Algonquin Park - East Entrance

My friend Tracey and I are taking our annual camping trip with our kids. This summer we have decided to be a little more adventurous by going into the interior of Algonquin Provincial Park. In the past, we have stuck to the tried and true -- car parking at one of the closer (to Toronto) provincial parks. In the past we have gone to Sibbald Point, Sandbanks and Awenda.
We will be canoeing this time with everything we might need in one canoe. This has meant a little more planning but it will be well worth it to let our sons get a taste of true wilderness camping.
I have canoed through Algonquin on four other occasions: In the early 80's, I tripped on my own and covered almost the whole distance that I planned on completing. My route: Canoe Lake - Portage 260 m - Joe Lake - Tepee Lake - Little Oxtongue River - Little Doe Lake - Tom Thompson Lake - Portage 2.3 km - Ink Lake - Macintosh Lake. I retraced my steps to return to civilization. (If you click on the picture above you should get a larger image).

 
This first time, I carried way too much stuff and suffered for it. I saw moose, heard loons, carried my canoe for several hundred metres, camped solitary and survived to tell about it. I must admit that I was stumped when I arrived at the 2.3 km portage between Tom Thompson Lake and Ink Lake. There was no way I could have carried the canoe and then my bag of food/equipment and clothing.
Several years later, probably 1986, I revisited the route I took on the first trip with my friend, Rob. We did the long portage and rested on Macintosh Lake for several days of swimming, fishing and exploring.
In the early 90's, I took the same route but this time with my wife, Marshalin. A fantastic trip, with lots of learning on Marsh's part about canoeing. At the dreaded 2.3 km portage we managed to carry our clothing and food bags to the end of the portage and returned to the beginning point to pick up the canoe and yet another bag.
The terrain along this portage is/was rocky, with endless hills and boulders and, of course, bugs. Once we hoisted the canoe onto our shoulders, I heard Marsh say, "I can't do this, I can't." And she started crying. So we took 10 minutes to gather our energies and talk. We were in an impossible position. Half of our stuff was at the head of the portage and the other half was at the tail end of the portage. We would either have to make the trip to retrieve our bags or carry the last of our stuff and canoe to the destination end of the trail. The canoe and bag won because it would mean only doing the portage one more time.
The feeling of elation and accomplishment was powerful when we finally got to the Ink Lake side of things. We took a well deserved break, snacked, watched other people as they came off the trail huffing and puffing. We parked ourselves on Macintosh Lake and luxuriated for three days, after which we took on the portage again to head back home.
My third trip entering through Canoe Lake was the same as those above with the exception of a black bear ambling into our campsite at breakfast time. It didn't take much to scare him off and then we got all our belongings together as fast as possible and finished breakfast in the canoe.
I chose to enter the park from Whitney this time because the paddling looks a bit easier for the first day than Canoe Lake, which is massive and often windy.

The arrow points to our entry point

We have a three hour drive up to Whitney and our route begins with Galeairy Lake. We will canoe five kilometres to the middle of this lengthy but narrow, east-west running lake and camp for the first night.
 

Above is an overview of our route started in the east side and heading north-west.
 

The second day we will break camp and canoe till the afternoon, complete a short (100 metre) portage and finally settle down on one of two islands on Rock Lake. The portage is marked above in red.

The above screen capture shows one of the islands we hope to camp on Rock Lake after a second day of canoeing. We will stay on either Rose (Jean) or Jean (Rose) Islands. No clue as to why they are identified with alternating names on the map.

Needless to say, we are all excited and looking forward to our 'wilderness' trip.

 

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Back in Action

My blog, as you can see, has been reconstituted.  It is not the prettiest thing, but I did figure out how to stop the side-bar from sliding to the bottom of the page.  I do have lots that I would like to write/rant about but have not found the time.  'Well then, make the time!'  I hear you say.  So, yes...I will devote 15 minutes per week, even if it's at work to compose a little something.  I hope that any of you that were reading occasionally will try and check back periodically despite my hiatus.
Some of the things I would like to write about:
1. The diversity of life vis-a-vis nature
2. Yearning for an adventure and possible spots
3. My very own bucket list
4. Going canoeing in Algonquin Prov. Park at the end of July
5. Cottaging for 7 days with the famiglia

 

6. The herd mentality in fashion and the upcoming wedding of a friend.

Blog is Kaput

Dear Reader,

My blog is going through some growing pains. In trying to make the layout of my blog simpler, I have somehow managed to get all the sidebar gadgets at the bottom of the blog. And I can't seem to undo the error. So be patient cause this may mean re-learning some HTML.....eeek!

If you know of and blogging app which actually works smoothly on an iPad, let me know. Blogsy and BlogPress are all they could be.


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This is your Life

Zen Backpacking

Minimalist site for backpacking.

 

Here we go, here we go

 Fired up, Fired up.

Fired up, Fired up.
47, 47.
Fired up, Fired up.
Here we go, Here we go.
On the Road, On the Road.
47, 47.
Fired up, Fired up.

Rob Ford Radio Personality

Rob Ford, the mayor of the city of Toronto, went on the air today via radio for two hours accompanied by his side-kick/brother, Doug Ford.  I can only imagine that the Mayor feels his support slipping away and is now in full campaign-damage-control-look-at-me mode.

 

The term Agitprop immediately sprung to mind as I listened to a report of the latest buffoonery from the Fords.  The term agitprop originated as a result of a department in the old Soviet Union; namely The Department for Agitation and Propaganda.  Only a regime clearly not for the people or perhaps George Orwell (in irony) could have come up with such a blatantly obvious name for a government department.

While in it's original form the Department for Agitation and Propaganda did not have any unpleasant connotations, it was later changed to Ideological Department....another autocratic brain wave.  Agitpro changed meaning later to mean any artistic or dramatic means of carrying a message to the audience.

While I don't expect the brothers Ford to know any of this, they do know what to do in order to win support for their transit program -- flood the airwaves, distract people, cajole and bully, until you get your way.  Men's men they are.

And while i'm at it, why do tyrannical governments always come up with the most grandiose and convoluted names for their governmental deparments?  Is it an attempt to cover up the real work of the departments concerned with baffle gab?  Or is it an indication of how out of touch most tyrannies are with the pavement and the people?  If any of this is the case, then all the brothers need is a catchy, and at the same time, convoluted name for their new show.

February Update

 What am I up to?  Let's see:  I am swamped at work.  This is the result of two things....the first, a rookie's mistake.  In order to be the helpful new guy, I have taken cases from clinicians on the Adult Division Team.  A lot of horse trading goes on in the hallways - "I have a client that would respond really well with you." - Then, instead of saying, "No."  I slowly begin to think that just one more client won't make or break me.

So now I have over 24 active clients and with three of them very involved with everybody and their brother in on the action -- hospital, parents, other agencies, in-house clinicians...

I easily have 13 to 19 voice messages each day and the flow of e-mail, junky and real, is endless.  I am trying a to-do list app for my ipad and iphone.  I try to prioritize.  But, having an ADHD brain does not help.  Sometimes, the last call or e-mail I read gets done first, and the first thing I should have done gets left behind.  I find spending an hour (ok, or a little more) at night helps to keep the clutter of voice and mail messages down to a manageable amount.  Closing the door at the office and putting some music on in the background also helps.  Most of all, you just keep swimming.

Home:  The kids are doing well and we are working on bettering their involvement at school.  Tarah is taking piano lessons and Broadway dancing lessons at Seneca College.  Seth is still semi-interested in his Tae Kwon Do.   And I spend the latter part of each evening (when possible) watching fabulous TV that aired on premier channels and or, that I totally missed.  Firefly and The Big C are two great TV series that come to mind.

The wife is still working on her Masters and we continue to do the parent thing as well as we can.

I drive to work.  The winter has been un-seasonably warm.  The sun was out most of the week.  I've dropped two inches off my waist and am on day 70-something of not smoking.  Hurray for me!

Getting physically close to the kids involves, besides the usual hugs and kisses, pretending to be a puppy who is all excited to see the kids and is jumping and snuffling and yelping at their necks and arms.  Tickly fun.

The Big C

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Walking

Walking in my shoes is such hard work sometimes.  I tire and resort to sitting, shuffling on my ass, rolling or sometimes, undulating across the floor.  I like it.  It gives me a whole new point of view....oh, I say to myself, so this is what it's like to be three feet tall!  Sometimes, when the locomoting gets to be too much, I take a chance and try walking a mile in my own shoes again, only to find that they are sooo uncomfortable.

The leather is soft, worn in and a perfect rust-brown hue; but somehow, by the end of my short walk, I end up writhing again from the inevitable, undeniable truth: Walking in my shoes is such hard work.

 

Know Thy Self

I believe, at forty-seven, I have finally arrived at a place where I am comfortable to be Me.

I know that this is a bold statement, but I have always suffered, like most people I believe, from a certain amount of anxiety around how I was presenting myself and was being perceived.  I've always worried and thus spent a lot of energy pulling my punches around others.  I no longer feel the need to do this anymore.  It's incredibly freeing; a whole new perspective on my life.

I know that many people in the world come, through various circumstances, to have this same sense of self very early on comparatively.  I have come to this place of comfort now.

Gnôthi seauton -- The Greek maxim often meditated on my poets and philosophers, puts it very succinctly -- Know Thyself!  I don't claim to have reached this point and I hope I am never arrogant enough to claim this.  No, this feeling --  sense of comfort -- I feel is different: It is a form of feeling grounded, a sense of living in the present fully, with no thought of worrying.

Except in the many instances when I am careful about treading lightly in order to avoid hurting peoples feelings or for the sake of simple human politics to achieve a greater goal; only then, do I now feel the urge to hold back my opinion or choose to simply say nothing.

Derek Walcott's poem, "Love After Love," which I placed in my wedding program thirteen years ago and have hung on the wall of my bedroom since, speaks about ones love for self:

The time will come when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

It is by no means complete: this process.  But it feels like I have reached a plateau.  I have arrived.  I have finally found a comfortable seat and am ready to feast.

Alanis Morissette's song, " " comes to mind.  Here are the last three stanzas from that song:

the moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down

how bout no longer being masochistic
how bout remembering your divinity
how bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
how bout not equating death with stopping

thank you india
thank you providence
thank you disillusionment
thank you nothingness
thank you clarity
thank you thank you silence

One of the Minarets at the Taj Mahal

The Taj makes everyone's pictures look good. I took this pic on my last/first trip to India.




Click on the pic for an enlarged view.
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Location:Agra, India

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Tarah Update and Other Stuff

Tarah Update: Juvenile polyps (the kind Tarah had) are usually benign. We won't know for sure until lab work is completed. It is not uncommon for kids to have a single polyp as Tarah did. Thanks to all for your concern and good wishes. Tarah returned to school on Wednesday and is doing great!

Smoking Cessation: I am on day 38 (I think). Which is a good sign,  that I am no longer counting.

Surrey Place Centre: Love working at Surrey Place...the atmosphere is adult and professional. Managed to snag an office of my own thanks to my manager for pushing for me. I have made it home and have had many jealous visitors come by. Plan on having an office warming party with delicate little finger foods that require lobster forks to eat and ginger ale in plastic wine glasses from the dollar store. Classy, no?




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Tarah's Scopes at Sick Kids

Tarah's long awaited appointment for a colonoscopy and a endoscopy was today. She has been great for preparatory part of the scopes. It involves drinking a strong laxative with no food for over 24 hours. We arrived at the hospital at 8 a.m. And spent most of the entertaining ourselves with walks, drinking lots of fluids, walking around the hospital and sharing quality time in the toilet. Tarah went into the procedure room (the operating theatre, if you're Indian) at 3:45 p.m. Assuming that I wouldn't be needed immediately, I went downstairs for a cup of coffee only to be called back to the fourth floor to talk to one of the doctors in the procedure room. It turns out that Tarah has a large polyp in her colon and the good doctor wanted my permission to cut the damn thing out (polypectomy). Yes, I say, yes. Cut the fucker out! I am writing now to pass the time and let my two loyal readers updated. The polyp they found was large (a little smaller than a golf ball). So, polyp removed, biopsy done and am now waiting for Tarah to come out of her sleep.