The Frisky Moose…
And my first Algonquin Park solo backcountry canoe trip.
“All Blogs are written in my own words, without the embellishment of “AI” Technology. As an Artist, I feel that presenting you with artwork or written words that are authentic and reflect me as a person, my experiences and my character is of utmost importance.”
The look of nervous anticipation.
This is a story about leaving my comfort zone, to spend 3 days alone on Tom Thomson Lake, surrounded by nature, and quiet reflection… interrupted by 30 minutes of sheer panic.
In September of 2021, I decided to do my first solo back-country canoe trip. I’ve spent most of my free time in nature, surrounded by wild places, whether on a mountain bike, hiking or paddling. The key detail that made this endeavour challenging for me was the idea of spending multiple days… and nights… alone in the wilderness, far from a cell signal, and the safety of my pick-up truck. Let’s face it, like many people, I was scared of bears. I’ve seen many bears from the safety of a vehicle, and I’ve read stories, and seen movies about bears. Apart from Paddington, most of those didn’t end well. I also consider myself a logical person, with a reasonable amount of common sense, so I knew the statistical odds of being eaten by a woodland creature paled in comparison to the dangers of simply driving to Canoe Lake. Logic wins… right?
For months beforehand, I watched YouTube videos from popular adventurists such as Joe Robinet, Shawn James, Adam Shoalts, and Chris Prouse (Chris Prouse’s Bear video didn’t help my nervousness). With each video I studied, I learned a few more tips and techniques, and my confidence and comfort level grew. My list of essential gear was starting to take shape. By the time summer had drawn to a close, I had everything I needed, tested and vetted, and I felt ready to make this trip a reality.
Map of Tom Thomson Lake
I chose Tom Thomson Lake for a couple of reasons. Firstly, the name. As an artist in Canada, I was always enamoured by the work of Tom Thomson and the Group of Seven, and their work was often a topic of my studies throughout my schooling. I was equally fascinated by the mystery that surrounded Tom’s death. Books like Tom Thomson’s Last Bonfire by Geoff Taylor had painted such a vivid picture in my mind of Canoe Lake, Joe Lake Dam and the surrounding area, that I needed to include these in my route. Secondly, the distance from the launch at Canoe Lake to Tom Thomson Lake seemed like a manageable journey for my first solo paddle with a loaded canoe.
So it was settled, videos were studied, gear was chosen and the location was finalized… I just had to decide when. I decided on September 10th, after Labour Day, cooler temperatures, presumably fewer flying pests, and less people in the park. One minor but critical detail that evaded me, was the proximity of this date to the Moose mating season (play ominous background music).
Day 1
It was 5 am, Timmy’s dark roast in hand, and my wife Carla and I were on our way to Canoe Lake with my Swift Keewaydin Combi securely strapped to the top of my truck. Arriving at the launch shortly before 9 am, I laid my canoe on the coarse sand of the beach in front of the permit office. I loaded my 75 litre dry bag in front of my centre seat, and a smaller 20 litre kitchen and food bag behind the seat. I started the tracking on my Garmin Explorer and reviewed my mental checklist as I had rehearsed so many times in preparation for this day. I kissed Carla goodbye, trying my very best to look calm and cool, but in reality, underneath my Eddie Bauer clad exterior, I was raging with anxiety as I shoved off and watched her disappear in the distance.
Tom Thomson Cairn - Canoe Lake
Canoe Lake was like a sheet of glass, the only ripples on the water coming from my Bending Branches kayak paddle, which propels me effortlessly while I’m seated in the centre seat of my loaded Keewaydin canoe. I hugged the eastern shoreline, behind Cook Island and made my way across to the Tom Thomson Cairn highlighted on my map. If you haven’t stopped by this place, it is definitely worth the effort and the short walk up the rocky trail. The totem pole and monument are beautifully made, especially the inscription written by Tom’s friend and painter J. E. H. MacDonald. History tells us that this location was one of Tom Thomson’s favourite campsites. I can see why.
The creek beside the Joe Lake Portage
I continued onward to the Joe Lake portage and dam. Rather than taking out at the main portage opening, I continued down the creek to the shallow ripples where the water gets thin and I heard a few new beauty marks being created on the bottom of my carbon canoe. It is well documented that this little creek leading up to the dam has held some legendary trout. One Lake Trout in particular nicknamed “The Queen” was a legend in Tom Thomson’s day. I salivated at the idea of gracefully presenting a dry fly into one of the slow, deep, beer coloured eddies along the east side of this little creek and waiting for the tell-tale sound of nature’s smartest fish taking the fly. But alas, trout season was closed, and more importantly, this creek is now a fish sanctuary, so the Queen’s descendants are well protected. The portage to Joe Lake is likely one of the easiest in the park. Well worn and only 295m long. I’ve heard that on peak weekends there can be long waits and crowds of people here. I saw only 2 fellow paddlers on this day.
After a short break and a sip of water, I continued North from the Joe Lake dam. Navigating under the old railway bridge which once led to the Canoe Lake train station, I like to imagine a time before Hwy 60, when the Canoe Lake train station was a bustling hub for this area. The sound of steam trains, horses and logging equipment is now replaced with the echos of a Grey Jay or a distant Loon. In those days, canoes were a necessity, a practical and economical way to get around. Today, the canoe is the catalyst for a deep-rooted culture, appreciated by nature lovers and adventurists alike, much like the Mountain Bike, my other “silent sport”.
As I paddled through the Western gap of Joe Lake, I felt civilization fading behind me. Cottages became less frequent, and in the air, I could smell the occasional campfire from fellow late-season campers cooking some lunch over the crackle of an open flame. Joe Lake opens up to Tepee Lake, and a distant view of Camp Arowhon, quiet and deserted for the season. Clouds were starting to fill the sky and a stiff headwind made my paddle across Tepee feel like hard work. It was at this point that I started to appreciate the novice-length route that I chose. My map told me that I was about 2/3 of the way to Tom Thomson but I couldn’t rest in the headwind of Tepee so I pushed on. I could sense that the weather was turning, despite the forecast for clear skies all day. This was my least favourite part of the journey, but I remained focussed on the little opening on the far shoreline, leading me to the narrows of the Little Oxtongue River en route to Fawn Lake. This Little Oxtongue felt more intimate, quieter, and interesting. The shore on both sides was close enough to appreciate nature’s details, and the wind was kept slightly at bay. After a peaceful paddle and a turn to the left, I was in Fawn Lake. A small, marshy lake that I can best describe as “Moosey”. I drifted here for 10 minutes in silence, resting my paddle across the gunwales, and scouting the shoreline in every direction anticipating the movement of a Moose. None to be seen.
My favourite part of this route is the next section of the Little Oxtongue River. Small and winding, sheltered from the wind. I could slow the pace and relax. Signs of humanity were infrequent along this stretch, apart from the occasional empty campsite cut into the shadows of the dense shoreline. The clouds continued to intensify, but I barely noticed as I was so immersed in my surroundings. I was starting to feel the sense of being alone. There was a moment when I realized that my safety and well-being were now in my hands and help was 2 hours behind me.
By the time I reached Little Doe Lake, it had started spitting. I could barely feel any rain, but the little radiating bullseyes on the water's surface told the story. Little Doe Lake was home to a few picturesque campsites on higher rock outcroppings. I made a mental note of these for future consideration. Now I’m looking for the left-hand turn into a narrow that leads to Tom Thomson Lake. I see what looks like a bay choked full of late-season lily pads. Through the thick mat of lily pads, I can see a darker winding gap amongst the fading green pads, meandering towards a distant opening. This is my route. I love this type of paddling, steering along a winding path, trying to stay within the boundaries defined by lily pads. It reminds me of negotiating a quiet singletrack on my Mountain Bike. A larger raindrop hits me and reminds me of the urgency to find a campsite and erect my shelter.
The entrance into Tom Thomson Lake
As the lily pads opened up to a larger channel, the winds also picked up dramatically. As indicated on the map, I see the Beaver Dam ahead that separates Little Doe from Tom Thomson. As I approach the dam I assess the water level and decide to “give’er”. I pick up as much speed as I can, aiming for the small opening in the dam, and hit the small rise of submerged limbs. My momentum carries me up and onto the submerged limbs. Helped by a couple of well-timed hip thrusts, I was free and on my way into Tom Thomson, with a few more scratches to mark the experience. Leaving the shelter of the creek and entering a heavy headwind from the northwest, I am reminded how much the weather can change in a short trip. From clear skies and glassy water to stiff winds and rain, I am becoming very respectful of Mother Nature and her unpredictability.
As Tom Thomson Lake opened up in front of me for the first time, I was blown away by the classic Algonquin beauty of this lake. Immediately, I recognized a couple of islands to my left with wind-blown pines that seemed like they jumped out of a Tom Thomson painting. I decided to hug the left shoreline and begin my search for a campsite. The first site I reached (#17 on the map) was west-facing for a nice sunset, but steeper and wouldn’t see the sun until well into the afternoon. I continued to site #16 at the southern end of the lake. The site was located on the right side of a rocky point, which I thought would be an ideal place to shoot some images for future paintings. When I reached this site, I was tired and feeling anxious about the weather. I think this played a major role in my decision to settle here. I hopped out of my canoe for a much-needed stretch and had a quick walk around the site. It was fairly large and open, with a nice fire pit tucked up against a huge boulder. On the left, the site was bordered by a dense wall of deciduous brush with a trail opening beyond it. This led to a large grove of pine and cedar with very little undergrowth. Adjacent to this trail opening was a nice flat spot, which is where I chose to pitch my tent. The thunderbox was located down a straight trail out the back of the site. It looked good and reasonably clean. During this inspection, among the colourful mushrooms, I noticed an abundance of moose poop in several places. In hindsight, I can only wonder how this information failed to illuminate a warning light in my head. Instead of caution, I optimistically thought I had a great chance of seeing a moose at this location. I wasn’t wrong.
As I set up camp, the wind picked up and the weather continued to worsen. Treetops were swaying wildly and colliding, creating an eerie clicking sound. All of my senses were heightened. I felt excited, nervous, scared, and proud, all at the same time. While I knew I was alone on this site, I had no idea if I was alone on this lake, and that fact made me very conscious of every move I made. The light rain was intermittent. As expected at the end of summer, particularly after Labour Day, the site was barren of useable firewood. I decided that I would leave the chore of finding and processing firewood until tomorrow, and instead would use my camp stove to prepare a freeze-dried meal, which I must say, was delicious. After I ate, I hung my food bag in a tree in the pine forest next to my site. I sat and enjoyed a couple of fingers of 40 Creek Whisky, and stared out at the lake in front of my new home, contemplating the next 8 hours of nighttime solitude. I know for many of you reading this, sleeping outdoors solo is second nature, and at the time of writing this, I too have made my peace with it. But the first time did require a little extra internal negotiation and reasoning. At dusk, I went to bed. The only sound I heard was the subtle patter of water drops on my tent. Thankfully I was so tired that I went right to sleep. At 3 am, I was awoken by a clap of thunder and a raging thunderstorm. Oddly enough, I was unexpectedly calm through this. I lay there listening to the heavy rain, occasionally reaching into the corners of my MSR tent to feel for leaks, which never came. Perhaps subconsciously I figured that no bear in his right mind would be out in this weather looking for a German meal, and this flawed reasoning brought me some sense of comfort. I fell back asleep to the sound of the pouring rain, only to wake up to silence and the glow of first light. I’ll never forget this moment… this sense of victory after conquering my first night alone in the wilderness! But there was nobody to high-five, nobody to fist bump or tell the story to. This celebration was just for me, and maybe that’s the whole point of it all.
Days 2 and 3
Symmetry of Swift, Oil on Canvas
The next two days graced me with beautiful bug-free weather. They passed by like I was re-enacting a Joe Robinet video, putting into practice all of the techniques I had learned, bush crafting and wood processing. Using all the gear that I had been overthinking for months. I would paddle before breakfast, while the mist was still on the water, taking dozens of photos with my Sony Alpha, always keeping my 300mm lens close at hand for when a moose eventually shows himself. It didn’t happen. Afternoons were spent relaxing, sketching, reading and occasionally fishing from the canoe if the sun wasn’t too strong. I scrambled out on the rocky point with a Yeti of coffee and lounged in the afternoon sun while photographing a family of Loons fishing their way around the bays on either side of the point. I did a few short walks out of my campsite, camera in hand, hoping to catch a glimpse of a moose. I ended each day with a paddle at dusk, circling the big island, and taking some comfort in hearing distant voices and seeing the white smoke rising from a few campsites around the lake. I surprised myself with the speed at which I felt completely comfortable out here. The second night posed no threat to me, as I was already a seasoned expert. I laughed at myself for having been so scared to try this. I realized how I built this up in my mind to be much more daunting than it was. The fear of the unknown I suppose. On the evening before my last night, I took some photos of my Swift Canoe at dusk that I knew would become paintings. I sat and stared out at the still lake, feeling regretful that I had to leave the next morning and didn’t plan a longer trip. I find it difficult to describe the dramatic shift of my emotions, from nervous, fearful excitement on day one, to complete calm on day three and a sense that I was always meant to be here. After an hour by the fire, I retired to my tent, as relaxed as I’ve ever felt.
The Morning of Day 4
I set my G-Shock alarm to wake me up at 6 am, hoping to be on the water by 7am, and back to Canoe Lake by 10-10:30 am, when Carla would be waiting to pick me up. I woke at 6 am, feeling well rested and ready to tackle the morning of packing up and paddling that lay ahead. I rolled over and unzipped the tent to have a peek at the morning’s first glow. I saw nothing but dense fog, obscuring my view of the lake only 15 yards away. I had a pee and decided that I would wait for some of the fog to burn off before attempting to paddle out. So I laid back down and stared at the roof of my tent for 30 minutes, contemplating the overwhelming silence. I deflated my sleeping pad and rolled up my sleeping bag. The blanket of fog must absorb sound because I don’t recall ever being in such complete silence. I was also thinking about the 3 amazing days that I had just experienced, and how I couldn’t wait to plan my next trip. I really couldn’t have asked for more, except I didn’t get to see a moose.
After 30 minutes, the fog was starting to break up a little. I reached out into the vestibule of my tent to grab my DSLR camera, and my safety kit, which consisted of a can of bear spray, a wildlife deterrent air horn, and my Garmin Explorer+ Satellite communicator, all clipped together with a large carabiner. I crawled out of the tent and walked to the lake’s edge, hoping to see the silhouette of a moose in the diminishing fog. Again, nothing. I took some interesting shots and video of the fog and some Mergansers roosting on the rock in front of my site. I walked back towards my tent and laid my camera and safety kit on the log bench beside the fire pit, while I went to the tent to continue packing. As I unzipped my tent, the silence was shattered by the violent sound of branches breaking, hooves pounding the ground and loud grunts and moans coming right toward me from the forest behind my tent! A split second later, a large bull moose crashes through the brush on the other side of the tent, veers around my tent kicking out a guy line, and swings his huge antlers to face me with bulging angry eyes. I, of course, retreated backwards away from the tent, in complete shock, fear and disbelief. At one point we were within a few feet of each other. After a quick look in my direction, he turned and trotted up the trail to my thunderbox. I believe this was a bluff charge. Had he continued in my direction instead of the Thunderbox, I would have had no choice but to cannonball into the lake. I’m not sure how effective that strategy would have been to avoid a large beast known for its swimming prowess, but it was the best plan I could muster at the time. He stopped next to the thunderbox for a few seconds where I can still see him, and then took a few steps to the left, out of my sight and obscured by trees. While this is happening, I can hear and see the movement of a second moose crashing through the woods towards the bull, grunting and moaning. As I attempted to absorb what just happened, one thing was clear… I had to get off this campsite as quickly as possible! Initially, I thought that the excitement had passed, as both moose had ended up in roughly the same area, so I hoped they would carry on with whatever activity they were doing, and allow me to gather my senses, try and stop violently shaking, and pack up to leave. This was not the case.
When the moose stepped out of sight, I quickly grabbed my safety kit and clipped it to my belt loop. I flipped my canoe over and slid it into the water. I pulled everything out of the tent and threw it all into the canoe. No time to pack it. I pulled all the tent stakes out and disassembled the poles. Crack! I hear a branch break. I look up and see the bull moose back on the thunderbox trail, slowly walking back into my campsite. He walks a few steps, then stops, swaying his antlers side to side in what I can only assume is an aggressive signal. A few more steps and stops again. Now I’m standing in the middle of my campsite, looking at this beast 15-20 yards from me, trying to decide my next move. Grab a paddle for defence? No, bad idea, as that could be considered an invitation to brawl. Turn and run into the lake? I was seriously considering this option. Wait, I have bear spray and an air horn! I raise the horn up and give it a few long blasts. Nada. Nothing. He doesn’t even flinch. I think he’s too far away from me for the bear spray to be effective. So I start negotiating with him, speaking to him in a calm, undoubtedly shaky voice… “Please Mr. Moose, go about your business, leave me alone. I wont hurt you”. Whether it was coincidental or my shaky negotiation skills, I’ll never know why he decided to turn 90 degrees off the trail and walk through the trees on the edge of my site, instead of taking the much easier route through the site. I seized this opportunity to grab my camera off the bench and snap a picture of him. It’s not my best photograph, but I make no excuses for this one. He crashed his way back to where all this commotion began in the woods behind my tent. While all of this was happening, the other moose had also made its way back to the woods behind my tent. When the two of them met up again, there was an aggressive breaking of branches, moaning, grunts and the sound of hooves thumping the ground. I never had a clear view of the second moose so I don’t know if it was a bull or cow, and whether they were fighting or mating. Either way, it was loud and aggressive, and I wanted to be nowhere near it. Unfortunately, my food bag was hanging in the exact spot where this wrestling match was happening. It was an easy decision to leave it behind. Still shaking and extremely nervous that he would come crashing out at me again, I tossed everything from my campsite into my canoe and shoved off to the sounds of a forest floor being torn up. I look back at the campsite, to see my fishing rod leaning against a tree on the same side as the moose-mania. I am so rattled by all of this that I considered leaving it behind too, but I didn’t. I circled back, stormed the rocky shore, and did a fishing rod extraction that most navy SEALs would be proud of. My canoe has the scratches to prove it.
Once I was safely on the water, I took a few moments to catch my breath and record a video while the event was still fresh in my mind. The fog on my glasses sets the scene. After shooting the video, I paddled to a nearby vacant campsite and packed my gear well enough to get back to the launch. I took out my Garmin and sent Carla the following message… “Exciting morning, running late, I’m OK, It wasn’t a bear”.
Final Notes. I didn’t feel good about leaving my food bag behind. It goes against the “Leave No Trace” mantra that backcountry campers should adhere to. When I reached the Canoe Lake Permit Office I reported that my bag was left behind in hopes that someone might find it and return it. I also followed up with a call to the Park's main office. I spoke with a gentleman and told him the story, and he agreed that I had done the smart thing by leaving it behind. He took notes of where it was and said he would try and retrieve it. A week later, I returned home from work to find my food bag leaning against my front door with a Purolator tag on it. I can’t say enough about Algonquin Park, the people who work there and the community who use and support it. Thanks for providing us with a place to have adventures and make memories. - Mark
Painting Inspired by this experience, titled “The Frisky Moose” 15x30 Oil on Canvas
Available in my Shop
