Iron Man Portage: Part IV (the conclusion)

Thursday:

The next day began much like the others. The weather was warm, and the remaining stiffness in our backs and arms quickly loosened as we broke camp, cleaned up the mess from the animals, and got back in the canoe (which was beginning to feel like our home) and began paddling toward the next destination. Tim was navigating, and had the compass and map in front of him as he paddled from the back. Our path was straight and we were making good time.

We noticed something was wrong when we checked the map a few miles later. We stopped paddling and let the canoe drift while Tim and Don pored over the map, checked the compass, and checked the land around them. “Something’s not right,” Tim said. “It shouldn’t look like this.” The compass seemed right, or backwards, but the lake seemed turned around. We went a little further to see if the islands would look familiar. When we stopped again, Tim sounded less certain, doubting. I remembered what I had wished for the night before, but now regretted it. I didn’t want Tim to doubt himself, or his abilities to lead. “I think we’re lost,” he said. We canoed halfheartedly a little further, then Tim checked the map, checked the compass. “Where could we be?”

“Let’s see if we can find it on the map. Here’s Trafalgar Bay, and we traveled a few miles beyond that. How far do you think we’ve gone so far?”

“Two, maybe three miles.”

“Think we can find anything that looks similar?” They checked again, and then we had it, but we had canoed a few miles off course.

“We can canoe back to where we came, but that would be another four miles. We’d be canoeing an extra seven miles.”

“Maybe we should pray,” Don said. He did, and we looked at the map again. “Up ahead’s a portage, maybe we can try for that.” We didn’t know if it was still there, but decided it was worth trying. It would reconnect us to where we were heading, and would only take us a mile or two out of our way. We decided to go for it.

As we got to the shore where the portage should be, we saw only overgrown grass. Most portages are land bridges between two bodies of water and are well traveled. We were looking for a trail, a dirt path, anything. Instead, we saw a dense group of trees standing in front of us like an impassable wall, thick grass along the edge, and only a small lip in the shoreline that may have been a frequently used landing spot.

“Maybe we missed it,” Tim said.

“Or maybe this is it,” Don said. “Let’s look around.” We pulled the canoe to shore, got out, and Tim and I decided to head into the woods to see if we could pick up the trail on the other side. We were wearing shorts, but decided to pick our way through the woods. We thought it would be a good idea to leave the backpacks behind.

As we entered the woods, the brush grew thick and the trees stood close together. There was no sign of a trail, and we slipped occasionally over dead logs and branches. We began to wonder how far in we would have to go.

After a quarter mile, we broke through and came to another lake. “Wait here,” Tim said, “I’m going to look around to see if we can find the portage exit. Or maybe there’s another one we can take.” Tim followed the shoreline until he disappeared around a bend. Don was back with the canoe, Tim had disappeared, and I stood at the lake’s edge, thinking this was stupid so I wouldn’t feel afraid. We didn’t know what to expect in these woods, and their creeping branches and undergrowth began to grow in their wildness. I began to realize how alone we were.

After a few minutes I heard a “Yoohoo!!” from around the bend. I answered back, “Yoohoo!” A short while later it came again, and then again, and Tim reemerged from around the bend. “I think there may have been a portage here once,” he said, “but I think it’s long gone. That map’s about 30 years old, so anything could have happened. A lot of growth could happen in 30 years, and maybe the path’s gone.” We decided to return to the other side to tell Don what we had found, and decide then what we would do.

It had been half an hour, and we began to wonder if something could have happened to Don. We pushed through the undergrowth and the trees, stumbling over branches, then stopped. We heard something else, a breaking of twigs, crashing through the trees. Halfway back we called out, and the noise turned toward us. Don had been wondering what had happened to us too, and had begun looking for us. The three of us walked back together to the canoe. On the way we noticed the skull of what looked like a donkey or mule, some droppings, berries, and a beehive. “I think there might be a bear close by,” Don said. We laughed, but stepped quietly back to a rock to have some lunch and decide what we were going to do.

In the meantime, storm clouds began to pile on each other. We made peanut butter sandwiches, and decided if we were going to head back into the woods we’d need long pants and more clothing. Just as we pulled on more clothes and finished eating the sandwiches, fat drops began to fall. Slowly at first, then hard and fast.

“Let’s go for it,” Don said, and we agreed. We shoved the bread and lunch things in the packs, shouldered them onto our backs, and picked up the 18-foot canoe between the three of us.
A canoe isn’t meant to go through a thick forest, and at first we tried ramming it in between trees and branches. The wood scraped and whined against the aluminum, but the canoe began moving through the forest, a silver ramming rod that raised complaint. The rain fell harder, and our clothes were soaked. Leaves clung to our arms, legs and shirts, and a steady stream of water poured off my hat. It looked like a scene from Platoon. Once when we pushed the canoe hard I fell, and remember thinking “This must be what a turtle feels like on its back,” and then Tim came to my side, reached out a hand and pulled me back on my feet.

We had pushed the canoe halfway into the woods when we heard a sound. A tree about 50-100 yards away began to protest, then cracked, then fell. There wasn’t any wind. The rain had been falling steadily, and we all began to think about the bear signs we’d seen around the portage.
“Bears sometimes push down trees to warn invaders that they’re in their territory,” Tim said. We wished he hadn’t.

“Great,” I said, “and I’m the last one in line, so the first to be eaten. Well, there’s one good thing. Maybe he’ll give us a hand.” No one said anything, we just pushed harder against the canoe, and from that point it seemed like the canoe began to glide over the branches and leaves.
We emerged on the other side, soaked, exhausted, leaves and mud clinging to us and the canoe. We decided to take a picture. The rain had stopped, the clouds literally parted and the sun began to shine.

Later that day it would rain again and we would find ourselves all standing under a poncho, waiting for the rain to stop so we could continue canoeing, and later we stopped at a waterfall while Tim climbed out to a rock in the middle of the rushing river so we could take a picture, but the event of the day and of the trip had already happened. Before then the trip had been Tim and Don’s trip. After that day the trip became our trip. The three of us had braved the Iron Man Portage.