1000 Islands Trip

August 10-15, 2008

Sunday, August 10th: Four of us met at the Misty Isles Lodge on the afternoon of Sunday, August 10th.  Misty Isles is a few miles west of the 1,000 Islands Bridge that carries Interstate 81 over the St. Lawrence River, into Canada.  Traveling together were Alan Lovgren of Pennsylvania and Bruce Aptowitz from New Jersey, and Bruce Romanchak and I, both from the Albany, New York area.  We were to meet with Stevie McAllister and John Wright, Members of the Sebago Canoe Club of Brooklyn, New York, later in the week (John is the club’s Commodore).  Stevie and John were already on the water, having arrived a day ahead of us.  With the exception of John, all of us were acquainted through previous trips on the Great Hudson River Paddle.

After a pleasant paddle back to Misty Isles, we were greeted by Adele, Stevie’s wife, and several of her friends, who were staying at Misty Isle cabins.  Adele reported that Stevie and John were paddling east from Kingston, Ontario.  They were camping at the halfway point on a national park island and would Join us on Sugar Island the next day. 

With all the logistics taken care of, we began to prepare dinner.  Bruce A. volunteered to go first (we had parsed out cooking duties) as his food was most perishable.  The meal was to be peppers, onions and sausage.  It soon became clear that there was more food than any of us would eat, so we invited Adele and friends to join us.  We had a pleasant dinner, and after Adele and friends had departed and dishes were washed, we sat and talked for a while before turning in at about 10 PM.

Monday, August 11th:  I was up around 6:30 AM.  I did some stretches and exercises in my tent before rolling out.  Shortly there after, Adele showed up with a pot of coffee and some fresh zucchini bread.  Adele makes great coffee.  She was the official coffee maker on the 2007 GHRP, where she was a volunteer on the land crew.  It was great to have a good cup (or two) of coffee as a send off to our adventure.

Pulling up to the beach where we had talked to the Chesapeake paddlers, we saw that all their boats were gone.  Ashore, we explored the area looking for camping spots, but not finding any.  We decided to explore from the water and soon found sites, mostly occupied.  Eventually, we found a shallow beach with several sites perched high above on rocks and cliffs.  Two of these sites were on wooden platforms.  We took these sites plus another ground level spot with a beautiful view. 

After everything was set-up, several of us went paddling in the near-by islands.  The 1,000 Islands and the St. Lawrence River are incredibly beautiful.  There are literally a thousand islands spread over seventy miles or so of the St. Lawrence.  The scenery is typical of what you find in the great northeast.  Somewhat stunted mixed forests of conifers and deciduous trees growing on rugged rock formations left over from the last ice age.  While not a wilderness area, the islands have an incredibly wild feel to them, even with the occasional camp apparent on the islands and commercial traffic in the deepest parts of the river.  We saw many birds, including Ospray, Kingfisher and Heron, and we spotted two different mink, one swimming in the water near our boats and one on shore. 

Tuesday, August 12th:  It was a leisurely morning.  I was up at 6 AM, made coffee and oatmeal for breakfast and then packed up my tent and gear.  No one seemed to be in a rush.  Stevie, our nominal leader, slept late.  He and john took their time with breakfast and packing their gear, so we didn’t get on the water till about 10 AM. 

Our destination was the Canadian National Park on Grenadier Island.  The distance was only fifteen miles or so, but it still took us five hours.  There is so much to see in these islands.  Our route wound around and between a dozen or more beautiful islands, some big, but most small, and everyone a gem.  Our pace was slowed by our desire to hug the shorelines of these islands and by our rubber necking to be sure we didn’t miss anything.  Also, we needed to stop every hour or so to let John stretch is back and legs, as he was in the midst of a sciatic nerve attack.  Usually I am the oldest paddler on our trips, but this time John had me beat at 72 years. 

As we looked for a place to land, we were greeted by the Park Steward, a very friendly and helpful guy who’s name I never got.  He and his wife spent their summer living aboard their boat at the Park’s dock, acting as the welcoming committee for visitors to the facility.  The Steward guided us to a pullout spot and gave us the low-down on park procedures.  While there were lots of large boats at the park’s docks, we had our pick of campsites on a large and well-groomed field, surrounded by trees. 

I tucked my tent into the shade at the edge of the field, but soon needed to move it into an area where the breeze could blow the bugs away.  Things were still a bit damp from last night’s rain, so Bruce R. strung a clothesline.  Soon the place looked like a gypsy camp, with colorful rainflys, PFD’s, sleeping bags and various items of clothing rippling lazily in the late afternoon breeze.

Alan had bought some wood from the Steward.  Before I got back to our campsite he had the beginnings of a roaring blaze going.  Our evening ended with talk around the campfire and reflections on a wonderful day. 

Wednesday, August 13th: The night was cold, colder than any so far, with an exceptionally heavy dew.  Everything was wet, just as wet as if it had rained.  I was awake early with a pounding sinus headache.  After dressing and taking something for the sinus problem, I made coffee and had a quick breakfast.  I knocked my tent down and packed my gear to be ready to leave when the others were ready. 

By 8:00 or so, Alan suggested a walk on one of the park trails.  It seemed like a good idea, so off we went.  The morning was bright and showed signs of being another great day.  The park trail explained the history of the island with signs and artifacts.  The most interesting artifact was an old cemetery with the remains of the early residents of Grenadier Island.  After exploring for a while, we headed beach to camp. 

As we arrived, we could see that weather conditions had changed significantly.  There were dark clouds off to the west, with the sound of thunder in the background.  Within minutes the rain began.  All but one tent and its contents were down and packed, with their contents scattered on the ground around them.  In a flurry of activity, we all grabbed our stuff and tossed it into a near-by pavilion, disturbing a family that had taken shelter there.  There was a mom and dad, grandparents and three little boys.  They were in the midst of cooking breakfast and had taken over the whole place.  We made ourselves as small and inconspicuous as possible while they cooked pancakes and tried to get the boys to sit down and eat.  The rain became heavy and the thunder, now with lightening, increased.  The middle boy, about 3 years old, began to wail, letting everyone know that he was not happy and wanted to go home right now!

After a half-hour or so the rain let up.  The family cleaned up their gear and headed back to their boat and a trip home with child number two still crying and carrying on.  At this point the weather radios came out as we considered our options.  The forecast was for widely scattered thundershowers throughout the day, ending sometime during the night.  Given this forecast we decided against another fifteen-mile paddle, especially since our route would take us away from these small islands and the storm shelter they would provide. 

We elected to stay on Grenadier Island another night.  We reset camp between rain showers.  I set up my Kelty tarp for the first time and found it quite satisfactory.  We took lunch in the pavilion during another downpour. 

We had an easy paddle to the village where we dodged a tourist boat and slipped onto a beach adjacent to one of the restaurants.  I went wit Stevie and John on a futile hunt for supplies, while the others went to the restaurant to sit where they could watch the boats and have something cold to drink.  By the time we got back from our search for supplies, we found that Adelle and her friends had driven down from Misty Isles to join us for dinner. 

We stayed at this restaurant almost by default, because we could watch over our boats while we ate.  There was a lot of story telling, good natured ribbing and lots of laughter.  Feeling relaxed after a good meal, we headed to our boats only to find that Bruce A’s boat was gone.  A moment of panic gave way to laughter when Bruce R. and Alan fessed-up to hiding it during dinner.  On the water again, we paddled back to camp in record time, making the trip in just under forty-five minutes. 

Thursday, August 14th:  I was awakened at 5:30 by a quiet conversation between Bruce R. and Alan.  They are both early risers and had taken to early morning walks together.  Soon their quiet voices drifted off in the direction of the park’s trails.  But I was awake.  I crawled out of bed and stuck my head out into heavy fog.  Figuring the bathroom would be bright and might help me wake up, I headed there.  It didn’t.  This was feeling like one of those “I’m Grumpy, don’t talk to me” kind of mornings. 

I made coffee without speaking (actually, there was no one else up) and carried a cup to a bench by the water.  The sips of coffee began to do their work.  I could begin to appreciate the many different birds that were about today.  I watched as the fog lifted briefly, then rolled back again until it finally lifted for good, revealing a beautiful day. 

There were a few campsites scattered around the perimeter of the island.  These were mostly occupied.  On the northwest side of the island we found docks with several large power and sailboats tied up.  There was almost no place to land a kayak, but we found a little patch of beach and began to pullout.  We carried each kayak off the “beach”, over logs and brush and into a depression that in heavy rain must turn into a swamp.  It was the best spot we could find. 

The hi-tech outhouse was truly a marvel.  It was clean and bright, without an unpleasant odor to offend the delicate senses of the most easily offended.  It also acted as a sound chamber, amplifying the roar of the trucks overhead.  By the time I left to rejoin the group I was fuming.  I didn’t come to the Thousand Islands to be surrounded by the roar of trucks!  It was quieter at home in my own backyard. 

I set up my tent along side John’s in the first campsite.  Alan and Bruce A. wanted to do some more paddling.  They headed out to circumnavigate the island, the rest of us headed for our tents to take a nap.  It was warm and pleasant so I rolled back my rainfly to let as much air in as possible, and despite the truck noise I drifted off. 

I awoke with a start, as I was getting wet.  A small intense rainstorm had rolled in, and with my fly rolled back, I was getting wet and so was my gear, most notably, my sleeping bag.  Half awake, I worked to roll down the rainfly and button everything up.  As I finished, I saw a blur, as John rushed out of his tent and up the hill to see that the other tents were closed up.  He closed up Bruce A’s tent and was startled to find Bruce R. asleep in Alan’s tent

When the rangers left, Stevie and Bruce R. set up their tents inside the pavilion.  I was cooking again.  Tonight it was pizza with pepperoni, roasted red peppers, onion and garlic, topped with sauce and cheese (see side bar for a discussion of how this was done).  The four of us polished off six small pizzas!  Cleanup was a group effort except for Bruce A. whose bowels always seemed to move after dinner (Timing is everything ).

There was a beautiful sunset that we watched from a small dock near the pavilion.  Several guys set chairs on the dock and talked until after dark, when the sky filled with stars.  We forget just how overwhelming the uncounted numbers of stars can be.  They fill the sky from horizon to horizon.  But they are usually invisible to us in the light polluted cities in which most of us live. 

I went to find my headlamp, and then returned to the group.  I stood for a while talking to Alan when my head began to itch (It had been some time since I had been able to really wash my hair).  Without thinking, I pulled off my hat to scratch and heard the sound of my headlamp bouncing once on the dock, followed by a “ploop” as it hit the water.  I turned around, expecting it to be lost or ruined.  But there it was, sitting on the bottom, still shining brightly.  I fished it out, dried it off and put it back on.  Ten minutes later I did the same thing.  But this time there were two bounces and a “ploop”, and no light shining up from the bottom.  Borrowing a flashlight, I located the light and fished it out again.  It was hanging open with all the electronics exposed.  I thought it was finished.  But when I hit the switch, it lit up good as ever.  The latch that held the halves of the light closed was broken however.  Holding the pieces together, I decide that I had better head for bed before something more happened. 

Friday, August 15th:  Traffic on the bridge began to thin out starting around ten o’clock.  Things were pretty quiet by midnight.  I slept well, much better than I expected really.  I was up around six o’clock and began packing my gear and knocking down my tent almost at once.  I wanted to be sure that no more than four tents were up when the rangers arrived that morning.  Everyone was more or less of the same mind, so by eight o’clock or so all the tents but one were down and packed.  The one exception was Stevie.  We tiptoed around his tent in the pavilion making breakfast until we decided we needed to wake him up.  We were on the water a little after nine o’clock, leaving just ahead of the ranger’s arrival.