Day 14 - Robinson Lake (Saturday, August 16)
(no mileage, no portages)
It drizzled early in the morning before turning hazy.
During breakfast a brazen squirrel tried to dig into my food bag sitting just a few feet away.
I guess it was tired of waiting for me to feed it and had decided to take matters into its own paws.
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Pine squirrel comes looking for handouts on Robinson Lake.
(click on any image for larger version)
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Pine squirrel tries to break into food bag, and what it should be eating instead. (Robinson Lake)
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Despite the hazy conditions I decided to return to Gardners Mountain, this time with the old photograph.
It didn't take long for me to find the promising location from yesterday, and a quick comparison with the photograph confirmed that this was indeed the spot shown.
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Gardners Mountain view in 2008 and 1948.
(Permission to use bottom photo has been
granted by David Backes on behalf of the
Olson family.)
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It was fascinating to see just how much the landscape had changed in sixty years.
The trees were so much denser and taller now, and I wondered if old logging or fires were responsible for the large difference between then and now.
The matured landscape made it impossible to exactly reproduce the camera angle of the original photograph, but I was able to find one view that shared many of the prominent features, including the foreground rock ledge and distant bays of Robinson Lake.
I sat awhile on the ledge and reflected upon what Sigurd Olson had written about.
I once climbed a great ridge called Robinson Peak to watch the sunset and to get a view of the lakes and rivers below, the rugged hills and valleys of the Quetico-Superior.
When I reached the bald knob of the peak the sun was just above the horizon, a flaming ball ready to drop into the dusk below.
Far beneath me on a point of pines reaching into the lake was the white inverted V of my tent.
It looked very tiny down there where it was almost night.
As I watched and listened, I became conscious of the slow, steady hum of millions of insects and through it the calling of the whitethroats and the violin notes of the hermit thrushes.
But it all seemed very vague from that height and very far away, and gradually they merged one with another, blending in a great enveloping softness of sound no louder, it seemed, than my breathing.
The sun was trembling now on the edge of the ridge.
It was alive, almost fluid and pulsating, and as I watched it sink I thought that I could feel the earth turning from it, actually feel its rotation.
Over all was the silence of the wilderness, that sense of oneness which comes only when there are no distracting sights or sounds, when we listen with inward ears and see with inward eyes, when we feel and are aware with our entire beings rather than our senses.
I thought as I sat there of the ancient admonition, "Be still and know that I am God," and knew that without stillness there can be no knowing, without divorcement from outside influences man cannot know what spirit means.
(From the essay "Silence" in Sigurd Olson's "The Singing Wilderness")
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The Gardners Mountain (Robinson Peak) view described by Sigurd Olson in his book
"The Singing Wilderness".
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On the way down the mountain I stopped at another viewpoint that overlooked my island campsite.
From there I could see all the prominent features of the island, including the nice sand beach.
The hazy morning had transformed into a beautiful afternoon, and I decided a swim was next on the agenda, just as soon as I got back to camp.
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Campsite island viewed from Gardners Mountain. The front porch is on the left, the swimming
beach is in the middle, and the thin, finger-like peninsula is at top-right. (Robinson Lake)
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Enjoying an afternoon of
solitude. (Robinson Lake)
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I spent the rest of the afternoon luxuriating at my island campsite.
As evening rolled around I felt like celebrating, so I decided to finally break out the little plastic container of wine that I had been saving for just such an occasion.
I also dug out a little iPod Shuffle music player that I had packed on a last minute whim and contemplated whether I should use it.
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Leech digs for cover at swimming beach.
(Robinson Lake)
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As a general rule I do not bring entertainment devices like music players on wilderness canoe trips.
One major point of these trips is to get away from such things and let the sights and sounds of nature engross you.
But still, I had often wondered what it would be like to occasionally add music to these beautiful wilderness moments.
Would it enhance the experience or be a distraction?
I wanted to experiment for a few hours and find out.
As I had anticipated the experiment was a big success.
I spent the evening wandering the island with my camera and iPod, soaking in the views and losing myself in the music.
The experience was truly wonderful and even quite moving at times.
It's not something I'll do often in canoe country, but it definitely has its time and place.
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Big afternoon sky from beach. (Robinson Lake)
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Southwest shore of island. (Robinson Lake)
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Sun drops through the pines. (Robinson Lake)
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After sunset I built a large campfire and stayed up later than usual.
A full moon rose over Gardners Mountain and illuminated the island's shoreline.
Even the mosquitos seemed to take a break on this special night.
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Evening fire at island campsite. (Robinson Lake)
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Full moon rises over Robinson Lake, illuminating island's front porch. (Robinson Lake)
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Videos (click image to play)
