight, reaches us third hand – off the clouds and off the water.
Colour comeback ~ On Sunday morning (our first full day) at 5:34 a.m., the world is still, almost without colour.
With colour waiting in the wings, the Pickerel-weed silhouettes take center stage.
Early morning sun reaching back into the open forest around our site
We enjoyed our first coffee of the trip while enjoying these cool cloud formations.
The sky parts . . .
. . . but the sun is still veiled
By ten, Wendy is working seriously at her second coffee and her first book.
Henry, refusing to bury his nose in a book just yet, does not suffer from the same frown.
Perhaps he’s enjoying this lovely turn of leg.
The huge pine standing over our site
Henry prefers to take pictures
But he did settle in to read half a book
A five lined skink
We had yet another pre-cooked gourmet supper by Tenielle.
The kitchen is still a work in progress. There is no picnic table on this site.
Our bedroom has been tidied and is being aired. It seems we have forgotten the ground sheet for the tent and must make do with a tarp instead.
The last rays of the day light up the cove
On Monday morning the privy awaits
Campsite #3 restricted to 3 tents and 10 persons. Thankfully, we are just 2 people in one tent.
A photo by the resident coffee maker
After recently reviewing our glum faces on pictures past, we put on our best smiles
Tenielle’s deserts went well with our coffee and novels
Constellations ~ Rising hot and high at midday, the sun bejewels the lake.
Undulations ~ The water itself seems dimpled with pools of dark and light.
The high sun reaches down through the iron tinted water.
A lily competes with the clouds under the tree-sky canopy.
Wendy does the lunch dishes. This is still only our second day. Wendy is quite happy to do this. Really.
We are returning from an afternoon expedition to get more stuff from our van. This is the end of the portage trail from the parking lot, looking out over the lake towards our campsite.
After a short 15 minutes of canoeing from the trail, we are safely back at our canoe landing.
Henry takes a power nap.
Wendy too is blessed by rest.
Two birds with one stone
An after supper trip down the lake and around its island yielded this view of a spectacular cloud formation.
Just before we turned back to the gloom of our east facing site we caught this view of the setting sun (8:45 pm)
Tuesday morning, 7:45, Wendy is back in the magical waters of Big East Lake
Distant Hours, by Kate Morton ~ Another book begun
Sunny side up for a 9:30 breakfast. Freeze dried has its place, but can’t compare to a pan full of real food.
Tucking in is better than tumping up.
A morning walk through the woods to the other side of the peninsula brought us past this moss meadow at the summit
On the other side of the peninsula we discover the unoccupied site six.
My reflection and shadow are in the same picture. Does their relative size tell me anything about the depth of the water or my height above it?
We chased the loons again for a while, waiting and angling for that perfect shot.
A Tuesday afternoon excursion to get supplies at Carnarvon
Walking the highway for a quick visit to Bentshoe Lake on the north side
A family of ducks in Bentshoe Lake
The parking lot that serves Big East Lake and Bentshoe Lake
The portage trail takes us straight back down to water’s edge.
Close-up of our plague. The deer fly is not dear to us.
Tuesday evening we took our lawn chairs and books and canoed to an island with a view of the sunset
Still water looking west
A simple glow
By 6:30 am, Wednesday morning we were paddling again to visit the north-western arm of the lake
Paddling photographer
A too-quick pic of a beaver
By seven-ten we were close to ‘home’ again.
Wendy gets her bearings before embarking on the morning rituals.
Ten minutes later we were socked in by fog
But the sun came back
Un-self consciously showing off her wedding ring
Wendy’s favourite tree
Wendy just loves mushrooms
There are differing orthopraxis even among the water striders (also known as Jesus bugs)
Lilies fringed the shore of our cove
Mid-morning, Henry waded out into the water with a canoe in tow to get some close-ups of aquatic plants.
Still more lilies with Pickerel-weeds as a backdrop
Open and shut ~ Only time can account for the glory that is and will be again.
A view over the lily pad to the rock where we were camped
Here I’m coming back from a photo expedition with my faithful canoe. It’s difficult to take pictures carefully from inside a canoe because the stupid thing is always moving. So I decided to swim out to the lily patches with my canoe in tow, get a good foothold on the lake bottom and then reach into the canoe for the camera whenever I was ready to take a picture. It was, occasionally, a bit nerve racking.
Back at sunset-view island, it wasn’t hot, but the flies were crazy
A burst of colour during our last sunset. After the sun disappeared it was still light enough to read for a while.
In seeking itself the sun succumbs to the darkness.
Thursday morning sunrise
Two solitudes ~ The space between one and another rock, both rooted closely in the same fertile lake bed, is riven by the light from a distant sky.
A view of our morning sun-drenched rock
Breakup ~ The shattered, scattered rocks pile up proudly by the water’s edge.
Wendy, washed and dressed for civilization, saying goodbye to the Big East Lake.
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