Day: May 26, 2013

May 26, 1917

I decided to set up the campsite at Hayhurst Point across the lake from the cottages. I wouldn’t be spending much time there during the day, I’d be on the lake fishing, but in the evenings it would be ok because the bugs wouldn’t be out when the temperature got lower. After the events at Mowat Lodge, I needed to get some space and solitude.

I used my 7’x10′ canvas tent. It was heavy, but once it was set up it was as good as a shelter house. I cut some balsam boughs which made some nice bedding underneath the blankets and I brought along a small acetylene lamp for the evenings. My set up was nearly as nice as the guest tents just outside of the Highland Inn. It was better, because it was much more private. I have a small silk tent and a cot that I bought a couple of years ago, but I’ll be using that when I travel. It’s packed up in the store house and I’m thinking about sending it up to Tom Wattie in South River for safekeeping. For now this tent will do the job and I don’t mind leaving it behind if I need to.

Despite my solitude, I need to keep close to Mowat Lodge in case some guiding work comes up. I’ll be fishing most days from now on, but I’ll be stopping into the post office to check for mail. Things feel pretty subdued at Mowat Lodge and I feel I need to make myself scarce for awhile.

Things were pretty rough on the water today. Frightening, actually. I was out fishing near the south end of the lake, near Gill Lake portage when the weather changed suddenly. Not unexpected in spring, but  around 3pm the sky turned a sickly yellow and the pressure dropped suddenly. I felt it in my ears. The lake all of a sudden became a sea of whitecaps. I knew it was dangerous so I canoed quickly over the portage point. There was a clearing where I could pull my canoe completely out of the water. I did that and then I saw it. The waterspout.

It came out of the clouds suddenly and then came down and touched the water. From my vantage point, it looked like a tiny wobbly thread, but where it touched down near Gilmour Island, it must have been 30-40ft wide. It moved north between Gilmour and Cook Island and went up the east side of the lake. Then it picked up and disappeared. It was on the lake for less than a minute, and I’m sure that I was only one of a few that saw it (the east shore only has a few cottages). The sun came back, the whitecaps disappeared and it was as if nothing happened.

When I canoed back to my site, my tent was blown down and the blankets and boughs were strewn into the bush. I couldn’t find the acetylene lamp so it must have been Heaven-bound. My sketch box and it was bashed off the hinges. I recovered all of the contents (including a few notes and letters – miraculous that they didn’t fly away, like the acetylene lamp). I concluded that like my poison oak, this shaking up the campsite was a bad omen. It seemed like Nature was telling me to stop sketching and if I persisted, another act of God might be wrought on me. I think God made this even more clear with a few hints of destruction downshore. A couple of large pines were snapped off at the middle about 200 yards away. So the spout may hit land close by. Other than the broken trees and my campsite everything else looked intact. So God did spare my campsite, but not without a good shakeup.

It only took a few minutes to get my things back in order. I had heard of waterspouts, but this was my first one. I looked across to the Mowat Lodge dock and saw that the canvas canoes (not the board one) were picked up by the wind and floating upturned in the water. I canoed over and fetched them back before they floated away. I first thought that Shannon should count himself lucky that he didn’t lose them. My second thought that maybe this was a necessary act of redemption that I was obliged to carry through. I’ll tell Shannon tomorrow that I fetched his canoes, but I won’t bother with telling him about the necessary acts of redemption. He’d use that knowledge somehow to charge me more.

Tonight, despite the weather, drama and destruction, I’m camping alone. Fate knows where I am, regardless. I’m sure God would have trouble ordering up a second waterspout on the same lake on the same evening, so I figured I was safe for the night. The bugs must have known a waterspout came through because there wasn’t one in sight. Unusual for this time of year, but appreciated nonetheless Nor did I catch any fish this afternoon. They, too, must have sensed something so they stayed deep and didn’t bite. They must have known a couple hours ahead, because it was the worst fishing afternoon for me. I caught nothing.

I settled in the campsite. I made coffee and had some biscuits for supper. The sunset was a fine red through streaks of clouds. I’ll write a letter to Winnie tomorrow.