tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70104658055919666152024-03-18T06:02:28.994-07:00My Ontario Outdoor AdventuresCamping, canoeing, fishing and enjoying the wonderful outdoors.
PO POLSKU/POLISH VERSION OF THIS BLOG: http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-2881636056842172712023-07-17T11:54:00.001-07:002023-12-23T21:41:38.628-08:00INDEX/CONTENTS-BLOGS IN ENGLISH (CANADA, USA, AND CUBA)<div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2023/07/minnesota-usa-camping-road-trip-in.html"><b>MINNESOTA, USA: CAMPING ROAD TRIP IN NORTHERN MINNESOTA. EXPLORING MINNESOTA AROUND MINNEAPOLIS BY CAR AND BICYCLE. AUGUST 21-SEPTEMBER 30, 2022.</b></a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2023/07/minnesota-usa-camping-road-trip.html">MINNESOTA, USA: CAMPING ROAD TRIP, AUGUST/SEPTEMBER, 2019</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><b><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2023/05/lake-saint-peter-provincial-park.html" target="_blank">LAKE SAINT PETER PROVINCIAL PARK, ALGONQUIN PARK’S LOGGING MUSEUM AND EGAN CHUTES PROVINCIAL PARK, JULY 28-AUGUST 3, 2022 </a><br /><br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2023/05/silent-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">SILENT LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO, CANADA. SEPTEMBER, 2021</a> </b></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2023/05/arrowhead-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">Arrowhead Provincial Park, Ontario, Campsite #337, August 30-September 4, 2021 </a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href=" http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2022/11/grundy-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">GRUNDY LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO: A BEAR ATE MY BREAKFAST! JUNE 27-30, 2022</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2022/01/six-mile-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">SIX MILE LAKE PARK, SAINTE MARIE AMONG THE HURONS, CANADIAN MARTYRS AND OTHER HISTORICAL PLACES IN ONTARIO, AUGUST 16-23, 2021</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2021/12/bon-echo-and-darlington-provincial-park.html" target="_blank">BON ECHO AND DARLINGTON PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO, JULY/AUGUST, 2021</a> </b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2021/12/camping-in-darlington-silent-lake.html " target="_blank">CAMPING IN DARLINGTON, SILENT LAKE, ARROWHEAD AND SIX MILE LAKE PROVINCIAL PARKS IN ONTARIO, AUGUST-OCTOBER, 2020</a> </b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2021/12/algonquin-park-ontario-canada-three.html" target="_blank"><b>ALGONQUIN PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTAIRO-CAMPING AND CANOEING IN SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER, 2007</b></a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2020/08/french-river-provincial-park.html" target="_blank">FRENCH RIVER PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—CANOEING AND CAMPING ON BOOM ISLAND, JULY 28-AUGUST 4, 2020</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2020/08/hotel-carisol-los-corales-and-santiago.html" target="_blank">HOTEL CARISOL LOS CORALES AND SANTIAGO DE CUBA, JANUARY 8-22, 2020</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2020/08/the-massasauga-provincial-park.html" target="_blank">THE MASSASAUGA PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—JUNE-JULY, 2019</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2020/08/michigan-indiana-and-illinois-usa.html" target="_blank">MICHIGAN, INDIANA AND ILLINOIS, USA: CAMPING, BIKING IN INDIANA DUNES NATIONAL PARK, WARREN DUNES STATE PARK AND VISITING CHICAGO, MAY/JUNE, 2019 </a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2020/08/varadero-cuba-two-weeks-in-hotel-roc.html" target="_blank">VARADERO, CUBA: TWO WEEKS IN THE HOTEL ROC BARLOVENTO, TRIPS TO SANTA MARTA AND MATANZAS, NOVEMBER, 2018</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2019/10/french-river-ontariocanoeing-camping.html" target="_blank">FRENCH RIVER, ONTARIO—CANOEING, CAMPING AND ESCAPING A FOREST FIRE. GRUNDY LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK, ABANDONED BUILDINGS IN STILL RIVER. JULY, 2018</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2019/10/two-weeks-in-hotel-carisol-los-corales.html" target="_blank">TWO WEEKS IN THE HOTEL CARISOL LOS CORALES AND A DAY TRIP TO SANTIAGO DE CUBA—JANUARY, 2018</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2018/08/car-camping-trip-to-killbear-killarney.html" target="_blank">CAR CAMPING TRIP TO KILLBEAR, KILLARNEY, MASSEY PROVINCIAL PARKS AND PHILIP EDWARD ISLAND, SEPTEMBER 7-27, 2017</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2018/07/car-camping-trip-across-minnesota.html" target="_blank">CAR CAMPING TRIP ACROSS MINNESOTA, WISCONSIN, UPPER PENINSULA OF MICHIGAN AND ONTARIO, AUGUST/SEPTEMBER, 2017</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2017/08/enjoying-our-12th-trip-to-cuba-and.html " target="_blank">ENJOYING OUR 12TH TRIP TO CUBA AND SECOND TO THE HOTEL COLONIAL IN CAYO COCO. EXPLORING CIEGO DE AVILA. JANUARY 12-26, 2017</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2017/08/the-massasauga-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">THE MASSASAUGA PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO. SEPTEMBER 25 - OCTOBER 5, 2016</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2017/08/haliburton-highlands-herb-lake-ontario.html" target="_blank">HALIBURTON HIGHLANDS-HERB LAKE, ONTARIO. AUGUST 21-SEPTEMBER 1, 2016</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2016/10/the-massasaga-provincial-park.html" target="_blank">THE MASSASAGA PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—CAMPING AND CANOEING, JUNE 26-JULY 09, 2016</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2016/10/camping-in-long-point-provincial-park.html" target="_blank">CAMPING IN LONG POINT PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—MAY, 201</a>6</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2016/10/playa-ancon-cubahotel-ancon-and.html" target="_blank">PLAYA ANCON, CUBA—HOTEL ANCON AND TRINIDAD—JANUARY 10-18, 2016</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2016/10/cayo-coco-cubatwo-weeks-at-hotel.html" target="_blank">CAYO COCO, CUBA—TWO WEEKS AT THE HOTEL COLONIAL AND THREE DAYS IN MORÓN, NOVEMBER 09-23, 2015</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/12/camping-with-black-bears-and-canoeing.html " target="_blank">Camping with black bears and canoeing on the French River, Ontario, Campsite #609, July 27-August 3, 2015</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/12/canoeing-and-camping-on-franklin-island.html " target="_blank">Canoeing and camping on Franklin Island, Ontario, June, 2015</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/12/camping-in-long-point-provincial-park.html " target="_blank">Camping in Long Point Provincial Park and driving/bike riding in nearby areas, Ontario, May 18-23, 2015</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/12/one-week-at-club-amigo-guardalavaca.html " target="_blank">One week at the Club Amigo, Guardalavaca, Cuba and a trip to Banes—January, 2015</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/12/trip-to-santa-lucia-cuba-two-weeks-at.html " target="_blank">Trips to Santa Lucia, Cuba: two weeks at the hotel Club Amigo, trip to La Boca and three days in Camagüey, October/November, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/11/camping-massasauga-provincial-park.html" target="_blank">The Massasauga Provincial Park, Ontario: canoeing trip and an encounter with the Eastern Massasauga Rattlesnake, September, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/11/temagami-ontario-camping-in-finlayson.html" target="_blank">Temagami, Ontario: Camping in Finlayson Point Provincial Park and Canoeing on Lady Evelyn Lake-August, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/11/camping-on-river-next-to-bear.html" target="_blank">Camping on a River, Next to a Bear Crossing-Bayfield Inlet, Ontario-July/August, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/11/camping-on-and-canoeing-around-franklin.html" target="_blank">Camping on and Canoeing Around Franklin Island, Ontario, July 13-19, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/10/killarney-provincial-park.html " target="_blank">Killarney Provincial Park, Ontario—Canoeing and Camping on Carlyle and Terry Lake, June 26-July 03, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/10/port-burwell-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">Port Burwell Provincial Park, Ontario, May, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2015/10/cayo-largo-cubaone-week-at-hotel.html" target="_blank">Cayo Largo, Cuba—One Week at the Hotel Pelicano, January, 2014</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2014/09/camaguey-cuba-at-hotel-club-amigo.html" target="_blank">Camagüey, Cuba: At the Hotel Club Amigo Caracol in Santa Lucia, Villages of Tararaco and La Boca and a Trip to the City of Camagüey, November 22-December 06, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2014/08/white-pine-shores-resort-and-camping-in.html" target="_blank">WHITE PINE SHORES RESORT AND CAMPING IN HALIBURTON FOREST IN ONTARIO, OCTOBER, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2014/08/canoeing-and-camping-in-restoule.html" target="_blank">CANOEING AND CAMPING IN RESTOULE PROVINCIAL PARK IN ONTARIO, SEPTEMBER, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2014/08/canoeing-in-charleston-lake-provincial.html" target="_blank">CANOEING IN CHARLESTON LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK AND CAMPING ‘UNDER THE BRIDGE’ IN IVY LEA PARK, SEPTEMBER, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2014/07/french-rivercanoeing-on-wolseley-bay.html" target="_blank">FRENCH RIVER—CANOEING ON WOLSELEY BAY AND CAMPING ON BOOMERANG ISLAND, AUGUST, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2014/07/the-massasauga-park-ontario-august-2013.html" target="_blank">The Massasauga Park, Ontario: Camping and Canoeing at Blackstone Harbour and Wreck Island. August, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2014/01/canoeing-and-camping-at-chutes.html" target="_blank">Canoeing and camping at Chutes, Matinenda, Missisagi and Oasster Lake Provincial Parks and Manitoulin Island, Ontario. July 15-25, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2013/12/killarney-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">Canoeing and Camping in Killarney Provincial Park, Ontario, on Carlyle Lake--June 25-July 02, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2013/10/algonquin-provincial-parkbartlett-lake.html" target="_blank">Algonquin Provincial Park—Bartlett Lake, May 2013. Defeated By Black Flies! </a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2013/09/one-week-in-guardalavaca-cuba-january-4.html" target="_blank">One week in Guardalavaca, Cuba, January, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2012/08/canoeing-on-georgian-bay-south-of.html" target="_blank">Canoeing on Georgian Bay, South of Philip Edward Island, Ontario--August, 2012</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2012/08/canoeing-on-key-river-and-georgian-bay.html" target="_blank">Canoeing on the Key River and Georgian Bay, Ontario, August, 2012</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2012/07/canoeing-on-anima-nipissing-lake-and.html" target="_blank">Canoeing on Anima Nipissing Lake and Lake Temagami, Camping in Finlayson Point Provincial Park, Ontario—July, 2012</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2012/07/canoeing-in-kawartha-highlands.html" target="_blank">Canoeing in Kawartha Highlands Provincial Park and Camping in Silent Lake Provincial Park, Ontario—June, 2012</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2012/02/cienfuegos-cuba.html" target="_blank">Cienfuegos, Cuba, January 2012</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/10/bon-echo-and-algonquin-parks-ontario.html" target="_blank">Bon Echo and Algonquin Parks. Radio Observatory. Black Bear Visit on Our Campsite. Ontario, October 04-11, 2011</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/09/restoule-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">Restoule Provincial Park, Ontario, September 15-21, 201</a>1</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/09/emily-provincila-park-on.html" target="_blank">Emily Provincial Park and Kawathra Lakes, Ontario, September 2011</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/08/wosley-bay-and-killarney.html" target="_blank">Canoeing on the French River (Wolseley Bay) and in Killarney Park, Ontario, August 21-29, 2011</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/08/philip-edward-island-and-foxes.html" target="_blank">Canoeing south of Philip Edward Island and the Foxes, July 31-August 6, 2011</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/07/massasauga-park-on.html" target="_blank">Canoeing in the Massasauga Park, Ontario, July 15-22, 2011</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/07/french-river-dokis.html" target="_blank">Canoeing on the French River, Ontario, south of Lake Nipissing, July 03-08, 2011</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2011/07/six-mile-lake-park-on.html" target="_blank">Camping in Six Mile Lake Provincial Park and Canoeing on Various Lakes in Muskoka, Ontario, June 18-24, 2011</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/12/in-polish-pywanie-na-kanu-w-massasauga.html" target="_blank">SANTIAGO DE CUBA, CARISOL/CORALES RESORT AND BACONAO, OCTOBER 31-NOVEMBER 7, 201</a>0</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/08/canoeing-around-philip-edward-island.html" target="_blank">Canoeing around Philip Edward Island, Ontario, August 11-20, 2010</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/08/pickerel-river-canoeing-july-august.html" target="_blank">Canoeing on the Pickerel River in Ontario, July 28-August 03, 2010</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2013/12/killarney-provincial-park-ontario.html" target="_blank">Killarney Provincial Park, Ontario--Carlyle Lake. June, 25-July, 02, 2013</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/08/french-river-ontario-dokis-july-2010.html" target="_blank">Canoeing on the French River, Ontario, south of Lake Nipissing, around Okikendawt Island (Dokis Indian Reserve), July 14-22, 2010</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/08/massasauga-provincial-park-june-july.html" target="_blank">The Massasauga Provincial Park, June-July, 2010</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/08/pickerel-river-september-2009.html" target="_blank">Pickerel River, September, 2009</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/07/canoeing-in-massasauga-park-and-sharing.html" target="_blank">Canoeing in the Massasauga Park and Sharing it with Black Bears, July 07-14, 2009 and September 25-28, 2009</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/06/in-polish-weekend-in-bon-echo-park.html" target="_blank">Canoeing in Killarney Provincial Park, August 12-16, 2009</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/06/french-river-trip-september-4-9-2008.html" target="_blank">French River Trip, September 4-9, 2008</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
<br /><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2010/04/my-first-entry.html" target="_blank">French River Canoeing Trip, Ontario, Canada, August 19-22, 2008</a></b></span></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-81760505708362710812023-07-10T21:05:00.855-07:002023-12-23T21:40:52.859-08:00MINNESOTA, USA: CAMPING ROAD TRIP IN NORTHERN MINNESOTA. EXPLORING MINNESOTA AROUND MINNEAPOLIS BY CAR AND BICYCLE. AUGUST 21-SEPTEMBER 30, 2022.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047899887_d91b9c509e_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="800" height="367" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047899887_d91b9c509e_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;">Can you imagine driving ANYWHERE in such a vehicle???</span><br style="text-align: left;" /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before embarking on this relatively long drive (probably over 4,000 km), I had my car checked by a car mechanic—which was a good idea, because he decided to fix my brakes. It took over 2 hours, which I spent walking along Kipling Avenue, checking out restaurants and coffee shops. At one point I saw a very peculiar vehicle, which I doubted could carry even one person. I took a photo and sent it to Catherine.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Hi Cathy, since my car requires more comprehensive maintenance, the mechanic provided this replacement car. I just hope that it’ll have enough space for all the stuff I’m bringing to you!”</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">August 21, 2022, Sunday.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Mississauga—Chutes Provincial Park, Ontario.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048666239_6deaa7715b_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048666239_6deaa7715b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still River, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since it was Sunday, the drive on Highway 400 was problem-free as I was heading north, as most people were going in the opposite direction, coming from their cottages. I stopped in <b>Still River</b> to take a few photos of an abandoned service center. Catherine and I had stopped there for the first time in 2008; since then it had been gradually deteriorating, as well as more and more abandoned vehicles, boats, cars, buses and other stuff had been dumped around.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048867375_c5d7349765_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048867375_c5d7349765_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It took me over 5 hours to arrive at <b>Chutes Provincial Park</b>—the previous days I had reserved campsite #95 [N46° 13.212' W82° 04.349'], where Catherine and I had stayed for one night in 2013 before driving to <b>Matienda Provincial Park</b>. Since I had a photo of the campsite taken at that time, I was quite surprised to see that many trees were now gone! This campsite was probably the closest one to the Falls, which soothing sound was ever-present. Since there was an informative post and the trail just across from the campsite, quite a few people were passing by and stopping. It was raining a little, but 15 minutes later the rain ended and I quickly set up the tent and went down to the water, where just meters from the chutes found my favourite depression in the rock, shaped like a comfortable chair, where in the past I had spent many an hour reading and enjoying the view & sound of the chutes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047901652_8189024af0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047901652_8189024af0_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My favourite rock depression!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 2017 Catherine and I had camped twice on campsite #98, extending our stay by well over one week as suddenly the autumn weather became summer-like, even causing mosquitoes and black flies to appear! And 3 years ago, in 2019, I camped twice in this park, while going to and from the USA.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also took a photo of a orange leaf covered with raindrops. Then I wrote a letter to my friend from Poland, <b>Maria Mączyńska</b> (a former Polish archer, who won the world championships in 1967, both individually and in a team competition, and finished in sixth place at the 1972 Summer Olympics, and who was also a Polish and European champion in archery) and inserted the leaf into the envelope.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048973718_59dc4a54fa_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048973718_59dc4a54fa_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">If there is a will, there is a way! I wished I could have talked to the owners of this vehicle, as I would not mind eventually traveling like that</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">August 22, 2022, Monday.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Chutes Provincial Park—AuTrain Campground, Michigan.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047903332_2595b3775f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047903332_2595b3775f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">AuTrain Lake Campground, Michigan</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After packing up, I left the park and stopped in <b>Blind River</b>, hoping to get a snack at the KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) restaurant, but apparently it had been gone for a while. A few hours later I reached <b>Sault Ste Marie, Ontario</b> and after driving on the amazing bridge—no traffic this time—arrived at the US border. The US customs officer asked me a few perfunctory questions and kindly let me into the United States of America. I immediately drove to the nearby gas station and then to the Michigan Welcome Center, where I picked up a few maps and spoke to its employee. There was an American lady outside, fiddling with her cell phone—she was trying to download the Arrive Can app and then complete it, as she could not get to Canada without this app. We spoke a little about camping & canoeing in Ontario and I gave her the link to my blogs, which contained very detailed descriptions of many lakes and rivers suitable for this kind of activity.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048975253_cb9fa74e0c_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048975253_cb9fa74e0c_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">View from the observation platform at AuTrain Lake Campground</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The speed limit on Highway M-28 was 75 miles per hour (120 km/h), later 65 m/hr, higher than that in Ontario (although recently it was increased from 100 to 110 km/h on some stretches of Highway 400). There were very few cars and I enjoyed driving on this road—I had to constantly control myself not to exceed the speed limit. Before the town of <b>Munising</b>, there was construction, causing considerable delays. In Munising, I went to the supermarket, got some salad and drove to <b>AuTrain Lake Campground in the Hiawatha National Forest</b>. Of course, I relied on my GPS to take me there, but when at one point it told me to turn into a very narrow, one-lane unpaved road in the middle of a very dense forest (County Road nr 531), I became extremely skeptical about its reliability. After driving for about 50 meters, I backed up to the main road, not wanting to get stuck, as this 'road' resembled a trail suitable for ATVs (All Terrain Vehicles) or mountain bikes rather than cars! Fortunately, my GPS quickly found another road, this time paved, and in no time I arrived at Au Train Lake Campground.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048483251_59e5fe4f89_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048483251_59e5fe4f89_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was a board, listing available campsites and I was surprised that not too many were vacant. I picked campsite 26 [N46° 23.666' W86° 50.210'], close to the water, set up the tent, filled out the payment envelope and deposited it, along with $22 (Catherine would have paid only $11!), to the payment box. There was a short trail with a boardwalk to the observation platform, which offered a great view of the whole lake. Walking back to the campsite, I passed by the host's site: there was a bunch of sticks near a tree and a sign, “Dog Library. Take a stick, leave a stick.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This was my third visit to this campground—Catherine and I 'discovered' it in 2017, then I stayed for one night in September, 2019 and perhaps I will also camp here on my way back to Canada.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>August 23, 2022, Tuesday</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>AuTrain Lake Campground, Michigan—Armstrong Creek—Ada Lake Campground, Wisconsin</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048870875_4134240c82_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048870875_4134240c82_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Armstrong Creek, Wisconsin. Polish Church</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I never like taking down and packing up my tent in the rain, but since the rain seemed to be quite steady, I had no choice but quickly do so and threw the wet tent & the tarp, aka footprint, into the car. I stopped in the town of <b>Escanaba</b>, on <b>Little Bay de Noc on Lake Michigan</b> and went to Walmart. I also found out that Walmart stores offered free Wi-Fi; since my Canadian cell phone did not work in the USA, the only time I could communicate using e-mails, What's Up or Skype was when Wi-Fi was available. Almost all the stores and restaurants that I visited were desperately trying to find employees and some were visibly understaffed. Nevertheless, all employees were very nice, polite and extremely helpful, more so than those in Canada—something I had noticed many years ago.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048485101_62f53abb23_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="800" height="473" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048485101_62f53abb23_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Polish-sounding road names</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From Escanaba, I took Highway 41 and had lunch in Veterans Park in <b>Powers/Spalding</b>. There was <b>Veterans Memorial Park Campground</b> for just $10 per night [N45° 41.963' W87° 31.719']. Then I drove south and turned west in Carney on road G18, entered Wisconsin, took a short break in <b>Beecher </b>and then drove on road number 8. I had driven on the same road 3 years ago, in 2019, albeit in the other direction, and noticed plenty of roads bearing Polish names, as well as a Polish cemetery. This time I decided to spend more time exploring the area around <b>Armstrong Creek, Wisconsi</b>n. I turned into Cemetery Road, drove to Pine Hill Cemetery and for over 30 minutes walked there. Approximately 80% of the graves bore Polish names, quite a few of the buried people had served in the Second War, Korea and Vietnam.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048978208_0d8274755a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="670" data-original-width="800" height="536" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048978208_0d8274755a_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ada Lake Campground</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was also <b>St. Stanislaus Kostka Church</b> near the intersection of roads 8 and 101, in Armstrong Creek. As I continued driving west, I passed Chitko Road, Janczy Lane, Janczewski Road, Kiszonas Lane, Fatla Road, Wozniak Road, Danielczak Road, Ziolkowski Road and Kadlubek Lane.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048978178_639c682359_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048978178_639c682359_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Ada Lake, campsite number 10</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After passing the town of <b>Laona</b>, I arrived at <b>Ada Lake Campground </b>in the <b>Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest</b>. I spoke to the campground host, a very nice gentleman, then drove around and picked campsite #10 [N45° 22.136' W88° 43.888'], very close to the lake. I quickly set up the tent, went for a short hike at the campground and around the lake and then admired the sunset.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047906182_704e0a676a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047906182_704e0a676a_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">From my campsite at Ada Lake campground I could admire the sunset</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By the way, I mostly drove on county roads, surrounded by forests, with very light traffic. On several occasions I saw deer crossing the road—there were always at least 2—as well as I saw a few dead deer along the road, apparently killed by motor vehicles. That was why I never drove at night, as such encounters were more likely to occur then and were more difficult to avoid.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>August 24, 2022, Wednesday </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Leaving Ada Lake Campground, Wisconsin—arriving in Victoria, Minnes</b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>ota</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048487716_bdd5dfc427_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048487716_bdd5dfc427_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Urmanski Farm near Poniatowski, Wisconsin</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I woke up, many campers had already left and the campground was very quiet. I headed towards the town of <b>Antigo</b>, where I went to a couple of stores and also bought gas. As I was driving on Highway 29, I decided to check out a settlement called “<b>Poniatowski</b>” [<span style="font-family: helvetica;">according to Wikipedia, The House of Poniatowski (plural: Poniatowscy) is a prominent Polish family that was part of the nobility of Poland. A member of this family, Stanisław Poniatowski, was elected as King of Poland and reigned from 1764 until his abdication in 1795. Since Polish adjectives have different forms for the genders, Poniatowska is the equivalent name for a female member of this family</span>.].</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048488276_01db0a4c34_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="784" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048488276_01db0a4c34_b.jpg" width="627" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Carver Reserve, which almost borders Catherine’s property in Victoria, MN. We spent many hours biking there</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I drove on a number of roads, some having distinct Polish names. One of them, <b>Urmanski Road</b>, led me to a farm; the sign in front had the following inscription: “<b>Urmanski Farms. Rick and Ginger. Brandon, Brittany, Melissa, Melinda & Olivia. Since 1892</b>.” I wish I could speak to the owner, perhaps he could tell me some interesting stories about his ancestors’ coming to the USA and setting up the farm. I also thought about a well-known book by <b>Melchior Wańkowicz</b>, <b>„Three Generations” („Tworzywo”</b> <b>in Polish</b>), that portrayed a Polish family of farmers who arrived in Canada in 1900.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048874925_140305b613_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="800" height="382" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048874925_140305b613_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Aldi—our favourite store not only in Minnesota! Although it has limited selection, we can always find almost everything we need at very reasonable prices</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since I did not have access to the Internet (and was running out of time), I was unable to find my way to Poniatowski and after a while, I re-rented Highway 29. Later I found out that there was even a Polish church and a pioneer cemetery—and I did visit them on my way back to Canada one month later.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once I was on Interstate 94, the traffic was getting worse; near and in <b>Minneapolis </b>the highway resembled a parking lot, like it did every day in Toronto. At 6:00 pm I arrived in <b>Victoria, MN</b> and met Catherine, for the first time in 2 years and 7 months!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>August 26-September 12, 2022</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Victoria—Ely, Minnesota. Camping at various campgrounds in the Superior National Forest.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Two Harbour—Duluth—Victoria</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After two days of packing, on August 26, 2022, we embarked on our camping trip. Catherine’s new car, the Honda Pilot, turned out to be much smaller than the spacious Dodge Grand Caravan and we had to be very creative to find space for all the stuff we were taking with us.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047909072_2de47e9dbb_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="800" height="425" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047909072_2de47e9dbb_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Catherine at Aldi, contemplating what to buy without spending too much money...</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We left in the morning and took Highway I-35, stopped in Forest Lake and bought some groceries at <b>Aldie's </b>(I love this store!) and then spent some time in the small town of <b>Hinckley</b> and went to <b>Grandma's Thrift Shop</b>. There was a sign in the window, saying, “Free Ride in a Sheriff’s Car”; both Catherine and I for a moment thought that the local sheriff offered a free sightseeing ride for tourists and Catherine was almost ready to ask the store owner for more information, yet there was no need, as the second part of the sign was totally self-explanatory: “If you Shoplift from the Store. Compliments of your Sheriff’s Office.” We spent some time in the store, which was very good, and had a good laugh, along the very pleasant owner, when we told him about our initial misunderstanding! And no, we did not get a free ride in a sheriff’s car...</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048490036_f111b944cc_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="601" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048490036_f111b944cc_b.jpg" width="481" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had lunch at <b>Kettle River rest stop</b>, which had tables and chairs in the forested area. Then we stopped in <b>Tower, MN</b>. The historical marker briefly summarized the town’s history:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>TOWER</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Named for Charlemagne Tower, one of the developers of the Vermilion Range and Duluth and Iron Range Railroad. It was incorporated as a village in 1884 and as a city in 1889. A saw mill was established here in 1882.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">An Indian settlement was located on near-by Lake Vermilion at Pike Bay and trading posts of the North West and American Fur Companies were established then in the 19th century. It was the terminus of the Vermilion Trail built from Duluth in 1865 for the gold rush prospectors pouring into the region. During its construction the first evidences of iron ore were found.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">This ore crusher, used in search for gold, was one of the first pieces of mining equipment in the area. It was found underwater in Trout Creek in 1934. The first iron mine in Minnesota was opened near here in Soudan in 1884.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048677844_ea52cc762f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048677844_ea52cc762f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">All aboard, Catherine the steam locomotive engineer is now in charge!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was a <b>Tower Station</b> (Tower Passenger Depot), currently a museum, as well as I could admire a real steam locomotive—engine #1218—and even explore the train engineer's cabin. I can only imagine this job, how difficult it was! The nearby inscription provided more information about this impressive artifact:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048491281_a10d86e38a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="449" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048491281_a10d86e38a_b.jpg" width="359" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">I can only imagine how hard it was to work inside the steam locomotive</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>WELCOME TO DM & IR ENGINE # 1218.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">This steam locomotive was one of 12, received from the Baldwin Locomotive Works in 1910, used by the Duluth, and Iron Range Railway (as number 218) and later by the Duluth, Missabe and Iron Range Railway (as number 1218) to haul rich iron ore from the Soudan Mine to Lake Superior ports. This engine could haul 48 loaded 50 ton cars or 2700 tons. It was donated by the DM&IR to the city of Tower in 1962 for display and historical purposes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Locomotive 1218: type 2-8-0, standard gauge, 56 cylinders 22"x28", total engine weight 198,850 lbs. Weight on driver 175,050 lbs, boiler pressure 200 psi, driver diameter 54", tractive effort 45,553 lbs. Construction # 34745, Super Heater type A 25 Units, Dome Throttle, Fuel: soft coal, MB type standard stoker, engine loc on locomotive, #8 fire box door. 2 each #10 Nathan Simplex Injectors with side checks. 25-5 1/2 flues 166 2" tubes. DV-3 mechanized lubricator, 4 each. Wilson blowdown valves two feeding blowdown separator on top of boiler, 6 E.T. airbrake equip. with Westinghouse 150 cc air compressor. Barco low water alarm, Walschvert Valvegear, Elco power reverse, Okadee, air operated cylinder cocks, 2 gallon Superior soot blowers, Nathan 3 feed hydrostatic lubricator for stoker and air pump, 2 water glasses and one water column with dry cocks.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In time this locomotive was replaced by heavier and more powerful locomotives. In 2002 the Duluth, Missabe and Iron Range Railway was said to be the largest iron ore handling railroad in North America, with 212 miles of track. Its mission was to move ore from Minnesota's Mesabi Range taconite plants to DM & IR dock facilities at Duluth and Two Harbors, or to connecting railroads at Superior, Wisconsin.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048678524_a26bd93497_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048678524_a26bd93497_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Kawishiwi River Campground in the Superior National Forest, Campsite #1</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After altogether driving 305 miles (491 km), we arrived at <b>Kawishiwi River Campground</b> in the <b>Superior National Forest</b> (south-east of Ely, MN) where Catherine had reserved campsite #1 for two nights [47.81582°, -91.73029°]. The campsite—which was the only one available the week before—turned out to be quite nice and certainly looked better than the park-provided image. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='629' height='523' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzm3--_WLl7SCLolPJLaJLU4zXwtcyn46tEnNFSaFGxlANuLcEkmFCQ7OwDiu1R9k-vCQNom5sZfoUYpnb6IA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As a bonus, it was an electric campsite and Catherine could use one of her many crazy devices, which names and purposes I was not even trying to fathom. And as a double bonus, we had to pay only half of the required fee (i.e., $15.50 per night) due to Catherine’s Golden Lifetime Senior Pass. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='619' height='514' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzxDr9uT42x98O1IqqyXw289BYJ0V_3DaWmz1FdowixUgGqOa0fJWE_c8e-zU9Zz_f6H-ow0NWO_MTKEOPNsQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning the camp manager, Dan, stopped by in his golf cart to say “hello” and collect the $8.00 for the wood we had grabbed from his campsite upon arrival. The next day we spent close to one hour talking to him and Ellen, the campground host from Florida. They were extremely helpful and congenial people, who enjoyed their jobs.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047919187_c54fe5f617_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="800" height="310" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047919187_c54fe5f617_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Bald Eagles</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once we drove to the bridge between the Birch River and Birch Lake, brought chairs and spent a few hours just enjoying the view. We met a very nice gentleman, who just arrived and was about to go fishing. He told us a sad story about his daughter who had died in a car accident. While chatting with him, I noticed plenty of birds of prey hovering above—and then I realized (and he confirmed) they were <b>Bald Eagles</b>! Later we saw several of them flying and sitting on tree branches on the other side of the river. It was the first time in my life I saw so many eagles in such a short time!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048877680_79a0969772_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048877680_79a0969772_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the campsites featured a sizable rock and a huge tree stump. It turned out that just recently this visibly huge tree fell over a camper, while its occupants were there. It was a miracle nobody was killed or injured! I remember a similar accident that occurred in the <b>Warsaw Caves Conservation Area</b> in Ontario, Canada, in 2006. A poplar tree was ripped from its roots and thrown onto a trailer by a big gust of wind that came out of nowhere. A family of 5 was sleeping in the trailer; tragically, a 42 year-old woman was pinned underneath the tree and died instantly.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047911852_d63b89cc5d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047911852_d63b89cc5d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Dan (and his dog), a very nice and friendly campground host</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since we were still looking for a nice campsite for the upcoming week, including the Labour Day long weekend, we approached Dan, who called <b>Tony</b>, the <b>Birch Lake Campground</b> manager, suggesting that we drive over immediately and check out the 3 existing first-come-first-serve campsite. We did and took a quick peek at all 3 available campsites and unanimously decided to grab site number 3 [N47° 45.542' W 91° 46.864']. After registering and talking to Tony, we left plenty of personal items on the campsite and headed back to start packing.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048887340_7e7bd2011f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048887340_7e7bd2011f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Birch Lake Campground, campsite number 3</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The campsite was one of the better sites we had stayed on. It was very spacious, private and meters from <b>Birch Lake</b>, on which shores we often sat, enjoying the relaxing view and sunsets. Because the campsite was very large and had two picnic tables, we set up a big tarp over one of them as a rain shelter. Our tent was located over 10 meters from the center of the campsite, close to the lake. Several times we spoke to the campground host, Tony, who used to serve in the US Army and who was also very helpful in us getting the campsite.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048887305_9a9fd275a3_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048887305_9a9fd275a3_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The campground host</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While we did not see any bigger animals (black bears or raccoons), there were plenty of Blue Jays, chipmunks, squirrels and a resident garter snake. Amazingly, mosquitoes hardly bothered us—I never used mosquito spray! We had one rainy and cloudy day, as well as a quick storm rolled over the area once, yet it was hot and humid. There were some edible mushrooms (Chanterelle), which I picked, dried and either ate raw or added to soups—the latter was not a good idea, however. I brought a couple of books with me; one of them, <b>“The Appeal” by John Grisham</b>, was quite good.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047920932_bfb9dfe17d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047920932_bfb9dfe17d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">This garter snake must have lived in the vicinity of our campsite, as we saw it quite frequently</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Quite often we would drive to the town of </span><b>Ely</b><span>, located just 26 km south of the Canadian border. This small town, with a population of just over 3,000, is the largest "jumping off" town for the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness and a major one for </span><b>Quetico Provincial Park</b><span>. The Boundary Waters Area is renowned as a destination for canoeing and fishing on its many lakes and is the nation's most-visited wilderness. With extensive outfitting and other services, </span><b>Ely </b><span>can credibly be claimed to do the most wilderness canoe outfitting of any town or city in the world.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048985088_786fca19fc_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048985088_786fca19fc_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, we visited the renowned <b>Bear Center</b>, https://bear.org/ ($15 per person), where we saw 4 black bears, learned about their history and also learned plenty of interesting facts about black bears. Many of the information on black bears contradicted what I had been reading, especially in Ontario Parks’ tabloids. One of the most interesting myths, which according to the Bear Center was untrue: “When Bears Lose Their Fear of People, They Become More Likely to Attack” The website cites many facts to disprove that and I would like to mention just some of them:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='639' height='532' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzTL29_nnCI745UNLgYXq1OqsSsD3fd-KQpCXJBU4XOpdYH454powwKA_OuZvCn9thKAZa3Y169ypL6v7b5BQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• In a township residents fed bears for years and they lost their fear of people, yet no one was attacked. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• In a sanctuary in Minnesota, for decades people hand-fed and petted hundreds of wild black bears and the public was free to mingle with the wild bears with no rules or supervision: people teased bears with food for pictures, toddlers steadied themselves against 500-pound bears, people lifted children up to bears’ mouths for reasons beyond understanding. There were occasional nips and scratches, but no attacks.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• For decades, people mingled with black bears at garbage dumps where bears had lost their fear of people. In 1989, a researcher asked hundreds of bear biologists at an Int’l Bear Conference if they had ever heard of anyone being attacked at a garbage dump. No one had.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048985093_50be777d65_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048985093_50be777d65_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There are plenty of additional examples, as well as several excellent <a href="https://bear.org/bear-facts/black-bears/myths-and-misconceptions/">articles on bears</a>: https://bear.org/bear-facts/black-bears/myths-and-misconceptions/.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I would like to add something from my personal experience. I have visited landfills many times, where there were a dozen or even several dozen bears, and I talked to local people and landfill workers. NO ONE has ever mentioned a bear attack on humans. Some even said that they made some kind of connection with the bears and they were almost expecting their arrival. When one of the workers arrived in a different car one day, he immediately noticed the consternation of the bears, who thought someone else had arrived—only when they saw him, did they calm down.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Also many times bears came to our campsites (while camping on <b>Boom Island</b> on <b>the French River in Ontario</b>, we saw 4 bears visiting our campsite) and NEVER showed any sign of aggression. Some quickly ran off into the woods, others kept stalking our food barrels and we had to shoo them away—yet they reappeared in a few minutes. When we left the campsite for a while, we hung the food on the tree, and although the bears tried to get to it, they did not succeed; however, they did a lot of damage, puncturing water containers with their teeth, chewing on paper plates and cups, and making a big fuss. Fortunately, they never entered our tents. That's why many people call bears "overgrown raccoons" (the raccoons are also known for causing a lot of damage and stealing food from camping tourists).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Twice I met relatively small bear cubs, which must have recently separated from their mother. They had two things in common: they were skittish, but also extremely curious. Once, having seen such a bear as it ran across an empty forest road, we stopped and got out of the car. After a dozen or so minutes, we saw it slowly approaching us, watching us all the time. Finally, it came within about 1 meter of me—when I moved my arm, it immediately ran away. The second time, in the state of Georgia, USA, a young bear watched us like a dog for a while at our campsite, fascinated by everything we were doing.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sows (mother bears) came to our camping site twice—one with a small bear, the other with two very small “toddlers”. And although such a bear can be incredibly aggressive when it feels her cubs are threatened, it normally avoids any confrontation with humans. In our cases, the bears completely ignored our presence.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 2022, while camping in the Grundy Lake Provincial Park in Ontario, a smallish cub kept coming to camping sites several times per day. One morning it came to our campsite and began to eat my breakfast (while I was enjoying coffee). Although I pounded the table with a stick, honked the car and shouted, the bear completely ignored me and continued its meal. At one point I almost poked it with a stick, but it showed no reaction and was absolutely not aggressive (http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2022/11/grundy-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Despite this, I always respect these animals, carefully protect food from them and try to stay as far away from them as possible. And of course, I always carry bear spray with me, which is extremely effective.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048513906_72c4a1e300_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048513906_72c4a1e300_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The second attraction was visiting the <b>Dorothy Molter Cabin and Museum</b>. Known as the “Root Beer Lady” (1907-1986), she lived for 56 years on <b>Knife Lake (Isle of Pines)</b>, northeast of Ely, MN, just south of the Canadian border. She gained national prominence and extensive coverage in media, books and documentaries, and over the years tens of thousands of canoeists stopped by to visit and drink her homemade root beer. Molter first visited her future home (The Isle of Pines Resort) on Knife Lake in 1930 and it became her home in 1934. Until the mid/late 1940s, the Isle of Pines resort was typical of many north woods resorts. It was reachable by seaplanes and motorboats, and later by snowmobiles as they came into use.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047933267_6d51eb0ca0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="800" height="461" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047933267_6d51eb0ca0_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After the <b>BWCAW (the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness)</b> was designated, nearly all motorized transportation to Molter's lodge was eliminated, and residences, buildings, businesses and the few roads from the wilderness were removed, leaving Molter as the only full-time resident in a wilderness area three times the size of Rhode Island. After her death, her cabin was dismantled and moved to <b>Ely</b>. Her residence and a second cabin of hers were reconstructed there, and the Dorothy Molter Museum was established to preserve her legacy. We enjoyed exploring the museum. The more I read about her, the more I admired her and her lifestyle, which must have brought her so much happiness! There were several birch bark pieces that Dorothy used to make notes; in fact, sometimes I also use bark to write letters to my friends!
More information on this amazing lady can be found on the <a href="https://www.rootbeerlady.com/dorothy/">museum’s website</a>: https://www.rootbeerlady.com/dorothy/.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049006323_f74bbe1f13_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049006323_f74bbe1f13_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, we also went to the local Thrift Store, which used to be a Goodwill, where Catherine managed to find some goodies, including a nice pair of earrings, and I bought an interesting book.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047914512_f997783107_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="800" height="295" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047914512_f997783107_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We took refuge from the weather in the beautiful public library with the newly installed stained glass panels, depicting Ely's history. The library offered free WiFi. During a rain break, we checked a few stores along the main street and drove to a big local supermarket, <b><a href="https://zups.com/">the ZUP</a></b> (https://zups.com/), where we ran into and had an interesting chat with one of its family owners, <b>Jim Zupancich.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049012203_8d670fd5c9_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049012203_8d670fd5c9_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">His wife, <b>Andrea Zupancich</b>, was mayor of the nearby town of <b>Babbit </b>and was running for Minnesota Assembly to be a Republican State Senator (she lost by just 700 votes). He told us the history of his family (4th generation to own Zup’s family grocery, which had been in business for over 100 years), as well as said that the stores were understaffed—a very common problem everywhere. The adjacent “Subway” fast food restaurant posted a note that it was closing at 4:00 pm due to the shortage of employees.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was quite amazed that for so many years the family kept the original surname, although certainly with “Americanized” pronunciation—I think that the original surname, of most likely Slovenian origin, was “Zupančič”.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048990963_de51ecf2c4_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="477" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048990963_de51ecf2c4_b.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">No wonder she lost—very few people nowadays have “Common Sense”</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>We visited Zup’s numerous times, as it was probably the only supermarket in town. As always, I talked to many of its employees—I always found them very helpful and courteous. When I took a look at the “General Corporate License” issued by the the </span><b>City of Ely</b><span> to Zup’s, I was a little intrigued by the names of two officials who signed this document: Mayor—</span><b>Robert Skraba</b><span> and Clerk/Treasurer—</span><b>Harold R. Langowski</b><span>! A Liquor Store was adjoining the supermarket, also called Zup’s, where I often shopped. The selection—and prices—were quite different from that in Canada (as was the case in all liquor stores in Minnesota).</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048683299_dd833e01a3_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="800" height="474" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048683299_dd833e01a3_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The Zupancich Family</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For one thing, it was very difficult to find the variety of European beers which were so common in liquor stores in Ontario; when I finally did find some, the prices were usually much higher than those in Ontario. However, most alcoholic beverages in Minnesota were cheaper from those in Ontario, especially domestic vodkas, beer or other drinks with a high alcohol content of 12% (e.g., Four Loko). However, I managed to buy a 1.7 l. bottle of 40% vodka for just $10 (less than $14 Canadian). In Ontario, it would cost 65 Canadian dollars By the way, it was in that store that I found out about the death of <b>Queen Elizabeth II</b> on September 08, 2022.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049004438_432b345587_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049004438_432b345587_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Catherine had read online there was a famous <b>public sauna in</b> <b>Ely</b>, built in 1912, one of the last public baths still open in Minnesota, but only for 3 days a week. She booked a session online. We were a little dismayed when we saw the location and sign out in front. It was old, but clean and worked quite well. We were grateful for the shower which was in the small, private sauna room. The session ($16 per person) lasted for 90 minutes, which was ample. Indeed, I felt so clean and relaxed that I almost wanted to lie down for a while!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049005623_8a24ea3c61_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049005623_8a24ea3c61_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Instead, we walked around the town and later drove to the <b>Pillow Rock.</b> According to a description on an old postcard, “An of Greenstone rock is located in Ely. Greenstone is one of the oldest known Minnesota rocks and it is located just a few blocks off Camp Street in Ely, Minnesota. It is called <b>Pillow Rock</b> because of the visible rounded shapes formed within this mass of lava flow”.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048512191_a944788fcf_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048512191_a944788fcf_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Grand Ely Lodge</b> was the top hotel in town. Built in 2006, it has all the hallmarks of a national park lodge and we checked it out, as Catherine was contemplating coming there one day with her mischievous grandkids (or/and kids). Just vis-à-vis the lodge, there was the last remaining structure of the iron mine.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048898195_368f8b0a4f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048898195_368f8b0a4f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One evening we went to <b>Ely’s Steakhouse Restaurant</b>—which must have been quite popular because we had to wait for over one hour. We decided to go for a stroll. We reached a very peculiar, boarded-up and dilapidated building. It turned out to be <b>Tanner's Hospital</b>, later known as <b>Carpenter's Hospital</b>. Built in 1901, was converted into apartments, which operated from the 1950s to the 1980s. It certainly had very distinct architecture and I hoped that one day it would be restored to its former glory. Locals told us that it was haunted!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048698694_f37682ff1d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048698694_f37682ff1d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The old Tanner hospital</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">There was a rather modern Catholic church nearby, yet it was closed. We also heard amazing music and tried to reach its source—it was called “</span><b style="text-align: justify;">Music at the Tiki Hut</b><span style="text-align: justify;">” and I loved it! Eventually, we got a call from the restaurant, where we had a delicious dinner.</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048698584_3d6467d351_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048698584_3d6467d351_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Several times we visited the local <b>Ely Municipal Airport</b>; there were a couple of small planes parked near the runway, once a small plane took off, but most of the time the place there was only one gentleman, apparently the manager. Most likely other planes were inside huge hangars.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047931647_9045d95a7b_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047931647_9045d95a7b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although we did not see any bears—even though there were warnings posted about bear sightings not long before our arrival—on several occasions we spotted a big garter snake on our campsite—of course, Catherine did not appreciate its company too much. Once she saw it on the path leading to our tent—amazingly, it just started to consume a frog—which it let go of once Catherine interrupted his eating ritual! Another time we observed the snake on our campsite—and there was a smallish bird almost following it! The bird was certainly too small to hunt & eat the snake (if anything, it could be vice-versa) and I wonder if anyone can provide more info on this phenomenon.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048687664_32a97131c9_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048687664_32a97131c9_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Leaving our wonderful campsite for Fenske Lake Campground—it was really difficult to pack everything into this car!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On September 5, 2023, we drove to <b>Fenske Lake Campground</b>, talk to Steve, a very nice host, drove around and booked campsite number 13 [47°59'46.84"N 91°54'56.59"W] for the next few days. So, the next day we packed—at one point we thought that we would not be able to stuff everything into the car—but somehow did manage—and drove to <b>Fenske Lake Campground</b>.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048703079_b2cb65d167_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048703079_b2cb65d167_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The site was excellent: the parking was on the side of the road and to reach the campsite, we had to use multiple stairs (technically, it was a walk-in campsite). It was very spacious, offered a serene view of the lake and was very private—we did not see any other campers, only occasionally we spotted somebody using a pathway meandering close to the campsite. There was a huge tree on the campsite, under which Catherine and I enjoyed sitting and looking at the lake or reading. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="511" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oCLv8R7pgbI" width="616" youtube-src-id="oCLv8R7pgbI"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was a small beach and the next day we went swimming. We walked to Steve’s (the host) campsite to pay and buy wood and ended up having a very interesting conversation with him. He showed us inside his motor home, which was almost as big as a regular house; I even asked him if it had a basement! Although the was a warning about bear sightings, we were never bothered by any animals.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048703194_a1b6e8514f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048703194_a1b6e8514f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">OMG, a recent bear sighting warning!!!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">Since the car was parked off the road, close to the edge of the “cliff”, I told Catherine to apply the handbrake, just in case—if, God forbids, the car rolled, it could eventually crash into our tent!</span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>“I don’t know how to do it”, she said.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, the Honda Pilot was loaded with numerous electronic and mechanical gadgets (I had seen the manual online and did not even try to read it) and she had no idea about most of them—yet I expected her to know about the parking break! On the other hand, I was glad she knew where the gas & break pedals and steering wheel were… Luckily, she figured out how to put the brake on. The next day, as we were chatting with Steve, he said that he had to pull cars from our campsite—because they had driven over the cliff!!!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049008913_4dae5c30cf_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049008913_4dae5c30cf_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">View from our campsite—just amazing!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also met <b>Jesse</b>, a gentleman who was staying in an RV with his wife. Not long ago they had a boat and in 2015 did the <b><a href="http://abamadream.blogspot.com/">America’s Great Loop Route</a></b> (over 7,500 miles: http://abamadream.blogspot.com/). I wished I had the time to read this blog while in the park and speak with them—but they were leaving the following day anyway.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047937467_9c751e72c4_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="800" height="587" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047937467_9c751e72c4_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">There were a couple of Polish surnames on several of the “Adopt the Highway” signs; also, the signs had bullet holes—I assume that shooting at road signs, apparently from moving vehicles, is one of the pastimes some Americans enjoy!</span><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047935817_93181bc709_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047935817_93181bc709_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Very close to our campsite at Fenske Lake Campground</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>On September 7, 2023, we packed up and left our very scenic campsite and drove to the </span><b>Sullivan Lake Campground</b><span>, which had 11 “primitive” campsites—not that we ever needed any additional comfort! All sites were on a first-come, first-serve basis and only 2 were occupied. We decided to pick campsite #4 [N47° 22.788' W91° 40.190'], on Sullivan Lake. It was very private and had a few wooden steps along the shore, where we could sit and admire the lake.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048521276_1d80b16a51_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048521276_1d80b16a51_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The weather was not that good, yet I quickly set up the tent—as well as the tarp (a very good decision, as we found out later)—and of course, we had a campfire. For 2 nights we paid $34 (no discounts, unfortunately, since it was a state park!).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049015408_b58fe1c74d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049015408_b58fe1c74d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day it rained, so we decided to drive around the area. After a while, we saw, kind of “in the middle of nowhere”, <b>Hugo’s Bar</b> (1898 Hwy 44, <b>Brimson</b>, MN 55602), which was run by very nice people, served great food and most likely was THE place to come to for local people! As a bonus, it offered free Wi-Fi—and I took advantage of it! We had something to eat, talked to several diners, and admired a very eclectic collection of old vinyl records.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049016073_fd48dd9e67_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049016073_fd48dd9e67_b.jpg" width="534" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then we kept driving on mostly side roads, in the forest, with no or little traffic. A lot of roads and places had Finnish names because over 100 years ago Finnish immigrants settled in the area. Again, in the middle of nowhere (or rather, a forest), we saw several buildings and a pottery called “<b><a href="https://www.claycoyote.com">Coyote Lake Pottery</a></b>” [47°11'56.8"N 91°49'29.0"W /
47.199107, -91.824725] (https://www.claycoyote.com). I talked to Bruce and his wife Jaci for a while. He briefed me on the history of this place. Well, it must be truly amazing to live there—although I am afraid that quite difficult in the winter!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048524401_488e91220c_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048524401_488e91220c_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just 5 minutes down the road we stopped at a garage sale. Some of the gizmos were astonishing and probably would make great museum artifacts! Of course, both Catherine and I ended up buying some items, albeit more modern ones. Yet it was not enough—not long after we spotted another garage sale and AGAIN bought some gadgets—as if we did not have enough already!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049018158_9f6eb4e71b_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049018158_9f6eb4e71b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Just off the road [N 47° 23.977 W 091° 45.365] was the </span><b>Toimi School</b><span>, which operated from 1914 until 1942. The Finnish immigrants were very smart people and one of the first things they did after arriving in the USA was set up a school to educate their children! Well, in the long run, it was probably one of the best investments! I wonder if immigrants of other backgrounds did the same thing.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047943807_d654cb097c_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="482" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047943807_d654cb097c_b.jpg" width="386" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">“Look Jack, there is another Garage Sale… let’s go!”</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Incidentally, during <b>the Soviet Invasion of Finland on November 30, 1939</b> (called the <b>Winter War,</b> or the <b>First Soviet-Finish War</b>), the Finns bravely fought for over three months. Despite superior military strength, the Soviet Union suffered severe losses. Well, another example that education, preparedness and most likely high IQ DO count!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The historical marker had the following description of the school:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>TOIMI SCHOOL</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">“Drawn by the opportunity to own land, Finnish immigrants homesteaded the Toimi area in the early 1900’s. The Finns placed a high value on education, so their children attended classes in private homes before contractor Justinus Beck constructed Toimi’s first school in 1914.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The handsome one-room school building with hardwood floors, slate blackboards and a library eventually grew to include two classrooms and living quarters for the teacher. Grades one through four met in one room, while grades five through eight met in the other. The settlers took great pride in the schoolhouse, and it became a place for social gatherings.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Until roads were built to accommodate motorized school buses with hired drivers, parents transported the children to school in canvas-covered sleds or wagons. Students carried their lunches made of homemade bread, meat, squeaky cheese or Finnish flat bread in lard pails. Among the students’ most lasting memories is the enticing aroma of food thawing beside the wood stove in the winter.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The Toimi School closed in 1942 because of declining enrollment. Restored to its historical place as a vibrant community, the school continues to reflect the warm memories harbored by the pioneer community who attended classes here.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049013708_ff344555cb_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049013708_ff344555cb_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At our campsite, we could admire a beautiful sunset! Then we had dinner, spent some time sitting around the campfire and sipping wine and finally went to bed.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048708084_daa2dd0227_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048708084_daa2dd0227_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When we got up in the morning on September 10, 2022, it was raining, but at least we could savor the mist coming off the lake! The tarp turned out to be very useful—not only were we able to have breakfast there, but also place our stuff on the bench before putting it in the car. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="508" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7_2N5Gr50OI" width="611" youtube-src-id="7_2N5Gr50OI"></iframe></span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That day was very special to Catherine: on <b>September 10, 2012</b>, her father passed away in Toronto.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048912210_430cedaeae_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="800" height="496" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048912210_430cedaeae_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before leaving the area, we stopped at <b>Bassett Town Hall</b> [47°23'13.1"N 91°49'40.8"W
47.386973, -91.828001]. The building was an old school gym—the school itself had burned down years ago. And guess why we stopped there? Yes—there was a yard sale and again, we ended up buying more stuff! Since Catherine had a really difficult time finding any space in the car for the newly acquired goodies, I suggested that she attach them to the roof!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049018968_9d83e996fd_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049018968_9d83e996fd_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just off Brimstone Road we saw a quaint church, <b>Bassett Community Church</b> [47.3868674 -91.841838]. The sign said, “Pastor Belle Westman”. Maybe it was coincidence, but one of the ladies at the garage sale in the Bassett Town Hall had a name tag and her name was “Belle”—we wondered if by any chance she was the pastor. A few days later I googled the church and found an article written in 2014 about <b>Pastor John Reppe</b>, who just turned 90 and was still coming to the church to lead religious services. And several months later I found Pastor’s Reppe obituary—lo and behold, he died probably on the day I was reading about him—September 12, 2022, at the age of 98.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048714244_4cfbda68c0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048714244_4cfbda68c0_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although it was the last day of our journey, we did not go directly home. First, we stopped in <b>Two Harbors</b>, a city on <b>Lake Superior</b>. Just meters from the parking lot was a train station, and train museum, as well as part of the parking was blocked off for an auto show. Even though I had never been a fan of antique cars, I was fascinated by some of the models and spent a lot of time talking to their devoted owners. Probably the most memorable exhibit was the original Ford T—it had been purchased by the current owner’s grandfather and he still had the original ownership certificate! While we were chatting with him, he lit the car’s headlights—using a lighter!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048715959_b6cbc9482c_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048715959_b6cbc9482c_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048915440_2e90f00464_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="800" height="622" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048915440_2e90f00464_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I thought that the railway tracks were no longer used by trains—yet to my surprise, suddenly I saw a passenger train pull into the station! It was one of those scenic train tours, operating between <b>Duluth </b>and <b>Two Harbors</b>. Most of the passengers were Mennonites. The train stopped in town for over two hours, allowing its passengers to do a lot of sightseeing, and then we heard a series of very loud train whistles and soon it left for <b>Duluth</b>.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047948822_71d728b3a3_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047948822_71d728b3a3_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">“Duluth and Iron Range Railroad Locomotive #3, "The 3 Spot"</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There were several exhibits around the station and I found two of them especially interesting. One was a small locomotive, “Duluth and Iron Range Railroad Locomotive #3, "The 3 Spot". The historical marker contained the following information:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>DULUTH AND IRON RANGE RAILROAD LOCOMOTIVE #3</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The 3 Spot was built in 1883, by Philadelphia-based Baldwin Locomotive Works. The 3 Spot was originally built for the Tehuantepec Interoceanic Railway in Mexico. The Tehuantepec Interoceanic never took delivery, leaving the locomotive available to the D&IR who was in need of motive power at the time.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Along the Minnesota Frontier</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The John S. Wolf and Company of Ottumwa, Iowa, was awarded the contract to build a 68-mile railroad line. The company was charged with laying track from a place on Lake Superior called Agate Bay to an iron ore mine near a town later known as Soudan. The first locomotive purchased by the Duluth and Iron Range Railroad was the No. 3, nicknamed the Three Spot. They paid cash for it in the amount of $9,750.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Perilous Lake Journey</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Bringing the Three Spot from Philadelphia to Duluth was relatively easy. The locomotive came to the Lake Superior port on existing railroad lines under its own power. The thirty mile trip from Duluth to Agate Bay, later known as Two Harbors, was a different story. In Duluth, the Three Spot was carefully lashed down to a scow under the direction of the D&IR civil engineer William McGonagle. Towed on a barge by the D&IR’s steam tugboat Ella G. Stone, the vessels left Duluth for the short trip up the shore. Captaining the tugboat was Cornelius O. Flynn.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">All was well until a northeaster blew up and threatened to sink the scow and locomotive into the lake. Many a Lake Superior captain in similar conditions would order the tow lines cut so that both boats would not be capsized. In his memoirs, McGonagle attributed their safe arrival in Agate Bay to Flynn’s seamanship and providence. The 3 Spot arrived in Agate Bay on August 29, 1883.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Duluth and Iron Range Railroad Service</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The Three Spot was pressed into service shipping men, supplies, rails, and all the necessary equipment from Agate Bay up to the track laying site and served as a construction locomotive for the railroad. The Three Spot was a perfect locomotive for this mission. She was a wood burning engine, able to gather wood and water along the wilderness route. Contrary to popular myth the 3 Spot did not haul the first load of iron ore down from the Vermilion Range. The 3 Spot was simply too light to pull heavy loads of raw ore.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Later Years</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In 1899, the Three Spot was sold to the Alger-Smith Logging Company’s Duluth and Northern Minnesota Railroad, headquartered in Knife River for $3000. The renumbered D&NM No. 2 would be used in hauling logs, a task she was suited perfectly for being light enough to negotiate the often lightly built track beds of the logging railroad.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>A Homecoming</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After being sold several times and nearly lost to scrap the little 2-6-0 was brought home. The Thirty Year Veteran’s Association of the Duluth and Iron Range Railroad Company was allowed to display the Three Spot by the D&IR Depot where it has remained since 1923.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049021853_769b8c8bca_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049021853_769b8c8bca_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yet the second locomotive was much more impressive and it was HUGE, one of the most powerful locomotives ever built! Again, let me paste the description of the historical marker:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>DULUTH MISSABE & IRON RANGE YELLOWSTONE MALLET #229</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">DM&IR Yellowstone Mallet #229, which is displayed opposite the venerable Duluth & Iron Range Railroad 3 Spot, was one of eighteen locomotives of this type. They came in two separate contracts of eight locomotives in 1941 and an additional ten locomotives in 1943. All were built by the Baldwin Locomotive Works at their Eddystone plant in Pennsylvania.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">World War II was raging and America's iron ore resource was absolutely vital to the war effort for building ships, tanks, and other military equipment. As one might expect, steel for military hardware took precedence over all nonmilitary use of steel. These Mallets however were so important when it came to moving the iron ore that they were assigned the A-1-A preference rating for the materials needed for construction. In other words the Yellowstones were a higher priority than military steel for tanks and ships. It is little wonder that they are often referred to as "The locomotives that defeated Hitler."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">#229 was the second locomotive in the second group of Mallets (228-237) that were built in 1943. The 229 was completed and test run on January 5, 1943 and afterward scheduled to depart the Baldwin plant on January 9th. This was mid-winter and the ore season was closed in Minnesota. Rather than going to Duluth or Two Harbors, #229 was sent to Denver, Colorado to be leased to the Denver Rio Grande & Western Railroad until the opening of the next ore shipping season. During that winter 229 pulled long freight trains over the Rocky Mountains and Continental Divide. Other Yellowstone sisters assisted on the Great Northern and Northern Pacific as well as the Denver & Rio Grande Western each year.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When the 229 returned from Colorado in 1943, it was sent directly to Two Harbors to begin working on the Iron Range Division.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Only 72 Yellowstone locomotives were ever built in the U.S. They were operated by the Baltimore and Ohio, Northern Pacific, Southern Pacific, and Duluth Missabe & Iron Range.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The DM&IR Yellowstones were 128 feet long and weighed in at over 400 tons with no coal or water. Filling the tender took 26 tons of coal and 25,000 gallons of water. Altogether the working weight was almost a million pounds. Steam pressure was 240 pounds per square inch creating a tractive effort of 140,000 pounds.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Often compared to the Union Pacific's Big Boy locomotive the DM&IR Mallet's had smaller drive wheels giving them incredible power at slower speeds. The speed limit on the heavy railroad was 45 miles per hour. Yellowstones were capable of pulling trains that would require four diesel locomotives today.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The last Yellowstone Mallet to make a regular ore run was #222 on July 5th, 1960 on the Missabe Division. It was sent to Two Harbors and put on display for a very short time before being swapped for #221. This engone [sic] deteriorated in the weather and was replaced in 1967 by #229, which had been stored in the Proctor roundhouse up until then. In 2011 the #229 underwent a complete cosmetic in an effort to preserve it for future generations.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The 3 Spot and Yellowstone Mallet #229 locomotives represent the first and the last in the evolution of the steam locomotive on Minnesota's Iron Range.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048915455_405f8442a6_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048915455_405f8442a6_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For well over one hour we wandered in town, which had several nice buildings. One of them—actually, it was very ordinary—was the John Dwan Office Building, where <b>3M Company</b> (originally the Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing Company) was founded in 1902! By the way, since 2020 I have been a co-owner (or rather a shareholder) of this renowned company.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048715864_4e2089613f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048715864_4e2089613f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also spent some time having lunch and resting in a park overlooking the loading docks, lake and the lighthouse. There was a Canadian ship waiting to be loaded (or unloaded), <b>Rt. Hon. Paul J. Martin</b>, a Self Discharging Bulk Carrier that was built in 1973.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048915300_34a7910180_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048915300_34a7910180_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later we drove to <b>Duluth</b>, a very industrial city, where we spent an hour or so on the beach and then drove straight to Catherine’s home in <b>Victoria</b>!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048531841_86aba21d03_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="800" height="396" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048531841_86aba21d03_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Biking—Dakota Rail Regional Trail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day was quite busy—we had to unload and clean the car, do the laundry, as well as I hand-washed the tent & mattresses and dried them in the backyard.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047951677_ccf3aebc4e_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047951677_ccf3aebc4e_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I spent about 2 weeks in <b>Victoria </b>and also often drove to nearby towns—<b>Chaska, Waconia</b> (which I called “Draconia”), <b>Excelsior, Chanhassen </b>and a few others. On many occasions we rode our bikes on many trails—in fact, one such trail is located just a minute from Catherine’s home. <b>The Lake Minnetonka LRT Regional Trail</b> runs for 15.92 miles (25.62 km) and is on the right-of-way for a rail line originally built by the Minneapolis and St. Louis in the 1890s and abandoned by the Chicago and North Western in 1980, one which branched off the old M.&St.L. main at Hopkins and went out to South Dakota.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048534161_5bb2d028b6_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048534161_5bb2d028b6_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Eagan, MN—Caponi Art Park</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also enjoyed riding on the <b>Dakota Rail Trail</b>. It runs 28.1 miles (42.6 km) from Wayzata to Lester Prairie, Minnesota. It is on part of the former track bed of the Hutchinson Spur of the Great Northern Railway. The railway line helped bring wheat and raw materials from Central Minnesota to the flour mills, factories and warehouses in Minneapolis from 1885 until 2001. The railway line, from which there are views of the countryside, was also designed to bring tourists to the communities on <b>Lake Minnetonka</b> in the late 1880s. In the city of <b>Mound</b>, we saw the old Tonka Factory (maker of the Tonka Truck and similar toys), with old side-tracks still visible. Also, <b>the Andrews Sisters</b> singing group—Patty, Maxene and LaVerne—spent summers in <b>Mound </b>as children from 1918 through 1931 and returned to visit at least one week each July. They visited their uncles Pete and Ed Sollie at their small grocery store, often visited the Mound Casino, and relaxed at the Mound swimming beach, reminiscing about their childhood.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048718499_5e0453c065_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048718499_5e0453c065_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I drove several times to <b>Chaska</b>. The local Dollar Tree Store was closed one or two days per week due to the shortage of employees. In <b>Chaska</b>, I met a very pleasant lady and had a long conversation with her. She told me that <b>Minneapolis </b>was very unsafe and that recently a gang was stealing people’s cell phones and then withdrawing tens of thousands of dollars from their bank accounts (her story was later confirmed by a newspaper article—apparently, the police caught the culprits), that <b>Chaska </b>was not that safe either (I think she was the third person to tell me so). Since she was into canoeing, sailing and camping, I suggested that she visit Ontario, especially <b>Killarney and French River Provincial Parks</b>, which are excellent for canoeing. Of course, I gave her my calling card with the links to the blogs and photos.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049028803_02acfc6fdf_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049028803_02acfc6fdf_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Lake Minnetonka LRT Regional Trail in Victoria, MN</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In another park, we spoke for a while with a very nice, young deputy sheriff and he told us about his job and the issues he had to mostly deal with.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048723654_737f33a3ab_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048723654_737f33a3ab_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><b>Kentucky Coffee</b> Tree along the LTR Regional Trail in Victoria, MN. The Kentucky coffee tree (Gymnocladus dioicus), also known as American coffee berry, Kentucky mahogany, nicker tree, and stump tree, is native to the Midwest, Upper South, Appalachia, and small pockets of New York in the United States and Ontario in Canada. The seed may be roasted and used as a substitute for coffee beans; however, unroasted pods and seeds are toxic. The wood from the tree is used by cabinetmakers and carpenters. It is also planted as a street tree.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also went to the city of <b>New Ulm</b>, founded in 1854 by the German Land Company of Chicago. The city was named after the city of Neu-Ulm in the state of Bavaria in southern Germany. We toured the <b>August Schell Brewing Company</b>, the second oldest family-owned brewery in America which in 2010 celebrated its 150th Anniversary. The tour included a tasting of various beers—I like the IPA the most.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047958017_a7b212ae87_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047958017_a7b212ae87_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the <b>Dakota War of 1862</b>, the city was attacked twice by a Mdewakanton force from the Dakota reservation on the Minnesota River to the west. The townspeople erected barricades in the center of the settlement. Together with volunteer militia from other towns they beat back both attacks. However, most of the town outside the barricades was burned and the majority of people evacuated to Mankato.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048537436_007eae85ae_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="551" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048537436_007eae85ae_b.jpg" width="551" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The city still has a very visible German character and we spent a lot of time just walking up and down the main street, taking photos and talking to people. We stopped in <b>Schonlau Park</b>, where the <b>Glockenspiel</b> bell tower stood (one of the world's few free-standing carillon clock towers) and at 6:00 pm were entertained by a very interesting and entertaining performance—as the bells chimed, the figurines danced to the chimes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048724474_df56ed90b4_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="800" height="346" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048724474_df56ed90b4_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As we were driving around the city and admiring many historical buildings and other landmarks, it was slowly getting dark. Yet suddenly I noticed a very impressive monument; even though I had not read about it before our visit, I immediately knew that it depicted <b>Arminius </b>(German: <b>Hermann</b>), an ancient Cheruscan (it was called the <b>Hermann Heights Monument</b>). We drove to the parking lot and I walked to the monument, but it was too late to climb the spiral staircase to an observation platform.
But what caused me to immediately recognize the monument? The story is a little long, but, in my opinion, worth recounting.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047958037_92314d9bbf_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047958037_92314d9bbf_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Hermann Heights Monument, Jürgen Stroop and Kazimierz Moczarski</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In the 1970s in Warsaw, Poland, I was very lucky to buy a newly published book “<b>Conversations with an Executioner</b>” (<i>Rozmowy z katem</i>) by <b>Kazimierz Moczarski</b>. The author used to be an officer of the Polish Home Army, very active in the anti-Nazi resistance during World War II. After the war, in 1945, he was captured and imprisoned in a maximum-security prison by the notorious Polish secret police under Stalinism. For a time, he shared the same cell with the Nazi war criminal <b>Jürgen Stroop</b>, who was soon to be executed.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbkirjQWK1tUCYHpI2gAeE3wrFAAuU1RYmlzV1nfzGGdjszL6YsJT05RDj9lib4KHCpa2A5tBC-Br_Nz6d3CEe90cC5iUy4BOgGgVdZn5r_qKGGot-4UH_IXSzK0vHIuBEOw7--g4ArW00yQ8IRJJlVgXGKwy0JxzUoWuz6qyQ11cpzqjikRFnxklgc88a" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="2259" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbkirjQWK1tUCYHpI2gAeE3wrFAAuU1RYmlzV1nfzGGdjszL6YsJT05RDj9lib4KHCpa2A5tBC-Br_Nz6d3CEe90cC5iUy4BOgGgVdZn5r_qKGGot-4UH_IXSzK0vHIuBEOw7--g4ArW00yQ8IRJJlVgXGKwy0JxzUoWuz6qyQ11cpzqjikRFnxklgc88a=w294-h400" width="294" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kazimierz Moczarski</td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It was extremely tragic and humiliating to put Moczarski in the same cell with a leading Nazi murderer—after all, Moczarski was fighting <u>AGAINST </u>the Nazis. But during that time the communists did not care: <b>Józef Rożanski</b> (born <b>Josef Goldberg</b>), Colonel in the Polish Ministry of Public Security (UB), a communist secret police, personally assured Moczarski, “We can always prove with documents that you were a Gestapo agent. We are in possession of appropriate blank forms, seals, etc., and moreover we have in our hands former Gestapo men who will sign that you were a Gestapo agent.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Moczarski </b>and <b>Stroop </b>engaged in a series of conversations. The book is a retelling of those interviews. <b>SS-Gruppenführer (major general) Jürgen Stroop</b> was responsible, among other war crimes and atrocities, for the suppression of <b>the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising</b> in 1943 and wrote the infamous <b>Stroop Report for the SS chief Heinrich Himmler</b>, recounting the German suppression of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and the liquidation of the ghetto.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibN-cYxJ9zGoNB_OPjYvRd83CVBtFl5uGM9nX7wpy6yX56ZoScP2oY5d4brPollUTjfvKBhB7_WsG4sqf6MudBhVz4r_A6yutqv1EcopDW4EAFyYFoAoINorNUWvL8bb5VE_VUer69kIiCL1DxNdKExOPpoZuFCI0JLIgpz8tMvfj9YZMMeE6CYdhmGh_Y" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="1289" data-original-width="1868" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibN-cYxJ9zGoNB_OPjYvRd83CVBtFl5uGM9nX7wpy6yX56ZoScP2oY5d4brPollUTjfvKBhB7_WsG4sqf6MudBhVz4r_A6yutqv1EcopDW4EAFyYFoAoINorNUWvL8bb5VE_VUer69kIiCL1DxNdKExOPpoZuFCI0JLIgpz8tMvfj9YZMMeE6CYdhmGh_Y=w640-h442" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Jürgen Stroop (center, in a field cap) with his men in the burning of Warsaw Ghetto, 1943 (Wikipedia). The photo was taken at Nowolipie street looking East, near intersection with Smocza street. On the left burning balcony of the townhouse Nowolipie 62, next to it ghetto wall. I used to live in Warsaw just minutes from the photo’s location.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the war, Stroop was prosecuted during the Dachau Trials and convicted of murdering nine U.S. prisoners of war. Then he was extradited to Poland. While awaiting trial in Warsaw's Mokotów Prison, Stroop spent 255 days in a cell with Kazimierz Moczarski. By the time they met, Moczarski had been incarcerated for more than three years after communist judges sentenced him on 18 January 1946.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">During their incarceration, Stroop opened-up in detail about his life. He also shared with Moczarski his letters from his mother, wife, and children in West Germany.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Stroop's trial began on 18 July 1951 at the Warsaw Criminal District Court and lasted three days. On 23 July 1951, the Court sentenced Stroop to death by hanging. Stroop was hanged at Mokotów Prison at seven o'clock in the evening on 6 March 1952.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJJVbeWQlXWgwT4uaxnogGLrESe6ThGZSho7mo3SovDKf_yHbGPQ5xT5ShJlzzkB2JBei0Ydk8ZIcjVkSrXzpRVi_650uLTL2MyRbaOwAXZ7NWJ6J81sG0k4ZRTbBM1ubzpw2elp4SUgYDtsJNLcUoFOHgLYmx_SjerECYJw3lllM6pDREvkSVzE1Jya9C" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="1155" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJJVbeWQlXWgwT4uaxnogGLrESe6ThGZSho7mo3SovDKf_yHbGPQ5xT5ShJlzzkB2JBei0Ydk8ZIcjVkSrXzpRVi_650uLTL2MyRbaOwAXZ7NWJ6J81sG0k4ZRTbBM1ubzpw2elp4SUgYDtsJNLcUoFOHgLYmx_SjerECYJw3lllM6pDREvkSVzE1Jya9C=w443-h640" width="443" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Stroop before a Polish court in 1951</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Moczarski collected notes and wrote a memoir about his 255-day incarceration from 2 March 1949 until 11 November 1949 in one cell with Jürgen Stroop after his release from prison and <b>rehabilitation </b>in 1956 during the anti-Stalinist Polish October. His first draft was written in secrecy. Fifteen years after his ordeal ended, Moczarski published his memoir in installments in the Polish magazine Odra Monthly in 1972–74. He did not witness the publication of his work in book form. The first shortened book version was released in 1977, two years after Moczarski's death. The full text without communist censorship was published in 1992 after the collapse of the Soviet Union, by Polish Scientific Publishers PWN. Moczarski died on 27 September 1975 in Warsaw, weakened by the years of physical torture endured during his communist 'interrogations' by the UB secret police.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Stroop was born in the Principality of Lippe. As Moczarski wrote in his book, “Both of his parents were enthusiastic monarchists. During parades in Detmold, Stroop’s father often pointed out Leopold IV, Prince of Lippe and said, ‘Remember this always. This is our Prince. Obey him and serve him as I have.’ Young Josef's sense of German patriotism was fostered by growing up in the shadow of the <b>Hermannsdenkmal</b>.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh65l7OtdP6KenYxcl5rBGC9LjJsImHRQXsqRyQNNDqrgQupDC7bZXihoj0byccPHwnHbeC1JSItKh4d7suHOEaxjNr_4js2tEmo5MMWdUOYBnxP1pfNjjXM9ynY2rDhB-BeCWVzvlgMqbY30F6w-4cG-DpB9Qt3X8nq-j8c9K7ksH3MBGz1N9xVZ74b2ca" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="4500" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh65l7OtdP6KenYxcl5rBGC9LjJsImHRQXsqRyQNNDqrgQupDC7bZXihoj0byccPHwnHbeC1JSItKh4d7suHOEaxjNr_4js2tEmo5MMWdUOYBnxP1pfNjjXM9ynY2rDhB-BeCWVzvlgMqbY30F6w-4cG-DpB9Qt3X8nq-j8c9K7ksH3MBGz1N9xVZ74b2ca=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify;">Hermannsdenkmal </b><span style="text-align: justify;">("</span><b style="text-align: justify;">Hermann Monument</b><span style="text-align: justify;">") in the Teutoburger Wald (Teutoburg Forest), Germany (<i>source: Wikipedia</i>)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Yes, the <b>Hermannsdenkmal </b>(German for "Hermann Monument"), which Stroop mentioned in the book, is a monument located southwest of Detmold in the district of Lippe (North Rhine-Westphalia), in Germany. The monument was constructed between 1838 and 1875 to commemorate the Cherusci war chief Arminius (in German, Hermann) and his victory over Rome at the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest in 9 AD. When the statue was built, its location was believed to be near the original battle site, although experts now consider it more likely that the battle took place near Kalkriese, about 100 km to the northwest.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Of course, <b>the Herman Monument in New Ulm, Minnesota</b>, was quite similar to that original monument—and although I do not recall ever seeing a depiction of the German monument, for some reasons I just knew what the monument in New Ulm represented!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><ul><li><span>The aforementioned information is from Wikipedia and other source :</span></li><li><span> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hermannsdenkmal</span></li><li><span>https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%Bcrgen_Stroop#cite_ref-5</span></li><li><span> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hermann_Heights_Monument</span></li><li><span>https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Ulm,_Minnesota https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kazimierz_Moczarsk</span></li><li><span>https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conversations_with_an_Executioner</span></li><li><span>http://cejsh.icm.edu.pl/cejsh/element/bwmeta1.element.desklight-4fc386ce-1502-421c-aa39-e47173d63e9d/c/Romanowska_Elzbieta.pdf</span></li></ul></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049035413_ab39885d33_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049035413_ab39885d33_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had said many times to Catherine that she lived in paradise! Indeed, even though the city of Victoria is relatively close to <b>St. Paul-Minneapolis</b>, it is still far enough to avoid most of the problems so familiar in most bigger agglomerations. Just a few kilometers from her home is the <b><a href="https://arb.umn.edu/about/about-us">Minnesota Arboretum</a></b>—an amazing place! The following information are from its website, https://arb.umn.edu/about/about-us:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Founded in 1958, the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum is a 1,200-acre public garden in Chaska, Minnesota, that attracts more than 500,000 visitors per year. Best known for its beautiful display gardens, nationally recognized tree collections, protected natural areas and research activity, the Arboretum is easy to explore via paved paths, such Three-Mile Walk and Three-Mile Drive, which are open year-round. Many miles of wooded trails, stone pathways and routes for cross-country skiers and snowshoers provide access to the healing power of nature in all seasons.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The Arboretum has grown dramatically over the years to include 28 specialty gardens, 44 plant collections, more than 150 permanent works of art, 200 staff members and a stunning array of 5,900 unique species, cultivars and hybrids.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">As part of its mission, the Arboretum offers educational classes — in person and online — for more than 20,000 adults and children every year. A dedicated learning center on Arboretum grounds — and outreach to area schools — provides children with fun, hands-on, K-6 science standards-based school programs that use plants and nature as inspiration. Popular online programming and outreach programs spread the Arboretum’s reach across the state among all ages.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048921870_f498005c84_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048921870_f498005c84_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Luckily, Catherine was a member of the Arboretum, and her membership allowed her to bring several guests! So we visited it many times, including on bikes and to attend an outdoor yoga class (Yoga in the Gardens) and Family Fun at the Farm (the last event along with Catherine’s daughter, son-in-law and two grandkids, Autumn and Everett). We had an opportunity to talk to REAL farmers about various plants, farm work, harvesting and other topics about farming. It is a wonderful place for everyone—and for those particularly interested in learning about various plants and trees, it might be the only organization to belong to!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048542256_b8ca81be61_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048542256_b8ca81be61_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finally, on September 25, 2022, I said goodbye to Catherine and left Victoria, expecting to spend at least two nights camping in the USA and one in Canada. This time I took my bike with me (I had left it at her house in September, 2019, hoping to get it back the following May). I had bought an <b>Allen Sports Deluxe 2-Bike Trunk Mount Rack</b>, which did not require any permanent contraptions or modifications to my car. I was a little afraid that the bike might get loose and fall off, so I secured it with two additional straps, attached to the roof rack. Yet it worked perfectly and I never had any problems whatsoever! The only potential issue with this kind of rack is that the bike is not secured to the car and it would be easy to quickly cut the straps and steal it. Yet I protected it further with a bike lock.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048734229_9370657155_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048734229_9370657155_b.jpg" width="534" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">First things first! I took Highway 29 and headed to the tiny community of <b>Poniatowski</b>, <b>Wisconsin</b>, which I had not been able to find over one month ago. This time I had entered all relevant information into my GPS, which led me straight there! There was a Holy Family Church, established in 1877. The pastor was Rev. Alan Wierzba (meaning “Willow”) and masses were celebrated on Saturday and Sunday. There was an adjacent cemetery that I intended to explore, yet it started raining and I just had enough time to take a few photographs.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048934760_35bfdb806f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="800" height="390" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048934760_35bfdb806f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The community of <b>Poniatowski </b>is also—or I would say, especially—known for its unique location: namely, the 45×90 points are the four points on Earth which are both halfway between the geographical poles and the equator, and halfway between the Prime Meridian and the 180th meridian. Both northern 45×90 points are located on land, while both southern 45×90 points are in remote open ocean locations.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047967677_ef149a20cd_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047967677_ef149a20cd_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The best-known and most frequently visited such point is <b>45°0′0″N 90°0′0″W</b>, which is 410 m (1,345 ft) above sea level near the unincorporated community of <b>Poniatowski </b>in <b>Wisconsin</b>. No wonder—the other such point, located on land [45°00'00"N 90°00'00"E] is in China, in a very remote and inhospitable area.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047967682_53d477db95_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047967682_53d477db95_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I drove to a parking lot and then, despite light rain, proceeded on a path leading to the exact center of the Northern Hemisphere where the 45th Parallel of Latitude intersects the 90th Meridian of Longitude.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048547121_1c128d1873_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="800" height="496" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048547121_1c128d1873_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a 10-minute walk, I arrived at that “famous” place [45°00'00"N 90°00'00"W]. There it was—a bronze plaque, stating: “Marathon County, Wisconsin. 45° North Latitude, 90° West Longitude.” I stood at the very spot, kind of expecting to be sucked into the ground (as I had seen happening in some movies), but nothing happened!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047967607_47b9a4cde0_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="800" height="627" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047967607_47b9a4cde0_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There were several information plaques and one of them was about John Gesicki”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>JOHN GESICKI</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">John Gesicki was a lifelong Poniatowski resident who owned and operated Gesicki’s Store and Tavern and Moonlight Gardens in Poniatowski for over 50 years. He is credited with promoting the significance of the geographic 45-90 latitude and longitude point, which is the exact center of the Northwest Hemisphere.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In 1969, Marathon County erected a marker and made the area a county park—the smallest in the state. Mr. Gesicki then started the 45x90 Club, which gathered thousands of visitors’ signatures from around the world, putting the community of Poniatowski on the official state map.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049043883_b3fd3bd1a5_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049043883_b3fd3bd1a5_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I decided to spend the night in the <b>Ottawa National Forest</b>, at <b>Marion Campground</b>. There were a few loops… and as far as I remember, I did not see any other campers, all campsites were vacant! Since I was planning to spend only one night there, it did not matter what kind of campsite I got—eventually, I picked site number 15 (N46° 16.017' W89° 05.100'), with a lake-view (not that it made a difference!) It was raining and I reluctantly set up the tent as quickly as possible, then spent some time in the car reading something and finally sneaked into the tent and quickly fell asleep. Just in case I had 2 cans of bear spray with me, but nothing disturbed me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049044663_6d25eefb75_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049044663_6d25eefb75_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day, September 26, 2023, I left the park and not long after stopped in the small town of <b>Bruce Crossing</b>, at the intersection of Highways 45 and 28. There was a gas station and Settler's Co-Op Inc, a universal store that also carried fishing & hunting supplies. Then I drove up to the shores of <b>Lake Superior</b>, on Highway 28. It was very windy and the waves were so high that they resembled those I had seen in Cuba! No wonder Lake Superior could be quite challenging for boaters—especially for canoeists!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047973277_c0b78c36a8_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047973277_c0b78c36a8_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I considered spending the night in the <b>Hiawatha National Forest</b>, at <b>Three Lakes Campground</b>, where Catherine and I had enjoyed camping some years ago, yet I decided to try a new campground in the same forest, <b>Soldier Lake</b>.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048940830_2f02e6f7a6_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048940830_2f02e6f7a6_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I drove several times, checking out various campsites—there were very few campers, yet the campsites on the lake were occupied or reserved. I wanted to talk to the hosts (always an excellent source of information), but apparently, they were gone. Eventually, I picked campsite #44 [N46° 20.793' W84° 51.862'], which was in a clearing (at least I did not have to worry about branches falling on my tent, which had happened on several occasions). As I finished setting up the tent, a van full of Mennonites passed by and soon they occupied two campsites near the lake. The cost was $20 and I deposited the money to the self-serve pay station.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049046623_b5a007b7cc_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049046623_b5a007b7cc_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next morning it took me less than one hour to arrive in <b>Sault Ste Marie, Michigan</b>. I parked the car on W. Portage Avenue, just across the entrance to the <b>Soo Locks Visitor Center</b>, which I soon visited. It offered plenty of information on the Soo Locks as well as an observation platform from which it was possible to watch passing ships. As I was there, the <b>MANITOULIN </b>was entering the locks (a Self Discharging Bulk Carrier built in 1991, with carrying capacity of 27550 t, the current draught of 7.8 meters, length of 202 meters and width of 23 meters). Boat tours were also available and I wished I had taken one, but unfortunately, I did not have the time.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048943235_319b387784_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="800" height="582" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048943235_319b387784_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Afterwards, I drove on the impressive bridge and entered Canada. The Canadian Customs officer asked me about the length of stay in the USA, the amount of alcohol I was bringing, and the total value of all items I was bringing to Canada. I had made a detailed list of everything—in any case, I was allowed to bring duty-free goods whose value was up to $750; mine were well under $400. Then I drove straight to <b>Chutes Provincial Park</b>—at one point my odometer showed <b>222,222 km</b>!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048743529_068349f984_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048743529_068349f984_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our favourite campsite #98 [N46° 13.251' W82° 04.382'] was available, so I immediately occupied it and after setting up the tent, I went for a walk and later down to the falls, resting in my “armchair” carved in the rock! Finally, I was able to call home, as my cell phone started working in Canada. On one of the campsites, I spotted a very small “teardrop” camper and talked to the couple that was camping in it. Even though it was very small, they praised its many advantages. I would consider buying such a small, minimalist camper, which provided a sleeping area and a small kitchen.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049048953_3d4d38611e_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049048953_3d4d38611e_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day I packed up the tent and biked all over the park for over one hour. When I came back, the “camper couple” was leaving and we chatted again. They were heading to <b>Awenda Provincial Park</b>—which I had never been to—and I seriously contemplated spending the next night there, as it was on my way.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048557026_92286e72d2_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048557026_92286e72d2_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Six Mile Lake Provincial Park, Ontario</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately, not long after I passed the <b>Key River</b> bridge, the traffic came to an abrupt halt. I waited for a long time and when finally all the other cars were moving, we had to take a detour: we took Highway 529 and re-entered Highway 400 just north of <b>Pointe au Baril</b>. Most likely I lost over 2 hours due to the construction delay and that was why it was too late for me to go to <b>Awenda Park</b>—I decided to stick with my original plan and went to <b>Six Mile Lake Provincial Park</b>, where I spent 3 nights, as the weather was very good. The first night I spent on our favourite campsite, near the pond—since it was vacant for only 1 night, I had to relocate in the morning to another campsite on the same pond. It was the first time I camped on that campsite, which I had known was very private. Indeed, I was able to sit on the semi-rocky shore of the pond and admire the view in front of me, including a beaver lodge. At night I heard plenty of splashing—with my 1000-lumen flashlight I was quickly able to see a couple of beavers swimming around the lodge.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049050463_e3709a2fdf_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53049050463_e3709a2fdf_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also rode my bike several times on the park’s roads as well as on Joe King’s Road and Lake Road. As I was driving to the <b>White’s Falls and Big Chute</b>, I spotted something on the road. I stopped and drove back—there, in the middle of the asphalt road, was a coiled small <b>Eastern Massasauga Rattlesnake</b>, the only venomous snake in Ontario! I took a bunch of photos and then tried to gently relocate it to the side of the road. Initially, it kept charging at me, but as soon as it realized that it could not win, it hastily retreated into the dense vegetation. Later I asked a park warden if there were any rattlesnakes in the park—he said no because of all the tourists, but it was relatively common to encounter them around the park.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048946445_cf5379f22b_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="800" height="405" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53048946445_cf5379f22b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On Friday, September 30, 2022, I left the park and drove straight home!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2023/07/minnesota-usa-biwakowanie-w-ponocnej.html"><b>Blog in the Polish language/w języku polskim</b></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720309792070"><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">More photos from this trip</span></b></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-16153544483069607592023-07-09T19:15:00.816-07:002023-07-17T15:34:44.568-07:00MINNESOTA, USA: CAMPING ROAD TRIP, AUGUST/SEPTEMBER, 2019<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035237379_717a715ceb_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035237379_717a715ceb_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Chutes Provincial Park, Ontario—campsite number 100</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">August 11-13, 2019: Driving from Mississauga to Victoria, MN.</span></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I have to admit—I do not like driving, particularly alone, and especially on highways. I find it tiring and tedious, particularly when there is nobody else to talk to and the 90% of the surrounding scenery consists of the unexciting view of the highway. Even though I do listen to the radio and audio books, occasionally somnolence takes over, which I cannot combat with a cup of coffee or just a brief break—I must pull over and take a short nap. I know that if I ever became a professional driver, especially driving huge semis across the continent, my job would not last long; it would either end by me quitting or in a more spectacular and catastrophic manner. But sometimes we have no alternative but drive, as was the case now. The distance between Toronto and Minneapolis is about 1,700 km and most drivers can cover it in two days, with just one overnight stop. I, on the other hand, decided to extend this trip and spend 4 days on the road, trying to enjoy it as much as possible.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035239784_9b258a63c2_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035239784_9b258a63c2_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Bewabic State Park, Michigan, campsite number 43</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I left <b>Mississauga</b>, Ontario early morning on Monday, August 11, 2019. The drive on Highway 400 and later on the 17 was problem-free, as most of the traffic was heading in the opposite direction. I stopped only once in <b>Pointe-au-Barril</b> (my traditional stopover while driving north), where I had a 30 minute nap near the LCBO store. I was surprised at the price of gas, it was about 20 cents per liter higher than that in Toronto. The only other stop I made was in the town of <b>Espanola</b>. I went to a grocery store, The Independent, got salad for lunch, then quickly checked out the Hart store and the Giant Tiger, but did not find anything worth buying. I arrived at Chutes Provincial Park at 4:00 pm and got campsite number 100 [N46° 13.251' W82° 04.382'], very close to the falls and to campsites #98 and #95, where Catherine and I had camped on in the past. I quickly set up the tent, grabbed my book, <b>"Deep in the Russian Night" by Aaron Chazan</b> and went down to the falls. I found a natural 'chair' carved in the rock, from where I could watch and listen to the rapids. I was quite tired and must have fallen asleep for several minutes. At about 6:00 pm I was back at the campsite. A camper was now parked at an adjacent campsite, its generator running! Fortunately, very few people use generators in Ontario parks (if they need electricity, they simply pick electric campsites), they are very noisy and I strongly believe they should be banned, period. I was also surprised that it was legal to run generators in the radio-free campground—it was only later that I found out that generators were actually NOT permitted in such campgrounds! It was a pity that I never saw even one park employee drive or walk in the campground in order to enforce the rules. Besides, whereas there was a big sign stating "Radio-free zone", it said nothing about generators. I turned in just past 9:00 pm and woke up early in the morning.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035241354_28ca6c17a6_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035241354_28ca6c17a6_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Chippewa Campground in Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, campsite number S-5</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I quickly packed up the tent and continued my journey on highway 17, stopping for lunch at a picnic area just before the bridge to <b>Joseph Island</b>-Catherine and I had stopped at that place several times. Finally I reached <b>Sault Ste. Marie</b>, drove over the impressive bridge, half of which belonged to the USA, and reached the US border booth. This time the US customs official only asked me if I had any food-I gave her a list of what I was bringing-but she was mainly interested in fruits and vegetables. She also ask me about the purpose of my trip ("camping, biking and canoeing") and how long I was going to stay ("end of September"). That was all and thus I entered the United States of America!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035543928_3ec882cd32_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035543928_3ec882cd32_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Chippewa Campground in Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, WI campsite number S-5</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A month before, having done some quick research on State Parks in Michigan, I decided to stay in <b>Bewabic State Park</b>, south of Marquette. I drove mainly on highway 28, where we had driven 2 years ago, albeit in the opposite direction. It was a very pleasant drive, not boring at all. I arrived at Bewabic Park late afternoon and as per the recommendation of the park's employee, I got campsite number 43 [N46° 05.276' W88° 25.957']. It was one of the few non-electrical sites in the campground. Since it was Monday, there were many vacant sites-but of course the park became quite full over the weekend. A sheriff deputy slowly drove on the park’s roads and I spent some time chatting with him. I was awaken in the middle of the night—it was raining as well as the temperature must have dropped quite significantly. Indeed, it was just +13° C in the morning-and the previous day the mercury hit almost +30° C! I took advantage of the shower facilities, yet since one shower stall was broken, I ended up waiting for over 20 minutes to get in. Then I packed and headed towards Minneapolis, planning to spend another night in one of the National Forests in Wisconsin. On my way I visited a National Forest office/information center and according to the obtained information, I proceeded towards <b>Medford</b>, Wisconsin, which I briefly visited and drove back north. Fortunately, there were good signs pointing to the campgrounds and I drove to the <b>Chippewa Campground</b> in <b>Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest</b>, picking campsite number S-5 in the Beaver Loop [N45° 13.388' W90° 42.484']. Incidentally, while driving in the forest, I saw some black shape crossing the road some 50 meters ahead, yet I could not tell if it was a black bear—or just a big, black dog. There was a self-serve payment station and the cost was $15 per night. Several campers, including the campground host, occupied campsites here and there, but there were plenty of vacant sites. I quickly set up the tent, opened a bottle of red wine and continued reading “Deep in the Russian Night”. As it got dark, I went to the tent and quickly fell asleep. The campground had showers, requiring a token ($1 per 5 minutes of showering).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035241334_3ec882cd32_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035241334_3ec882cd32_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">That day my car's odometer's hit the 200,000 km mark!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since the last part of my trip was relatively short, I woke up after 10 am, had a simple breakfast and left the campground at noon. Soon I got on the I-94. That day my car's odometer's hit the 200,000 km mark-considering I bought it in 2002, I had not done that much driving.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I stopped in the town of <b>Menomonie</b>-I had to ask a local resident how to properly pronounce the name of the town. It was named for the original inhabitants of the area, the Menominee. The name derived from the Ojibwe language word The Menominee, derived from the Algonquin language word for "Wild Rice People"; known as Mamaceqtaw, "the people", in the Menominee language. Menominee are a federally recognized nation of Native Americans. The tribe currently has about 8,700 members and a 353.894 sq mi (916.581 km 2) reservation in Wisconsin.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035064121_1866159d97_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035064121_1866159d97_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The Panther Distillery in Osakis, MN</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The city had a Walmart Store, Aldi, and plenty other stores, yet when I asked a young employee where I could find a pay phone, everyone looked at me puzzled… such a thing simply did not exist anymore! I did have a simple cell phone with me, but I had not had any coverage for almost 2 days and was unable to make or receive any phone calls.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just before <b>St. Paul/Minneapolis</b>, I turned south from I-94 to I-494, thus by-passing the metropolitan area in the south. The traffic was not bad in comparison with that in Toronto. On my left I saw the St. Paul/Minneapolis airport and the Best Buy head office. Then I took highway 12 and soon arrived in <b>Victoria, Minnesota</b>. Of course, the door to Catherine’s house was unlocked, so I entered, but she was nowhere to be found, despite my calling her loudly. Eventually I checked out the porch and there she was, along with Autumn, her 6-month old granddaughter, whom I saw for the first time; she was smiling and curiously looking at me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035458040_31e77a3550_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035458040_31e77a3550_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Lake Carlos State Park in Minnesota, campsite number 17</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 18, 2019, driving from Victoria, MN to Lake Carlos State Park, MN</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We left Victoria, MN and headed towards <b>Lake Carlos State Park</b>. Instead of taking the freeway (i.e., I-94), I programmed the GPS to avoid highways-this was the first time I used this feature and it turned out to be very useful. So we drove on many county roads, passing through <b>Buffalo, Monticello, Big Lake, Foley, Little Falls </b>and <b>Long Prairie</b>. We stopped at the <b>Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge</b>. There was a relatively short <b>Mahnomen Trail</b>, skirting Rice Lake, where wild rice grew in abundance. In fact, “Mahnomen” is an Ojibwe word for wild rice. It is derived from “Manitou”, meaning “Great Spirit” and “meenum”, meaning delicacy. Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge lies within the transitional zone between the deciduous hardwood forest and the tall-grass prairie. Oak savanna, the predominant plant community, had both forest and prairie plants and animals. It is maintained by natural disturbances, such as fire, wind storms and disease. Hardwood forest replaced oak savanna in this area when European settlers stopped wild fires, which had occurred every 3 to 10 years and killed most trees and shrubs, with the majority of their growth above ground—on the other hand, oak savanna habitat, with up to 75% of their growth underground, were able to regrow and thrive and the corky bark of mature bur oaks withstood the fiery flames. The refuge is restoring oak savanna through prescribed burning and allowing nature to run its course when storms and natural tree diseases occur. Dead trees are left standing because they are valuable wildlife habitat. Yet today less than 0.02% of the once vast oak savanna remains.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485332_edcaeb4b2a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485332_edcaeb4b2a_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Biking near Osakis, MN</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We proceeded up north and finally arrived at <b>Lake Carlos State Park</b>, located north of the city of Alexandria. After talking to a very nice park employee for a while, we drove to our campsite number 17 in the Upper Campground [N46° 00.243' W95° 20.237']. Unfortunately, there were two motor homes nearby on non-electric sites, running semi-quiet generators. Cathy called the park ranger and was told that it was legal to run generators from 8:00 am to 10:00 pm. Since all the other campsites located farther from the motor-home were reserved, we decided to stay on ours. It was actually quite private and well-treed. We set up the tent and had a nice campfire.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035247144_827f3f1271_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035247144_827f3f1271_b.jpg" width="427" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Alexandria, MN--a giant Viking statue, Big Ole</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Carlos Lake State Park had two separate campgrounds, the Upper (where we stayed and where several cabins were) and the Lower, right by the lake. There were several trails in the park, the beach and a boat launch, since many people brought motorboats and kayaks. Surprisingly, there was an alcohol ban in this park—and in ALL state parks in Minnesota! Even Cathy was not aware of this rather unusual policy, which made her very, very sad... Provincial Parks in Ontario allowed consumption of alcoholic beverages at campsites and there was only a temporary ban during the Victoria Day long weekend in mid-May.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The staff was nice, the bathrooms were clean and before midnight the park was very quiet. Remarkably, there were almost no mosquitoes and our campsite was visited by any raccoons or other pesky critters. One night we heard coyotes howling. While driving to the park, we saw many deer, some were in farmers' fields, presumably eating corn.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035066706_8d32cd56fb_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035066706_8d32cd56fb_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Alexandria, MN--a giant Viking statue, Big Ole</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br />August 19, 2019, Monday-at Lake Carlos State Park, MN, #17—biking from Nelson to Osakis. The Panther Distillery</span><span>.</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We drove to a small town of <b>Nelson </b>and parked the car at the corner of Nelson Street and the Central Lakes Trail. The 14 feet wide and 55 mile long paved trail travels through one of the most beautiful lake regions in the country. It starts in Fergus Falls and ends in the town of Osakis, where it connects to the Lake Wobegon Trail, adding 48 more miles to the route, making the two trails together the longest continuous paved trail-trail in the country.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485227_76d5cbdfe8_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485227_76d5cbdfe8_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Lake Carlos State Park in Minnesota, campsite number 17</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nelson was a very small community, with a bar, eatery and a liquor store. It was a very hot and sunny day, perhaps not the best for biking, but we would rather bike in the sun than in the rain. We headed towards the east, passing through farmers' fields, with horses and crops. Six miles later we stopped in the town of <b>Osakis</b>' Chambers of Commerce. A very-well informed employee told us a lot of interesting facts about this small town (it took its name from nearby <b>Lake Osakis</b> which, in turn, received its English name by translation from the Ojibwe Ozaagi-zaaga'igan, meaning "the Sauk's Lake), its own police force of 5, voluntary fire fighters and the whiskey distillery, offering tours and sampling. Since neither of us had ever visited a distillery, we decided to ride there. <b>The Panther Distillery</b>—named after its owner's last name—is Minnesota's first craft distillery. It uses locally-grown, hand-selected ingredients to make whiskey and spirits. Where we arrived, a very nice lady working there gave us a quick tour of the distillery. We saw huge vats where the fermentation process took place and the equipment used for distilling the final product. Of course, it took at least 2 years for that alcohol to become whiskey, by storing it in wooden barrels. At the end we purchased a bottle of maple-flavored whiskey which was excellent!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485242_c394a490bb_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485242_c394a490bb_b.jpg" width="427" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also took a quick tour of the town. Its Main Street had many buildings dating back to late 1800s and early 1900s, a grain elevator from 1912 and a United Methodist Church of Osakis—incorporated in 1869, it is the oldest church in Douglas County. The ride back to <b>Nelson </b>was uneventful. We were quite thirsty and went to the well-stocked liqueur store, bought a couple of cans of cold beer and drove back to the campsite.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 20, 2019, Tuesday. Driving to Alexandria and biking from Alexandria to Garfield on the Central Trail.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It rained a lot overnight, but our “Eureka” tent stayed dry. It stopped raining just when we woke up and it soon became a little sunny, so we decided to go biking again. We drove to <b>Alexandria</b>, which was a quiet big town. We parked at Big Ole Park, near Lake Agnes—Alexandria had plenty of lakes of various size. The park was named after one of the most eye-catching landmark in Alexandria, a giant Viking statue, <b>Big Ole</b>. The 28 foot, 4 ton structure, was made in 1964 and accompanied the Kensington Rune Stone to the 1965 World's Fair in New York for the display "Minnesota, Birthplace of America". Nowadays the imposing statue was located in the park.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035549488_f5db97998a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="800" height="338" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035549488_f5db97998a_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">J</span><span style="font-size: medium;">ust a stone's throw away was the Runestone Museum, exhibiting the <b>Kensington Rune Stone</b>. Personally, I found the story of this artifact fascinating, yet somehow unbelievable: in 1898, farmer Olof Ohman found a stone in the roots of an aspen tree. It was 31" x 16" x 6" and weighted 202 lbs. On the stone were Nordic runes with the following inscription:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Eight Götalanders and 22 Northmen on (this?) exploration journey from Vinland far to the west. We had a camp by two (shelters?) one day's journey north from this stone. We were fishing one day. After we came home, found 10 men red from blood and dead. Ave Maria save from evil. (side of stone) There are 10 men by the inland sea to look after our ships fourteen days journey from this peninsula (or island). Year 1362.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The stone became known as the Kensington Rune Stone and since its discovery, there has been controversy surrounding the stone's authenticity. The only confirmed Norse site in Vineland (North America) is in Newfoundland and dates back to about 1000. Archaeological studies suggest the site, L'Anse aux Meadows, served as a base and winter camp for expeditions to the Gulf of St. Lawrence and Hudson Bay. Around 1355, King Magnus Erickson sent an expedition to Greenland. They discovered the settlement had immigrated to the mainland. Did Norse explorers make their way to Minnesota? I doubt! In any way, the stone has put the city of Alexandria on the world map!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485217_e7804dbb21_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="800" height="534" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034485217_e7804dbb21_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">I also picked a painted stone, left in the bathroom by the camp hostess and her granddaughter, a very dexterous and intelligent girl.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Central Trail cut through the park and soon we were raiding on it. Less than one hundred meters from the park was a restaurant housed in the former railway station. The railway arrived in <b>Alexandria </b>in 1878 and by 1913, there was a steady stream of Great Northern Railroad passenger and freight service-up to 12 passenger trains passed through the city each day. In the 1950s train travel started to decline due to automobile use and in 1971 passenger train service was stopped along this stretch of railroad. In 1992 the final train rolled down the track s towards Fargo and within a few months the rails in the Alexandria area were removed. The rail corridor from Fergus Falls to Osakis was purchased by the State of Minnesota and in 2005, the Central Lakes State Trail was officially completed.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035562658_4b8b795294_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035562658_4b8b795294_b.jpg" width="534" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Near Alexandria, MN</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This time we rode from <b>Alexandria </b>to <b>Garfield</b>. We passed industrial areas and mainly farmers' fields and lakes. In Garfield, a very small town, we had a draft beer at The Fire Station Pub. The Indian Pale Ale Hawaiian beer, called "Kona", was outstanding-so much so that after riding back to Alexandria, we stopped at a liquor store and bought a 12-bottle sampler of Kona beer. In Garfield we spoke to a local couple who were trimming trees so someone could mow and bale the hay on the right-of-way. She told us her son worked for the Schwan’s Company head office and he was sent to England. We also drove on Alexandria' main street, full of big box retailers and spent some time at a Goodwill Store. Overall, we rode 29.5 km and were not tired at all.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035549528_e615d75e94_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035549528_e615d75e94_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">View from Inspiration Hill</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While heading towards our Lake Carlos Park, we saw a corn stand. Catherine made a U-turn and as we were heading up the incline, we hit the payment and suddenly she remarked that the bikes were gone! I got out of the car and I could not believe what I saw: the whole rack with our two bikes got detached and way lying just off the road!!! We put it back on, but the consequences could have been devastating! In Victoria, just before we left, Cathy and I had put the bike rack on together and I personally had made sure it was properly installed. It should have NEVER got separated like that—it was a very scary experience for both of us.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sun was just about to set when we reached the campsite. In no time we had a campfire going and soon enjoyed tasty ribs, corn and Hawaiian beer.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035066671_7977d92b55_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035066671_7977d92b55_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Our Lady of the Hills</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 21, 2019, Wednesday, “Our Lady of the Hills”, Inspiration Peak, biking around Fergus Falls.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I spent a few hours in the morning writing the blog and we left the campsite after 3:00 pm. Our plan was to get to Fergus Falls (about 50 miles) and then bike to Dalton and back, 20 miles altogether. We deliberately programmed the GPS to take us through county roads instead of the freeway. We passed plenty of farmlands, lakes and forests-as well as small towns. Catherine had read about a statue of Mary near the town of <b>Millersville</b>. There was a big Catholic church in town and a church employee gave us further directions to the statue. After a short drive on county roads, we saw the statue, <b>"Our Lady of the Hills"</b>. According to the attached plaque, it was dedicated on May 13, 1992, on the 75th anniversary of Our Lady of Fatima and donated by William and Viola Danelke for promises kept in the healing of cancer. A photocopy of a newspaper article provided further details: as a young man, Bill Danelke developed cancer in a gland beneath his jaw bone. His mother said he could get help from the Virgin Mary if he prayed to her. Danelke and his mother did pray, the operation went fine and he has not had reoccurrence of the cancer since. It took 50 years, but he kept his word!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035066676_2da44885e1_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="800" height="578" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035066676_2da44885e1_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our Lady of the Hills, guest book</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not far from the statue we saw another sign, <b>"Inspiration Peak"</b>. Rising 400 feet above the surrounding country side, Inspiration Peak and the glacial deposits known as Leaf Hills are the highest point in Central Minnesota. The hills that include Inspiration Peak were known to the Ojibwe as "Gaskibugwudjiwe", or "Rusting Leaf Mountain". <b>Sinclair Lewis</b>, a Nobel Prize-winning novelist from Minnesota, inspired its current name. It became the official name when the site was designated a Minnesota State Wayside in 1932. The author wrote, "From its 'bald top', there is to be seen a glorious 20- mile circle of some 50 lakes scattered among fields and pastures, like sequins fallen on an old Paisley shawl." Praising "the enchanting peace and seclusion of this place for contemplation", Lewis at the same time chided Minnesota's for not knowing about their own "haunts of beauty" and added that `he might write to the governor, ‘skiing His Excellency if he has ever `stood on Inspiration Peak."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finally we arrived at <b>Fergus Falls</b> and parked at De Lagoon Park and Recreation Area, where the trail commenced. There were many campsites in the park, some for tents, some fully-serviced for campers. I believe the price was $10 and $20 per night, respectively.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035260779_afc16b2354_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="800" height="430" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035260779_afc16b2354_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Crow Wing State Park, MN. Our campsite number 30 was just meters from the Mississippi River</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since it was relatively late, we knew that it would be impossible for us to reach Dalton, yet we managed to ride more than half the way and then turned back. It was a very nice trail, again passing thought farmlands, lakes and very few roads. Altogether we rode 22.2 km. Then we drove on Fergus Falls' main street, full of typical 19th and early 20th century buildings. Later we drove to Dollar Tree (a popular chain of stores where everything-and I mean everything-cost one dollar!) to purchase a few things. I spent several minutes talking to Anthony, one of its very nice and chatty employees. He told us that his son was 25 years old-and he and his wife had just had a baby that was 3 months old.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034498877_1143fbbc25_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034498877_1143fbbc25_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Crow Wing State Park, MN, campsite number 30</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The drive back to the park took us almost over one hour-although we drove on the I-94 for a while, then we ended up on various county roads and every few miles we had to make left or right turns. We reached the park before 10:00 pm and decided to skip both our dinner and the campfire.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also picked a painted stone, left in the bathroom by the camp hostess and her granddaughter, a very dexterous and intelligent girl.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035260754_658f5227a1_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035260754_658f5227a1_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">At the Mississippi River, not far from our campsite in Crow Wing State Park</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 22, 2019, Thursday. Biking from Alexandria to Nelson.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Catherine looked at the map in the morning, trying to find <b>the Soo/Wobegon Trail</b>, but since it would be a 60 mile-drive each way, we decided to go biking from Alexandria to Nelson and back. We rode to <b>Nelson </b>and stopped at the outdoor patio for beer, an IPA (Indian Pale Ale), which was excellent. Cathy met some people who used to live close to her ex-husband's house. The lady was a kindergarten teacher in the school district where Cathy had worked from 1999 to 2006. We chatted with them about their trip to Banff and their cabin on Lake Carlos. Then we rode back to Alexandria, had a picnic and then popped into Aldi and Dollar Tree.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035080686_e9fbf86030_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035080686_e9fbf86030_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Crow Wing-commercial district, the town well was here</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 23, 2019, Friday. Leaving Lake Carlos State Park and Arriving at Crow Wing State Park. Biking on the Paul Bunyan State Trail to Baxter.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning we packed up and headed to our second park in Minnesota, <b>Crow Wing State Park</b>. We stopped in a small town called <b>Staples</b>, where I expected to find Staples’ (the office supplies company) Head Office or, at least, a Staples store; instead we found a second-hand store where I purchased for $2.00 a bird clock, which Catherine had purchased 20 years ago for $30! (At this point I might add that the clock has been since adoring my office and a different bird sings every hour, to the amusement of my clients!) There was a plumbing store across the street and I noticed that the plumber parked his truck, leaving the windows open and the key in the ignition.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>"I guess it's a very safe town", I said to him. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span> </span>"Yes, it is. Everybody knows everybody and you don't have to lock your cars".</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well, I wonder how long it would take for the truck to disappear in a big city?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We arrived at <b>Crow Wing State Park</b> and got to our campsite number 30 [N46° 16.901' W94° 19.788'], only to discover that the amphitheater was right behind our campsite.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"At least we don't have to leave the campsite to participate in presentations", I said. “We can hear, and even watch performances from our campsite.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thankfully, there were none during our stay. Otherwise the campsite was spacious and we could almost see the <b>Mississippi River</b> flowing by. The river was quite narrow and in spite of my expectations, I did not see any barges or Huck Finn paddling the raft on the river…</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035471775_38c208fe4f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035471775_38c208fe4f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Chicken Mushroom</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once I set up the tent, I noticed the most beautiful chicken mushrooms growing on a fallen tree. I immediately grabbed my camera and took several photos. I was so engrossed in this activity that I did not notice the poison ivy that was growing everywhere and I must have certainly touched it. I immediately washed my hands with soap. I know that some people are immune to this bothersome plant and to be honest, I suspected that I did have some kind of immunity because I had touched it many years ago (I did not know at that time it was poison ivy) and I had not experienced any problems. This time I only got a harmless blister that disappeared several days later, yet even now, in 2023, I can see a scar. In fact, we saw a LOT of poison ivy everywhere—at campsites, along trails and park paths. Turning back to the chicken mushroom—I did not think it was very common as it was perhaps 4th or 5th time I saw one. It was edible, but only the soft parts of young specimen, otherwise they were quite tough. That was why I always let them be!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034498867_95e6e7937b_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034498867_95e6e7937b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The main street of Crow Wing ran here!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later that afternoon we jumped on the bikes and headed off towards <b>Baxter </b>on the <b>Paul Bunyan State Trail</b>. It was the most beautiful trail we rode in Minnesota! It was paved, meandering through the pine forest and pretty flat. We met up with a fellow biker from the area who offered to escort us to <b>Brainerd </b>which he said was off-trail and confusing. We rode with him to the outskirts of <b>Baxter </b>(crossing the Mississippi River). Since it was getting late, we decided to return to our campsite and Ron-that was his name-accompanied us back to mile one.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Crow Wing State Park</b>, located at the confluence of the Crow Wind and Mississippi rivers, had a very rich history. The rivers had been important canoe and trade routes for hundreds of years.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The historical plaque in the park provided a brief history of this place:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Old Crow Wing</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Few spots in Minnesota are richer in historical lore than Old Crow Wing. Here in 1768, the Sioux suffered a significant defeat in their long struggle to regain central Minnesota from the invading Chippewa. A British fur trader wintered at the mouth of the Crow Wing River as early as 1771, and by 1823, the American Fur Company may have established a post under Allan Morrison. During the next two decades, he and others like Benjamin F. ("Blue Beard") Baker, Clement H. Beaulieu, and William A. Aitkin operated trading stations here. With the decline of the fur trade in the 1840s, Crow Wing became an outfitting center, serving the oxcart trains on the "woods" Red River Trail, which crossed the Mississippi here.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The 1850s saw Catholic and Episcopal missions established, and the village became headquarters for the powerful Chippewa chief, Hole-in-the-Day. Crow Wing reached its peak in the 1860s, with a population of nearly 600 and thirty or so buildings including another mission, this one operated by German Lutherans. Rotgut whiskey flowed freely; brawling and robbery were commonplace. In 1868, the Indians were removed to the White Earth Reservation, and in 1871, the Northern Pacific Railroad bypassed Crow Wing, building to Brainerd instead. Within a half dozen years, the old trading settlement had become one of Minnesota's many ghost towns.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035471765_e939209304_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035471765_e939209304_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Crow Wing, a replica of an original building</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Indeed, today there is very little to see of the old settlement and one would have to almost entirely rely on his imagination were it not for many signs posted on the self-guiding trail, which depicted old buildings and other landmarks, as well as a map. The swath of land where the town’s commercial district use to be included several buildings; today their location can only be determined by the remaining cellar depressions. One of such sites is the town well, where “not only water was obtained there, but town news ran close second”. Don’t office workers get their information nowadays while congregating around a water dispenser?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034502042_22131f183d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034502042_22131f183d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Peguot, MN—the old train station</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 24, 2019, Saturday. Biking to the town of Pequot.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We discovered there was a big bike festival in <b>Brainerd</b>, so we drove to the Nisswa trail-head where we commenced our trip northbound to <b>Pequot Lake</b> and back. In the town of Pequot we stopped for drinks as well as went to the Chamber of Commerce, located in an old railway station. The trail was nice, passed some lakes and roads. On our way home we stopped at the <b>Baxter </b>Liquor store and spoke to the proprietor for a while.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034502032_dfe4752227_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034502032_dfe4752227_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Pequot, MN—a historical mural</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br />August 25, 2019, Sunday. Biking on the Paul Bunyan Trail to Merryfield. Moving to a cabin in Crow Wing Park.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035567873_1f0effee8c_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035567873_1f0effee8c_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Inside the cabin</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The weather forecast called for heavy rain, so we rented the only cabin [N46° 16.756' W94° 19.687'] in the park and moved in at 1:00 pm. Then we headed to <b>Brainerd </b>and biked on the <b>Paul Bunyan trail</b> to <b>Merryfield </b>and back. The trail was quite easy and we hardly met any other users. We drove in Brainerd for a while and went to the cabin. We were so glad we rented it, as it was raining the whole night and continued in the morning.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034505167_725f9acd21_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034505167_725f9acd21_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Camp Ripley, MN</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">August 26, 2019, Monday. Leaving Crow Wind State Park and arriving at Itasca State Park.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We left Crow Wing State Park at 1:00 pm and headed to Itasca State Park, stopping in the town of <b>Akeley </b>in a big thrift store, located in a former school. It is always so much fun to visit such places—you never know what you are going to find! I bought, for just $1.00, a set of CDs <b>“My Life With The Saints” by James Martin, S.J.</b>—and to boot, for the same price I found his book!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035087051_0342871cbe_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035087051_0342871cbe_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Camp Ripley, MN</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On our way to the park we stopped at<b> Camp Ripley</b> near <b>Little Falls</b>. It is a 53,000-acre regional training center hosting numerous ranges and state-of-the-art facilities to support the training requirements of military and civilian agencies. The Minnesota Military Museum was located at Camp Ripley and we spent almost two hours—just admiring the outdoor exhibits (vehicles, tanks, aircraft, artillery). One of the more interesting artifacts was the <b>“Merci Train”</b>. It was a “forty and eights’ boxcar (the sign on the side of the boxcar, “40 Hommes et 8 Chevaux”, designated its capacity: 40 men or 8 horses”). It was used throughout France during the first half of the twentieth century, it was well-known to the American servicemen who fought on French Soil during both world wars. “40 & 8” cars especially identify with World War One when they were used widely to move troops from one place in France to another. Let me write more about the history behind this car (as per the information posted inside the boxcar).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035087041_4a57093fee_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="800" height="362" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035087041_4a57093fee_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Life was very hard in Europe after World War Two. In 1947 an idea nurtured by syndicated columnist Drew Pearson caught the heart and imagination of the American people. It was the American “Friendship Train,”, to be filled with donated food, medicine, vitamins and clothing from throughout the nation and shipped to the needy citizens of France. Friendship Trains chugged around the country, collecting as they went—a spontaneous expression of friendship from people with something to spare to people with less than enough. In return, French veterans started a train of their own, calling it the “Merci” or “Thank You” Train. Into simple 40 & 8 boxcars French men, women and children from every walk of life placed personal items that were dear to them—war medals, delicate embroidery and lace work, tableware, crystal, book, family heirlooms, toys, art—all “…for our unknown American friends.” Forty nice boxcars were filled and shipped to America, one for each state and a half car each for the District of Columbia and Hawaii.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Minnesota’s car arrived in St. Paul on February 13, 1949, decorated with plaques representing each French province and containing thirty-one grates of gifts. A public ceremony on the steps of the Capitol was held the following day. The contents were publicly displayed by the Minnesota Historical Society and eventually distributed throughout the state.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The car itself was turned over to the Minnesota chapter of the 40 & 8 Grand Voiture of the American Legion, which displayed it for many years at the Minnesota State Fair. Today, as a permanent part of the Minnesota Military Museum, it continues to remind us of our nation’s deep and special ties to France.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Besides the train, I was fascinated by the displayed military vehicles, helicopters, tanks and similar equipment.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>“Cathy, would like to see a special transport vehicle for 7 people and one canoe on the roof?” I asked her.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>“Of course”, she said and eagerly followed me. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span> “There it is, the white one”, I said, pointing to… her white Dodge Grand Caravan!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We wished we had gone inside the museum and seen all the other exhibits, but we were running out of time.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035269514_1d3a0c87a4_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035269514_1d3a0c87a4_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Itasca State Park, MN, campsite number 251</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We arrived at <b>Itasca State Park</b> in the evening and quickly found our campsite number 251 [N47° 14.191' W95° 11.487']. There were very few people on our loop (Poplar), so we could enjoy almost perfect privacy. Just as I began setting up the tent, it started raining; once the (wet) tent was up, it stopped! We spent some time in the Visitors Center, it was quite remarkable and offered a number of very interesting exhibits. In the evening we had a wonderful fire and went to bed just before midnight.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the park I found plenty of material on <b>the Mississippi River</b> and the information below come from those sources.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035089496_38e7b562c2_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035089496_38e7b562c2_b.jpg" width="427" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">At the source of the Mississippi River</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">After the Revolutionary War, lands under British rule were acquired by the United States, though the Paris Peace Treaty of 1783. At that time, the Mississippi River was the western-most boundary of the United States and thus it was important to know its true location. A series of explorations to this uncharted region began in 1798. However, the earliest explorers were not successful in charting the river’s source for two primary reasons: a detailed map of the region did not exist at that time, and they did not seek the help of the local American Indians who were familiar with their own homeland. In 1832 American explorer Henry Rowe Schoolcraft asked for the help of an Ojibwe guide named Ozawindib. The Schoolcraft party was led by Ozawindib up the Schoolcraft River and then overland to the source of the Mississippi River which is today called Lake Itasca.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Most researchers believed that Schoolcraft was correct in 1832 when he reported that Lake Itasca was the source of the Mississippi. There was, however, one man who disputed Schoolcraft’s claim.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Willard Glazier, a professional author and adventurer, led a small expedition to Lake Itasca in 1881. They paddled into the west arm of the lake, up a small stream now called Chambers Creek and entered Elk Lake. Since this small stream flowed into Lake Itasca, Glazier determined that Elk Lake was the true source of the Mississippi. He named it Glazier Lake and began a vigorous campaign to have it recognized on maps. It was soon discovered that Glazier had plagiarized Schoolcraft’s journal and that his “undiscovered lake” was really Elk Lake, which had appeared for 45 years on our maps.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">For over 9,000 years, the Mississippi has been considered a “great river” by American Indians. At 2,552 miles in length, the Mississippi is the fourth longest river in the world. Numerous small rivers and streams flow into the Mississippi along its course. The largest tributaries are the Missouri and the Ohio Rivers. Together, all these connected rivers and streams make up the largest river system in North America, and have a combined waterway length of more than 15,000 miles. This huge river system drains water from 31 states and two Canadian provinces. The Mississippi begins as a small, narrow stream at its headwaters in Itasca; when it reaches the Gulf of Mexico, it is over 2 miles wide.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035480465_97cb189f31_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035480465_97cb189f31_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">And this is the first bridge over the Mississippi River!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Interesting facts:</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• The river originally travelled 2,552 miles from its Headwaters at Itasca to the Gulf of Mexico. Channelization has shortened this distance by over 200 miles!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• The river is 1,475 feet above sea level at Itasca, and is at sea level when it enters the ocean at the Gulf of Mexico.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• The average surface speed of the river is 1.2 miles per hour—about 1/3 as fast as people walk.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• This first known name for Lake Itasca was Omushkos, given by the Ojibwe Indians. This was later translated by the French into Las la Biche, meaning Elk Lake—probably the shape of Lake Itasca reminded them of the elk?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• At the end of Henry Rowe Schoolcraft’s historic journey, he named the source of the Mississippi River as Lake Itasca. With the raising of the flag on the lake’s small island, the Ojibwe name for the lake, Omushkos, and the French name for the lake, Lac la Biche, were discarded. Schoolcarft had taken the terms veritas and caput, Latin words for “truth” and “head”, suggested by his missionary companion, Reverend W.T. Boutwell, and linked adjoining syllables: Ver-itas ca-put</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• The term Mississippi, originates from the Algonquin word Misiziibi—“a river spread over a large area.” The Ojibwe Indians referred to it as Gichiziibi or Ki’-chi-zi-bi—“Great River.” Romanticists translated this to mean “Father of Waters.” The word Missouri is an Algonquian term referring to “river of the big canoes,”, while Ohio is derived from the Iroquois word for “good river.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035269504_297e01967d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035269504_297e01967d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The source of the Mississippi River</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Plaque in the park:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>SEARCH FOR THE MISSISSIPPI'S SOURCE</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The romantic 19th century quest for the source of the Mississippi river brought many explorers—among them Zebulon Pike, Lewis Cass, and Giacomb Belframi—to northern Minnesota. The search ended when Ojibwe chief Ozawindib guided Henry Rowe Schoolcraft to Lake Itasca in 1832.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Sent by the United States government to help negotiate a treaty between the Dakota and Ojibwe, Schoolcraft used the opportunity to explore the Mississippi's headwaters area. The expedition, numbering 30, left Sault Ste. Marie in early June and travelled by way of the St. Louis River and Savanna Portage to Sandy Lake, then up the Mississippi to Cass Lake. From there Ozawindib guided them to Lake Bemidji and up the Schoolcraft River, and over a portage to the river's source.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Sorely tried by "voracious long-billed and dyspeptic musketoes" and portages knee-deep in mud, the little band caught their first glimpse of the lake on July 13. It was known to the Indians and traders as "Omushkos" or "Lac la Biche," both meaning Elk Lake, but Schoolcraft renamed it "Itasca" from a combination of the Latin words for "truth" and "head." veritas caput.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Although public interest focused on the long- sought source, the Schoolcraft expedition also collected valuable scientific information inspected fur posts, vaccinated 2,000 Ojibwe against small pox, and achieved an internal peace treaty.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">ERECTED BY THE MINNESOTA HISTORICAL SOCIETY 1990</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also saw the ruins of the Theodore and Johanna Wegmann pioneer home, built in 1893—one building was used as a store and post office. The marker contained the following description:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>Theodore and Johanna Wegmann</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Built their pioneer home at this place in 1893, one building being used as a store and post office.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">An act of the Minnesota Legislature in 1945 authorized acquisition of the homestead as an addition to Itasca State Park.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Dedicated
in grateful memory
of the services of
Theodore Wegmann
1861-1941
and Johanna his wife
1865-1944</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035487585_70cdd71593_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035487585_70cdd71593_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">First sermon at the source of the Mississippi River</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A year before Catherine and I had been talking about the Mississippi river. At that time I had been quite curios where was its source. Little had I known that a year later I would be visiting this spot! Yes, at Itasca State Park, the mighty Mississippi River begins its slow and steady stream toward the Gulf of Mexico!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another plaque at the Mississippi Headwaters:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>The first Colony of the United States.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Herein, under the Ordinance of 1787, began the westward expansion of the nation. The American Bill of Rights first nationally recognized. Human slavery prohibited. Primogeniture abolished. The great new principle of colonies becoming equal in rights with parent states was established.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Itasca Lake, source of the Mississippi River, discovered by Henry R. Schoolcraft in 1832.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The Treaty of Paris, 1783, provided that the United States’ northwest boundary should extend from the Northwest Angle of Lake of the Woods to the Mississippi River. Itasca was on this boundary.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">This tablet is erected 1938 by the Northwest Territory Celebration Commission.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035483290_ef8a139741_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035483290_ef8a139741_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Park Rapids, MN</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 27, 2019, Tuesday. Park Rapids.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of my bike's tires was flat; fortunately, there was a bike shop right in the park and in the morning we took the bike there. There was a hole in the tube which was patched up. Because we expected rain at any time, we only rode 7 km in the park. We also hiked to the Mississippi River Headwaters—the very spot this legendary rivers starts flowing to the Gulf of Mexico! After a few minutes it started raining, so we drove to the city of Park Rapids, which Catherine had visited numerous times with her children some 20 years ago. The main street was very wide—in fact so wide that two lanes in the middle of the street were turned into… parking! I was told that during the logging era, horse-drawn wagons loaded with logs had to be able to turn around on this street, so it had to be quite wide.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035483285_b3f9d2df2a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035483285_b3f9d2df2a_b.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We visited <b>Fuller’s Gun and Pawn</b> and spent there about 30 minutes, talking to two gentlemen working there. I was fascinated by the various guns offered for sale, some quite old and expensive. One of the men had visited many interesting countries and regaled us with many stories. I just love visiting such places, where you can learn so much from local people.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035487575_a705232573_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035487575_a705232573_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Douglas Lodge</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">August 28, 2019, Wednesday. Biking around the Park. Douglas Lodge. Leaving Itasca State Park and arriving at the Hungry Man Campground</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still at Itasca State Park on campsite # 251. We biked around the park, doing a loop of 32.3 km. Some of the trails led on roads, but we hardly saw any cars. It was an awesome trail. Later we went to <b>Douglas Lodge</b> and met a lady 94 years old, who looked about 25 years younger.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>DOUGLAS LODGE</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Douglas Lodge is located in Itasca State Park, which holds the distinction of being Minnesota’s first state park. Established in 1891 to preserve the historic headwaters of the Mississippi River and some of the most extensive preserves of virgin Norway and white pine trees in the United States, the park also features a collection of log and stone buildings. The oldest of these is Douglas Lodge, built in 1905 with funds appropriated by the state legislature in 1903.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Attorney General Wallace B. Douglas, a pivotal figure in the battle to save the timber in Itasca State Park at the turn of the century, selected a site for the new lodge overlooking the east arm of Lake Itasca. Originally called Itasca Park Lodge or State House, the lodge now bears Douglas’s name.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The first floor includes a dining room and a lounge that is entered through a log archway with the year “1905” carved into a beam. Guest rooms are located on the second floor. A kitchen addition was added as early as 1914. Over the years, the addition deteriorated and was eventually rebuilt during the winter of 1984–1985. The reconstruction preserves the integrity of the building through the use of peeled pine logs, a stone-faced foundation, and the same window configurations.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">After the construction of Douglas Lodge, additional log buildings were erected throughout the park over the next twenty years. Still one of Minnesota’s most iconic buildings, Douglas Lodge continues to serve visitors to Itasca State Park.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><i>Source: https://sah-archipedia.org/buildings/MN-01-029-0077</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035276709_1bd364cb09_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035276709_1bd364cb09_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were supposed to leave the campsite by 4:00 pm, but only made it back to the campsite at 5:00 pm. There was a Filipino man in the process of setting up his tent on the adjacent campsite—it turned out that he actually got our campsite, but because it was not vacant, he set up at the other one. We apologized and quickly packed up so that he could move over to our campsite. We drove to the state forest, <b>the Hungry Man Campground,</b> but before went to a big liquor store to get beer—the owner said that he was captaining the tourist boat at the park. When we arrived at the campground, only one campsite was occupied and the one we really wanted, number 7, was still vacant [N47° 03.646' W95° 10.935']! It was really nice, with a view of the lake-and since the campground was located on a small peninsula, we could also admire awesome sunsets. There was a self-serve payment station, the payment envelope went into a special slot, and the other part of the receipt was attached to the campsite post. Interestingly, I do not remember ever seeing any occupied campsites without attached receipts, meaning that this semi-honour payment system did work. In the evening we sat around a wonderful campfire and were listening to howling wolves.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035583723_df9872129a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035583723_df9872129a_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Hungry Man Campground, campsite #7</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 29, 2019, Thursday. Biking from Park Rapids to Dorset.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning we talked to the couple occupying the other campsite in the park, they had a big "Clam" tent and they were just leaving the park. Then we drove to <b>Park Rapids</b> (and visited Dollar Tree & Walmart) and biked to <b>Dorset </b>and back (20.3 km). The town of Dorset had plenty of restaurants on both sides of the main street. Catherine had been in this town with her kids some 25 years ago, so this place appeared very familiar to her. On our way back to the campsite we went to the <b>town of Two Inlets</b> and visited a <b>Grotto and a Catholic church</b>, very impressive.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035277779_09d79df451_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="534" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035277779_09d79df451_b.jpg" width="800" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">View from our campsite at Hungry Man Campground</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 30, 2019, Friday. Hiking on the Roberts Trail in Itasca State Park. Visiting Douglas Lodge (again!).</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What a beautiful morning! There were 9 swans on the lake and I spent 20 minutes observing them. Several more campers arrived at the campground—we expected the campground to be full as it was the long weekend. We drove to I<b>tasca State Park</b> and hiked on the <b>Roberts Trail</b>, but turned back just past the log house (Old Timers Cabin) Beforehand, we grabbed a brochure containing plenty of detailed information about the trail and its artifacts, plants, trees and other features.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035101481_860047f03a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035101481_860047f03a_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once we were at the lake, the boat, full of tourists, was just departing, it was captained by the guy we had met at the liquor store a few days ago. Then we walked to <b>Douglas Lodge</b> and had a hamburger. Several hummingbirds were buzzing outside the windows. I was also able to take advantage of the free Internet and sent a few e-mails as well as wrote postcards and mailed them. I was reading <b>William Shirer's "Berlin Diaries"</b>, an excellent book.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035281629_69afc010fd_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035281629_69afc010fd_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">There were plenty of edible mushrooms everywhere</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>August 31, 2019, Saturday. Biking from Walker.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning we spent an hour on the road in the forest gathering wood, yet I quickly spotted plenty of edible mushrooms which I collected, yet it was a very difficult task—there were thick bushes of <b>poison ivy</b>, which made it impossible to get to most of the mushrooms. Although poison ivy is very common in Ontario, it is much more prevalent in Minnesota. There were at least two different varieties of poison ivy in the campground and some even had clusters of white berries.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035492700_3483207306_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035492700_3483207306_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later we drove to <b>Walker </b>and biked from there (altogether 30 km), stopping at a garage sale. One of the items for sale was an impressive buffalo hide-it turned out that the lady and her husband used to own a buffalo farm! We told them about our camping experiences in the past, when buffaloes were wandering just meters from our tent. She said that it could have been dangerous and they could have trampled our tent (and presumably whatever or whoever was inside), contrary to what park employees told us. We also saw a trailer park, full of campers of various sizes and shapes. Such trailer parks are quite popular in the USA; some allow people live year-round, others only offer seasonal accommodation. Once at the campsite, we spoke to the family at the adjacent campsite, they had a camper similar to the one Cathy had bought a few years ago. The grilled hamburgers were delicious! Again, we were ‘entertained’ by howling wolves.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035279334_4670f47c2b_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="800" height="557" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035279334_4670f47c2b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>September 1, 2019, Sunday. Morning mass at the “Grotto Church”. Biking from Nevis towards Dorset.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">September 1, 2019… When I thought about this date, suddenly I realized that so many significant anniversaries fell today.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• <b>70</b> years ago, on <b>September 1, 1939</b>, Germany attacked Poland, thus starting the Second World.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• <b>50 </b>years ago, on <b>September 1, 1969</b>, it was my first day of elementary school (number 221) in Warsaw. I still remember that day quite clearly, even though I was only 7 years old.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• <b>20 </b>years ago, on <b>September 1, 1999</b>, I moved into my new house in Canada.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">• In 1971 a Polish movie called “I Hate Mondays” (Nie lubię poniedziałku) was released. The movie’s events take place in the course of one day, <b>Monday, September 15, 1969</b> (yes, <b>50 </b>years ago). Several interwoven stories of inhabitants of Warsaw make a terrific satire on the Polish reality of that era—as well as show Warsaw’s most beautiful spots. Fifty years later, this movie is still joy to watch!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035279324_4da2e9b5e6_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035279324_4da2e9b5e6_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We got up at 9:00 am and went to the 10:00 am mass at the "Grotto Church". It was held outdoors, attended by many people and it was the last outdoor mass of the year.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>History of the Grotto</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Father Joseph Moylan, after a trip to our Lady of Lourdes in France, was inspired to build a replica in Two Inlets, Minnesota, where he was pastor of St Mary's Catholic Church.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">In 1959, construction of the Grotto began and was made possible with the help of much prayer and the work of local parishioners of St Mary's and the community who offered their talents and financial assistance to see the project through. The extra care taken in the construction of the Grotto proved to be worth the effort, and the finished Grotto remains today as a memorial dedicated to the pastors who have served the St Mary's community over the years.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><i>Source: http://www.stmarys-twoinlets-churchandgrotto.com/index2.html</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035099286_69caa266fd_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035099286_69caa266fd_b.jpg" width="534" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>The History of St Mary's Catholic Church, Two Inlets, MN</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The first Catholic settlers of Two Inlets came from the Perham and St Cloud area from 1891-1894. Reverend Joseph Wurm from Aitkin visited once a month to administer the sacraments and say mass. An old barn was fixed up in Arago Township near Hay Creek for a meeting place until a church could be built. Father Jacob Engels was assigned pastor of Park Rapids in 1903 with Two Inlets as a mission.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">In 1902, it was decided a church should built. Max and Barbara Eischens donated the land so a church could be built. The first mass was said at the new church in October of 1903.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">On June 5, 1913, lightning struck the church and it burned to the ground. This was a severe loss, but the parishioners accepted the challenge and rebuilt a larger church, this church was completed in June of 1914.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Father Herman Decker was our first resident pastor, he came in the Fall of 1920. A parish house was completed in the in March of 1921. He was also the pastor when the hall was built in 1924. Father Decker died in 1927 and is buried in St Mary's Cemetery.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The second church burned to the ground on Christmas Eve in 1933. The hall was renovated for church and work began for a new church. The church was specially designed with two entrances because of the Two Inlets on the lake for which our town was named. The church was ready for services in just one year. Father Rocca was the pastor of the church from April of 1933 to 1955.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Our church saw several resident pastors, until 1995. At that time, a priest from Park Rapids said 'mass at St Mary's, We were again blessed with a full time resident pastor in July, 2005.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">We celebrated our 100th anniversary in 2007! We continue to enjoy mass in our beautiful church year round and in the grotto during the summer months </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><i>Source: http://www.stmarys-twoinlets-churchandgrotto.com/churchhistrory.html</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035581433_f4ba86e2b0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035581433_f4ba86e2b0_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The beautiful life-size statues of Our Lady of Lourdes and Bernadette at the Grotto, made of bianco carrara marble, are the work of a renowned Italian sculptor.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Since the Way of the Cross is such and integral part of the devotional setting in France, the Stations of the Cross are also part of the Two Inlets Grotto.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In April, 1981, Fr Alto Butkowksi, then pastor at St Mary's, proposed expanding the Grotto to include a Rosary Shrine. Thus, the Rosary Shrine, with its large Rosary designed for Living Rosary devotions, was incorporated into the Grotto area and dedicated on July 10, 1981.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Source: http://www.stmarys-twoinlets-churchandgrotto.com/index2.html</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034524467_70454485f0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034524467_70454485f0_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later we drove to the town of <b>Nevis </b>and biked towards <b>Dorset</b>, but turned back before reaching the town. In Nevis saw the biggest musky in the world. Then we drove back to <b>Park Rapids</b>, went to Walmart, where for a while I chatted to a very nice & personable employee. I bought excellent 70% wool socks. It was cloudy and we thought it would rain, so we drove back to the campsite.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035106976_d074920340_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035106976_d074920340_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Poison Ivy with white berries</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>September 2, 2019, Monday. Visiting Bemidji. Leaving the Hungry Man Campsite and arriving at Moose Lake Campground in the Bowstring State Forest.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Labour Day, the last long weekend of the summer! I guess I know why it is called "labor day"—everybody is doing hard labor: packing up and driving back home, often in terrible traffic!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was camping in Minnesota in September, 2022, I saw a cartoon in the “Star Tribune” showing EXACTLY what I just said above! I contacted the copyright office and I was told it was OK to republish this cartoon in my personal blog:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjA48dczwhAQabeUGT3wSn4ubsFhVReCu0ryChqTOOKoyMFlNKys2FpQqDoxJdngJtxCZAxozeVOKTmBwUfw4fY_uPZB_ua2w7OkzP8qVFq7xLeGB0Aw35A2KHs5ERgPoniOC8zS8CD_LLfi_NMJzODQy3MIKp2a0JLilvCNHlnYKf_V7oMjAJEkXld4ifL" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="527" data-original-width="752" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjA48dczwhAQabeUGT3wSn4ubsFhVReCu0ryChqTOOKoyMFlNKys2FpQqDoxJdngJtxCZAxozeVOKTmBwUfw4fY_uPZB_ua2w7OkzP8qVFq7xLeGB0Aw35A2KHs5ERgPoniOC8zS8CD_LLfi_NMJzODQy3MIKp2a0JLilvCNHlnYKf_V7oMjAJEkXld4ifL=w640-h448" width="640" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://politicalcartoons.com/?s=&author_id=699&date_from_month=1&date_from_day=1&date_from_year=2001&date_to_month=5&date_to_day=10&date_to_year=2023&image_color_type_id=&region=&language_id=1&weighted=0">Dave Granlund, Courtesy of Cagle Cartoons</a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035289904_30a5a2eeb5_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035289904_30a5a2eeb5_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well, we packed up and headed to the town of <b>Bemidji</b>. The first thing that we saw was an impressive statue of <b>Paul Bunyan</b> and his ox, Babe. The nearby information center offered more information on this legendary man. Catherine met one of her neighbors inside!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035289899_2da5d5c27c_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035289899_2da5d5c27c_b.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The oversized telephone used by Paul Bunyan!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>Paul Bunyan</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The legend of Paul Bunyan and Babe of the Blue Ox certainly still lives on, as many names of streets, the biking trail and statues attest to that. Although the details of his birth are not very clear, he was supposedly delivered by five Giant storks and it took an entire dairy herd to keep his milk bottle filled. On his first birthday his father presented him with a blue ox as a pet—who grew as fast as Paul and became a part of the legend of Paul Bunyan, who became the strongest and best known lumberjack. There are numerous tales about this superhuman figure; many of them explain the origins of some of the geographical features of the United States:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">• Paul and Babe dragged the mighty water wagons that sprinkled logging roads and made them ice for gigantic loads of logs taken from the forests. Once the water wagon sprang a leak which created Lake Itasca and the overflow trickled down to New Orleans to form the Mississippi River. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> • Everywhere the giant ox stepped, his tracks filled with water and became the Ten Thousand Lakes of Minnesota. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> • One day Paul started to sneeze. Before he was able to stop, he had cleared so much land that the Red River Valley was created. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> • Once Paul and his men started the logs on a new river. Soon they realized that they were on the Round River-that was why they were seeing the same places over and over again. Paul shoveled out the center of the river and made it into a big lake which is now known as Round Lake.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035500820_0fc7713604_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="710" data-original-width="800" height="568" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035500820_0fc7713604_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">However, I have to admit that for the first time I had heard about Paul Bunyan from an episode of "<b>The Simpsons</b>", in which the Simpson family sneaks onto a freight train and meets a hobo, who offers to entertain them with some tall tales—and one of them is a retelling the Paul Bunyan legend, with Homer as the main character. According to this version of the legend, Paul Bunyan, aka Homer, and his Babe, are responsible for creating a lot of American landmarks: the Great Smokey Mountains, Death Valley, and Big Holes with Beer National Park. And at the end Paul catches a meteor, which is heading towards Springfield, throws it across the country and thus starts the Great Chicago Fire!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='618' height='514' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyI3dnw2Ns1vdC_GYNz1QnlxtFQRIn2XTN1zut-vgq7LntGcx9TTmg07WPEmCvfVP-Mm6jezQ69B63cwGTV1A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>And one more thing: for those who do not believe in the existence of Paul Bunyan: the Visitors Information Center in Bemidji, MN, has a lot of personal effects of Paul Bunyan (a comb, button, ax and telephone), so perhaps he did exist, after all? There is even an over-sized guest book.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034528247_31567883f6_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034528247_31567883f6_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had a lunch in Bemidji State Park—and suddenly I saw a beautiful Pileated Woodpecker! I just love these birds, they are so pretty, yet relatively rare and whereas I had seen them in the past, they were usually gone before I had the time to reach for my camera. This particular Woodpecker must have been used to people, as it hung around for quite a long time, completely ignoring me and everyone else.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035506465_2ca7b144b0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035506465_2ca7b144b0_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Bowstring State Forest, Moose lake Campground, campsite number 9</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After lunch we took showers (what a blessing!) and drove on scenic county roads to <b>Bowstring State Forest</b>. Our destination, <b>Moose Lake Campground</b>, comprised of 11 campsites and only one was occupied by a camper. We picked campsite number 9 [N47° 23.657' W93° 40.329'], paid $14, set up the tent and a primitive shelter (aka tarp) just before it started to rain. The tarp protected us from the rain and we made a wild mushroom soup, which was very tasty. It was raining the whole night.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034533702_1e3c6353d3_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034533702_1e3c6353d3_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">“No fee, no service” We can camp for free!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>September 3, 2019, Tuesday. At Moose Lake Campground in Bowstring State Forest. Driving to Grand Rapids. Library. Blandin Paper Company.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although it was lighting, thundering and pouring rain at night, it stopped in the morning. As we were having coffee, a park employee came to remove the payments from the self-serve payment box. We decided to spend another night here and as I went to deposit an envelope with the payment, I was pleasantly surprised by the new notice attached to the information board—"No fees, no service"-in other words, as of now camping here was free, yet no services were provided (garbage collection, washrooms).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035509725_03804092d7_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035509725_03804092d7_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We drove to <b>Grand Rapids</b> and in Dollar Tree I met a 98 year old World War Two veteran, who still drove his car! He was in France during the war, but because of his severe hearing impairment, we were unable to conduct any conversation. Since it was raining, we went to the local library in Grand Rapids, it had a separate room with books for sale—and they were amazing! Many of them I had read or been very familiar with, but I still managed to pick about 7 excellent books and a few interesting magazines. For a while we spoke to a gentleman inside the library-he became very curious about my accent.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>"Try to guess", I said. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span> </span>"Norwegian? Swedish? Danish? German? Australian?”, he kept guessing, but eventually after listing over 20 languages, I had to tell him.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035118291_19b0afa858_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035118291_19b0afa858_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We asked him about "<b>Blandin Foundation</b>" building next door-he said that it was founded Charles K. Blandin established the Blandin Foundation in 1941 to aid and promote Grand Rapids and the surrounding area. In designing the Foundation, Blandin emphasized flexibility to ensure it could adapt to changing times with an underlying philosophy that its work should lead to the “betterment of mankind.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since the sale of the Blandin Paper Company in 1977, the financial resources of the Foundation have expanded dramatically, as has its area of service. Once linked, the two are now distinctly separate organizations; the Foundation is private and independent of the paper mill, which is currently owned by UPM, based in Finland. When we went back to the campsite, we were the only campers there.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034536872_d532038d9d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034536872_d532038d9d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>September 4, 2019, Wednesday. Bike riding (Bovey, Taconite, Marble)</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The weather forecast called for rain the next day, so we packed up and drove to <b>Coleraine </b>and parked near the <b>Mesabi Bike Trail</b> and started riding. There were two historical churches. We rode to <b>Bovey, Taconite </b>and <b>Marble</b>. Very nice trail-floating bridge, sometimes we rode along railway tracks, some probably recently abandoned. Plenty of ore tailing, some very old and already almost all grown-up with trees. Plenty of choice mushrooms-huge! Town of <b>Marble</b>-rather depressing. We drove back to Coleraine, drove on highway 65 and stopped at a liquor store in <b>Nashwauk </b>and spoke to the salesperson.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035509635_bbfa2b95f4_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035509635_bbfa2b95f4_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Bear Lake Campground, campsite number 7</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then headed to <b>George Washington State Forest</b> and after some searching found the right road leading to <b>Bear Lake Campground</b> (one of the roads was very rough, certainly not for our vehicle). After several miles we arrived at the campground, comprising of some 25 campsites—and ALL of them were vacant! We picked campsite number 7 [N47° 40.650' W93° 15.961'], just on the lake. There were some old ruins on our campsite. I managed to set up the tent just before it got dark. The fire wood was free, so we enjoyed a very nice fire. There were some cottages on the lake, but we only spotted one boat on the lake that evening. I cleaned the mushrooms and placed them on the grill to dry, as it was the only way to preserve them. The sky was cloudless, so we could admire the Milky Way. Later a storm passed over our area, with lighting and thunders and very heavy rain, but our tent was not affected and we slept so soundly that hardly noticed it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035514515_5f088df94b_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035514515_5f088df94b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Hibbing, MN. Childhood Home of Bob Dylan from 1948 to 1959</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">September 5, 2019, Thursday. Hibbing. Bob Dylan’s home.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It stopped raining in the morning and the strong winds quickly dried everything. We drove to <b>Hibbing</b> and located the house where <b>Bob Dylan</b> used to live. Apparently the house had just been sold. There was a small plaque attached to its front, stating, <b>“Childhood Home of Bob Dylan from 1948 to 1959”</b>. There was a balcony on the side of the home. Bob Dylan used to sit on the balcony, playing the guitar. One resident of this town called Hibbing 'a bum town'. It was drizzling and as we were driving to find shelter, two deer along the road. We literally drove into the picnic shelter and had supper, mushrooms and sandwiches.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035125366_9ed38880b9_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035125366_9ed38880b9_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Yes, we literally drove into the picnic shelter!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>September 6, 2019, Friday. Exploring various towns.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A sunny day! We drove to <b>Virginia, Bewabic </b>and <b>Gilbert</b>, saw Voyageur Retreat (Giants' Ridge)-new development, offering lots for sale. Catherine went for a bike ride while I was reading a paper-statistics in Minnesota on crime. Even though it was Friday, still we were the only campers on the whole campground, enjoying our total privacy.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035125361_d1511811b4_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035125361_d1511811b4_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Hibbing, MN</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning we were awaken by birds, mainly crows and Canadian geese. Friendly chipmunks/squirrels sometimes ran under our tent's vestibules. We could hear very vocal owls and woodpeckers, but did not spot other bigger animals.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034545237_aaee6dcbb9_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034545237_aaee6dcbb9_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>September 7, 2019, Saturday. Hibbing—Greyhound Museum, Open Iron Mine.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cloudy, cool. We drove to <b>Hibbing </b>to the <b>Greyhound Museum</b>, David, a volunteer, gave us a personal tour, we learned about its history and saw many older and unique buses. It really hit home because Catherine and I both had taken Greyhound bus from Minneapolis to Toronto, and in Catherine's case, back to Minneapolis, each on a separate occasion.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035126471_9a948525f3_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035126471_9a948525f3_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then we went to <b>the open pit iron mine</b>. It was overwhelmingly huge, we could observe from viewing platforms gigantic heavy equipment still in operation. There were pieces of huge mining equipment on an outdoor display, some as big as a two-story home. In the trailer manned by volunteers we saw various artifacts and souvenirs as well as spoke to knowledgeable staff.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034547812_9b875d57f9_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034547812_9b875d57f9_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also popped into a Walmart store where I spotted two women, most likely of Somali ancestry, and one of them appeared a bit familiar, but I quickly forgot about her. After ten of so minutes I met Catherine (Walmart stores are so huge that we often arrange a time and place to meet each other, as we usually shop in different sections) and she said that she had just seen <b>Ilhan Abdullahi Omar</b>, the U.S. representative (Congresswoman) for Minnesota's 5th congressional district. Nevertheless, I was not sure if it was indeed she.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034547782_d15fb94e32_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034547782_d15fb94e32_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We returned to the campsite, packed up and headed south to <b>Milac Lake</b>, where we checked out the Airbnb (Air Bed and Breakfast) that Catherine had planned on renting for the week with her daughter and granddaughter, but due to rainy forecast, had canceled.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We visited <b>Father Hennepin State Park</b> and were not impressed. Then we drove to nearby <b>Cathio State Park</b> which we liked. We ended up taking back country roads, eventually passing by <b>St. Boni</b>, where Catherine's son and daughter-in-law lived.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">September 16-29, 2019. Mayo Clinic, Rochester, Minnesota. Dr Thomas McDonald. Camping in The Oxbow Park & Zollman Zoo and in Vinegar Ridge. Visiting Rushford and Wabasha. Biking on the Root River Trail. Visiting the former studio and home of Prince. Driving back to Canada: camping at Richardson Lake Campground, AuTrain Lake Campground and in Chutes Provincial Park.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035525550_7b97753339_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035525550_7b97753339_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Camping in The Oxbow Park & Zollman Zoo</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a few days of rest and renewal in <b>Victoria, MN</b>, we drove to <b>Byron, MN</b>, just outside <b>Rochester</b>. Catherine had her first medicare wellness appointment at <b>the Mayo Clinic</b> the next day—and probably she was the only patient of the Mayo Clinic to stay overnight on a campsite, in a tent! T<b>he Oxbow Park & Zollman Zoo</b> consisted of a number of campsites along a rather small river; we picked campsite number 10 [N44° 05.167' W92° 39.103']. Unfortunately, many campsites were unusable due to a very sudden flooding in the spring. The hosts showed us flood photos and described the event. Apparently the water started raising very quickly and they hardly had the time to move their camper to a higher ground. Everything was under a few feet of water, including the comfort station. Supposedly it was a “once every 100 years event”—however, such allegedly rare events were happening more often, like every 5 or 10 years. Our campsite was nice, with a big tree, close to the river and nobody else was around. The campground was run by the <b>City of Byron</b>, which also had nearby nature ZOO, which we visited. I saw a Timber Rattlesnake (it used to live in Ontario, yet for about 70 years had been presumed to be extirpated) as well as a Horned Owl. For some reasons somebody placed horns in its cage—it looked as if it had shed its horns!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135716_34dbb6567c_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135716_34dbb6567c_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day we got up very early and headed off by 7:00 am to <b>the Mayo Clinic</b>. The impressive <b>Gonda Building</b> was named after the Leslie & Susan Gonda. Leslie Gonda, born László Goldschmied (August 20, 1919 – March 16, 2018) was a Hungarian-born American businessman, philanthropist, and Holocaust survivor. He was the co-founder (with his son Louis Gonda) of International Lease Finance Corporation. He was married to Susan Gonda, also a Holocaust survivor, until her death in 2009.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135696_a1c89ccc6e_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135696_a1c89ccc6e_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We parked across the road, in the Gonda ramp. Catherine was shocked that we had to drive up 10 levels before we found the spot. That encouraged her to look into the valet parking, which, for the additional $7.00, was the best deal in town. We were impressed how organized, efficient and even beautiful the sprawling Mayo Clinic was. While Catherine was having various tests done over the next two days, I spent the whole time exploring the Mayo Clinic, visiting the museum and familiarizing myself with its amazing history. I even got a free medical advice: while on the elevator, I struck up a conversation with a doctor, who asked me if I was a patient. I told him I was just sightseeing.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>“I thought so, because you seem to be in perfect health!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Catherine was fairly happy with the clinic, but they screwed-up and missed a few tests (did an HIV test instead of A1C test and no DEXA scan was done). Later she got a bill for over $300 which patient-relations eventually canceled after she explained the situation.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135761_ec86a0a2bc_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135761_ec86a0a2bc_b.jpg" width="427" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Mayo Clinic—a Short History</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Mayo Clinic originated with the medical practice of William Worrall Mayo, M.D., (1819–1911). Both of W. W. Mayo's sons, William James Mayo (1861–1939) and Charles Horace Mayo (1865–1939), who became known as Dr. Will and Dr. Charlie, grew up in Rochester and attended medical school. William graduated in 1883 and joined his father's practice, with Charles joining in 1888. On August 21, 1883, a tornado struck Rochester, causing at least 37 deaths and over 200 injuries. One-third of the town was destroyed, but the Mayo family escaped serious harm. Relief efforts began immediately in a variety of makeshift facilities. Mayo was placed in charge of organizing medical care for the wounded survivors. Needing nurses, he reached out to Mother Alfred Moes, the founder of the Sisters of Saint Francis of Rochester, Minnesota (a teaching order).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After the crisis subsided, Mother Alfred approached W. W. Mayo with a proposal: The Sisters of St. Francis would raise funds to build a hospital in Rochester if he and his sons provided medical and surgical care. The agreement was made over a handshake. On September 30, 1889, Saint Mary's Hospital was opened by the Sisters with the three Mayo physicians on staff. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was also impressed by the extensive art collection, which was on display across in the Gonda Building—it was like a museum of art! Baskets from Luzon Cordillera Central Mountain Range, Philippines, located on the 6th floor of the Gonda Building, Mayo Clinic campus.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfE0qBofFN30zDmLwxr5o9yCuaAzyUJ0qfog9KazwR3yo3mRTSwNNUmrnShyvuwCkmlCwPK_9iBCmVnLH8PKb2c00qogTNKMpJc0ueBTkKu7abL1agNr2p28n5mrRffqV7m41A70Fa5lcxyl8Ragn2LdL4Acvhjk6drCxLCMIE1KtjXLKU-0_NN_BcIX2d" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="466" data-original-width="600" height="497" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfE0qBofFN30zDmLwxr5o9yCuaAzyUJ0qfog9KazwR3yo3mRTSwNNUmrnShyvuwCkmlCwPK_9iBCmVnLH8PKb2c00qogTNKMpJc0ueBTkKu7abL1agNr2p28n5mrRffqV7m41A70Fa5lcxyl8Ragn2LdL4Acvhjk6drCxLCMIE1KtjXLKU-0_NN_BcIX2d=w640-h497" width="640" /></a></div><br />According to an article “Art at Mayo Clinic” (https://www.mayoclinicproceedings.org/article/S0025-6196(21)00260-3/pdf), “baskets is a collection of “simple rattan, bamboo, and wood baskets” that reflect the influences of the mountain range in many ways. Mountain travel and living can be challenging. These handmade tools provided aid in navigating the irregularity of the terrain and fostering subsistence in the pre-automation era. Their beauty and elegance are rooted in the ergonomic designs and commonplace functionality of daily living.” Indeed, sometimes something so simple and primitive is more beautiful than any elaborate and sophisticated piece of art! Perhaps that is why I enjoy so much Inuit soapstone sculptures/carvings: they are so raw and primitive, yet their simplicity makes them absolutely stunning!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035316489_0c6644a27a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035316489_0c6644a27a_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I spent a lot of time in the <b>Heritage Hall,</b> in a small museum. I also went to the adjoining Plummer Building. Opened in 1928, it was the tallest building in Rochester until 2001 when the nearby Gonda Building was completed. It is topped by a distinctive terra-cotta trimmed tower which contains a 56-bell carillon. The carillon is played daily, and its music can be heard throughout downtown. Its 4,000-pound (1,800 kg) ornamental bronze doors nearly always stand open, symbolizing eternal willingness to accept those in medical need. They have been closed only to commemorate notable events in Mayo or national history.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035527000_270f545328_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035527000_270f545328_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is an interesting story associated with the <b>Plummer Building</b> doors which I read in the Mayo Clinic museum. For generations of patients and staff, <b>Joseph Fritsch</b> was <b>“Joe Clinic”</b>. From 1929 to 1954 he served with flourish as doorman of the Plummer Building when the great bronze doors were the main entrance to Mayo Clinic.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Joe’s humor, courtesy and the extraordinary ability to remember names made him an ideal ambassador. Once, after watching him trade quips with some newly arrived patients, Dr. Will Mayo made his own joke: </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>“Joe, if I could ever find out what you do, I’d give you a raise.” </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Joe passed away in 1967.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035316484_6e62947341_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035316484_6e62947341_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside the Mayo Clinic Historical Suite displays many photographs and artifacts, including the offices that <b>Dr. William J. (Will) Mayo </b>and <b>Dr. Charles H. (Charlie) Mayo</b> used from 1928 until their deaths in 1939. Dr. Will’s office is arranged as it was when he used it. Dr. Charlie’s office was used by his son, <b>Dr. Charles W. (Chuck) Mayo</b> from 1939 until his retirement in 1963.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034554407_b697b0a46f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034554407_b697b0a46f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another prominent feature of the Historical Suite is <b>the Board of Governors Room</b>, where the senior leaders of Mayo Clinic met from 1928 to 1954. The ornately decorated room is filled with diplomas, certificates and awards presented to the Mayo brothers.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135671_e1c8ee1772_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135671_e1c8ee1772_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In a small park near the Gonda Building, there is a bronze sculpture of the <b>Mayo Brothers</b> <b>[William James Mayo (June 29, 1861 – July 28, 1939) and Charles Horace Mayo (July 19, 1865 – May 26, 1939)]</b> called “<b>My Brother and I</b>” by Tuck Langland. Why such a name? The brothers, when announcing a discovery or accepting an award, often used the phrase, "My brother and I” to stress that they worked as a team and were equal partners.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035316234_e4ea7ea713_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035316234_e4ea7ea713_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Across the park stand larger-than-life bronze renderings of <b>William Worrall Mayo</b> (by Leonard Crunelle) and <b>Mother M. Alfred Moes</b> (by Mike Major). The size difference between the two sets of sculptures gives the appearance of dedicated guardians watching over and providing special care for My Bother and I from a distance.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034554247_5462484bee_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034554247_5462484bee_b.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is an interesting story about <b>William James Mayo</b>, which has even found its way into “Wikipedia” (although I had found it somewhere else):</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As a child, William and his brother Charles frequently accompanied their father (William Worrall Mayo) as he went about his business as a pioneer physician. They began by helping out with very menial tasks, and were gradually given more responsibility. Eventually, the boys were administering anesthesia and tying off blood vessels.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One night at the age of 16, Will accompanied his father to an abandoned hotel where one of the elder Mayo's patients worked as the caretaker. The patient had just died and Mayo was going to perform an autopsy. Will stood by and watched the procedure and after about an hour, it was time to go to another patient's home. Mayo asked his son to stay behind and clean up. "Sew up the incisions and then tuck the sheet around the corpse. When you finish, go right home." Will nervously began to stitch up the incisions on the body and recounted the incident many years later saying, "I'm about as proud of the fact that I walked out of there, instead of ran, as of anything else I ever made myself do".</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135751_e9c757d5bd_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035135751_e9c757d5bd_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Happy (and healthy) Catherine in the Mayo Clinic</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I really enjoyed exploring the world-famous clinic and its environs! Besides, the good news was that Catherine was declared physically (and <u>mentally</u>!) healthy.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here I would like to mention a certain event connected to the Mayo Clinic, which eventually caused me to discover a very poignant and unforgettable story.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While walking around the Mayo Clinic on September 17, 2019, I saw the <b>Co-Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church</b>, which I entered. A funeral mass was being celebrated at that time, so I only peeked inside the Cathedral—there were plenty of people and apparently the son of the deceased individual was speaking about him. I stayed in the vestibule and read information brochures about the deceased. His name was T<b>homas McDonald</b>, born on May 30, 1940, in Ballynahinch, County Down, Northern Ireland, and he used to be Chair of the Department of Otorhinolaryngology-Head and Neck Surgery at Mayo Clinic. He passed away on September 10, 2019, just 3 years after his retirement.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXg-MHGZtu50MTqdkAUUdz5Zxxs_fLBIX6F646sLj-bCY4CJohEJBEzWgrJGOl3MiZxkWyCXTJsCRVCy8YDR1JNSLaIUMdstWrI7-XqSTeEyZoV10HhAiPCrTO2U7isAXTs1_XBG30FntBXRfzbOGbl0a0D9PAU5Zlt0vjm5wOI4ZfI2S02B0LdCVKAIdC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXg-MHGZtu50MTqdkAUUdz5Zxxs_fLBIX6F646sLj-bCY4CJohEJBEzWgrJGOl3MiZxkWyCXTJsCRVCy8YDR1JNSLaIUMdstWrI7-XqSTeEyZoV10HhAiPCrTO2U7isAXTs1_XBG30FntBXRfzbOGbl0a0D9PAU5Zlt0vjm5wOI4ZfI2S02B0LdCVKAIdC=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br />Later I did some online research and found out that he served in the U.S. Army Medical Corps from 1965 to 1968, where he attained the rank of Captain. He was deployed as a combat surgeon at the 12th Evac Hospital in Cu Chi, Vietnam during the Vietnam War from 1966 to 1967 and he was decorated for bravery. In addition, he and <b>Michael Ransom</b> wrote a book, “<b>Far from Ballynahinch</b>”.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On <a href="https://www.mransomwriter.com/ransom-notes/2018/5/12/a-final-blessing">Mr. Ransom’s web-page</a> I found some excerpts from Dr. McDonald’s memoir (https://www.mransomwriter.com/ransom-notes/2018/5/12/a-final-blessing) about the time he served in Vietnam. They were so poignant that I wanted to include some passages from the book in my blog. I contacted Mr. Michael Ransom, asking for permission; he wrote back, saying, “The McDonald family grants the permission you requested”.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">“In November 1966, I was relocated from the Third Field Hospital to the newly built 12th Evac Hospital on the 25th Infantry Division’s base camp in Cu Chi, Vietnam.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">(…)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There was about a twenty-yard run from the first building, the triage building, to the two helicopter landing pads. (…) The rest of the units of the 200-bed hospital were hospital post-op units and medical units. (...) By Thanksgiving of 1966, this hospital (essentially in tents) began to function, and by 1967 it was handling a thousand cases a month.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It is impossible to forget an attack, especially the first one. It was after sundown on March 17th, getting cooler, and most of the doctors and some of the nurses were reclining on lawn chairs, watching a bizarre movie on an outdoor screen. (...) We heard the “harrumph” sound. Many in our group—including me—hadn’t heard the sound of an incoming mortar round and were blissfully unaware of its significance. Some of the soldiers with more experience yelled, “Incoming!” and pulled or cajoled the unbelieving others into the nearby bunkers. The attack was over in five to ten minutes, signaled by whistle blowing and Huey gunship helicopters whirling overhead. Flares fired down from the gunships on supposed enemy positions around the perimeter of the camp and hospital itself.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The 25th Infantry Division base, including our hospital, had more than twenty-five thousand people. Following this initial attack, we were attacked about three times each week. As you might expect, the firing of mortars and rockets into an area with that many people would cause casualties; we learned that after an all-clear sounded, we would rush into our hooches, throw our pistols under the beds with our helmets, don our scrub suits, and head for the triage area some twenty yards away to receive the first of many casualties. We would work through the night and into the next day. Soldiers would carry their wounded comrades in their arms to the triage area and drive them to us in Jeeps, or if they were further away, fly them in by helicopter.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Of the many soldiers who died in the hospitals during my surgical duties in Vietnam, one, a nineteen-year-old GI, won’t leave my memory. We were in the midst of a typically busy night, handling what we called a mass cal (for mass casualty). Nearly forty seriously injured young GIs were brought in during the space of fifteen to twenty minutes. Because the Medivac helicopters (unarmed Red Cross dustoff helicopters) that usually brought in the wounded had either been shot down or were en route to or from the firefight area, gunship Huey helicopters began to arrive with desperately injured and wounded soldiers. The gunship pilots were not familiar with the landing pad opposite our triage unit, so their landings involved a little bump, a little liftoff, and, with tremendous skill and courage, a safe settling down of their crafts. They left the rotors running as fast as they could, so they could be instantly ready for takeoff as soon as the corpsmen, doctors, and nurses hurried off the wounded and returned with the empty stretchers. A thumbs-up sign was given to the door gunner, and the Huey roared away to the fight zone. The deafening helicopter noise, the fast-moving personnel, and the whirring blades and swirling dust—the presence of war—all combined to create a rush of excitement and a heightened awareness of life and death that I have felt neither before nor since.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The wounded and dying were hurried into the triage area and placed on the usual stretcher and two supports. My team was assigned to a young GI, no more than nineteen years old. We looked in horror as we saw that he had no upper or lower limbs, and that most of his genitalia had been blown off. He obviously had encountered a land mine, and the frail and yet magnificent young body lay there covered with a mixture of stale, dried blood and the reddish dust so particular to the area. The odor of the dust mixed with dried blood is something peculiar to that region, to that war, to those casualties. It’s an odor I associate with death and despair.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The main problem was, of course, that with such extensive injuries, the GI had lost massive amounts of blood, possibly nearly all of his blood. The second problem was that even though there were two IV containers and needles ready above his body, there were no veins in which to place the needles. The young man shouted over and over in a pleading scream, “Mother! Mother, help me!” (Many dying and wounded GIs called out for their mothers.) A nurse and I pressed on his neck while two other nurses struggled to keep his bare chest and torso from springing up into the air. He had such energy based on so little body mass. I don’t know where he found the strength to push our restraining people well off the table, and then he collapsed back, still shouting for his mother. The nurse and I repeatedly pushed on his neck, trying to get his internal jugular vein or any vein to appear, but to no avail. He had no blood, no pressure, and he quickly went from a screaming, struggling, desperately injured young man to a quiet young man who was lying still. And then he died.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Up to this moment, I had not displayed emotion or wept over a casualty, but this time I was moved, and tears welled up in my eyes. It was late at night, and as I looked at this lifeless corpse who seconds ago had been screaming for his mother, it hit me that this GI’s parents had gone to bed that evening thinking that their son was alive; they had no reason to believe otherwise. I could picture them sleeping in some warm, safe farmhouse in some faraway state. Now I stood by their son’s side, knowing the terrible news they would soon receive.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It’s a bit ironic, and perhaps embarrassing, to recall that because of my childhood upbringing in Ireland, in which great emphasis was placed on spirituality and religion, I felt a need to ask God’s forgiveness when someone’s death was imminent or after someone died to express some sort of sorrow for their past sins. Students were encouraged in the Irish junior schools and later on in the boarding secondary schools that it is perfectly appropriate to silently or quietly say a word of sorrow, otherwise known as an abbreviated act of contrition, into the ear of a just-deceased person, regardless of whether or not they were Christian and regardless of their religious denomination.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I had done this whispering repeatedly when U.S. soldiers succumbed to wounds, civilians had been caught in horrible crossfire, or enemy soldiers, be they Viet Cong or North Vietnamese, died. When no one was watching, I would put my lips down to the ear and whisper a quick, “Oh, God please forgive their sins, Amen.” This instance was no different, so I offered this final, quick blessing to the dead GI, and then my team and I moved on to the next wounded soldier. Though we left him, his image has never left me.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035138176_97b3482423_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035138176_97b3482423_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vinegar Ridge campsite number 5</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We packed up in the morning, before driving to the Mayo Clinic. So once Catherine left the clinic, we drove and hit the HyVee store to stock up on our supplies. The staff was very friendly and the store was very upper-end.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We drove to a county forest campground at <b>Vinegar Ridge</b> and found a nice site #5 [N43° 47.043' W91° 40.423'] overlooking a massive rock. We were the only campers that night. After setting up our camp, we sat around the fire and could suddenly hear faint cries for help from the direction of the rugged ridge. We became so concerned that we called the Sheriff non-emergency line (posted on the information board in the campground). In no time the Sheriff arrived and talked to us. Suddenly we were descended upon by all kinds of emergency vehicles. We were told that not only did a couple of officers hear the cries, but there was an unoccupied car parked near the ridge. By that time, it was about 10:00 pm and pitch dark. After a search that did not find anyone, a drone with a heat-seeking sensor was brought in to search the area. Since nothing was discovered, and it was midnight, the search mission was discontinued and all the vehicles—and there were about 10 of them, from 2 counties—left the scene.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034556712_51e3944d5f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034556712_51e3944d5f_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next next day we drove to <b>Rushford </b>and biked on the <b>Root River Trail</b>. Apparently in 2007 about 20 inches of rain fell in just one day. Rushford was flooded and the flooding caused $67 million in damage.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035318809_08436c05dc_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035318809_08436c05dc_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vinegar Ridge</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next night we slept through a very heavy rainfall—in fact, my empty cup, which I had left on the table in the evening, became almost full of rainwater in the morning! Thanks God, we did not notice the rain while it was on because the <b>Eureka El Capitan 3 tent</b> turned out to be 100% water-proof! And our campsite was not flooded, either.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035141996_7a347c8fd8_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035141996_7a347c8fd8_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rushford, MN</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As the weekend was approaching, we expected more campers to arrive, yet we did not expect to be inundated by caravans of <b>Hmong </b>at 2:00 am. Actually, Catherine was so scared that, after unsuccessfully trying to wake me up, she grabbed the bear spray and crept out of the tent to investigate what was going on. The weekend turned out to be a lively one, with the remaining 6 campsites flooded by huge extended families of Hmong were into squirrel hunting and playing loud ethnic music—which, to be fair, I enjoyed. I approached some of them and we talked about the Vietnam war and the communist system, which had caused so much suffering on the Hmong and forced them to leave for many other countries. Once I told them that I was from Poland and left because of the same system, they immediately became friendlier towards me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the evening I started reading a newly purchased book, <b>“Gang of One. Memoirs of a Red Guard” by Fan Shen</b>. Fascinating—I wrote more about this book at the end of the blog.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035533340_ac7db337ee_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035533340_ac7db337ee_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lanesboro, MN</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We went to the town of <b>Huston </b>which had a nice interpretive center and a grocery store. Another day we drove to <b>Lanesboro </b>and biked <b>the Root River Trail</b> for several hours. The weather was cool and rainy and we decided the head home, checking out various towns and campgrounds/state park along the way. We were impressed with the town of Wabasha where a famous movie, "Grumpy Old Men", took place. There was the impressive <b>Eagle Center</b> right beside the river; lo and behold, there were also several eagles flying overhead! The town was clothed in full fall fall décor.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035144641_66a36e2894_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035144641_66a36e2894_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wabasha, MN</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We eventually arrived at Catherine's house in Victoria late evening and did a couple of short biking trips close to her home. Just several kilometers from her residence, in <b>Chanhassen</b>, was <b>Prince's </b>extraordinary estate and production complex. We rode through an underpass; its walls had plenty of graffiti dedicated to the singer, as well as the fence was decorated with numerous memorabilia left by his fans.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035538460_a669ccab74_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035538460_a669ccab74_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Several days later, on September 26, 2019, I departed, spending the first night in <b>Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest</b> (north of <b>Antigo</b>, where I drove to have something to eat), at <b>Richardson Lake Campground</b> (campsite #5), which had very few occupants.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034572707_ae81cb1c01_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034572707_ae81cb1c01_b.jpg" width="534" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then I drove on road number 8 [N45° 26.521' W88° 42.954'] and stopped in the community of <b>Armstrong Creek</b>, where I spotted a lot of roads bearing Polish names. There was a Polish Catholic Church as well as a cemetery, where about 80% of headstones bore Polish names (I re-visited that place again in 2022 and spent more time there).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034572642_8bb7717c7d_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034572642_8bb7717c7d_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">View from the observation platform in AuTrain Lake</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The second nigh (September 27/28, 2019) I camped at <b>AuTrain Lake Campground</b>, on campsite #5 [N46° 23.558' W86° 50.103']—Catherine and I had camped there while driving to Ontario in 2017. It was about to shut down for the season and there were very few people. Even the host’s campsite was vacant.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034575232_6d39564d26_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53034575232_6d39564d26_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My favorite campsite #98 in Chutes Provincial Park in Ontario</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Crossing the border was hassle-free and my last night, September 28/29, 2019, was spent in <b>Chutes Provincial Park</b>, on campsite #98 [N46° 13.256' W82° 04.384'], our favourite, where Catherine and I had camped several years before. On my way home I stopped in <b>Six Mile Lake Provincial Park</b>, drove around a number of very familiar campsites and after a while headed to <b>Mississauga</b>, thus ending my 6 week long trip.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035338084_74f9710f81_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53035338084_74f9710f81_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hiking trail in Chutes Provincial Park</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Because we were planning to meet again in May, 2020 in <b>Indiana Dunes National Park</b>, I left my bicycle at Catherine’s home, as I would not be using it until May anyway. Unfortunately, several months later COVID-19 happened… And although it was impossible to buy any bikes in stores in 2021, my bike was parked in Catherine’s garage and I only managed to bring it back to Canada in September, 2022.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>The books that I read during my trip</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I love books and whenever I travel, I always bring several volumes with me. Furthermore, I visit many thrift shops (or libraries) which usually have rather sizable used-books sections, where most of the time I find quite fascinating publications. Of course, I also try to spend a few hours every day reading books. I find it absolutely wonderful to relax near a lake or a river, at a secluded & forested campsite, engrossed in a good book. Or better yet, sit around the campfire and become absorbed by a stimulating tale. This trip was not exception and I managed to read a number of books. I found two of them to be quite special—both were autobiographies of men living in communist countries who directly experienced the effects of this cruel system—and I would like to write more about them.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjN6qcXsYVrc85NZdYVps0bM-OIHg6zkDHwBfQ9NFnVpC4HzDLSzXVThMEDrOMs_ZilBRl_lJebpfaTiW1ob99GMtUMdo5eWv2dGWFwPPmGhhZT5Yd9e2oNPctQwiDzdQRB7Ue3C1lfIFdB0egc_JUH8tqZKoZ_hqBor5GLLE5dFpEXwUmOPtrLl12mWa5m" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjN6qcXsYVrc85NZdYVps0bM-OIHg6zkDHwBfQ9NFnVpC4HzDLSzXVThMEDrOMs_ZilBRl_lJebpfaTiW1ob99GMtUMdo5eWv2dGWFwPPmGhhZT5Yd9e2oNPctQwiDzdQRB7Ue3C1lfIFdB0egc_JUH8tqZKoZ_hqBor5GLLE5dFpEXwUmOPtrLl12mWa5m=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br />Since I am quite interested in the Soviet Union and the communist system, just before my trip I bought <b>“Deep in the Russian Night”, an autobiography of Aaron Chazan </b>(1912-2008). The author, an orthodox Jew, was born in Russia, survived the Second World War and subsequently settled in Moscow. Despite the persecution of the Soviet regime and a relentless campaign of legal and economic pressure against the Jews, he was able to endure and withstand everything and he and his family persevered in living a fully observant life, holding clandestine prayers in their home, hosting circumcisions and religious weddings as well as baking matzos for Passover. Moreover, he (and his children) kept Sabbath—in the Soviet Union, where Saturdays were regular working days and the government was actively attacking any religious observances, especially Jewish. And he and his family always kept kosher! Of course, he regularly faced numerous problems with his employers, school authorities and other Soviet officials who tried various methods to preclude him from following the tenets of his religion. Finally, in the late 1960s was allowed to leave for Israel. After reading this book, I genuinely admired and was impressed by his strong determination and unwavering belief in God and His laws. And then I thought about Catholics, who live in free countries, enjoy total and complete religious freedom and where nothing stands in their way to observe their religious practices (which, I must add, are nothing in comparison with those followed by Orthodox Jews). Yet so many of them so often find hundreds of trivial excuses and self-justifications NOT to follow even the minimum requirements. That is why I think that this book should be given to Catholics, Christians and disciples of other 1 religions so that they can could realize what it TRULY means to adhere to and follow one’s religious beliefs!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLowurBGVE4v5DIUx5Z0p4OyXTidrsH_bt4HdqLZWnPmB90b-a5a31CpeiklSgM17Gxnmb22DWJefrZRd2aRCWPlM8RVvEdHniFgneDuUTAmN7xDluKUeNAVzaNVKl6vsUQ1dV6EP6EIL1qmO1JRpBzPiQc6O-LG4-U2hMv0j6YeAdqQ_rCs1336LfLke6" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLowurBGVE4v5DIUx5Z0p4OyXTidrsH_bt4HdqLZWnPmB90b-a5a31CpeiklSgM17Gxnmb22DWJefrZRd2aRCWPlM8RVvEdHniFgneDuUTAmN7xDluKUeNAVzaNVKl6vsUQ1dV6EP6EIL1qmO1JRpBzPiQc6O-LG4-U2hMv0j6YeAdqQ_rCs1336LfLke6=w267-h400" width="267" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The second book,<b> “Gang of One. Memoirs of a Red Guard” by Fan Shen</b>, I found (again!) in a thrift shop near Rochester, MN. According to the jacket copy appearing on the flap of the book, “In 1966 twelve-year old Fan Shen, a newly minted Red Guard, plunged happily into China's Cultural Revolution. Disillusion soon followed, then turned to disgust and fear when Shen discovered that his compatriots had tortured and murdered a doctor whose house he’d helped raid and whose beautiful daughter he secretly adored. A story of coming of age in the midst of monumental historical upheaval, Shen’s “Gang of One” is more than a memoir of one young man’s harrowing experience during a time of terror. It is also, in spite of circumstances of remarkable grimness and injustice, an unlikely picaresque tale of adventure full of courage, cunning, wit, tenacity, resourcefulness, and sheer luck —the story of how Shen managed to scheme his way through a hugely oppressive system and emerge triumphant. Gang of One recounts how Shen escaped, again and again, from his appointed fate, as when he somehow found himself a doctor at sixteen and even, miraculously, saved a few lives. In such volatile times, however, good luck could quickly turn to a transfer to the East Wind Aircraft Factory got him out of the countryside and into another terrible trap, where many people were driven to suicide; his secret self-education took him from the factory to college, where friendship with an American teacher earned him the wrath of the secret police.” This book shows the unspeakable terrors of the Cultural Revolution and a harrowing life in general in Communist China with its idiotic, absurd, and ludicrous ideas—and one man’s determination to create his own fate. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I just want to describe one story: at sixteen, he was nominated to be the village “barefoot doctor.” The barefoot doctor program was the latest political movement. The Great Leader (<i>i.e</i>., Mao) had decreed that each village should have a barefoot doctor, who would work barefoot like the rest of the peasants during the day and treat patients in the evening or during breaks in the field. The training lasted three (3!) months— and in the first month the students did not learn anything related to medicine, only studying the Great Leader’s works on serving the people. The Party secretary of the Commune taught them most of the classes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“You must remember Chairman Mao’s teaching”, he said at the opening class. “We would rather have a doctor with a Red heart and little skill than a doctor with a White heart and better medical skills. A Red heart will take care of everything else. You must be revolutionaries first, doctors second. You must never forget this.”</span></i> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After such a “medical school”, he returned to the village when he had acquired the status of a demigod and the villagers’ trust in him was complete and profound. Unbelievably, he treated people, carried surgeries, including an amputation, removed a wounded eye and performed other medical procedures!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amazingly, despite his inferior high school education, he managed to pass the University entrance exam, went to university, studied English and eventually left China for the United States, becoming a professor of English (!!!) at Rochester Community and Technical College!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I regret that I was unable to personally meet professor Shen while in Rochester, as I was absolutely impressed by his perseverance and determination in situations which seemed to be almost hopeless.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2023/07/minnesota-usa-wycieczka-objazdowo.html"><b>Blog in Polish/w języku polskim</b></a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720309669624"><b>More photos from this trip</b></a></span></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-62990773074823312372023-05-29T17:36:00.005-07:002023-05-29T18:31:11.842-07:00LAKE SAINT PETER PROVINCIAL PARK, ALGONQUIN PARK’S LOGGING MUSEUM AND EGAN CHUTES PROVINCIAL PARK, JULY 28-AUGUST 3, 2022<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279124_9f1da104ee_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279124_9f1da104ee_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lake Saint Peter Provincial Park, Ontario, Campsite number 14</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">For the first time in many years, I decided to book a campsite in a park that I had never visited before. After a perfunctory research, I found out that it was a small park, located on Lake St. Peter, north of Bancroft and relatively close to Algonquin Park. According to the map, some campsites offered a view of the lake and I almost manage to reserve one, but probably somebody else must have hit the button a second before me, so I booked the only remaining campsite number 14.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52935526382_c9effcc6f2_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="449" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52935526382_c9effcc6f2_b.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Lake Saint Peter Provincial Park, Ontario, Campsite number 14</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">When I left home, the traffic on Highway 401 East was moving relatively well, but after a while, I found out about an overturned trailer, blocking all lanes—and to avoid it, I took Highway 404 and then the 407, the toll highway, which, as always, was traffic-free and I could have probably drive 150 k/hr without any problems. I stopped in Peterborough at Bell Mobile, where I activated my first smartphone! I made another stop in Bancroft in Food Mart, got 2 steaks (they were delicious!) and arrived at the park. Indeed, the site was rather small and offered very little (none) privacy from the adjoining campsite and the one across the road. After setting up the tent, I drove back to Bancroft to get wood.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936122126_d18ab28b1f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936122126_d18ab28b1f_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Campfire wood for sale in Bancroft, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Two years ago, while camping in nearby Silent Lake Provincial Park, I discovered a place in Bancroft selling wood. It was run on an 'honour system' and each time I went there, I did not see any owners. This year there was plenty of wood, too, and as I was loading it into the car, a lady walked from the house—and of course, we started chatting. Her husband had passed away not long ago and now she was running this business. I asked her if people ever took the wood without leaving the payment—she said never, which I found quite amazing: as I had already mentioned in my blog about Silent Lake, if she ran such a business in Toronto, in no time the money (and the wood) would be gone!</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572038_11bd824de1_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572038_11bd824de1_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Hasting Heritage Trail at the entrance to Lake Saint Peter Park. The trail is more suitable for dirt bikes and ATVs than bikes</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Along road 27 there is an old rail trail, Hasting Heritage Trail. I had even thought about bringing my bike and riding on it, but some reviewers strongly advocated against it, claiming that the trail's surface was made up of dirt & gravel, very rough due to numerous ATVs using the trail. Indeed, they were right: it would probably take a mountain bike with very thick tires to ride that trail—and when I saw a group of ATV-ers and some motor-cross riders speeding on the trail and leaving a huge cloud of dust behind, I knew it was certainly NOT my kind of a bicycle trail!</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279319_b4765ca408_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279319_b4765ca408_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Alligator--a boat that could also move overland--in Algonquin Park's Logging Museum, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279439_eb54457477_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279439_eb54457477_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Algonquin Park's Logging Museum, Ontario. How the loggers lived<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">One day I drove to Algonquin Park's Logging Museum, which I had wanted to visit for a long time. Logging was probably one of the most important activities in Ontario at that time and I always admired the people who had worked there and the hardships they had faced. The outdoor museum, where I spent over 2 hours, brought that time to life. I hope that one day I will be able to write much more about logging and loggers.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279574_6d522191d7_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279574_6d522191d7_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Egan Chutes Provincial Park, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Last year, while staying in Silent Lake, I had driven to Egan Chutes Provincial Park. Unfortunately, the Garmin GPS had the location completely wrong and I ended up in a different place, many kilometers away from the park. I had to manually find the park on my GPS map and program the destination. Once I was close to the park, on road number 28, I could not find the entrance to the park—and to make the whole story short, I had not visited it.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572683_11a0403a76_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572683_11a0403a76_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Egan Chutes Provincial Park, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">This year I was better prepared and entered the exact coordinates into my car's GPS. Indeed, there was a very small sign saying “Egan Chutes Provincial Park”, but it was only visible if approaching this entrance from the east—and even then it was very easy to miss. In fact, I met two girls on the trail who also had problems finding the park! The short road was quite rough and potholed, certainly impassable to cars with very low clearance. At the end of the road, there were several cars parked here and there.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936518195_3b3c5545d9_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936518195_3b3c5545d9_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Egan Chutes Provincial Park, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">The first thing I noticed was the abutments of the old bridge, most likely once part of highway number 28. The trail leading to the chutes ran along the river and was quite easy, yet near the chutes it became rugged—and finally I had to walk across and on rocks—a very risky task if the rocks were wet. The chutes were quite scenic and I took a bunch of photos. On my way back I noticed a solid tree, partially chewed up by beavers—probably even beavers gave up at one point, realizing that the task was too challenging for them!</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572598_4230f13a58_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572598_4230f13a58_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Egan Chutes Provincial Park, Ontario. Even the beavers must have given up at one point!</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bancroft still had its old train station, converted into municipal offices; the Hastings Trail ran next to it, in the former railway's right-of-way, and there were a number of ATV-ers and dirt motorcycle riders on it.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936518445_6541f438bc_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936518445_6541f438bc_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Nearby was a very interesting museum; I spoke for quite a while to the lady inside the museum—she used to be a nurse in Toronto, but also had a degree in Canadian History and Native Studies—so was very knowledgeable on topics relevant to the local history—I wished I could have spoken with her longer! The museum had a lot of really fascinating exhibits related to the Bancroft area pioneer and native history.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279729_b6bb28baaa_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="798" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279729_b6bb28baaa_b.jpg" width="638" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bear trap</td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">One of the exhibits was a simple, yet effective bear trap, made of an old barrel spiked with nails. I remember a similar contraption, probably from the 17th or 18th century, in an old church in Poland—but it was not meant to trap bears, but thieves who had attempted to steal money from collection boxes: once they put their hand down into the bottom of the wooden box to grab money, the spikes made it virtually impossible to withdraw it without having the spikes impaled all over the hand.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572808_5f881d0a44_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936572808_5f881d0a44_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Perhaps by today's standards such devices appear to be cruel, but I have always been against judging our ancestors' actions by the current standards, as has become so trendy recently. Besides, considering extremely lenient or even non-existent penalties for petty crime, many people would probably be quite content to see such an antiquated anti-thief device make a comeback!</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279724_5bd92b1b46_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279724_5bd92b1b46_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">I left Bancroft and headed back home, taking various back roads and hoping to stop at various towns and other places. Unfortunately, it soon started raining and I only stopped in Barrie, where even a quick run from my car to the store caused me to get quite wet! Amazingly, the sky was blue over the Toronto area and it had not had any rain for weeks!</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279209_23911d6354_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="792" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52936279209_23911d6354_b.jpg" width="634" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Algonquin Park's Logging Museums. Reproductions of Tom Thompson's paintings on logging. By the way, today they're worth several millions of dollars!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<p align="justify" lang="pl-PL" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2023/05/park-lake-saint-peter-muzeum.html" target="_blank"><b>Blog in Polish/w języku polskim</b></a></span></span></p>
<p align="justify" lang="pl-PL" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<p lang="pl-PL" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720308681163" target="_blank"><b>More photos</b></a></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-8689817617909052402023-05-27T18:50:00.024-07:002023-05-27T21:17:26.688-07:00SILENT LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO, CANADA. SEPTEMBER, 2021<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234153_1742958908_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234153_1742958908_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Lakefield, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">On my way to the park I stopped in the town of Lakefield and then drove to the site of the former farm of Susanna Moodie farm, a very well-known Canadian writer (incidentally, Catherine’s very close relatives reside nearby, on Moodie Drive) and as I was heading north, I spotted a historical plaque commemorating the 1885 dynamite explosion [N 44° 22.151 W 078° 13.454]:</span></p><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234163_cf5636a96b_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234163_cf5636a96b_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Lakefield, Ontario. The site of Suzanna Moodie's farm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>1885 DYNAMITE EXPLOSION</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">On September 4, 1885, James Simmons and George Morton were hauling a load of dynamite from Tweed to Burleigh Falls Ontario with a horse drawn steel rimmed wagon. The dynamite was to be used for opening the Trent-Severn Lock at Burleigh Falls. They stayed overnight at a hotel in Indian River, Ontario and proceeded the next day toward Burleigh Falls via the Douro-Otonabee Township line and current Hwy# 28. At approximately 9:45 AM the area residents and the entire area were alarmed by a large dynamite explosion on Highway 28 approximately 4.1 km North of County Rd#4.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Messer's Morton and Simmons were never seen again. Ten-foot deep craters were found at the site of the explosion and the horses and wagon were found lying 50 feet on each side of the craters. Only fragments of the men, horses and wagon remained. They were described as 'mangled beyond description'. Pieces of wood and steel from the wagon were found 100 to 200 yards away.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The blast was heard in Lakefield and at distant places including Peterborough, Warsaw, Young's Point and Madoc. Large crowds soon gathered around the explosion site some searching for remnants of the victims. 'Every few minutes something more fresh and sickening befell them'. More than 1000 people and 300 carriages visited the site.</span></p><p style="font-family: inherit;"></p></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792481_ece87e573e_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792481_ece87e573e_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silent Lake Provincial Park, Ontario. Campsite number 40</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Upon my arrival at Silent Lake Provincial Park, I set up my tent on campsite #40 [N44° 55.067' W78° 03.326']. It turned out I was the only camper in the whole campground and did not see any other campers. Over the weekend, the park became quite busy. Yet it always remained very SILENT!</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178560_3dff1801e8_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178560_3dff1801e8_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silent Lake Provincial Park, Ontario. Campsite number 40--in 2009!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I had camped on this very campsite in 2009 with a bunch of friends from a MeetUp group; its main feature was a large rock and at that time I had several photos taken of me sitting on the rock. I decided to take similar photos again—I guess that whereas the rock had not changed much, I had!</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930200042_b6d19e0498_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930200042_b6d19e0498_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silent Lake Provincial Park, Ontario. Campsite number 40--in 2021!</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">The weather was perfect, and there were no mosquitoes—which was quite amazing, since there were plenty of swampy areas all over the campground. There were many eye-catching mushrooms growing everywhere. I easily identified very brilliant Chicken mushrooms and Oysters mushrooms. </div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234133_2fa55b18ca_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234133_2fa55b18ca_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Oyster Mushrooms</td></tr></tbody></table></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Both are edible, yet I much prefer to just admire and photograph the Chicken Mushroom in the wilderness! Except for numerous chipmunks, I did not spot any raccoons or foxes. I was told there were black bear sightings this summer along the park’s trails, but not in campgrounds. On several occasions, I spotted blue jays which were curiously observing me, but later flew away.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941964_546c5b14e3_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941964_546c5b14e3_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chicken Mushrooms</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">At night it was sometimes possible to pick up distant loon calls, but more often the very distinctive sounds made by barred owls were heard! On one occasion a barred owl must have been just meters from my tent, as the sound was so deafening (and for novices, probably scary, too) that it woke me up. Even though for years I had tried to locate barred owls by following their calls, I never succeeded—until now. As I was walking at night to the comfort station, I saw a movement between trees—it was a barred owl flying soundlessly from one tree branch to another. I shone my flashlight—and there it was, sitting on a tree branch! I even managed to take a few photographs, albeit out of focus.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178450_8a43ba75d0_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="800" height="473" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178450_8a43ba75d0_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Barred Owl</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">The firewood sold in parks was quite expensive. Fortunately, last year I found a place in Bancroft [N45° 05.374' W77° 52.555'] that sold firewood much cheaper and I brought so much that each night I enjoyed sitting around the fire until midnight or later.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178730_e574576cf0_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178730_e574576cf0_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wood near Bancroft, Ontario--you just leave an envelope with money</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930199597_d4339508d8_h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="450" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930199597_d4339508d8_h.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The campfire wood at my campsite-I was able to have large campfires every night!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I always enjoy driving on various roads while staying in parks and exploring the area. One day I took Highway 28 south to Apsley, then drove east on Highway 620, reaching the hamlet of Coe Hill, which was originally settled by miners and loggers, as well as farmers.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931233938_01b59945cb_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931233938_01b59945cb_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Hastings Mercantile and Gallery</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">In 1884, a spur line from the Central Ontario Railway was built to Ormsby, to support the newly opened iron ore mines in the area. After a while, I proceeded to the tiny settlement of Ormsby. It used to have 2 hotels, 2 stores, 2 churches and a school—and when the railway reached Ormsby, in 1893, it had a population of 225. Today its population is 20 and it is considered to be a “Ghost Town”. The main “intersection” of this settlement consists of Highway 620 and Old Hastings Colonization Road. The nearby historical plaque provides the following information:</div><span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>HASTINGS ROAD</b></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">This road was begun in 1854 as part of a network of "Colonization Roads" planned by the government to open the southern fringe of the Precambrian Shield to settlement. Under the supervision of Robert Bird, construction began at the northern boundary of Madoc Township and within a year 40 miles of summer road had been built northward to a point near present-day Bancroft. The road, when completed, was about 100 miles in length. The free-grant lots along its course were quickly taken up but poor soil prevented the development of a prosperous agricultural settlement. When the decline of lumbering in the region removed a market for produce and a source of employment, the settlers abandoned their farms and the road fell into disuse.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930199652_474668a6f8_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930199652_474668a6f8_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I was planning to drive on this road, yet there was a bridge construction, making the road temporarily impassable. On my way back, I took Highway 62 north to Bancroft and then again Highway 28 south to the park.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792431_83d2b28934_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792431_83d2b28934_b.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Inside the Old Hastings Mercantile and Gallery</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Just at the corner of that crossroad was the <a href="https://www.oldhastingsgallery.ca/" target="_blank">Old Hastings Mercantile and Gallery</a> , located in the former Ormsby General Store, and owned and operated by Lillian Oakley Pattison and Gary Pattison [44°52'53.4"N 77°45'01.1"W / 44.881488, -77.750297].</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNghuqHJ6Hea91_9F-4Oehxu7IQ31honUQ5DwbqRXfpgABmmve1v9aw6izBYTdPjqRCHaAWz-bMJDKHjhWnqkIMDQKg8_U9yuoNtZoMQEGotj8NjKWCjZAGP-yMngiEGJjPyxHbT0n5yVLVCwAX-CCTRB35EQZ1W-9xvlHBDjp-QLYfS1QAWJs_mi6TQ/s500/Lilian.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNghuqHJ6Hea91_9F-4Oehxu7IQ31honUQ5DwbqRXfpgABmmve1v9aw6izBYTdPjqRCHaAWz-bMJDKHjhWnqkIMDQKg8_U9yuoNtZoMQEGotj8NjKWCjZAGP-yMngiEGJjPyxHbT0n5yVLVCwAX-CCTRB35EQZ1W-9xvlHBDjp-QLYfS1QAWJs_mi6TQ/w640-h640/Lilian.png" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Lillian Oakley's CD, "Seasonings". The music is wonderful!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I had met Lillian a couple of times in Wilno, Ontario, where she ran the Wilno Craft Gallery. Approximately 19 years ago, while in the gallery, I got captivated by the music that was playing in the store—it turned out that the name of the CD was called “Seasoning” and she was the singer! I immediately bought the CD and since then I have been regularly listening to the wonderful tunes—paraphrasing the Swedish group ABBA, I should say, “Thank you for the music!”</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178615_4f4fbecf2d_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178615_4f4fbecf2d_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Old Hastings Mercantile and Gallery</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Gary is also a very accomplished musician, playing the French Horn for leading Canadian orchestras. Although I cannot play any instruments (I tried to learn, but it was so hopeless), I love listening to music! It was such a pleasure to chat with Gary about his accomplishments, the French Horn, music in general and of course, the gallery itself.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792866_dc8f3688be_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792866_dc8f3688be_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Old Hastings Mercantile and Gallery</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The gallery had 11 rooms, each offering different gifts and merchandise. Exploring the rooms was akin to exploring a history museum! I was fascinated by vintage posters and postcards, books, paintings, cottage & Christmas ornaments, unique clothing, ceramics, glassware, sauces, spices, jams and thousands more original items. There was even a tiny room for children.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941849_8ff64d51c8_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941849_8ff64d51c8_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Old Hastings Mercantile and Gallery</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Certainly, the Old Hastings Mercantile and Gallery is a gem that should be visited while travelling in the area—and such a visit will be an unforgettable experience! Besides, after you meet Gary and Lillian, you can brag that you have personally met 10% of Ormsby’s residents!</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941959_c110e1d672_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941959_c110e1d672_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Eagle’s Nest Park & Lookout in Bancroft</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Another place worth visiting is Eagle’s Nest Park & Lookout in Bancroft. Eagle’s Nest (Migizi Wazoson) is a special and sacred place to Algonquin people. According to interpretive signs, eagles have been present on the hilltops overlooking the York River in both a spiritual or physical sense. Eagles were very sacred to the Algonquin and it was believed that they carried prayers to the Creator and the spirit realm.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178735_192cbd835f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178735_192cbd835f_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">View from Eagle’s Nest Park & Lookout in Bancroft. Can you spot the Tim Horton's restaurant and a long line-up of cars?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Thousands of years ago the entire valley seen from the top of the Eagle’s Nest was filled with water and the hilltops were just islands in the very deep water known as the Shawashkong Basin due to the melting of the Laurentide ice sheet. The York River, which can be seen below, is all that is left of the massive post-glacial drainages of ancient times.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792966_217185b7c4_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792966_217185b7c4_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">View from Eagle’s Nest Park & Lookout in Bancroft. Can you spot the small airport and <strike>eagles </strike>planes?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">There is a good, but sloping road leading to the Eagle’s Nest parking, as well as several trails from the parking lots. Reaching the lookout requires an easy hike of about 6 minutes. The view is certainly breathtaking! Unfortunately, instead of seeing Algonquins canoeing, portaging and camping throughout their territory, you can see a Tim Horton’s store and a small airport… In the fall the view must be spectacular! As to the eagles, they continued to be seen until 1918, when a young man shot an American Eagle…</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792456_5eb5794350_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792456_5eb5794350_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">View from Eagle’s Nest Park & Lookout in Bancroft</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">There is also a wooden cross on top of the Eagle Nest. An inscription on the granite plaque says that the cross was dedicated by the honourable Pauline M. McGibbon, Lieutenant Governor of Ontario, on the occasion of the interdenominational Church Service Bancroft Centennial year, August 5, 1979.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931233973_f3bc1eef86_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931233973_f3bc1eef86_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Bancroft’s West Wind Gallery & Gifts</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I also visited Bancroft’s West Wind Gallery & Gifts, which had a lot of original and unique gifts and souvenirs. I especially loved a set of 4 cups with the Group of Seven paintings, which would certainly make a perfect present on any occasion.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941354_06baf3211b_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941354_06baf3211b_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Bancroft’s West Wind Gallery & Gifts</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">While in Bancroft, quite fortuitously I went to a gallery called “A Place for the Arts” and was amazed by all the beautiful paintings and other remarkable pieces of artwork! I also spoke to the lady working there, who was very helpful and provided plenty of useful information. I wish I could have spent more time in this remarkable place. When I come to Bancroft again, it will certainly be the first place I am going to visit.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941639_87c9fd877e_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941639_87c9fd877e_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">St. George's Cemetery</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I had heard before my trip that Egan Chutes Provincial Park had very scenic falls and I had planned to visit it in 2020, yet the very rainy weather caused my plans to change. This time it was on my “must-see” list!</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792631_57053707f4_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792631_57053707f4_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">St. George's Cemetery</span></td></tr></tbody></table> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Before I was about to program my Garmin GPS, it turned out that the park had already been factory-pre-programmed and all I had to do was press “Go”. After driving on Highway 62, I turned into Old L’Amble Road and indeed, there was a parking lot, a small beach, a dock and a small dam, but no chutes of any kind! I took another look at my GPS and immediately realized that the location provided by the GPS was WRONG, and Egan Chutes Park was north from here, on Highway 28, some 25 km away! The only good thing about this was that I spotted an old burial ground, St. George's Cemetery [45°01'16.8"N 77°47'31.4"W / 45.021323, -77.792041], quite overgrown, with many old and crumbling monuments. The inscriptions on the gravestones indicated that burials took place from about the 1860s to the 1920s.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792381_9cf2117afc_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792381_9cf2117afc_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">St. George's Cemetery</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">After taking a bunch of photos at the cemetery, I programmed my GPS to the actual location of Egan Chutes Park and drove there. Unfortunately, once I was on Highway 28, I was unable to establish which side road I should turn into to get to the park. Eventually, I made a U-turn and again was looking for any signs. Granted, there were several side roads leading in the direction of the park, but there were no signs whatsoever. Having driven for a while, I decided to head back to Silent Lake Park, as it was getting late. I can add the actual road leading to the park is north of Highway 28, just west of L’Amable Creek: 45°04'01.3"N 77°44'11.1"W / 45.067021, -77.736423.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792666_4d952dbf9f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792666_4d952dbf9f_b.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">St. George's Cemetery</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Of course, I was quite disappointed—could not the park post a simple sign? Normally there are plenty of road signs showing directions to parks. I almost wondered if somebody had been deliberately removing such signs to prevent tourists from going to the park… However, I did find and visit the park in 2022, and I wrote about my visit in another blog.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941594_7cda7c8dc7_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930941594_7cda7c8dc7_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Whetung Ojibwa Art and Craft Gallery</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">On my way home I decided to re-visit an exceptional, one-of-a-kind place to shop for and admire Native art: namely, Whetung Ojibwa Art and Craft Gallery [44°27'44.5"N 78°22'18.6"W / 44.462371, -78.371832].</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930199747_48338562ee_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930199747_48338562ee_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Whetung Ojibwa Art and Craft Gallery</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Located on the Curve Lake First Nation, the Whetung Ojibwa Center offers an astonishing assortment of Native crafts—jewelry, moccasins, masks, sculptures, paintings, dream-catchers, carvings, mugs, calendars, postcards and much, much more! All the items are truly unique and will make a perfect gift or souvenir that can be given to anyone-from friends to heads of state! In fact, exploring this gallery is akin to exploring a museum. Unfortunately, I was in a hurry and was able to spend just under one hour there, but still managed to purchase very original cards, calendars and cups featuring the works of Norval Morrisseau, Maxine Noel, Rick Beaver and Benjamin Chee Chee. One of my friends was going to celebrate her 100th birthday in October 2021, and I just found the perfect card to mail her for this exceptional anniversary.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178340_0879ce66a8_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931178340_0879ce66a8_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Whetung Ojibwa Art and Craft Gallery</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I especially love the art of Benjamin Chee Chee (1944-1977), as it is so simple and minimalist, yet so powerful! About 10 years ago, while in Temagami, we paddled to Bear Island and visited the studio where Benjamin Chee Chee had once worked.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792566_7855515b78_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52930792566_7855515b78_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Whetung Ojibwa Art and Craft Gallery</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">One of the artists whose works are featured at the gallery is Freddy Taylor. Moreover, he has a corner reserved there and usually he comes there three days a week, where he paints. He is 76 and as he said in a recent (June 2021) interview on CBC radio, “painting has brought purpose back into his life, giving him a way to heal from the trauma he experienced as a child while attending an Indian residential school in Ontario for 10 years.” I had been looking forward to meeting and talking to him, but unfortunately, he was not in the gallery that day.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234018_a5c7bc2256_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="800" height="566" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52931234018_a5c7bc2256_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Whetung Ojibwa Art and Craft Gallery. Freddy Taylor's Corner.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2023/05/park-prowincjonalny-silent-lake-ontario.html" target="_blank">Blog in the Polish language/w języku polskim</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720308614027" target="_blank">More photos</a></div></span>
</div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-60463068213817829412023-05-19T22:22:00.009-07:002023-05-20T03:28:20.456-07:00Arrowhead Provincial Park, Ontario, Campsite #337, August 30-September 4, 2021<p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><div style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><b><u>Additional information:</u></b></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><b><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2023/05/biwakowanie-w-parku-prowincjonalnym.html" target="_blank">Blog w języku polskim</a></b></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720308411537 " target="_blank"><b>More photos</b></a></div><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911392103_55e399cf04_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911392103_55e399cf04_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Campsite #337-fortunately, only the entrance turned into a small 'lake', but the campsite was dry! </span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I'm again in Arrowhead Provincial Park! I was lucky to get campsite #337—it was spacious, private and quiet. I hardly saw any mosquitoes. About 20 meters behind the campsite there was a cliff, leading to an oxbow lake, once part of the Big East River (since it is a meandering river, there are plenty of such oxbow lakes everywhere).</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910936721_f6c0725b89_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910936721_f6c0725b89_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">The site was spacious and private</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Besides, I befriended a very amiable chipmunk, quite tame and (as always) hungry. In no time it was literally jumping all over me, looking for food. Some people do not like those creatures, but I have always enjoyed their company, even if it is a little bit too annoying. Judging upon huge puddles here and there, it must have rained a lot before my arrival, yet I did not see any mushrooms-another mystery!</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911325040_531ede48b0_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911325040_531ede48b0_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Campsite #254, where we camped in 2020. I'm so glad it did not rain then!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During my stay, it poured overnight. My Eureka tent once again proved to be totally waterproof. A huge puddle formed in front of my campsite and I had to use a different path to leave the campsite. Yet it was nothing in comparison to what happened on campsite number 254, on which Guy and I had camped last year: at least half of it got flooded, including the areas where our tents had been! I also visited campsites #223 and 224, where I had stayed in 2001, 2002 and 2006. Unfortunately, they were gone, or rather converted into “Roofed Accommodation”--probably the park could earn more money by renting them vs. campsites! Well, some years ago Bon Echo Provincial Park also erected log houses on former group campsites.</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911325090_bfcd218696_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="449" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911325090_bfcd218696_b.jpg" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Tom Thomson monument in Huntsville, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I also visited the nearby city of Huntsville a couple of times—Patrizia, who drove a Tesla, was happy to discover there was a Tesla charging station just 10 minutes from the park, at the Metro's parking lot—we hardly finished shopping when her car was charged! In the evening we attended mass in town.</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911391928_4a7aedd180_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911391928_4a7aedd180_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">One of the murals in Huntsville, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was quite impressed the sizable reproductions of paintings by the Group of Seven and Tom Thomson, placed on buildings all over Huntsville. Whoever had this idea should certainly be applauded and congratulated! This free and open-air gallery was an excellent way to show off and promote the amazing artwork of Canada’s famous artists, who had been able to depict the Canadian scenery uniquely. Even those not interested in art or visiting museums/galleries had no choice but to become familiar with the paintings! In addition, I loved the Tom Thomson statue, unveiled in 2005, which also featured one of his most famous paintings, “The West Wind”.</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910362287_3e5dbf3f83_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910362287_3e5dbf3f83_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">One of the murals in Huntsville, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2002, while camping in Arrowhead Park, I had driven a lot on often narrow and remote roads, exploring the area. One such trip took me to the town of Novar, just north of the park, and then, while driving on Maws Hill Road, I saw a farm and a canoe-making shop, Northland Canoes (67 Maws Hill, Novar, ON P0A 1R0)—and a minute later I met Mr. Albert Maw, the canoe maker! I spent a while talking to him about canoes and canoe making—I had always been fascinated by canoes made of wood, and admired those able to make such canoes! Mr. Maw said that in the past he had made well over 100 canoes per year.</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910362282_94e632386b_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910362282_94e632386b_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Mr. Albert Maw's canoe workshop</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During my next visit to the park, in 2006, I again visited Mr. Maw. While chatting with him, his neighbor, Mr. N. arrived. He lived several kilometers from Mr. Maw—a private, narrow road in the forest led to his home. He told me that he had retired from his job in Toronto and decided to move here along with his wife. As the road was impassable in the winter, he was using a special 6-wheel vehicle to reach “the civilization”. Since I told him that I liked foraging wild mushrooms, he invited me to go mushroom hunting on his property and I even found some edible fungi.</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911325070_e8d8d39818_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911325070_e8d8d39818_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I decided to visit Mr. Maw again in 2021—as well as pay a visit to Mr. N. and finally see his home. After passing by Mr. Maw's farm, I continued driving on the rather rough road and finally saw a driveway leading to his property. After a minute or so I arrived at his house, surrounded by the forest, and facing a very picturesque lake. A dog started to bark and soon a lady came out of the house. I quickly explained the reason for my unexpected visit. She was the wife of Mr. N.—or rather his widow—regrettably, her husband had passed away of cancer in 2014. We talked for a while—I told her that I would love to live like that, surrounded by wilderness and animals (she said that sometimes black bears visited her property). Many people say that they would like to leave the city and move to more remote locations, but very few of them do so—well, Mr. and Mrs. N. had realized their dreams! Only one other individual was living along the lake, farther up the road—and since he plowed the snow in the winter, she sold the 6-wheel vehicle and was able to just drive in the winter.</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911090459_a9bb3c923e_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52911090459_a9bb3c923e_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Narrow road in the forest</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Afterward, I drove back, stopped at Mr. Maw's farm and walked to his home. I was glad that despite some unfortunate predicaments and his age (86 years old!), he was still very active and in good health. Not only was he still making canoes, but also running a small farm and even selling eggs. He showed me HUGE onions he grew in his garden! He told me about his family from Scotland that had originally settled here—he was born in this very house, his property had 1000 acres and his sons were logging some of the trees. I wish he could write a brief history of his family and his life, I am sure it would be quite intriguing!</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910936656_b115afb9b7_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="449" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910936656_b115afb9b7_b.jpg" width="449" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As always, I brought several books with me to read. “The Untold Stories of 33 Men Buried in a Chilean Mine and the Miracle that Set Them Free” by Hector Tobar gave a very detailed account of the mining accident in Chile, quite an enjoyable reading. Then I read a book that I had bought quite a long ago, “Es Cuba. Life and Love on an Illegal Island” by Lea Aschkenas. Since I had been to Cuba 15 times, I found this book quite absorbing and very relevant to my own experiences in this country. By the way, the expression, “Es Cuba” is quite used when referring to the way things are in Cuba: if your hotel room has no hot or cold water, if the food is somehow substandard, if the hotel restaurant runs out of beer, wine or whiskey, or is the bus is late or never arrives—instead of wondering why it happened and complaining, just say, “Es Cuba”—it's Cuba, meaning that it's normal that things never work the way they're expected to work!</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910936561_587e53e20f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52910936561_587e53e20f_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Tom Thomson's Mural in Huntsville, ON</span></td></tr></tbody></table><b><u><br /></u></b><div style="text-align: justify;"><div><b><u>Additional information:</u></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2023/05/biwakowanie-w-parku-prowincjonalnym.html" target="_blank">Blog w języku polskim</a></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720308411537 " target="_blank"><b>More photos</b></a><br /></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-83859967112034472392022-11-07T18:20:00.011-08:002023-01-25T16:43:42.218-08:00GRUNDY LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO: A BLACK BEAR ATE MY BREAKFAST!!! JUNE 27-30, 2022<div><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">Blog w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/11/grundy-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/11/grundy-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52490753987_729eddd0fc_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="468" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52490753987_729eddd0fc_h.jpg" width="374" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For some reasons, I always think that this sign says, "You are in BEER country"!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485126631_d9d20f996f_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="657" data-original-width="800" height="526" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485126631_d9d20f996f_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The bear is examining our neighbor's bench</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">At the end of June 2022, my two friends
and I went camping for a few days to Grundy Lake Provincial Park, 330 km north
of Toronto. Over the last 25 years I have stayed in this park many times; on a
couple of occasions I spent one night before and after canoe trips on the
French River. The park has several lakes, hundreds of camping places and just across
the park entrance there is a General Store that also rents canoes (and even
delivers them to the park) - that's where we bought our canoe in July 2010! By
the way, a few years ago the whole establishment had relocated a kilometer to
the east because the new Highway 400 will pass through its former location
soon, replacing the existing two-lane Road #69. In fact, a new stretch of Highway
400 had already been built near my favorite restaurant, “The Hungry Bear”,
located north of the French River. Unfortunately, accessing roadside businesses
- restaurants, shops, motels, and marinas - has now become more difficult and
complicated, as drivers have to take the appropriate exit from the freeway and then
drive on the secondary road to their destination. If they miss such an exit,
the next one may be a few or even a dozen or so kilometers away, so probably a
lot of people will just continue driving on.</span></p></div><div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485126721_9bccb32516_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485126721_9bccb32516_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The bear strode a few meters from me and again paid a visit to the campsite<br /> on the other side of the park road</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our campsite #318 turned out to
be quite private, especially since the two adjacent campsites remained vacant.
However, the highlight of our trip were numerous visits of a black bear – in fact,
upon arrival at the park, the staff warned us about “active bears”. On the
first day, a bear walked to the campsite across from ours and after carefully examining
the table, it vanished in the forest, apparently not finding anything of
interest. On the second day, while we were absorbed in a lively conversation,
my friend suddenly said that there was a bear behind me — and indeed, it strode
a few meters from me and again paid a visit to the campsite on the other side
of the park road. But the most memorable encounter occurred the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52484632057_4b50ed241f_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52484632057_4b50ed241f_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">As I was enjoying my coffee, the bear appeared and walked around my tent</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span><span>Of course, at night we locked all
the food in the car, yet I have to add that this did not protect it against
bears 100%: a few years ago, in Killbear Provincial Park, one smallish bear mastered
the art of breaking into cars by pushing his rump against cars’ windows! Eventually,
he broke into 27 vehicles. Well, the park had to do something about it ... and
now park visitors can admire the stuffed bear in the park's museum...</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485673638_eb125fc51e_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="800" height="462" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485673638_eb125fc51e_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a while the bear grabbed the whole bag full of food with its teeth<br /> and ran into the woods</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the morning I took bags with
food from my car and placed them on the table, as well as made a delicious cup
of expresso coffee. My friends had just left to buy wood and ice, and there
weren't any other campers around. I sat down at the table and just as I began
enjoying my aromatic coffee, the bear appeared. First it walked around my tent
(luckily it didn't enter it - I'm afraid it would NOT have used the door, which
was zipped up anyway!), then approached the table where I was sitting, about to
have my breakfast. Completely ignoring my presence, it began consuming MY bran cheerios!
It didn't help that I shouted at the bear, banged on the table and on the car with
a stick, and finally honked a few times - it glanced at me curiously, keep devouring
the food and after a minute grabbed the whole bag full of food (!) with its
teeth and ran into the woods - luckily it dropped the bag and I was able to
quickly retrieve it and put it in the car. After 10 seconds the bear reappeared
and commenced eating my breakfast again (I didn't have the time to grab it). It
was simply surreal — I was practically standing 2 meters from the bear,
screaming at it, hitting the table noisily with a stick, and basically nudging the
bear with the stick — yet it didn't care at all. I had a bear spray with me,
but never once did it show any aggressive behavior or gestures towards me.
Finally, it grabbed a large package of breakfast cereals and walked a few
meters into the woods, where it consumed them for a few minutes, and then
walked away towards other campsites.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52484631947_c337d30f62_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52484631947_c337d30f62_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">I was practically standing 2 meters from the bear, screaming at it, hitting the table noisily with a stick, and basically nudging the bear with the stick — yet it didn't care at all</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While the presence of this animal
did not bother me too much - it was a typical campground bear that had learned
to steal food from tourists in the park and otherwise was completely harmless -
my friend did not feel very comfortable, especially in the tent at night. On
the last day of our trip I woke up at 10 am and was surprised to see that my
friend, his tent and his car had been gone—apparently he had left for Toronto early
in the morning. Since he’d usually go to bed very late (or rather early in the
morning) and would frequently wake up in the afternoon, I was quite curious
what prompted him to leave so early and abruptly. It turned out that at six o’clock
in the morning he heard some noise — when he looked out, he saw "our"
bear wandering on the campsite. As soon as the bear left, he packed up his tent
in a record time, got into the car and drove off to Toronto!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='616' height='512' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzxVXQT-YJW6lxAyv6apDlajp2XXfb2Wmb5kJiPShDIW1ahayPj2G27_BjHyR_EnBMd_7poU6V-1ofdxiRPyw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I managed to create a short
video, showing the bear on our neighbor’s campsite and later on our campsite.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, I have seen quite a
few black bears on our campsites in Canada — once we were camping on a large
island and four bears were rummaging on and around our site; one of them hanging
around for several hours every day. However, it was quite easy to scare it off,
and as long as we were occupying the campsite, it stayed away from us and our
belongings, patiently waiting for us to leave (and when we eventually did, it caused
a bit of a mess, but that's another story.) It was in Grundy Lake Park that for
the first time I came across such an arrogant and fearless bear that could not
be driven away! Most likely the park will try to trap the bear and relocate it
over 100 km to more uninhabited areas. However, some evicted bears were sometimes
able to return and ultimately had to be put down.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485589170_c65fedae47_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="800" height="335" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52485589170_c65fedae47_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The bear apparently considered the park and its campsites its own domain!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">Blog w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/11/grundy-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/11/grundy-lake-provincial-park-ontario.html</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><br /></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-74312213100646497492022-01-16T18:18:00.080-08:002022-01-18T11:35:01.660-08:00SIX MILE LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO, THE BIG CHUTE MARINE RAILWAY, SAINTE MARIE AMONG THE HURONS, ST. LOUIS, AND ST. IGNACE II AUGUST 16-23, 2021<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">Blog in Polish/w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">: </span><span lang="PL"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/01/park-six-mile-lake-ontario-oraz-wizyty.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/01/park-six-mile-lake-ontario-oraz-wizyty.html</a></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">More photos</span></span></b><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">: </span><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720296011186"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/7217772029601118</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">6</span></a></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824354132_0af4fbc8d2_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="480" height="950" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824354132_0af4fbc8d2_k.jpg" width="570" /></a></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Six Mile Lake Provincial Park, Ontario </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p><span> </span></o:p><span>On Sunday, August 15, 2021, I
spent a couple of hours perusing various newspapers online and watching the
news, as the headlines proclaimed a supposedly surprising and unexpected news:
“Afghanistan’s Government Collapses,” “Afghan Leader Flees Country as Taliban
Take Over Kabul,” “Insurgents’ Advance on Capital Triggers Western Evacuation
Efforts,” “President Ghani Flees as Insurgents Enter Capital.” </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf3TbzagnhgdxzAcO89SG6mjENn6JmPjNyCxyI2qCKYbEBLKI6miX8HE7cXEhsEaanUBIwlEeVWlGUzDWaU4e_gr1KhnFkjYbqbHxVQh3lGHx3b-fYzpYxnaaqKTsyiPlbi3iB7JRjo483hkzXJc10FDL39iJ8aeFWkW48msjO4U5oihYLUP7CCNMdbw=s579" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf3TbzagnhgdxzAcO89SG6mjENn6JmPjNyCxyI2qCKYbEBLKI6miX8HE7cXEhsEaanUBIwlEeVWlGUzDWaU4e_gr1KhnFkjYbqbHxVQh3lGHx3b-fYzpYxnaaqKTsyiPlbi3iB7JRjo483hkzXJc10FDL39iJ8aeFWkW48msjO4U5oihYLUP7CCNMdbw=s16000" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>For me the news
was NOT surprising at all and I found it extremely shocking that the CIA and
similar intelligence agencies had not realized the inevitability of this
happening, instead predicting that Kabul would be able to defend itself for
several months. Many commentators said this event resembled the fall of Saigon.
Indeed, it was difficult not to draw comparisons between the two occurrences. While
so many people in Afghanistan were desperately trying to flee the country, the
next day, August 16, 2021, I left for Six Mile Lake Provincial Park for my
week-long camping trip... That’s life!</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826057475_4d2522d913_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826057475_4d2522d913_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On the same campsite in October, 2012, with Gabby the dog and Cathy the human! In 2021 the beaver lodge is gone, as are several trees</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was very lucky to get my
favourite campsite on a beaver pond/marsh, on which I had camped numerous times
with Chris, Catherine and even Gabby the dog (in 2021), who upon spotting first
time in her life a beaver swimming in the water, jumped into the pond and was
totally perplexed when it suddenly vanished! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='456' height='379' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxnluhHb_kawVyeUeO9JlTlqIlsyusgFFIheScyzhgkiFCTg1qHMUflHnCS3-_fePjkZaXZ7bsNLoVXG23CJg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was on that very campsite in
September, 2012, that I made a short video, solving the mystery of our missing
food! </span></p></span><p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="469" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cR3R0Fhk_24" width="565" youtube-src-id="cR3R0Fhk_24"></iframe></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The whole pond had not changed
much for the past 12 or so years; however, one object was missing—the beaver
lodge that for many years had been an integral part of the scenery. Perhaps
beavers had relocated it to a different part of the pond? In the past, I had
seen plenty of beavers, some even clumsily wandering on my campsite. During my
stay I did not see or hear any beavers, yet the beaver dam, just meters from the
campsite, appeared to be quite solid and well-maintained.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824354602_a10a948424_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824354602_a10a948424_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Great Blue Heron was there almost every day</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Upon arrival at the campsite I
saw a majestic great blue heron! It was standing in the water, where the beaver
lodge used to be, no doubt trying to catch fish or frogs. Although it kept
changing its hunting spots, I saw it almost every day. One evening, when it was
almost dark, I saw the blue heron majestically fly from the lake and land on a
tree branch on the other side of the pond, where he probably spent the night.</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826024275_ec28942fd0_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826024275_ec28942fd0_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Great Blue Heron probably spent the night sitting on this tree</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>A semi-submerged stump several
meters from the shore made a great spot for turtles (Midland Painted Turtle, </span><i>Chrysemys picta marginata</i><span>) to climb on
and rest, basking in the sun. Two holes in the ground on the campsite probably
meant chipmunks’ habitat—soon after my arrival a chipmunk showed up and quickly
climbed on my table, looking for food. There were also small birds, incessantly
flying over the water in search for food. I would often sit at the edge of the
water, relaxing, reading books and observing the turtles, blue heron and birds
flying over the pond. It was a perfect spot to enjoy nature! Since the campsite
was quite exposed, the sun was all over my tent at 8:00 am and I was thus
forced to wake up and get out of the tent—or suffocate! At least I did not need
an alarm clock.</span><span> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824354312_999a705139_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824354312_999a705139_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Midland Painted Turtles</span></td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The park was quite busy and
sometimes on the noisy side, but it did not bother me. From time to time I saw
the park’s truck drive by—and the park even had an electric vehicle! The new
comfort station was certainly a welcome addition; it offered a number of
showers. There were two electric vehicle charging stations nearby—Patrizia, who
spent a few nights in the park, naturally took advantage of them, charging her
Tesla. The noise from Highway 400 was pronounced, but since it was continuous,
after a while I just stopped noticing it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="507" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hYzHCs8ZXzg" width="608" youtube-src-id="hYzHCs8ZXzg"></iframe></span><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>The weather was perfect and it
did not rain, yet I set up a very primitive and small tarp. The beach was OK
and we even went for a swim. And probably the most important thing: there were
no mosquitoes whatsoever; I NEVER had to use the mosquito spray. I had never
experienced such a mosquito-free summer in my over 30+ years of camping!</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825302511_76e0b21d29_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825302511_76e0b21d29_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My campsite!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, I spent plenty of
time reading books. For a long time I had wanted to read “American Sniper. The
Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U.S. History” by Chris Kyle and
finally had a chance to do so. Quite a good book… but could have been better. So
shocking that the author eventually he was not killed in Iraq, by the enemy,
but by one of his own in the USA, a 25-year-old U.S. Marine Corps veteran with
post-traumatic stress disorder, whom Kyle was helping. The second book I read
was “The Chamber” by John Grisham. Some 20+ years ago I had read a few of
Grisham’s books (“The Street Lawyer”, “The Brethren”, “The Firm” and “The
Client”) and then for about 15 years I never touched another book by this
author. For some reasons I have been bringing this kind of books on my
vacations—perhaps because at home I mostly read non-fiction, which often is
totally unsuitable for camping. “The Chamber” was about the death penalty, race
relations and the intricacies of the legal system to save a convict from being
put to death. It was certainly one of his better books and I enjoyed reading
it! And then I read the third book by Grisham, “The Testament”, which was very
good.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijvVZxk3Xqbn0OdzQyL4vPnjyCfrkzqighgxfq93TqwnDmhhtF5vLVpKtEd_cCF0YdmzL3UdkrmUFiJ6E7UlC-vi8Ie4eo8kf5Kegk6guooEmpggaly7u4SID7VdLgGz7Mp91mC9YA4X4EcpQJg09nmkWYWhGxdijKbn6hyjB4vPShP1-nuzfE0SgBdw=s1024" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijvVZxk3Xqbn0OdzQyL4vPnjyCfrkzqighgxfq93TqwnDmhhtF5vLVpKtEd_cCF0YdmzL3UdkrmUFiJ6E7UlC-vi8Ie4eo8kf5Kegk6guooEmpggaly7u4SID7VdLgGz7Mp91mC9YA4X4EcpQJg09nmkWYWhGxdijKbn6hyjB4vPShP1-nuzfE0SgBdw=w640-h426" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">View from my campsite, probably in 2010-the beaver lodge was quite big, and there were many beavers swimming in the pond then, In 2021 the beaver lodge was gone, and so were the beavers-or at least I did not see any</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="border: 1.5pt double windowtext; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 1pt 4pt;"><p align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I found out that
Chris Kyle was killed by a marine veteran suffering from post-traumatic stress
disorder, I immediately thought about a very tragic story which happened to my
acquaintance from Poland.</span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjO4qRKSD1ROmA7Ed-IEDH59jEFUkw5feGz-UKSq_ChS1J7o251MKH_sfB6vzKLFLgJAD21OTTjyGIChHTFP7k9tQN6L-zunIfUecIEGzq53TEte_VOEbUelA9g5a_4GN3JIzJSarFfch7wsFvk2nzV-TP5jfQhpKXU3fdlUa3JgpUVejB3uTuCpF04sA=s2756" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2756" data-original-width="2026" height="773" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjO4qRKSD1ROmA7Ed-IEDH59jEFUkw5feGz-UKSq_ChS1J7o251MKH_sfB6vzKLFLgJAD21OTTjyGIChHTFP7k9tQN6L-zunIfUecIEGzq53TEte_VOEbUelA9g5a_4GN3JIzJSarFfch7wsFvk2nzV-TP5jfQhpKXU3fdlUa3JgpUVejB3uTuCpF04sA=w567-h773" width="567" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw. Nr. 1-the Youth Palace, where the swimming pool was located. Nr. 2-the Congress Hall ("Sala Kongresowa"). Nr. 3-the main entrance to the Youth Palace.<br />Credit: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:PKiN_widziany_z_WFC.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:PKiN_widziany_z_WFC.jpg</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>In the 1970s and early
1980s the heart of Warsaw was dominated by the Palace of Culture and Science
(“Pałac Kultury i Nauki”) — 237 meters tall (with the spire), at that time the
tallest building in Poland (currently the second-tallest), with 42 floors and
the floor area of 123,084 m</span><sup>2</sup><span> (1,324,865 sq. ft.). This grandiose
building—or monstrosity, depending on who you spoke to—was a “gift” from Joseph
Stalin. It was built in 3 years by 3,500 Russian workers and finished in 1955.
Originally it was named after the benefactor and was officially known as Joseph
Stalin’s Palace of Culture and Science; after the period of destalinization,
Stalin’s name was removed [once inside the building I found old forms still
bearing the original name (“Pałac Kultury i Nauki Józefa Stalina”) and I regret
I did not keep them]. At that time it housed various public and cultural
institutions such as 3 movie theaters, museums, libraries, 3 theatres,
restaurants, offices and authorities of the Polish Academy of Sciences. There
was also an auditorium hall for 3,000 people called Congress Hall, </span><i>Sala Kongresowa</i><span>, where many concerts and
performances took place, as well as Poland’s Communist Party (PZPR) Congresses
were held inside (during one of them, in December, 1975, the drunken leader of
the Soviet Union, Leonid Brezhnev, conducted delegates and the leader of the
Polish Party while they were singing “The Internationale”). Go to 0:50 to see that amazing scene!</span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="497" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/v3rFxektijk" width="598" youtube-src-id="v3rFxektijk"></iframe></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>And its famous
terrace on the 30</span><sup>th</sup><span> floor, at 114 meters (374 ft.), with a panoramic
view of the city, was for many visitors to Warsaw a major tourist attraction.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Palace of Culture and
Science also housed the Youth Palace (“Pałac Młodzieży”), a huge community
center for school children, offering numerous interest sections &
workshops, like photography, music, dance, gymnastics, ham radio, fencing,
sailing and many more. I became a member probably in 1974 and joined the
swimming section: yes, there was an impressive 25 meter long swimming pool,
with 4 diving towers (3 meters, 10 meters and two 5 meters). </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0cKJIOc8v_m8Ai_lo5vIgQp6RAUV7mRW95-6iCyJwtiSLirm9pXlYe6CKR-TGsVyWdtn3fN7rgzvQ7sd0EdAixoak4EBvwbyq22JeUlHrymk87Mrbw1UVdtVIcocd4IhqIXLY8iNq3unwzTJtKg2iPsM1D8iL4o6yp8W7UnQcOMGm_q3wp6dg9rlgrw=s2074" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2074" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0cKJIOc8v_m8Ai_lo5vIgQp6RAUV7mRW95-6iCyJwtiSLirm9pXlYe6CKR-TGsVyWdtn3fN7rgzvQ7sd0EdAixoak4EBvwbyq22JeUlHrymk87Mrbw1UVdtVIcocd4IhqIXLY8iNq3unwzTJtKg2iPsM1D8iL4o6yp8W7UnQcOMGm_q3wp6dg9rlgrw=w640-h418" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">This is how the swimming pool looked in 1955 and during the 1970s.<br /> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Source: Nowa Warszawa w ilustracjach, Warszawski Tygodnik Ilustrowany "Stolica", Warszawa 1955, p. 75. This photograph is in the public domain</span></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><p></p><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By the way, the pool had been
featured in Agnieszka Holland’s movie “Europa, Europa”—after all, imposing
socrealism architecture was not that different from the German Third Reich
architecture. Besides, the whole building had been prominently featured in countless
Polish movies of that era. </span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Usually the swimming pool was divided into two
parts—while we were training in one part, the other one was used by the diving
club. Divers would climb one of the towers, dive and repeat the whole process
numerous times. Many dove from the 10 meter tower—we were really in awe of
them, as some, if not most of us, would be just too afraid to climb the tower,
let alone dive from it! Once I dove from the 3 meter platform—and it was my
first and last dive there! Since at that time Poland did not have too many such
facilities (even in Warsaw there were very few swimming pools), many divers
training in the pool were champions of Poland and often participated in
international competitions, including the Olympic Games. And one more thing,
just to (again!!!) prove that the world is a small place: my first family
physician in Toronto, Dr. <b>Jerzy Kowalewski</b>, had belonged to the diving section
in the Youth Palace, had been Poland’s champion in diving numerous times,
participated in two Olympic Games (Rome, 1960 and Mexico City, 1968) and knew
his friends, as some of them had become trainers and coaches in the Youth
Palace! </span></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDsK4o7434gfuB4_E9ZjLSnaVaEpzteKi2WjSE7e9FZ7YyWgdCnVnHWUtXE0ORcP1QGlWp_3Uovzrob9-jXJd2kUWE5nf4FU3gwr0FX26mIhcFcFGpV2oa-Dk8ZYw3veh_XD0psf0-AUSUXgjqBKskyoD7Ib1SYunABPhhbs7Xk3d94xK2sucbdgY-SA=s1170" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1170" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDsK4o7434gfuB4_E9ZjLSnaVaEpzteKi2WjSE7e9FZ7YyWgdCnVnHWUtXE0ORcP1QGlWp_3Uovzrob9-jXJd2kUWE5nf4FU3gwr0FX26mIhcFcFGpV2oa-Dk8ZYw3veh_XD0psf0-AUSUXgjqBKskyoD7Ib1SYunABPhhbs7Xk3d94xK2sucbdgY-SA=w624-h427" width="624" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Probaby this is the only photo of me taken in the Youth Palace's swimming pool, in 1976 or 1977</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>One of the top divers was
<b>Krzysztof Miller</b>, who had been a Polish diving champion many times and who
frequently trained there. I still remember that he was even able to do
handstand dives from the 10 meter tower, which was absolutely breathtaking!
Since we were age-mates, we talked to each other on a few occasions, as well as
had a couple of mutual friends. Once I attended some kind of ceremony in the
Youth Palace and his name was mentioned, as he had recently won a (gold?) medal
in a diving competition held in Havana, Cuba. When in 2009 I was in Havana, the
guide pointed to a seemingly dilapidated and semi-abandoned swimming pool with
diving towers and said that indeed, there had been some international diving
competition held in the mid-1970s. I immediately thought of Krzysztof
Miller—perhaps it was that very diving tower he had dove from and won the
medal?</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/91/Hol_Pa%C5%82acu_M%C5%82odzie%C5%BCy_w_Warszawie_2016.jpg/1280px-Hol_Pa%C5%82acu_M%C5%82odzie%C5%BCy_w_Warszawie_2016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="800" height="434" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/91/Hol_Pa%C5%82acu_M%C5%82odzie%C5%BCy_w_Warszawie_2016.jpg/1280px-Hol_Pa%C5%82acu_M%C5%82odzie%C5%BCy_w_Warszawie_2016.jpg" width="617" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Youth Palace's Hall.</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Credit: <i style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: start;">Adrian Grycuk/CC BY-SA 3.0-pl/Wikimedia Commons</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: start;">.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Over 10 years ago I
incidentally discovered that after his diving career was over, he became a very
good—some people said the best in Poland, or even in the world—war photographer
& photojournalist. He visited over 60 countries, some 10 or more times
(Afghanistan, Rwanda, Chechnya, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Rwanda, Zaire, Congo,
Iraq, Macedonia, Kosovo, Sudan, South Africa and many others) to photograph
conflicts. His photographs were published in various newspapers and magazines,
as well as featured at exhibits. He even wrote a book, “Thirteen and One Wars. Authentic History of a War Correspondent.”</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1364643911l/17702577.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="300" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1364643911l/17702577.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Krzystof Miller's book, "13 and one wars. Authentic History of a War Correspondent"</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>He said that he had seen
things even few soldiers saw. Perhaps he witnessed up close too much human
suffering and tragedies. Many of his photos had never been published, as they were
too gruesome (yet they had been used by those investigating crimes and mass
murders). Eventually he was diagnosed with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder
(PTSD) and went through a variety of long-lasting therapies in a specialized
hospital, spending there half a year. Unfortunately, the last 25 years of
covering so many bloody wars and conflicts eventually turned out to be too excruciating
and simply unbearable for him.</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Krzysztof Miller committed
suicide on September 9<sup>th</sup>, 2016, at the age of 54.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Since I had written about this
park in my previous blogs (</span><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2021/12/camping-in-darlington-silent-lake.html"><span color="windowtext">http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2021/12/camping-in-darlington-silent-lake.html</span></a><span>),
this time I would like to focus on several of my side trips I made while
staying in the park.</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Big Chute Marine Railway</b><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>The Trent–Severn Waterway is a
386-kilometre-long canal route (240 miles) connecting Lake Ontario at Trenton
to Georgian Bay, Lake Huron, at Port Severn. It has 45 locks, including two
lift-locks and the Big Chute Marine Railway. Located not far from Port Severn
and Six Mile Lake Provincial Park, is it a unique contraption that carries
pleasure boats from one lake to another over-land. It is the only marine railway
of its kind in North America.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824395987_f0cdedf490_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824395987_f0cdedf490_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The carriage is lowered into the
water and boats are floated onto the deck. Then it is hoisted up the slope by
wire ropes, then past the summit it is lowered into the water and the boats are
floated off.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although the current railway was
opened in 1978, the earliest one was constructed in 1917 and there was a major
overhaul in 1923. The old railway is still visible, along with the old railway
car, which is no longer used.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is an observation deck and
an information center, but both were closed due to COVID-19. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>A hydro generating station is
nearby.</span><span> </span><span>I spent over one hour watching
the marine railway as it was carried boats overland and exploring the area.</span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is a short video I made, showing how the chute operates:</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="475" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XbiWS6Khy2U" width="572" youtube-src-id="XbiWS6Khy2U"></iframe></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>By the way, when I tell people
about the Trent–Severn Waterway, they often ask me if I have ever canoed the
whole waterway. At one point we did consider doing it, but very quickly we
realized it would not be a very good idea: we would be paddling along many
motorboats, yachts and big cruisers, it would be difficult to find camping
spots and some stretches of the waterway require paddling on the open,
unsheltered waters. However, we have paddled along some of its stretches—near
Port Severn, Clear Lake, Stoney Lake, Lower Buckhorn Lake, Canal Lake (by
motorboat, while fishing), Severn Falls and Gloucester Pool.</span><span> </span></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sainte-Marie Among the Hurons<br /></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Canadian Artist, Illustrator, Author, and Historian C.W. Jefferys<br /></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Arts & Letters Club of Toronto</span></b></span></div>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQANPHGbH9JRYSP6VGHnQaoC-y7zUxO6Fo3lvanaCfOJXEMzrv9otzDji2ELJPs1ow3s3t0-OZAPUCQQ2rOnq3rIVyMSvCBQuDXp7-O919yvXvyL20sDgEVKjdlUTlQ41YZm1wVkjJUBs54QV1rGFFkGumUxhP3K09VHKs6P-hZmXvRoEGtUhgRgSBjQ=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="1200" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQANPHGbH9JRYSP6VGHnQaoC-y7zUxO6Fo3lvanaCfOJXEMzrv9otzDji2ELJPs1ow3s3t0-OZAPUCQQ2rOnq3rIVyMSvCBQuDXp7-O919yvXvyL20sDgEVKjdlUTlQ41YZm1wVkjJUBs54QV1rGFFkGumUxhP3K09VHKs6P-hZmXvRoEGtUhgRgSBjQ=w640-h450" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Fort Ste. Marie No. 1, Jefferys, Charles W. 1942, The Picture Gallery of Canadian History Volume 1, p. 102. Source: </span></span><a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/fort-ste-marie-no-1-a?mid=0"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/fort-ste-marie-no-1-a?mid=0</span></a></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Relatively close to Six Mile
Lake Park was the famous Martyrs’ Shrine in Midland , which housed the bones of
St. Jean de Brébeuf, St. Gabriel Lalemant and St. Charles Garnier. Pope John
Paul II visited the Shrine in September, 1984. Every summer numerous ethnic
pilgrimages head to the Shrine. A friend of mine, the late <b>Tadeusz Pasek</b> (a
well-known Polish yoga instructor and teacher, with whom I had camped in Six
Mile Lake Park in 1993), took part in the inaugural Polish pilgrimage in 1982
from Toronto to Midland and then participated in 9 consecutive annual
pilgrimages. They are still organized each August, with hundreds of
participants marching from Toronto to Midland.</span><span> </span></span></p></div><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikGLABueQqE93ATi_By9TsIDO4POpV6XpQQi_1BvlwwFBhRIg7bTsrUGvuA1FJOeWesvAfCTn6dLgzJc-LlTBRgv0AZwnYLs5jzIDzM8Ys9Fmi-v-YxBpX0tEjd3e0QK8lTFFn25M2NeWth0D4v5IWxQ-odrS2oeS2OpLCwgvJVAs34E-PHZ9MgRJ-MQ=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="896" data-original-width="1200" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikGLABueQqE93ATi_By9TsIDO4POpV6XpQQi_1BvlwwFBhRIg7bTsrUGvuA1FJOeWesvAfCTn6dLgzJc-LlTBRgv0AZwnYLs5jzIDzM8Ys9Fmi-v-YxBpX0tEjd3e0QK8lTFFn25M2NeWth0D4v5IWxQ-odrS2oeS2OpLCwgvJVAs34E-PHZ9MgRJ-MQ=w627-h468" width="627" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fort Ste. Marie No. 1. <br />Jefferys, Charles W. 1942. The Picture Gallery of Canadian History Volume 1, p. 103f<br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: </span></span><a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/fort-ste-marie-no-1-b" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/fort-ste-marie-no-1-b</span></a><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">
</span><b><span style="background: white; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Although I had visited the Shrine
in the early 1980s and then in 2012 with Catherine (and Gabby the dog), I
thought it would be a great opportunity to visit it again. Patrizia looked up
the phone number and made a quick call. Unfortunately, the Shrine was closed in
2021, the second year in a row—however, it was possible to book a private
“family or group tour” of the Shrine, which included attending a mass.
Incidentally, the priest Patrizia spoke to was Fr. <b>Robert Foliot, S.J</b>, whom I
had met many times during my Ignatian Retreats in Manresa (in Pickering,
Ontario)—several times he was the retreat’s facilitator. I still remember the
theme of one of the retreats he facilitated—“The Lady Upstairs.” His mother,
whenever she was going out, would say, “Don’t worry, I’m not going alone—I’m
going with the lady upstairs”. Of course, she did not mean a neighbor living
upstairs, but Mary! And certainly Mary had kept her safe and healthy for a long
time—she passed away in 2011, at the age of 104!</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM8n4dNWDds5OjDzmRYff5ruPkHV5CbqLoVyVAIKVF6jPw3vvmwkB9kCCv5AZoHMpM4BcFwkYLNfsiKhtE_4S_4HVuQNl-Eo9iHrbLbqeKMwGOhn5HLZsJwhmOEmz_rV1rCCPZqcdqzsPt4e7UoiMdav5StcLlQ9y7fn0YcJiFtwld-FqLMqjIX9MHxA=s2035" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1348" data-original-width="2035" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM8n4dNWDds5OjDzmRYff5ruPkHV5CbqLoVyVAIKVF6jPw3vvmwkB9kCCv5AZoHMpM4BcFwkYLNfsiKhtE_4S_4HVuQNl-Eo9iHrbLbqeKMwGOhn5HLZsJwhmOEmz_rV1rCCPZqcdqzsPt4e7UoiMdav5StcLlQ9y7fn0YcJiFtwld-FqLMqjIX9MHxA=w633-h419" width="633" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Map from 1657, depicting the martydom of Brebeuf and Lalemant. The map clearly shows lakes Ontario, Erie and Huron, as well as Georgian Bay</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Just across the road from the
Martyrs’ Shrine is Sainte-Marie Among the Hurons—a re-creation of the first
European settlement in the current province of Ontario. Well, I have to say
that I am a little embarrassed that having lived in Ontario for 39 years, it
was the first time I visited this place!</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826070545_da2b8b14df_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826070545_da2b8b14df_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sainte Marie is a living museum, its employees wear period clothes, although I don't think original inhabitants wore face masks 350 years ago...</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The French Jesuits began
construction of a community in 1639 which included barracks, a church,
workshops, residences and a sheltered area for Indigenous visitors. The village
existed from 1639 to 1649 and it was <u>the first European settlement in the
current province of Ontario</u>. Between 1642 and 1649, eight of the
missionaries were martyred in the Huron-Iroquois war. The bodies of St. Jean de
Brébeuf and St. Gabriel Lalemant are buried at the mission.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 1649, the missionaries
decided to burn the mission, as they feared it would be conquered and
desecrated by Iroquois.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Sainte-Marie was reconstructed
as a historical site and a living museum in 1964.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825348696_6b280aadf9_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825348696_6b280aadf9_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Probably because of COVID-19,
there were not too many visitors and thus I was able to leisurely explore all
the buildings and talk to the friendly & knowledgeable museum employees,
who were wearing period clothing and were engaged in some of the activities the
original inhabitants of the village had performed some 360 years ago. There was
a Native lady in the St. Joseph’s Church who told us a lot of interesting facts
about history and her own life. The graves of St. Jean de Brébeuf and St.
Gabriel Lalemant were located in this church. The Jesuits sometimes celebrate
mass in that church.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825690144_b9a8bf2973_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825690144_b9a8bf2973_k.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The graves of St. Jean de Brébeuf and St. Gabriel Lalemant inside the church</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is an excellent place not
only to learn about history, but experience it firsthand. The museum has plenty
of interesting exhibits and artifacts. Overall, this is an amazing museum and I
am looking forward to visiting it again next year! </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826070390_cf261a94b0_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51826070390_cf261a94b0_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside the church was a Native lady, who told us interesting stories</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>While looking for more
information on Sainte Marie and the Canadian Martyrs, I ran into very amazing
paintings and writings by Charles William Jefferys, on a website <a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/"><span color="windowtext">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/</span></a>
run by <b>Anthony Allen</b>. Again, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mea culpa</i>:
I had known very little about C.W. Jefferys and the only reason the name
sounded familiar was because of the location of C.W. Jefferys Collegiate
Institute (Secondary School)—at Finch and Sentinel, between Jane and Keele in
Toronto—and from 1982 to 1984 I used to live on 11 Catford Road, very close to
the school, and often passed it on my way to the “Bonanza”, a local supermarket
at 134 Hucknall Rd (demolished over 10 years ago and replaced with numerous
homes on a new street called Mantello Drive).</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgw1UVWAWW81w8cslLCVRSC3Ndd3kVByVT8d9PZzj9-a504_3SC8kgFo9UHtIiSx_ybYiYxQ0IqF5kK_CGkp4AHtzLoFZYPPi8WjBzPe1m9bFItgQREi3YSnNU-BAm__Op_QPqfr1Z3zabyVhJ3-WTaxSBsE0t3NBVodHJHBttGsDTZk7O4mKCiYs273A=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="1200" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgw1UVWAWW81w8cslLCVRSC3Ndd3kVByVT8d9PZzj9-a504_3SC8kgFo9UHtIiSx_ybYiYxQ0IqF5kK_CGkp4AHtzLoFZYPPi8WjBzPe1m9bFItgQREi3YSnNU-BAm__Op_QPqfr1Z3zabyVhJ3-WTaxSBsE0t3NBVodHJHBttGsDTZk7O4mKCiYs273A=w640-h486" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Jesuit Martyrs and Missionaries. Jefferys, Charles W. 1942. The Picture Gallery of Canadian History Volume 1, p.105. Source: </span></span><a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/jesuit-martyrs-and-missionaries" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/jesuit-martyrs-and-missionaries</span></a><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">
</span><b><span style="background: white; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I spent well over 2 hours on
that website, familiarizing myself with the works of this truly outstanding
Canadian artist, illustrator, author, and historian. I found several pictures
by C.W. Jefferys on the Martyrdom of Brébeuf and Lalemant and Fort Ste. Marie
as well as his interesting notes on the events depicted in the pictures. I
decided to call Mr. <b>Anthony Allen</b>, who turned out to be Jefferys’ grandson and
we had a very stimulating conversation. Among other things, I found out that C.
W. Jefferys had been president of The Arts & Letters Club of Toronto in
1923/24.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8y3Tz9bGncszc4MmfbWgGhSwvq4eTd9t2pZj3UtludKOQNzAlzPzlSLlrA3Qg1Z7CRcUrxFJ-uOCMO6Y9gyxnjL8KC67pmW1RlqTFVM9JJCWy31oik0rTHJ7QCDfiIj403dGyD8AkS9HS5-dDu5DEFr1qw6Mvu1wMNtuDiUG_nvUTUU2Ecx8Y8-QxkA=s2722" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2722" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8y3Tz9bGncszc4MmfbWgGhSwvq4eTd9t2pZj3UtludKOQNzAlzPzlSLlrA3Qg1Z7CRcUrxFJ-uOCMO6Y9gyxnjL8KC67pmW1RlqTFVM9JJCWy31oik0rTHJ7QCDfiIj403dGyD8AkS9HS5-dDu5DEFr1qw6Mvu1wMNtuDiUG_nvUTUU2Ecx8Y8-QxkA=w482-h640" width="482" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Charles William Jefferys (August 25, 1869 – October 8, 1951)</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>This famous club has had its
permanent quarters since 1920 at St. Georges Hall, at 14 Elm Street in Toronto
(just steps from Dundas Square at Yonge & Dundas). According to the club’s
website (</span><a href="https://artsandlettersclub.ca/"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">https://artsandlettersclub.ca/</span></a><span>), “For more than a century the Arts & Letters Club has been an
important presence in Canada’s cultural scene. Today it is a dynamic community
of men and women of all ages for whom the arts are an essential part of life –
a place to pursue creative expression, engage in the free and vigorous interchange
of ideas and opinions, and enjoy good conversation and the companionship of
kindred spirits”. The register of current and past members reads like a “Who is
Who” of Canadian history—least to say that two members are Nobel Laureates, six
have been bestowed Knighthood, and about 200 are Order of Canada recipients.
Furthermore, the Group of Seven were all members and regularly met for lunch at
the Club—and there is a very well-known photograph of the Group of Seven at The
Arts and Letters Club of Toronto, which I post here.</span><span> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6OQlYcRVbteXqBZlb4IGoO3amOXrpCY2PFOc3mYJMuD50mM3wwd2ONvjBykSn00nc-QdfrXjaFN4qUdygUMkh-IAoy81GP8NUe8yGzudbvMnSqRzOXdB0aFsH0vJPYOk6G3lw3n0Gtkm32zfOvCNv-QrqNh4h1UjyYt11U4IhFhhkje2OJuZBmod6eg=s2100" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1264" data-original-width="2100" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6OQlYcRVbteXqBZlb4IGoO3amOXrpCY2PFOc3mYJMuD50mM3wwd2ONvjBykSn00nc-QdfrXjaFN4qUdygUMkh-IAoy81GP8NUe8yGzudbvMnSqRzOXdB0aFsH0vJPYOk6G3lw3n0Gtkm32zfOvCNv-QrqNh4h1UjyYt11U4IhFhhkje2OJuZBmod6eg=w624-h375" width="624" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Six of the Group of Seven members, plus their friend Barker Fairley, in 1920. <br />From left to right: Frederick Varley, A. Y. Jackson, Lawren Harris, Barker Fairley, Frank Johnston, Arthur Lismer, and J. E. H. MacDonald.<br />It was taken at The Arts and Letters Club of Toronto b</span>y Arthur Goss.<br />Unknown source, Public <span style="font-family: inherit;">Domain, </span></span><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6489569" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6489569</span></a><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since it is a private club,
open only to members and their guests, I had been unable to go inside—until a
few years ago. As I was in the vicinity, passing by the club, people were
leaving the building—an event had just ended and I just entered the premises,
eventually spending there well over one hour, undisturbed exploring every nook
and cranny! If I lived in Toronto, I would consider joining this club—not that
I am an artist, but I would love to attend many of the events taking place in
the club.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824401847_1ea461e0b1_k.jpg" style="font-size: large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="800" height="322" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51824401847_1ea461e0b1_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sainte Marie Among the Hurons-painting depicting the first contact between Natives and Europeans</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Mr. Allen said that he once
spoke in the club, standing at the very spot his grandfather had stood almost
100 years ago, as president of the Arts and Letters Club. It must have been
certainly a very sp</span><span>ecial feeling! I also found out that C.W. Jefferys died in
1951 at 4111 Yonge Street in Toronto—remarkably, the house is still there,
albeit surrounded by plenty of new office buildings. A plaque at that house
quotes him as saying, </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"If my work has
stirred any interest in our country and its past, I am more than paid".</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I can unequivocally say that in
my case, his work HAS stirred a lot of interest in Canada and its past!</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Let me quote here C.W.
Jefferys' notes in “Canada's Past in Pictures” on Sainte Marie (</span><a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant?mid=0"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant?mid=0</span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">):</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“The mission grew, and
many other Jesuit fathers shared the work. Small wooden chapels were built in
some of the villages, with resident priests in charge. A central station was
established at Ste. Marie, on the River Wye, near the present town of Midland.
Here, in 1639, a stone fort was built, with a chapel, a hospital, and houses
for the missionaries and workmen. There were fields of grain, fowls, pigs, and
even cattle, brought with incredible toil up the Ottawa. The future seemed
promising, but disaster was at hand. Between the Hurons and their kinsmen, the
Iroquois, existed a deadly enmity. The Iroquois, better armed and better
organized, not only infested the Ottawa route to Quebec, and the outskirts of
Huronia, but penetrated to the heart of the country. Raid after raid was made,
and in 1648, the first Jesuit, Father Daniel, was killed in the destruction of
the village of St. Joseph, near Lake Simcoe”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Canadian poet E. J. Pratt
(1882-1964) in 1940 wrote “Brébeuf and his Brethren”, an epic on the mission of
Jean de Brébeuf and his seven fellow Jesuits to the Hurons, their founding of
Sainte-Marie-Among-the-Hurons, and their eventual martyrdom by the Iroquois. He
was awarded one of his three Governor General’s Award for Poetry the same year.
This is how Pratt’s poem describes the foundation of the Sainte-Marie mission:</span><span> </span></span></p>
<div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">“The migrant habits of the Indians</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">With their desertion of the villages</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Through pressure of attack or want of food</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Called for a central site where undisturbed</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The priests with their attendants might pursue</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Their culture, gather strength from their devotions,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Map out the territory, plot the routes,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Collate their weekly notes and write their letters.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The roll was growing—priests and colonists,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Lay brothers offering services for life.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">For on the ground or on their way to place</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Themselves at the command of Lalemant,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Superior, were (…). And so to house</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Them all the Residence—Fort Sainte Marie!</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Strategic as a base for trade or war</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The site received the approval of Quebec,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Was ratified by Richelieu who saw</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Commerce and exploration pushing west,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Fulfilling the long vision of Champlain—</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">‘Greater New France beyond those inland seas.’</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The fort was built, two hundred feet by ninety,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Upon the right bank of the River Wye:</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Its north and eastern sides of masonry,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Its south and west of double palisades,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And skirted by a moat, ran parallel</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">To stream and lake. Square bastions at the corners,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Watch-towers with magazines and sleeping posts,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Commanded forest edges and canoes</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">That furtively came up the Matchedash,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And on each bastion was placed a cross.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Inside, the Fathers built their dwelling house,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">No longer the bark cabin with the smoke</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Ill-trained to work its exit through the roof,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But plank and timber—at each end a chimney</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Of lime and granite field-stone. Rude it was</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But clean, capacious, full of twilight calm.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Across the south canal fed by the river,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Ringed by another palisade were buildings</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Offering retreat to Indian fugitives</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Whenever war and famine scourged the land.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></div>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Because Sainte Marie Among the
Hurons is always associated with martyrdom, I would like to mention another tragedy
which occurred in Peru, 360 years later, but has some connection to this place.
In 2009 I met in Ontario <b>Jarek Frąckiewicz</b> and <b>Celina Mróz</b>, Polish kayakers,
who had just padded from Georgian Bay to the Ottawa River. In May, 2011 they
went to Peru and as they were kayaking on the Ucayali river, they were for no
reason murdered by local Indians on May 27, 2011 (you will find more
information in my blog, <a href="https://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2011/07/french-river-dokis.html"><span color="windowtext">https://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2011/07/french-river-dokis.html</span></a>).
During their 2009 visit in Canada, they visited Sainte Marie Among the Hurons
and posted this photograph on their website—they were standing in front of the
chapel:</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguPVOPJja5tPTFeRCvj6PUOZerScw0qMkDOcyEe8vb29POhb1flgn3JQwWPJSImpZlln7nV63v1DcFDW7-Svy3U12psXCKO39lI2EJbwxUrT6u9C5LNa_ius5an7Zj4SjtSOoWRw5FnAYe9BVsChyokciIsFx-_MA09dD7AKxfspKjDhuZUp3DwPO-Og=s792" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="792" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguPVOPJja5tPTFeRCvj6PUOZerScw0qMkDOcyEe8vb29POhb1flgn3JQwWPJSImpZlln7nV63v1DcFDW7-Svy3U12psXCKO39lI2EJbwxUrT6u9C5LNa_ius5an7Zj4SjtSOoWRw5FnAYe9BVsChyokciIsFx-_MA09dD7AKxfspKjDhuZUp3DwPO-Og=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jarek Frąckiewicz and Celina Mróz, with the employees of Sainte Marie Among the Hurons in 2009</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Saint-Louis
Mission National Historic Site</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not far from Sainte-Marie among
the Hurons there is a national historic site of Canada, Saint-Louis Mission,
where Fathers Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant were captured. The historical
plaque on the cairn says:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Saint-Louis
was the name given by the Jesuits to the stockade village of the Ataronchronon
in the 1640s. On the morning of 16 March 1649 a large Iroquois war party
stormed the neighboring village of Teanhatentaron (Saint-Ignace), then fell on
Saint-Louis. Among those captured and carried off to be put to death amid the
ruins of Saint-Ignace were Fathers Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant, who
had been conducting a mission at Saint-Luis. Within a year the Iroquois raids
had devastated Huronia and dispersed its once numerous population.”</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825355421_1e10e639c3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="395" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51825355421_1e10e639c3_k.jpg" width="593" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There are also two interpretive
signs, offering the following description:</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“The arrival of
the Jesuits to New France in 1625 brought a great change and created divisions
between the traditional Huron-Wendat and those who had chosen to convert.
During this time, the Iroquois Confederacy began expanding their territory into
Huronia. The expansion brought the two Confederacies into increasing conflict.
This led to the destruction of the St. Ignace II, St. Louis, and St. Marie
missions, the dispersal of the Huron-Wendat from Huronia, and the retreat of
the Jesuits to Quebec. Similar conflicts continued in the Great Lakes region
until the signing of the Great Peace of Montreal in 1701.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The historic
alliance between the Huron-Wendat and the French profoundly marked the history
of Canada. For the people of the Huron-Wendat people today, it is important
that the visitors to this site understand that the spirit of the Huron-Wendat
is forever present in the territory of Huronia.”</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>“In the early
1640s this site was home to the main village of the Ataronchronon people of the
Huron-Wendat (8endat) Confederacy of Huronia. The Huron-Wendat tended crops of
corn and squash, and harvested beaver, fish, deer, sunflowers, apples, plums,
grapes, nuts and berries. Villages often relocated every 8 to 12 years as the
sandy soil in the fields became depleted. The people of the Iroquois
Confederacy led a very similar agriculturally-based lifestyle in the territory
south of Lake Ontario known as Mohawk Valley. The Huron-Wendat Nation was the
first in this region to encounter European explorers, customs, weapons,
economy, religion and disease. The development of the fur trade in the 1600s
created increasing cultural pressure on Aboriginal nations as the colonies of
European nations expanded. By 1640 multiple epidemics throughout Huronia had
greatly reduced the population of the Huron-Wendat Nation from 30,000 to 10,000
people.”</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Let me again quote a relevant
passage from C.W. Jefferys' notes in “<a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/canada-s-past-in-pictures" title="Canada's Past in Pictures"><span color="windowtext" style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Canada's Past in Pictures</span></a>” (<a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant?mid=0"><span color="windowtext">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant?mid=0</span></a>):</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>“The heaviest
blow fell the next year. Early in the morning of the 17th of March, a war party
of twelve hundred Iroquois unperceived burst upon the village of St. Ignace,
about seven miles from Ste. Marie. Its defenders were slain and the village
burned. The Iroquois rushed on to the next village, St. Louis. Here were living
Father Brébeuf and his assistant missionary, Father Gabriel Lalemant, who had
reached Huronia only the year before. Lalemant was physically a striking
contrast to Brébeuf; of frail and delicate constitution, he had long been
denied by his superiors his intense desire to go out as a missionary to Canada.
But his spirit was as resolute as that of his more robust companion. Both
refused to desert their Indian flock, though the Hurons begged them to flee to
Ste. Marie. They remained in the midst of the fighting to give the last rites
of the Church to their wounded and dying converts. The Hurons, numbering only
about eighty warriors, fought valiantly, but the Iroquois soon made their way
within the defenses and captured the survivors, including the two missionaries.”</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And this is how E. J. Pratt, in
his epic poem “Brébeuf and his Brethren,” described the events that had taken
place at this very site: </span></p><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Less than two hours it took the Iroquois</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">To capture, sack and garrison St. Ignace,</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And start then for St. Louis. The alarm</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Sounded, five hundred of the natives fled</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">To the mother fort only to be pursued</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And massacred in the snow. The eighty braves</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">That manned the stockades perished at the breaches;</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And what was seen by Ragueneau and the guard</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Was smoke from the massed fire of cabin bark.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Brébeuf and Lalemant were not numbered</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">In the five hundred of the fugitives.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">They had remained, infusing nerve and will</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">In the defenders, rushing through the cabins</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Baptizing and absolving those who were</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Too old, too young, too sick to join the flight.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And when, resistance crushed, the Iroquois</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Took all they had not slain back to St. Ignace.</span></div><p align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mission of St. Ignace II National Historic Site of Canada</b><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A short drive away from the
Saint-Louis Mission is the Mission of St. Ignace II National Historic Site.
Following the capture of the missionaries Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant
at Saint-Louis mission, they were brought back to Saint Ignace II and killed
here.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguYhlJp6BXb4g8akgKuatoOaY3u35FKHOjerhVGjZl6tolRpX7F2zMlMa-Jn5ZR0s2B9P5sUEH9QReO6uq_YtIUJda_t3mvXFG5XWfqBaat68UP94w_oCTBBd9HyDVY0Q63rupy1L74V5sVqqkV4OmdI2MszjBbdxD-mHU8YZbvcUhgxgGQla31B41eg=s1483" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1315" data-original-width="1483" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguYhlJp6BXb4g8akgKuatoOaY3u35FKHOjerhVGjZl6tolRpX7F2zMlMa-Jn5ZR0s2B9P5sUEH9QReO6uq_YtIUJda_t3mvXFG5XWfqBaat68UP94w_oCTBBd9HyDVY0Q63rupy1L74V5sVqqkV4OmdI2MszjBbdxD-mHU8YZbvcUhgxgGQla31B41eg=w640-h568" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ground plan of St. Ignace, by Wilfried Jury, 1946</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">St. Ignace II was one of several
Jesuit mission sites. On March 16, 1649, it was attacked and captured by the
Iroquois, who subsequently attacked the village & mission of St. Louis.
Jesuit missionaries Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant were captured, brought
back to St. Ignace II and after undergoing horrible torture, killed the
following day. The Mission of St. Ignace II was designated a national historic
site of Canada in 1955.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Under an open shelter stands a
large cobblestone cross and altar, erected by the Society of Jesus. A marker in
the altar commemorates Alphonse Arpin, assisted by T.G. Connon, who “worked
tirelessly to find this location of St. Ignace II.” There is also a cross, at
the probably site of the martyrdom of the two missionaries.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirLDTR5_wJFnnyKQKj197WV9coSoM9o1TvMnxRGiXQQ_Lnb3B0Kb1LwNUy27FE-1001VRF88kkXmIKkrcQVE8YgfLWAdYQPAMw6PWflSez28kjjttTno5hHk7L28hm3l7c0jGPokGSjI2vb7WxVv2JjZMPIUv93POj3GQV4_-OwF9TMo392e5RKhX1Qg=s960" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="918" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirLDTR5_wJFnnyKQKj197WV9coSoM9o1TvMnxRGiXQQ_Lnb3B0Kb1LwNUy27FE-1001VRF88kkXmIKkrcQVE8YgfLWAdYQPAMw6PWflSez28kjjttTno5hHk7L28hm3l7c0jGPokGSjI2vb7WxVv2JjZMPIUv93POj3GQV4_-OwF9TMo392e5RKhX1Qg=w612-h640" width="612" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Martyrdom of </span></span>Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">. <br />Jefferys, Charles W. 1942. The Picture Gallery of Canadian History Vol. 1, p.106. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: </span></span></span></span><a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant</span></a><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">
<b><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>During the months of July and
August, Mass is celebrated here every Wednesday at 3:00 PM. Patrizia informed
me that on October 9, 2021, she participated in the final pilgrimage of the
year from the Ste. Marie Among the Hurons mission to the Huron village of St.
Ignace, altogether 15 km/3.5 hours, along the path that Brébeuf and Lalemant
took to their deaths.</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">During my recent annual retreat
in Manresa in November, 2021, I found an article about the martyrdom as well as
a photograph of Father <b>Pedro Arrupe</b>, General of the Society of Jesus (Jesuits),
who during his visit to Canada in 1967 knelt in prayer at the exact place where
St. Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant were martyred.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6LaU9jnNrY9nYbUhrnOoxTzwnApH2dM9KrJOBCAjAQo4QVOvgGoFX-bNBpEFGLmRuKW00J7ry_7VtsDs_eo5T92WZzuaxpLNBA3h3i8NM-tHOCyEga-rGNogwnhRRShZxDBVYDXixVyCG3Ua_wnFIZeZrRPV3yDn2rjZc0_t6iw2z6dOJfvq_oKw9Yw=s2671" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2584" data-original-width="2671" height="607" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6LaU9jnNrY9nYbUhrnOoxTzwnApH2dM9KrJOBCAjAQo4QVOvgGoFX-bNBpEFGLmRuKW00J7ry_7VtsDs_eo5T92WZzuaxpLNBA3h3i8NM-tHOCyEga-rGNogwnhRRShZxDBVYDXixVyCG3Ua_wnFIZeZrRPV3yDn2rjZc0_t6iw2z6dOJfvq_oKw9Yw=w628-h607" width="628" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">C.W. Jefferys continues to
described this horrible event (<a href="https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant?mid=0"><span color="windowtext">https://www.cwjefferys.ca/martyrdom-of-brebeuf-and-lalemant?mid=0</span></a>):<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“They were led
back to St. Ignace and put to the dreadful tortures which the Iroquois
inflicted upon their prisoners. Brébeuf suffered for four hours, when a chief
cut out his heart and ended his agony. Lalemant, in spite of his frail
physique, remained alive for fourteen hours before he, too, was released by
death. The Huron nation was scattered as a result of this ceaseless warfare,
and a feeble remnant sought shelter in the neighborhood of Quebec, where today,
in the village of Lorette, their descendants, now largely French in blood,
still live”.</span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now let me again turn to E. J.
Pratt’s poem and the depiction of the events that had taken place at this very
site, after Brébeuf and Lalemant were captured at St. Louis Mission and taken
to St. Ignace II: </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption"><span style="font-size: medium;">And when, resistance crushed, the Iroquois<br />
Took all they had not slain back to St. Ignace,<br />
The vanguard of the prisoners were the priests.<br />
Three miles from town to town over the snow,<br />
Naked, laden with pillage from the lodges,<br />
The captives filed like wounded beasts of burden,<br />
Three hours on the march, and those that fell<br />
Or slowed their steps were killed.<br />
<br />
(…)<br />
<br />
No doubt in the mind of Brébeuf that this was the last<br />
Journey—three miles over the snow.<br />
<br />
(…)<br />
<br />
By noon St. Ignace! The arrival there<br />
The signal for the battle-cries of triumph,<br />
The gauntlet of the clubs.<br />
<br />
(…)<br />
<br />
The Iroquois had waited long<br />
For this event. Their hatred for the Hurons<br />
Fused with their hatred for the French and priests<br />
Was to be vented on this sacrifice,<br />
And to that camp had come apostate Hurons,<br />
United with their foes in common hate<br />
To settle up their reckoning with Echon [Brébeuf].<br />
<br />
Now three o’clock, and capping the height of the passion,<br />
Confusing the sacraments under the pines of the forest,<br />
Under the incense of balsam, under the smoke<br />
Of the pitch, was offered the rite of the font. On the head,<br />
The breast, the loins and the legs, the boiling water! (…)<br />
<br />
The fury of taunt was followed by fury of blow.<br />
Why did not the flesh of Brébeuf cringe to the scourge,<br />
Respond to the heat, for rarely the Iroquois found<br />
A victim that would not cry out in such pain—yet here<br />
The fire was on the wrong fuel. Whenever he spoke,<br />
It was to rally the soul of his friend whose turn<br />
Was to come through the night while the eyes were uplifted in prayer,<br />
Imploring the Lady of Sorrows, the mother of Christ,<br />
As pain brimmed over the cup and the will was called<br />
To stand the test of the coals.<br />
<br />
(…)<br />
<br />
In the thews of his thighs which had mastered the trails of the Neutrals?<br />
They would gash and beribbon those muscles. Was it the blood?<br />
They would draw it fresh from its fountain. Was it the heart?<br />
They dug for it, fought for the scraps in the way of the wolves.</span></p><p class="MsoCaption"><span style="font-size: medium;">(…)</span></p><p class="MsoCaption"><span style="font-size: medium;">The wheel had come full circle with the visions<br />
In France of Brébeuf poured through the mould of St. Ignace.<br />
Lalemant died in the morning at nine, in the flame.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus, in one day I was fortunate
to explore three historically significant locations. I hope that the Shrine
will re-open in 2022 (although as I am writing these words—January 5, 2022—because
of the new variant of COVID-19, Omicron, Ontario has well over 10,000
documented cases per day—and the actual number is probably 5 to 10 times
higher) and I will be able to visit it again. </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had another reservation made
in Six Mile Lake Park for the first half of October, 2021, even on the same
campsite, at the beaver pond—I had been planning to spend Thanksgiving Day
there and remain until October 12, the final operating day of the park. Even
though I was so much looking forward to my final camping experience of 2021,
the weather forecast called for rain every day and it was the main reason I
cancelled that trip.</span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">Blog in Polish/w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">: </span><span lang="PL"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/01/park-six-mile-lake-ontario-oraz-wizyty.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2022/01/park-six-mile-lake-ontario-oraz-wizyty.html</a></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">More photos</span></span></b><span style="background: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">: </span><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720296011186"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/7217772029601118</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">6</span></a></span></p><p></p>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-41098835985002794802021-12-30T11:03:00.114-08:002022-01-06T11:29:05.347-08:00BON ECHO AND DARLINGTON PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO, JULY/AUGUST, 2021<p></p><p class="MsoCaption"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Blog in Polish/blog
w języku polskim: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/w-parkach-bon-echo-i-darlington-w.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/w-parkach-bon-echo-i-darlington-w.html</a> </span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><b>
</b></span></p><p class="MsoCaption"><span lang="PL"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">More photos/więcej
zdjęć: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720295612258/page1">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720295612258/page1</a></span></b></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The second summer during the
COVID-19 pandemic was somehow similar to the previous one in 2020 and again a
lot of Canadians were forced to enjoy vacationing in Ontario, as it was not
possible to travel by land to the USA. Thus, I had made a number of park
reservations many months in advance. My first reservation in Long Point
Provincial Park, where I was planning to go in mid-May, 2021, was cancelled due
to the extension of the COVID-related restrictions. It was not very easy to
book my favourite campsites for a week, especially over long weekends, yet I
think it was still simpler than last year and more campsites were vacant.</span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787162497_d997d0df73_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="800" height="406" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787162497_d997d0df73_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Camping in Darlington Provincial Park on campsite #159, just meters from Lake Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Darlington Provincial Park</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p><span> </span></o:p><span>Guy again invited me to
Darlington Provincial Park from July 11 to 14, 2021, where we had camped a year
before. He had campsite number 159 (N43° 52.117' W78° 46.430'), on the shores
of Lake Ontario, and I booked campsite #67. Also, for the first time I brought
my new tent—Eureka El Capitan 3—and I think it is a good opportunity to write
more about this most important piece of camping equipment.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRQUQ7yvez7B7ZveBc0fagR6agpNk6WVHNl7w-muvFDWejOAHKuRTIL6bXvdBEHE-8m4em_lpu5a8dER4YQzJqCHxmZqTE3hS5sdfvnqbKgUjMqhnQlqyQidd4euJRJ0M4HngUH7wjrYesZylcp73hOAzXNuWrw1WQxCKTKcD19sm1T3BKDc8PlPVXUg=s5184" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRQUQ7yvez7B7ZveBc0fagR6agpNk6WVHNl7w-muvFDWejOAHKuRTIL6bXvdBEHE-8m4em_lpu5a8dER4YQzJqCHxmZqTE3hS5sdfvnqbKgUjMqhnQlqyQidd4euJRJ0M4HngUH7wjrYesZylcp73hOAzXNuWrw1WQxCKTKcD19sm1T3BKDc8PlPVXUg=w640-h426" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My new tent, Eureka El Capitan 3 (in Bon Echo Park)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="border: 3pt double windowtext; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 1pt 4pt;"><p align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span>Eureka El Capitan
3 Tent</span></b><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The
first time I bought a Eureka El Capitan 3 tent in 2006, upon a personal
recommendation of Kevin Callan, the legendary canoeist & author (whom I had
met in Bon Echo park in 2003), and used it extensively while camping with
Meetup groups and during numerous canoeing trips with Catherine. In 2011
Catherine decided to buy her own tent—exactly the same model—and from then on
we used hers, yet I still used mine whenever we were not camping or travelling
together. However, after 14 years of rather extensive usage my tent was getting
a little too old and it was the time to invest in a new one. I had considered
purchasing a different model, made by a different company, but after
researching similarly priced tents, the El Capitan 3 was, in my opinion, the
best one. Its main advantages were two very spacious vestibules (perfect for
keeping numerous bags, especially during canoe trips), two separate entrances,
totally waterproof fly and a lot of guy points to attach guy ropes to keep it
secure in case of strong winds. We used the last feature many times; once we
set up the tent on a top of a flat rock; at night the winds reached 75
kilometers per hour, yet the tent withstood such weather and kept us dry and
warm. I think that a reliable tent is the most important piece of camping
equipment and it makes no sense to buy a cheap one, which is going to leak the
first time it rains.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/4131/4945829010_1eaf203035_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="464" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4131/4945829010_1eaf203035_k.jpg" width="619" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My first, original El Capitan 3. In August, 2010, we were canoeing around Philip Edward Island and spent a few nights on Hinks Island due to very strong winds (up to 75 km/h). As you can see, despite the wind, the tent did provide an excellent protection!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>However, even such
reputable company as Eureka sometimes turns out a substandard
product—unfortunately, Catherine’s El Capitan 3 was one of them. Just after she
bought it, I realized that something was weird with the zippers, which did not
work as smoothly as the ones in my tent. Besides, we could tell the workmanship
was inferior—for example, the stitching in the fly pole pocket unraveled the
first time we used the tent. After the camping season was over, I drove to
Burlington and dropped the tent off at Eureka’s office to be repaired under the
warranty. The following camping season (2012) we noticed that the mesh was
separating at certain parts of the door where the puckering occurred. Two or 3
tiny holes appeared which we taped up. Also the strain on the zipper caused it
to break up for a 30 cm separation. Catherine was able to sew it shut so the
zipper did not continue to unravel. But it did mean that we could not fully
open the door though. In 2013 part of the door mesh totally separated and we
had to perform an extensive repair which left us unable to fully open the door.
On our first back country trip in 2014 in Killarney Provincial Park another
segment of the mesh on the door gave way (at least one meter) and suddenly our
tent was filled with black flies and mosquitos. Luckily, we brought a Gorilla
tape with us and were able to repair the door by patching up the openings.
Besides, we had noticed that the fine stitching in the mesh is running /
laddering and we knew that if this process continued, soon black flies and then
mosquitos would be able to enter out tent. For all intents and purposed, the
tent became unusable!</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/3811/11345058424_b853d007a0_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="466" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3811/11345058424_b853d007a0_k.jpg" width="621" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Killarney Provincial Park, June, 2013. Catherine's El Capitan 3. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a total dud!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I
wrote an email to Eureka Tents in Burlington, Ontario, describing our problems
and attaching a bunch of photographs, clearly depicting the issues we described.
Lo and behold, the Eureka rep offered us a brand new tent! We drove to
Burlington, dropped off the defective one and got a new one! He said that after
reading our email, he was sure that indeed, we must have gotten a dud! And most
likely he was right: the new tent has been working impeccably since 2014, the
one I bought in 2021 so far has been perfect, and my old one, now 15 years old,
is still quite usable and does not even leak! In any case, I was impressed with
Eureka’s customer service—some companies will do anything to “save” a few
bucks, yet they do not realized that in the long run they are going to lose a
lot of customers!</span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/644/23129252033_ec3a30fc0e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="353" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/644/23129252033_ec3a30fc0e_k.jpg" width="628" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Franklin Island, June, 2015. Finally camping in the new Eureka El Capitan 3! It was perfect!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: double windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p></div><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>It was so good to meet Guy, Robin, Bill and Peggy, sit around the fire (or under the canopy while it was pouring cats and dogs) and just relax! Unlike in the previous year, the shower facilities were open in parks this year. Unfortunately, when I wanted to take a shower in the evening, it was closed. Also, the nearest comfort station was closed and an “out of service” sign was posted. I drove to another comfort station and it was “out of service”, too—and so were the showers. I headed to the washrooms in the park store and they were also shut. Finally park employees told me that it was due to the power outage and I was advised to use the vault toilet located near the group campground. Later that evening several campers were quite frustrated, as they were unable to use washrooms and had no idea where to find a working toilet—which, by the way, was about 1 km away from our camping area—quite a stroll, especially at night!</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh9m5ZFgFVYGzNrpzn3KPBqRi-SqWfs8djMA5flea-noj63SzPag2i4ZZiRju-hYcl-N-cn6m1oIHc5EhuxI1sAJnYjWPUhwYVubPf7u4LrW7bKmYU8dT24uFxTu0N9TWAXXY2ix6uGoqlUrGX2bzNmiJw4qjxJoOr3vtFWH09oALt9v4hf3k_aKO9mQ=s5184" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh9m5ZFgFVYGzNrpzn3KPBqRi-SqWfs8djMA5flea-noj63SzPag2i4ZZiRju-hYcl-N-cn6m1oIHc5EhuxI1sAJnYjWPUhwYVubPf7u4LrW7bKmYU8dT24uFxTu0N9TWAXXY2ix6uGoqlUrGX2bzNmiJw4qjxJoOr3vtFWH09oALt9v4hf3k_aKO9mQ=w629-h419" width="629" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes, it did rain while we were camping!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="border: none; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>First of all, I think that the park should have been prepared for such probable emergencies as power outages and had a backup system (either emergency generators or more vault toilets); secondly, instead of just attaching “out of service” signs, providing more information and directions to alternative facilities would have been a much better idea. Next morning, when I was leaving and heading to another park, the bathrooms & showers still remained closed and I was unable to take a shower.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also drove to the nearest city, Bowmanville, to a huge shopping mall at the highway 2 & Bowmanville Avenue (a.k.a. road 57) area. There were numerous stores, including Loblaws, Walmart, Canadian Tire, Shoppers Drug Mart, Dollarama, The Home Depot and many more.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bon Echo Provincial
Park</span></b></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhR1huP10gAeSH3YqqdKeVxNQLjNciTGqCg6khOaXxMKyDqvYM1nWftz-sovF1RGT1Rnd7AmTdDc3ji3dM5J13LzyAOTD5QjIy02uzzTw-Ymcdvq9HvxQ_zmjBORboFvmy0WsJr2bWbOktkf_VUILrSzRdBZNqlFiY95Pnw1ot6YevaCT8giLTz6Au1yA=s635" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="635" height="575" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhR1huP10gAeSH3YqqdKeVxNQLjNciTGqCg6khOaXxMKyDqvYM1nWftz-sovF1RGT1Rnd7AmTdDc3ji3dM5J13LzyAOTD5QjIy02uzzTw-Ymcdvq9HvxQ_zmjBORboFvmy0WsJr2bWbOktkf_VUILrSzRdBZNqlFiY95Pnw1ot6YevaCT8giLTz6Au1yA=w622-h575" width="622" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">It takes just over 4 hours (350 km) to drive from
Mississauga to Bon Echo Park, if there is no traffic. Unfortunately, it does
not happen very often! When I was going to Bon Echo, the eastbound lanes of
highway 401 were totally blocked by an accident involving two tractor trailers
and I had to use alternate roads, which were much slower. On my way back home
there were a few accidents on highway 401 too, and I took secondary and county
roads instead, which was not such a bad idea after all.</span><o:p></o:p></p></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirjrlkQk3-8eIQbkZstDaHqOKRNfHP4_M83rqS8_353BKB7Ol7HbzVve3imG6OO4FmkDj1gGE_x6mW2tRzwgVKYS0WxXWbqTBXwnalXXOm-g9yJ7rbBkf6J0_OIjpwkm7g_qFNkG-Fv8E0JEClwwQhFHPvBa3jrzznhblBG_wAW4DX23_qg-RE0ubfUQ=s1425" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="1425" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirjrlkQk3-8eIQbkZstDaHqOKRNfHP4_M83rqS8_353BKB7Ol7HbzVve3imG6OO4FmkDj1gGE_x6mW2tRzwgVKYS0WxXWbqTBXwnalXXOm-g9yJ7rbBkf6J0_OIjpwkm7g_qFNkG-Fv8E0JEClwwQhFHPvBa3jrzznhblBG_wAW4DX23_qg-RE0ubfUQ=w620-h325" width="620" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bon Echo Park is one of the bigger parks in
southern Ontario. My campsites were 6 km west of the park entrance and highway
41, almost in the heart of the park. There are hundreds of campsites east of
road 41, closer to Mazinaw Lake, but I do not like them</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>My next camping trip commenced on July 14, 2021, so I left Darlington
Park directly for Bon Echo Provincial Park. It was not easy to book my
preferred campsite and I was lucky when I managed to reserve site #495 (N44°
53.672' W77° 15.251'). Before arriving at the park, I read a bunch of
TripAdvisor reviews and one, written in 2018, described campsite #495 as
“private, with full shade and with so many mosquitoes” that the reviewers “had
to move to another site in order not to be eaten alive.” Thus, I brought an
extra can of mosquito spray and hoped for the best. Incidentally, the authors
of that review turned out to be friends of mine, Lynn and Wayne, with whom I
had camped numerous times, including in Bon Echo Park—the world is a small
place!</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also made a short video about setting up and taking down my tent-in just one minute!</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="465" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fpEvpKKSBxo" width="559" youtube-src-id="fpEvpKKSBxo"></iframe></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Indeed, this campsite was very private and shady, and required a walk
of 10-15 meters from the car. I hardly ever saw the sun, which was probably a
good thing: it was very hot and humid, the weather forecast called for storms,
rains and at one point a tornado warning was issued for that area (and a
tornado did hit the city of Barrie). Eventually, there was a storm or two and
it rained, but it was not long lasting and no damage was done. From this campsite
I did not see any other campsites, either. Nevertheless, if I could, I would
rather camp on a different site.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788000056_50e5f2df76_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="417" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788000056_50e5f2df76_k.jpg" width="627" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Welcome to Bon Echo Provincial Park!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Initially I thought that mosquitoes would be a huge problem. Yet I was
amazed how few of them were active—I used the bug spray on just a few occasions,
mainly to spray the rim of my hat. In fact, during my second stay in Bon Echo
neither I nor my friends used the mosquito spray even once, as there were no
mosquitos! Afterwards I camped at 3 other parks and NEVER used the spray, not
even once! I thought the weather in the summer was perfect for mosquito
breeding (hot, humid and relatively frequent rains), but thankfully I was
wrong. I asked a few wardens if they knew the reason, but nobody had any
answer. All I can say is that I had never experienced such a mosquito-free
summer in my over 30+ years of camping. I am wondering if it was because of
COVID-19, which also affected mosquitoes?</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788861330_e8df1234c0_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="474" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788861330_e8df1234c0_k.jpg" width="632" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The imposing Mazinaw Rock and Mazinaw Lake</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Except for woodpeckers and barred owls (which I heard and never saw),
the only other animal that visited my campsite was a hare, which surprisingly
approached me at midnight, while I was still sitting around the campfire. I did
not see any raccoons, which in the past were ubiquitous. Because the berries
were plentiful, there were no black bear sightings in the park—they did not
have to steal tourists’ food.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788902015_a9134d3cf5_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="421" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788902015_a9134d3cf5_k.jpg" width="633" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Relaxing on campsite #495! The Hermit Thrush nest was under the grill</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I spent a lot of time just relaxing and reading newspapers, magazines
and books. I found one of them quite fascinating, “Stalin’s Prosecutor: the
Life of Andrei Vyshinsky” by Arkadii Vaksberg. Andrei Vyshinsky (1883-1954) was
an academic, diplomat, lawyer, politician (vice-premier from 1939 to 1944 and <span color="windowtext" style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Foreign Minister</span> from 1949
to 1953), and chief prosecutor—as well as a career criminal against humanity,
who used the law to oppress innocent people. He was the chief prosecutor during
and architect of the Moscow show trials in the 1930s. Defendants were tortured
and intimidated into confessing their guilt; some were promised leniency by
Vyshinsky of they confessed, but in any case they ended up shot or sent to gulags.
After Stalin’s death in 1953, Vyshinsky was assigned as the Soviet Union’s
permanent delegate to the United Nations. He died in New York City in 1954,
thus avoiding being prosecuted for his crimes. He was buried in the Red Square
and his remains are still interred in the heart of Moscow, in the Kremlin Wall Necropolis, along with
Stalin and other Soviet murderers. Well, I cannot and never will understand the
masochistic mentality of the Russian people…</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788869155_aa0494595d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="470" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788869155_aa0494595d_k.jpg" width="627" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Campsite #495</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I would like to quote a very interesting passage from this book that
probably shows the real Vyshinski:</span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">His outrageousness knew no bounds. Once,
however, he was publicly ‘knocked for six’ with such inimitable style that it
was remembered for a long time afterwards by everyone present.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">During a discussion he started making
derisive remarks about the Argentine’s permanent UN delegate, Arce, who had
tried to dispute Vyshinsky’s editing of a resolution: “<i>Mr. Arce, as far as I am
aware, is an obstetrician by profession whereas I am a lawyer and therefore
evidently have a better understanding of matters pertaining to international
law</i>". </span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Whereupon Arce replied, "<i>Your informers are mistaken, I used to be a
general practitioner, not an obstetrician, and so I had to do not so much with
<u>bringing</u> people into this world as <u>sending</u> them into the next. So in this
respect, Mr. Minister, you and I are on an equal footing.</i>"<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextFirstIndent" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span>This left Vyshinsky literally speechless and
he raised no more objections.</span></span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The second book I read was “The Racketeer” by John Grisham. A pleasant
page-turner, I have to say, with a number of twists, perfect for a camping
trip. Yet certainly not Grisham’s top book.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788652019_7323b554d4_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="421" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788652019_7323b554d4_k.jpg" width="633" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Guy enjoying the campfire</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Although I did not plan to take the tour boat, I was informed that it
was not running this year due to COVID-19. Also, the museum (former home of
Merrill Denison, who had donated this property to the Government of Ontario to
be turned into a park) was also closed. The adjacent building, run by the
Friends of Bon Echo, had some books, souvenirs and clothing for sale, as well a
new addition, the Greystones Café. I had a cup of freshly brewed coffee and
fudge; both items were much overpriced, but I considered this to be my donation
to this dynamic organization. Because of the hot weather and humidity, I was so glad that the
showers were open! I think the shower building & equipment in the Hardwood
Hill campground have not much changed for the past 30 years, but as long as
there was warm water, I was happy. </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787214567_9c0444c474_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="800" height="513" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787214567_9c0444c474_k.jpg" width="629" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This huge chair was here in 1991, when I came to Bon Echo for the first time. There was a small grocery store; now there is a big gas station and a store, coffee shop and sandwich shop</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Several times I drove to Cloyne and Northbrook, as well as to Flinton,
where I quickly renewed my car plate stickers, my driver’s license and my
health card without waiting—which would be unthinkable in Toronto! I also
visited the Flinton waterfalls. There was a small conservational area with a
parking for several cars. I was the only visitor. The falls must have been
altered significantly long ago, as there were remains of an old dam and
powerhouse, built in the early 1900s. I could still see the old turbines and it
was possible to walk where the river was once rerouted to power the turbine.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788269223_36a5c205e0_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="415" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788269223_36a5c205e0_k.jpg" width="623" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Flinton-St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">While driving on country roads, I frequently stopped and looked for
mushrooms—in no time I managed to find chanterelle, suillus and even bolete
mushrooms! Twice I bought very dry wood from “The Maz”, located in the
intersection of Highway 41 and Snider Road. Years ago there was a restaurant,
auto repair shop and a Petro Canada gas station, run by the Snider brothers. I
remember once seeing all three brothers standing in front of the shop-I should
have taken a photo.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50009927972_7d543b85f6_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="800" height="447" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50009927972_7d543b85f6_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ted Snider at Snider's Gulf-Cloyne. Ted Snider - proud owner of Snider's Gulf Station and Restaurant north of Cloyne - business which ran for decades. Snider's was known for their friendly gas and mechanical service and busy family style restaurant. I still remember this place, a restaurant and auto repair shop, run by the Snider brothers. Today it is called "The Maz" and offers kayaks, canoe and paddleboards for rent, as well as sells wood. Copyright © by the Cloyne and District Historical Society (CDHS). Source: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/cdhs/" style="text-align: left;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/cdhs/</a><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><br /></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: center;">I also drove on Head Road to Shabomeka Lake, where I was surprised to see “The Little Free Library”! Coincidentally, I had a bunch of books in my car to donate. There was a public launch ramp and there was a peculiar dock, with a few chairs and other stuff. I was wondering why somebody left this stuff there, but then I saw an attached outboard motor and realized it was a floating dock/raft, quite simple, yet very practical! I briefly spoke to a gentlemen who was about to head to his cottage on this contraption.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788261488_84f2f1354b_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="354" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788261488_84f2f1354b_k.jpg" width="629" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Propelled by the outboard motor, this raft/dock is a simple, yet very practical contraption!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But now let me turn to the highlight of my trip. Upon arrival at the
campsite, I saw a note attached to the post, saying, “Dear Campers, there is a
bird’s nest under the grill for the fire pit. Please keep it safe! Carly and
Henry.” </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788039286_4ee9eb03e8_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="475" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788039286_4ee9eb03e8_k.jpg" width="633" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788039366_9cfbeb04f3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="800" height="504" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788039366_9cfbeb04f3_k.jpg" width="633" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Indeed, there was a small and very-well camouflaged nest on the ground,
with two tiny chicks and one bluish egg. I spent a lot of time watching the
parent(s) bringing the food to the chicks. Soon, the egg was gone and another
chick hatched out. I did not want to disturb them, so I quickly set up my
camera near the nest. I guess the parents did not mind, as just minutes later
they were back, feeding the chicks, and even sometimes sitting (!) on the
camera! Later I was able to play the video and watch the feeding process. </span></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788907350_a9f0c14048_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="695" data-original-width="800" height="550" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788907350_a9f0c14048_k.jpg" width="633" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: left;">After
each feeding, the chicks expelled “fecal sacs” (which are like diapers), filled
with only partially ingested food, and the parents carried them away and
probably dropped at some distance from the nest. Once I came home, I identified
the bird as “Hermit Thrush”. When I left the park, I also placed a note about
the nest for subsequent campers. During my second visit to the park
(27/7-3/8/21), I checked out the nest, but it was empty—normally the young
leave the nest approximately 14 days after hatching, so hopefully all three
chicks survived and now were thriving in the park! I posted a 7 minute video on
YouTube, showing the nest, chicks and the feeding process.</span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="481" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LKGlTFAJkR0" width="578" youtube-src-id="LKGlTFAJkR0"></iframe></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788907285_446e644af3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="314" height="1365" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788907285_446e644af3_k.jpg" width="536" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I left this note on the campsite for the subsequent occupants of the campsite</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I left Bon Echo for home on July 19—yet eight days later, on July 27,
2021, was back at this park again. My second campsite #436 (N44° 54.043' W77°
15.070') was much more exposed and did not require any ‘hike’ from the car. Yet
the adjacent campsite DID necessitate a hike of about 50 meters from the car,
on a rather narrow path and campers staying there were getting abundant, albeit
unanticipated exercises every day! I talked to some of them and they said they
were quite surprised by this extra ‘feature’. At least they were quite far from
the road and other campsites. On the penultimate day of my trip a family
arrived at that campsite and I struck up a conversation with Ravi, who was very
passionate about birds and had even given presentations on birds at various
provincial parks, including Bon Echo. I mentioned the Hermit Thrush nest, the
feeding process and the ‘mysterious’ white balls the parent picked up after
each feeding and Ravi told me that they were “fecal sacks”. Later that night
Ravi and his son came over to my campsite and we spent several hours talking on
various subjects.</span><span> </span></span></div><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788622939_b434d57a71_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="419" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788622939_b434d57a71_k.jpg" width="629" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Campsite #436, more "open", yet offered less privacy</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I consider Bon Echo to be a very special park for many reasons. In
early August, 1991, exactly 30 years ago, Derek P. and I had camped in Bon Echo
on nearby campsite #433. Not only was it my first visit in Bon Echo Park, but
it was my first camping trip ever to any park in Canada! I will never forget
our first night on that campsite—while we were sitting around the fire,
enjoying beer and having an animated conversation, raccoons stole most of our
food—eggs, butter, buns, hot dogs and sugar! </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788292548_b0380897fc_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="800" height="443" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788292548_b0380897fc_k.jpg" width="634" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Camping in Bon Echo Park in August, 1991, on campsite #433, with Derek P. My first visit to Bon Echo Provincial Park-and first camping experience in Canada!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787227197_2951c46810_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787227197_2951c46810_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Campsite #433, where Derek and I camped in 1991, thirty years ago. The trees are gone, but the fire pit still remains</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I found a few photographs from
that trip, taken on campsite #433 and then tried to see if I could locate any
of the ‘landmarks’, but I think that most trees had been cut down since then.
Since 1991 I have visited Bon Echo Park almost 30 times, with close friends,
with Meetup groups and with Catherine. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I had visited this park three times with Mr. Tadeusz Pasek, a
precursor of yoga in Poland—last time we camped in August, 2002, on campsite #488.
Mr. Pasek was fascinated with provincial parks in Ontario & Canada, and he
especially liked Bon Echo Park. He admired the relaxation, recreation and
leisure opportunities such parks offered. While camping, he was making a lot of
notes on various aspects of the park and he was planning to later publish them in
an academic journal in Poland, but I do not know if he ever managed to do so.</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788631214_e7334e1132_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="421" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788631214_e7334e1132_k.jpg" width="633" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I spotted this very characteristic tree during my first visit to Bon Echo, in 1991. It has not change much since then!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Guy stayed at the campsite for several days and brought a big tarp,
which came very handy, as it rained several times and it enabled us to
more-less enjoy our campsite sitting under the tarp while it was raining. After
a few days Guy left for Toronto and Patrizia arrived, of course driving her
Tesla! </span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRt1m43k7EUAcC60NhKRUhMHBTGmaJlgQxLn13aGr0SrS1Qta0ldJuWL0b2wEe4xvp3SVqwfaJYDU5KExugjfuIky6lRg0fGGHNc46TMily0XwuJAzmRcuNIRnASA439WQ9uqSgqcwg3EIyBQa3XYpI-EZby-nIbBq_gkeBU_USoaYDiFtR3kFlVAMEA=s2598" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1461" data-original-width="2598" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRt1m43k7EUAcC60NhKRUhMHBTGmaJlgQxLn13aGr0SrS1Qta0ldJuWL0b2wEe4xvp3SVqwfaJYDU5KExugjfuIky6lRg0fGGHNc46TMily0XwuJAzmRcuNIRnASA439WQ9uqSgqcwg3EIyBQa3XYpI-EZby-nIbBq_gkeBU_USoaYDiFtR3kFlVAMEA=w632-h355" width="632" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The real Tesla-I checked, no exhaust pipe! The first two letters of the registration plate, "GV", stand for "Green Vehicle" (although it's certainly red...)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>She had to be a little more careful about the amount of her driving
because there were not any Electric Vehicle charging stations in the vicinity
of the park, and all the campsites on our campground (Hardwood Hill) were
non-electric. </span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJ0__vKibN6CXCeQhEufq9yWNVFS6XXvPyeIOKf_J1LOcPmbDHa3iwlI-p5Tpyxw9Y5Tw2WfugkZRUx68IL0S7Cq9N0HVOpEctDOLlH8hGgXnQIdJe4CiApvl0jczEy6Y1GjZXe5uewKBuGXKkZrbGV7hUo6atXGk57h1X6vxVFpa3ZVyvWHTQPVWmxw=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="450" height="1010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJ0__vKibN6CXCeQhEufq9yWNVFS6XXvPyeIOKf_J1LOcPmbDHa3iwlI-p5Tpyxw9Y5Tw2WfugkZRUx68IL0S7Cq9N0HVOpEctDOLlH8hGgXnQIdJe4CiApvl0jczEy6Y1GjZXe5uewKBuGXKkZrbGV7hUo6atXGk57h1X6vxVFpa3ZVyvWHTQPVWmxw=w568-h1010" width="568" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had never managed to make such a tasty cup of coffee as with this Stovetop Espresso Maker! It's small, does not require electricity and can be used during camping trips.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><span>She also brought her folding kayak and went kayaking on Lake
Mazinaw, around the imposing Mazinaw Rock. In the morning she made coffee,
using a Stovetop Espresso Maker, ideal for camping. The coffee was so good
& strong than I bought such an espresso maker and used it during my
subsequent camping trip.</span> </span><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788343723_5e3000a78e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="800" height="314" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788343723_5e3000a78e_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Shield Trail in Bon Echo Park, 5 km long, it takes about 2 hours to do it</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The park has a number of very interesting trails; most of them I had
done in the past, but this year was looking forward to re-visiting the Shield
Trail (5 km) and do the hike along with Patrizia.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788098886_0312b98c37_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788098886_0312b98c37_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hiking on the Sheld Trail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ontario Parks published a very informative “Shield Trail Guide,” which
greatly enhances the overall hiking experience by supplying plenty of
interesting facts on history and natural environment. The trail forms a
circular path through the rugged landscape. There are numerous signs along the
way, corresponding to the numbered stops in the guide. </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788721109_79c6c48c44_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="424" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788721109_79c6c48c44_k.jpg" width="637" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This part of the Shield Trail incorporates the old Addington Colonization Road. Of course, 100+ years ago this road was in a much worse shape, rutted and rugge</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The first part of the
trail follows the old Addington Colonization Road, the first road built through
the forested wilderness over 160 years ago. The government built a number of
such colonization roads to attract immigrants to settle and cultivate the land.
Each man over 18 years, who agreed to build a cabin or house within a year,
have 5 hectares (12 acres) under cultivation within four years, and help with
maintenance of the Addington Road, was given a free 40 hectare (100 acre) lot.
Unfortunately, the Canadian Shield was not suitable for farming—even though it
could support huge trees (which had all been logged, by the way), it could NOT
support crops, especially after the trees were gone and erosion took place.
Most farmers eventually failed, but not after toiling fruitlessly on this land
for years! </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788343773_27a64f746d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="421" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788343773_27a64f746d_k.jpg" width="633" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of glacial erratics along the Shield Trail. Some area are literally covered with such boulders and rocks. And farmers were supposed to clear this land and run successful farms! Well, many tried, most failed, yet some suceeded to eke out a very modest living</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">To this time it is possible to suddenly come across a pile of rocks
in the middle of a dense forest: over 100 years ago farmers had tried to clear
the horrible land by collecting by hands all the stones! There are also
remnants of old mining operations along the trail, which unfortunately failed,
as the deposits were low-grade ore. </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788709219_f1a4eda313_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="546" height="784" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788709219_f1a4eda313_k.jpg" width="535" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This photo was taken 29 years ago, in August, 1992, along the Shield Trail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787267777_251ecc10de_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="800" height="374" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787267777_251ecc10de_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Again at the same spot, along the Shied Trail, 27 years ago, in August, 1994</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were several glacial erratics—massive
boulders brought by huge sheets of ice, which once covered most of North
America. One of the erratics had broken into two pieces, probably due to the water
that had been seeping for years into its crevices, which froze in the winter,
expanded and eventually caused part of the boulder to crack off. In the past I
had a picture taken on that erratic and this time took another one, over 29
years later! </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787268287_f9a2815e47_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787268287_f9a2815e47_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Twenty nine years later, in July, 2021, at the same spot! The boulder has not changed at all; I have...</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My friend Chris Pasek and I had visited Bon Echo in 1992, 1993 and
1994 and each time we had frequently hiked the Shield Trail. In 1991 and 1992
we had often stopped at the beaver pond/wetlands and taken a lot of pictures.
While hiking there in 1993, Chris walked about 15 meters behind me, so I
reached the pond first—and could not believe what I saw!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788074711_7ec6226311_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788074711_7ec6226311_h.jpg" width="632" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is what we saw in 1993-the beaver pond was gone!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">“The pond is gone”! I shouted.</span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Chris looked at me, laughed and rolled his eyes, as if saying, “OK
Jack, you’re bull***ting me again—you and your stories.” But seconds later he
was also in for a big surprise—the beaver pond had literally vanished! It
turned out that one day the beaver dam had just burst, all the water escaped
and overnight the beaver pond had turned into an empty, muddy basin. We had
visited the pond again in 1994 and there had already been a lot of vegetation
growing in the depression.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788944250_e299cefa7c_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="800" height="422" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788944250_e299cefa7c_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Beaver Pond in 1994. Vegetation had alredy taken over the muddy bottom of the pond</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>So, I was very curious what happened to the beaver pond 27 years
later. Well, I was happy to see that a new solid beaver dam was back at the
same place and the beaver pond was full of water again! Patrizia and I spent
about 30 minutes looking at the photos of the beaver pond taken almost 30 years
ago and comparing them the view in front of us. Then we walked along Bon Echo
Lake and eventually reached the end of the trail. Walking the 5 km was quite
challenging for me, but for most people it should be a rather easy and scenic
trail, so if you have an opportunity, certainly do hike there!</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788699139_3856fa5034_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788699139_3856fa5034_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Year 2021: Twenty eight years later the beaver pond is thriving again!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787257537_ec6c8cf09e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787257537_ec6c8cf09e_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Year 2021: 28 years later the beaver pond is thriving again!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;">Several meters from the site of the old Bon Echo Inn I spotted a tree
on which a distinctively looking chicken mushroom was growing in large
brackets. Then I realized that in August, 2007, during our trip with a Meetup
group over the Labour Day Long Weekend (23 participants, 4 campsites, it was
one of the best event ever organized—see photos here: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157601883376312">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157601883376312</a>),
I had a picture taken while standing next to this tree—and the chicken mushroom
had been growing on the tree, too, albeit in the different part of the tree! </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788070161_de5b68a32a_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="421" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788070161_de5b68a32a_c.jpg" width="633" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bon Echo Park, August, 2007: Nick took this photo of me standing next to a tree with a very characteristic Chicken Mushroom. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788307798_2f901a2be6_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="425" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788307798_2f901a2be6_k.jpg" width="638" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bon Echo Park, August, 2021. Fourteen years ago I am standing at the same spot! Not only the tree was there, but so was the Chicken Mushroom, albeit it had moved to the other part of the tree! And the tree behind me now was gone.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p>I
liked that photo so much that it became my cover photo on the Polish website
“Nasza Klasa” (Our Class), which I joined on December 31, 2007. A precursor to
Facebook, it allowed its users (and in 2019 it had tens of millions of them!)
to locate their schools & graduation years and thus reconnect with old
classmates and eventually meet them. Because of that website, I was able to
find out about and chat with friends I had not had contact with for up to 40
years! Although I never had a chance to participate in any in-person meeting, they
became extremely popular. Because of that website, restaurants experienced a
significant increase in its business—on weekends some establishments were
hosting so many different school reunions that signs had to be posted,
directing alumni to appropriate rooms or areas—after all, in many, if not most
cases, it would be difficult or impossible to recognize one another after so
many years! Yet the website’s spectacular ascent was followed by a meteoric descent:
after the initial bliss, the activity on that website rapidly dwindled to
virtually zero. So, it was not surprising that on July 27, 2021 (the day of my
arrival at the park), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nasza Klasa</i>
closed for good.</o:p> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1350/1332738097_b072b1be4b_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1350/1332738097_b072b1be4b_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nick is taking a "selfie", when this technique was quite unknown</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am also posting Nick’s photo taken by himself at this tree—very often
he took “selfies” when this self-portrait technique, so popular nowadays, was
almost unknown. Recently we talked about Nick and agreed that Nick was, at least
in our circles, a forerunner of this new method of taking photos.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="PL" style="mso-ansi-language: PL;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788891105_a77738ef59_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788891105_a77738ef59_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Flinton-Catholic Church, St. John the Evangelist</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Patrizia left the Park on Sunday, August 1, 2021, and later that day I
drove to Flinton, where I attended a Sunday mass at St. John the Evangelist
Catholic Church. Before the mass I walked for a while in the cemetery adjacent
to the church. I noticed that one of the more common names was “Lessard”.
Flinton, formerly called Flint’s Mills, was established by and named after
Billa Flint (1805-1894), businessman and a Liberal member of the Senate of
Canada.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/3944/15566439059_6321a2f128_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="800" height="516" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3944/15566439059_6321a2f128_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Flinton-St. John the Evangelist Church, 1902. It says, "Epiphany A. D. 1902". So, the photo was taken on January 6, 1902-120 years ago to the day (Januuary 6, 2022)! I am afraid none of these people is still with us here on earth...<br />Copyright © by the Cloyne and District Historical Society (CDHS). Source: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/cdhs/" style="text-align: left;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/cdhs/</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The mass was celebrated by a priest originally from Africa. As the Sunday's gospel (Jn 6:24-35) dealt with “bread from heaven,” he talked about the respect
for bread in his country and even said a few sentences in his native language.
Because of the shortage of priests in Canada, one priest </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>often</span><span> </span><span>celebrates many
Sunday masses—for example, two on Saturday and three or more on Sunday—all of
them in different churches, often far apart from one another. A good and
reliable car is a must! </span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTEQKO39GKAvDAzLjpFid5OiomXPw25ycSvguhC8HTG_al3KC8GY6QcKgxh00k4y6vyAg4FapglO-TQIA7qYh9xUhvBrm9iYwQTJ83LDKzQ_aK4qCfQoXFH7wqa8OlOkdHJcGveH6DSSwBRch7_YNaQdEgDlELGkTJkIlWCCO51xEF-1OhsLN3CktsZw=s1910" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1273" data-original-width="1910" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTEQKO39GKAvDAzLjpFid5OiomXPw25ycSvguhC8HTG_al3KC8GY6QcKgxh00k4y6vyAg4FapglO-TQIA7qYh9xUhvBrm9iYwQTJ83LDKzQ_aK4qCfQoXFH7wqa8OlOkdHJcGveH6DSSwBRch7_YNaQdEgDlELGkTJkIlWCCO51xEF-1OhsLN3CktsZw=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Guy at Mazinaw Rock</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788901945_54b6802568_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788901945_54b6802568_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the most popular spot to take photos in Bon Echo Park with the impressive Mazinaw Rock in the background</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>In September, 2007 a bunch of us from the Toronto Urban Exploration
and Adventure Meetup (TUEAM) camped in Bon Echo. There were several group
campsites in the park, all of them quite far from other ‘regular’ campsites. We
occupied group campsite #7—and since all the other group campsites were vacant,
we hanged around the fire until it almost dawned, talking, drinking, singing
and enjoying ourselves, without disturbing any other campers. TUEAM, founded
and headed by Tammy Hoy, used to be one of the most popular and best-run Meetup
groups and organized plenty of amazing, unique and exceptional events (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">e.g.,</i> exploring such landmarks as the
abandoned Rochester Subway in Rochester, NY, former Mental Hospital &
Military Base near Picton, Ontario and the ruins of the Barber Mills in
Georgetown, Ontario). During our stay we drove to and toured Newfoundout, an
abandoned Ghost Town in Renfrew County, as well as the abandoned RCAF Station
in Foymount (photos: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157602148116734">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157602148116734</a>).</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788301333_f29af34e9c_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788301333_f29af34e9c_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bon Echo Park, September, 2007, group campsite number 7. Fourteen years ago all the group campsites were gone and replaced with rustic cabins. I managed to find the exact spot in 2021 - see the next photo</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I was curious to see what the group campsites looked like 14 years
later. I drove to that area, but was quite surprised that all of them were
gone; instead, 12 newly build camp cabins with a rustic wood interior had been
erected, which could be rented by those who needed more comfort than ordinary
tents could provide!</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788923550_ed1009de95_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788923550_ed1009de95_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The very spot where the group campste number 7 used to be in 2007</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>According to the information supplied by the Park, “the camp cabin is
a rustic one room cabin with a rustic wood interior. The cabin sleeps five on a
queen bed and double/single bunk bed, features a kitchenette with a microwave
oven, mini fridge, kettle and counter space. There is a dining table and
chairs, as well as a propane barbeque, picnic table and fire pit outside. In
addition, cabins are equipped with electric base board heating”.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787173157_fd99519186_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51787173157_fd99519186_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Paddleboards are becoming more and more popular--for both humans and their best friends!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I guess the park is going to make more money by renting the cabins
than group campsites! Nevertheless, I think that group campsites are excellent
for larger groups, which do not want to head to bed and be quiet at the 11 pm
curfew! I had camped on group campsites in Sandbanks and MacGregor Provincial
Parks and still remember such happenings quite well!</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788861365_b216bdc0ec_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="895" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788861365_b216bdc0ec_k.jpg" width="595" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Paddleboards are becoming more and more popular--for both humans and their best friends!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Since I brought with me a bunch of photographs from our past trips, I
could quickly identify the location of our group campsite #7: now cabin #620
stood there. I took a few photos, showing the same location now, in 2021, and
in 2007.</span> </span></div><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788966800_763ffa4ae4_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788966800_763ffa4ae4_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Trees die, too...</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As always, packing up and driving home is the saddest part of all of
my trips. Normally I get to highway 401 and stay on it until I reach home. This
time I was ‘forced’ to avoid the highway, as there were a number of accidents
and nothing was moving. Later I found out that those who were at that time on
the highway, ended up spending 3 hours in traffic. Personally, I despise being
stuck in traffic and I would rather take much slower and often unpaved
country/side road than highways which often resemble parking lots. </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788353148_c8a38c878d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788353148_c8a38c878d_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Walker Cemetery, is located literally in the middle of a field</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, I drove
on County 2 Road through Cobourg, Port Hope and then the road turned north—and
again west. Just past Kellog Road, on my right, I saw a farmer’s field with a
small hill about 30 meters from the road. There was a tree and several old
graves (the exact location: N 43 58.200, W 78 21.625 or 43.9700039,-78.3604136). </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788353183_3ad75c3744_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788353183_3ad75c3744_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We can only imagine how hard the pioneers had to work here, clearing dense forest and farming. Since this area is not part of the Canadian Shield, at least they did not have to worry about rocks and boulders</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I made a U-turn, then another one, parked the car on the shoulder and walked to
this small cemetery. There were three monuments, with several inscriptions. All
had the “Walker” surname. According to my photos, Hugh Walker died in 1807,
Mary Johnston (presumably Walker) died in 1850 and Rose Mary Roseborough, the
wife of James Walker, died in 1872. According to the “Find Grave” website (<a href="https://www.findagrave.com/cemetery/2662856/memorial-search#srp-top">https://www.findagrave.com/cemetery/2662856/memorial-search#srp-top</a>),
there were altogether 7 records inscribed on the graves. I wished I had had
more time to drive to the farm and ask the owner about more information about
this very unusual cemetery.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788108396_8dbbf98863_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51788108396_8dbbf98863_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rose Mary Roseborough, the wife of James Walker, died in 1872 at the age of 66</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last, but not least: the history
of the area, including the Park, is so rich that it requires a separate blog
entry—and a very long one for that matter! I hope that one day I can write much
more detailed history of Bon Echo and the surrounding area.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoCaption"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoCaption"><span lang="PL"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Blog in Polish/blog
w języku polskim: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/w-parkach-bon-echo-i-darlington-w.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/w-parkach-bon-echo-i-darlington-w.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoCaption"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="PL"> </span>More photos/więcej
zdjęć: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720295612258/page1">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72177720295612258/page1</a></span></b></p><p></p>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-19011359555540191742021-12-07T23:46:00.067-08:002021-12-18T21:02:39.625-08:00Camping in Darlington, Silent Lake, Arrowhead and Six Mile Lake Provincial Parks in Ontario, August-October, 2020<p class="MsoCaption"><b style="font-size: large;"><span lang="PL">Blog w języku polski/in the Polish language:</span></b><span lang="PL" style="font-size: large;"> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/biwakowanie-w-prowincjonalnych-parkach.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/biwakowanie-w-prowincjonalnych-parkach.html</a></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">
</p><p class="MsoCaption"><b><span lang="PL"><span style="font-size: medium;">More photos:</span></span></b><span lang="PL"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157720216499304">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157720216499304</a></span>
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoCaption"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1583" height="824" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CXWeyWKbrEM/YbE2PB7D4kI/AAAAAAAACII/bFvf72yrXGQqqrSGNq-n9Ih-OP0jf5I1QCNcBGAsYHQ/w637-h824/Ontario%2BMap%2B3%2Bin%2BJPG_DARLINGTON.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="637" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Darlington Provincial Park, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CXWeyWKbrEM/YbE2PB7D4kI/AAAAAAAACII/bFvf72yrXGQqqrSGNq-n9Ih-OP0jf5I1QCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Ontario%2BMap%2B3%2Bin%2BJPG_DARLINGTON.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strike></strike></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>My initial vacation plans for 2020 included spending 10 days in May/June
in Indiana Dunes National Park on Lake Michigan and driving across the United
States for about 8 weeks in August-October. Of course, the COVID-19 pandemic
messed up almost everybody’s vacation plans, including mine: not only was it
almost impossible to cross the border between Canada and the USA, but even
local outings were hampered by innumerable rules and regulations. Overall, the
slogan that used to appear on Ontario’s license plates, “Ontario - Yours to
Discover”, became a reality for most Ontarians! Indeed, a lot of people
‘discovered’ provincial parks and soon it was very difficult to find vacant
campsites, especially over weekends. However, overall it was not a bad year for
me: in January, 2020 I spent 2 weeks in Cuba, arriving back in Toronto on
January 22, the same day when a traveler from China arrived in Toronto and
became the first documented person to have COVID. In addition, I managed to
spend several weeks in 4 provincial parks (and one week canoeing on the French
River (please see other blog entries about my vacation in Cuba and the French
River trip). The major restriction in provincial parks was the lack of
showering facilities. Also, group campsites were closed and thus the 10</span><sup>th </sup><span>Group
Camping at Warsaw Caves (organized by my friend Guy), which I planned to
attend, did not take place.</span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Darlington Provincial Park,
Ontario</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>In August I was invited by Guy to spend two days camping in Darlington
Provincial Park, and of course I gratefully accepted his invitation. Each
campsite could accommodate up to 6 people and 3 tents—as I did not want to
share a tent (there were already 3 people on the campsite), I decided to book a
separate campsite. Because the arrival was on Sunday, August 16, 2020, it was
still possible to find vacant campsites. I got campsite number 173, not far
from #158, where the group stayed. Although campsite #158 had poor privacy, it
was just meters from Lake Ontario and offered a nice view of the lake, yet the
steep cliff prevented us from actually getting to the lake at that spot.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732603656_3027b523c4_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="800" height="504" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732603656_3027b523c4_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Darlington Provincial Park, Campsite #15</span>8</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Since I had always gone to provincial parks located several hundred
kilometers from Toronto, I was not even aware about this park’s existence.
Before my visit I had quickly read about the park’s & area’s history (it
used to be the Loyalists’ farmland and when the park was created in 1959, it
was devoid of trees, but thanks to the Boy Scouts reforestation 60 years ago,
there are many trees everywhere) and I was pleasantly surprised to see that
many campsites were surrounded by thick vegetation, which provided good
privacy. The Campground Trail, cutting through the middle of the campground,
was very convenient, allowing campers taking shortcuts without encroaching on
other campsites. From the Cliffside campsites #158 (ours), #159, #160 and #162
it was possible to see Lake Ontario. Once we saw an oil-tanker barge “Norman
McLeod”, along with the tug “Everlast”, proceeding east.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731784042_75bd117252_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731784042_75bd117252_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once we saw an oil-tanker barge “Norman McLeod”, along with the tug “Everlast”, proceeding east.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">I saw a Red Cardinal and a Blue Jay on my campsite, as well as several
mischievous squirrels/chipmunks, sometimes carrying big chunks of food, no
doubt pilfered from campers. I had read that the park became a home to Piping
Plovers, which made their nests on the beach. Unfortunately, it rained each
day, sometimes heavily, which prevented us from not only visiting the beach,
but also from hiking on one of the many nature trails in the park. Bill brought
a sturdy picnic shelter, which turned out to be very useful. We enjoyed campfires
every evening and overall had a great time. I hardly saw any mosquitoes, but
some of us ended up with plenty of nasty bites all over their legs. When I was
leaving the park, I wanted to check out its other sights (fishing nodes, the
store, pioneer cemetery, log cabin and the birding information board), but it
started pouring and I decided to drive straight home.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732844238_1dba5343ee_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732844238_1dba5343ee_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Darlington Provincial Park-my campsite #173</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was a pronounced noise coming from the highway (401), but since it
was so incessant, after a while I stopped noticing it. Train whistles, on the
other hand, were very loud and ear-piercing, and even though I consider myself
a heavy sleeper, they awoke me several times during the night, albeit for just
a minute or so. Indeed, for some light-sleepers the train’s blaring horn might
ruin their stay at this park.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5WzWQcW1Tpg/YbE4OLEdKEI/AAAAAAAACIg/_5GorEMijfMzYXvKxBZzylzAOPNlU8xNACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Ontario%2BMap%2B5%2Bin%2BJPG%2BSIX%2BMILE%2BAND%2BSILENT%2BLAKE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1583" data-original-width="2048" height="503" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5WzWQcW1Tpg/YbE4OLEdKEI/AAAAAAAACIg/_5GorEMijfMzYXvKxBZzylzAOPNlU8xNACNcBGAsYHQ/w651-h503/Ontario%2BMap%2B5%2Bin%2BJPG%2BSIX%2BMILE%2BAND%2BSILENT%2BLAKE.jpg" width="651" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Silent Lake Provincial Park and Six Mile Lake Provincial Park, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Silent Lake Provincial Park,
Ontario</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>As I already mentioned, it was very difficult, if not outright
impossible, to reserve campsites at provincial parks on weekends, but there
were still quite a few vacancies on weekdays. This time I booked a campsite in
Silent Lake Provincial Park, located south of Bancroft. </span><span>We stayed on campsite #39 for 4 nights (Pincer Bay Campground), from
September 7 to 11, 2020. The weather was not very good (raining, cloudy), so we
ended up spending most of the time on the campsite, often sitting under the
tarp while it was raining. The park—especially our campground—was very scenic,
there were plenty of swampy areas and small bogs close to campsites, yet we did
not experience any mosquitos. Because it had rained a lot before our arrival,
there were plenty of amazing mushrooms everywhere—unfortunately, despite
bringing several books on mushroom identification, I could positively identify
only 3 of them.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732619911_34cafec8df_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732619911_34cafec8df_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Silent Lake Provincial Park, our campsite #39</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>A lot of campsites which, according to the Ontario Parks reservation
website, had been booked during our stay in the park, turned out to be
vacant—</span><span>most likely the rainy weather had resulted in many cancellations (which
this year did not incur any penalties).</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732619801_cbdb179167_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732619801_cbdb179167_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There were a lot of swampy areas just meters from campsites</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was a mountain bike trail as well as three hiking trails, which
unfortunately I did not have a chance to do. However, during my past 2 visits
to the park I canoed on Silent Lake as well as on several lakes in Kawartha
Highlands Provincial Park.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732859858_d07036da60_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732859858_d07036da60_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Silent Lake Provincial Park, campsite #40, on which Guy, I and several other people camped in 2009. I also camped on this campsite in September, 2021. I loved the rock!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Our campsite #39 was nice, although a little on the small side for 2
cars and 3 tents (including one for 8 people that Robin brought). Incidentally,
in 2009 Guy and I (and several other people) had stayed on the adjacent site
(#40), which had, as an added cool feature, a large rock formation. We could
enjoy relative privacy because the adjoining campsites were vacant during our
stay. The toilet was maintained daily by the park staff. We hardly saw any
animals, save for a couple of small woodpeckers, squirrels and chipmunks. I was
told that no black bear sightings had been reported for many weeks. Park
wardens frequently patrolled the park, keeping it SILENT!</span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733511180_c960fb82ca_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733511180_c960fb82ca_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bancroft: Firewood for sale-based on an honour system!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The firewood sold by the park was not very dry, so I decided to look for
better firewood in Bancroft. Just before entering Bancroft, I stopped at a
place called “The Bike Doctor” that was fixing bikes & ATVs and spent some
time chatting with the owner. I also renewed my motor vehicle permit—usually
there are long lineups in Toronto and I always try to do it either online, or
in smaller towns, where there is no waiting at all. I asked several people
where I could obtain firewood and I was told that there was a place just past
the town. Indeed, I saw a pile of wood, which was already separated in various
sizes. It was a self-service, honour system stand, where buyers were supposed
to leave money in provided envelopes in a special box! Each time I see such
contraptions I wonder if they could be viable in bigger cities, like Toronto.
For some reasons I think that soon all the firewood would be gone—along with
the money!</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D-gXh4dLqDw/YbE4o5cZbPI/AAAAAAAACIo/z8G25hzT0-ktb1K4WeBAeMpuZ0aLSuWaQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/ONtario%2BMap%2B10%2BConverted%2BARROWHEAD%2BPARK.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1583" data-original-width="2048" height="482" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D-gXh4dLqDw/YbE4o5cZbPI/AAAAAAAACIo/z8G25hzT0-ktb1K4WeBAeMpuZ0aLSuWaQCNcBGAsYHQ/w624-h482/ONtario%2BMap%2B10%2BConverted%2BARROWHEAD%2BPARK.jpg" width="624" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Arrowhead Provincial Park, Ontario</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Arrowhead Provincial Park,
Ontario</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>In
Ontario September is usually an excellent month to go camping—no bugs, less
people in parks and spectacular fall colours! Yet September may be also much
cooler and temperatures often drop to zero at night. But this time I decided to
make sure cool temperatures were not going to spoil our stay.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732631876_10ff982961_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="800" height="316" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732631876_10ff982961_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Big Bend Lookout. Whereas it is the shortest ‘trail’ (75 meters from the parking lot!), it leads to the spectacular view of the Big East River. </span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">I had visited this park the first time in 2001 and this was my 6<sup>th</sup>
visit. I noticed some changes—there were ten camp cabins and one soft-sided
shelter available for rent (two of the cabins were erected on my favourite
campsites). In addition, a new Visitor Center and Park Store had opened not
long ago. The new Visitor Centre had a warm-up room with a fireplace for
enthusiasts of winter activities offered in the park (skating, tubing,
cross-country skiing and snowshoeing). Huntsville’s Arrowhead Nordic Ski Club
works closely with the park and operates its programs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732631881_979c50d682_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="800" height="438" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732631881_979c50d682_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Even though there have been bear sightings in the park, we did not see any, not even usually ubiquitous raccoons!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I arrived on Sunday, September 20, 2020 and after lining up for about 5
minutes to the office’s window, I was on my way to campsite #254 at East River
Campground. Even though we were tent-camping, we decided to book an electrical
site and I managed to get the last one available in the whole park.
Incidentally, in the past it was very easy to find a campsite in this park (and
almost any other park) after the Labour Day weekend—I did not even bother
making reservations; now, because of COVID-19, literally 100% of campsites were
booked over weekends and it was difficult to get any site for 5 consecutive
days from Sunday to Friday. We brought two heaters—what an excellent idea! Not
only did they keep us warm at night, but also removed dampness from the tents.
The site offered good privacy—because of the thick vegetation we hardly saw our
neighbors. Although it was adjacent to a (clean!) toilet, it did not bother
us—besides most tourists used toilets in their trailers/RVs. Of course, showers
were closed this summer due to the coronavirus. We were also lucky because
every day we could see more and more fall colours; after 5 days, when we were
leaving, they became quite spectacular.</div></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p></o:p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: x-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731812557_80fd0b67b0_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="359" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731812557_80fd0b67b0_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Arrowhead Provincial Park. Our campsite #254 was quite good. I took this photo of this campsite one year later, in 2021 and it did not look very nice... Well, we were very lucky in 2020 that it did not rain, otherwise our tents would have been flooded!</span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I also drove around the park and checked out other campsites in Roe
Campground, they were very nice, too. The cabins were all occupied and I did
not have a chance to take a look inside them, but they seemed to be an excellent
choice for a family or a group of friends who would like to enjoy the park in a
more ‘civilized’ way.</span><span> </span></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732872368_7aded96da0_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="673" height="706" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732872368_7aded96da0_k.jpg" width="594" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wildlife Sighting board in Arrowhead Park. There were 3 bear sightings!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">According to the “Wildlife Sighting” board in the park store, there had
been three black bear sightings recently, but we did not see any of those imposing
creatures. The only animals that we spotted at our campsite were squirrels,
chipmunks, a pair of gorgeous blue jays and a very friendly black capped
chickadee which actually sat on my hand, hoping for a snack! And I saw a
fishing spider in the toilet—it is the largest spider in Canada. I remember
that many years ago we had experienced a lot of problems with raccoons; this
time we did not encounter any of those pesky mammals. The park was very quiet
at night and a park truck regularly drove by the campsites. The campfire wood
sold at the park was wet—eventually we got a few bags of very dry wood at a
store in Huntsville. Since both highway 11 and railway tracks were just over 1
km from the park, we could hear the road traffic and occasional loud train whistles,
but it did not bother us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733522850_2caa37ced6_3k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="893" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733522850_2caa37ced6_3k.jpg" width="594" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stubbls Falls Trail: This tree looked like a walking tree with many ‘legs’, albeit it did not go anywhere while we were there (but I will certainly check its location during my next visit).</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The park has a number of hiking trails (some allow cycling), of which we
managed to complete three:</span><span> </span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Big Bend Lookout. Whereas it is the shortest
‘trail’ (75 meters from the parking lot!), it leads to the spectacular view of
the Big East River. This is a meandering river and there are many theories as
to why and how they become sinuous. The flow of the river erodes its banks and
changes its course, causing a neck. Eventually the neck becomes very narrow and
is breached by the flow of the river. Ultimately the abandoned curve turns into
an oxbow lake—the satellite map of Arrowhead Park and the area along the Big
East River shows plenty of oxbow lakes and meander scars. Unfortunately, one
day the part of the river we now admire will also become an oxbow lake.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732872288_e6958dcec4_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732872288_e6958dcec4_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Homesteaders Trail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Homesteaders Trail. This 3 km loop trail
starts near the main office. According to the park’s tabloid, “there is
evidence of an old 1870s farm. All that remains today is the foundation of a
stone milk house, wagon parts and cleared land.” The trail is a little hilly,
but it cuts through the forest and is absolutely wonderful. At one point we
were a little confused which path to take, the signage could have been better.
I was also looking forward to actually seeing the remnants of the old farm, but
did not find anything. It would be a great idea if the park could post a sign
on the trail pointing to the location of the farm.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733522870_04078c1672_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733522870_04078c1672_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Arrowhead Provincial Park, Stubbs Falls</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Stubb’s Falls Trail (2 km) starts at the
parking lot near the bridge and parallels the Little East River. The first part
of the trail runs along the road leading to East River campsites and reaches
the Stubb’s Falls, a very scenic waterfall with plenty of rock formations. A
lot of people spend a couple of hours there, taking photos or just watching the
chutes. The second part of the trail winds through a forest path and it much
nicer than the first one. Furthermore, I spotted two very interesting trees on
the trail: one looked like a walking tree with many ‘legs’, albeit it did not
go anywhere while we were</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span> there (but I will certainly check its location during
my next visit); the second one also had three ‘legs’ and grew over a very old
stump of the original tree.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731812372_437e161eb3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731812372_437e161eb3_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stubbs Falls Trail: The second three also had three ‘legs’ and grew over a very old stump of the original tree.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was surprised that there were very few mushrooms in and around the
park. Each day the fall colours were becoming more pronounced and we were
surrounded by them on the campsite. I must say that it was a very enjoyable
visit. This is a wonderful park, where everybody is going to find some
interesting activity year round.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731812452_959a5867fd_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731812452_959a5867fd_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our campsite at night!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">While in the park, we drove to the nearby Dyer Memorial. Not too many
people get to see this very original monument, as it is located in the middle
of the forest. In addition, the one-way narrow, potholed dirt road leading to
it may be tricky to find—and then a little challenging to drive on, especially
for smaller vehicles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733282759_437f82e2b4_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733282759_437f82e2b4_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Dyer Memorial</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span>The memorial was erected by Detroit lawyer Clifton Dyer in 1956 near the
Big East River, as a tribute to his wife Betsy Browne Dyer. Mr. Dyer purchased
the land where the monument is built over one hundred years ago, after he and
his wife honeymooned there. The couple’s ashes are also interned there. The
property had been owned and ‘managed’ by the Dyer Memorial Trust based in the
USA, but in 2010 it was donated (along with the trust’s funds) to Muskoka Conservancy.</span></div></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732675541_bb3dff00a2_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="800" height="470" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732675541_bb3dff00a2_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Betsy Brown Dyer and Clifton G. Dyer</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The inscription on the monuments reads:</span><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">ERECTED IN FOND MEMORY OF</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">BETSY BROWN DYER</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">1884-1956<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">BY HER HUSBAND<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">CLIFTON G. DYER<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">1885-1959<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">AS A PERMANENT TRIBUTE TO HER FOR THE NEVER-FAILING<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">AID, ENCOURAGEMENT AND INSPIRATION WHICH SHE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">CONTRIBUTED TO THEIR MARRIED CAREER AND AS A<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">FINAL RESTING PLACE FOR THEIR ASHES.</span></b><b><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">An Affectionate, Loyal, and Understanding Wife is Life's Greatest Gift.</span></b><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732631866_0bfab94c25_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="800" height="345" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732631866_0bfab94c25_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Dyer Memorial</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">The monument is surrounded by 2 acres of landscaped land, but the total
area of the property is 155 acres. It is a perfect place to meditate, walk,
relax and enjoy surrounding nature. We found a trail/dirt road behind the
monument (most likely used by ATVs, in spite of the “NO ATVs” sign) and half an
hour later we came to another road, which led us back to the parking lot. As
expected, we were the only visitors and did not see anybody else.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Six Mile Lake Provincial Park,
Ontario</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>All the COVID-19 restrictions made it impossible to invite, or visit
friends for Thanksgiving Day. Thus, a short camping trip to a park (the last
one of the season) was the best alternative. This time I picked very familiar
Six Mile Lake Provincial Park.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833212_20c516450d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833212_20c516450d_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The only campsite (#97), which was available in the park over the Thanksgiving Long Weekend.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is a beautiful park relatively close to Toronto (165 km), offering
plenty of activities, and for this reason it has always been quite busy,
particularly during COVID-19. I am glad that a week before my visit I had
managed to book the only available campsite in the park (#97, Oak Campground)
and thus I enjoyed camping over the Thanksgiving long weekend there. Yes, the
park was 100% full!</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893343_0eb8831fef_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893343_0eb8831fef_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Campsites along a park road</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">The fall colours were stunning and I took advantage of the parks’
trails. I leisurely walked the Living Edge Trail and the David Milne Trail,
named after David Milne (1882-1953), a Canadian painter, who used to live and
paint on Six Mile Lake. Some of his paintings were clearly inspired by the
prominent rocks of the Canadian Shield. The hikes were quite easy and let me
enjoy the spectacular fall colours even more.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893358_5c22170fa6_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893358_5c22170fa6_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The David Milne Trail in Six Mile Lake Provincial Park</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>One part of the park (Maple Campground) was already
closed for camping, but it was possible to walk there and I checked out many
campsites. Some were very nice and offered very good privacy and lovely views. I
have been coming to this park for about 30 years, since the early 1990s, so
many of the campsites I visited looked very familiar—I had camped on them with
plenty of friends at least 20 times!</span><span> </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833042_ab09103d26_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833042_ab09103d26_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A friend Blue Jay was not afraid of me-as long as there was food!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">For a while I observed a majestic blue heron on the trail, but all the
other animals I saw were on my site. A hungry chipmunk kept visiting me in
regular intervals; it did not even hesitate to literally walk all over me in
search of food. A relatively tame blue jay was always watching me from the
nearby tree and whenever I was not paying attention, it flew over, landed on
the table, grabbed whatever food there was and flew away. Of course, there was
also the "de rigueur" nightly visit by several raccoons, so
accustomed to tourists that they were sniffing at my legs and shoes while
totally ignoring my presence. From time to time a very timid squirrel appeared
at the campsite; whenever the chipmunk saw it, it immediately chased it away,
ostensibly not wanting to have any competition to share its grub with!</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893428_42fc547409_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893428_42fc547409_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A very friendly and always hungry Chippy the Chipmunk!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to take photographs of and collect wild mushrooms, which should
normally be plentiful in October. Unfortunately, I did not see any in and
around the park—yet my friends reported plenty in Killarney and Algonquin
parks. Well, one of nature’s mysteries!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733543985_9160345c8f_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733543985_9160345c8f_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Majestic Blue Heron, often very difficult to spot, as it perfectly blends in the surrounding vegetation</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The park had two charging stations for electric vehicles—incredibly, my
friend Patrizia, who visited me on the campsite, happened to have a Tesla vehicle,
so she took advantage of this opportunity and charged her car overnight. I also
asked her a lot of questions about electric vehicles and after one day I
certainly became a “junior expert” on this subject!</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731832947_b7d518402f_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731832947_b7d518402f_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Living Edge Trail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Probably the main disadvantage of this park is its proximity to the
highway (400). No matter where the campsite is located, you will hear the noise
from the highway. However, since it was almost continuous, after a while I
stopped noticing it. Also, when I was hiking on one of the trails, suddenly I saw
a beautiful lake… and then a busy highway at its end, which definitively spoiled
the view. Obviously, these are things that cannot be changed and we have to
accept them… or go to a different park.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652756_808ebfd2c7_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652756_808ebfd2c7_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">View from one of the park's campsites</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">While at the park, I drove to McCrae Lake, which is
a very popular place for camping and canoeing, as it is still crown land. I
managed to hike to the McCrae Lake Bridge & Waterfalls. It was an easy hike
and there were a number of other hikers, some carrying backpacks and planning
to camp overnight. Again, there were no wild mushrooms anywhere.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652581_42d4bfea42_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652581_42d4bfea42_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A short portage leading from the parking lot to McCrae Lake</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">One day I made a loop trip, driving to the town of
Coldwater and back to the park. My first stop was at White Falls. In the past
we had often paddled from the park to the falls and spent some time having
lunch just meters from the falls. This time I hardly saw any people around.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833187_2f0134e596_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833187_2f0134e596_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">View from the Bridge near the McCrae Lake Waterfalls</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>My next stop, The Big Chute Marine Railway, is
certainly a very unique place and many people spent hours observing boats being
carried in a cradle between two lakes.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893283_20dcf53503_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893283_20dcf53503_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A small bridge along the Living Edge Trail in Six Mile Lake Park</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I briefly stopped at Severn Falls. Catherine and I
had gone to the Riverhouse Restaurant for Thanksgiving Dinner in 2010 or so and
done some canoeing on the Severn River.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893223_e4c35d2856_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893223_e4c35d2856_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The White Falls, not far from Six Mile Lake Park. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also made a brief stop on road #17, Upper Big
Chute Road, where in 2012, Catherine and I (and Gabby the dog) had been given a
tour by a real estate agent of a 50 acre property for sale. The property had a
pond with a beaver lodge and its other border reached the railway tracks. There
had been a small cottage, but it was rather designed to be demolished than
habituated (and the sale offer said so—however erecting a new dwelling would
have adhere to new building rules), as well as two shacks. The agent said that
the vendor had initially wanted $189,000 for the property and the price had been
reduced to $139,000. I had not planned to make this kind of investments at that
time, yet I told the agent that I could buy the property for $100,000. Of
course, he never contacted me. To this day I have been thinking whether or not
I made a good decision—considering the rising prices of cottages and vacant
lots during the COVID pandemic, I am sure the property would be selling for
over $200, 000 today.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the village of Coldwater I did some shopping at
the supermarket, got on the highway and drove back to Port Severn, parked my
car and walked around a little. It triggered so many memories, which I would
like to share here.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833127_1c77b95348_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833127_1c77b95348_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">General Store in Port Severn</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Normally, it is possible to drive over the
bridge/locks in Port Severn, but the 100 + years old lock (#45), the last lock
of the Trent-Severn Waterway, with a swing bridge, was being replaced with
another bridge, so I was forced to use the highway 400 to get from one part of
Port Severn to the other. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652791_4e7eda85e5_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652791_4e7eda85e5_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Construction, road closed!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Adjacent to the Post Office was the “Lock 45 Restaurant
and Supermarket”, now closed, its windows boarded up. For many years I used to
come to Port Severn fishing—we would rent a motorboat at the nearby motel and
spend the whole day on Georgian Bay, fishing around Green Island and Potato
Island. Afterwards, we would sometimes go to the restaurant for a cold drink.
In 1997, while camping in Six Mile Lake Park, Chris and I went fishing on
Georgian Bay. It was raining, windy and cold; not only did not we catch
anything, but also got wet and cold. Subsequently we went to the “Lock 45
Restaurant” for a cup of hot coffee. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833142_c090c4f3ef_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731833142_c090c4f3ef_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Lock 45" Restaurant. Unfortunately, it has been shuttered for a while. We often went there for coffee</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was a distinguished looking older
gentleman at the next table, and he was wearing a very original necklace make
of bones. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>“I admire your necklace”, I said, because the necklace was indeed
quite unique. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Herbert (that was his name) asked us to join him at the table and
told us that he was an ‘honorary Indian chief’, and this marvelous necklace had
been bestowed upon him by Native people. To make the story short—after telling
him about our fruitless fishing trip, Herbert invited us to his nearby cottage
on a small, private island. We drove to the Narrows Marina, got into his very
beautiful boat, powered with a powerful motor, and in no time arrived at his
island. He let us use one of his motorboats and we spent several hours trolling
and casting around the island. Later we had dinner and engaged in a long,
interesting conversation. Originally from Germany, as a teenager he was
conscripted into the Hitler Youth (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hitlerjugend</i>),
a youth organization of the Nazi Party (and so was the future Pope Benedict
XVI—who knows, maybe they met there?). It was totally dark when we arrived by
boat to the Narrows Marina and drove back to our campsite. During our following
visits to Port Severn, I kept asking local people about Herbert, but nobody
seemed to know him. I even went to the Narrows Marina to make inquiries, but
the marina was gone, too. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652876_465c6d220e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652876_465c6d220e_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the early 1980s. there used to be a small marina, which rented motor boats. In the summer of 1983 we rented a motor boat here and it was my first fishing experience in Canada!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also drove via Highway 400 to the north side of
Port Severn and explored a marina/boat storage (?) located between Port Severn
Road North and Highway 400, just south of “Dam G”. It is a very special place for
me: in the summer of 1983, one year after coming to Canada, my friend Josef Sz.
and I rented a motor boat from that very location and it was my first fishing
experience in Canada! The older couple, who lived there and ran the place, were
always very meticulous about checking the boats for scratches. “Any rocks?”,
the gentleman would ask when we came back, shining the flashlight all over the
boat, as there were plenty of rock in the water.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733543910_52ce9e4c10_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733543910_52ce9e4c10_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The old remnants of the old road (road #69) bridge, on which we drove so many times and under which we had to pass to get to Georgian Bay. About 20 years ago it was demolished and replaced with a new bridge, now part of Highway 400</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> </span><span style="font-size: large;">One of the buildings had been Josef’s
brother-in-law’s cottage. All the structures had been gone for a long time—and
so had the old Highway 69, replaced by the modern Highway 400 (the old remnants
of the old road bridge, under which we had to pass from the marina to Georgian
Bay, were still visible). </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Nearby, next to Highway 400, is the Muskey’s
Landing Motel. In 1983 it was called “Alcove Motel”, later “Sharkie’s Motel”.
The adjacent old Highway 69 had only two lanes before Highway 400 replaced it,
encroaching on the motel’s property. The motel had also had a swimming pool,
but at one point it was, I believe, just buried. Although I have never stayed
overnight in the motel, many a time my friends and I rented a motorboat there:
we had called the owner (I think his name was Brian) in advance and arrived
before 4:00 am, got into the boat (which had already been prepared for us) and
in no time were out on the water, fishing until dusk, usually between Green
Island and Potato Island. Sometimes fishing was quite good, sometimes we caught
nothing.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731832852_37c0da457b_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="800" height="626" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51731832852_37c0da457b_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A nightly visitor!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the late 1990s a couple of times I went fishing
with Mr. Tadeusz Pasek, a well-known Polish yoga pioneer & instructor and
author of books and university journals articles. Although he did not fish, he
loved being on the water, relaxing and meditating. During one of such trips it
was very hot and humid, but nothing indicated a forthcoming storm.
Unfortunately, come it did, so swiftly and with hardly any warning that I had
scarcely any time to reel in the fishing line and then immediately headed
towards a shore. Rapidly the waves became so high that our small boat, with a 6
or 10 HP engine, was tossed left and right. I had to keep it perpendicular to
the waves—otherwise the boat could have been overturned! Eventually we found a
sheltered bay and waited out the storm. It was a very good lesson for me—I have
had plenty of respect for the unpredictable weather on Georgian Bay since then!</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893478_92006ecb34_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732893478_92006ecb34_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Post Office in Port Severn--still the way I remember it almost 40 years ago!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In July, 1993, Mr. Tadeusz Pasek, his son Chris and
I drove in my just-purchased brand new Toyota Corolla to Six Mile Lake
Provincial Park. The next morning, before 4:00 am, we woke up, headed to the
motel, got into the waiting motor boat and began fishing. For the next 7 hours
we did not catch anything, causing Mr. Pasek to tease us about and question our
fishing abilities. And then, from 11:30 am to 12:00 pm, we caught well over 10
pikes, thus saving our honour! I still remember that spot; each time I was
boating in the area I went there and spent some time casting, yet I never even
came close to replicating our initial success. Incidentally, at the park we met
a university professor of physics, Dr. Minoru Fujimoto, who was camping with
his family on the adjacent campsite. Since Chris’ major at university was physics,
he stroke up a conversation with him. Soon it turned out that Dr. Fujimoto had
collaborated with Chris’ university friend from Poland, currently residing in
Toronto and teaching at York University! Perhaps it is a cliché, but indeed,
the world <u>IS </u>a small place!</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The following year Chris and I drove to Six Mile
Park on August 1, 1994—I remember that date as it was the 50<sup>th</sup>
anniversary of the <b>Warsaw Uprising</b> [incidentally, a lot of Canadian and
American mass-media, as well as some historians (sic!) infamously kept
referring to this anniversary as “the 50<sup>th</sup> anniversary of the <b>Warsaw
Ghetto Uprising</b>”—which, of course, took place over 1 year <u>earlier</u>, in
1943]. Even though it was a holiday (the Simcoe Day long weekend), we had not
reserved any campsite. When we arrived in the park, the first thing we saw was
an assortment of campers, trailers, RVs and cars waiting before the gate: the
park was full! However, we were somehow lucky—there was just one campsite
available, albeit very small and not suitable for the needs of the waiting
tourists. As we only had one tent and one small car, we “qualified” to camp on
it. Indeed, it was a rather crappy campsite, but as the saying goes, beggars
can’t be choosers! The next day we went fishing and caught a couple of pikes
for dinner.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652641_852d26ac0c_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="800" height="452" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51732652641_852d26ac0c_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This squirrel also wanted to get some food from my campsite, but the chipmunk chased it away<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;">Also in mid-1980s Josef Sz., his wife and I went to
Port Severn and rented a motor boat from a local marina run by a
German-speaking woman. After fishing for a few hours, we encountered problems
with the boat’s motor—it was impossible to start it. A few boaters tried to
assist us (and they were quite familiar with boat motors), but to no avail.
Eventually one of them tied a rope and towed us back to the marina. We were
quite dissatisfied and asked the owner for a discount—after all, the boat was
not working the way it was supposed to. Surprisingly, she got quite upset… at
us, as if we were responsible for the defective motor and her attitude towards
us became very unpleasant! Of course, we never patronized her business again.
But it was not the end of our problems. As we commenced driving toward Toronto
on Highway 69, just after a few hundred meters we realized that there was
something wrong with the car. We barely managed to reach the restaurant just
south of Port Severn… and to make the story short, we ended up spending the
night in the car in the parking lot!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
local mechanic arrived in the morning, towed the car to his garage, fixed it,
and soon we were on our way to Toronto. At that time the restaurant was meters
from Highway 69, but when the new road (Highway 400) replaced it, the access
became more complicated and the restaurant soon went out of business. Unfortunately,
many roadside businesses often share the same fate once a new controlled access
highway is built. Whenever I was driving up north on Highway 400, I would look
at the former restaurant, but it appeared to be boarded up. In 2020 I finally
visited it and it was operating as a motel called “All Tucked Inn”. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733522775_f1a5998f0d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="800" height="617" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51733522775_f1a5998f0d_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fishing spider, I think it is the biggest spider in Canada</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I was leaving the park on October 13, 2021 (I
would have stayed longer, but that day the park was closing for the season), I
again stopped in Port Severn and went to the post office to buy stamps and mail
letters. Unfortunately, the post office employee was one hour late—due to
Thanksgiving Day, she got the days mixed up. There was another gentleman
waiting to pick up a parcel and I stuck up a conversation with him. He lived on
nearby Yellowhead Island, was a ham radio operator (so was I, but very little
radio-active) and we kept talking about a lot of interesting things for about
30 minutes.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Overall, I enjoyed my vacation in the first year of
COVID-19 pandemic and took advantage of the limited travel opportunities to the
fullest!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoCaption"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="PL">Blog w języku polski/in the Polish language:</span></b><span lang="PL"> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/biwakowanie-w-prowincjonalnych-parkach.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2021/12/biwakowanie-w-prowincjonalnych-parkach.html</a></span> </span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</p><p class="MsoCaption"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="PL">More photos:</span></b><span lang="PL"> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157720216499304">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157720216499304</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com01064 Torrance Rd, Torrance, ON P0C 1M0, Canada44.996833900000013 -79.568448644.2186232392619 -80.6670814125 45.775044560738124 -78.4698157875tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-53376718056147999922021-12-04T18:06:00.026-08:002022-01-11T00:33:50.017-08:00Algonquin Park, Ontario, Canada: Three days camping and canoeing, September/October, 2007.<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was one of my first blogs
and originally it was written over 10 years ago in the Polish language.
Recently, using the Google Translator, I translated it into the English
language and was amazed at how good was the translation! Of course, it did
contain errors and it sounded ‘artificial’, yet it was perfectly understandable.
After spending some time and correcting whatever I could, this is the final
version.</span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="512" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GaVKtI6qDOw" width="616" youtube-src-id="GaVKtI6qDOw"></iframe></span></div><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">This is a 20 minute slide show, with some videos, about our trip</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/5045/5354733241_2cbde7f313_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="800" height="432" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5045/5354733241_2cbde7f313_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">GPS tracks of our three-day long canoeing trip<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vdt1b2wQmhw/YaxFfesWAYI/AAAAAAAACH4/QdV1RYnEHTMIaHJL5aKNU1yaBCth-ko8QCNcBGAsYHQ/s915/ALGONQUI.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="610" height="999" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vdt1b2wQmhw/YaxFfesWAYI/AAAAAAAACH4/QdV1RYnEHTMIaHJL5aKNU1yaBCth-ko8QCNcBGAsYHQ/w665-h999/ALGONQUI.JPG" width="665" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The map shows all the lakes we paddled on. Our campsite on Tom Thomson Lake is located in the south part of the lake, close to the letter "L"</span></td></tr></tbody></table><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; font-size: large;">Three Days Camping and Canoeing in Algonquin Park, Ontario,
Canada, September/October, 2007</span></b></b></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When we look at the map of
the Canadian province of Ontario, we immediately notice the green outline of Algonquin
Park, located about 250 kilometers north-east of Toronto, with an area of 7,725
square kilometers (15 times more than the area of Warsaw, Poland!). Before the
arrival of Europeans, the area of today's park was inhabited by Indians,
including the Algonquin tribe. French fur traders were the first white men to explore
the park in the early eighteenth century, but it was not until the 1830s that
the first more official expeditions took place. The rest of the nineteenth
century is mainly associated with the timber industry - the territories there
had impressive forests, which were logged, the logs floated down on numerous
rivers and then shipped to Great Britain. There were so many trees that it
seemed they would last another one thousand years (just as some people nowadays
believe that oil will flow forever). Alas, it took less than 100 years to clear
all the forest! To facilitate transport, in 1894 a railway line was built in
the southern part of the park, stretching from Georgian Bay to Ottawa, and in
1915 another railway line was cut across the north-eastern part of the park (none
is operational anymore). Farms were also built, but they faced enormous
problems - the whole area is on the Canadian Shield and it is practically
impossible to run successful farms where the soil is prone to erosion, its
layer is very thin and the fields are strewn with stones and boulders the size
of houses. Officially, the park was founded in 1893 and one of the goals was to
protect the natural environment. Several well-known hotels and camps for
children were established in the park, and tourists, who wanted to relax in the
bosom of nature or engage in hunting or fishing activities, kept arriving in
the park by train. The park has grown enormously since then and has
"absorbed" much of the surrounding area. In the 1930s, the first road
cut across the park (today's road no. 60) and thus began car tourism. There are
almost 2,400 lakes and 1,200 km of rivers and streams in the park, and every
year it is visited by hundreds of thousands of tourists who either camp on the
campgrounds accessible by cars, or set off on canoe trips deep into the park
and cover hundreds of kilometers, staying overnight on hundreds of camping
sites scattered all over of the park. Another attraction of the park is the
"wolf howling" - people park cars on the side of the road and park
employees start to imitate wolves’ howling. After some time, wolves call up
from different places in the park - it is an incredibly original
"concert", attended by tourists from all over the world.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1059/1486006418_8db7943170_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1059/1486006418_8db7943170_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Chris, Lynn, Nick, Christine and Jack (and Spark the dog-but he was behind the camera, taking the photo ;)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Day One: Saturday, September 29, 2007.</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We left Toronto by seven in
the morning in two cars; apart from me, the other participants consisted of
Nick, Lynn, Christine, Chris and the adorable dog Spark, so obedient that he
never needed to be on a leash. The weather was just perfect - temperatures were
above + 20 C, not even one rain drop, always sunny... of course, we were very
pleasantly surprised by the weather, because were prepared for and expecting much
lower temperatures and frosts at night - October in Ontario can be quite cold. There
was no traffic on Highway no. 400 and then on Road # 11. We quickly stopped in
Huntsville for some last-minute shopping, and from there took Road # 60 that led
straight into the park. The park has 29 so-called "access points",
places from which you can start your canoe trip; after a few dozen minutes we
got to access point no. 5, where the well-known Portage Store was located. You
can rent or buy all the equipment needed for canoeing and camping trips -
whether for a few hours or several weeks. We had already booked two canoes a
week before - both were lightweight, made of Kevlar; one five-meter long,
two-person, the other one longer (19 feet), for 3 people. They cost $43 and $50
a day, respectively, and $3 a day per person for a life jacket. In the next
building was the park office - as we had made reservations in advance, we only
had to pay and were given permits, which allowed us to spend two nights there.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1139/1486174678_709011c1e8_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="404" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1139/1486174678_709011c1e8_c.jpg" width="607" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Canoeing on Canoe Lake</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-align: justify;">The cost was $10 per person
per night, as well as parking was included. On the topographic map of the park
all canoe routes as well as camping sites were precisely marked. We planned to
spend two nights on the same campsite, on Tom Thomson Lake—so upon arrival at
the lake, we could choose any vacant spot. However, those who plan to change
camping sites every day, must specify exactly when and where they intend to
camp and they will receive camping permits for specific lakes. Sometimes this
system can be a bit of a hassle, especially in a bad weather that prevents from
reaching the next destination on time, but there are usually always vacant
campsites—and worst comes to worst, just set up the tent on any suitable place.
By the way, at the end of September, it not really necessary to book campsites,
as there are very few tourists visiting the park, but it turned out quite a
good idea that we had done so - we were told at the park office that all campsites
for this weekend on Tom Thomson Lake had been reserved! Most likely the awesome
weather had caused many people to come to the park, as well as there was a
large group of several dozen young p</span><span style="font-family: times; text-align: justify;">eople who set off half an hour ahead of us
and were just heading for the same lake. After unpacking our luggage - and it
was quite numerous, considering the length of our trip - we carefully placed everything
in our canoes and after taking a few photos, we departed and after 12:00 pm
started our journey on Canoe Lake.</span><span style="font-family: times; text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1364/1486230228_ff7924b03c_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="403" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1364/1486230228_ff7924b03c_c.jpg" width="605" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our first (easy) portage, from Canoe Lake to Joe Lake</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It is a small lake, very
popular because of easy car access and the rental store. Its history is quite
interesting: At the end of the nineteenth century there was a large sawmill
there and on the shores of the lake was the settlement of Mowat, which at one
point had 600 inhabitants and even side tracks, connected to the main railway
line, reached Mowat. Cottage construction began on the shores of Canoe Lake,
and the large Mowat Lodge was opened in 1913. Today it is even difficult to
find the place where the settlement and the Mowat Hotel used to be, but there
are still private cottages and there is a complete lack of campsites. People
who own cottages were granted the right to use them for 99 years when the park
was established; when the deadline expired, it was extended to 2017 (and
recently until 2038). Of course, the park would like to get rid of all the
private cottages, but probably many of the owners will try hard to win the
right to continue using their buildings.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1012/1486151722_575df589f6_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1012/1486151722_575df589f6_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lynn simply LOVES portaging!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There were relatively many
boaters on the lake - many of them only came for a few hours. Our canoes turned
out to be quite good and they moved quickly on the water. Since I am a rather
strong paddler, I was sitting in the back (stern) and didn't even have to use
the corrective J-stroke very often, because Nick and Christine were a bit
weaker paddlers and when they were both paddling on the opposite side, I had no
problem to compensate for their paddling. After a dozen or so minutes, the first
large island appeared in the distance, Gillmour Island, on which the Gillmour
brothers, who had owned a sawmill, built their summer cottages in the 19th
century. Then we passed Wapomeo Island and a smaller island appeared,
appropriately named Little Wapomeo Island. Looking at it, it was impossible not
to think about what had happened near this island almost exactly 90 years ago—the
most famous event that occurred on the lake - namely the mysterious death of a
very famous Canadian painter, Tom Thomson.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1155/1486321950_9d832d40b3_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1155/1486321950_9d832d40b3_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hayhurst Point-the Tom Thomson Cairn</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Tom Thomson first came to
this park in 1912 and sometimes was spending up to 8 months a year there, canoeing,
visiting friends living on Canoe Lake and staying at the Mowat Lodge Hotel.
Thomson was perhaps the first to discover the beauty of Canadian nature as an
artistic theme and encouraged many of his friends, including painters, to visit
the park; it was they, after his premature death, who created the famous
Canadian "Group of Seven" - a group of painters who presented
Canadian nature and nature in general in a very innovative and original way.
His paintings, created in a very unique style, were often given away by Thomson
practically for free to his friends; nowadays they are displayed in many
leading galleries and fetch extremely high auction prices of over one million
dollars. On July 8, 1917, Tom Thomson set out in his canoe from the Mowat Lodge
Hotel, most likely to do some fishing. Two days later his canoe was found near
Little Wapomeo Island; fishing tackle and his bag were missing, and a single paddle
was never found. Intensive searches yielded no results. Eight days after his
disappearance, his body was found near Little Wapomeo Island and taken to
Wapomeo Island. The medical examination showed no water in the lungs, only a
bruise on the temple (maybe with this missing paddle?); the doctor declared the
death to be an accident. In addition, the fishing line was twisted a dozen
times around his ankle, and the other paddle was attached to the canoe, but in
a rather unconventional way. He was buried on the shores of Canoe Lake, but
after a few days the body was moved to the town of Owen Sound, where he
originally came from. In any case, 90 years later, his death is still not fully
explained, and there are many different theories as to how he actually ended
his life - only Canoe Lake knows the whole secret! As we were paddling, on the
right, on the tip of Hayhurst Point, there was a cairn erected in memory of
this artist, about which I will write later.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1118/1485910226_e49d8be470_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="488" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1118/1485910226_e49d8be470_c.jpg" width="650" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The end of the portage, Joe Lake. The road bridge used to be a train bridge, where the busiest railway line in the country ran - a train passed every 20 minutes. </span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Having passed Little Wapomeo
Island, we stared at the left bank where the town of Mowat and the hotel used
to be and tried to imagine what the area might have looked like over a hundred
years ago, before the arrival of the lumberjacks... well, virtually all of the
original trees had been cut down - they were several dozen meters high, ideally
suited for masts for British ships - and it would take many generations for the
park's nature to resemble what it had existed before the lumberjacks cleared
the forest.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1151/1485078277_98bdbe8c46_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1151/1485078277_98bdbe8c46_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Chris likes portaging, too! The Joe Dam Portage can be a very busy place</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Slowly the lake narrowed
until we finally reached its northern part. There was a dam (Joe Lake Dam) and
our first portage, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">i.e</i>. transporting
the canoe over a distance of 295 m. There are numerous portages in the park, from
several dozen meters to over 5 kilometers and it is impossible to make a longer
trip without at least a few portages. For some canoeists, canoeing without portaging
is not an option at all; for others, portage is a necessary evil, which they
accept but try to avoid as much as possible. We certainly belonged to the
latter group and we chose our route to cover only this one portage. Usually,
the length of portages has to be multiplied by three - first you carry the
canoe, the second time you walk back to pick up the backpacks and the third
time you carry them (although I know people who pack so that they can carry
everything, including the canoe, in one trip; they often look like Christmas
trees, festooned with various pieces of luggage and equipment!). Since we
didn't expect too many portages, we didn't really care about the amount of
luggage and we walked the portage 5 times. It turned out that at the other end the
group of young people who had started out ahead of us and headed for Tom
Thomson Lake, was just finishing their lunch. We decided that we would try to
be the first ones on Tom Thomson Lake, otherwise they would probably occupy
most of the better campsites and we would have difficulties finding a good spot.
So we quickly had a grub, packed our things in the canoe and off we went!</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1214/1485893928_8dfa8db251_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1214/1485893928_8dfa8db251_c.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The beaver dam just before Tom Thomson Lake. It was very solid and apparently very old</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">After a few minutes we passed
under the road bridge—the traffic on this road was restricted to authorized
vehicles only. Few people realized that the road was built in the old
right-of-way of the "famous" railroad, built by one of Canada's
richest industrialists, JR Booth, the timber "baron" whose operations
pertaining to logging, transporting and processing timber were the largest in
the world. It was he who built the railroad from Georgian Bay to Ottawa in 1897
to transport lumber from the area where Algonquin Park is now located. This railway
ran through Wilno, the first Polish settlement in Canada, and at one time was
the busiest railway line in the country - a train passed every 20 minutes. In
1933, the railway overpass collapsed, greatly reducing the number of trains on
this route. The last train passed in 1959; after removing the railroad tracks,
most of this route was converted into a hiking trail.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1260/1486279160_a6c50df217_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1260/1486279160_a6c50df217_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Old stumps-the water level was increased by numerous dams during the logging era</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Leaving the bridge behind us,
we entered Joe Lake, where private cabins disappeared and campsites began to
appear (they had conspicuous orange signs, visible from a distance). We passed
the large Joe Island on the right. The shores were completely forested and many
leaves had already started to take beautiful fall colors. Often, huge tree
trunks protruded from the water - a remnant of logging operations, their protruding
sharp tips still presented a threat and we had to watch out for them. The lake
then narrowed to a river, the Little Oxtongue River - and we quickly entered a
fairly large lake pleasantly named Tepee Lake. On its west shore was Camp
Arowhon, founded in 1932. From a distance we saw neatly arranged canoes -
surely the kids who spent their holidays there had beautiful memories lasting a
lifetime! The lake began to narrow, then it became wider again - as it turned
out, it was already another lake, Fawn Lake and finally we entered Little Doe
Lake from which, according to the map (and my reliable GPS) only a short
isthmus separated us from our destination - Tom Thomson Lake. But an unexpected
surprise awaited us: the isthmus was blocked off with a solid beaver dam! We
didn't really know how to deal with this obstacle - was there a short portage
around this dam, or we had to just walk over it and move or slide the canoes?
Fortunately, a canoe with a couple of more experienced canoeists showed up. They
told us that “the dam had been there since time immemorial", quickly
stepped out of the canoe, and standing on the dam, pushed the canoe over and in
no time were paddling on the other side. We followed their steps and indeed, it
turned out that the dam was so solid that probably an elephant could have
walked over it without any problems; besides, beavers certainly repaired any
damage every day. After a few minutes we were on the other side of the dam and
because a group of the young people had just reappeared, we decided to paddle
as hard as possible to find the best place. After a dozen or so minutes we
crossed the isthmus and found ourselves on Tom Thomson Lake.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1161/1485327625_bc5444949c_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1161/1485327625_bc5444949c_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Arriving at our campsite on Tom Thomson Lake, N45 37.400 W78 44.103</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The lake was bestowed
this name in 1958 in memory of the aforementioned painter, Tom Thomson; until
then it had been called Black Bear Lake.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1098/1485430345_89d3fef903_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1098/1485430345_89d3fef903_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our campsite on Tom Thomson Lake</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">According to our map, there
were a lot of camping places around the lake, and two of them were located on an
island - and these were of particular interest to us, because the dog could be
let loose on the island and we would not have to worry about him getting lost.
First, we saw a small, rocky island with a dozen or so impressive Canadian
pines - a unique sight! It was such islets that were a frequent inspiration for
Tom Thomson and the painters of the Group of Seven. A larger island appeared in
the distance. After a few minutes we reached it and it turned out that one site
was occupied; the couple staying there said the other one was still vacant, so
we circled the island and checked it out... but we didn't like it: there wasn't
much room to pitch tents and the view from it was limited to the west shore of
the lake. .. There was another campsite nearby, which at least looked
interesting on the map - in the very south of the lake, situated on a headland
between two bays. Paddling very hard, we got there after a few minutes and that
campsite turned out to be really perfect: very spacious and ideal for setting
up our 4 tents, it had a beautiful view of the whole lake, the island and the
coves, and there was no other campsite within a radius of a kilometer or two so
it provided us with plenty of privacy! (According to my GPS, it was located 425
meters above sea level, N45 37.400 W78 44.103).</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1240/1485471883_27c8d21249_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1240/1485471883_27c8d21249_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our campsite on Tom Thomson Lake. I liked it!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">After reaching the shore, we
unloaded our canoes and hauled them to the campsite, and then set up our tents.
Just in case, we brought some dry wood with us for the campfire, but it turned
out to be unnecessary, we could easily find plenty of dry wood everywhere.
Although the regulations say that a maximum of 9 people can stay on a campsite
and 3 tents, we did not expect any inspection at that time and we pitched the 4<sup>th</sup>
tent, which was very small; in case of any problems, we were to say that it was... a kennel for a dog. A path stretched from our bivouac and some 50 meters
further there was a very primitive latrine (called “thunderbox”), not fenced by
anything - at least it provided a lot of fresh air and an interesting view;
each time you went to use it, you had to make sure that no one else was going
to use it. Around the campsite I found a dozen or so delicious mushrooms,
resembling boletus. An hour later, all five of us were sitting around a fire,
savoring red and white wine, grilling marinated steaks over the fire and
sharing various scrumptious dishes (due to the ethnically mixed group, there
were Chinese food and delicacies with a typical Indian flavor, as well as
Polish sausage, kabanos sausages and the always attractive Polish marshmallows,
“ptasie mleczko”), and a few people were brave enough to try my wild mushrooms which
I fried (just in case you wonder: yes, they did survive!).</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1111/1486315342_4564aa7f63_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1111/1486315342_4564aa7f63_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Around the campfire, having a tasty meal!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Since there were black bears
in the park, we should hang our food between trees, but somehow we didn't feel
like doing so; we trusted that no bear would visit us, and we hoped that the
presence of Spark the dog would scare bears away. So we only hung the bag with
food so that ubiquitous raccoons would not get to it. It is estimated that
there are two thousand black bears in the park (about 1 bear for three square
kilometers), but they are generally not a problem for campers and very few
people actually get to see them at all. However, tragedies do happen from time
to time: in 1978, three boys were attacked and killed by a black bear in
Algonquin Park, and in 1991, two people camping on Bates Island on Lake Opeongo
were also killed by a bear. In addition, there had been some cases of bears
attacking children. The best place to spot bears in Ontario is in landfills,
where you can sometimes see more than 20 bears - generally they stay away from
people. Personally, I had encountered black bears on camping sites in Canada
three times; fortunately, each time they had quickly run away—probably they had
been as scared of me as I had been of them!</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1011/1485128223_c04d9888ab_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1011/1485128223_c04d9888ab_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is nothing comparable to sitting around the fire on a campsite and looking at the lake... simply priceless!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Soon it got dark, faint
lights of distant fires on the opposite shores of the lake appeared in the
distance and we heard some sounds, fortunately the group of young people must
have settled in the far part of the lake. Spark the dog, on the other hand, was
extremely interested in mice that came out from their holes in the ground to
hunt in the evening, and he keep looking for hours at the spot where they had appeared.
It grew colder as dusk fell, but the weather was still fine and the fire kept
us warm. Overall, we were tired - most of had not gotten much sleep the previous
night, and Lynn had just returned from Hong Kong in the morning, and the following
day after the end of our trip, she was also going to fly to Hong Kong - but
since she had been doing this for 11 years, she had already gotten used to it.
At 10:00 pm we put out the fire, buried ourselves in our double sleeping bags,
and soon we all were sleeping like logs.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1387/1485864934_9d7e24ebe3_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1387/1485864934_9d7e24ebe3_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The best things in life are free... almost!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: times;">Day Two: Sunday, September 30, 2007</span></b><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">We were up at seven in the
morning, mainly to take photos. Chris lit a fire and it was nice to immediately
warm up with it and have a cup of hot coffee. Morning mist was raising off he
water, but since it was not too cold, it did not make a particularly good
photographic subject., We noticed a gaggle of ducks on the water and a Canadian
Loon. The breakfast consisted of a few slices of pan-fried Canadian bacon,
scrambled eggs, and sliced tomatoes and cucumber. Nick offered me very tasty Indian
coffee with milk; even though Sparky received his dog food, he was patiently
circling around us, hoping to receive "human" food, which suited him
much better. After breakfast, we unfolded the maps and began to wonder where we
were going to go. Although, we tried to avoid portages, we were considering
trying to paddle a route with portages, especially since we would not have any
heavy luggage with us. After half an hour we chose a loop-shaped route, which
according to our calculations, we should easily complete within 6 hours.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/5087/5354733153_554325a85d_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="800" height="433" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5087/5354733153_554325a85d_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our canoeing trip, according to my GPS tracks</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">So, having packed the most
necessary things - food, drinks, additional clothes and cameras - we headed
east towards Tom Thomson Lake and we reached Bartlett Lake (named after the park
superintend, who held this function for a record period of 24 years at the turn
of the 19<sup>th</sup> and 20<sup>th</sup> century). The lake looked very nice;
we noticed several campsites on its shores. We made it to its northern part,
where the first portage awaited us, 470 m. We met a couple who also carried the
canoe, but in the opposite direction. We were able to move everything in one
go; I found some beautiful mushrooms on the way and from then on I always
looked for mushrooms during each portage. On the other side of the portage, we
saw – well, it was difficult to define what: a lake? A pond? A swamp? This body
of water was overgrown with rushes and only a narrow waterway was cut for the
canoe. It was terribly muddy and shallow; although the whole route was not more
than 150 m, we got quite tired, pushing, rather than paddling, the canoe, with
the paddles against the bottom of that muddy pool. Falling into something like
that would be probably worse than tipping in the middle of a lake! When we
reached the "mainland", we had to get off the canoe and, walking in
the wet mud, we pushed the canoe on the ground. After successfully completing
this arduous section, we faced a second short portage, 130 meters, which we
quickly did and ended up on the picturesque Willow Lake. We loved one of the
mountainous rocky headlands where we stopped for lunch and also took a lot of great
photos. The lake was completely empty, there were no campsites on its shores,
and it would probably be a perfect place for painters; I would not be surprised
if Tom Thomson or other painters from the Group of Seven had come here to
paint.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1264/1485459227_771cc5c22c_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1264/1485459227_771cc5c22c_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sunbeam Lake Portage. Christopher, Spark, Nick, Christine, Lynn & Jack, celebrating the end of the longest portage of our trip.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">After lunch, we continued our
journey and soon there was a third, 240 meter long portage leading to Aster
Pond; having plenty of energy after lunch, we completed it in no time. Aster
Pond, despite its name, did not resemble a pond, but just a small lake; when it
comes to naming, it's probably a very subjective thing! The northern shore of
Aster Pond also meant the longest portage for us, 670 m. We got a bit tired,
but soon we reached Sunbeam Lake, where we took a commemorative photo at the
signage marking the length of the portage. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1325/1486328256_81e65ace65_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1325/1486328256_81e65ace65_c.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had to portage a lot! Unfortunately, I could not help-somebody had to take photos!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sunbeam Lake had several extremely
picturesque rocky islets and one had a camping site, as well as there were several
other sites on the northern shores. We slowly canoed around two such islets, made
of huge rocks, enjoying the view and the silence around us. On the east-south
side of the lake we did a short portage, only 120 meters, and we entered
Vanishing Pond. Somehow we had not given much thought about that name, yet we
should have; as it turned out, often the pond did disappear or the water level was
very low, even on the map there was a warning that we had not noticed. Paddling
the first few hundred meters was problem-free, but the waterway gradually began
to narrow until a solid beaver dam appeared. It took a while to get the canoe over
it. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1231/1485131703_740ec2e222_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1231/1485131703_740ec2e222_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of numerous beaver dams we had to traverse</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Behind the dam, a different landscape has already appeared – we were
canoeing on a very winding, narrow stream, we often had problems with making
turns due to the length of our canoe, and from time to time the canoe settled
on the shallows. We frequently encountered beaver dams, which we had to
traverse; there were so many of them that we stopped counting them - it became
almost a routine for us to get out of the canoe and then efficiently slide or carry
the canoe over the dams. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1177/1485140851_c9ea4529e4_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1177/1485140851_c9ea4529e4_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another damn dam!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At one point, the stream split and we nearly headed in
the wrong direction, towards Baden-Powell Lake, but we quickly realized the
mistake. We proceeded quite slowly and we began to worry whether or not we
would be able to reach our campsite before dark. Finally, we reached a kind of
marsh - we proceeded along a clearing in the rushes, here and there
characteristic beaver lodges appeared. Finally we reached the beginning of the last
portage. It was a bit hard to reach the shore due to many rocks and we had to
try a few times - our canoes were light but not as strong as the heavier ones,
so we had to be careful not to damage them. The last portage was 405 meters;
sometimes the path was narrow and we had to be careful not to trip and fall
down. After 5:00 pm we reached the end of the portage and were on Bluejay Lake.
We had difficulties with launching the canoe into the water - it was shallow, with
a lot of underwater rocks; in addition, the wind began to blow, making it hard
to paddle. After several minutes, both canoes were on the water. We started paddling
hard to reach our campsite as quickly as possible. Bluejay Lake narrowed and we
navigated onto the already familiar Little Doe Lake. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1236/1485159723_f3561c95e9_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1236/1485159723_f3561c95e9_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A beaver lodge-there were plenty of them</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There were several
campfires on its shores and we could smell the unique aroma of the camp kitchen.
We passed relatively close near a beautiful blue heron, which stood motionless
hunting for fish. Often wading in the reeds, between tree trunks and branches
sticking out of the water, blue herons become almost invisible from a distance,
blending in perfectly with the surrounding landscape. After an hour we reached
the beaver dam that we had encountered on the first day; another 30 minutes later
we were at our site. It was still light enough for me to fetch a lot of wood
while the others started the fire and were preparing dinner. Soon all of us were
sitting around the fire, sipping red and white wine, sharing today's events and
massaging the muscles that were sore from paddling and carrying canoes! The
night was warmer than the last one, and we were generally well rested, so we
sat until almost two in the morning, chatting and showing off the photos and
videos we had taken.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1333/1485902006_5bb29577a9_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1333/1485902006_5bb29577a9_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back at the campsite!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Day Three: Monday, October 1, 2007</span></b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">On the last day, the weather
was the same as the day before, only more windy. At eight o'clock in the
morning we were already up; we had breakfast, took a series of photos and
started packing. As there are no rubbish bins in the park, we were not allowed
to bring metal cans and glass containers with us (actually, we had bought wine
in paper packages), and all other rubbish had to be either burned or taken back
with us. We had a plastic garbage bag, containing mostly plastic bottles and
waste that we could not incinerate. Before 11:00 am we set off, following the
same route as before. The blowing wind, especially on the larger lakes, made
paddling quite demanding and we had to paddle very hard to keep the canoe
moving towards our destination. We passed several canoes and kayaks, including
two solo canoeists; from the amount of luggage they carried it was possible to
deduce that they were going camping for at least a few days. Some people like
to go on such trips alone in the fall, when they might experience solitude and
seclusion from other people. Former Prime Minister of Canada, Pierre Elliot
Trudeau, was an avid canoeist and often was canoeing alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1181/1486337104_7d35f0446d_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1181/1486337104_7d35f0446d_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Again at the Joe Lake Portage, Lynn and her new best friend!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Having passed the former
railroad bridge, we reached the Joe Lake Dam where we had lunch. It was our
last portage, this time we had to again cover its length several times,
gradually bringing all the pieces of our luggage and camping equipment. A large
group of 11</span><sup style="font-family: times;">th</sup><span style="font-family: times;"> grade students had just arrived at the southern side
of the portage and they were going with their teachers to camp for several days.
It was immediately clear that this was not their first such trip - they
efficiently carried backpacks, tents and food containers, and with the canoes
slung over their backs, they practically ran while portaging them! In all this
confusion, it turned out that they accidentally took one of our paddles, but
they found it and brought back to us. It was a good lesson for us to be careful
during portages not to mix up the belongings with those belonging to others, as
space is often limited since there are often a lot of people at such places,
practically everything placed at the same spot and it was easy to grab other
people's things.</span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1138/1486318856_40565e5850_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1138/1486318856_40565e5850_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the Tom Thomson Cairn, Hayhurst Point</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We were back on Canoe Lake,
but there was one more place we wanted to visit before the end of our trip – the
Tom Thomson Cairn. Upon hearing of Thomson's death, many of his friends -
future members of the Group of Seven - came to the park. Without Tom Thomson,
the park immediately lost its charm for them and they did not even want to
create their paintings there. In order to honor him, they decided to build a
memorial cairn on top of Hayhurst Point overlooking Canoe Lake; it was from there
that Tom Thomson had often created his paintings. In 1930, a few meters from
the cairn, an Indian totem was erected by children spending their holidays at
nearby camps.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1251/1485971978_fa5824f705_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1251/1485971978_fa5824f705_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Christine, Nick and Lynn</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Due to the increasing wind,
we had a little trouble reaching the Hayhurst cliff, but we made it without any
problems. After two minutes of climbing, we found ourselves at the cairn and
totem pole. The cairn and the plaque embedded in it were directed towards the
place where the body of Tom Thomson had been found. We spent almost half an
hour there, taking a commemorative group photo (interestingly, 6 days later I would
visit this cairn again, that time with a different group of people!). We talked
once more about the mysterious death of Tom Thomson and the legends that had
arisen since then: about a shadowy ghost canoe that some people see moving
swiftly on the lake and then vanishing in the fog ... a canoe that very quickly
moves on the water, then reaches the sandy beach and disappears, leaving no
traces of landing in the sand… about a comet that flew over the lake on the anniversary
of Tom Thomson's death...</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1347/1486170742_d1ab48037f_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1347/1486170742_d1ab48037f_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lynn, Sparky and Chris</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We wanted to stay at the
cairn even longer, but we had to return our canoes on time. After less than
half an hour we reached the Portage Store, unpacked the canoes, took them to
the rental shop and after a dozen or so minutes we were leaving the park. In
Huntsville, we popped into a restaurant on the main street called "Louis
II" for a very tasty dinner. At the parking lot, we saw huge paintings
hanging on the walls of the buildings - reproductions of paintings by Tom
Thomson and other members of the Group of Seven - what a coincidence! Well, another
proof that the works of Thomson and his colleagues were still very well-known
and appreciated in Canada.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1103/1485355799_82ec85a2d0_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1103/1485355799_82ec85a2d0_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mural in Huntsville, Ontario: "Northern River" by Tom Thomson</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Promising ourselves that we
would try to organize a similar trip next year, we said goodbye and set off on
our way back. The traffic on the highways was not bad and we reached Toronto by
10:00 pm.</span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/1430/1485350743_0b27630af4_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1430/1485350743_0b27630af4_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mural in Huntsville, Ontario: "The Pool" by Tom Thomson</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Overall, it was an extremely
successful trip. In three days we were able to see a lot, as well as experienced
a total of 2,625 meters of portaging. It was not a lot, and besides, in most
cases we didn't have to walk several time, progressively carrying our
belongings; passionate canoeists often cover more and much longer portages in
one day, and in addition are laden with all the equipment - nevertheless, we
were glad that we tried portaging—it let us paddle on many lakes and see very
scenic parts of the park. We enjoyed a perfect weather, a wonderful camping
site, and explored places related to the history and culture of Canada.
However, the most important thing that made our trip successful was the great,
well-coordinated company, which is always the decisive factor in any such trip.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>P.S.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Catherine and I went to Algonquin
Park three years later, in May 2010, and we actually camped on that very same
campsite! Unfortunately, Pumpkin was not thrilled with this campsite—she said it
was too dark and the view was not very good, as well as she got lost in the forest while looking for a hot shower (or was it a hot tub that she wanted to use?). And probably in the morning, while I was still asleep, she was furiously paddling all over the lake, looking for Tim Horton's! (a very well-known Canadian chain of coffee shops, serving excellent coffee). Besides, a very violent storm took
place while we were camping there, with thunders and lighting striking nearby. However, we did see plenty of moose, including some wading in the water. A few photos from that trip:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n0VX2EiSzyc/YawbQjKNygI/AAAAAAAACHI/aS192VxPIEs_4h2ISsOMDmihglMCLB33gCNcBGAsYHQ/s1037/CM%2BDEC%2B4%2B2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="1037" height="443" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n0VX2EiSzyc/YawbQjKNygI/AAAAAAAACHI/aS192VxPIEs_4h2ISsOMDmihglMCLB33gCNcBGAsYHQ/w662-h443/CM%2BDEC%2B4%2B2021.jpg" width="662" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With Catherine on the same campsite on Tom Thomson Lake 3 years later! The massive rock was still there.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z63_nkDMH_o/YawbhYRP8kI/AAAAAAAACHQ/d9VK0LZUaJ0yRQt3JUI_JfDbXvnlhsnzwCNcBGAsYHQ/s912/CM%2BDEC%2B4%2B2021%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="912" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z63_nkDMH_o/YawbhYRP8kI/AAAAAAAACHQ/d9VK0LZUaJ0yRQt3JUI_JfDbXvnlhsnzwCNcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/CM%2BDEC%2B4%2B2021%2B2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Setting up the tent at the campsite on Tom Thomson Lake in May, 2010</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ClNnXF_YF_g/YawcQbkwigI/AAAAAAAACHY/EeNEph4w_Io1RO2yX-R3W9gHEifOf8DeQCNcBGAsYHQ/s730/CM%2BDEC%2B4%2B2021%2BMoose.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="548" data-original-width="730" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ClNnXF_YF_g/YawcQbkwigI/AAAAAAAACHY/EeNEph4w_Io1RO2yX-R3W9gHEifOf8DeQCNcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/CM%2BDEC%2B4%2B2021%2BMoose.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Catherine did not like the campsite, but she loved watching a moose from the canoe, as it was wading in the lake!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: large;">PHOTOS</span></b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">:</span> </span></span><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157602264609726" style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: x-large;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157602264609726</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 24pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ff00fe;"><b>Blog w języku polskim/Blog in the Polish language</b>:</span> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2010/06/in-polish-algonquin-park-canoeing.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2010/06/in-polish-algonquin-park-canoeing.html</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #ff00fe;"><span style="font-size: large;">YouTube/slide show</span><span style="font-size: medium;">:</span></span></b><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="https://youtu.be/GaVKtI6qDOw" style="text-align: left;">https://youtu.be/GaVKtI6qDOw</a> </span></p><p class="MsoCaption">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-54723255695971305582020-08-30T13:10:00.039-07:002020-09-12T16:54:46.818-07:00FRENCH RIVER PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—CANOEING AND CAMPING ON BOOM ISLAND, JULY 28-AUGUST 4, 2020<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">More photos from this trip: </span></b><span lang="PL"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715781556618">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715781556618</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">Blog in Polish/blog w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">: </span><span lang="PL"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/pywanie-na-kanu-po-rzece-french-river-w.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/pywanie-na-kanu-po-rzece-french-river-w.html</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288586411_4dc3c4dd2b_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288586411_4dc3c4dd2b_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GPS Tracks of our trip and our day trip around Boom Island<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: start;">In
1995 I discovered this beautiful region of Ontario and since then I have
frequently been coming back to canoe, camp, fish and just enjoy its
extraordinary scenery and serenity.</span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
last trip (July, 2018) was not really that pleasant—it was very hot &
humid, fire ban was in effect, hordes of mosquitoes mercilessly attacked us
every evening, and to add insult to injury, we were eventually forced to
immediately evacuate from the park due to the raging forest fire (“Parry Sound
33”) which ultimately destroyed 11 thousands hectares. Obviously, I hoped that
this trip would turn out a little better.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911263_663d358197_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911263_663d358197_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our campsite on Boom Island<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Bülent
and I departed from Hartley Bay Marina on July 28, 2020. Because of COVID-19,
no valet parking was offered. I also found out that Mr. Mike Palmer, the
marina’s owner, had passed away in February, 2020 in Hartley Bay.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288734062_963dc8998d_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288734062_963dc8998d_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campfire<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
30 minutes of paddling, we reached Wanapitei Bay and checked out a few vacant
campsites on its east shore (#612 & #613). They were OK, but we decided to
cross the bay and take a look at other campsites on the opposite shore. The
campsites at the ‘intersection’ of Main & Western Channels (#617 &
#618) were occupied, campsite #616 was nice, but required a short hike up a
steep rocky hill and campsite #611, which I had wanted to camp on in the past,
also was occupied. Finally we found a somehow secluded cove/inlet with two
campsites and one of them appeared to be very pleasant, with plenty of space
for tents, a spot to set up a tarp in case of rain, cool rock formations and
four (!) fire pits. The campsite also offered a nice view on the inlet’s rocky
shores and islands on Wanapitei Bay with two vacant cottages (since 70% of all
cottages on the French River are owned by Americans—who cannot cross the border
due to the corona virus—many cottages were unoccupied.). The campsite also made
a good fishing spot.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: start;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911053_e9da871feb_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="470" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911053_e9da871feb_k.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">View from our campsite</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
was a ‘thunderbox’ (a.k.a. a toilet) back in the forest, yet I noticed that not
all previous campers had used it—there were pieces of toilet paper scattered
all over the campsite. I do not understand why some people are so inconsiderate
and not only aren’t they using the latrine, but cannot even pick up after
themselves. There was some glass here and there and semi-burned beer cans in
the fire pits. By the way, we did not bring any glass containers and religiously
collected all the garbage/recyclables, which we took back to Hartley Bay
Marina.</span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910808_6850101f1b_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910808_6850101f1b_z.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our food was always secure<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
spent almost one hour setting up three contraptions to hang our food containers
and the coolers. I again came to appreciate the bear-proof bins, provided in
the Massasauga Provincial Park! Before going to sleep and each time we were
absent from the campsite, we consistently hanged the food barrel and our
coolers, but no animal ever attempted to steal our food.</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911103_a09853f150_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="417" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911103_a09853f150_k.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical scenery on the French River<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our
campsite—along with 10 others—was located on Boom Island (approximately 4.5 x 3
km). The island’s west and north shores were surrounded by the Wanapitei River.
For some reasons I had never had an opportunity to explore this part of the
park, so one day we departed before noon, headed south, turned right into Western
Channel and then north just before Attwood Island. Near the mouth of the river
we admired a large beaver lodge. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910898_d46668a99c_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="417" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910898_d46668a99c_k.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very solid beaver lodge at the mouth of the Wanapitei River<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Even though we were paddling against the
current, it was hardly noticeable. Around the Forks we caught a pike—several
minutes later we found a perfect picnic spot on a rock, cleaned & fried the
fish and enjoyed a tasty shore lunch. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288734032_b16c893154_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="800" height="607" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288734032_b16c893154_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A quick shore lunch; the fresh pike was delicious!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We proceeded north, until we reached the
chutes (Sturgeon Chutes). There were 3 campsites (#604, #605 & #606), but I
would not like to stay on them for more than one night—two pontoon boats were
docked there and a bunch of people were enjoying their day-trip there as well
as several fishermen tried their luck around the chutes. In addition, a 240 m
portage was very close to the campsites. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288586706_352bb2c7c3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="417" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288586706_352bb2c7c3_k.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sturgeon Chutes<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After taking several photos and
paddling as close to the chutes as possible, we started heading back to the
campsite. At the Forks we made a left turn. We passed one campsite on the right
(#603) and as we reached Kentucky Club Island, we made a sharp right turn and
now headed along the eastern shore of Boom Island, passing several campsites. I
stopped in front of campsite #609 and took a few photos: I had camped on this
very campsite in 2015 and on a daily basis enjoyed the company of 4 black
bears—one of them had eventually caused a lot of damage to some of our
supplies. Well, this year we did not see any bears, supposedly the blueberries
were plentiful and bears were not interested in devouring campers… I mean,
campers’ food! Overall, we covered a distance of 23 km.</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288587081_dfdc579187_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="838" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288587081_dfdc579187_k.jpg" width="559" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrying the canoe over the beaver dam<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
meters from our campsite was a small lake. Upon a closer examination, I
realized it was a beaver pond, separated from the French River by a solid
beaver dam. It was too good an opportunity to pass—we carried the canoe over
the dam and spent almost 2 hours paddling on this enchanted pond! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911358_b89482c341_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="417" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911358_b89482c341_k.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canoeing on the beaver pond</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There were
several beaver lodges, plenty of dead trees and stumps sticking out form the
water which was mostly covered by water lily leaves and flowers. At one point
we saw a magnificent Blue Heron—it splendidly flew off and gracefully landed
nearby on a tree’s branch. We did not see any beavers, but at night we heard
splashing sounds coming from the beaver pond as well as mysterious thuds,
resembling a woodpecker pecking at trees.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911338_867b5dd41b_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="838" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911338_867b5dd41b_k.jpg" width="629" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canoeing on the beaver pond<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
day we went on a hike in the bush behind the campsite, navigating among fallen,
dead and rotting trees, thick undergrowth and many rocks. We had to watch each
step and overall covered just 2 km in as many hours. Considering that literally
all the trees had been logged in the area some 150 years ago and the current
forest was relatively pretty young, I could only imagine how difficult—well,
basically impossible—it was to traverse in the forest before that time! That
was why rivers, especially the French River, were the only possible routes to
explore the new country with a relative ease. During our short sally we did not
spot any animals save for a small garter snake. We saw plenty of deer (or
moose) droppings, but no bears’. Blueberry bushes were abundant, but I guess
the blueberry season was almost over—besides, it was very dry and whatever
berries we did find were tiny.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911213_2fddca9532_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="470" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287911213_2fddca9532_k.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our campsite on Boom Island<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
only animals we saw on or around the campsite were ubiquitous sea gulls, green
frogs, a chipmunk, a busy squirrel, a large garter snake that I found in my
tent’s vestibule and a bunch of snapping turtles, emerging from the water and
hoping to get some of our food. As we were paddling towards campsite #616, we
saw a family of minks frolicking on the rocky shore. But we were in for a
special treat the last day, while heading back to Hartley Bay Marina—we saw a
Bald Eagle flying just above our canoe, its distinct white head clearly
visible.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288586646_4749465423_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="470" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288586646_4749465423_k.jpg" width="626" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No doubt, a curious and hungry snapping turtle at our campsite</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since
it was very warm, yet not too humid, we liked the weather—at least there was no
fire ban. It rained on a couple of occasions, including the whole Sunday. We
spent most of that rainy day sitting under the tarp, drinking hot tea and
reading books—I managed to finish John Grisham’s “The Rooster Bar”, which was a
perfect camping book—light, but not too dumb.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910943_b62e3e9fbd_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910943_b62e3e9fbd_h.jpg" width="654" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wanapitei River<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Miraculously,
there were VERY FEW mosquitoes! They became active at about 9:15 pm and were
mostly gone at 10 pm. One evening, when it became cooler than usual, we did not
even have to apply any bug spray, as there were hardly any mosquitos. Upon
coming come, I discovered one black fly bite—although the black fly season
‘officially’ should be over at the beginning of July, it’s still possible to
encounter black flies in August and September.</span></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288733892_049ff8a49d_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288733892_049ff8a49d_h.jpg" width="654" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canoeing on the beaver pond<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Almost
every day we caught a fish or two (bass & pike), enough for ample dinner or
lunch. In fact, Bülent caught the first fish, a relatively large bass, which
was delicious! Nevertheless, I was disappointed with fishing: it was the first
time on the French River that it took me more than one hour to catch a fish
(sometimes considerably longer) and despite our persistent casting and trolling
in ‘our’ cove and other parts of the river, neither of us succeeded in catching
even one fish on Saturday and Sunday. We did not see any fish jumping out of
the water either. The campers at the adjacent campsite were fishing from shore
and from their canoe, but did not catch anything.</span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287920648_b551a35c05_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287920648_b551a35c05_b.jpg" width="654" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We spent one night in Grundy Lake Provincial Park on campsite number 419</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
canoeing & camping on the French River for one week, we decided to spend
our last night in this park. Because of COVID-19 most Ontario parks were almost
100% booked over weekends, but since it was Monday, there were still some
campsites available, at least for one night.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: start;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910998_e84e76ae0c_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287910998_e84e76ae0c_h.jpg" width="654" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our campsite<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
staff at the office was very efficient and quickly found a site for us, as well
as we bought a bag of wood. We got campsite #419 in the Red Maple campground
(radio and pet free) which was not bad, adjacent to Grundy Lake and the beach.
There were some people canoeing and fishing on the lake. The bathrooms were
clean, but there were no showers due to the corona virus situation.
Unfortunately, there was a noticeable whiff apparently coming from the toilet,
located behind another campsite. We were told there were no black bears
sightings in the park this year. Our campsite was also a home to a number of
rather friendly chipmunks, which were constantly looking for food and often
chased one another. Amazingly, we were hardly bothered by mosquitoes in the
evening. There were many families with children and perhaps because of that,
around 10 p.m. the park became very quiet as most campers went to sleep—and
soon we followed, too.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604031_c66f04382b_h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="800" height="576" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604031_c66f04382b_h.jpg" width="655" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287928398_80a8b98ebd_h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="747" data-original-width="800" height="613" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287928398_80a8b98ebd_h.jpg" width="655" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604106_e236b78dd6_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="800" height="575" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604106_e236b78dd6_h.jpg" width="655" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span>COVID-19 sign on Parry Sound's wharf. However, I have to disagree with the 'canoe' sign: according to this sign, 6 ft is half a canoe, so a canoe should be 12 ft long. Well, most two person canoes are from 14 to 16 ft long, and mine is 17'. Or perhaps canoes in Parry Sound are smaller? As to the length of goose or moose, I think it would be too risky to take the actual measurements... </span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
in front of the park’s entrance is Grundy Lake Supply Post, offering canoe
rentals, ice cream and plenty of various camping supplies and souvenirs. Also,
there is an LCBO store and grocery/butcher store (“Lemieux Meat and Grocery”)
in the town of Alban, about 20 km north from the park. Last, but not least—my
canoe, purchased at the Grundy Lake Supply Post in 2010, just turned 10 years
old and it has been one of the best investments I have ever made!</span></span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604016_2ae4a60697_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604016_2ae4a60697_h.jpg" width="654" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you are adventurous, from Parry Sound you can take a scenic flight over Georgian Bay. I did in the late 1990s and it was awesome!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later
I found out that just a couple of days before our arrival, a horrible accident
had taken place in the park: a 2 year old girl accidentally fell into a
campfire and sustained severe burns. Eventually a chopper landed in the park’s
parking lot and transported her, I presume, to the Sick Children’s Hospital in
Toronto.</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288603916_ae01f52144_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288603916_ae01f52144_h.jpg" width="654" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parry Sound</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
our way back we stopped in Parry Sound, had coffee under the train trestle and
as we finished, we saw the Island Queen Cruise depart at 1:00 pm for the
sightseeing tour. At that very moment we heard the news about the horrible
explosion in Beirut which destroyed part of this city. Then we walked along the
docks, observed a floatplane take off and land as well as took a look at the
Charles W. Stockey Centre, which was unfortunately closed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604001_a6e4a86956_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="800" height="339" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288604001_a6e4a86956_h.jpg" width="655" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Float planes are quite a common sight in Ontario</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
visit to Parry Sound is never complete without visiting the “Bearly Used Book”
store (in my opinion it is the best used book store between Toronto, Vancouver,
Alaska and Ellesmere Island)! I was completely enthralled with both the
quantity and quality of the books. In my favorite section I quickly browsed
through so many unique non-fiction books on history, wars, China, espionage,
foreign politics, communism, travel… In no time I purchased 6 really
fascinating books and had to discipline myself to leave the store within one
hour—after all, I had to drive to Toronto. I had an opportunity to chat with
the bookstore’s owner and congratulated her on this amazing undertaking. I was
glad to hear that the bookstore was doing well and I was told that soon its
size would significantly increase.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288599636_5b4cf62c43_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="696" height="655" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288599636_5b4cf62c43_h.jpg" width="570" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bearly Used Books store. No wonder he is so tired, he had just finished reading all these books!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was a very relaxing trip. For me, French River Provincial Park has always been and will remain a very unique place.<span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">I would love to visit this area soon!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">More photos from this trip: </span></b><span lang="PL"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715781556618">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715781556618</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">Blog in Polish/blog w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">: </span><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/pywanie-na-kanu-po-rzece-french-river-w.html"><span lang="PL">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/pywanie-na-kanu-po-rzece-french-river-w.html</span></a><span lang="PL"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-77141888044368028962020-08-30T13:09:00.056-07:002021-11-23T14:51:52.403-08:00HOTEL CARISOL LOS CORALES AND SANTIAGO DE CUBA, JANUARY 8-22, 2020<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">Blog in Polish/blog w języku
polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">:
</span><span lang="PL"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/hotel-carisol-los-corales-and-santiago.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/hotel-carisol-los-corales-and-santiago.html</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">More photos from this trip: </span></b><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715783102422"><span lang="PL">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715783102422</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">It
was our 15<sup>th</sup> trip to Cuba since 2009 and third to the Hotel Carisol
los Corales, so we knew what to expect. We paid $1,295 CAN per person for 2
weeks (from Toronto) for a junior suite in the Carisol Section.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287181178_ea0cb7b4a6_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287181178_ea0cb7b4a6_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Junior Suite C-3</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Before
our January 8, 2020 departure (from Toronto to Santiago de Cuba), we had booked
our Sunwing seats online 24 hours in advance and got the boarding pass. We
thought it was a great idea—until we got to the airport (Pearson’s Terminal 3).
We had to deal with the kiosks to print luggage tags and figure out how to put
them on our luggage, which was not as easy as it looked, there were plenty of
confused tourist and two employees were quite busy helping them. Then there
were problems with placing our suitcases on the conveyor belt, somehow they
were not ‘recognized’ by the scanner. We had to carry our baggage and line up to
another conveyor belt and airport employees had to help us a lot. Overall, we
spent more time than in the past checking in the luggage.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180903_e0e2df3e08_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="623" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180903_e0e2df3e08_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Club Amigo Carisol</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">We
were told to go gate B26 and get on the bus. On the BUS? I thought she meant
the PLANE? Actually, we did get on the bus and after a 10 minute ride, we ended
up at the Infield Terminal, which I had no idea existed! Later I found out that
this overflow terminal was rarely used, but in December, 2019 Sunwing Airlines
moved their operations there. It is also frequently used as a location for
major motion pictures and TV productions.</span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287179998_1c759aba95_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287179998_1c759aba95_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also enjoyed the company of various animals, grazing just in front of our room</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The
plane was leased from the Czech Republic (hard to believe now, during the
coronavirus situation, but at that time there was a shortage of planes due to
the Boeing 737 Max airliners grounding) and it had bilingual signs—in Czech and
English. The take-off was late due to deicing. Dinner was no longer served
onboard, just coffee and other drinks, but it was possible to buy or pre-order
extra food. The flight lasted 3 hours and 41 minutes and we landed in Santiago
de Cuba. Two weeks later we flew back home, no problems, and again landed at
the Infield Terminal. Overall both flights got us from point A to point B, no
complains.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180178_051354cfd3_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180178_051354cfd3_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Sunwing plane</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Because
of TripAdvisor’s Cuban forums, I knew that unexpectedly the US dollar had
become a hot commodity in Cuba—and we happened to have plenty of US dollars
anyway. Within minutes of getting on the bus we exchanged $200 US and got 200
CUC—more than enough for our whole stay. I also ran to the nearby kiosk and got
2 cans of Cuban beer (Cristal). It turned out that I bought the last 2 cans—and
that was the only Cuban beer (in cans or bottles) I had during my whole trip.
Some tourists also discovered that their luggage was not on the plane and it
was supposed to be delivered the next day(s). It took us over 1 hour to get to
the hotel. Our very nice and personable rep on the bus, Sahidy, told us a lot
of interesting things on Cuba.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287855291_2842da3c75_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287855291_2842da3c75_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On the beach</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>HOTEL<br /></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
got the Junior Suite C-3 (upper level). We were not very thrilled with the room
(or rather the location of the building), but decided to stay—we liked better
the Junior Suite H-4, where we had stayed previously. We had the same maid as 2
years ago, Martha.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
staff was overall nice and helpful, although I saw a lot of new, young people working
at the reception and most of them barely spoke English—and I had a feeling they
were not too eager to practice their meager linguistic skills with tourists.</span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180323_84686a700d_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180323_84686a700d_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside our Junior Suite C-3</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
two-level room was nice, but there was cold & hot water, although the
pressure was bad in peak hours. Otherwise everything else worked (A/C, TV,
fridge, hairdryer). There was no phone in the room. We had to ask for the safe
a few times—eventually it was brought (!) to our room and bolted to the wall (2
CUC per day). Both the safe and the room use traditional keys, so bring a
lanyard.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some
outlets in the room were 110 V, others 220 V and they were NOT clearly marked,
so ASK the maid before using them or you might damage your electronics! We
brought a small coffee maker (and coffee) along with a surge protector bar—2
year ago, due to a spike after a power outage, we had lost our coffee maker.</span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;"> </span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287855511_b1b2c1bb63_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287855511_b1b2c1bb63_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sunset at the beach</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>There
was no Canadian channel on TV, only the CNN, which I never liked watching. We
tried to watch the 6 pm news, but sometimes such ‘momentous’ news like the
story about the royal couples announcing their intention to step back as senior
members of the royal family took up the first 20 minutes, relegating other
‘inconsequential’ news items as the Ukrainian plane disaster, Iranian Crisis or
the coronavirus outbreak in the background! That was why we spent just minutes
watching TV.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180483_081cf5a532_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180483_081cf5a532_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ruins of the old hotel buildings, destroyed years ago by a hurricane</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
our balcony we could see the ocean and, mostly covered by vegetation, the ruins
of old hotel buildings (disco), destroyed years ago by a hurricane. There were
always various animals grazing the grass around, mostly horses and donkeys
(with cattle egrets hanging around them), which gave this place a very rustic
look. Cats and dogs were not as numerous as in the past.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">The
beach was nice and the beach guys quickly brought us loungers. The coco bar
served cold beer and other drinks—Frank the bartender did a great jo</span><span style="text-align: justify;">b and I
especially loved the piña colada. There was a massage place on the beach and
Catherine had a massage every day. I hoped to do snorkeling, but every day was
quite windy and there were relatively high waves near the reef, making
snorkeling there too risky. But closer to the shore I did see a lot of colorful
fish and even a moray eel, luring from an opening in a rock.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I brought a
relatively new book by John Grisham, “The Reckoning”. It was certainly NOT a
typical legal thriller that one would expect from this author. The story was
set in Mississippi, in the 1940s, and in addition to some courtroom drama, it
contained a lot of other elements, such as family matters & secrets, life
on a cotton plantation and race relations. And from the flashbacks to the
Second World War I learned a lot about the Japanese invasion of the
Philippines, the surrender of the U.S. forces and the Bataan Death March.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
had the best January weather ever in Cuba: every day was sunny, about +30 C and
it rained a few times, but by the time we reached our room, the sky was blue
again. Because of the wind there were no mosquitos or other bugs.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288006967_9257f1cf2f_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288006967_9257f1cf2f_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-align: justify;">Exposición Mesoamericana </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-align: justify;">close to the hotel. Apparently it is genuine fake pre-columbian art!</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Carisol section (where we stayed) was much quieter than the los Corales
section, where all the entertainment took place—and it was one of the main
reasons we decided to stay in the Carisol part of the resort.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the bus to th</span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;">e resort we ran into a couple from Streetsville that we had met at
the hotel two years ago and during our stay we frequently enjoyed dinners
together. We also (finally!) met in person two well-known TA members, Cubacarol
and CoralQueen, whose posts I had read for many years and often relied on their
valuable advice. In fact, it was CoralQueen who had recommended our casa
particular in Santiago de Cuba in 2010! We met Karen from Quebec, with whom we
had gone biking two years ago to the Jardin de Cactus and whose excellent
Spanish greatly enhanced our outing! Besides, we often intermingled with other
tourist from Canada and exchanged a lot of interesting stories on travelling in
Cuba and in other countries.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">FOOD/DINING</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;">The
food was average, but tasty and I had no complains. For breakfast I always had
fried eggs, coffee and yogurts. Most of the time we skipped lunch, but a few
times we went to the Ranchon Restaurant for excellent ribs and fish. Dinners
offered a lot of various dishes. I loved grilled pork at the cooking station,
it was delicious—unfortunately, twice I tried beef and it was tough & stringy—well,
at least the local dogs enjoyed it… We brought several salad dressings which
greatly enhanced the taste of salads. Yet after a week I did experience some
mild stomach problems—there was nothing wrong with the food, but I guess the
greens did not agree with my gut flora. Although we never noticed any beer or
wine shortages in the resort, the wine was ‘rationed’—the servers poured only
half a glass of wine and never left a bottle of wine on the table.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288502297_a82c7d7448_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288502297_a82c7d7448_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The (very noisy!) Cuban band</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;">Every
evening a Cuban band would provide musical entertainment while we were dining.
I had really mixed feelings about them: on one hand it was nice to listen to
one or two songs and admire their artistic talents, but after a while they kind
of overstayed their welcome, making it literally impossible for us to conduct
any meaningful conversation at the table. The performers were standing very
close to our tables and were very deafening! Even if Frank Sinatra were singing
like that, I’d say, “Get lost, Frankie, and pop up somewhere else!” We were
often relieved when they finally went elsewhere in search of other victims... I
mean, tourists!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288007322_a14ed3469e_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50288007322_a14ed3469e_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">During our stay a painter created this mural</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">HOTEL STORES (TIENDAS)</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;">For
the first time in 11 years it was impossible to buy any Cuban beer in the hotel
stores! What’s more, on the second day after our arrival I purchased one bottle
of mineral water and 2 bottles of Cuban liquors—it turned out that from then on
there were no liquors and no mineral water available at the store! I brought
tabasco sauce, hoping to make a Bloody Mary—but there was no vodka and no
tomato juice in the store either. Well, I’m glad that there was draft beer at
the bars. By the way, during our two trips to Santiago de Cuba, it was
impossible to obtain Cuban beer and I only managed to get Heineken. At Plaza
Dolores two restaurants had no beer and the third one eventually got some. I
could not even find mineral water and I got very thirsty.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287856271_a7ce9de9de_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287856271_a7ce9de9de_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Catherine with a broken bike. As you can see, despite any predicaments, she is always smiling! After all, 'es Cuba'...</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">RENTAL BIKES AND WALKS AROUND THE HOTEL</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">We
had been looking forward to renting bikes at the hotel and exploring nearby
attractions. This year there were only 4 bikes available for rent. We rode to
the blow holes (past the aquarium) and then Catherine’s bike got a flat tire—it
was literally peeling off the wheel, so it was impossible to even walk the
bike. She rode my bike to the hotel and sent a horse carriage to pick up me and
the broken bike. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="501" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yaweHwfyDWI" width="602" youtube-src-id="yaweHwfyDWI"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287856256_c7328303f3_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287856256_c7328303f3_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blow holes several kilometers from the hotel<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">We got another one and the next day in the morning rode to the
village of Baconao—just in time to see the start of the elementary school at
8:00 in the morning, where students were reciting some revolutionary stanzas
and singing. Later we toured the small school and spoke to the teachers, giving
them several bilingual periodicals. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="520" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/I3eohyJp580" width="625" youtube-src-id="I3eohyJp580"></iframe></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Since we were supposed to return the bikes
at 10 am, I was already at the rental place at 9:45 am, but it was still
closed. I waited for over one hour (in the meantime, two people wanted to rent
scooters and another tourist was impatiently waiting to return one), but the
rental place remained closed, its sole employee nowhere to be seen. Just before
11 am I dragged the bikes to the reception and in spite of the protestations of
the reception clerk, I placed them in the storage room. I suspect that the
hotel is going to be very pleased when the remaining bikes finally break
down—one less issue to deal with!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287840881_9af29b7a29_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287840881_9af29b7a29_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">School in Baconao village</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">In
the morning we walked around the hotel and twice explored the nearby caves
along the coastal cliffs with indigenous cave art from Central and South
America (</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal; text-align: justify;">Exposición Mesoamericana</i><span style="text-align: justify;">).
On a couple of occasions we spoke to the gardener working there—he showed us
bats (“murciélagos”) attached to the caves’ walls. We also noticed that the
restaurants that we had seen two years ago now were gone—a tourist told us that
they were private and too successfully competed with nearby government
establishments…</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287840791_d29103ff9b_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287840791_d29103ff9b_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Start of the day in elementary school in Bacono village</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
hotel offered a free trip to Santiago de Cuba, which was leaving at 10 am on
Saturday and we took advantage of it twice. The first time the bus was full,
the second time there were two buses and there were still some empty seats on
the second bus. Each time Julio, a very entertaining man, was our guide on the
bus and kept regaling us with a lot of interesting stories. The bus dropped us
off—and later picked us up—from Plaza Dolores. </span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287951937_b99f153f18_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287951937_b99f153f18_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Monument of Francisco Vicente Aquilera</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There were many restaurants and
the old church of Dolores, converted into a concert hall, as well as an
impressive monument of Francisco Vicente Aguilera (1821-1877), a Cuban patriot,
mayor of Bayamo, Vice President of the Republic and insurrectionist.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: start;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287835461_c9d4235096_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287835461_c9d4235096_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Calle Jose Antonio Saco, a.k.a. Enramada</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
steps from the plaza was Calle Jose Antonio Saco, a.k.a. Enramada, closed off
to traffic, always full of pedestrians, shops, restaurants and other businesses.
We walked along this street several times, bought several delicious ‘churros’
(paying with CUP, or “Moneda national”) and also visited a number of casas
particulares, some were quite nice and offered a great view of the city. There
was even a shop offering “Las Mascotas”—yes, it was a pet shop!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287987077_68b36de7b8_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287987077_68b36de7b8_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">An antique vehicle on Plaza Dolores, which I was not supposed to photograph, according to one funny Cuban fellow!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
were plenty of Cubans at Plaza Dolores—indeed, some tried do beg and asked for
money, but most of them did not bother tourist. Two years ago I had taken a
video of an older Cuban gentleman who was playing the guitar and singing, which
I later posted on YouTube.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180143_414f4f1527_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287180143_414f4f1527_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With a guitar player</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Later,
as I was taking photos of surrounding buildings, I spotted a beautiful antique
car which I commenced to photograph. All of a sudden an agitated man showed up
a</span><span style="text-align: justify;">nd, while hurriedly waving his arms, was shouting that I was not supposed to
take photos of the car without paying (him?). Of course, I totally ignored him
and continued my business. As quickly as he appeared, he was gone—and to make
the story even more amusing, the car did not even belong to him!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9iDE0-i9-ig/X0675ggcWWI/AAAAAAAACAI/1XuCcRdW_KI4eb1YmF9nzuI4Hir7EM9rACNcBGAsYHQ/s1761/Girl%2Bcollage%2B%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1761" data-original-width="1732" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9iDE0-i9-ig/X0675ggcWWI/AAAAAAAACAI/1XuCcRdW_KI4eb1YmF9nzuI4Hir7EM9rACNcBGAsYHQ/w629-h640/Girl%2Bcollage%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="629" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287953622_ca4fa0e6c4_z.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="574" height="641" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287953622_ca4fa0e6c4_z.jpg" width="575" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287802251_edec49e26d_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287802251_edec49e26d_z.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This Cuban girl was so adorable!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>While
waiting at Plaza Dolores for the hotel bus to pick us up, we sat at the outdoor
patio of the Restaurante Don Antonio and ordered a couple of drinks as well as
cold beer—it was the only establishment in the vicinity that had beer, the
other ones had none. There was a Cuban family sitting nearby and I took a
series of amazing photographs of their adorable daughter! The servers were
quite nice and I am grateful that they managed to find beer—who would have ever
guessed beer would become so difficult to find?</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287141133_7ee558dc15_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287141133_7ee558dc15_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Festivities at Plaza de Marte</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Twice
we walked to Plaza de Marte, where some kind of festivities were taking place
there, the surrounding streets were closed off to traffic and there were plenty
of various booths/kiosks selling food. Of course, the plaza was teeming with
Cubans, who were strolling, sitting and checking out the attractions.
Unfortunately, it was impossible to purchase any Cuban beer anywhere nearby and
only after searching several stores I managed to buy German-made beer
“Heineken”, created to commemorate Havana’s 400<sup>th</sup> anniversary. Very
close to the Plaza was a Communist Party of Cuba Provincial Head Office—since
there were a lot of photographs hanging in the lobby (most likely related to
the Cuban Revolution), I asked if it was possible to take a look at them, but
the guards did not let me in. I wonder why?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287160623_99a16acf12_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287160623_99a16acf12_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Los Angeles Hospital</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">On
our way to the Moncada Barrac</span><span style="text-align: justify;">k, we made a shortcut through the Los Angeles
Hospital grounds. Built decades before the Revolution, it was quite impressive.
On our way back we also wanted to cut through the hospital’s grounds, but that
time a security guard said ‘no’ and was very adamant not to let us through. The
only explanation is that between certain hours tourists are not allowed on the
hospital grounds…</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287821921_6ee209b64b_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287821921_6ee209b64b_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Moncada Barracks, with bullet-pockmarked walls</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The
highlight of the trip was the visit to the Moncada Barracks. In fact, we went
there, albeit briefly, during our first bus tour to Santiago, but only during
the second bus trip to Santiago we spent over one hour inside the building and
saw the exhibits.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287147093_b03feefc03_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287147093_b03feefc03_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Moncada Barracks, today an elementary school and a museum</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had seen the building numerous times on TV, in books, magazines and propaganda
materials. Indeed, it is called the cradle of the Cuban Revolution. It was here
that on July 26, 1953, the 26-year old Fidel Castro, along with a band of 111
ill-armed men attacked the Moncada Barracks. It was a total failure—some 60 men
were shot or tortured to death, the rest, including Fidel Castro and his
brother Raul, fled. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Later Fidel Castro was captured by Lieutenant Pedro Manuel Sarria
Tartabull who, instead of executing him on the spot, as ordered, kept him alive</span>. It was during his trial that the uttered the now famous
words: “History will absolve me.” He was sentenced to 15 years, yet released
after 2 years. Soon Fidel and Raul Castro left for Mexico, where they
befriended an Argentinian doctor, Ernesto “Che” Guevara. On November 25, 1956 Castro
(incidentally, he would die, to the day, 60 years later), along with 81
revolutionaries, left Mexico on a decrepit boat called “Granma” and landed in
Cuba on December 2, 1956. The landing, like the Moncada Barracks attack, was
another disaster—62 of the rebels were killed or captured. After a 2 year
guerilla war, Batista fled into exile on December 31, 1958 and the next day
Castro proclaimed the victory of the Cuban Revolution. That is why the number
“26” has become a symbol of the revolution and can be seen everywhere in Cuba.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287146888_83c9c2b067_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287146888_83c9c2b067_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In front of the Moncada Barracks</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The
building has this very distinctive mustard-and-white color. Part of the
building is a museum, the other part a school. The museum exhibits plenty of
photos, uniforms, maps, torture devices and photographs of Castro’s men who took
part in the attack. At the entrance to the barracks there were a number of
photographs depicting various dignitaries visiting the Moncada Barracks, often
guided by Fidel Castro himself. I immediately recognized Henryk Jabłoński, head
of state of the People's Republic of Poland between 1972 and 1985, who paid a
visit in 1979. Unfortunately, all the descriptions in the museum were in
Spanish, not in English, so I was not really able to comprehend and understand
much. It is quite puzzling—after all, I believe that it would be in the interest
of the Cuban government to inform tourists about its revolutionary history.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287973642_7e12c6d6b9_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287973642_7e12c6d6b9_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The bullet holes on the Moncada Barracks' facade. Not as authentic as one would think, though--yet Catherine's smile is 100% authentic-she's happy that the Cuban Revolution eventually succeeded and we can enjoy visiting Cuba!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">One of the most prominent features of the building’s façade are
the bullet holes, allegedly made by the rebels’ inadequate weapons. Recently I
found out that they were not real! According to an article by Stephen Hunter from
“The Washington Post” (2003), as well as according to Dr. Antonio de la Cova’s presentation
on his new book, “The Moncada Attack: Birth of the Cuban Revolution”, the
original bullet holes had been eradicated by the Batista regime after the
attack. It was only after the Revolution the holes were re-created by the new
government. Besides, Dr. de la Cova said that the holes had NOT been made by
the rebels, but by the soldiers.<span style="color: #00b0f0;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287821936_6c868c4789_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287821936_6c868c4789_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Moncada Barracks</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;">I also discovered another interesting bit of history about the
Moncada Barracks attack. According to Dr. de la Cova (a native of Havana and an
assistant professor of Latino studies at Indiana University), in July 1953,
more than a dozen soldiers killed during Fidel Castro's attack on the Moncada
garrison were interred in the Cuban Constitutional Army pantheon at the <i>Santa Ifigenia Cemetery</i> in Santiago.
After the rebels seized power, they cleared out the pantheon of the remains of
their former enemies and incinerated them, added the word
"Revolutionary" after "Armed Forces" at the entrance, and
interred Communist soldiers in it.</span><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: start;">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I would also
like to mention the Siboney Farm, where the rebels had been preparing for the
Moncada attack—and it was from this farm that they left for Santiago to carry
on the attack on the Moncada Barracks. After the attack some of the rebels
returned to the farm. The same day soldiers discovered the farm and eventually
sprayed the façade of the house with a machine gun—the bullets holes are still
visible. Since the Farm is just meters from the road between Santiago and our
resort, we passed it many times.</span></p></div><div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287986782_a892b4fd99_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287986782_a892b4fd99_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span>No roof? No problem, the umbrellas will protect you from rain! I remember a Polish song by Maria Koterbska, appropriately called "Umbrellas, umbrellas"; its refrain goes like that: <br /></span>Umbrellas, umbrellas for adults and for children!<br /></span>Umbrellas, umbrellas – they won’t let through a single drop!<br />Umbrellas, umbrellas, very cheap umbrellas!<br />Umbrellas, umbrellas – please buy them, ladies and gentlemen!</span><br /><br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yugEIsB2wV0">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yugEIsB2wV0</a><br /> </td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">On
the last day of our stay the weather took a turn for a worse and supposedly stayed
that way for a while. At the Santiago airport it was impossible to pay with
CUC, only CUP and US dollars (and probably other currencies, too, but then
there was some kind of surcharge). I quickly bought two bottles of rum. Some
tourists were quite upset at the new regulations.</span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287981207_1968d3aae4_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287981207_1968d3aae4_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Comandante Juan Almeida Bosque, Fidel and Raul Castro</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The
flight home was uneventful, we again landed at the Infield Terminal in Toronto
and had to take a bus to Pearson Airport’s Terminal 3. Incidentally, that very
day (January 22, 2020) a man in his 50s arrived from Wuhan, China at Pearson’s
and he became the first case of the new coronavirus in Canada.</span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287181113_4e59b7cbb3_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287181113_4e59b7cbb3_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Salud! And to our next trip to Cuba!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Overall,
we experienced less problems than 2 years ago, the weather considerably better
and we had a very good time. Of course, we always travel to Cuba with a very
open mind and do our best to overlook as many flaws as possible—after all, we
come to enjoy our vacation, NOT to complain! Yet it’s obvious that this resort
needs a lot of renovations and enhancements—thus, I’m not surprised that some
tourists are disappointed. Unfortunately, given the current economic problems
in Cuba (furthermore exacerbated by the unexpected coronavirus situation), I’m
not very optimistic that any significant improvements will take place any time
soon. So if you go, just focus on the positive and have a great time!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">Blog in Polish/blog w języku
polskim</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">:
</span><span lang="PL"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/hotel-carisol-los-corales-and-santiago.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/hotel-carisol-los-corales-and-santiago.html</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">More photos from this trip/:</span></b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;"> </span><span lang="PL"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715783102422">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715783102422</a></span></p></div><p></p></div>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-7667715789625195692020-08-30T13:08:00.018-07:002022-05-13T12:56:19.849-07:00THE MASSASAUGA PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—JUNE-JULY, 2019<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">More photos from this trip/więcej zdjęć z tej wycieczki: </span></b><span lang="PL"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715782478102">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715782478102</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></p><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white;">Blog in Polish/blog w języku polskim: </span></b><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/massasauga-provincial-park.html"><span lang="PL">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/massasauga-provincial-park.html</span></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">The
Massasauga Provincial Park, just 2 hours from Toronto, is a great park to go
canoeing and camping, for both novice and advanced canoeists. Normally I like
to camp on more remote campsites, located several hours from the park’s
entrance, yet not every canoe partner is willing to paddle that far. So, this
year I booked a campsite on Blackstone Harbour, close to the parking lot—I had
camped on that campsite many times before.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Upon
entering the park, I saw a very welcome addition—a new, big parking lot! Later
I spoke to a park employee and was told that from now on it would be possible
to park more than one car per campsite, which is awesome. By the way, park
staff were very nice and helpful.</span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50286908423_f2a714f0a8_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our campsite #508<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Because
of very high water level, some campsites have apparently been flooded and
become unusable. Even though I knew my campsite on Blackstone Harbour would be
fine (I had camped on it several times, most recently in 2016, 3 years ago--<a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-massasaga-provincial-park.html">http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-massasaga-provincial-park.html</a>), a
large patch of its rocky shore was submerged. There were 2 beaver lodges
nearby—three years ago they were adjacent to the land—now they resembled small
‘islands’, some 3 meters from the shore. And many trees, which have been under
the water for several years, have finally died.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">It
was the second part of June, 2020 and I did not expect to see black flies
anymore. Unfortunately, I was wrong: due to the rainy weather, they were still
active and in spite of using Deet-based insect repellents, I got 20 nasty bites
during my entire 12 day stay. Surprisingly, mosquitoes were not that
bad—perhaps the wind blew them away. But when I went into the forest, they were
swarms of them all over me.</span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50286908288_c396a78900_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50286908288_c396a78900_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have camped on this campsite many times before. This 'photo in photo' shows the same place in 2016, 3 years before. Not much has changed since then, but one tree is gone.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately,
motorboats are an integral part of the park, yet their noise did not bother me
that much. Yet I found jet skis (a.k.a. sea-doos) very annoying. In my opinion,
they should be banned from certain lakes in provincial parks. We also heard
float planes taking off from Woods Bay, very noisy—and one aircraft even landed
on Blackstone Harbour and then took off, generating plenty of deafening noise.
Later a park warden told me that it was illegal for float planes to use
Blackstone Harbour.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Having
the food storage bin on our campsite was terrific, we did not have to worry
about hanging food every day. I wish more parks considered installing such
containers, they are extremely convenient.</span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
weather was very good—it rained once or twice, but otherwise it was not very
hot and we enjoyed paddling or just sitting on the campsite, reading books and
watching the scenery around us.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50286908468_5abc3a8071_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50286908468_5abc3a8071_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 'resident snake'<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once
we saw a turtle laying eggs in the parking lot near the ramp. The park staff
placed pylons and posted notices so that tourists would not drive over those
locations. For some reasons turtles love that spot!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583141_fec94a1109_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="698" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583141_fec94a1109_c.jpg" width="698" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turtles laying eggs at the parking lot, near the boat ramp<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fishing
on Blackstone Harbour was very poor. For several days I watched a bass just off
our campsite and it took me a lot of time and effort to finally catch it—it was
delicious! Our second—and the only other fish we caught—was a small pike. I
often observed fishermen in motorboats casting near our campsite, but never saw
them catch anything. We spent several hours on Woods Bay, but did not have any
luck either. At least we did not have to worry about breaking any fishing
regulations and exceeding the catch/possession limit…</span><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583096_254bc41be7_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583096_254bc41be7_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Heron<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">During
my previous visits to this park, in 2016, we had seen several black bears at
our campsites. This time the only black bear we spotted was crossing Healy
Road—it was quite small, timid and quickly disappeared in the forest—it moved
so clumsily and awkwardly that we burst out laughing! But we were lucky to see
plenty of other animals on or around our campsite. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583001_4defdf82a4_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583001_4defdf82a4_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water snake<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Water snakes of various
sizes were plentiful, either swimming in the water (one even approached me
while I was bathing) or sunning on the rocks. There were two garter snakes on
our campsite—one apparently lived in a tree hollow next to the food storage
bin. Chipmunks and squirrels were sporadic and always avoided us. My outdoor
hunting camera, which I set up near the beaver lodge, recorded a raccoon, but I
do not think it ever visited our campsite, we would have certainly noticed such
activity. Every evening we saw a beaver or two, swimming nearby—as well as an
otter or muskrat. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287735372_23d88c65f1_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287735372_23d88c65f1_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very noisy tree frog!!!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grey tree frogs commenced their concerto each evening—the
sound they generated was earsplitting! It took me a while before I finally
spotted one—it was sitting just a meter from our campfire (on the ground) and I
gently relocated it farther from the campsite—yet each night I found it at the
same location! I saw a lizard, most likely the five-lined skink. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287735392_7590783800_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287735392_7590783800_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Five-lined skink</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Several
snapping turtles were swimming just near the shore. Every evening we were <span>serenaded</span><span> by loons—one apparently had his habitat next to our campsite and we
saw it all the time. Another distinctive sound came from barred owls. Sometimes
they were just meters from us, up in the trees—but it was impossible to see
them and hear them as they relocated—yes, they can fly noiselessly! Crows would
often wake us up, much too early to our liking, though! Twice was saw
hummingbirds, but since there were not any flowers, they quickly flew off. The
first few day seagulls paid us friendly visits, hoping for a snack, but once
they realized that they were not going to get any, they ignored our campsite.
Once I was standing next to the tree on the campsite when I heard tapping. I
thought my friend was making this sound, yet he was not around. Just seconds
later I heard the same sound again—and at the same time pieces of bark and wood
chips were falling off the tree all over me. I looked up—and just a meter or so
from me was a beautiful pileated woodpecker, aggressively pecking at the tree!
I saw it again a few days later, pecking at the same tree. We also saw its
smaller cousin, perhaps a red headed woodpecker. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But the most majestic sight was
watching blue herons take off and fly gracefully just above the water surface
and land on the shore. Twice a family of geese, including several goslings,
came over to our campsite, walked around the tents and proceeded to the
water—as well as a flock of ducks & ducklings often swam in front of the
campsite. And one day, as I was reading a book, I suddenly realized that a
magnificent deer was just standing meters away and intensely staring at me—and
then gracefully ran into the forest! I should also mention insects. At night
there were swarms of mayflies which were probably reaching the end of their
short lifespan—the area around the campfire was covered with them and resembled
a living carpet. Dragonflies were plentiful and often hoovered all over us,
hunting for mosquitos. We saw several dragonfly nymphs, they were sluggishly
moving on the rocks or trees—and in the morning there were only empty shells
(called an exuvia), from which the adult dragonfly must have just emerged.
Nightly several cockchafers (May bugs) flew around us, attracted by our
headlights. And there were plenty of ants everywhere—some were quite big,
others smaller and living on the tree—as well as many ant queens.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583101_cffa3ebf07_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583101_cffa3ebf07_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I loved the view from our campsite!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Several
times we canoed to Pete’s Place and then drove to Parry Sound or MacTier to
replenish our provisions. Traditionally, in Parry Sound we went to No Frills (a
big grocery supermarket), purchased some food items, then drove to the docks
and had lunch under the Trestle. After lunch we visited Bearly Used Books (a
second-hand bookstore). For the first time I had an opportunity to see the
store’s new location. It was on the main street in the same building that
members of the federal and provincial parliament had their constituency
offices. The place was huge, but in no time I found my way among the thousands
upon thousands of books and soon felt like at home—or rather, like at the old
location! As always, the staff was very nice and knowledgeable, quickly
pointing me to the right area. Unfortunately, this time I was unable to spend
too much time in the store, but still managed to buy three very interesting
books.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583261_e982f7d709_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287583261_e982f7d709_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photograph from 2016 and the present view. I always enjoyed sitting near this very characteristic tree!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
across the street was the Jessica Vergeer Studio. About a year ago I had seen
some of Jessica Vergeer works online and I was finally able to visit her store.
Indeed, the paintings are awesome and I can appreciate them even more because I
have canoed & camped on Georgian Bay for years and have personally seen—or
rather experienced—the one-of-a-kind scenery depicted in them. She is a very
gifted artist! I bought several postcards of original paintings by Jessica
Vergeer as well as vintage-style posters of Parry Sound, Wreck Island, Killbear
Provincial Park and the Lighthouses at Snug Harbour and Red Rock. Since I had
visited most of these places by canoe and/or camped there, the pictures brought
back plenty of wonderful memories</span>!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287735617_5a68eeb80d_z.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50287735617_5a68eeb80d_z.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And one last photo before the end of our trip</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hopefully
next time I will camp on in a more remote location of the park, but camping on
Blackstone Harbour can be very enjoyable, too!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">More photos from this trip/: </span></b><span lang="PL"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715782478102">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715782478102</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="PL" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: PL;">Blog in Polish/blog w języku
polskim: </span></b><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/massasauga-provincial-park.html"><span lang="PL">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/massasauga-provincial-park.html</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-27055094369934697802020-08-21T15:37:00.019-07:002021-12-22T18:05:41.984-08:00MICHIGAN, INDIANA AND ILLINOIS, USA: CAMPING & BIKING IN INDIANA DUNES NATIONAL PARK, WARREN DUNES STATE PARK AND VISITING CHICAGO, MAY/JUNE, 2019<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="PL" style="text-align: left;"><b>Blog in Polish/w
języku polskim:</b> </span><span lang="PL" style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/michigan-indiana-and-illinois-usa.html" style="text-align: left;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/michigan-indiana-and-illinois-usa.html</a></span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>More photos from this trip:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715578116311">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715578116311</a> and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579544908">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579544908</a>
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443933_97f6f02397_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="469" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443933_97f6f02397_c.jpg" width="625" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indiana Dunes National Park-our campsite 45D<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Traditionally,
the month of May in Ontario signifies the beginning of the camping season and
many parks open on Victoria Day. In the recent years had I spent a week camping
in Long Point Provincial Park, on Lake Erie—there had been no bugs and even
though it had snowed on one occasion and the temperature at night had been
several degrees below the freezing point, we had still enjoyed our stays: we had
cuddled in front of campfires and then jumped into the tents, bundling up in 4 sleeping
bags, which had kept us very warm.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252426458_78f3eccf7d_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="491" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252426458_78f3eccf7d_h.jpg" width="654" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warren Dunes State Park-our "Oak Cabin"<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Although
I had reserved a campsite in Long Point Provincial Park for May, Catherine, who
lived in Minnesota, was unwilling to drive to meet me at the park—and I would
be unwilling to drive to her place either (about 1,600 km one way). Thus, we
decided to compromise and meet halfway—literally! Namely, there was Indiana
Dunes National Park located just at the south shores of Lake Michigan. This
newest National Park, created in 2019, was located exactly halfway between our
cities, so each of us could get there by car in one day. Even though I am not
keen on driving—especially alone, on highways/freeways, as I find it extremely
boring—I was looking forward to going to that park and relaxing for a week and
did not really mind spending about 10 hours behind the wheel.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253049541_3b21ba9c34_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253049541_3b21ba9c34_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some campsites in Warren Dunes State Park turned into pools of water after rain. We were so glad that we decided to stay in the cabin!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I
left Mississauga in the morning of May 28, 2019 and headed towards Sarnia,
Ontario. The traffic was very light even as I was approaching the border, but
then it slowed down as there were plenty of cars and trucks trying to get to
the USA, I spent at least 40 minutes just on the bridge. The US Customs officer
asked me a couple of questions regarding the purpose of my visit to the U.S.,
about my occupation and the content of the cooler (which contained only plastic
bottles with frozen water). Probably disappointed that he did not find anything
suspicious, he let me into the United States of America. I stopped at the
Visitor Centre just a few kilometers from Sarnia, picked up a few brochures and
got back on highway 69. After several hours I turned into highway 94, stopping
only once in Michigan in a city called “Paw Paw”</span>, named
for the pawpaw trees which once grew along the Paw Paw River. I went to McDonald’s for a quick bit, bought gas and my next stop was Warren Dunes Park
in Michigan.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105426_7c32963a4b_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105426_7c32963a4b_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Biking around Beverly Shores</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Several
days ago, as we were planning our trip, we made some changes in our initial
itinerary. Because the forecast had called for two days of rain, we had decided
to seek roofed accommodation for the couple of days. Fortunately, Warren Dunes
State Park had three cabins—and we booked one, called “Oaks”, number 51—it cost
$104 for 2 nights plus the reservation fee of $8.00. When I arrived at the park,
nobody was at the office and the park phone did not work, but the lady at the
park store told me that the warden had just been there—and indeed, I saw him
driving by. I bought the park sticker (“Recreation Passport” for non-residents,
$33 for the whole year) and was given the key code for entry to the cabin.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I
got a phone call from Catherine, who was still in the Chicago area, stuck in
traffic (I was lucky that I did not have to drive through any major city) and
she arrived quite late, at about 8:00 pm, very tired and sleepy.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252444043_c3bc47fdd2_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252444043_c3bc47fdd2_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicago, Illinois, as seen from Indiana Dunes National Park<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The
cabin was simple, yet nice—it had bunk-beds for up to 6 people, a heater and a
bench. Outside was a fire pit and a porch. Yet the most important and welcoming
pa</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">rt of the cabin was certainly the roof—at night we heard thunders and saw
plenty of lighting, it was pouring cats and dogs! When we got up in the morning
we were shocked to see that many campsites (including several adjacent to the
cabin) were completely flooded—and I mean totally—it would be impossible to
find any dry space! Even for RVs staying on such campsites it would be a
problem, but I just can’t imagine campers with tents, they would be literally
drowning in all the water and would have to relocate in the middle of the night
to other campsites! I think the park should do something about this by filling
the hollow campsites with sand—and in the meantime close some campsites off, at
least for tenting. It rained again the second night, so we were once again
congratulating ourselves on booking the cabin.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There
were not many people in the park, so we could enjoy solitude. There was an
alcohol ban in effect at the Park from March 1 to September 30—it was a little
inconvenient, but perhaps it makes it more family-oriented. The park store sold
wood for $6 per bundle. On several occasions we saw deer and raccoons wandering
in the park.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253049506_4153f6b563_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="800" height="619" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253049506_4153f6b563_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warren Dunes State Park<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">T<span style="font-size: medium;">he
next day we went for a stroll along the dunes and met a very interesting
gentleman with whom I engaged in an interesting conversation for the next 20
minutes—it seemed that our views were similar on many subjects.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253284197_f0c44b331f_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="573" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253284197_f0c44b331f_c.jpg" width="573" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course, Catherine had to visit a Goodwill store in Benton Harbor and, among other bargains, she got this horse for her granddaughter, over which she had to fight with another customer!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">We
also decided to go to the nearby town, Benton Harbor, to do some shopping. The
Orchards Mall, adjacent to highway 94, had plenty of stores and we went to
Walmart, Aldi and Goodwill. Instead of taking the highway back to the park, we
drove around this town, crossed the St. Joseph River and entered St. Joseph.
Well, we immediately noticed that there was a big difference between those two
adjacent cities, separated only by a river. Once I had access to the Internet,
I did </span><span style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">some more research and this is what I found (</span><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://datausa.io/">https://datausa.io</a></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">)</span><span style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: 36pt;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">Benton St. Joseph<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: 36pt;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">Harbor<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Population 9,944 8,301<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Median
household <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">income $20,157 $55,975<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Poverty
rate 48% 10.2%<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Median
property<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">value $56,200 $166,300<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>The
racial makeup </b> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Black
or African<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">American 84.8% 4.55%<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">White 8.55% 87.4%<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hispanic
or Latino 4.15% 2.8%<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Asian 0.8% 3.59%<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">According
to <span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="http://www.bestplaces.net/">www.bestplaces.net</a></span>,
the crime comparison between the two cities is as follows [crime is ranked on a
scale of 1 (low crime) to 100 (high crime)]:</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: 36pt;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span><span> </span>Benton St. Joseph USA<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <b>Harbor<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Violent
Crime 95.2 15 22.7<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Property
Crime 68.7 31.2 35.4</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Last,
but not least, I found a news item on News Talk 94.9 WSJM (</span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="http://www.wsjm.com/">www.wsjm.com</a></span>) dated
October 4, 2018 titled “FBI: Benton Harbor Is State’s Most Violent City Per
Capita. It says, “Benton Harbor is ranked as the state’s most violent city for
2017… The violent crime rate in Benton Harbor is 22 crimes per 1,000 residents,
ahead of Detroit’s rate of 20. The city ha</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">d three murders, 23 rapes, 36
robberies and 156 cases of aggravated assault last year, with a population of
9,899 people.”</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In
any case, we did not experience any problems in either city and safely drove
back to our campsite in the park!</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Two
days later we packed up and drove to Indiana Dunes National Park. This time we
forwent the highway and drove on other roads, passing through a number of small
towns.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252444103_f631339639_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252444103_f631339639_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We wanted to bike on the Calumet Trail, but after the recent rains it was unusable</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When
we arrived at the Park, we spoke to the host—a very nice gentleman from Texas,
who was staying in the park in his camper and also volunteering in the office.
We chatted with him for a while and then drove on the park’s roads, checking
out campsites—we picked number 45D, in the Douglas Loop, which was nice and
close to the bathrooms. There were not too many people in the park, but more
and more arrived over the weekend.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Indiana
Dunes National Park not long ago had been known as the Indiana Dunes National
Lakeshore, until it was designated the newest (61<sup>st</sup>) national park
in the United States on February 15, 2019. The park runs for nearly 40 km along
the southern shore of Lake Michigan; it contains approximately 15,000 acres.
Located in the park are sand dune, wetland, prairie, river, and forest
ecosystems.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443798_b3f3b196e9_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="361" data-original-width="800" height="289" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443798_b3f3b196e9_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beverly Shores-"Florida Tropical" (Century of Progress)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
spent some time in the impressive Visitor Center (located several kilometers
from the campground) where we could learn about the park’s history and pick up
plenty of very interesting and informative brochures and maps. Since there was
a bike trail nearby (Calumet Trail), both of us had brought our bikes.
Unfortunately, we were told that because of the very wet spring, the trail was
almost unusable. Indeed, there were huge puddles and pools of water on the
trail and only hard-core mountain bikers would probably be still willing to
ride on it and test their skills.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105216_9dcde5e327_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="800" height="392" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105216_9dcde5e327_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A
few hundred meters from our campsite, almost in the park, was St. Ann of the
Dunes Roman Catholic Church. It was built in 1954 and since then has undergone
major renovations. On Saturday we went to the evening mass—I was glad that in
spite of the short distance we drove, as it was raining when we emerged from
the church after mass.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Over
the next few days we spent several hours biking. First of all, we rode to a very
nice town of Beverly Shores. Again, some statistics: It had a population of
just over 613 and the racial makeup of the town was 96.6 white, median
household income of $89,375, poverty rate of 3.75% and median property value of
$456,900; its violent crime was 11.8 and property crime 24.3 [crime is ranked
on a scale of 1 (low crime) to 100 (high crime)]. It started as a planned
resort community.</span> <span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Robert Bartlett purchased hundreds of previously plotted
home sites in 1933. He named the entire development after his daughter Beverly.
Later he purchased and relocated sixteen structures from Chicago's 1933-34
Century of Progress World's Fair, four of which were transported by barges on
Lake Michigan. A resurgence of development took place during the 1990s and
2000s, when many million-dollar-plus houses were built on the dunes near the
lakefront. Since it is easily accessible from Chicago, Beverly Shores s a
second home to many Chicagoans.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253284132_5112a4a442_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253284132_5112a4a442_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swamps and wetlands near Beverly Shores<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We
loved biking to this town and then riding on its streets! Of course, we went to
the Century of Progress Architectural District to see five buildings from the
Homes of Tomorrow Exhibition, part of the 1933-34 Chicago Century of Progress
Expositions. The homes were very innovative; modern technology, new materials
and building methods were used in their construction.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The
town is located on the shores of Lake Michigan and is almost surrounded by
wetlands and marshes and we loved riding on Beverly Drive, especially on its
part west of South Broadway. Some of the side roads led to… nowhere and
eventually Beverly Drive was closed off to traffic—but not to bikes! So we rode
on the still asphalted road, albeit sometimes flooded and overgrown, among
swamps, ponds and forests. We took another disused road and finally ended up at
the crossing of the Calumet Trail and E State Park Boundary Road. Later we were
told that some of the properties had been demolished so that nature could again
take over and thrive—thus the semi-abandoned roads and streets leading to
nowhere! On a satellite map, it is still possible to see outlines of old roads
and properties, but they have been successfully absorbed by wilderness.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105556_c23a6e269e_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="800" height="492" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105556_c23a6e269e_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beverly Shores Train Station, several hundreds meters from our campsite<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">We
also drove to the town of Chesterton, parked the van and biked on the</span> <span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Prairie
Duneland Trail. The trail followed a straight branch of the former Elgin,
Joliet and Eastern Railway. It was an easy, paved trail. We stopped at Tate’s
Place, a small restaurant with outdoor patio and had a couple of drinks. The
trail ended at County Trail Road in Hobart, or rather became a new trail, the
Oak Savannah Trail, on which we rode for a while and then turned back.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253283982_e9ab686ff1_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="592" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253283982_e9ab686ff1_c.jpg" width="593" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Train station in Beverly Shores was operating on a self-serve basis--100%!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One
evening, when it was raining and we could not have a campfire, we drove to
Michigan City, which was just a few kilometers from the park. I knew that many
residents were of Polish origin, so no surprisingly, there was a Polish
restaurant, called “Polish Peasant” (“Polski Chłop”), where we had our supper. It
was a small and cozy place. We got some traditional Polish food which was very
good, but the soup of the day (plum soup) I had was disappointing (I do not
thing it was really THAT popular in Poland) and was hoping to have a more
genuine Polish soup, like white borscht (“bialy barszcz” a.k.a. “żurek”), chicken
noodle soup (“rosoł”), tripe (“flaki”), red beetroot soup (“barszcz czerwony”)
or mushroom soup (“zupa grzybowa”). Perhaps the owner or his descendants come
from a region of Poland where that particular soup was popular.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253284107_29a2aa99a1_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253284107_29a2aa99a1_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restaurant "The Polish Peasant" (Polski Chłop) in Michigan City</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just
past the church there was a Beverly Shore train station, served by South Shore
Line trains. It was built in 1925 in the “Insull Spanish” architecture style
used for stations along the electric railroad lines. There is a large neon sign
“Beverly Shores”. South Shore Line operates about 20 passenger trains daily,
most running from Chicago’s Millennium Station to Michigan City or South Bend
Airport. Because Catherine had never visited Chicago—and my visit had never
included Chicago’s downtown—we decided to take advantage of this opportunity
and go to Chicago for one day.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443768_0536c5aee2_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="799" height="318" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443768_0536c5aee2_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South Shore Line was the most convenient and inexpensive way to get to Chicago from Indiana Dunes National Park!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The
one-way fare from Beverly Shores to Millennium Station was $10 (half for
seniors) and it could be purchased at the station, from a vending machine (what
we did), or on the train. Since trains only stop at this particular station if
passengers request so, we had to push a button to activate strobe light.
Similarly, we had to notify the conductor to disembark the train on our way
back. While waiting for the train, we talked to a woman who had come biking
with a group, but decided to return home, along with her bike, by train—there
was a special car designed to transport bikes. The train arrived on
time—unfortunately, the conductor informed her that she was not allowed to
bring the bike at this station (it was possible do to so at the next station)
due to the station’s platform design and safety regulations. Since it was
Sunday, the next train was scheduled in 2 hours or so—well, at least she had
plenty of time to get to the next station… There were not too many passengers
on the train and we got window seats. Soon the conductor showed up to check our
tickets. When I looked at his badge, I immediately noticed his surname.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443683_0a8c83804f_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252443683_0a8c83804f_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was also possible to get the bike on the train<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">“A very original name, Przybyłowski”,
I said, surprising him with the correct pronunciation of his last name, which I
bet not to many people could do! There was a special rack-equipped car, in
addition to regular seating, so that passengers could ride in this car near
their precious bikes and keep an eye on them at all times. I think that the
special car could accommodate up to 14 bikes. My friend got quite interested in
this bike-friendly train concept and kept asking the conductor questions. “But
what if there are more than 14 people with bikes on the train, how do you keep
track of that?” she asked. A little exasperated, he looked at her and said,
“Madam, I think I know how to count to 14!” The whole trip took about 90
minutes.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105441_cec284f50a_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253105441_cec284f50a_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gary, Indiana--the impressive City Hall, as seen from the train. It used to be a thriving city, in many ways competing with Chicago. Alas, not anymore...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">The
train stopped at many stations—one of then was in Gary, Indiana. From the
train’s windows I could see the imposing buildings of Gary’s City Hall and the Courthouse.
Currently the population of Gary is 80.2% Black or African American, 11.8%
White, and 5.84% Hispanic or Latino. In the 1930s it was the reverse, it was
about 80% White. At one point Gary was the second biggest city in Indiana and
its entertainment establishments and restaurants competed with those in
Chicago. Since the late 1960s Gary has suffered a significant population loss,
unemployment, decaying infrastructure and plenty of crime problems. It has had
one of the highest crime rates in the USA and one-third of all houses in the
city are unoccupied or abandoned. I had watched a couple of documentaries on
Gary—at one point there were over 460 businesses on the main street (shops,
restaurants); nowadays it was doubtful if there were 40 and most closed before
dark. Michael Jackson was born in Gary and the house is still there, so some of
his fans still go there to take a look.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252469873_f3eedd7cff_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252469873_f3eedd7cff_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicago!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We
got off at Millennium Station, in the heart of Chicago. After wandering for a
while along Michigan Avenue, we got on the hop-on-hop-off bus (about $40 per
person) and spent the next 5 hours riding it. It took us to various landmarks,
offering 13 stops. We disembarked a few times and overall did two full loops,
taking three different buses with different guides—each guide added something
new and unique to the tour. I do not want to go into details, but all I want to
say is that Chicago is a beautiful city, with amazing architecture and it
requires several days to see just the most prominent landmark. Of course,
Chicago’s downtown is very different from its suburbs—some (like the infamous
‘South Side’) are rather off-limits even during the day and do not resemble
anything we saw downtown. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253130766_2de502aeda_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253130766_2de502aeda_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cloud Gate<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the end of the tour we went to Millennium Park to
see the Cloud Gate—a sculpture by Indian-born British artist Sir Anish Kapoor. Its
stainless-steel surface reflects the activity and lights of the park and
surrounding city skyline, inviting visitors to touch and interact with its
mirror-like surface and see their image reflected from a variety of
perspectives. It is really amazing and Catherine and I took a lot of photos of
our reflections! It was getting dark and slowly we headed to the nearby train
station, where our train had already been waiting for us and in less than 2
hour we arrived at Beverly Shores Train Station and drive to our campsite. It
was an amazing day trip! If we again go to Indiana Dunes National Park—and yes,
we are planning to do so in May, 2020—we should once more go to Chicago and see
other landmarks or take a different tour.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253309357_b13db5b38b_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253309357_b13db5b38b_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catherine and I, reflected in the Cloud Gate</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We
parted on June 4, 2019 and I drove straight to Canada, stopping just twice to
have a snack and buy gas. Going back to Canada through the border was
problem-free—after all, I only brought one bottle of vodka, just slightly over
the limit.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was a very nice trip, I really needed to take some time (and mind) off my work.
We are already planning to meet at the same park next May—hopefully the weather
will be much better, as this spring (and summer) was very wet and rainy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="PL" style="text-align: left;"><b>Blog in Polish/w języku polskim:</b> </span><span lang="PL" style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/michigan-indiana-and-illinois-usa.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/michigan-indiana-and-illinois-usa.html</a></span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>More photos from this trip:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715578116311">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715578116311</a> and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579544908">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579544908</a></p><p></p>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-25784424222055862122020-08-21T15:36:00.039-07:002021-12-22T18:24:32.018-08:00VARADERO, CUBA: TWO WEEKS IN THE HOTEL ROC BARLOVENTO, TRIPS TO SANTA MARTA AND MATANZAS, NOVEMBER, 2018<p><b><span lang="PL">Blog in Polish/w języku polskim: </span></b><span lang="PL"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/varadero-kuba-dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-roc.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/varadero-kuba-dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-roc.html</a></span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>More photos from this
trip: </b><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579022731">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579022731</a>
<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253399511_ca73d3ce06_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="799" height="570" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253399511_ca73d3ce06_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">I had never been too thrilled to go to Varadero, expecting to see almost 100 various hotels & resorts, sandy beaches—and nothing else. Fortunately, I was wrong! Granted, it is true that many hotels, located in the eastern part of Hicacos Peninsula (</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">more-less east of Calle 64) might be much more luxurious, bigger and offer a much higher standard, yet they are ‘in the middle of nowhere’ and unless you take a taxi or a bus, there is not much else to see or explore. Yet </span><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">the western part of Varadero resembles a small town. And our hotel, the Roc Barlovento, was </span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">located very close to the bridge over the Kawama navigation channel, at the very beginning of the Hicacos Peninsula. Thus, this turned out to be an EXCELLENT location, enabling us to make a number of strolls directly from the hotel. We often walked on Varadero’s main street (Avenida 1ra) for several kilometers and explored various restaurants, shops, parks, hotels, private homes and other landmarks—there was even a Canadian Consulate a stone’s throw from our hotel! We also walked along the channel in the evening, where plenty of Cubans were fishing, and saw Al Capone’s mansion, the Casa de Al (although it is almost certain that Al Capone had never been there). Yet the best walking excursions were to the town of Santa Marta, located just past the bridge.</span><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252714048_ad9609a8b4_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="437" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252714048_ad9609a8b4_h.jpg" width="655" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cubans fishing near the bridge connecting Varadero to the rest of Cuba<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: justify;">It was our 14<sup>th</sup> trip to Cuba in 10 years (November 4-18, 2018). We picked the Hotel Roc Barlovento mainly because of numerous glowing reviews posted on TripAdvisor—and certainly we were not disappointed.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: justify;"> Well, the manager was a German man—maybe that was one of the reasons it was quite well-run (although I know it would take much more than just one German manager to put things right in Cuba…).</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554482_fdd9336e35_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554482_fdd9336e35_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had our meals outdoor in the building on the left-and every morning participated in exercises in the building to the right</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">The hotel is well designed in a Spanish style and quite cozy, no much walking is required to get around. Plenty of nice palm trees & gardens. And it is for adults only—no disruptive and screaming kids!</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253375621_1d54e6151c_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="732" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253375621_1d54e6151c_c.jpg" width="586" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning yoga with Zahilys<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Approximately 60% of tourists were Canadians (English & French speaking), 30% Germans and some from Spain, Italy and other countries.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There were 3 pools; the very shallow one had no water. There was a Jacuzzi in the center of the pool closer to the beach, but it was not hot.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554402_9366914251_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554402_9366914251_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to the Hotel Roc Barlovento<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is a </span><i style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tienda</i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> (shop), with various beverages, rums, vodkas, souvenirs, shampoos, shirts, hats, toiletries, etc. Another stand near the lobby sells books, postcards and stamps—the mail box is at the lobby. On a couple of occasions I saw an artist painting and selling his works.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The exchange rate at the hotel was very poor—just 68 CUC for $100 CAN, whereas the bank offered about 73.50 CUC. Not fair!</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252714068_15b32ed706_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252714068_15b32ed706_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Beach at the Roc Barlovento Hotel<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">A number of very friendly (and chubby) cats roamed the property, especially the outdoor dining area during meal service—and they even had their own ‘cat café’. Unsurprisingly, they were picky eaters!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At 10 am there was half hour yoga/stretching on the stage of the entertainment area, conducted by Zahilys, a very friendly & outgoing woman, who worked at animation and conducted other activities as well. Bring our own towel! Yet there were not too many guests interested in doing the exercises, and quite often we were the only participants.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253375941_29476b0d2a_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="799" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253375941_29476b0d2a_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roc Barlovento-our room number 333</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There was a gym, but we never used it, preferring our morning workouts and swimming in the ocean.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Towels can be obtained from ‘the clubhouse’ near the main square. The club house also has a small library of books in English, French and German. We donated 4 of our books.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252713568_c911d64078_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="799" height="367" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252713568_c911d64078_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We ALWAYS had our breakfast, lunch and dinner outdoors, never inside--that was one of the most important advantages of this hotel. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Every evening there is entertainment, but the only one we attended was the aquatic show (Thursdays) and it was impressive! The Elvis Show sounded great from our room on Saturdays.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Scuba diving excursions/lessons are available, there is an information stand set up every day in the main square.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252751898_f2ce2762cc_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="800" height="450" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252751898_f2ce2762cc_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catherine enjoying her very healthy breakfast-of course, oudoors!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Various tours are offered in the lobby area. At the end of our stay there was information about a very cheap bus to Havana—I think it was 40 CUC both ways, or 25 CUC one way per person.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We had sent an email to the hotel two weeks before arrival, asking for a quiet room on the top floor and indeed, our request was granted—we got room number 333. From our window we could see part of the tennis court—otherwise there was plenty of foliage that made the view quite pleasant. We could hear the traffic from the main street and occasionally caught a whiff of oil/petrol—about 1 km from our hotel, in Santa Marta, we saw two oil derricks.</span><span color="windowtext"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554287_e96be997f0_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="799" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554287_e96be997f0_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our room #333<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The balcony was very small, but it was possible to sit there and enjoy the sun. There was a small bathtub—later the maid brought a plug. The room was quite contemporary, with 2 double beds, HD TV with about 25 channels. There was the CNN channel (devoting 95%+ of its air time to Trump—boring—another 4% to US affairs and only 1% to international news—worse than TV programs in the Soviet Union!) and a Canadian channel (CTV) in English, albeit from Montreal. We had to pay for the safe (2 CUC per day, 28 CUC for 2 weeks). We always had hot and cold water, the air conditioner worked perfectly and it was easy to remotely change the air flow or temperature. The small fridge was really cold and the hair dryer worked. We had some minor problems on 3 occasions (with the safe and falling curtains rod)—within 10 minutes of reporting them a technician came and fixed them. On a few occasions our magnetic cards stopped working and we had to go to the lobby to have them re-programmed. The maid, Norian, was great, always keeping our room spotlessly clean and creative.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554772_f6b08a2994_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="800" height="294" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554772_f6b08a2994_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Casa de Al-supposedly, Al Capone used to live here, but according to my research, it is very doubtful that he even visited Varadero<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The beach was large, with white sand. Lots of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">palapas</i> and chairs, so there was no need to ‘reserve’ them in the morning, some were always available. We could also observe nice sunsets. The water was quite shallow for about 30 meters. At the end of our stay it became windy, the waves got quite big and there was a yellow-and then red flag (no swimming). Once an unexpectedly big wave swept the first row of palapas, catching many relaxing vacationers (and their belongings) by surprise. I saw some people snorkel, but there was nothing to see—just some small fish. Kayaks, pedal watercraft and sail boats were available for hotel guests. Beach assistants was great, he quickly brought us loungers.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253375581_f3e91fdf25_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253375581_f3e91fdf25_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 'famous' Polish Fiat 126p is still relatively popular in Cuba. Apparently, it's not a very good car...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Another reason that we picked the hotel was the outdoor dining, which surprisingly was hardly used. Not even once did we dine inside! The food was slightly repetitive, but varied and good—often even delicious. For breakfast I always had eggs & bacon—the egg station cooks were very efficient and quick—as well as plenty of fruits, juice and yogurt. Usually we skipped lunch, but when we had it (twice), it was excellent—in addition to the regular fare inside the restaurant, there was a big grill outside, serving delicious steaks, hamburgers, hot dogs and other grilled food. At dinner I always went to the cooking station offering sumptuous grilled pork and beef as well as several kinds of fish, shrimps, calamari, squids and mussels. Another cooking station served spaghetti and pizza. There were also scrumptious stews, chicken, prosciutto, cheese and salads. I did not see any tomatoes, however, which I like very much. I never had to line up for more than a few minutes at the cooking stations and the food was plentiful. Our servers were Leonardo & Janet (breakfast) and Raul (dinner). They always brought us plenty of coffee, juice, wine or beer to our outdoors dining table. There was a snack bar near the beach, serving basic food—hamburgers (very good), hot dogs, ham & cheese sandwiches, fruits and lettuce. Next to it was a bar serving cold beer and drinks and most of the time it was manned by the always smiling Pedro. There were also bathrooms in the back of the bar.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252742308_3af5261e4d_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="800" height="433" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252742308_3af5261e4d_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday Farmers' Market in Santa Marta. Pork costs 25 CUC per lb, or one US dollar<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The small Bar El Traguis near the wooden ramp to the beach was nice, but the seating area was limited and the beer cost 1 CUC. Mixed drinks were free.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253582842_cc0f070aaf_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253582842_cc0f070aaf_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday Farmers' Market in Santa Marta<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The lobby bar was OK, but there were frequently buses or taxis pulling up, so it was noisy and smelled of exhaust fumes. It was almost always crowded. In the evening there was often live music—I loved the violin & guitar players, they were fantastic (they played only on Mondays and Tuesdays, from 7 to 9 pm). The bar in the square (adjacent to the Mexican Restaurant) was great, lots of tables & chairs and never any lineups—we often spent some time there on our way from the beach. We never had an a ’la carte dinner. Once we wanted to go to the sushi bar, yet we were told that it did not server any sushi anyway and it opened at 11:00 pm.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253414346_f7732ffbed_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="799" height="591" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253414346_f7732ffbed_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catherine in a Cuban store with cigars and alcoholic beverages</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The gardeners often bring coconuts to a stand between the beach and lunch area and can cut them for you.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Out of the 15 days, 12 or 13 were quite sunny and it was hot (over +30 C). It rained a few times, but it was still very warm & humid and it was not a big deal. Since we often kept the room’s balcony door open, we did see several mosquitos in our room, but otherwise I did not encounter any insects anywhere else.</span><span color="windowtext"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253414486_1e99aac3bf_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="800" height="454" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253414486_1e99aac3bf_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous Beatles bar in Varadero<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We often walked from our hotel to the town of Santa Marta—it took us about 2 minutes to walk to the bridge, we crossed it, turned left and a few minutes later we were walking along the town’s streets. </span><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It is a very nice town, with plenty of restaurants, cafes and casas particulares. Most restaurant offer very varied menu at reasonable prices. Some parts of this town have impressive homes. Following a very valuable recommendation of TripAdvisor’s poster, SWNova, on Sunday morning we went to the Farmers’ Market—what a fascinating experience! There were plenty of fruits and vegetables sold by farmers, all prices were in CUPs (i.e., Moneda National, 25 CUP = 1 CUC = $1 US) and were very cheap. I bought beer served in small cups, for about 6 CUPs per cup, it was quite good and very different from that sold commercially. We also purchased some delicious food from a street vendor.</span><span color="windowtext"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253389896_5ffe5791d1_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253389896_5ffe5791d1_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very attractive Casa Particular in Santa Marta</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There were plenty of casas particulares and we visited one of them. The owner spoke English, he had even visited Canada (upon invitation of some tourists whom he had befriended) and told us a lot of interesting stories about this town. Certainly, it was quite well-off, as many of its residents had worked at hotels in Varadero.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252713868_8fc7f6b0a8_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="772" height="639" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252713868_8fc7f6b0a8_c.jpg" width="618" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cubans fishing under the bridge in Varadero</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also went to a private coffee shop a few times and had very good coffee and pastry. It was a new venture, all the equipment was brand new and ‘made in Italy’.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: medium; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the evening we often took a stroll along the canal—usually there were groups of Cubans fishing. We also walked on Avenida 1ra, even to the famous The Beatles Bar, visiting some restaurants, cafes and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tiendas</i> along the way. Once we went to the bank to exchange money, there were over 10 tourists inside and we had to wait for almost one hour—passport was also required to complete the transaction.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554672_d5cb972f07_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="799" height="470" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253554672_d5cb972f07_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The easternmost tip of Varadero-what a luxury!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We tried to walk as much as possible, but when we were tired, there were always plenty of taxis, coco taxis and horse-drawn carriages, offering rides. Beware: once a horse-drawn carriage driver quoted us the price of 5 CUC—but later said it was… per person!</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253331286_2e8dc6f30f_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="800" height="274" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253331286_2e8dc6f30f_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-revolutionary, antique cars are a common sight in Cuba</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Twice we took advantage of the hop-on-hop-off bus. It had its last stop just a minute away from the hotel (near the La Sangria Restaurant), it ran every 20 minutes (less frequently in the evening), cost 5 CUC per person and took us to the very end of the Hicacos Peninsula.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253348141_7a614163c1_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="799" height="509" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253348141_7a614163c1_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matanzas, Cuba--Libertad Square<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There were trips to Havana offered from the hotel, but since we had spent a week exploring this beautiful city 10 years ago, we decided to just visit the city of Matanzas, which is approximately between Havana and Varadero. We managed to find a nice taxi for 30 CUC and it dropped us off at Libertad Square. Catherine went to the Pharmaceutical Museum and I explored a government building (a City Hall?); initially the staff did not want to let me in, but I explained that all I wanted to do was take a look at the photographs on the walls. They depicted Fidel Castro’s visit to this town. There was a </span><i style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">de rigueur</i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> statue of Jose Marti in the center of the square. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252685768_e8fcac28aa_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="799" height="448" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252685768_e8fcac28aa_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matanzas-Teatro Velasco<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then we went to a restaurant at the Hotel El Velasco, adjacent to the Teatro Velasco and afterwards walked on Calle Milanes toward the sea. Plenty of people congregated near the Catedral de San Carlos Boromeo. Eventually we reached the Teatro Sauto, which was apparently being renovated. There were old streetcar tracks in front of the theatre. The theater opened in 1863 and it has been a symbol of the city. Such famous performers as French actress Sarah Bernhardt, Russian dancer Anna Pavlova, Italian opera singer Enrico Caruso, and Spanish guitarist Andrés Segovia.</span><span color="windowtext"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253545092_7a1ebe1cb7_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253545092_7a1ebe1cb7_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teatro Sauto</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was also the Museo de los Bomberos (Firefighters Museum) near the theatre, but we did not go there. We spent some time at the Cafe and Cremeria Atenas, vis-à-vis the theater and had a few drinks which were quite reasonably priced. By the way, it was very hot and humid and I had 9 cans of beer during the whole day! We sat outside and had a great view of the theatre and the city life. There were two bridges over the Rio San Juan nearby.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252703963_9ed2e85560_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="800" height="407" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252703963_9ed2e85560_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teatro Sauto, Palace of Justice and other historical buildings. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We walked around the theatre, hoping that perhaps we could peek inside (no luck, though) and proceeded on Calle 272, more-less along the coast. There were some railways tracks along the shore and in the middle of the streets—I was sure they had been abandoned long ago, they looked old and rather broken, yet we were told that trains still ran on them! If this is indeed so, it a miracle! Just past Calle 270 there was a Cuban eatery on a small ‘peninsula’, all prices were in CUPs. We ordered a box of fried shrimps—as far as I remember, 10 of them cost about 30 CUPs and they were delicious! I think we were in the Haitian part of Matanzas and on a couple of occasions saw Cubans with rather peculiar facial features—perhaps they were of Haitian origin.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252685598_9461f8e62b_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252685598_9461f8e62b_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matanzas. Probably this is the 'Haitian' part of the city<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the evening we walked along Calle 97, along the Rio San Juan and stopped at the Lolo Galeria-Taller. It was amazing! There were a myriad of works of art—sculptures, paintings, statures, ceramics—by various artists. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253560927_fae51273e9_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="800" height="429" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253560927_fae51273e9_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Galleria Taller</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some works were kind of scary, yet very creative. I liked many paintings and would not hesitate to hang them in my home or office. Unfortunately, the prices (at least the sticker prices) were quite high; I hope it would be possible to negotiate them with the artists.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253382986_65e70ee372_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="799" height="325" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253382986_65e70ee372_c.jpg" width="639" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Galleria Taller<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Eventually we ended up near the Cathedral again, there was some kind of celebrations and a group of people, dressed in fancy outfits, proceeded to the main square. We also visited a chess club, named after a famous Cuban chess prodigy, José Raúl Capablanca y Graupera (1888 – 1942), who was world chess champion from 1921 to 1927.</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252694863_fbe12ed645_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="800" height="390" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252694863_fbe12ed645_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">Chess club, named after a famous Cuban chess prodigy, José Raúl Capablanca y Graupera</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was getting late and we were trying to catch a taxi (or any other mode of transportation) to take us back to the hotel. While looking for one, a Cuban man started talking to us and sensing what we were trying to do, immediately offered his assistance to us, probably expecting some profit (not that we really wanted his services). We walked with him for a while and eventually saw a private taxi; after a brief discussion, we negotiated a price of 25 CUC (we could see that the driver was not very thrilled about it) and also gave a few CUCs to our intermediary. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253525737_1325e3c4f2_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253525737_1325e3c4f2_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matanzas' streets at night<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was a very old car, the only things that appeared to work was the engine and the head & tail lights. As we were sitting in total darkness, we could not even conduct a conversation because of the noise and the interior of the car reeked of gasoline fumes, which must have been seeping through numerous cracks. Before entering Varadero, there was a police checkpoint and the police stopped the car—the driver got out of the car and the policeman officially clicked his heels and saluted, probably accentuating that it was an official police business. They talked for a while and then the driver was let go. I asked him if the cop wanted a bribe, but he said he did not. In any case, we got back to the hotel and gave him 30 CUC. By the way, if we were staying in a hotel farther up the peninsula, I am sure the price would be significantly higher, as it would take extra time to get there—as I said before, our location had plenty of advantages!</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253526102_aaee2daa5b_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="653" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50253526102_aaee2daa5b_c.jpg" width="653" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old man at Libertad Square</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For many years I had been very reluctant to go to Varadero, thinking that I would be surrounded by only other resorts and hotels. It was not so—the location of the Roc Barlovento allowed us to explore many nearby areas and we never felt we were in a tourist enclave. We absolutely loved the hotel & its pleasant staff and had a wonderful time there. On the last day of our vacation, while on the bus to the airport, we spoke to many tourists about their vacation. Remarkably, we got an impression that we had a much better time at the Roc Barlovento than most of them in their often more superior hotels.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">P.S.--December 22, 2021</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">After the Varadero Trip, we went to Cuba again, our 15th time, to the Carisol los Corales Resort in January, 2020 (see my blog). The day we arrived back in Toronto, January 22, 2020, the first COVID-19-infected "patient zero" also arrived in Toronto from China... We were, however, optimistic and remained quite confident that we would visit the Roc Barlovento in November, 2020; of course, it was impossible. We could not go in November, 2021, either. Then we hoped to go to Cuba in January, 2022, but now we're glad we did not book the trip due to the Omicron variant wrecking havoc everywhere. Our next potential trip to Cuba-most likely to the Roc Barlovento--would be in November, 2022. But at this point, we don't want to make any plans, as the situation keeps changing so much so quickly.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252751998_9c9b09ebcd_c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="800" height="430" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50252751998_9c9b09ebcd_c.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bye, bye, Varadero-see you soon!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p><p><b><span lang="PL">Blog in Polish/w języku polskim: </span></b><span lang="PL"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/varadero-kuba-dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-roc.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2020/08/varadero-kuba-dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-roc.html</a></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>More photos from this trip: </b><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579022731">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157715579022731</a></p>Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-66103707916872594362019-10-20T18:38:00.019-07:002021-12-22T19:08:02.180-08:00FRENCH RIVER, ONTARIO—CANOEING, CAMPING AND ESCAPING A FOREST FIRE. GRUNDY LAKE PROVINCIAL PARK, ABANDONED BUILDINGS IN STILL RIVER. JULY, 2018<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b>Blog in the Polish language/w języku polskim</b>: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/french-river-rzeka-francuska-ontario.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/french-river-rzeka-francuska-ontario.html</a></div>
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<b><span lang="PL">More photos/więcej zdjęć</span></b><span lang="PL">: </span><span lang="PL"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711430091198">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711430091198</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I have always considered the
French River area to be one of the most beautiful places to go canoeing and
camping, so Chris and I were quite thrilled to it again. It was very hot and
sunny and we were aware of the fire ban—well, we had to forgo sitting around a
campfire in the evenings, but it was not the first (and last) time I had to
deal with fire bans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834423_c25fb081a6_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834423_c25fb081a6_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hartley Bay Marine, from where we commence most of our canoeing trip on the French River</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We left Hartley Bay around
4:00 pm and soon reached Wanapitei Bay and paddled towards its western shore.
The campsites along that shore appeared to be vacant, but we kept paddling
until we reached the ‘intersection’ of the Main & Western Channels. First,
we checked out campsite #617, where I had camped 9 years ago. It was nice,
offered a breathtaking view, but we could not find a good spot for the tents
(except on the small beach facing east—and I really like watching sunsets). Besides,
it was quite windy and we were incessantly attacked by horse flies. We saw
blueberries bushes with very few tiny, dry and bitter blueberries.</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933454661_55c281b97f_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933454661_55c281b97f_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our campsite #619. In the spring this whole area is under water</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We paddled to campsite #618
across the river, but it was occupied. So we continued paddling on the Western Channel
for several minutes until we arrived at campsite #619. The campsite was not
perfect, but since it was very humid, sunny and hot (over +30 C), Chris was
extremely reluctant to keep paddling any farther. The campsite faced west and
at least we could admire sunsets! It had nice rock formation and a fire pit
already full of wood. There was a spot for at least one tent near the fire pit,
but we decided to set up our tents on the small ‘beach’, farther down from the
fire pit. By the way, we could see that probably during the spring thaw the
width of the river increased by up to 10 meters—there were sandy deposits even
in the forest. Well, we hoped that during our trip the river was not going to
suddenly become as big as to flood our campsite—unless there was a huge
rainfall or the dam near Lake Nipissing burst!</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834748_adc347e8a0_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834748_adc347e8a0_h.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">View from our campsite-sunset</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Although we were not aware of
any issues with pesky bears this summer, we still decided to hang our food. The
problem was finding the right tree in the forest, not an easy task considering
swarms of voracious horse/deer flies and mosquitos. Supposedly the food should
be hanging over 30 meters from the tents; in our case, after almost one hour,
we managed to hang the barrel with the food and the cooler about… 3 meters from
the tents. I guess it’s still better than NOT hanging it at all… By the way, I
again appreciated the bear-proof bins installed on some campsites in the
Massasauga Provincial Park—I wish all parks had such bins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834698_d780aa819a_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="358" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834698_d780aa819a_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Part of our campsite and a fire pit-unfortunately, we were unable to use it</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The campsite had several rock
formations, which were perfect for sitting or relaxing. However, it was quite
exposed and it was difficult to find shade—we had to keep relocating our chairs
all the time. Another issue was boat traffic—not far from us was Atwood Lodge
(on Atwood Island) as well as other cottages, so plenty of motorboats
(including, on a couple of occasions, a barge carrying construction equipment
and building materials) were passing by all day. From time to time we saw
canoes and kayaks too. At night we could sometimes hear trains’ whistles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834283_a1795d0f0a_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834283_a1795d0f0a_h.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The pike made a tasty supper</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was our intention to do as
much fishing as possible, but the hot, sunny & humid weather prevented us
from paddling during the day, it would have been too arduous. So we ended up
spending most of the time sitting at the campsite, relaxing, talking and
reading books. Fishing from the campsite during the day did not bring any
results. A couple of times we took the canoe for an evening paddle around
Atwood Island and nearby bays. In no time we caught several pikes—some of them
we had to release due to the size limits (we were not permitted to keep those
between 53 and 86 cm in size).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933376461_9774179af8_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933376461_9774179af8_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fish is being cooked... and the white dots are mosquitos, swarms of them, it was just unbelievable!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, when we
brought the fish to our campsite to clean & fry, we encountered another
problem: MOSQUITOES! They became very active after 8:00 pm and while Chris was
cleaning the fish, I had to wave a towel to chase them off, but due to their
huge numbers, it didn’t do much good. But the worst was yet to come: when I was
frying the fish (on my propane stove, of course), a huge, dense CLOUD of
mosquitos appeared and they were all over me and the frying pan, it was
absolutely horrendous! Even though I did spray myself with a DEET-based insect
repellent, it did not help much: while the mosquitoes were not biting me, they
were getting into my eyes, ears and mouth. As soon as the fish was ready, we
hastily ate it, with our headlamps on, standing close to the shore and still
being attacked by multitudes of hungry mosquitoes. I’ve been camping for tens
of years and it was the second time I encountered so many mosquitos. We quickly
went to our tents and could hear the continuous buzzing outside for at least
another hour. We decided to skip fishing in the evenings—even if we caught any
fish, it was impossible to clean & eat them. One night we were fishing from
our campsite and apparently caught a catfish—but it must have been very big
because the 35 lb. fishing line snapped.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933376371_25a2f1347e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="800" height="408" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933376371_25a2f1347e_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garter snake was trying go catch a frog</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Regarding horse flies, I
found a perfect solution to get rid of them. Namely, I taped a sticky patch
(from Canadian Tire) to the top of my hat. Because horse flies are somehow
compelled to sit on the top of one’s head, the patch made the perfect landing
strip… and once they sat on it, they stayed there… forever! Without
exaggeration, this method eliminated 95%+ of flies</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span></span>
</span><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Because most of the
time we just sat at the campsite, I managed to read a wonderful, yet very depressing
book, „A Fine Balance” by Rohinton Mistry. Most likely the book and its
characters will stay in my memory for a long time. It is a masterpiece—but at
the same time the story is so horribly sad that at times I wondered if the plot
took part in India in the 1970s or during the German occupation of Poland
during the Second World War (round-ups, forced labour, forced sterilization). In
spite of everything, I recommend it to everyone.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">We didn’t see or notice any
bigger animals on our campsite, not even a squirrel. Once I found a garter
snake near my tent’s entrance—I gently grabbed it and moved to the forest. The
next day my friend saw another garter snake, much bigger, near the water. As we
were watching, it suddenly jumped towards a small frog, but it escaped. We also
saw several birds circling above our campsite. It was mainly turkey vultures,
looking for carrion. While fishing, we spotted several blue herons and loved
observing them majestically taking off, flying and landing. On one occasion I saw
a falcon and a blue jay. And we often heard invisible woodpeckers in the
forest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834668_277be707f8_h.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834668_277be707f8_h.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoke coming from the nearby forest fire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On the sixth day the weather
became somehow peculiar—layers of darker clouds moved in, but it did not rain
and we could still see regular clouds behind them. Soon, we noticed—and later
smelled—patches of smoke. Obviously, there was a fire going on somewhere! The
sun, shrouded by the smoke, appeared unusually red.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933563897_f50dae4a17_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933563897_f50dae4a17_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sky was full of smoke coming from the forest fire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The next day the sky looked
similar, leaden and full of smoke. We thought that the fire was very far from
us and we were even planning to go fishing later afternoon as the sun was much
less intense. Then before noon a park boat arrived at our campsite with an
assistant superintendent (the same one that we had met 3 years ago, in 2015)
and another park employee. We were told that a major fire had been raging in
the Key River area for two days and that there was mandatory evacuation of all
campers, cottagers and visitors, so we had to immediately pack up and head to
Hartley Bay Marina.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834578_10e16ae864_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834578_10e16ae864_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span>The sun, shrouded by the smoke, appeared unusually red</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Within one hour we were on
the water. From Wanapitei Bay we could see the smoke in the south. There was a
chopper flying above us. Soon we noticed many other kayaks, canoes and
motorboats, all proceeding towards the marina. The park boat once again
approached our canoe and the warden took down our campsite permit number, to
keep record of those campers who were safely leaving the area.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933376721_622145d1d6_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933376721_622145d1d6_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The local firefighters near Hartley Bay Marina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once we reached Hartley Bay
Marina, we quickly packed the car, put the canoe on the car and left the
loading area to let other people use it—and indeed, it was a very busy place,
teeming with campers and boaters forced to cut short their vacation! At the
entrance to the marina we were stopped by local firefighters who asked us to
write down our names—that we had safely left. While driving on Hartley Bay road,
the smoke was getting more visible. There was a police cruiser at the end of
the road, making sure nobody was going back towards Georgian Bay.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834468_e93774a28f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="495" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834468_e93774a28f_b.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Grundy Lake Provincial Park-a fire ban notice. All campers followed this fire ban</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The fire, called “Parry Sound
33”, which began on July 18, 2018, turned out to be one of the major fires in
Ontario, scorching 11,362.5 hectares. It was officially declared to be
extinguished on October 31, 2018!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932872838_581899bb2e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932872838_581899bb2e_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our campsite #127 at Grundy Lake Provincial Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Out of my approximately 15
camping & canoeing trips on the French River, this one was the least
successful due to the sweltering weather, fire ban, clouds of mosquitos and
finally the evacuation that cut our vacation short. Of course, such
inconveniences did not change my opinion on the French River—it was still my
favorite place to come camping and canoeing! Well, it was another adventure and
I’m looking forward to visiting this outstanding park again and again in the
future.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933422886_f1cb7a883d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933422886_f1cb7a883d_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Abandoned gas station and a service station in Still River, near highway 60</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As we were driving to Grundy
Lake Provincial Park on highway 69, the smoke became much thicker; it was like
driving in a dense fog. All cars slowed down and had their lights on. Luckily,
Grundy Lake Park was still open and there were some sites available. We stayed
on campsite #127 for two nights. It was a nice, average site. The smoke from
the fires had not reached the park, so at least we could breathe easier and I
aired out my car which reeked of smoke.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933609372_b0e254a7d8_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933609372_b0e254a7d8_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still River. Abandoned gas station</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The park was pretty full and
there were many families with kids. Of course, there had been fire ban in the
park for some time and I was told by the park staff that it had been
religiously observed by all campers. The park offered various
children/family-related activities and had a naturalist center open.</span></div></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The park had several lakes
(no motorboats were allowed), but we did not canoe on them. According to the
park tabloid, there were a number of paddle-in campsites for those who would
like to experience more seclusion, peacefulness and wilderness.</span></div>
<span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933609247_ad12904b1f_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933609247_ad12904b1f_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I even found this black telephone at the abandoned gas station in Still River! In September, 2018, we stopped there and Catherine tried to make a phone call, using this very device (https://live.staticflickr.com/3001/2871020765_c26f01467b_h.jpg)!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just vis-à-vis the park
entrance was the new location of Grundy Lake Supply Post (relocated from the
intersection of road 522 and highway 69). It sold gas, various camping/fishing
supplies, basic groceries, ice cream, hamburgers as well as rented canoes,
delivering them directly to the park. It was here that we had purchased our
canoe in 2010!</span></div></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-size: medium;">By the way, 4 days after our
departure the whole park was evacuated and 800 campers had to immediately leave
it due to smoke coming from the “Parry Sound 33” fire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933563532_3d661d63cf_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="800" height="364" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933563532_3d661d63cf_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the Hungry Bear Restaurant</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day (Sunday) we went
for breakfast to the Hungry Bear Restaurant—just the previous day the place was
encompassed by smoke coming from the fire—but fortunately, the wind had changed
its direction overnight and the sky was perfectly blue.</span></div></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had an omelet and a 3-egg
breakfast with coffee (free refills), it was very tasty and exactly what we
needed after one week of canoeing & camping on the French River. On my way
to the adjacent Trading Post I met Hungry Bear & Blueberry Hound who just
emerged from their den and were very happy to shake hands and pose for photos!</span></div></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932879793_e0d9a1a805_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932879793_e0d9a1a805_k.jpg" width="426" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still Riven-an old gas tank</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After breakfast we drove
south on highway 69 to a town of Still River. On the east side of the highway
we could still see the semi-ruins of a truck stop. I had spotted this building
in September, 2008, while coming back from our fantastic canoe trip on the
French River. Catherine and I had spent there about 30 minutes, exploring the
buildings and taking photos of the gas dispensers and the existing structures.
There had been a rotary phone which Catherine had tried using; whereas unable
to talk to anybody, it had made a great prop for photographs! Then over the
following 10 years I passed this truck stop on numerous occasions and each time
part of it was missing or destroyed by humans or elements—and people kept
dumping more junk around this place. So, it was almost exactly 10 years later
that I, along with Chris, re-visited this place. Indeed, it was quite junky—now
there were old boats, cars, a school bus and a myriad of other junk—among them,
the black rotary phone! Part of the building was missing—yet when I entered the
still standing building (it was not locked), I was surprised to see plenty of
relatively new stuff, including some power tools. It appeared that somebody had
set up a workshop there and was still using it. I was a little concerned that
this place was open—after all, nobody else was around and for thieves it would
have taken just minutes to grab the most valuable stuff and take off. There was
a police station nearby and I wanted to report this fact, but of course, there
was nobody inside. We took numerous photos of this place and then drove just
across the highway, to an abandoned restaurant and motel. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933609487_a0ea51bf3c_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933609487_a0ea51bf3c_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Welcome to Long Branch Hotel. Dining Lounge. Truckers Welcome</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was a big,
faded sign that said, “Welcome to Long Branch Hotel. Dining Lounge. Truckers
Welcome”. Alas, it must have been a very long time since the place saw any
guests! We carefully entered the former restaurant/lounge. Part of the floor
had caved in. There were some old furniture and some had stickers with prices—I
think that before the place went under, there was an auction and whatever was
not sold, still remained. The second building, the hotel, was also in a very
bad shape. The main hall’s floor totally caved in. The rooms contained some
broken furniture, toilets and drywall. All the windows were broken and the
glass was everywhere—as well as graffiti adorned both buildings. It was obvious
that vandals had been here at work for a long time; again, it is one of those
things I could never understand—wanton destruction of property! We carefully
walked around the buildings and saw some covers on the ground—perhaps the gas
tanks were still buried underground, as there was a smell of gas. While we were
exploring the hotel, a couple arrived and also embarked on a tour of the
restaurant.</span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932880143_beaca374fe_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932880143_beaca374fe_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I think it was part of the restaurant</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“If you’re planning to stay
here overnight, there’re plenty of vacant rooms in the other building”, I told
them. Well, one would have to be really desperate to take shelter there!</div></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933423206_7189cf0c3c_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933423206_7189cf0c3c_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A hotel room, with a private bathroom!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Having spent two nights in
the park, we packed up and headed home, stopping in Parry Sound. First of all,
we went to Hart’s and No Frills, where we purchased a few food items and drove
to the Sequin River, where traditionally under the train trestle we had lunch.
Later we walked back to town and went to the new location of the Bearly Used
Books bookstore. Now it was on the main street, in the same building that
members of the federal and provincial parliament had their constituency
offices. The place was huge, but in no time I found my way among the thousands
upon thousands of books and soon felt like at home—or rather, like at the old
location! As always, the staff was very nice and knowledgeable, quickly
pointing me to the right area. Unfortunately, this time I was unable to spend
too much time in the store, but still managed to buy three very interesting
books.</span></p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<p style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834398_df171577b7_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="548" data-original-width="800" height="438" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932834398_df171577b7_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside Jessica Vergeer's Studio. Vintage-style posters of Parry Sound, Wreck Island, Killbear </span><span style="font-size: large;">Provincial Park and the Lighthouses at Snug Harbour and Red Rock.</span></p></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;">Just vis-à-vis the bookstore,
across the street, was Jessica Vergeer’s Studio. About a year ago I had seen
some of Jessica Vergeer works online and I was finally able to visit her store.
Indeed, the paintings were awesome and I could appreciate them even more
because I had canoed & camped on Georgian Bay for years and had personally
seen—or rather experienced—the one-of-a-kind scenery depicted in them. She is a
very gifted artist!</span></p>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933563712_00f73b324d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="800" height="332" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933563712_00f73b324d_k.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Postcards of original paintings by Jessica Vergeer</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I bought several postcards of
original paintings by Jessica Vergeer as well as vintage-style posters of Parry
Sound, Wreck Island, Killbear Provincial Park and the Lighthouses at Snug
Harbour and Red Rock. Since I had visited most of these places by canoe and/or
camped there, the pictures brought back plenty of wonderful memories!</span></div></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even though we were not able
to spend a lot of time in Parry Sound, I truly enjoyed our visit there.</span></div>
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<b>Blog in the Polish
language/w języku polskim</b>: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/french-river-rzeka-francuska-ontario.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/french-river-rzeka-francuska-ontario.html</a><br />
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<b><span lang="PL">More photos/więcej zdjęć</span></b><span lang="PL">: </span><span lang="PL"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711430091198">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711430091198</a></span><span lang="PL"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-33258681763749574512019-10-20T18:32:00.000-07:002019-11-04T17:12:05.816-08:00TWO WEEKS IN THE HOTEL CARISOL LOS CORALES AND A DAY TRIP TO SANTIAGO DE CUBA—JANUARY, 2018<br />
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<b>More photos</b>: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711427720396">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711427720396</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Blog in the Polish
language/w języku polskim</b>: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-carisol-los.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-carisol-los.html</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Our 13<sup>th</sup> trip to Cuba in 9 years and 2<sup>nd</sup> to
the Carisol Los Corales since November, 2010 commenced in Toronto on January 4,
2018 by Air Cubana. We immediately recognized the 23 year old, all-black livery
Airbus A320, as we had flown it to Cienfuegos in January, 2016 (LY-COM). After
a 3.5 hour flight we landed in Santiago de Cuba just before 6:00 pm. Upon
arrival I exchanged money, getting 153 CUC for CAD $200 (i.e., 76.50 CUC for
CAD $100), the hotel offered 74 CUC for CAD $100. The only problem was a small
musical band that suddenly materialized next to me, playing loud music while I
was busy counting & checking the money—they could not have chosen a worse
time & place for their performance! Furthermore, they expected a tip—in
your dreams! The bus ride to the hotel took over one hour and we still managed
to have dinner. </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932705368_674652e27b_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932705368_674652e27b_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Junior Suite H-4, Carisol, which we got the second day and spent there 13 nights (upper floor, on the left). In spite of all the predicaments we faced, it was quite nice!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Two weeks before the departure, we had sent an email to the hotel,
asking to either upgrade us to a bungalow at additional cost (bungalows were
not offered by Hola Sun) or give us a quiet room, far from the pool and the
entertainment area. Unfortunately, we got a room in Los Corales in the 500
section, number 520, which almost exactly met the conditions that we had NOT
asked for. It was facing the swimming pool and the entertainment area, so the
first night it was quite noisy because of the show and later people kept congregating
in the bar area. The back of the hotel building faced two abandoned structures
and a field where various farm animals grazed. The following day after 10:00 am
the pool music began. By the way, in 2010 we stayed in room 516!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933433967_245ba6dd54_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933433967_245ba6dd54_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our balcony-yes, that's a horse! We saw horses, donkeys and even a herd of cows/goats passing just in front of our door!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">We were determined the change the room. The next day we approached
the front desk, only to be told by a stern & rude clerk that there was no
availability of any bungalows or rooms. We insisted on speaking to the manager
who was much more receptive and said that with a fee of 20 CUC per night per 2
persons we could move to a bungalow at Los Corales or a junior suite at
Carisol.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704613_5d4520a551_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704613_5d4520a551_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our balcony-a storm and rain are coming!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Incidentally, the previous evening, upon our arrival at the hotel,
we inquired about upgrading to a bungalow and the stern clerk at the reception
desk told us it would cost extra 30 CUC for 2 persons per night; apparently the
price had gone down overnight ;). We went to the Carisol, spoke to the person
at the reception desk there, were given an upper level junior suite in the “H”
section and soon we moved in—Angel, a very nice hotel employee, drove us &
our 5 suitcases in a golf cart.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704583_0583ad6a05_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="800" height="450" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704583_0583ad6a05_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view from our balcony on similar bungalows.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The next day we paid almost CAD $400 for the upgrade and the safe
(2 CUC per day). However, from the outset we experienced a plethora of problems
(which I mention later in this review) and my friend demanded a refund of the
extra money we paid for the upgrade. Fortunately, she did get it back, albeit
in CUCs.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933249201_79d1d710f8_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933249201_79d1d710f8_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the beach, original carvings by tourists from Poland</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">During the first 7 days of our stay we had the worst weather ever
in Cuba—it was cold, windy, cloudy and raining (one evening we experienced such
a heavy rainfall that we were unable to go to the dinner), so we never spent
any time on the beach. I was sorry for those who came for vacation for just one
week! The weather improved significantly during the second week, it was sunny
and hot (up to +30 C), although it rained at least once.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
bad weather almost forced me to spend more time than I had been planning on
reading books. The first book I read was “Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar” by
Simon Sebag Montefiore. Although it was quite long, it was also very readable
and I finished it in just several days. I had read several books on Stalin
before, but this was probably the most comprehensive and impressively
researched. A book about a monster and his evil lackeys, who blindly follow him
and carry out his every order, no matter how thoughtless, cruel or reckless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
second book, “The Kite Runner” by Khaled Hosseini, was a wonderful book. The
story was incredible, yet very painful—so much so that eventually I found it
quite difficult to read. Yet I am glad I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704553_8a1c5ba34c_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="800" height="588" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704553_8a1c5ba34c_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the beach with the hotel's employees</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Certainly, the Carisol is much quieter than the Los Corals, as the
latter has nightly entertainment and other activities. We could freely use all
facilities & restaurants at both hotels and did not mind the 5 or so minute
walk to the other hotel and back. At 10:30 in the morning a very entertaining
& inspiring Cuban lady was conducting stretching exercises on the beach.
Catherine heartily participated and she really enjoyed them. The beach was
quite nice, but there were not enough <i>palapas</i> or trees providing shade,
so we had to ‘reserve’ them early in the morning by 8 am. </span><br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933434497_51877e5597_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="792" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933434497_51877e5597_k.jpg" width="632" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it really a Tarantula?</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">At Carisol, around
the pool and after the rainfall, we saw many toads and several times they gave
a unique & noisy performance in the evening. Another evening, on our way to
dinner, we spotted a big spider—we were told it was a tarantula. Just a few
days later Catherine spotted an identical spider in the resort’s washroom and
she said it was a very unnerving encounter. There were plenty curly-tailed
lizards all over the property, which often chased one another on the beach the
way chipmunks do in Canada.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933248016_96eafaa591_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933248016_96eafaa591_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Then we moved to the Carisol section and got a junior suite in
building “H”. The junior suite was on the upper floor, facing the ocean, and
had a balcony with two comfortable chairs. We also had a view of the mountains.
There are 4 units in each building, 2 on the ground floor and 2 on the upper
floor. We were never bothered by entertainment noise or any other sounds and never
saw any bugs in our room, except for tiny ants which were usually on the
balcony, attracted by drops of liqueur. On the balcony we spotted a large green
leafcutter-type grasshopper and a small gecko. From our room’s balcony we often
watched horses & donkeys grazing the grass just in front of our room (what
a wonderful environmental way to mow the grass!). On two occasions we were
quite surprised to witness a herd of about 10 big bulls and cows passing just
meters from our room as well as a herd of goats. Some horses had bells, so at
night we heard them long before we saw them. Actually, we enjoyed those animals
very much, as they gave a genuine rustic touch to the resort.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933248611_0dd768df72_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933248611_0dd768df72_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From our room #520 in the Los Corales section we could see such animals and the abandoned buildings, supposedly a hotel for the resort's employees.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Unfortunately, encountered a number of problems during our stay:</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There
was NO hot water whatsoever for the first 7 (seven!) days.</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Cold
water was just trickling for the first 7 days, so even our cold showers
were difficult to take.</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We
(as well as many other tourists) had NO water (cold or warm) at all on 3
separate occasions and such shortages lasted from about 3 to 20 hours at a
time. Some newly arrived tourists were very upset as they desperately
wanted to take a shower after their flights.</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">One
evening the balcony, bedroom & bathroom lights suddenly went out. The
technician was unable to fix them, but they were back on the next
afternoon.</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
air conditioner did not work for the first 2 days (the remote control was
missing), but since it was cool outside, it was not a big issue then.
Later it was functioning, but every while it stopped (probably the circuit
breakers tripped and had to be reset).</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">During
the second week we had no A/C for 2 nights, even though we notified the
front desk numerous times. Eventually a maintenance guy came, reset the
breakers and showed me how to do it. Yet the A/C stopped working just
minutes after he left. Despite my resetting the circuit breakers many
times, they kept tripping every few minutes and after 1 hour we gave up.
It was quite hot, we left the door open, but mosquitoes got into our room
and finally we had to close the door and ended up having a rather
uncomfortable night. The air conditioner seemed OK after something was
replaced, as it kept working without interruptions. We also got our lights
back after a night of semi-darkness.</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Power
went down about 6 times, but it was restored immediately, within less than
20 seconds. Yet probably due to the power surge the coffee maker which we
brought from Canada broke.</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
TV set worked, but the audio sound was very distorted and the closed
captioning did not work, so we never turned it on again (in our case, it
was not really a problem, as we do not have TV sets and do not watch TV
back home anyway).</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There
was no telephone in the room—each time there was an issue with our room,
we had to walk all the way to the reception to report it.</span><span style="font-family: "noto sans symbols" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932705978_64a86ea448_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932705978_64a86ea448_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The food was not bad and probably both of us gained several pounds!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">There was plenty of food and it would be difficult to go hungry,
but it was quite repetitive and relatively basic. Well, I never go to Cuba
expecting gourmet cooking—yet I still managed to gain about 5 lbs.! We had
meals at both Carisol and Los Corales—the latter was more crowded. Outdoors
dining at both hotels was awesome (one of the reasons we went to this resort),
but not always available. Breakfast egg stations served eggs & omelets, but
most times they were slow and inefficient, some inexperienced cooks had
problems even with cracking the eggs! Lunch & dinner: cooks prepared pork,
beef, hamburgers, hot-dogs, turkey—but I never saw shrimps & fish. The
buffet food was quite tasty & healthy, yet almost identical every day. For
dinners we ordered red wine, which was below average—well, nothing really
unexpected. Service was spotty—some servers were very good, others mediocre. At
Carisol a 7-person Cuban band played Cuban music, but a little too loud, it was
often impossible to conduct a conversation. Besides, when the band was playing
inside the restaurant, the acoustics was terrible, the cacophonous sounds were
deafening! At Los Corales there was probably a different musical band—one
evening it played excellent Cuban jazz music which I loved. At Los Corales
there was a restaurant adjacent to the main one, which offered pizza and
spaghetti. We went there once and had a pizza, which was OK.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933434212_9a65d3b280_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933434212_9a65d3b280_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A short ride in this boat on Laguna Baconao was quite pleasant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">We only went once went to the outdoor a’ la carte restaurant at
Carisol (La Piazza). We waited for one hour for the food, the order was not
correct and could not be changed. The beef was like shoe leather and the desert
consisted of… melted ice cream. In addition, the 7 or 8 piece musical band was
standing very close to our table and was very loud; I considered tipping them
NOT to play. Overall, it was a disappointing experience and it was relief to
leave—it is much better to go to the regular buffet.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933249041_ca7551b95e_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="800" height="478" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933249041_ca7551b95e_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course Catherine did not pass this occasion and immediately posed next to this antique car for a photo! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">It was a pity that we stumbled upon so many problems—especially
that some of them were eventually rectified AFTER our (often repeated)
interventions—meaning that they could have been fixed BEFORE! Besides, many
other hotel guests we met had had similar (and even worse) problems, some had
to change rooms several times, especially after the heavy rains, which caused
inside flooding and leaking. I guess a proactive approach is not the hotel’s
forte. Overall, I would give the resort 2.5 out of 5 stars.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932705208_1c98c51d3c_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932705208_1c98c51d3c_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This donkey was a frequent habitue of the resort grounds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">In spite of all the predicaments we encountered, we had gone to
Cuba with a (very) open mind and we made our vacation enjoyable, taking
whatever occurred in strides. Besides, we enjoyed the surrounding mountainous
scenery, bike riding, visiting nearby villages as well as watching the ocean,
mountains and the horses, donkeys, cows & goats from our balcony.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Would we return to this resort? Incredibly, the answer is ‘yes’,
provided that we could ensure getting a problem-free, ocean-view junior suite
in Carisol.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933247621_3e9bd32020_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933247621_3e9bd32020_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blow holes near the hotel</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Our Hola Sun package included a free trip (by a horse-drawn buggy)
to Laguna Baconao & the crocodile farm. We also had a 20 minute boat tour
(3 CUC extra per person) on the lagoon—the scenery was beautiful, as it was
surrounded by mountains. The crocodile farm basically consisted of 4 cages
containing large dozing crocs, do not expect an eco-tour ;).</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pumpkin in Jarden de Cactus with our rental bikes</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">The hotel (Los Corales) offered free bike rental for a 24 hours
period, to be returned at 10:00 the next morning, but their quantity was very
limited and were often unavailable. But at least they were maintained on a
regular basis by the guy in charge of the rental. We rented bikes on 3
occasions and rode to the village of Baconao, Laguna Baconao, Jarden de Cactus,
Hotel Costa Morena, the Blow Holes (!) and the Aquarium. Easy, yet awesome
jaunts!</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932706513_8dc777459c_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932706513_8dc777459c_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elementary school in the village of Baconao, Marti's bust and a Cuban flag</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">When we had visited the village of Baconao in 2010 (by a horse
carriage), I had taken a number of photos of local residents. This time I
brought them with me—and yes, I met two women whose photos I had taken 8 years
ago! The village now had a nice restaurant where we had beer. We also walked on
a narrow path between homes, sometimes talking to the residents. We also met
one guy who spoke English, we talked to him, his mother and his brother. He
asked us if we had any hats—we promised to bring him some and indeed, we rode
to the village again several days later and brought him two hats. There was
also a school; since it was morning, a lot of kids were coming from various
directions. Nearby was a gate manned by a guard—the road was off limits to
non-Cubans because it led to the vicinity of the American military base in Guantanamo.
Supposedly the area around the base is full of mines.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704303_89886d8571_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48932704303_89886d8571_k.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This road leads to the vicinity of the American military base in Guantanamo and is off limits to tourists. In the past we saw a guard there, but this time the booth was empty and Catherine wanted to take advantage of this situation and ride there</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">At the hotel we met a very nice woman from Quebec who also spoke
fluent Spanish. Incidentally, she had some major problems flying Air Cubana to
Cuba—she was kicked off the flight, then had to take a different flight, landed
in Cienfuegos, I believe, took a bus and then a cab to get to the hotel. We
talked to her on several occasions and one day the three of us rode the Jarden
de Cactus (as per her suggestion). What a great garden! The gardener in charge
of the place showed us so many different plants (and our friend graciously
translated everything for us) and at the end took us to the very top of the
hill—the view was awesome, we could see the ocean and the Hotel Costa Morena.
Later we rode to the hotel and had a couple of drinks there.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933435197_98f56f21d8_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="800" height="322" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933435197_98f56f21d8_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blow holes near the hotel</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">We also saw the Blow Holes (just past the Aquarium). We left the
bikes and descended to the rocky shore, where they were located. They are
formed when the sea caves grow landwards into vertical shafts, which can cause
abrupt blasts of water from its gaping hole. There were many of them and we
could hear them ‘breathing’; then every minute of so, as the waves the rocks,
water and air rushed into these crevices and burst out. I found one hole which
was probably too far from the see and instead of spraying water, it only
released air. I covered the hole with a coconut—and suddenly it was pushed
about 10 feet up in the air! We spent some time, enjoying this interesting
spectacle.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goats in the village across from the hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">There was also a small village vis-à-vis the hotel. We walked
there on our last day and visited several farms. One had plenty of cute goats.
Then we took another dirt road and eventually reach the hotel.</span></div>
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<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only for pedestrians!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">We had also planned to go to Santiago de Cuba and stay there for
one or two nights. Because just before our trip I had gotten an extremely nasty
flu, which almost caused me to cancel our vacation, we decided to shorten our
trip to this lovely city for just one day. Since the hotel offered a free bus
ride to Santiago on Sunday, we took advantage of it. We took advantage of a
free bus trip to Santiago de Cuba on Sunday—it was certainly a highlight of our
stay at the resort. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">It departed from the hotel at 10:00 am, arrived in the city
at 11:30 am and left back for the resort at 4:00 pm, giving us just over 4
hours to explore the city. We managed to walk from Plaza de Dolores along the
main pedestrian street (Francisco Vicente Aquilera) to Parque Cespedes. There
were plenty of shops & shoppers and no cars! I took several photos just in
front of the building with a blue balcony—it was there that Fidel Castro had
announced the triumph of the revolution on January 1, 1959! Then we talked to a
taxi driver—his antique American car (Willy Jeep) from 1942, was quite unique,
only a very limited number of such model were still extant and his was the only
one in Cuba. In 2010, at this very spot, I had taken a photograph of a very
nice Cuban lady—I brought this photo with me and the driver immediately
recognized her. She was not there, but he said he would give the photo to her.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933505532_4cac9fa29b_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48933505532_4cac9fa29b_k.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new taxi driver in Santiago de Cuba! On the left the building with a blue balcony—it was there that Fidel Castro had announced the triumph of the revolution on January 1, 1959!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">We wanted to see the Cathedral, but it was closed. We just went up
the stairs and had an awesome view of the whole Plaza.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In front of the building with a blue balcony—it was there that Fidel Castro had announced the triumph of the revolution on January 1, 1959!<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">While walking aro</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">und, we met Alfredo, an English-speaking, 37 year
old Cuban guy who became our unofficial guide. Catherine remembered one man’s
words of wisdom—“Hire a local guide and he will keep the beggars away”. We
walked with him to Tivoli and the waterfront. There were lots of industrial
buildings, but no big ships. I took several photos of kids playing in front of
a house. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Then we hailed a horse carriage and asked the owner how much he wanted
to take us to the Cementerio Santa Ifigenia and back. After some haggling we
decided on 10 CUC and rode there. As we got there, some Cuban told us that we
should quickly walk there to see the 2:00 pm change of the guard at Fidel
Castro’s grave. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">The grave, consisting of a granite boulder, is decorated with a
plate that reads simply: "FIDEL”. It was located very close to the tombs
of Jose Marti and other Cuban heroes. Nearby were the graves of fallen
participants of the Cuban Revolution, but unfortunately, we were not allowed to
go near them, I only saw a myriad of plates with their names. There was a
security guard, telling us where to take photos and where not to go. Uniformed
soldiers were standing under shaded structures. Then at 2:00 pm a number of
guards emerged from the adjacent building and marched towards the various
tombs. Overall, it was an interesting spectacle. We quickly walked to the horse
carriage and rode back to the town center. Our guide remained with us; we
invited him to an outdoor bar for beer and at the end gave me 10 CUC and two
razors for which he seemed grateful. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">We were back at Plaza de Dolores at 3:30
pm. I walked around the Plaza, took some photos and then spotted a Cuban guy
singing a song—I videotaped him and almost missed the bus that started leaving
without me!</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">Santiago de Cuba is a very beautiful time and I wish I could spent
several days exploring it—well, probably I would not mind walking at the
Cementerio Santa Ifigenia for the whole day, as it contains so much of Cuban
history.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
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<b>More photos</b>: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711427720396">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157711427720396</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Blog in the Polish
language/w języku polskim</b>: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-carisol-los.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2019/10/dwa-tygodnie-w-hotelu-carisol-los.html</a></div>
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Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-16370631746023344032018-08-01T18:02:00.000-07:002018-08-01T21:49:31.144-07:00CAR CAMPING TRIP TO KILLBEAR, KILLARNEY AND MASSEY PROVINCIAL PARKS AND PHILIP EDWARD ISLAND, SEPTEMBER 7-27, 2017<div class="Standard">
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<b><span lang="PL">Blog in
Polish/w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL">: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/08/wycieczka-samochodowo-kepmpngowa-parki.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/08/wycieczka-samochodowo-kepmpngowa-parki.html</a></span><br />
<b>More photos from this trip: </b><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157699705142605">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157699705142605</a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our trip in Ontario</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After
coming back 5 days ago from our camping trip in the USA and Ontario (</span><a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2018/07/car-camping-trip-across-minnesota.html">http://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/2018/07/car-camping-trip-across-minnesota.html</a>)<span style="font-size: 13pt;">, we were
again ready for another autumn adventure, just in Ontario—both of us drove
separately and of course, we took the canoe with us. We had a reservation
coming up in Killarney Park in several days and decided to spend this time in
Grundy Lake Provincial Park. We left Mississauga early in the morning and our
first stop was Parry Sound—we visited our favorite bookstore, “Bearly Used
Books”. In the bookstore the radio was on and while Catherine was listening to
the weather forecast, it mentioned Killbear Provincial Park—what an excellent
idea, we had completely forgotten about this park! After a quick visit to No
Frills & Heart Store, we had a traditional lunch under the railway trestle
over the Seguin River and proceeded to Killbear. The park employee gave us a
list of vacant campsites and we loved one of them, number 1042, it was
gorgeous, overlooking the beach and rocks and allowing us to admire spectacular
sunsets from our campsites. For some reasons it looked very familiar to me… As
Catherine was backing up from the site’s parking, the van’s tailpipe got stuck
in the gravel… and then I had the déjà vu moment: in 2014 we had spent one
night at this park, camping on a nearby campsite number 1139 (just over the rocky
hill from #1042)—but we had also checked out this campsite then and as
Catherine had been backing up, exactly the same thing had taken place—her
tailpipe had gotten stuck in the gravel!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
drove as fast as we could to the park office, paid for the campsite and soon I
was setting up the tent. Usually I can easily do it by myself, but because of
strong (and cool) wind, I had to ask Catherine to help me—as well as used the
guy lines attached to the fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our campsite. Amazing!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This
time I brought with me a very absorbing book by Michael Weisskopf “Blood
Brothers. Among the Soldiers of Ward 54”. The author, a senior correspondent
for Time magazine and a Pulitzer Prize finalist, lost his hand while riding
through Bagdad in the back of a U.S. s Army Humvee in 2003. He was sent for
treatment to Ward 57 at Walter Reed Medical Center, the wing of the armed
forces hospital reserved for amputees, where he met a lot of soldiers who had
lost limbs in the war. It was a very powerful book, showing the usually unknown
side of any war. Being wounded is one thing—but the recovery process, in many
cases, was very long, torturous, painful and frustrating. It certainly
presented that part of war we hardly ever think about. At 300 pages, it took me
just a few nights to finish the whole book. It was very poignant and emotional.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
stayed at this park for 3 days (until Sunday) and every day went for a hike (a
hiking path paralleled the road), saw plenty of deer, I took photographs of
interesting-looking mushrooms as well as we spoke with a couple who had just
purchased a new small silver camper. The Visitor Center was very nice, too—we
chatted with a young employee for a while and she told us that in previous
years the park had had plenty of issues with black bears: some had managed to
break into locked cars (certainly without using the car keys!) and one bear
alone had supposedly been responsible for over 20 such break-ins—it had to be
euthanized and now we could see it on display in the Visitor’s Center. Every
afternoon we admired sunsets from our campsite and later had a campfire. The
campground filled up on Friday, but it was still quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Saturday we drove back to Parry Sound to do shopping at No Frills and Hart
Store, as well as went again the “Bearly Used Books” bookstore, where we spent
at least one hour. Catherine bough several autobiographies of Canadian comedy
actors and audio disks to listen to on her drive back to the U.S.A. I spotted
“The Secret Speech” by Tom Rob Smith, the author of “Child 44” and immediately
bought it. Interestingly, but it was in Parry Sound where I had purchased
“Child 44” in 2014 and devoured it while we were camping on Franking Island!
This was the second part of the trilogy. Although probably not as good as the
first one, I kept reading it every night while camping in Killarney and on
Philip Edward Island. I also bought Leon Uris’ “Mila 18” and “Holocaust
Journey. Travelling in Search of the Past” by Martin Gilbert—both books
depicted many places which I knew or was familiar with. We talked to the
bookstore’s owner for a while, who told us a lot of fascinating things about
Parry Sound and her bookstore. I also spotted a few books authored by Terry
Boyle (whom I had met twice, last time at “Gilly’s Restaurant” after the
Franklin Island canoeing trip in 2015) and found out that he had passed away on
July 11, 2016. He was just 63 years old. So sad-I loved his books about
Ontario!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parry Sound. Our traditional site, under the trestle, where we always have our lunch</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
also checked out the abandoned hospital in Parry Sound (a new one had been
built since) and a train station. It was closed—nowadays there were just
several trains stopping there, going to Toronto and Sudbury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catherine just made a new friend, "The Hungry Bear"!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Sunday, September 10, 2017, we left our splendid campsite at Killbear and drove
up north on highway 400 to the Hungry Bear Restaurant, one of our <i>de rigueur</i> stops whenever we were in the
area. It was still accessible from the highway, but there was major road
construction taking place and when the two-lane road is turned into a freeway,
there would be an off-ramp from the freeway leading to the restaurant and the
Trading Post. I sincerely hoped that they would still remain in business for
many decades!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our campsite between Lake Carlyle and Terry Lake</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Eventually
we arrived at Killarney Park’s George Office. Even though we had a reservation,
there was a big screw-up with the bill, they kept overcharging us and could not
figure out how much we should pay (we had 2 vehicles), but at the end we left
the office quite satisfied. I think that all provincial parks should simplify
the reservation system so that we did not have to spend so much time lining up
in the office—after all, in our case the whole reservation had already been
made online months ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 'canoe parking'</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was
very difficult to reserve a site in this park and of course, I had done it a
few months prior. Interior camping does not allow to reserve a particular
campsite—there were a number of campsites on each lake and in our case, we just
booked a campsite on Carlyle & Terry Lake—once we came to the park, we
could stay on any campsite that was not occupied. It was our fourth visit to
this particular area and we knew which campsite we wanted (altogether, there
were a total of 6 campsites). Luckily, all the campsites were vacant, so we got
site #55. It was very nice, offering the view of both lakes (Carlyle and Terry)
and there was a small waterfall, but whereas those camping on the opposite campsite
could see (and especially hear) it, we could not. The only drawback was the
very precipitous hill leading up to the campsite. We had to carefully attach
the canoe to the rocks & roots and then carry all our equipment up the
rugged ridge. I felt ‘at home’ and in no time the tent was up and ready for our
habitation and Catherine set up a great kitchen, ready for our gourmet meals!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our campsite-from time to time we saw canoes</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During
our stay we had an excellent weather—it was sunny, not one drop of rain, warm
and we did not see too many campers on the lake. Once we talked to an Irish
paddler who had sprained her leg and was unable to follow her group on a hiking
sally. From the outset Catherine refused to hang the food, but I insisted and
after several attempts succeeded in throwing the rope over the branch. Although
the food hanging area was relatively close to our tent and fire pit, it was
certainly better than just leaving the barrel with food on the ground. We never
saw any bears anyway, although twice we heard a very noisy thump or crash—Catherine
thought it might have been a bear, but since no other noises followed, we
assumed that perhaps a tree or a branch fell to the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Some
mornings were very foggy and I was glad Catherine woke me up; I took a lot of
lovely photographs. In the evening we paddled towards Johnnie Lake, through a
narrow channel, where beavers had made a dam (yet it was not very sturdy and we
did not have to lift over the canoe) and we also saw a couple of beaver lodges.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Almost
daily we paddled from our campsite to the parking lot (about 30 minutes) and
drove to the town of Killarney, where we had fish & chips in the Herbert
Fisheries Restaurant. It looked so differently now, as the small school bus
(which had become almost a symbol of Killarney) had been gone and a new building
had been erected. The food was good, but the décor in the new place was so-so…
I think that more old, historical photographs from the area and fishing
artifacts would make the place much more original—and it would not take a lot
of money. In any case, each time we consumed the food outside, sitting on the
dock. We also went to the LCBO store (which sold liquor and beer) and
Pittfield’s (the only grocery store in town).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One
evening we walked to the Killarney Mountain Lodge, which had just undergone
very major & expensive renovations. We ran into Mr. Kelly McAree, General
Manager, a very nice, no-nonsense man, with many years of experience in the
hospitality industry. Considering that he must have constantly dealt with
employees and guests, he certainly had to possess very exceptional qualities to
successfully run such a place. He immediately offered to show us the whole
property. He even took us to the chalet which used to be the residence of the
original owner/builder and his family. The view from the Chalets was
breathtaking and they offered very luxurious, yet still rustic experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From
the hotel’s balcony we spotted a van towing a kayak. He told us it belonged to
Traci Lynn Martin (</span><span lang="PL" style="font-size: 13.0pt;"><a href="http://www.justaroundthepointe.com/"><span lang="EN-US">http://www.justaroundthepointe.com/</span></a></span><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">), a brave and extremely
adventurous Missouri woman, who had embarked on an 8,600-mile Great Lakes
odyssey in March, 2017, hoping to complete it in 2017. According to the
“Detroit News”, she stopped her journey in late 2017 because of the rigors of
wintry weather on Lake Ontario. Still, she paddled 3,582 miles from March and
completed lakes Superior, Huron and Michigan. On October 15, 2017 she became
the first person to circumnavigate the three lakes in one calendar year. She
said she would try again in 2019. What a spirit! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
next night we went to Killarney Mountain Lodge and had a tasty dinner, sitting
outside on the porch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
also drove to the park and had a hot shower (what a luxury!). Then we did the 4
km Cranberry Bog Trail, which was very picturesque, meandering among bogs,
wetlands, marshes and lakes. At one point we had to hike up and then down a
very steep, rocky hill. We saw plenty of pretty looking mushrooms. I was quite
sure I saw the most deadly mushroom, the Amanita Ocreata, a.k.a. the death
angel, destroying angel or angel of death. Once eaten, it causes only a mild
gastrointestinal and include abdominal pain, diarrhea and vomiting. They go
away after 2–3 days, but all the while the damage to the internal organs us is
taking place during this time, leading to a coma, liver & kidney failure,
and eventually death. While hiking, we saw the La Cloche Silhouette Trail—there
was a sign warning that once you started it, you had to walk for the next 78
km. Even usually courageous Catherine was not interested in following this
trail…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We spotted this snapping turtle on the main road as it was trying to cross it. I made a U-turn and helped it safely get to its destination</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On two
occasions, when we were coming back to the Carlyle Lake access point parking
from the town of Killarney, we saw two ladies, who were setting up their
cameras on tripods in order to take photographs of the Northern Lights. They
were quite surprised that we were going to paddle to our campsite in total
darkness! While canoeing back to our campsite, we told the campers staying on
campsite #56 about this phenomenon. However, I believe no aurora became visible
that night—well, it is a hit or miss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1777/43727434622_e8546b6b05_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="629" data-original-width="800" height="502" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1777/43727434622_e8546b6b05_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new Herbert Fisheries Restaurant in Killarney</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">September
16/17, 2017 (Saturday/Sunday) was our last night at Killarney. We did want to
extend our stay and each day went to the park office, inquiring if any
campsites on Carlyle/Terry Lakes had become vacant, but none had, all had been
solidly booked-up. On Saturday we left for the town of Killarney late
afternoon—there was a lone camper on the site across from ours. When we
returned to the Carlyle access point, it was about 9:45 p.m. and we headed to
our campsite in total darkness. Although the route was easy and
straightforward, as we were approaching the location of the campsite, we had to
use my powerful 1,000 lumen flashlight to pinpoint our campsite—we had
forgotten to attach a blinking light to a tree, which we usually did and it was
always a great idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When
we were disembarking from the canoe (which was tricky, as the rocks were
slippery and it was dark) and unloading our bags, suddenly Catherine gave a
shirking, very loud cry, as she spotted one or two water snakes, perfectly
visible in the flashlights’ shining light, swimming near the canoe—and she was
quite certain that at any moment they would try to jump into the canoe and
attack her! I did not much care about the snakes, so I slowly lifted the canoe
and pulled it up the sloping, rugged ridge and then tied it to the roots and
rocks. Just seconds later I was startled by a very thunderous noise
(considering it was so still and quiet around, it sounded absolutely
deafening). The canoe simply slid down the ridge, ended up in the water and was
slowly, but surely, floating away! It turned out that in the darkness I had not
properly attached the rope to the canoe. We had to make a very quick decision.
Catherine instantaneously took the initiative, unwaveringly stating, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I’m
not going into the water, no way!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/861/43059308154_31a35a9e49_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/861/43059308154_31a35a9e49_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a mess! Fortunately, Catherine is responsible for the kitchen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fortunately,
we still had the rope and a few powerful flashlights & headlights. Besides,
long ago we had attached reflective stickers on the canoe, so even though it
was drifting farther and farther away, we could still see it. I was a little
reluctant to swim in total darkness and thought about wearing a lifejacket, but
it was impossible: we always left lifejackets in the canoe, so I did not have
one—but before I could even contemplate this predicament any further, I took my
clothes off and got immersed in the water (forgetting about the water snakes
and the legendary Killarney lake monster, if there was one). My headlight
shining bright, the rope in one hand, I commenced swimming towards the canoe as
Catherine kept shining the 1,000 lumen flashlight, using only 1/3 of its
maximum output. I did not know how long it took me to reach the canoe, but once
I did, I fastened the rope to the canoe (this time, correctly!) and swam back,
pulling the canoe behind. Although the water was quite cool, it was warm
outside. Within 10 minutes I was dry, dressed up and sitting near the warm
campfire! I felt sorry for the camper at the campsite vis-à-vis ours… he must
have thought of us as some total neophytes, with no canoe & camping skills
and no outdoors etiquette!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
next several nights we were planning to spend on Philip Edward Island, which
still constituted Crown Land. However, first we had to buy from the park office
two vehicle stickers to park my car and her van at the Chikanishing access
point. There was another major screw-up in the park office and it took us a
while to finally make the proper payment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/941/43727423212_168744acb1_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/941/43727423212_168744acb1_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At
4:00 p.m. we paddled on the Chikanishing creek, but once we reached its mouth,
we saw it was windy and the water was relatively rough. Although we were going
to set up our tent on the western tip of the island (South Point Island), we
still had to paddle across the open water, some 700-800 meters. I kept trying,
but each time we were on the open water, we felt the somewhat powerful waves. I
still had fresh memories of our paddling the same stretch of the water, when
the waves had been so big that from time to time the water had been flowing
into the canoe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1833/43727426532_cfaa5cc5ba_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1833/43727426532_cfaa5cc5ba_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
stopped near the mouth of the creek and even considered camping there, not sure
if it was the park’s land or Crown Land (later I determined it was the park’s),
but I did not like that spot. I pulled out my marine radio and listened to the
most recent marine weather forecast—which fortunately said that the wind would
subside in the late afternoon! So we waited for a while and in less than one
hour ventured out again. I kept the canoe perpendicular to the waves, paddling
not towards the island, but towards the open water of Georgian Bay, since the
waves were coming from that direction. Eventually we made a sharp left turn,
paddled very fast and entered a small narrows between South Point Island and
some rocks. After exploring the area, we disembarked on the rocky shore and
decided to stay in that pristine spot. On the other side was a family of 2
adults & 2 girls, with 2 golden labs, which came over to our side to say
‘hi’. They were very quiet and we hardly noticed them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
view was spectacular—whenever I am paddling in that area, I just love the
scenery! We set up the tent, but did not have the fire that night. We could
admire blinking lighthouses and buoys in front of us. The family left the next
day and we wandered at their former campsite and explored the island. We had
stayed on a ‘campsite’ located just 50 or so meters in 2012, but this spot was
much better. There were plenty of fire pits here and there, as well as broken
layers of rocks, indicating that somebody had had a fire there long time ago.
We chose one of the existing fire pits because it was large and there was also
a primitive table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
first morning, at about 4:00 a.m., we were awakened by some voices. We looked
out the tent and saw a flotilla of canoes, moving towards the parking lot. Each
canoe had a glow stick attached and it looked marvelously from our campsite! Of
course, the canoers must have left very early to avoid potential winds and
waves, which could have made their return journey impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1832/43727427472_3f278d9c15_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1832/43727427472_3f278d9c15_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
were planning to stay longer, but the next morning (Tuesday) the weather was
iffy—it did not rain, but the sky was cloudy and eventually it did rain a
little. I was not concerned about the rain, but rather about the rocks becoming
slippery and immediately we decided to pack up and paddle back. At least there
was no wind, so we did not have to worry about the non-existent waves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
went to Herbert Fisheries in Killarney for chips & fish and drove to Point
Grondine Park. We had found out about this new park from a brochure, located on
Native Land and run by First Nations, and called the number given in the
brochure, but there was a recording directing us to their… website! Well,
considering that there was no cell coverage in most of the park, it would have
been quite difficult to follow their instructions! There was a map and self-serve
payment station. We talked to a young guy with a big dog who was about to
embark on a long hike—he had encountered problems while trying to make the
payment, the machine did not want to accept his money and when we changed some
bills for him, he was finally able to pay. There was a guest book and according
to recent entries, some tourists, unable to make the payment, left the park. I
hope that the management will eliminate those issues which discouraged many
potential visitors. I think that there are only hiking trails and a water
trail, which includes a 3 km portage—or the ‘portage-less’ loop around Philip
Edward Island. Nevertheless, I though it was a great idea to have established
the park and I sincerely hope that next year all the glitches would be
resolved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1813/29905079298_8b18e378fa_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1813/29905079298_8b18e378fa_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Chutes Provincial Park, we got the same campsite we had stayed on just one month ago!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
drove to Sudbury, where Catherine went to the TD Bank regarding a money order:
unfortunately, she had experienced so many problems with this bank and spent so
much time on the phone that the quality of her vacations certainly suffered.
And it was a clear fault of a TD Bank employee in Mississauga, who did not
enter just one number on the money transfer!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1772/28839118557_700cd8eaa3_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1772/28839118557_700cd8eaa3_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were plenty of falls and rapids in the park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13pt;">We
also went to Independent (a big grocery store), where we bought plenty of food
items bearing the sign of quality (i.e., a pink sticker staying “50% OFF”).
Then we drove to Massey, to Chutes Provincial Park—yes, the same park we had
camped at just over 2 weeks ago and we even got the same campsite! The park was
quite empty—very few people expected that the summer was going to start a couple
of months later! Later, we spoke to a park employee, Amanda, who grew up in
Massey.</span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/850/41966813740_7dae3d5784_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/850/41966813740_7dae3d5784_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We liked sitting at this scenic campsite, which was just vis-a-vis our</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Catherine
often went over to the other campsite, which was covered with falling leaves,
to have her coffee, listen to the radio or just listen to the nearby falls and
meditate. One day we met a young Thai lady with a 13 week old miniature dog
(Chow/Australian Sheep Herder), she got it from a breeder and it was ADORABLE!
I loved stroking it—its fur so soft! She caught a salmon in the river and
wrapped it up to take home. Then her husband came and we chatted with him too.
A few days later we again ran into them on the beach, talked to her husband’s
father from Sudbury (he was wearing a pink ‘prison suit’’), quite an
interesting chap in his 80s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1838/41966812730_4f334435cb_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1838/41966812730_4f334435cb_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And this was another spot where we loved sitting, watching the falls and listening to sound of the water</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
last book that I started reading at Chutes was “Red Heat: Conspiracy, Murder,
and the Cold War in the Caribbean” by Alex von Tunzelmann, which I had picked
from a second-hand book store in Toronto. I immediately found the book totally
fascinating and captivating—after all, I had been going to Cuba for many years
and even in my teens I had been interested in that region and its politics. The
book was about the Caribbean (Cuba, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic) and its
leaders (Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Rafael Trujillo and François "Papa
Doc") during the presidencies of Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson. The
superpowers thought they could use those countries as puppets during the cold
war, but what neither bargained on was that their puppets would come to life. I
could not put this book down, it was remarkable! By the way, I thought that the
author was an older, distinguished looking gentleman, coming from an
aristocratic German family. Nothing could be further from the truth: Alex von
Tunzelmann was actually a British, Oxford-educated woman historian, born in
1977. And she wrote this exceptional book when she was just 34 years old!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1836/43727471032_1fe4439bba_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="800" height="430" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1836/43727471032_1fe4439bba_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Sunday, as we were leaving the LCBO store in Massey, we saw about 10 Mennonite
horse-drawn carriages on the road leading towards the park. There were plenty
of Mennonites in the area—some were even selling home-made pastries at the
corner of highways 17 & 553—and on the other corner there was a… how can I
call it… a second-hand store with thousands of items, including furniture. The
Home Hardware store had a special parking designed for the horse-drawn buggies!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
again walked part of the Twin Bridge trail. The weather, as I said before,
gradually kept becoming summer-like, it was sunny and humid and the mercury in
Sudbury hit a record of +35C. Several times we drove to Espanola and once
Catherine went to the TD Bank there, sat with a consultant, trying to setup
cross-border account—for some inexplicable reasons it was NOT possible!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/860/43775652731_61a46613e2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/860/43775652731_61a46613e2_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paddling on the Spanish River in Massey, ON</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While
in Chutes, we did a number of canoeing trips—it was a great base for paddling
on lakes in the vicinity. We drove to Espanola, took Panache Lake Road and
parked near the bridge. First we paddled on the Darkies Creek, which soon
merged with the Spanish River. It was a lovely, quiet paddle; we did not see
any other people around. The ridges along the shores were sandy. From afar we
saw the Domtar Paper Mill in Espanola. We still managed to go to Hart,
Independent, Canadian Tire and Dollarama for more deals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1818/29904976168_94a8962c65_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1818/29904976168_94a8962c65_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very picturesque road to Willisville</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Thursday we drove to Espanola, then took road number 6 (leading to Manitoulin
Island) and turned left, to a small settlement of Willisville. By the way, the
road was quite steep, but it was also very scenic and offered awesome views of
the area. Once I reached the town, I kept driving on what I though was a
regular road, but when that “road” became very narrow and rough, I realized
that I was driving on the abandoned railway! So, I had to back up and finally
reached Bearskin Resort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1771/43775682841_a96d5b0826_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="800" height="388" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1771/43775682841_a96d5b0826_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old train station in Willisville. By permission. Source: http://www.willisville.ca </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Willisville
was settled over 100 years ago and at that time the Algoma Eastern Railway was
opened from Sudbury to Little Current (on Manitoulin Island). Passenger service
to Little Current ended by 1963 and the line itself beyond Espanola went into
disuse and abandoned. Nowadays, much of the former right-of-way remains visible
and is used in certain areas as a road or path—we spotted a few motorcyclists
using it. Many Group of Seven members painted in the area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1778/43775684411_6f132dd9f9_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="600" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1778/43775684411_6f132dd9f9_o.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Willis family, from whom the town derives its name. By permission. Source: http://www.willisville.ca </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
parked at Bearskin Lodge & Outfitters and talked for a while with Darcy,
who regaled us with many interesting stories from the area and told us that
Franklin Carmichael’s (one of the Group of Seven’s members) cabin was on the
lake nearby. The Lodge was situated on both sides of the narrows and a small
ferry transported tourists to their cabins on the other side of the narrows. It
cost us $5 to park the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1831/29904977318_83f8fb5344_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1831/29904977318_83f8fb5344_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canoeing near Willisville</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
paddled on Frood Lake—there were a lot of rolling, white quartz mountains. Then
we paddled on the lake north Bearskin Lodge, reaching a small channel leading
to Charloton Lake. There were lots of islands with nice cottages, otherwise
known as “camps” up north here. The other day we paddled along the shores of
Frood Lake towards the Lawson Quarry, there we saw the former right-of way of
the Algoma Eastern Railway. We reached the dam—there were some small, abandoned
buildings—and walked a little. I spotted a nice, albeit abandoned and
dilapidated house—somebody had sprayed on the door, “Come In”, so we did. It
must have been occupied not long ago, but now was deserted and covered with
graffiti. I wonder why nobody had bought it—after all, there was a road leading
to highway 6. Near the house I walked for a while on the former railway path
and there were still some decayed railway ties deep in the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/849/29904980568_c1ba4c0be6_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/849/29904980568_c1ba4c0be6_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abandoned house near highway 6</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
also drove to Espanola and then to Widgawa Lodge & Outfitters, where were wanted
to put in the canoe, but it turned out that the lady charged $20 for parking
(vs. $5 at Bearskin Lodge) and there was no accessible dock—we had to carry the
canoe over a hill. Besides, I realized that we could reach exactly the same
lakes from Bearskin Lodge, so we went there again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/862/29905028898_a4097bf9df_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/862/29905028898_a4097bf9df_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Cloche Provincial Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
day we took La Cloche Lake Road to the very end (upon the park warden’s
suggestion) and reached La Cloche Lake—part of this lake was crown land, park a
provincial park, part belonged to Sagamok Indian Reserve. It was very hot and
sunny and it was very difficult to paddle on the open water, so we headed
towards a rocky clearing with a rock table. There was a shady spot where we
spent a few hours reading, drinking and then went for an invigorating swim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1833/43775653691_a9fcdbfe71_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1833/43775653691_a9fcdbfe71_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our
last paddle was in Massey on the Spanish River, we put in near the old bridge
(just the abutments remained). We were told that it used to be a very narrow
bridge and had been abandoned decades ago, when the new bridge was built. We
turned left into the Sables-Spanish River and paddled to the very end—i.e.,
three bridges—a train bridge, highway 17 bridge and an old, abandoned arched
bridge, now used for foot traffic. As we were paddling back, we started
chatting with a fisherman; he was, if my memory serves me well, from Hamilton
and retired here with his wife. He loved this area. He said that his wife was
volunteering in the Massey Museum—indeed, when we went there the next day, she
instantly recognized us (or, to be precise, me) from her husband’s account of
his meeting us the day before. We enjoyed a wonderful sunset on the river and I
took a lot of photos. Once we arrived at the launch site and were loading the
canoe on the car, a big truck drove up and we also saw a 24” pontoon boat on
the river—both were waiting for us to drive away. The lady from the truck was
Native and we spoke with her for a while—she was getting her Master’s degree at
Queen’s University in Entrepreneurship. They just had a fishing tournament with
big prizes! I told her that over 10 years ago my friend had won the 1<sup>st</sup>
price at such a tournament—a car—but he had not been able to even come close to
repeating this feat since then. I think that luck always has A LOT to do with
succeeding—especially catching a big fish!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/859/43775657031_520f73f786_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/859/43775657031_520f73f786_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The site of the Garnier High School. Only the pedestal remains, on which a statue of Jesus once stood in front of the school's entrance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
day before leaving the park we drove to the town of Spanish, called “the
gateway to the north channel”. We drove on Garnier Road to the Spanish
Municipal Marina. There was a modern building with fitness facilities as well
as a trail which Catherine decided to do—I was waiting for her in the car and
had to find a shaded location because it was extremely hot (September
25-unbelievable-over +30C!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/932/43746233572_9b50e26901_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="782" height="414" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/932/43746233572_9b50e26901_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Garnier High School for Boys, as it looked many years ago. The pedestal, with the statue of Jesus, is visible.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Very
close to the marina there used to be two Residential Schools. One was for boys
(The St. Peter Claver School and the Garnier High School, operated out of the
boys school) and run by Jesuits. The other school, St. Joseph's School for
Girls, was run by the Daughters of the Heart of Mary. The Garnier High School
(also referred to as “Garnier College”) was closed by 1965 and the Garnier
building was demolished in 2004. The St. Joseph's School for Girls closed in
1962 and the building sustained a fire in 1981.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1796/43775681241_1a91bd2f4b_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1796/43775681241_1a91bd2f4b_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ruins of St. Joseph's School for Girls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I
had visited that very same area in 1994, I still remember the ruins of the
Garnier School, along with the pedestal, albeit empty. According to old
photographs of the school, the statue of Jesus, his arms outstretched, used to
be there. When we were there in 2017, the school building was gone and the only
remnant was that lonesome pedestal. There was also a new granite monument, on
which both schools were depicted, with the following inscription:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/855/43775672721_accd4bf6c1_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="800" height="548" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/855/43775672721_accd4bf6c1_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Granite Monument</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“<span style="background: white; color: #2a2a2a;">Dreams flash across the minds of many,
gratifying, satisfying, unrelenting, but dreams pass and we find peace at
last.” Mae Evelyn Smith, Buswa, a student. “This memorial is in honour of all
children who attended these schools.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1776/43746233692_17fa0bfa23_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="782" height="388" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1776/43746233692_17fa0bfa23_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old photo of the two schools-the Garnier High School for Boys and St. Joseph's School for Girls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
building, or rather its shell, that used to house St. Joseph's School for
Girls, still stood a few hundred meters from the site of the other school. The
statue of St. Joseph was still there. The gate was open, so we entered the
premises—I think that somebody was next to the building, the place was quite
interesting and we wished we could have talked to the owner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
residential schools had left a painful legacy and for many years those who
attended the schools had often been publicly reminiscing about the years spent
there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Incidentally,
since 1994 I have been attending annual Jesuit retreats at Manresa, Pickering,
Ontario. Adjacent to the Retreat House is the Jesuit Infirmary (René Goupil
House), where most older and infirm Jesuits come there to retire—and eventually
die. Over the years I had read their obituaries and from time to time they
mentioned that a given Jesuit brother or father used to teach or work at the
Spanish Residential School. During my last retreat, at the end of 2017, I was
told that only one Jesuit associated with the Residential School in Spanish was
still alive and resided in the Jesuit Infirmary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/930/43059314534_e51bf34c5c_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="671" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/930/43059314534_e51bf34c5c_o.jpg" width="536" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On our
way back to the park, we stopped at Variety Store for ice cream and talked with
a French couple who were tandem riding from Vancouver to Quebec City—they
started in July. I always have a high regard for such adventurous individuals!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1774/43775656431_f2e41b0f31_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="800" height="364" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1774/43775656431_f2e41b0f31_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
then inevitably came September 26, 2017, our last day at the park and our last
day together, period! After packing up, we went to the Massey Museum, but only
spent 10 minutes there, getting low-priced books and videos. Just before noon,
after 36 days travelling together, we bid farewell! Catherine drove west to
Minnesota; I was on my way to Mississauga. I still stopped at Espanola as
Catherine had asked me to buy her some headlights. I also went to The Giant
Tiger to buy a simple t-shirt: it was very hot, +32 C, and I had run out of
t-shirts, not expecting it would be so hot at that time! Next to the store
there were rail tracks, leading from the Domtar Paper Mill towards the south. I
believe it was the only existing and seldom used spur of the Algoma Eastern
Railway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1831/43775656041_b213759131_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1831/43775656041_b213759131_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I made
a quick stop at the Hungry Bear Restaurant and went to the Trading Post and
next I arrived at the intersection of highway 69 & road 522, where the
Grundy Supply Post used to be located—and where we had purchased our canoe in
2010. Now it was gone, only the rusty shells of the gas dispensers remained.
Fortunately, it had just relocated to the entrance of Grundy Lake Provincial
Park—most likely the new highway would pass through its former location.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1795/43775658661_78fc5de2e5_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1795/43775658661_78fc5de2e5_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The former location of Grundy Lake Supply Post, at the intersection of Highway 69 & Road 522. In 2010 we bought our canoe here! Fortunately, it moved just 1 km and now is located in front of of the entrance to Grundy Lake Provincial Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was
planning on spending the night at Six Mile Lake Provincial Park, but soon
realized that I would not make it there on time. Instead, I drove to Oastler
Lake Provincial Park, several kilometers south of Parry Sound. The park was
almost deserted, the park offices were closed and I quickly drove to campsite
number 132, where we had stayed once. Since I only had Catherine’s very small
‘emergency tent’, my inflatable matters did not even fit in, but well, it was
for only one night, so I kind of made it fit! To make the tent waterproof, I
covered it with a tarp. It was still very hot and humid, but the weather
forecast called for a much cooler weather from then on—it was a perfect timing
to end our vacation where we did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1840/41966815220_4a4639bbb8_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="800" height="436" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1840/41966815220_4a4639bbb8_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campsite #131 in Oastler Lake Provincial Park and my 'emergency' tent, much too small, but OK for just one night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
</div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I
drove to the park’s office and made a call from the pay phone outside. Then for
the first time I heard the train. OMG, it was so noisy! Without any
exaggeration, I thought the train would suddenly materialize on the road and
run me over, like in some horror movies! I had to postpone the call because it
was impossible to hear anything. Then I drove back to the campsite and spent
some time reading and sipping wine. Several times I heard the trains (there
were two railway tracks very close to the park, one for eastbound, the other
one for westbound trains). Whenever the train approached, first I hear the
train whistle blowing, it became lauder and lauder and finally I could hear the
rhythmic sounds of the train, so acute that sometimes I had a feeling that
trains were crisscrossing the park, just next to my tent! I did manage to fall
asleep after 1:00 a.m., yet at least once during the night I was awakened by
the train. Just before 6:00 a.m. I woke up due to a shrieking train
whistles—falling back asleep was pointless, as in no time I heard another train
and yet another. I had stayed in this park several times before and honestly, I
had no idea why those trains had not bothered me then! I quickly packed up the
tent—which was a good idea as it started raining a little—and left the park
just after 7:00 am. After making one quick stop at MEC in Barrie, I arrived at
home before 11 a.m.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
<b><span lang="PL">Blog in
Polish/w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL">: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/08/wycieczka-samochodowo-kepmpngowa-parki.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/08/wycieczka-samochodowo-kepmpngowa-parki.html</a></span><br />
<b>More photos from this trip: </b><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157699705142605">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157699705142605</a></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-70161629258864586052018-07-30T21:06:00.000-07:002018-08-01T19:00:59.241-07:00CAR CAMPING TRIP ACROSS MINNESOTA, WISCONSIN, UPPER PENINSULA OF MICHIGAN AND ONTARIO, AUGUST/SEPTEMBER, 2017<br />
<div class="Standard">
<b><span lang="PL">Blog in
Polish/blog w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL">: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/07/wycieczka-samochodowo-kempingowa.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/07/wycieczka-samochodowo-kempingowa.html</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
<b>More photos from this trip</b>: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157698027688791">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157698027688791</a>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1776/43773144821_bab870704a_h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="800" height="344" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1776/43773144821_bab870704a_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our route from Minneapolis, Minnesota to Mississauga, Ontario</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the
late 1990s I got my Air Miles card and for the next 20 years I used it while
making purchases at certain stores, collecting air miles. I guess it was not
one of the best air miles cards—when I finally redeemed most of my points for
the one-way flight from Toronto to Minneapolis in 2017, I saved about $200
(still had to pay over $100 in taxes). Wow, it is like ‘earning’ $10 per year!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="Standard">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tuesday, August 22, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
good thing was the Air Canada flight was departing at 9:00 a.m., not at 6:00
a.m., like last time; at least I was able to get a good night’s sleep! At the
Pearson’s Airport for the first time I used the self-checking option (having
printed my boarding pass at home), which worked without any glitches. As
expected, my carry-on baggage had to be scanned twice due to all the
electronics I was carrying (i.e., three cameras, two GPS units, chargers,
batteries, flashlights, headlights, recorder…), but surprisingly I did not even
have to open it. While I was waiting for the re-scan, I was observing several
people who, despite clear rules, still brought big bottles of liquids and
lotions; needless to say, they were confiscated in most cases.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since
Pearson Airport provides United States border preclearance facilities, operated
by U.S. Customs and Border Protection officers (in 1952 it became the first
airport in the world to provide such facilities), there was another line. Most
of the travelers in the line were not apparently American or Canadian citizens
and thus some of them had to answer a number of questions as well as were
fingerprinted. When it was my turn, the officer just scanned my passport, took
a look at the monitor and asked what the purpose of my visit was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Camping”,
I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
passport was stamped and voilà, I entered the United States! Well, not exactly,
as legally I still remained in Canada: the U.S. officials could question me,
but did not have the power to detain/arrest me, yet of course, could deny my
boarding (or I could just abandon my flight).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since
the boarding was not going to occur for at least one hour—and did not have
breakfast—I decided to head towards Tim Horton’s—but when I saw a HUGE lineup
to this so-popular Canadian coffee shop, I immediately gave up—I did not want
to miss my plane ;)!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
aircraft was a smallish Embraer E175, which seated around 80 passengers. The
flight’s total time was 1 hour and 48 minutes and after landing at the
Minneapolis/Saint Paul (MSP) airport, I quickly proceeded to the baggage
pick-up area—my suitcase had already been waiting for me!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Once I
found a good waiting spot, I called Catherine and told her where I exactly was.
Of course, she was still at home, tied up with something, and apologetically
said the she would be late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Don’t
worry about it! I have plenty of experience waiting for you at this airport”, I
said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well,
when had arrived here the previous year, I had had to wait for her for over one
hour too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Once I
saw Catherine’s distinct white Dodge Caravan (albeit now with Minnesota plates
and a new front windshield, as the old one got damaged during our last trip in
the USA), I quickly got in, installed the GPS unit and we were on our way!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After
leaving the city (I was not interested in stopping there), we got on highway 35
and stopped at Forest Lake, where we went to Walmart and Aldi. I was quite
impressed with the Aldi. It is a chain of very inexpensive stores (not in
Canada, though) and indeed, we bought a lot of food items for our trip. There
was also a big sign on the store’s building: “Now Hiring! All positions $14-$24
per hour.” It appeared that, like in Canada, there was a shortage of certain workers
in Minnesota, too! However, I was quite disappointed with the Walmart.
Beforehand, I had made a list of things I wanted to buy, hoping that I would
get them for less than in Canada. Unfortunately, after factoring in the
exchange rate, I did not find any deals and we just bought a few basic items
for our trip. Since most of Walmart stores (and others too) were conveniently
located very close to main highways, it took us just minutes to get back on the
highway and we continued driving for some time, eventually stopping at a rest
stop and having our lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Several
hours later we reached Duluth, a major port city in Minnesota, accessible to
oceangoing vessels from the Atlantic Ocean via the Great Lakes Waterway and the
Saint Lawrence Seaway. Although we did not stop, I admired the impressive bays,
ports, shipyards (?), freighters and railways. At one point it must have been a
very important industrial city, but I think its days of glory have been over
for some time. By the way, once we drove on the John A. Blatnik Bridge over
Saint Louis Bay, we entered the state of Wisconsin and later drove on road
number 13, more-less along the south shores of Lake Superior.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
stopped in a small town of Cornucopia (meaning ‘horn of plenty’) and went to
Ehler’s Store, where we spoke with a very nice lady, the store owner, who also
happened to be Canadian. The store was quite old and it carried groceries,
camping supplies, hardware, souvenirs, arts & crafts—as well as it served
food. Vis-à-vis the store, there was a small post office and the sign said,
“Wisconsin’s Northern Most Post Office”. Once we reached Madeline Island, I saw
a post office there, too. Since Madeline Island appeared to be north of
Cornucopia, I had some doubts about this assertion—but later took a good look
at the map and realized that indeed, part of the island where the post office
was located was south of Cornucopia, thus making this claim totally legitimate!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Interestingly,
the first farmers who came to this area from the Austrian Empire were Carpatho-Russians,
the Rusyns, an ethnic group found in the mountainous borderlands of Poland,
Slovakia, Ukraine, and Romania. Rusyn surnames found in Cornucopia include
Kaseno, Celinsky, Sveda, Roman, and Pristash.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
wished we could have spent more time exploring this town, but still had to
catch the ferry to Madeline Island. In spite of our (or rather Catherine’s)
driving efforts, we missed the 6:00 p.m. ferry and thus had enough time to
drive around the town of Bayfield. There were several ferries and it cost
(round trip) $25 per car and $14 per person, altogether $53. It was a nice,
leisurely 20 minute ride during which we had an interesting conversation with
an American couple about our and their travels.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Madeline
Island, originally called Moningwunakauning ("The Home of the Golden
Breasted Woodpecker"), is one of a group of 22 “Apostle Islands” and is
the largest. It is the only island in the Apostle Island chain open to
commercial development and private ownership. Just north of Madeline Island is
Stockton Island (Gigawekamingo), which had one of the greatest concentrations
of black bears in North America!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As I
had made the campsite reservation weeks ago—the choice was quite limited due to
the park’s popularity—we went to the park office and quickly got our permits,
bought fire wood ($5) and headed to campsite number 7, which was quite nice.
The cost was $20 per night, but the van had to have a Wisconsin vehicle
admission sticker, valid for one year—it cost $38. It was raining a little, so
I quickly set up the tent and we went to sleep skipping having the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Wednesday, August 23, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, we
woke up in Big Bay State Park! After having a quick breakfast, we talked to a
family with 4 kids and a lovely dog—a Border Collie puppy! Then we went for a
walk along the Barrier Beach Trail, meandering along lagoons and sand dunes.
There were pine trees, which, according to informative plaques, “can continue
to grow year-round because their waxy, evergreen leaves retain water against
drying winter winds. Because they do not grow new leaves each spring, they also
need less nutrition from the soil.” There were also mushrooms and other plants,
growing thanks to the humus layer, made up of pine needles, leaves, wood,
animal waste, dead organism and other particles. There was also reindeer
moss—which actually is lichen, consisting of a fungus and an alga in a
symbiotic relationship. It was a very nice walk!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
park was very well maintained, thanks to the campground hosts, who kept all
campsites meticulously clean. We had a very interesting chat with them and
learned a lot of interesting things not only about the park, but also about
Madeline Island.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later
we drove to town of La Pointe, parked the car and walked along several streets.
There were stores, a Catholic church & cemetery as well as an Indian
cemetery (where also non-native people were buried). The cemetery’s origins
went back to 1835, to a Catholic mission started by Frederic Baraga. Some of
the more prominent individuals buried there were Chief Kechewaishke and
Madeline Cadotte, after whom Madeline island is named. Many graves of Ojibwe
people were covered with a "Spirit House", meant to protect the
deceased buried there. Visitors were not allowed inside the cemetery which was
fenced—there were plenty of various offerings left on the fence (money,
dreamcatchers, stones, pieces of wood). <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Most
of signs on the island were bilingual—in English and Anishinaabe (also called
Ojibwe). The latter language seemed a tad difficult—we did not even try to
pronounce it! Some examples:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gidanamikaagoo
Omaa Mooningwanekaaning—welcome to Madeline Island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gichi-Wilkwedong
Danakamigiziwining—Town Park<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Giigidoowigamigong—Town
Hall<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Agindaasoowigamigong—Public
Library<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Aakozhwigammigong—Clinic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Wemitigoozhi-Anama
Ewigamigong—Catholic Church<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
when we went to the bathroom, I used the one for “Ininiwag”, Catherine for
“Ikwewag”!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
also talked to a few locals (always a very interesting experience), went to the
museum (which was just closing) and drove to another park (Big Bay Town Park),
owned by the town, where campsites were $25 per night (and no vehicle admission
sticker was required!). There were a bunch of canoes on the beach; we grabbed
one and went for a relaxing paddle on the lagoon and then made an appropriate
donation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1833/29884383158_1003fc139a_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="800" height="488" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1833/29884383158_1003fc139a_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catherine loves ice cream-even if it's not real!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We had
a campfire in the evening and grilled some steaks that Catherine had brought
from home—unfortunately, they turned out to be very bad and we discarded them,
having something else instead. Later a group of 6 raccoons came over to check
out our campsite for food, but quickly left dissatisfied as no food was left
outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I
always bring a bunch of books with me, which I love reading at the campsite—the
new, powerful LED headlights come very handy. Although I try to avoid fiction,
some books are certainly worth reading. One of them was “Vatican” by Malachi
Martin, a former Jesuit, who at was a close confidante of Pope John XXIII and a
Vatican insider. Even though the names and some dates were changed, the book
basically followed the rein of Popes Pius XII, John XXIII, Paul VI and John
Paul II. At over 800 pages, it took me a while to finish it (probably I did at
the very end of the trip), but it was a very satisfying experience, I learned a
lot about the inner workings of the Vatican and the ever-present clash between
Good and Evil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Friday, August 25, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
packed up, headed to the ferry terminal. There was a slight lineup, I went to
the post office and mailed several post cards. There were several ferries
running, one of which had a Russian-sounding name “Nichevo”. The ferry operator
told us that the guy who was building the ferries (or some boats) was Russian
and each time people asked him what he was doing, he would answer, “Nichevo”
(‘nothing’ in English). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was a beautiful day and the ferry ride took about 20
minutes over to Bayfield. After driving off the ferry, we parked the van and
went to the visitor center, where we spoke with a very interesting young girl
in her 20s, who was a student at The College of Saint Scholastica at Duluth,
taking global studies. She looked French-Canadian, but she had a bunch of
Ojibwy, Russian and other blood because she was adopted. She spoke several
different languages, she had been over to Russia twice and we spoke with her
for at least half an hour.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then
we drove to the main highway and decided that we would not stay overnight in
the National Forest, but instead go to Copper Falls State Park, which was
closer—and we already had the Wisconsin car sticker. The park was perhaps 30
minutes from Bayfield. We drove around it, checking out south campground—it had
three circular roads with numerous campsites, which were not bad—yet I decided
to go to the north campground too. We picked a very private campsite in the
northern loop (number 33), located near one park road, close to two other
roads, but of course, the park traffic was very light. We set up the tent and
as we started our hike to the falls, it started raining. We took shelter under
a fantastic picnic log shelter, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the
1930s. The architecture of the whole area was amazing. Finally it stopped
raining and we set forth on our hike to see the Copper Falls and Brownstone
Falls. We did not do the complete loop because it was getting dark and it
seemed as if it was going to rain again, but we did see the falls and they were
certainly worth seeing. We went back to the campsite, had a campfire and went
to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Saturday, August 26, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Catherine
woke up quite early and she knew it was going to rain, so she woke me up, we
packed up very quickly and did a quick hike on the North Country National
Scenic Trail, which was stretching approximately 4,600 miles (7,400 km) from
Crown Point in eastern New York to Lake Sakakawea State Park in central North
Dakota. It was very scenic and a little rugged—after probably walking 0.0001%
of the whole trail’s length, we turned back and drove to the park’s office. The
other day Catherine had noticed a cabin in the park and she wondered if any
tourists could stay there. The park employee told us that if you had a
disability, you could stay there for the same price we paid ($20).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our campsite nr 33 at Copper Falls State Park</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
drove back to highway 28 and headed east, dropping in to a Visitor Center on
the border between Michigan and Wisconsin. Then we spent another half an hour,
talking to the lady working there, she told us plenty of fascinating stories
and we also picked up several brochures about Michigan and the Upper Peninsula.
We headed towards Au Train in the Hiawatha National Forest, which was not too
far, but since Catherine got sleepy, we stopped in a small town, parked the van
on a museum property and took a refreshing nap. We also went to a Family Dollar
Store—which I found somehow overpriced—where I saw the second black person on
this trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
also stopped at Marquette, it was very crowded as there was some festival. We
drove along the waterfront and parked near the museum, near the coastguard
station. There was a lighthouse and some old boats outside the museum. We had
some dip and cheese and had a nice picnic there!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finally
we reached Au Train Lake Campground. It had two loops, we drove around, trying
to find a nice campsite and eventually picked campsite number 13, near the
lake. Because of Catherine’s special pass, we only paid half of the regular
price, $9.00. The park had a self-reservation system, so I picked an envelope,
wrote information about us and our vehicle, put money in and was supposed to
slide it into a special money collection slot, but as we were walking to the
payment station, we started talking to the campground host. He told us that the
Federal Government had run out of money and there was no water for the pump and
no electricity. So we were glad we had plenty of water with us. I gave the
envelope with the money to the host and bought some wood from him. He was a
very outgoing man, who certainly enjoyed his semi-volunteering occupation very
much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We had
a very nice fire, but later it started spitting a bit. The park was very quiet
and we quickly fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sunday, August 27, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was
still raining a little, so at 9:00 am we packed up and drove north through
absolutely beautiful Hiawatha National Forest on road 552—if we had not had the
GPS, we would have thought we were lost—thanks goodness for this wonderful
invention! Just before the junction with highway 28, I spotted the Duluth,
South Shore and Atlantic Railway Rail Trail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
drove to Munising and wanted to go on to Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, but
the road did not look that great and we decided to pass. Instead we bought
groceries and a bunch of cheap t-shirts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On August 27, 2017, somebody saw a 'human'!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While
driving on highway 28, Catherine spotted a big sign inviting us to the “Seney
National Wildlife Refuge”, so we drove for several miles out of our way to the
Visitor Center. It was truly fascinating! The volunteers were really pleasant
and knowledgeable, they showed us a film about the wildlife refuge and they had
a lot of hands-on exhibits. We wished we could have stayed there longer. Then
we got into the van—it started raining again—and drove the 7 mile loop
(Marshland Wildlife Drive), which was the highlight of our trip! We passed
through wetlands and forests, stopping from time to time and observing
wildlife. We saw plenty of trumpeter swans and Canada geese. At one point we
spotted an eagle at a distance, sitting on top of a tree. As I was looking at
it through my camera telephoto lenses, Catherine was intensely staring at the
eagle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Is
this a golden eagle or a bald eagle?”, she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“If it
looks like you, it’s a golden eagle, if it looks like me, it’s a bald eagle”, I
said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Overall,
it was an awesome drive and we enjoyed every second if it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We had
three places in mind where could camp. The one that we ended up stopping at
first was just outside of Strong, south of highway 28. It was called “Three
Lakes Campground” in the Hiawatha National Forest—and we liked it so much that
we did not bother checking out the other locations. The campground was empty
save for one car. We picked campsite number 8, beside the trail, near Walker
Lake, and got settled in. The rain was on and off and Catherine used her
umbrella-she wished she had bought a big umbrella which she saw in Shopko
recently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There
were plenty of broken and semi-melted beer bottles inside the fire pit and it
took me a while to carefully remove as much glass as possible. I could never
understand why people do that! We had a nice campfire and grilled tasty pork
chops. We did not see anybody else on the campground—whoever was in the car,
never set up any tent and must have slept inside—around 6:00 a.m. next morning
I heard some noise and when I got up, the car was gone. We paid $8.00 for the
campsite per night—the only person we saw was the park attendant who came two
days later, collected the envelopes with the money, removed the garbage and
cleaned the washrooms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
spent two nights in the park and loved it! We hardly ever heard cars which very
infrequently drove on the road. Just once, as we were enjoying the small beach
on the shores of the lake, we spotted some people who were putting their canoe
on the water. They were fishing and as they were close to the shore, we talked
to them for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
campground had about 10 campsites (28 according to the official government
website) and save for the washroom and the water pump, there were no other
facilities—campers were not supposed to even leave their garbage there. Our
campsite number 8 was at the end of the loop road, near a trail. The next day I
went for a walk beyond our campsite. Surprisingly, there was a road, albeit
unused for a while… and then I spotted a bunch of overgrown campsites! So,
there was another loop with many camping sites, now closed off—I wondered why?
Perhaps the campground’s low popularity did not justify maintaining all the
campsites… or perhaps the closed off sites were being rehabilitated. In any
case, we enjoyed our stay at this park very much and we hated to leave our
lovely campsite which was very large, very scenic and very private!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tuesday, August 29, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the
morning we left our lovely campsite, drove north and took West Lakeshore Drive
along the south shores of Lake Superior. We also stopped at Bay View
Campground—one of the campgrounds we had considered staying at—it was nice, but
there were campers here and there and we were glad we picked Three Lakes
Campground over this one! Then we arrived at the Point Iroquois Lighthouse. It
was built in 1870, after the first lighthouse was demolished. Since at one time
it was manned by a head keeper and two assistants, it had living quarters for
three families. The lighthouse was decommissioned in 1962 and now it is a
museum. We spent there over one hour, talking to the rangers and museum
employees, walking in the re-created rooms and examining exhibits. Later we
took a stroll on the boardwalk. While having lunch outside, we chatted with one
lady who had, for many years, travelled all over the USA in her RV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
continued driving along the shore and reached Sault Ste. Marie (still in the
USA), went to a dollar store where we bought some food, as well as dropped into
the duty-free store before continuing on the huge bridge over St. Mary’s River
to Canada. From the bridge we spotted a cruise ship, called “The Pearl
Mist”—which we would see again on our trip. Below we saw the US locks, which
pass about 10,000 ships per year—the Canadian locks were only used for recreational
boats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There
was a 10 minute wait to get to the border. The immigration officer did not ask
us much—mainly about firearms, mace and pepper spray—as well as he told us more
about “The Pearl Mist”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
took highway 17 and our next stop was a picnic spot near the bridge leading to
St. Joseph Island, on a small island called Bamford Island. In 2015, when we
were driving back to Canada, we also stopped at this very spot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In
Serpent River, just meters after passing highway 108 (leading to Elliot Lake),
there was a big traffic jam, a big lineup of cars & trucks, and we saw a
police cruiser that passed us, yet police were not directing traffic or trying
to explain to us what was the problem. Apparently, there was an accident—later
was saw a damaged RV, but nobody really knew what was going on. The road was
blocked and we had no choice but wait. However, I noticed that some cars in
front of us made U-turns, but a few turned right into a side road called
Riverview Road. I glanced at my GPS and it showed that by taking this road, we
could bypass the accident, as its other end of the road connected to the
highway. Yet I was puzzled why the police officers did not re-direct the
traffic then? Did they know something that we did not know—or were just
incompetent or not very intelligent? Well, it was the latter, as we were about
to find out… We decided to take our chances and drove on the road—and it was a
great idea and perfect timing! After a relatively short drive we were back on
highway 17—and this time we saw over 100 vehicles (Catherine said it stretched
for miles) stocked on the other side of the highway due to the accident—and we
did not see ONE car taking the detour! Unfortunately, the cops had the road
blocked, yet they did not care about the existing alternative route and
re-directing the traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Massey, Ontario</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
kept driving for a few hours and finally reached the town of Massey, turned
north and in a couple of minutes arrived at Chutes Provincial Park. First we
drove around the park and picked a nice campsite number 98, then went back to
the gatehouse and paid for the campsite. It was our second visit in this
park—several years ago we had camped on campsite #95, but it was taken. Our
current campsite was near the trail leading to the chutes and we could even
hear the water. The campground was quite full and we had neighbors on both
sides, but it was remarkably quiet. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While I was setting up the tent, Catherine
unpacked the car and as she was setting up kitchen stuff on the table, suddenly
she started screaming—there was a black snake underneath the picnic table!
Immediately I bravely came over to the rescue, which was fairly easy—it was one
of those very realistically looking rubber snakes! Catherine even decided to
keep it as a souvenir. Whoever had placed the snake there, trying to frighten
unsuspecting camper, certainly DID succeed! We had a nice fire, nice grill and
slept like a log! Turning back to that accident on the road—around 9:00 p.m. we
heard a bunch of traffic passing by on highway 17, while we were setting up our
tent, and we assumed that they had finally cleared the accident and all the
vehicles were allowed to proceed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thursday, August 30, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
awoke at Chutes Park to what we thought was a neighbor pelting us with pine
cones. Catherine looked out from the tent and saw plenty of those hard, long,
green cones all over the ground. It turned out that it was the squirrels doing
that—they climbed up the tree, bit off the pine cones which fell off the tree
and later picked them up and carried to their burrows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was
a wonderful, sunny day and after breakfast we went for a hike along the trail.
We saw a several scenic falls & rapids and enjoyed the walk very much.
Sadly, we could not stay another day at this park as we had a reservation on
Manitoulin Island, so we left the park at 2:00 p.m. Little did we know then,
but in less than one month we would come back to this park again and stay on
the very same campsite for one week!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
drove to Massey, where we saw some Mennonite people riding in horse-drawn buggies.
Massey was an old mining town, so there were several exhibits all over the town
about its mining past. We got back on highway #17 and headed towards Espanola.
As we were passing the bridge, we saw a huge Domtar Paper Mill—its chimneys
were spewing smoke and there was a very distinct whiff hanging all over the
town. We stopped at Giant Tiger, Dollarama and a grocery store, where we did
some shopping, and kept driving on very scenic highway 6. Finally we reached
the Little Current Swing Bridge, the only land access to Manitoulin Island. The
bridge was built in 1913 and the Algoma Eastern Railway began operating trains
across the bridge the same year. At that time the bridge was left in the open
position at all times for marine traffic except when a train needed to cross.
In the 1940s the bridge was modified to permit both rail and road traffic to
cross. Rail service ceased to use the bridge in the 1980s and since then it has
been used by vehicular traffic only.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Once
we reached the town of Little Current, the first thing that appeared in front
of our eyes was the cruise ship “The Pearl Mist”, which we had briefly seen two
days ago from the bridge in Sault Ste. Marie. The passengers were disembarking
from several tour buses—they had just returned from a bus excursion on
Manitoulin Island. We talked to a young man working at the port and he told us
more about the cruiser. It belonged to Great Lake Cruise Company which
organized cruises from Chicago to Midland & Toronto. The ship’s length was
100 meters, it had 6 decks, passenger capacity of 210 and a diesel engine 6,300
hp. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since it was relatively light (e.g., it did not have a swimming pool), its
draft was only 3.1 m, perfect for cruising on the Great Lakes. However, such
cruises were quite expensive—from approximately U.S. $5,500 to $11,000. While
we were at the port, the ship cast off the docking lines and slowly headed
towards the swing bride. I did not think I would really enjoy this kind
vacation—but Catherine was much blunter in her assessment: “It (the cruise
ship) kind of looked like an old painted rust bucket to me, with a lot of old
people sitting on it,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since
almost everything was shut down at 6:00 pm, we headed to Kicking Mule Ranch,
which Catherine had booked on Airbnb. She booked the “Slice of Country” cabin
and when we arrived, there was a sign saying “Welcome Jack and Catherine”. Yet
after wandering around the ranch and checking out other seemingly vacant cabin,
Catherine decided that she preferred the “Home, Tweet Home” cabin better, it
was more private. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">By the way, several years ago we had stayed at Kicking Mule
Ranch for a couple nights, camping in our tent. Now the campsites were gone—the
owner had expanded the place and added cabins and tipis. There was a British
family with 2 kids along with their parents from the U.K. They were renting one
of the tipis. Since the owner was not around—and we did not know if the other
cabin would be available—we just waited for her to make sure we could switch.
It started raining a little, so we sat under the roof of the one we had rented.
When she came, she said we could switch, so we did. The people in the tipi next
door relocated to the cabin since the tipi was leaking. We did not have a fire
that night, but we did not mind. There were three kitties! I took pity on one
of them and brought it into our cabin. It curled up and it purred and slept
with us, so we had a good night sleep.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thursday, August 31, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We got
up and were glad that the weather had improved. The other, orange kitty, came
over and curled up in our bed and probably wanted to sleep there all day, but
since we were going to be away most of the day, we put it outside. Then we
drove to see the Wikwemikong Unceded Reserve and the town of Wikwemikong.
Before we even got into that territory, there was a bargain barn which
Catherine could not resist pulling into. There were numerous bins full of
mainly Perrier bottles—we thought they were empty to be recycled, but we were
told they were free. Maybe they were expired or damaged, but they were, in our
opinion, perfect to drink and we got plenty of them. Then we went into the shop
which had plenty of food items which had just expired, but it was still totally
safe to eat and very cheap. Catherine ended up getting Lind chocolate bars,
they were $1 apiece (at other stores they retailed for $5.00)—yet she
succeeding in negotiating a case for $0.50 apiece! I got some very inexpensive
razors and an adding machine (hopefully, they had not expired!). Having filled
the van with all the goodies, we proceeded to, stopping at a gas station called
“Quick Gas Station” or so, but it was anything but quick, it was the slowest
bar gas we had been to, in fact we had to do everything ourselves, including
pumping the gas and doing the windshields. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then we stopped at a rest area,
there was a cross and a plaque, listing natives from this district who were
killed in the First and Second War, as well as a bunch of rocks painted with
original Native motives. Finally, we reached the town of Wikwemikong. There was
a stone structure, just the walls, no roof, no windows; it turned out it had
been a school that had burned down. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On one side of that school’s remains was a
church and on the other side, the church rectory. We wanted to look into the
church, but it was locked. Suddenly a car pulled up and a man stepped out if
it—he was a Belgian Jesuit priest. I talked to him for a while and told him
that I knew the former pastor, Father Doug McCarthy, S.J., whom I had first met
at Manresa Retreat in Pickering, Ontario in 1994.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He
said that Father Paul Robson, S.J., was the pastor now. Well, the world is a
small place—Fr. Robson had given a retreat in 2016 at Manresa and I had even
spoken to him for a while! In any case, the priest told us that the door was
actually opened and we could go inside the church. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was fascinating, it was a
combination of traditional European and Native culture. The Stations of the
Cross were represented by very original Native paintings, very brilliant and
fluorescent, in the unmistakable Native style. There were dream catchers inside
and some Native carvings—and a totem pole outside the church, representing the
Trinity. We were so glad we could see the church—it would have been awesome to
be able to attend a mass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
drove to the town of Manitowaning (outside the reserve). There was a rather
dilapidated ship The Norisle and a couple of interesting buildings, albeit all
closed. Later I found out that the S.S. Norsile was the first passenger steam
ship (ferry) built in Canada just after World War II and she sailed the route
between Tobermory and South-Baymouth on Manitoulin Island until 1974. Later she
served as a major tourist attraction and floating museum. However, she had been
closed to the public for some time and her future was uncertain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
pulled into a grocery store to buy ice and at the same time rearranged the
cooler. We also went into a gun store and some other places, but most of them
were closing, so we headed back to Kicking Mule Ranch. We spoke to the British
tourists and then we had a fire in front of our cabin, grilling tasty pork
chops over the fire, and around 11 p.m. we turned in. We wanted to have a kitty
in our cabin for the night, but we could not find any of them, they just
disappeared… or perhaps other campers had already taken them to their cabins!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Friday, September 1, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
packed up and were ready to leave, but before I went to the owner and showed
her my printed blog from 2013, in which were the photos of Kicking Mule Ranch
and her grandson, riding a pony. We headed out and we did not make it very far
as Catherine saw a sign saying “Fishery” and of course pulled it. The Blue Jay
Creek Fish Culture Station was interesting—there was a short trail by the creek
and a lot of interpretive signs. There were a couple of plaques about
McGauley’s Gristmil, which was constructed in the 1880s at that site and
operated until the 1930s. Inside the building there were a lot of displays and
information. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then
we kept driving towards South Baymouth to catch the ferry. We parked on the
main street and walked on back streets, visited a gallery where Catherine
bought a poster, and then we got into the line to the ferry (just in case, we
had made a reservation several weeks ago), paid the fare and left the van
there. Catherine spotted a trail with a nice picnic area and of course, decided
to quickly do a little walk around the small bay. She somehow assumed that
there was a bridge crossing over back to the main parking—and there was none!
Suddenly she saw the Chi Cheemaun (the ferry) coming in and she ended up
running, discovering that she was not a runner at all! But we had plenty of
time—first, it took a while before all the vehicle drove off the ferry; then
the ferry employees were directing vehicles to drive onto the ferry. It turned
out that our lane was almost the last one to drive onto the ferry. We climbed
up on the upper deck and found two chairs in the stern section of the ferry,
having a great view. I had my GPS—the ferry was doing 30 km/h, I could identify
plenty of islands that we saw around, but it was a little bit noisy and reeked
of diesel. It was a sunny, warm day—Catherine’s daughter called and she spent
well over 30 minutes talking to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then
in Tobermory we drove off the ferry, parked the car and walked around the town,
which was just crawling with people. We went to the Visitor Centre at Bruce
Peninsula National Park. Because of Canada’s 150<sup>th</sup> birthday, the
fees for using the National Parks (only day visits, I presumed) were waived and
maybe that was way we had to drive around the parking lot several times to find
a parking spot. There were plenty of exhibits, including the "Fathom Five
3D" exhibit and the Franklin Expedition exhibit. We spent at least 30
minutes there and it was very busy, teeming with visitors. At one point we
realized that save for the Visitor Center’s employees, we were the only
Caucasians there! I found it amusing—I had expected to see a lot of black
people in in the U.S.A., but I saw no more than 5 African-Americans during the
American leg of our trip!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In the
town of Tobermory there were plenty of gift shops and restaurants—so busy that
we did not even bother waiting in line to have a snack. After one hour we
headed off to our campsite where Catherine had made a reservation. Once
Catherine saw the sign “Happy Hearts Tent and Trailer Park”, she drove there
and gave her name to the gentleman at the reception. However, he was a little
confused and could find the reservation, so I went to the car to get the
printout of the reservation receipt—and of course, we immediately realized we
were at the wrong campground—we were supposed to go to the Harmony Acres
Campground!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So we
drove down on highway 6 for another 7 or so kilometers and this time reached
the correct destination. It was a mother and a daughter who had bought the
place several years ago. In the past, it had been a restaurant, but they had
turned it into a horse sanctuary for abused horses and made it into a very nice
campground. When we had made the reservation, it was one of the few places that
had available campsites during the Labour Day Long Weekend. Upon arrival, we
were told that all campsites were booked, so we expected to see throngs of
campers. Well, there were plenty of campsites vacant. Fortunately, nobody else
was camping in adjacent campsites and we were enjoying plenty of privacy.
However, had the place been full with campers, I did not think that would have
been the case! The campsites were a little similar to those in provincial
parks, albeit much smaller and much closer to one another. At the office we
were given a long list of rules which were also read to us—kind of unusual, in
comparison to provincial/state parks. Whereas the rule about not having a fire
after 11:00 p.m. did not bother us while we were camping, it was kind of weird:
at other parks we often sat around the campfire till the wee hours of the
morning and did not disturb any other campers. For us the only problem was that
the highway backed up onto the campground, particularly where we were located
(#36) and we could hear the traffic all the time, especially after the last
ferry of the day arrived from Manitoulin Island, the traffic noise on highway 6
heading south lasted for a while. Since the campsite was small, once we parked
the van, it blocked the view, so the next morning Catherine parked the car on
one of the adjacent campsites. It was a cool night and we enjoyed the fire very
much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">September 2, 2017, Saturday<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
packed up and we were out by their strict rule of 11 a.m. We headed on highway
6 south and our first stop was a Thrift Shop, located in a former church. We
must have spent close to one hour there—Catherine bought a chair, I ended with
a bunch of books and magazines. Then we stopped at the Lone Wolf Fish &
Chips, located on the Cape Croker Hunting Ground Indian Reserve and split an
order of delicious fish & chips. We kept driving and we hit the town of
Wiarton and went to a store—it was an old Emporium, smelled like mildew, we did
not buy anything and walked up and down the street. Later we headed to Owen
Sound, where we went to The Giant Tiger and Dollarama for just 30 minutes; once
we were done, we headed towards Mississauga. Instead of a nice sunset, right
around 6:30 p.m. we could see very dark clouds, they sky got almost black, like
an eclipse. We stopped at the Nellie Mooney McClung (1873-1951) stone monument.
Born in Chatsworth, she was a feminist, author, social activist and politician.
She was also a temperance activist—how ironic… because I just had a can of cold
beer next to her monument!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then
we kind of got lost, but the GPS showed us a cut through over the highway 10
(Sideroad 1) and even though the sign said, “No Exit”, we took a deep breath
and entered it. It was one of the most beautiful roads I had ever driven on! It
was a gravel road, some places were a little muddy and wet and we were afraid
that once we would get to the end, there would be no exit, but sure enough,
there was a stop sign and we came out on highway 10. Eventually it started
raining where we were in Caledon. We took highway 410 to Cawthra and arrived
home past 8:00 pm. Altogether we drove 2,080 km and had a wonderful time!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b><span lang="PL">Blog in
Polish/blog w języku polskim</span></b><span lang="PL">: <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/07/wycieczka-samochodowo-kempingowa.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.com/2018/07/wycieczka-samochodowo-kempingowa.html</a>
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<b>More photos from this trip</b>: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157698027688791">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157698027688791</a>
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<br />
<br />Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-75571897515721931742017-08-16T20:53:00.000-07:002017-08-17T12:30:32.232-07:00ENJOYING OUR 12TH TRIP TO CUBA AND SECOND TO THE HOTEL COLONIAL IN CAYO COCO. EXPLORING CIEGO DE AVILA. JANUARY 12-26, 2017<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
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<b>More photos:</b> <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157685222807690"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157685222807690</span></a>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;">Blog po polsku/in the
Polish language:</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;"> <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/dwunasty-wyjazd-na-kube-i-drugi-do.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/dwunasty-wyjazd-na-kube-i-drugi-do.html</span></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">After visiting the Hotel <span class="MsoIntenseEmphasis">Colonial</span> for the first time in November 2015 (<a href="http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2016/10/cayo-coco-cubatwo-weeks-at-hotel.html">http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/2016/10/cayo-coco-cubatwo-weeks-at-hotel.html</a>),
we had such a great time that at that time we decided to visit it again—and 14
months later, on January 12, 2017, after the shortest flight ever from Toronto
to Cuba (3 hours and 7 minutes), we arrived in Cayo Coco.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4390/36586072606_c49549fee7_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4390/36586072606_c49549fee7_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">View from our hotel window, room 1642</span></td></tr>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The flight (<i>Sunwing</i>) was good, although for the
first time no meals were included in the price of the ticket (which did not
bother me at all). Upon arrival, at the departure area of the Cayo Coco
airport, I went to obtain some Cuban money, but the exchange rate was really
bad, just 67 CUC for $100 CAN. Unfortunately, the same rate was offered at the
hotel’s reception desk. On the other hand, at the bank in Ciego de Avila I got
72.50 CUC for $100 CAN (although the clerk initially made a ‘mistake’,
shortchanging me by 20 CUC). Because of the poor exchange rate, we brought with
us plenty of US one-dollar bills which were perfect for tipping and no one
seemed to complain—well, after all, “<i>pecunia
non olet</i>”! Some tourists claim that we should always tip in the local currency—especially
because it is difficult for Cubans to exchange US dollars into CUCs (there is a
10% surcharge). I agree—and as soon as the Cuban government stops cheating
tourists on the exchange rates, we will tip in CUCs! And at least we did tip, unlike
many of the Russian tourists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Room #1642</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The bus ride to the hotel took
just over 20 minutes. We immediately saw Viviana and Michael from Public
Relations whom we had met during our previous trip. In no time we settled in
our very nice and cozy corner room #1642.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Whereas Canadians constituted
the majority of tourist, there were also a lot of Russians and some tourists
from Argentina. Apparently American tourists had not ‘discovered’ Cayo Coco yet
and there were none (save for my friend); even the staff hardly ever had any
encounters with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">ROOM(S)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Our room #1642 was very nice,
but unfortunately, the raucous entertainment in the swimming pool area (bingo +
obnoxious techno music with DJ yelling) was very bothersome and it often
continued till 5:00 pm, causing Catherine to have a headache. After a few days
we asked to be moved (thanks, Viviana!) and ended up in room number 3066 which
was much better: it offered a great view of both the ocean and the lagoon as
well as was located very far from any entertainment area. We could also see the
partially-finished canal that was going to connect the lagoon with the ocean.
Since the workers’ pick-up and drop-off area was nearby, we sometimes heard the
buses blowing their horns and saw latecomers, dashing to catch the last bus
home—or risk spending the night in the resort!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4351/36586061836_ab26e588cf_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4351/36586061836_ab26e588cf_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Room #3066</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Both rooms had a free safe, HD
TV, bathtub, two large beds, balcony and a small fridge. Although we do not
watch TV back in Canada, we did watch it in Cuba mainly because of the upcoming
inauguration of President Donald Trump. Unfortunately, there were no Canadian
channels, only the CNN and some English Chinese stations (CCTV). I was shocked
at the CNN coverage—it was extremely limited, over 95% of the ‘news’ pertained
to the USA and essentially almost exclusively focused on the presidential
inauguration, nearly ignoring any other events happening in the world. I pity
those whose the only source of news is the CNN!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4400/36586096046_c962f23538_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4400/36586096046_c962f23538_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Building 30</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The maid did an excellent job
cleaning the room and usually left a bottle of mineral water and we always
showed her our gratitude. Once we had an electrical problem and called the
reception; in no time an electrician showed up, a very nice man, who quickly
rectified it. Another issue with the safe (namely, dead batteries) was swiftly
solved by <i>Señor</i> Prado—as well as a
plumber fixed the toilet tank which sometimes did not hold the water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">FOOD<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">As always, we never had any
difficulties with finding something tasteful and delicious. Breakfasts were
served at the <i>Restaurant Buffet Plaza</i>.
Every day I had eggs or omelet—as well as excellent pancakes! In additions,
there were plenty of salads & fruits, breads, sausages, cheese and meat
slices. One day Catherine ‘discovered’ crepes and from then on had several
every morning. The hot buffet also featured, among others, blood sausage,
boiled eggs, onions, potatoes and ‘pork sausage of pig’ (!). Since I did not
drink coffee, I enjoyed a few glasses of yogurt. We could always count on very
nice and efficient servers, who promptly brought coffee for Catherine (in
carafes) and removed dirty dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The dinner was served at the <i>Grand Salon Rocamar Restaurant</i> and every
evening there was something scrumptious! I loved fried shrimps, served several
times during our stay-but unfortunately, we had to come very early and still
ended up spending up to 30 minutes lining up to the shrimp/fish station—but it
was certainly worth the wait! A few times I had delicious lamb and beef,
prepared at the grill station. The cold buffet featured various salads,
including good and healthy spinach, snails, peas, cheeses, potato salad,
deviled eggs, and lots of raw, shredded & cooked veggies. Not too many
tomatoes and very little greens. Assuming this stuff was organic, one could eat
very healthy. We always nabbed a table outside where we were visited by a
couple of hungry dogs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4350/35823626363_298582a0a0_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="800" height="452" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4350/35823626363_298582a0a0_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ranchon Hemingway</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Although we never had lunch at
the restaurant, we often went to the beach bar (<i>Ranchon Hemingway</i>) and got beer, <i>Pina coladas,</i> grilled
hamburgers, ham, cheese, tuna, vegetable and chicken sandwiches, hot dogs and
French fries. However it closed around 3:00 pm, much too early. Maybe they ran
out of food by then as it was a popular spot with the privileged workers. In
fact Catherine lined up to get a gardener several burgers after he pulled at
her heartstrings one afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Sometimes we got drinks from
the bars, but I usually had my bubba mug filled with cold beer and sipped it
while on the beach. The lobby bar served excellent Spanish coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We had two <i>a ’la</i> carte dinners at other restaurants
(one was called <i>Caribe</i>); they were
good, but we preferred the regular buffet, which gave us more choice in food
selection. Felix was our very polite and fast waiter—later he was also working
in the beach bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Churros</span></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, made-to-order in the
evening near the 24 hour bar were delicious and we had to use plenty of our
willpower not to have too many servings!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I cannot comment on the
nightly entertainment as we never attended any performance. We did not like,
however, the very earsplitting activities taking place around the pool; once,
when they finally stopped, those relaxing around the pool began
applauding-finally, they were actually able to start relaxing! Certainly we
were not the only ones that did not appreciate this kind of ‘entertainment’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Some years ago I had purchased
several CDs with Cuban music, called “<i>5
Leyendas De Cuba</i>”, featuring Eliades Ochoa, Compay Segundo, Ibrahim Ferrer,
Omar Portuondo and Ruben Gonzales as well as a two-disk set with music of Benny
Moore. Quite often I listen to this wonderful music at home in Canada. Yet for
some mysterious reasons, I hardly had a chance to listen to this music at Cuban
resorts… What a pity!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">BEACH<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The beach was great! In 2015
we mainly used the stretch of the beach near building #18 and sometimes it
became quite narrow during the high tides. This time we enjoyed the section
near buildings 30 and 31, it was much wider and very pleasant. One day we saw a
bunch of stingrays very close to the shore. Some approached swimmers, but very
quickly took off. I did not notice too many bugs on the beach (e.g., sand
flies), but one day, when the storm rolled in, the sandflies were horrid. From
time to time we did encounter a mosquito. Although I brought a can of anti-bug
spray, I never used it and eventually gave it to the staff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The beach got very crowded
when the weather was nice and reserving a favorite spot early in the morning
was a must. There were enough loungers stacked in piles, but you had to find
the beach guy or drag them yourself to an available location—“early bird got the
worm”. There were shade stalls, <i>palapas</i>
and some trees. Around 10:00 am some tourists participated in stretching
exercises on the beach, but the timing was not very good (right after
breakfast) and thus there were not too many participants. Of course Catherine
quickly joined them! Lots of people actually went swimming especially the
Russians. Large groups of French Canadians congregated at our end of the beach
and after a few too many got very raucous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">WEATHER<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Because it was January and we
were in the north part of Cuba, we were prepared for somewhat cooler weather,
but it turned out to be better than anticipated. It was windy for a couple of
days, once a big front suddenly moved in early afternoon, the sky turned black
and the wind kicked up and it poured for a few hours, but otherwise it was warm
during the day and even in the evening I never had to put on a sweater—a
long-sleeved shirt was sufficient. It was mostly sunny and we spent plenty of
time sun tanning on the beach (when we were in Ciego de Avila, it was almost
hot during the day). The room had a working air conditioner, but most of the
time we slept with the windows open and curtain drawn, to prevent mosquitos
from entering the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">HOTEL<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The hotel, resembling a small
Spanish colonial village, was quite charming; perhaps other hotels have better
facilities and higher standards, but they cannot beat the Colonial’s unique
look! Just across from the main building there were several ‘<i>tiendas’</i> which sold alcoholic drinks,
cigars, clothing, beverages, souvenirs and books. There was also a medical and
dental clinic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The hotel staff were
invariably very friendly and helpful. The gardeners were busy cleaning the
hotel grounds and always willing to get us a delicious coconut, especially
since Catherine gave one of them a big bag of clothes she had brought over for
donation. The grounds were natural with nice flora, sculptured benches and
lighting. It was possible to do a continuous circuit route around the grounds
for joggers, speed walkers and lollygaggers. Several dogs and cats were
wandering around the property, but they were not too intrusive—it was the birds
that took every opportunity to steal food from the plates! The lone flamingo
was still residing near the restaurant; this time he had a company of three
lazy ducks that probably were attracted by the food the hotel employees were
giving to the flamingo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There were copies of “<i>Granma</i>” at the reception, some in the
English language. On several occasions I chatted with Frank, who spoke very
good English. There were a number of taxis at the main square and probably the
best way to get one was to just get their phone number and later call them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There were 2 pools, one large,
round, chlorinated at the <i>Tryp</i> side
and a serpentine salt water pool with swim up bar at the lagoon side. We did
not use either, but enjoyed walking past them at night as they were lit up and
looked magical.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4420/35823541643_b40692e361_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4420/35823541643_b40692e361_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Over-the water bungalows at the Iberostar Mojito Hotel-unfortunately, semi-abandoned</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">One afternoon we walked on the
beach, past the <i>Tryp Hotel</i>, and
reached the <i>Iberostar Mojito</i> <i>Hotel</i>. The resort had been created by
Canadian hockey players and used to be called “<i>El Senador</i>”. Former NHL star and captain of the <i>Montreal Canadiens</i>, Serge Savard, was
also part owner. The name "<i>El
Senador</i>" was a reference to his nickname "<i>Le Senateur</i>" (The Senator). There were plenty of over-water
bungalows, accessible by wooden walkways—they seemed to be awesome places to
stay in—except that all of them were boarded up and the plumbing was visibly
disconnected! Then we spotted a nice restaurant and started talking to one of
the waitresses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4413/36632510605_75782796ec_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4413/36632510605_75782796ec_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the Iberostar Mojito</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The next day, in the evening,
we again walked along the beach to the <i>Iberostar
Mojito</i> (it was low tide and we were told that it would be possible for us
to return along the beach as well) and had a very intimate dinner there. A few
hours later, when we walking back to our hotel, we realized that... there was
no beach! Of course, the high tide had arrived and it was impossible to take
the same route back to our hotel (although Catherine somehow wanted to still
walk there, in total darkness—well, she must have been not only a spectacular
swimmer, but also had a ‘built-in’ natural GPS!). So we turned back to the main
building and while pondering whether or not to take a taxi back to the hotel,
we had a couple of drinks to fortify our problem-solving ability. The drinks
certainly helped—and eventually we hiked about 2 km to the Colonial. The road
was deserted, but well-lit and we enjoyed the stroll.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4414/35823544103_638bfbcd99_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4414/35823544103_638bfbcd99_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the Lobby Bar</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We brought with us a number of
new shirts (some still in original packaging from <i>Target</i> and <i>Walmart</i> and with
attached price tags from $12.99 to $39.99) which we used in lieu of tips. Some
tourists are dead against giving any gifts to Cubans, claiming that by doing
so, we spoil them, that such actions are degrading or that Cubans do not really
need such stuff.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4336/36494763221_7e8302e272_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="800" height="572" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4336/36494763221_7e8302e272_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gardener at Hotel Colonial</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Therefore, I made a point of
discussing this issue with several Cubans who spoke English. I explained to
them the various opinions on giving gifts, and asked them if they really felt
in any way degraded or humiliated by me giving them such gifts. All of them
were invariably very surprised at what I told them, did not agree with such
points of view and said that they were absolutely grateful for the gifts and
appreciated them very much. Well, at least we had a clear conscience!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In addition, I brought a bunch
of most recent magazines (mostly “<i>The Economist</i>”), bilingual brochures
and Canadian newspapers. Those Cubans who spoke English were quite thrilled to
get them. A few years ago, after talking for a while to a hotel employee, I had
given him some magazines & newspapers. A few days later he had run into me
and started asking questions about some new articles and words—as well as
inquired if I had more of such periodicals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4355/36586080906_c539e48ae2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4355/36586080906_c539e48ae2_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I brought two books to read in
Cuba. The first one, “<i>The Lords of Discipline”</i> by Pat Conroy, was about
four young cadets in a military academy, exposed to a totally new environment,
new rules and the code of honor—as well as the injustice of a corrupt
institution. It was an excellent, compelling story. Considering that the author
himself had attended a military academy, “<i>The Citadel</i>”, it can be
assumed that his book was based on authentic characters and events. Many years
ago I had watched a movie having the same title, but I hardly remembered it—it
was certainly mediocre and forgettable in comparison to the book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4438/35823550133_fa853833d2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4438/35823550133_fa853833d2_o.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The second book was “<i>Kane
and Abel</i>” by Jeffrey Archer, the so-called “Special 30<sup>th</sup>
Anniversary Edition”, rewritten by the author (or, as he said, “re-crafted”).
The story follows the life of two men, born on the same day, one in the United
States, in a very rich family, the other one in Poland, a semi-orphan.
Eventually they became sworn enemies while building their fortunes—and their
lives became astonishingly intertwined. It was very well written and indeed, I
agree that it was “an unputdownable story”. In the 1980s it was turned into a
movie or a mini-series which was quite good. In fact, some scenes were made in
Toronto and I had even seen an ad in a newspaper—they had been seeking ‘extras
of Polish origin’ for this movie and I had considered applying, but for unknown
reasons had not. What a pity—I could have been a movie star—or at the very
least gotten my proverbial 15 minutes of fame!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4368/36586089456_fdd0cd5fea_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4368/36586089456_fdd0cd5fea_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Flamingo and one of his lazy friends</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">THE HOP-ON-HOP-OFF BUS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We took the double-decker bus
twice (5 CUC per day per person), getting off at the <i>Memories Flamenco. </i>Then we walked to the <i>Melia Jardines del Rey</i> and <i>Pestana
Cayo Coco, </i>spending a few hours at each of them—by the way, we saw a
sizable snake on the road, probably run over by a car. Even though the
wristbands we were wearing had a different color from those in the hotels we
visited, the bartenders were happy to serve us drink, hoping to get a tip. One
of the hotels happened to have the same wristbands as ours (yellow), so we felt
like at home and even took advantage of their buffet. I noticed that one hotel
had plenty of Polish tourist, but no Russians—I guess it all depends on tour
operators and travel agents in each country, which hotels they are marketing
there. In the late afternoon the bus arrived and took us to <i>Playa Pillar</i> and then back to our hotel.
Even though it kept stopping at numerous resorts along the way, it was a very
enjoyable outing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4333/36586099656_204f8eb054_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4333/36586099656_204f8eb054_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This Russian tourist wanted to have several photos taken in front of this antique car--and then hopped on the hood, totally ignoring protests of the driver</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The bus also stopped at the
nearby commercial center which was basically a handicraft market with some
bottled liquors/beverages—I did not buy anything except for a bottle of
liquor—I simply did not notice anything really extraordinary and creative. The
bus schedule was posted at each hotel, yet it was always a good idea to confirm
it with the driver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">TRIP TO CIEGO DE AVILA<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Whenever we go to Cuba, we
always try to visit a nearby town and spent a couple of nights there. Last time
we were in Cayo Coco we had visited Moron, so this time we wanted to see the
city of Ciego de Avila. As always, I had spent several hours online, getting
information on all the <i>casas</i> in the
city, so we had a good idea where to stay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4411/36586236696_17f710cc05_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4411/36586236696_17f710cc05_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Casa Yolanda-our room</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We hired a taxi (60 CUC each
way), whose driver did not speak much English, but spoke… Russian: he had spent
some time in Russia/Soviet Union and his wife was from there! We left the Hotel
Colonial on January 20, 2017 and as we were heading towards Ciego de Avila,
Donald Trump became president of the United States (unbelievable, eh?), so we
missed watching his inauguration on TV. Incidentally, while in Havana in 2009,
we had watched the inauguration of President Barack Obama on TV in the lobby of
the <i>Hotel Ambos Mundos </i>(where Ernest Hemingway used to live). Because he
was the first black president, it was an unbelievable event, too!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4361/36494921081_dec03ed039_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="800" height="440" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4361/36494921081_dec03ed039_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Casa Yolanda</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We had the descriptions and a
few photos of about 10 <i>casas</i> <i>particulares</i>
and the previous day we called and booked <i>Casa
Mari y Gustavo</i>, basing our choice on the information from the Internet and
a photo or two. When we arrived there, we got a disappointing shock—the balcony
was enshrouded in ugly canvas drapes plus it seemed to smell suspiciously, life
febreze. We said, “<i>No, gracias</i>”, got
back to the taxi and moved on in search of another <i>casa</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4433/35823947083_fb370cbb63_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4433/35823947083_fb370cbb63_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The driver was very
accommodating and religiously took us to the addresses we pointed to him. To
make the story short—we visited at least 5 other <i>casas</i>: some were nice, but occupied, one had a very peculiar and
unpleasant smell, another one was pleasant, in the city center, but there was
plenty of raucous construction taking place just next door. Eventually we
stopped at a <i>casa</i> that was occupied,
but its owner really wanted to help us. He and the taxi driver spent some time
talking, made a few phone calls—and eventually we rode to <i>Casa Yolanda</i> (Calle 5ta, No 15, Republica y Hicacos, Rpto Diaz Pardo,
Phone: +53 33 214026), located close to the ZOO. The landlady, Yolanda Wong
Louis (she was of Chinese ancestry and looked a little oriental) showed us a
room on the ground floor (we wanted on the upper floor, but well, you cannot
squeeze blood from a stone) which we accepted for two nights. Incidentally, our
taxi driver lived just a few houses away!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4433/36632642525_0162ce3a65_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4433/36632642525_0162ce3a65_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Inside the Cathedral</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It was a nice room, with a
full bathroom & hot water, an air conditioner, and there was a fridge in
the porch (where we often rested). There was also an enclosed, fenced yard (in
case you wanted to park a car). Overall, it was a good <i>casa</i>, despite not fitting the bill of being above ground level with
a nice skyward terrace. After unpacking our stuff, we immediately set out to
explore the city of Ciego de Avila.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4416/36236674940_0d6c78de09_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4416/36236674940_0d6c78de09_o.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Cathedral</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We leisurely walked to <i>Parque Jose Marti</i>. There was a
relatively modern church (<i>Catedral de San
Eugenio de la Palma</i>) which we visited and were immediately accosted by a
woman (she said she was originally from Haiti) who gave us some religious
materials and of course, expected to get in return something from us, not
necessarily of spiritual nature (<i>i.e</i>.,
dollars or CUCs were the best).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4376/36632749475_6a67000773_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4376/36632749475_6a67000773_o.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Parque Jose Marti and the very ugly building behind Marti's statue</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Several nice buildings were on
each side of the square—one housed a museum (<i>Museo de Artes Decorativas)</i>, but it was closed and we only peeked
inside through the door—and another one very ugly, a Soviet-style building on
the west side of the park (a 12 floor <i>Doce
Plantas </i>edifice). I do not know who built it and when, but it was very
incompatible with the city’s architecture!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4438/36632741125_b3fdcdb786_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4438/36632741125_b3fdcdb786_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Then we strolled along <i>Calle Independencia</i>, the commercial
artery of the city and a pedestrian boulevard. There were plenty of Cubans
(actually, we hardly saw any tourists whatsoever—what a difference in
comparison with Trinidad, Cuba, where I encountered MORE tourists than locals!)
and they did not bother us. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/36632737805_e3ae9a663f_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="800" height="424" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/36632737805_e3ae9a663f_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The boulevard was flanked by various stores, cafes,
ice parlors, restaurants and banks; in fact, I even saw... the Royal Bank of
Canada! Well, the least the inscription on the building said so—but I doubt it
had anything to do anymore with the ‘real’ Royal Bank… but who know, with the
new changes in Cuba, it might reopen under the same name in the near future!
Catherine had ice cream and kept getting more and more. For the equivalent of
50 cents a cone, she could not resist. A couple of times I bought cold beer for
1 CUC (although we also used CUPs for some purchases). One store offered plenty
of gifts, some of them quite original and I purchased a set of tableware with
very imaginative paintings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4425/36632745375_ee12fa54bf_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="800" height="406" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4425/36632745375_ee12fa54bf_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I went to a bookstore, where
99% of all books were in Spanish, but I still picked up two books by Polish
writers and translated into Spanish. One of them was written by a well-known
Polish writer, Tadeusz Borowski. Having spent 3 years in the Auschwitz Concentration
Camp, he wrote a number of notable stories about this hideous place, based on
his personal experiences. One of them was called “This Way for the Gas, Ladies
and Gentlemen” and it was a required reading at my (final) grade 12 in the
secondary school in Poland. It certainly left a long-lasting impression on all
students—the genuine horrors portrayed in that book surpassed anything Stephen
King had ever conceived in his writings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4403/36495011241_8a82dd32e2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="800" height="438" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4403/36495011241_8a82dd32e2_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Public transport</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Let me digress here—there was
another reason this particular title had become etched in my memory. It was
1981, I just graduated from Stefan Zeromski High School No. 40 in Warsaw and
was soon going for vacation with several of my school buddies. But we faced one
problem—we needed a propane refill for our portable stoves. At that time the
“Solidarity” movement was at its peak, the Polish economy was one big mess, and
buying anything—and I mean ANYTHING—was always a huge achievement: there were
line-ups in front of almost empty stores, which often closed their doors
because they had literally NOTHING to sell, money was becoming quite worthless
and barter was getting increasingly prevalent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4340/36494946121_d9b32a6759_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="800" height="476" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4340/36494946121_d9b32a6759_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There were propane filling
places at some gas stations, but obviously, most of them had not had propane
for many weeks or months (and they were quite often out of petrol, too!). Yet
one day I found out that there would be a propane delivery the following day at
a nearby gas station. I knew that the supply would be limited and that in order
to make sure there would be enough for us, we had to get there in the morning,
to reserve our place in the queue. At six o’clock in the morning my still very
sleepy friend showed up and we headed to the gas station; indeed, we were the
first ones! Later we were joined by a couple of our friends and many other
people—quickly the line began forming and getting longer. It was an almost a
picnic-like atmosphere! At one point a woman approached our group and very
loudly asked us, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Excuse
me, are you waiting for the gas?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Considering that all of us had
read through and studied Borowski’s story just months earlier, we were so
stunned by her ghastly-sounding question that it took us a few seconds to
respond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4418/36586239296_8943718284_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4418/36586239296_8943718284_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Polish Fiat 126p-or rather its shell</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Anyway, turning back to the
book and its author: it contained a number of Borowski’s stories in Spanish,
including “This Way to the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen!” The author, disenchanted
with the new communist system and even persecuted by the communist Secret
Police, committed suicide in 1951 by breathing in gas from a gas stove, just
several days after the birth of his daughter. He was just 28 years old. In
November, 1981 (All Souls' Day, when across Poland hundreds of thousands of
people visit cemeteries), I was at the <i>Powązki Military Cemetery</i> in
Warsaw and lit a candle on his grave…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/35797890664_4b71a2dac2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="800" height="358" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/35797890664_4b71a2dac2_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We went to the bank to change
money (there was a long lineup in front of the bank, but apparently it did not
apply to tourists—upon spotting us, the security guard waved us in). As I
mentioned previously, the exchange rate was quite good, but it took a while to
exchange $200 into CUCs and the bank teller made a ‘mistake’ (which I noticed
in time), initially shortchanging me by 20 CUCs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4441/36236693500_6dba1da6a7_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="800" height="476" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4441/36236693500_6dba1da6a7_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Catherine also went to a
supermarket (there are more and more such stores), where prices are very high
and Cubans who do not have access to the hard currency probably can only dream
of actually buying anything there. Once she wanted to have ice cream in the “<i>Heladeria Copelia</i>”, but the queue was so
long that she immediately gave up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We certainly enjoyed wandering
along this boulevard, sitting on benches, observing the city life and from time
to time interacting with Cubans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4439/36494877611_22d9945cac_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4439/36494877611_22d9945cac_o.jpg" width="408" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A few blocks from the <i>Parque</i> was the <i>Teatro Principal</i>. It was built in 1927 and supposedly had the best
acoustics on the island. It was closed and we could only admire its interesting
architecture. As I was taking photographs of the <i>Teatro</i> at the corner of <i>Calle
Joaquin Aguero</i> and <i>Honorato del
Castillo</i>, we ran into Mr. Prado from the Hotel Colonial! We spoke to him
for a few minutes and then continued exploring the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4347/36236605190_f24108d083_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="800" height="234" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4347/36236605190_f24108d083_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fidel Castro died on November
25, 2016, less than two months before we arrived in Cuba. By the way, he passed
away exactly to the day 60 years after the yacht “Granma” was surreptitiously
boarded in the Mexican port of Tuxpan, Veracruz (on November 25, 1956) by 82
members of the 26th of July movement including Fidel Castro, his brother, Raúl
Castro, Che Guevara, and Camilo Cienfuegos. One week later the “Granma” landed
in Cuba—and the rest is history. What a coincidence!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4349/36495221631_12b65b9af9_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="800" height="532" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4349/36495221631_12b65b9af9_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Three months before his
passing, Castro celebrated his 90<sup>th</sup> birthday (August 13, 2016) and
there were still posters, wishing him a happy 90<sup>th</sup> birthday (<i>Felicidades Comandante por su cumpleanos</i>). </span><br />
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4381/35798276364_37051143a2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="800" height="518" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4381/35798276364_37051143a2_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Once I was walking near a building with a sign “CDR”, a local Committee of the
Defense of the Revolution (<i>Comité de Defensa de la Revolución)</i>. Such
neighborhood committees are quite ubiquitous in Cuba and are described as the
"eyes and ears of the Revolution." According to an article I had read
not long ago, after the Revolution committees were very popular and their
meetings were attended by throngs of people; nowadays they had lost much of its
past glory and supposedly only the old people participated in the gatherings,
which were very meagerly attended. There was also a poster with Fidel Castro saying
something like “Happy 90<sup>th</sup> birthday—and more (<i>y mas</i>)!” As I stopped by the building and the poster, I noticed an
old, avuncular gentleman sitting in front of the door. He told me that he was
the head of the CDR (considering his age, he could have participated in the
Revolution). I stroke up a conversation, using my basic Spanish, I pointed
towards the poster with Castro.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4441/36464076892_a0273edbdc_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="800" height="416" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4441/36464076892_a0273edbdc_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Private 'bus' from Ciego de Avila to Moron</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“<i>No mas</i>”—no more—I said (that there would
not be any more birthdays for Fidel Castro).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“<i>No mas</i>”, he sadly repeated, “<i>pero Fidel Castro vivirá siempre en nuestros
corazones!</i>”: but Fidel Castro will live forever in our hearts!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Another older gentleman was
sitting in some kind of office, plastered with propaganda posters on the wall
and the <i>de rigueur</i> portraits of Fidel
and Raul Castro. I also noticed an autographed photograph—from what I
understood, it was “Commander of the Revolution”, Juan Almeida Bosque, who had
visited this place many years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/36236613970_af6bdc708f_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="800" height="548" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/36236613970_af6bdc708f_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Once we walked by a building
with large windows; there were plenty of people inside, sitting and standing.
At first I thought it was another store and people were just waiting for
whatever merchandise it was selling, but after a few seconds I realized that it
was a funeral home, called “<i>La Funeraria
El Clavel</i>”. There was a big room and smaller rooms, where I could see a
coffin. I did not want to encroach on the mourners, so I did not take too many
photos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4364/36236609680_97ca955c13_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4364/36236609680_97ca955c13_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This man was incessantly screaming, trying to get passengers going to Moron</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I wanted to visit the train
station and once we saw the railway tracks, we simply followed them. Indeed,
there was a small train station and a bus terminal, with a new twist: some
private ‘buses’ (just trucks with benches), offering to take passengers to
Moron. I believe the price was very low; I asked how much, but the guy would
not tell me—I doubt many tourists took advantage of this mode of
transportation! One peculiarly looking man was standing near the truck and kept
unceasingly screaming something about the bus to Moron, trying to get as many
passengers as possible. Well, 'Marketing 101', Cuban style! The area around the
station was quite vibrant and while sitting on a bench, we enjoyed observing
the passing people and cars. A young Cuban sat next to us and we chatted with
him a little—he had a fishing rod and was going fishing with a friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4355/36464049542_76af864905_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="800" height="590" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4355/36464049542_76af864905_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We were approached by several
Cuban boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“How
are you? Where are you from?” they asked us in English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We talked to them a little and
I took several photos of them. I told them to hit the books and learn English
and gave them small pins with the Canadian flag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4407/36632821005_047e716985_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="800" height="376" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4407/36632821005_047e716985_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This guy was going fishing</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Usually we were walking back
to the <i>casa</i> quite late and stopped in a fast-food restaurant (called “<i>Ditu</i>”), which was selling French fries,
chicken and beer—as well as there was a small kiosk with my favorite beer, “<i>Bucanero</i>”. Nevertheless there are better
beers in Cuba, but it was usually difficult to find them (yet I did buy some
other brands in Ciego de Avila).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4381/36495079841_08ee008247_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="800" height="574" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4381/36495079841_08ee008247_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">On Saturday we went to the
ZOO, which was just a few minutes from the <i>casa</i>. We paid in CUPs, so the
admission cost us next to nothing. The ZOO was small and rather depressing…
There was a giraffe, zebras, two or three chimpanzees, an ostrich or two,
various monkeys, flamingos, hyenas and other animals. Each time people were
approaching the cage with the chimpanzee, the chimp extended his arm through
the bars, begging for food or sweets—he reminded me of the homeless and beggars
in Toronto… </span><br />
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4399/36495078261_8b5210a19f_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="517" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4399/36495078261_8b5210a19f_o.jpg" width="412" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Kids were giving bananas and other food to the monkeys and they
were eagerly devouring them. We also saw a lion—the zookeeper was rubbing it
through the bars and I could tell the lion liked it very much—there must have
been a very strong bond between the two. The zookeeper also brought a small
crocodile and let visitors touch its skin. For a while I was observing a hippo
in his small enclosure. We also saw aquariums with fish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4378/36495077241_e964bccbe4_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="800" height="358" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4378/36495077241_e964bccbe4_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There were plenty of Cuban
families and the kids appeared to have fun. Some of the families were obviously
Miami Cubans, one just had to look at the clothes they were wearing. One of the
attractions for kids was a transparent ball filled with air—with a kid
inside—floating in a small pool. Some kids had plenty of fun trying to maneuver
the ball on the water, others were a little bewildered. There was also a simple
merry-go-round and vendors, selling toys. We spoke to a guy selling dolls and
Catherine purchased a few of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4438/35798075084_232dee3cee_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="800" height="588" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4438/35798075084_232dee3cee_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We slept quite well in our <i>casa</i>. Each morning the landlady prepared
breakfast for us which we had in the kitchen. The last day we asked her to call
our driver and he showed up on time and we set forth to the hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4346/35823875703_1c0dc25cfa_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4346/35823875703_1c0dc25cfa_o.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">On our way to the hotel, on
the causeway, we had to stop for a while due to an accident—apparently a truck
ended up in the water and they were pulling it. Later we were told the truck
had collided with a school bus, but there were no fatalities. A month or so
before our arrival in Cayo Coco there had been another fatal accident on the
causeway when a Canadian tourist along with his wife had been transported by
ambulance to hospital at night. The ambulance had hit something (there had been
construction going on along the causeway) and the Canadians were killed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4373/35798291874_15558c61ee_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="800" height="514" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4373/35798291874_15558c61ee_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Certainly, Ciego de Avila is
not comparable with Havana, Santiago de Cuba, Camagüey or Cienfuegos, but I
personally enjoyed the visit very much and I wished I could have stayed another
day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Overall, we had a wonderful
time at the Colonial and Ciego de Avila and if we ever decided to go to Cayo
Coco again, we would certainly pick the Colonial again!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I would like to conclude this
report with the following joke that I came up with—or more precisely, adapted
from Polish political humor:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4334/36633040185_ac99b6a2a7_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="800" height="332" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4334/36633040185_ac99b6a2a7_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">An American tourist arrives in
Cuba for the first time and walks into a barber’s shop in Havana. Two big
photographs of Fidel Castro and his brother Raul Castro are hanging on the
wall. He lounges comfortably in an armchair in the waiting area and looks
around the barbershop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Excuse
me, sir, but in Cuba it is customary to remove your hat in front of images of
our leaders”, the barber politely informs the American.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“I’m
terribly sorry”, he replies, “but I thought it was part of your advertising,
showing a client BEFORE and AFTER having his beard shaved!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: left;">
<b>More photos:</b> <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157685222807690"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157685222807690</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Blog po polsku/in the
Polish language:</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/dwunasty-wyjazd-na-kube-i-drugi-do.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/dwunasty-wyjazd-na-kube-i-drugi-do.html</span></a></span></span></span></div>
</div>
Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-19168717903049134432017-08-16T20:50:00.000-07:002017-08-17T09:53:33.175-07:00THE MASSASAUGA PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO. SEPTEMBER 25- OCTOBER 5, 2016<div class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;">
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<b>More photos:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/sets/72157685253377393"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/sets/72157685253377393</span></a>
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<b>Blog po polsku/in the
Polish language:</b> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/the-massasauga-provincial-park-ontario.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/the-massasauga-provincial-park-ontario.html</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was my second visit to this park in 2016, this time
in the fall, when the bugs and most tourists were gone! We booked a campsite on
Blackstone Harbour, not far from the channel leading to Woods Bay. I had camped
on this campsite several times in the past and it was certainly one of the best
in this area. This time I came with Chris and we brought several fishing rods,
hoping to catch at least enough fish for dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4350/36235214190_e30dcb78fe_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4350/36235214190_e30dcb78fe_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our campsite on Blackstone Harbour in 2016</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took us less than 20 minutes to reach the campsite;
it had not changed much since my last visit, yet some of the trees head been gone
and the fire pit re-located. We quickly unpacked and set up two tents. The
newly installed bear-proof food container was extremely useful, saving us a lot
of time and effort hanging the food up in the trees. A shrewd chipmunk had a
burrow just next to the food bin and each time we left the bin’s lid open for
just a few minutes, it was rummaging inside, trying to steal as much food as
possible by stuffing his cheek pouches!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4115/4928172200_233a879c6c_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4115/4928172200_233a879c6c_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the same campsite in 2010!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There were very few people in the park. Only once did
we see the adjacent campsite (a few hundred meters away) being occupied. A
couple of times a fishing boat passed by, but we did not see its occupants
catch any fish. Almost every evening we paddled in the bay and did some
fishing, but only managed to catch several pikes. Later we found out that other
fishermen, who spent more time on the water and brought plenty of fishing
equipment, did not even manage to match our very modest catch!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From our campsite we could see a cottage (but nobody
was ever there), as well as an island and another campsite (the one on which
Catherine and I had spent 10 days camping in June/July, 2016). We really
enjoyed the view and often brought our chairs to the rocky shore facing the
island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4401/36585197356_28fe8b6cb6_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4401/36585197356_28fe8b6cb6_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Although I prefer reading non-fiction, I brought
several paperbacks and horror stories. According to the reviews, they were
supposed to be very good, least to say. Unfortunately, after reading the first
50 or so pages, I gave up, they were not good at all. So, I ended up reading a
bunch of magazines (“The Economist”), which I subscribed to. It is a very
intelligent magazine, which offers in-depth and discerning analysis of current
political and business events—but at the same time it is very liberal and
politically correct. Well, it only shows that intelligence and stupidity can go
hand in hand and are not mutually exclusive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4409/35796668634_4a722919af_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4409/35796668634_4a722919af_o.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One evening we were fishing between our campsite and
the cottage; suddenly we saw a black contour near the cottage. Initially we
thought it was a dog, but in no time we realized it was a mother bear (sow)
with two very small cubs. Darn, just that evening I did not bring my camera!
Even though we paddled relatively close to the shore, the bears were not
frighten by our presence and for at least 30 minutes we were observing it as
the sow was wandering on the shore, the cubs following her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4365/36631499315_e31ab48247_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="450" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4365/36631499315_e31ab48247_o.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next morning, about 7:00 am, I heard some unusual
noises, as if toddlers were whimpering or yelping. Since we heard plenty of
birds every morning, I thought it was a bird making those sounds. I opened the
tent's door and stuck my head out for a better look: it was the sow with her
two cubs wandering on our campsite and they were making such noises! I did not
think she saw me, but by the time I got my camera, the three bears were gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4374/36235207250_08ea42d439_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4374/36235207250_08ea42d439_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps Chris is so sour-faced because we are going home tomorrow...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Once we saw a fox, but he fled very quickly, not
finding any food. I also spotted a very long water snake in the middle of the
campsite! I called Chris to show it to him—the snake headed directly towards
Chris' open tent and almost got inside. Chris actually grabbed him by the tail
at the last moment. What was my camera again???<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Twice we paddled to the
parking lot (Pete's Place), chained the canoe to a tree and drove to the town
of MacTier and later to Parry Sound. While in Parry Sound, we went to the Hart
Store, No Frills and spent almost an hour in the bookstore called <i>Bearly
Used Books</i> (excellent!). Later we drove to the docks where, under the CPR
Trestle over the Seguin River we had our lunch (Catherine and I had been coming
there for several years to have snacks and drinks while watching the passing
trains above). By the way, just two days before Catherine had also visited
Parry Sound while driving to the USA; we even thought about her coming to and
staying on our campsite for a night, but it would have been too complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4361/36235266290_72b6a2436b_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4361/36235266290_72b6a2436b_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One afternoon, as I was sitting at the campsite on the
rock and reading a book, I heard some people talking—long before I saw them, as
they were emerging from the channel and heading towards Pete's Place. There
were three young guys in a canoe, apparently having a very good time! After a
while I again heard some voices coming from the direction of their canoe, which
then was quite close to Pete's Place—the canoe had capsized and they were in
the water! I believe they were wearing life jackets, so they were more-less OK.
A motorboat approached them and took them and some of their floating stuff
aboard—and soon the park's boat got their canoe and towed it to the parking
lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4367/35796691374_a5c15fb699_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4367/35796691374_a5c15fb699_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Almost ready to leave!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last few days we did not see any other campers on
Blackstone Harbour, we were the only ones. When we finally packed up on October
5, 2016 and paddled to the parking lot, I was quite surprised to see just ONE
car in the whole parking lot—mine!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As long as the weather is good, September and October
are excellent months for camping and canoeing!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b>More photos:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/sets/72157685253377393"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/sets/72157685253377393</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Blog po polsku/in the Polish language:</b> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/the-massasauga-provincial-park-ontario.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/the-massasauga-provincial-park-ontario.html</span></a></div>
Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-37847868563820601992017-08-16T20:47:00.000-07:002017-08-17T09:07:56.550-07:00HALIBURTON HIGHLANDS-HERB LAKE, ONTARIO. AUGUST 21-SEPTEMBER 1, 2016 <div class="Standard">
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<b>More photos:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157687712328765"><span style="color: red;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157687712328765</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Blog po polsku/in the Polish language:</b> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/haliburton-highlands-ontario-na.html"><span style="color: red;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/haliburton-highlands-ontario-na.html</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After
a quick research, Catherine and I found a totally new area for camping &
canoeing, just south of Algonquin Park, Ontario. A few phone calls later, we
reserved a campsite on a small lake, 1.8 km from the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4442/36621928545_db3e23e7d4_h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="800" height="406" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4442/36621928545_db3e23e7d4_h.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Algonquin Park’s Wolf Den, at “Nan & Jack’s Cabin”, enjoying a glass of wine on the porch</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">We
left Toronto on August 21, 2016, drove on highway 48 and then on 35, stopping
briefly at the “Independent” store at highway 48 & Argyle Road (in 2000
Chris and I had stayed there in motel for three nights, but the building had
been demolished a few years later to make way for the new stores), where we did
our last minute shopping. When we arrived at the Herb Lake access point at 6:00
pm, it was very windy and we would have faced headwind, making our short paddle
very tedious and long. Considering it was getting late, we decided to look for
a different accommodation that night. We checked out a nearby motel, but it was
rather crappy and cost $115 plus tax for the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
headed to Algonquin Park’s Wolf Den, where Catherine had stayed several times
and loved it! The place was teaming with tourists—it was a Sunday evening—yet
we were lucky: its French owner gave us an awesome cabin, which had just become
available—having our own sleeping bags certainly helped. It had one bedroom,
bathroom, porch, kitchen, BBQ and no TV set (hurrah!!!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
cabin was called “Nan & Jack’s Cabin”, named after Jennifer’s (one of the
owners) grandparents, who were passionate amateur naturalists. We quickly
grilled fish & corn and later enjoyed a few glasses of red wine on the
porch. The air was so fresh that we almost felt intoxicated (even before having
the wine!). Later I listened to the news-it was the last day of the Olympic Games
in Rio de Janeiro… wow, I did not even know they had started! We slept like
logs and in the morning got up refreshed and full of energy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There
were also several cabins on every side of highway 60, some new, some rustic as
well as a number of rooms beneath the lodge at a cheaper rate. The kitchen was
communal. Large groups tend to book on weekends. It was possible to walk to the
Ragged Falls from and down to the Oxtongue River.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I wish
we could have stayed longer at this awesome place and checked out all the other
facilities, but we wanted take advantage of the good weather and paddle to our
campsite as soon as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Let me
digress here for a moment. In September, 2010 Catherine and I had visited the
community of Wilno in Ontario, the first and oldest Polish settlement in
Canada. We stopped at a building housing the “Red Canoe Café” It was closed and
there was a big “For Sale” sign. What immediately caught my attention was the
real estate agent's photo and here her name, “Anastasia Kuzyk”. As there were
still plenty of descendants of the original settlers from Poland living in the
area, it was quite common to spot Polish surnames, albeit often distorted and
anglicized. I took a photograph of the sign and later posted it in my Flickr
album.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4024/5124181261_4499d38ec8_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4024/5124181261_4499d38ec8_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">September, 2010</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While
relaxing in our cabin at Wolf’s Den, I picked the most current Algonquin Park
Tabloid (such publications are annually published by parks) and in no time
spotted the familiar face of Anastasia Kuzyk, the same one she used on her real
estate sign and the following caption:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In Memory of a Dear Friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Anastasia Kuzyk shared her passion for nature
and the outdoors, especially birds, with everyone who had the privilege of
knowing her. Anastasia worked in Algonquin Park with the naturalist program
between 1998 and 2001. We were deeply saddened and shocked by the news that she
was unexpectedly taken from us on September 22<sup>nd</sup>, 2015. The Staff of
the Algonquin Visitor Centre shares our deepest sympathy with the Kuzyk family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since
she was only 36, I thought it must have been a car accident or cancer. Later I
found out that her demise was much more tragic: she and two other women were
murdered by a Basil Borutski near Wilno. The alleged murderer’s trail is
scheduled to take place later in 2017. What a horrible tragedy…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4424/36452552592_14066cbb2e_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4424/36452552592_14066cbb2e_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ready to depart to our campsite!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
were up at 9:00 am, packed up and left our lovely cabin, paying a quick visit
to the Algonquin Outfitters store, where I purchased a map of the area as well
as a can of a powerful bear spray. Then we headed to the town of Dorset and its
famous Robinson’s General Store, where we bought water and some red wine in the
nearby LCBO store, and again arrived at Herb Lake’s access point. Nobody else
was there, so we leisurely unpacked the car and were on the water at 03:55 pm,
arriving in less than 30 minutes at our campsite no. 87. It was very
picturesque, located on a steep rocky peninsula. We circled the peninsula and
docked the canoe on the other side, in a small bay. I quickly set up the tent
and Catherine brought everything else from the canoe. The adjacent campsite
(some 100 meters from us, on another peninsula) was vacant, so we could enjoy
total privacy and solitude. It was the fifth anniversary of Jack Layton’s death
(at that time he was the leader of the official opposition in Canada)—I
remember that we had been camping on the French River on ‘Boomerang’ a.k.a.
‘Banana’ island when in the morning I heard the news of his passing. Time
flies…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4368/36452599302_21d0beb551_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4368/36452599302_21d0beb551_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A very scenic 'parking' for our canoe!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tuesday,
August 23, 2016 was our first full day on Herb Lake. At 5:30 pm we canoed to
the end of the lake and passed a family with a motorboat. We checked out from a
distance the other campsites; the map that I had purchased at Algonquin
Outfitters turned out to be very useful. We paddled into some beautiful back
bays which remained us of Killarney Park. Three loons on the lake were making
their special sounds—two adults and one baby. Sadly, our sunset paddle was
disrupted by a very noisy motorboat which was just cruising on the lake just
for fun. Later we had a great campfire and grilled excellent Polish sausages
obtained from “Eddy’s Meat Market” in Mississauga. An adult couple with a dog
stopped for a day excursion on the adjacent campsite 87A, but they (and the
dog) were quiet. The next day a family moved to the nearby campsite, they had a
motorboat, but thanks heavens, they were quiet!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4406/36621808395_db236917f5_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4406/36621808395_db236917f5_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A perfect spot at our campsite to enjoy our dinner--and admire sunsets!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Thursday, August 25, 2016, we decided to paddle to the parking lot and then
drive to Dorset, yet we were delaying our departure as both of us were
engrossed in reading excellent books: Catherine was reading „Don't Let the
Goats Eat the Loquat Trees: The Adventures of an American Surgeon in Nepal” by
Thomas Hale and I was mesmerized by “The In-Between World of Vikram Lall” by M.
G. Vassanji (later I read the other book as well). In the first book the
author, a missionary surgeon, described his amazing experience in Nepal in the
early 1970s, where he had to face numerous challenges and trials, including a
very angry mob because he accidentally killed a sacred cow! The second book,
which won the Scotiabank Giller Prize (deservingly, I must add!), was set in
the 1950s-1970s in Kenya. By following Vikram Lall’ life, the author portrayed
the country under the British rule, the violence of Mau Mau and finally its
independence—and the enormous and brazen corruption of its black African leaders
that became a norm. I guess not much has changed since then...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4411/36575033716_c5ec545755_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4411/36575033716_c5ec545755_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fallen trees near the small fall, its root system totally exposed</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">By the
way, having read the two books, I also read a book by John Grisham, “The
Litigators”. I must admit that in the late 1990s I had read several books by
this author, they were typical page turners… but I did not think they were
afterwards very rewarding, I much preferred reading non-fiction. So, the first
time in almost 20 years I again picked up a book by Grisham. I loved the first
page of this book:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“The
law firm of Finley & Figg referred to itself as a ‘boutique firm.” (…).
Boutique, as in small, gifted, and expert in one specialized area. Boutique, as
in pretty cool and chic, right down to the Frenchness of the word itself.
Boutique, as in thoroughly happy to be small, selective and prosperous. Except
for its size, it was none of these things. Finley & Figg’s scam was
hustling injury cases (…). Profits were as elusive as status. The firm was
small because it couldn’t afford to grow. It was selective only because no one
wanted to work there, including the two men who owned it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Whereas
it was yet another legal page-turner, reading it was quite relaxing, akin to
going to the pub and having a pint of two of beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4364/36224913190_cf26d5c429_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4364/36224913190_cf26d5c429_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our campsite in the morning</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
quickly paddled to the parking lot, attached the canoe to the post and drove to
Dorset, where we first stopped at the Library/Community Center, where Catherine
spent probably 2 hours checking her abundant emails (I did not bother—for me
vacation means no Internet, no cell phone). We also spoke for a while with a
very charming employee of this establishment, Sue Penny. She was a very
interesting and helpful person, who used to work at marketing for leading
companies—it turned out that both of us had worked with Mr. Clive Minto—I had
met him while working at Pepsi Cola’s Canadian head office in Toronto in 1985
(he was the company’s president), she at Canadian Tire, where he was one of its
senior vice-presidents. She also told us that we could take a shower downstairs
for a small fee. Of course, I spent a lot of time browsing the library books
& magazines which were for sale and bought quite a few of them. Afterwards
we went to Robinson’s General Store & LCBO, stocked on food, water and wine
and ended up getting a huge ice cream at Zachary’s. We sat near the dock area
and watched passing boats Later we walked over the bride to the Post Office,
where I mailed my postcards. At 7:30pm we left for the parking lot and as we
were pulling into the landing, a woman with a leashed dog and two boys were
walking down the drive. We chatted with her while loading the canoe. There was
a dog on the other side of the lake and it must have gotten quite curious about
her dog, as it suddenly jumped into the water and swam over to us to meet &
greet his new canine friend. Soon we paddled into the sunset and arrived at our
campsite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Friday another couple paddled in and set up camp on the adjacent campsite, yet
they were quiet. We enjoyed a delicious dinner of salad & corn topped off
the evening, although the mosquitoes were hungry too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4379/36621805055_551489489b_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4379/36621805055_551489489b_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Paddling in the morning mist</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since
the weather report said the next morning would be foggy, we got up very early
in the morning and spent 2 wonderful hours paddling in the mist-filled bays, it
was magical! Initially we could hardly see anything; everything was enveloped
in fog, only later it gradually dissipated. Once we were back at the campsite,
we had breakfast, sat in our chairs, began reading… and fell asleep, only to be
awaken by a flotilla of multi colored canoes which were HEARD long before they
were SEEN, no doubt because their very inexperienced paddlers. We watched as
they zigzagged to the group campsite about 1 km away—but not far enough! Well
into the evening we could hear shouting. Later we paddled by and saw that they
had set up a number of tents and were enjoying the swimming immensely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
paddled to the nice site beyond where one lovely wood canoe was moored. The
camper was having a final rip roaring fire before he told us he was departing
due to rain forecast. A few hours later, at dusk, he did paddle by our site
with a farewell wave. The adjacent site (87A) had also been vacated, so we were
looking forward to a quiet evening. After a quick grill of steak and corn we
were off for a good night rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4365/35786417844_18760ac212_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4365/35786417844_18760ac212_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sunday,
August 28, started out cloudy and it would have certainly been a good day to visit
Huntsville. But the skies cleared and we decided it was best to wait till
Monday. Catherine assumed that the Asian group would be leaving today and did
not want to get wrapped up in any chaos at the landing—as well as we decided
that the store hours might be better in Huntsville on Monday. We spent the day
at our campsite, waving to day-trippers and mysterious canoeists who had
portaged in from other lakes. It was changeable weather by only 40% prediction
of rain. New campers occupied site 87A—we later saw them across the lake
jumping off high rocks. We paddled back to the ‘waterfall’ (at the end of the
lake), took several photos and listened to the 6:00 pm news. There was a beaver
lodge and marauding ducks, as well as a fallen tall tree, whose huge root
system had been totally dislodged and fully exposed. We were back at the
campsite just in time to sit on sunset point for post-sunset libations, then
had a tasty sausage & beans grill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4355/35786474144_bd99b5b600_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4355/35786474144_bd99b5b600_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
next day we drove to Dorset in the afternoon and headed to the Library/Community
Center, where Catherine checked her emails and I bought more books &
movies. We also took showers ($2.50 each) and drove to Robinson’s General
Store. Instead of buying just a few scoops of ice cream at “Zachary’s”,
Catherine purchased a 1.5 l. container of ice cream at the store—a much better
deal! After consuming it (and probably gaining enough calories to keep us going
for the next few days), we drove to Huntsville, where we visited the Trading
Post, Thrift Store, Dollarama and a Metro Community Garden.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4331/35812223593_36b4596c21_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4331/35812223593_36b4596c21_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> On the main street,
I spotted an awesome larger-than-life bronze statue of Tom Thomson, unveiled in
2005. It depicts the artist painting an outdoor sketch in Algonquin Park, the
paint box on his lap. A canoe sits alongside Tom Thomson a dedication on the
canoe reads as follows:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="border: solid #00000A 1.5pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt;">
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: solid #00000A 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To the Memory of Tom Thomson 1877 – 1917<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: solid #00000A 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: solid #00000A 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">An artist, woodsman, guide and
dreamer, whose brilliant vision defined the Canadian wilderness and captured
the majesty and many colourful moods of Algonquin Park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
also went to the Deerhurst Resort where the 36<sup>th</sup> G8 summit was held
on June 25-26, 2010 (its participants included Stephen Harper, Barack Obama,
Nicolas Sarkozy, Angela Merkel, Dmitry Medvedev, David Cameron and Silvio
Berlusconi) and drove back to Herb Lake. It was past 10:00 pm when we started
paddling, in total darkness, save for the millions stars in the sky; because of
the clear sky, we could admire them while on the water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/36483679081_7022218c15_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="450" height="640" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4417/36483679081_7022218c15_o.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
next day we just spent most of the time at the campsite, reading and talking. In
the evening we paddled by the waterfalls and talked to a camper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4423/36621799135_55b2f17f33_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4423/36621799135_55b2f17f33_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our rain shelter!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Tuesday,
August 30, 2016. The day was cloudy and at 2:00 pm it started raining and soon
we heard thunders and saw lighting, so we sat under the tarp and had a very
tasty white borscht (Zurek). At 3:12 pm we saw a powerful, blinding lighting
and just seconds later heard a deafening thunder; apparently, it must have
struck very close to our campsite. We quickly sneaked into the tent and fell
asleep, soothed by the pitter patter of the rain. We heard suspicious noises
around the tent, but probably they were just caused by the rain. Our neighbors
had just left before the rain started.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4442/36224864850_e00109642f_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4442/36224864850_e00109642f_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the waterfall</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">August
31, 2016, Wednesday. In the morning we paddled to the parking lot where we met
a family that had just left campsite #107—they had a beautiful hand-made wood
canoe. The previous day lighting had hit a giant pine tree just meters from
their tent (yes, the same one we saw and heard so distinctly!). They said that
they were in the tent because of the rain, saw a flash and heard a big bang.
Later they realized that the pine tree, some 40 feet long, was struck by
lighting and exploded, scattering large and small pieces of wood around the
campsite and the bay and leaving resin in the water. It was a miracle that nothing
happened to them!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4434/36452544292_c8802282ed_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4434/36452544292_c8802282ed_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The campsite struck by lighting</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We
drove to Port Cunnington, visited a small cemetery and church—there were plenty
of graves of people with the surname of “Cunnington”. We also visited a resort,
saw a Tesla electric car and talked to the owner for a while, it was certainly
a great conversation piece! We went to Robinson’s General Store, Catherine
checked her emails in the community center and then had a bucket of ice cream
from the store for just $2.99, as there was a long lineup to the ice cream
parlor. I also picked plenty of mushrooms which I later dried over the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Before
paddling to our campsite, we also paddled to the campsite struck by lighting
and found an very unique piece of wood chipped off by the lighting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Thursday, September 1, 2016, we packed up and paddled over to the parking.
Before leaving, I spent a while collecting mushrooms which were plentiful. We
drove to Minden, stopped at the library and picked up a few interesting books.
Later we bought a grilled chicken, consumed in on the banks of the Gull River
and walked along the river (Minden River Walk).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4390/35786453034_4a5dfa0a8a_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4390/35786453034_4a5dfa0a8a_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was
a very nice, relaxing trip and I am glad we also ‘discovered’ a new place to
paddle!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b>More photos:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157687712328765"><span style="color: red;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157687712328765</span></a><br />
<div class="Standard">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
<b>Blog po polsku/in the Polish language:</b> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/haliburton-highlands-ontario-na.html"><span style="color: red;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2017/08/haliburton-highlands-ontario-na.html</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-12399654897521620042016-10-30T14:36:00.005-07:002022-01-03T10:32:15.187-08:00THE MASSASAGA PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—CAMPING AND CANOEING, JUNE 26-JULY 09, 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>More photos from this trip:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157674524765272"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157674524765272</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-CA"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA"></span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="PL" style="font-size: medium;"><b>Blog in Polish/po polsku:</b> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/park-massasaga-w-ontariodwanascie-dni.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/park-massasaga-w-ontariodwanascie-dni.html</span></a></span></div>
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sometime in March, 2016 I had
reserved two campsites in the Massasauga Provincial Park on Blackstone
Harbour—one on the south side of the channel leading to Woods Bay and the other
one on the north of the channel. They were quite nice and not far from the
park’s parking lot at Pete’s Place Access Point, so even novice canoeists
should not find it difficult to get there (although in windy weather that may
challenging). We had also invited several of our friends to stay with us over
the Canada Day long weekend—eventually Ian & Sue spent a few days with us.</span></div></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5600/30701635945_d2eaa29611_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5600/30701635945_d2eaa29611_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack, Catherine, Ian, Sue and Miro the dog</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;">We were planning to depart
from Toronto at 10:00 a.m., but finally left at 2:00 p.m. The weather was hot
and sunny and after 2 hours we arrived at MacTier, where we quickly went to the
supermarket as well as purchased cold beer. Just before 6:00 p.m. we reached
Pete’s Place Access Point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The park office
was closed, but we were pleasantly surprised to find a self-serve registration
& fee station—our names already appeared on the list. We paid the remaining
camping fee by credit card and proceeded to the put-in area. Nobody else was
around and we did not have to hurry. When our canoe was packed and we were
ready to paddle to our campsite, a sizable water snake suddenly slithered from
the rock above and jumped into the water, missing our canoe by a hair’s breadth
and causing Catherine to utter a very piercing scream which certainly
reverberated across the whole bay. Well, we almost ended up with an unexpected
(and unwelcomed) guest!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5821/30069575134_875b1899cb_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5821/30069575134_875b1899cb_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dying evergreen trees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We noticed that
the water level was the highest in many years. Indeed, most of rocks that we
used to walk on in the past now were under the water, as well as we saw plenty
of rust-colored and seemingly dying evergreen pine trees along the shores of
the bay. Upon a closer examination, we realized that lower part of their trunks
(and, of course, their roots) were submerged, which probably was causing them
to slowly die—after all, they were not tolerant of growing in water.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5574/30584785402_2209e9bd0f_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5574/30584785402_2209e9bd0f_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our first campsite...</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our campsite,
although adjacent to the channel, was relatively private and quiet due to a
rocky ridge between it and the channel; besides, we quickly got accustomed to
passing jet skis & motorboats (noisy!), yet it was something we had
expected—after all, it was my seventh visit in this park. Every day we saw many
packed canoes and kayaks; some were heading towards Georgian Bay, others back
to Pete’s Place. Almost every evening we reveled in sitting on the rocky ridge,
under a small, bowed tree, observing passing boats, admiring the setting sun
and sipping wine and cold beer. Sometimes we could see campers on the other two
campsites, usually boisterous and having plenty of fun!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5551/30067468943_72ec238cce_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5551/30067468943_72ec238cce_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">... and the view from the campsite!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There were
plenty of water snakes along the shores of the campsite and they were often
attracted to our walking or swimming. Once I saw a big snapping turtle,
floating near the shore, but once I came near the water edge, it swiftly
vanished. One morning I found a tiny red-bellied snake in the tent’s vestibule—at
first I thought it was a big, thick dew worm. There was also a beaver lodge
nearby and once I spotted a snake sun-tanning there, but when it saw me, it
fled with an astonishing speed and I was not even able to take a good look to
identify it. Every day we saw a number of beavers swimming around the tip of peninsula
our campsite was located on, from one beaver lodge to the other. They must have
been quite active at night, as we often heard loud slapping the water with
their broad tails. A small skink was living around the fire pit and from time
to time we saw it sun tanning on the rocks. Occasionally a majestic blue heron
landed nearby, waded for some time trying to catch fish and later flew off. In
the evening and at night we were often serenaded by loons and frogs. In the
morning we were awaken by a pileated woodpecker doggedly pecking at nearby
trees. A few chipmunks ran here and there, but they did not seek any
interaction with us—unlike those at some other parks, where it was next to
impossible to get rid of the company of those sociable critters! We also had a
resident seagull who hung around the fire pit looking for leftover
tidbits—fruitlessly, I might add. And there was also an American Bullfrog, the
largest frog in North America, patiently waiting in the shallow water for any
prey. As I later found out, they have voracious, indiscriminate appetite and will
eat virtually any animal they can swallow, including insects, birds, mammals,
reptiles and even other bullfrogs.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5808/30069580934_a1b45ec532_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5808/30069580934_a1b45ec532_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Water snake</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I spent
considerable time observing spider wasps, which were relentlessly digging holes
in sandy soil. Later they dragged a spider (which they had paralyzed with a
venomous stinger) to the nest. The unlucky spider was to become a host for
feeding their larvae—the wasp would lay an egg on the abdomen of the spider and
would close the nest. When the wasp larva hatches, it begins to feed on the
still-living spider. After devouring the spider’s edible parts, the larva makes
a silk cocoon and pupates. Interestingly, some wasps spent a lot of time
burrowing potential nests in sandy soil, but suddenly changed their mind and
ended up dragging a paralyzed spider for many meters on the ground and finally
climbed up a tree where, I presume, they created the proper nest.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5791/30664665656_159aafa201_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="375" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5791/30664665656_159aafa201_o.jpg" width="667" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bull frog</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">During our whole
stay the weather was almost perfect—very hot & dry, mostly sunny and even
though the fire ban was in effect in the Parry Sound area, the park still
allowed campfires. Unfortunately, our final day was stormy and we had to pack
up and paddle in the pouring rain, but since it was still very warm, we did not
complain much—after all, the area certainly needed rain. Perhaps because of the
lack of rain, mosquitoes were not very bad at all—usually they appeared around
9 p.m. and disappeared one hour later.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5726/30069598624_159ae4c891_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5726/30069598624_159ae4c891_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our favorite spot, where we enjoyed watching sunsets, observed passing boats and read books</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The evening
before Canada Day we canoed to Moon River Marina for a few supplies. Catherine
was surprised to discover that the store and the LCBO outlet had just closed at
6 pm (somehow I anticipated that). She did manage to talk the sales person into
a quick beer sale. On our way back we spotted a building with a lit neon sign
‘OPEN’; it was West View Resort—indeed, the small store carried cream which
Catherine was desperately craving for her morning coffee. The resort owner, a
very chatty gentleman, happened to sit in front of the store and we started
talking to him. I noticed a book called “My Life on the Moon River” by Peter
(Pete) Grisdale (who passed away in 2014, aged 94 years). I immediately pointed
this out to Catherine, saying that the author used to have a house in the
location where the parks office & parking lot were now located—“Pete’s
Place Access Point” was named after him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“This
was my brother”, the owner said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Wow! Indeed, his
name was George Grisdale (and the resort was located on Grisdale’s Road!) and
he briefly talked about his late brother. When I mentioned Calhoun Lodge (which
we had visited several times in the past), Mr. Grisdale grabbed the park’s
brochure, “Calhoun Lodge and the Baker Homestead”, opened it on page 5 and
pointing to a photo depicting two men working near the fireplace, said, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Although
my name does not appear under the photo, the lad on the right—it’s me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course, I
bought the (autographed!) book, which contains plenty of stories about the
author’s war years spent in Europe as well as fascinating tales of local people
and events that had taken place in this area.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5514/30584757172_d78158a710_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5514/30584757172_d78158a710_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Canoeing around our campsite</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We enjoyed
paddling on Blackstone Harbour, especially at night. One day we paddled to
Pete’s Place and drove to Parry Sound (and caught sight of a medium-size black
bear running across Healey Lake Road). An evening storm, accompanied with
lighting, thunders and pouring rain, significantly delayed us from canoeing
back to the campsite and for over one hour we sat in the car, waiting for the
storm to pass. When it did, it became exceptionally calm and quiet, as though
the storm had been just a bad dream. At 10:30 pm, in total darkness, we began
heading to the campsite. There was no wind and nobody else was on the water;
from time to time we saw distant lighting in the sky, but did not hear any
thunders. It was a magical feeling! When we finally approached the shore, I was
able to try out my new flashlight, which provided ample illumination at a
fraction of its maximum output of 1,000 lumens.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5742/30069571574_654cfd7660_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5742/30069571574_654cfd7660_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A storm is coming!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While in Parry
Sound, we went to No Frills and the Hart Store at the Parry Sound Mall and
later drove to the Sequin River where we had traditionally our lunch under the
railway trestle, which was constructed in 1907. The trestle is 517 m long and
32 m high, the longest rail trestle east of the Rocky Mountains. In 1914 Tom
Thomson, one of the most famous Canadian painters, was travelling by canoe on
the Sequin River. He stopped near the trestle and painted the bridge and the
former Parry Sound Lumber Company. A sign, depicting the painting, marks the
location.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5676/22103948343_d253fc05c9_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5676/22103948343_d253fc05c9_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Trestle at Parry Sound, 1914</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later we went
for a stroll in Parry Sound and ‘discovered’ an awesome second-hand bookstore,
“Bearly Used Books”. I was pleasantly surprised not only by the store’s size
and number of books it carried, but also by the diversity of categories and
titles! I especially enjoyed the section about local authors/history—I
immediately spotted a poster advertising “My Life on the Moon River” by Peter
(Pete) Grisdale! After browsing for over 30 minutes, I picked several really
good and mostly out-of-print books which I would have never found in Chapters!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5541/30701644135_9d3dc0aae5_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="1011" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5541/30701644135_9d3dc0aae5_o.jpg" width="672" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">An old steel logging ring at our campsite</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had just
finished reading “City of Thieves” by David Benioff—an awesome book, set during
the siege of Leningrad and most likely loosely based on a real story, as told
to the author by his grandfather—and I immediately started reading “The Gates
of Hell” by Harrison E. Salisbury, which I found in the bookstore. This
excellent novel was also about the Soviet Union—although a work of fiction, I
quickly realized that the main character closely resembled the famous Russian
writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Thus, it was based on many factual events and
realistically showed the intricacies of the brutal Soviet system, from the time
of the October Revolution to the 1970s. Incidentally, Harrison E. Salisbury was
also the author of “The 900 Days: The Siege of Leningrad” and David Benioff
used it extensively while writing his novel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We also visited the
Charles W. Stockey Center for the Performing Arts, which stages plenty of
excellent performances. Situated on the shores of Georgian Bay, it makes an
excellent location to observe sunsets. We also spotted a new monument that had
been unveiled just two weeks before—a life-sized bronze monument of Francis
Pegahmagabow, a First World War hero and the most highly-decorated First
Nations soldier of WW I. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5727/30613292501_0a0d47c23c_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5727/30613292501_0a0d47c23c_o.jpg" width="486" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Francis Pegahmagabow's Monument</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Later we leisurely
walked on the Rotary and Algonquin Fitness Trail and reached the Waubuno Beach.
There was a sizable anchor and a historical plaque:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">THE SINKING OF THE WAUBUNO 1879<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“This anchor, recovered in 1959, belonged to the
steamer "Waubuno", a wooden sidewheeler of some 180 tonnes which was
built at Port Robinson in 1865. She carried freight and passengers in the
shipping trade which flourished on Lake Huron during the nineteenth century.
Commanded by Captain J. Burkett, she sailed from Collingwood on November 22,
1879, bound for Parry Sound. The "Waubuno" encountered a violent gale
later that day and sank in Georgian Bay some 32 km south of here. All on board
perished, and although some wreckage was later discovered, the bodies of the 24
victims were never found. The specific cause of this disaster has never been
determined.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Incidentally,
several years ago we had been camping on Wreck Island (also in the Massasauga
Park) where the wreck of the “Waubuno” was located. We had paddled there and seen
it in the shallow water, between Bradden Island and Wreck Island.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5810/30584779092_4dbf75a001_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5810/30584779092_4dbf75a001_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our second campsite</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As our campsite had
already been reserved on Thursday, for the last two days we managed to book
campsite #507, located on the north side of the channel, just a stone’s throw
away from campsite #508. On Thursday afternoon we made three short trips to the
new campsite, transporting our (too) numerous pieces of equipment. The new
campsite was quite nice and scenic, we set up the tent on a tent pad near a big
rock, farthest from the fire pit. Unlike our previous campsite, this one did
not have any rocky ridge between the channel, so we could see (and especially
hear) all the passing motorboats—yes, it was noisy! Besides, we were not able
to admire sunsets.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5650/30613271801_b6b43fb454_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5650/30613271801_b6b43fb454_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Beaver Lodge</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;">The first morning on the new
site we heard clatter; as Catherine got out of the tent, she saw a black bear
hanging around the bear box. Upon seeing her, it hastily ran away and vanished
in the forest. Fifteen minutes later we heard some commotion and yells on the
campsite located on the other side of the channel—“there is a bear, there is a
bear!” Apparently, the bear decided to check out that campsite and must have
swam across the channel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;">The following night we again
heard some suspicious noises around the tent, as if something were slowly
plodding nearby, but whatever was there, disappeared before I had a chance to
get out of the tent and shine my powerful flashlight all over the campsite.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5470/30069577774_fcc421a9eb_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="723" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5470/30069577774_fcc421a9eb_o.jpg" width="585" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wasp with its victim, a paralyzed spider</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On Friday, our last full day
at the park, was hot and humid, but in the afternoon there was that distinct
calm before the storm, even the air smelled peculiar. We decided to start the
campfire at 7:00 pm, a couple of hours earlier than usually. It was a great
idea—we just managed to grill our steaks as black clouds appeared, accompanied
by lighting and thunder—in no time it was pouring rain! I grabbed the meat from
the grill and we had it while sitting under the tarps. Eventually we made a run
to the tent. It was raining for some time and we had soon fallen asleep, hoping
to get up early morning next day</span></div>
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;">
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, it was still
raining the whole morning and even afternoon, so at noon, taking advantage of
intermittent rain-less periods, we packed up and carried everything to the
canoe. As we were ready to depart, dark clouds slowly moved over our location
and it was drenching rain! I covered the canoe with our big tarp—it was a great
idea! At least it was warm and even being a little wet did not bother us that
much. Thirty minutes later, exactly at 2:00 p.m. (the ‘official’ check out
time) we started paddling to Pete’s Place, reaching it in less than 30 minutes.
From afar we saw a throng of people standing on the docks and in the
loading/unloading area—several dozen of girls from a nearby camp were departing
for their wilderness camping experience for the next four nights! Besides,
there were plenty of other tourists—some were waiting to start their trips,
others were just packing up after several days on the water.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5342/30701644885_f48bcf7fce_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5342/30701644885_f48bcf7fce_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rainbow over Kempenfelt Bay</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;">On our way to Toronto we
stopped in Barrie, in a park on the shores of Kempenfelt Bay (Lake Simcoe)
where we had lunch—and observed a wonderful, double rainbow! Later we drove to
Minet’s Point, where Catherine’s father parents had a cottage and where he had
spent his childhood and teen years in the 1920s, 30s and 40s. The cottage was
still there (209 Southview Road)—as well as the park where he used to go to all
the time!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>BEAR-PROOF
CONTAINERS</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The big sign at
Pete’s Place Access Point said, “You are in bear country”, which was true: we
had seen bears in this park before and heard plenty of stories of hapless and
often petrified campers, losing not only their food and coolers, but also
ending up with damaged tents. So, it was always part of our routine to
religiously hang food up in the trees so that bears could not reach it. Not
that we were looking forward to doing so—each time before leaving the campsite
we had to secure the food and hoist it; each time we wanted to get anything to
eat, we had to lower the food container and coolers—and hoist them back up. It
was often a strenuous activity, especially for Catherine, who, as I said
before, was responsible for the kitchen & food supplies.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5701/30613312561_5cd9b3fb28_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5701/30613312561_5cd9b3fb28_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bear-proof bin</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This year we
were for a huge treat—there was a food storage locker (a.k.a. the bear box/bear
proof bin) installed on our campsite (and, as we found out later, on a number
of other campsites too, especially those most frequented by bears). It was
undoubtedly an EXCELLENT idea and I would like to extend my genuine gratitude
and appreciation to the Park for installing them—THANK YOU!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">However… I hate
to rain on the park’s parade and be negative of this otherwise wonderful piece
of equipment, yet after using the box just once both of us immediately noticed
a number of issues with its design.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For one thing,
the bear box’s opening was on top and it took some effort, sometimes
considerable, to lift the lid—especially Catherine, who was in charge of the
kitchen & food supplies, found it challenging to open (and close) the box
and a few times she bumped her head against the lid (you should hear her
thunderous swearing then!). Also while closing the lid, we had to exert some
force, invariably causing a loud clamor. There were two rather awkward hinges
inside the box—I thought they made it more difficult to open/close the box and
were prone to break.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When we arrived
at the campsite, the box was closed, yet there was some water inside (and a big
dew worm!); since there was no opening in the bottom to let the water out, we
had to manually remove the water (with a coffee cup) and later used plenty of
paper towels to clean and dry its floor. After it rained, some water
accumulated inside the box, even though the box remained closed—meaning that it
was not totally waterproof.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We also found
the locking mechanism somehow unpractical. There were hasps and staples on each
side of the box and two carabiners, attached to the box with a thin steel line.
I could immediately tell that sooner or later (probably sooner) the steel lines
would break or unravel and</span> <span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the carabiners would become detached, they were simply too fragile to
withstand continuous usage by throngs of campers, let alone occasional
vandals—or a pesky and dexterous bear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After relocating
to our second campsite, as Catherine was about to put our food inside the bear
container on the new site, she found it impossible to open it. It took both of
us a lot of effort to finally lift the lid—it turned out that one of the hinges
had gotten twisted & almost detached on one side, thus blocking the lid
from opening. In addition, one carabiner was missing, the other one was already
disconnected from the box. We could not believe that our predictions came true
so soon! Furthermore, the box was on such uneven ground that it kept tipping
backwards when the lid was lifted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last year we had
spent several weeks camping at various parks in the USA (Yellowstone) and all
of them had had bear boxes installed (due to Grizzly bear activity), so we
could compare the boxes in the Massasauga to the ones in the USA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The bear boxes in
the U.S. parks were standard cupboard-style, with two front doors, very
practical—the top area could be conveniently used as a ‘table’ for temporarily
placing various items and it was much easier to put heavy items inside. The </span><span lang="EN-CA">closing/opening mechanism was simple and
quiet (no awkward hinges) and the latch/lock was ‘built-in’ and did not require
fiddling with carabiners (i.e., less parts to break or get missing). The boxes
were also permanently attached to the ground. I do not remember any water
accumulating inside—and it was so easy to clean them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5546/30701647595_96c7f7727a_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5546/30701647595_96c7f7727a_o.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our campsite is behind</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: large;">Notwithstanding the above
observations, we were still very grateful to the park for installing such
bear-proof containers!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">To sum up, even though we did
not paddle a lot, we had a wonderful time in the park and we are looking
forward to visiting it again!</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span>
<br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>More photos from this trip:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157674524765272"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157674524765272</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-CA">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="PL"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Blog in Polish/po polsku:</b> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/park-massasaga-w-ontariodwanascie-dni.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/park-massasaga-w-ontariodwanascie-dni.html</span></a></span>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7010465805591966615.post-34891520095018955482016-10-30T14:31:00.004-07:002021-12-23T12:48:53.875-08:00CAMPING IN LONG POINT PROVINCIAL PARK, ONTARIO—MAY, 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>More photos from this trip:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157675877697576"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157675877697576</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="PL"><b>Blog in Polish/po polsku:</b> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/biwakowanie-w-parku-long-point.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/biwakowanie-w-parku-long-point.html</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The second half of May is a perfect time to commence the
camping season—the bugs have not arrived yet, children are still in school and
the weather is quite nice, at least during the day. As I mentioned in my other
blog, in 2013 we went camping to Algonquin Park at the end of May and had to
cut our trip short due to swarms of black flies (and mosquitoes). Thus, in
order to avoid those horrible insects, we decided to go South, not North, in
May—where black flies were not present.</span></div><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5553/30612140091_84ff7ed352_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5553/30612140091_84ff7ed352_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long Point</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
It was our second visit in this Park in as many years and we
even managed to stay on the same campsite we had bivouacked the previous year
(Monarch Campground). We left on Sunday, May 15, 2016, one week before the
Victoria Day long weekend. The first two days were cold (probably below
freezing at night), windy and rainy (well, the day we left Toronto, it was
actually… snowing!), but we still had a wonderful time—our 4 sleeping bags
certainly came in very handy. Besides, soon the weather improved and it was
almost hot the day we were leaving.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5791/30700237915_006daf4097_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5791/30700237915_006daf4097_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boathouses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In fact, the first evening it was so cold, windy and cloudy,
that Catherine, afraid it might rain, decided to skip cooking at the campfire
and headed to the Boathouse Restaurant in Port Rowan. In front of the
restaurant I took numerous photos of the row of —what else?—boat houses—it was
a picture-perfect view! The meal of fish & chips and bread pudding also hit
the spot at this delightful eatery.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5638/30583495922_0da95f996c_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5638/30583495922_0da95f996c_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our campsite in Long Point Provincial Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The campsite, located in a sandy hollow close to the shores
of Lake Erie, was very nice and private—and the site across was vacant. There
were plenty of poison ivy around the campsite, so we had to exercise caution,
especially at night. There were some RVs at the park, most of them on Firefly
Campground (which was very open, with little shade) and on bigger campsites
farther from the lake and closer to the road. The beach was quite wide and
long. The park’s occupancy rate was quite low, but according to the online Park
Reservation System, there was not going to be a single vacant campsite over the
upcoming long weekend! We hardly saw any mosquitos—but after sun tanning in the
dunes Catherine realized there were plenty of ticks all over her and one had to
be removed with a tweezers. Since ticks are carried of Lyme disease, from then
on we were very careful to avoid any areas where ticks could be present. We
spotted a lot of various birds at our campsite; one of them, a very friendly
and inquisitive red winged blackbird, hung around our site all the time—it had
a very distinct shiny silver band on one of its legs, no doubt a souvenir of
his involuntary stopover at the nearby Bird Observatory! At night we could see
from the campsite city lights on the other side of Lake Erie, in the USA—as
well as from time to time I could spot a big freighter traversing the lake.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5703/30068315274_cc85ef2763_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5703/30068315274_cc85ef2763_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was cold!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We also rode our bikes to the ‘old’ section of the park, Cottonwood
Campground (which was still closed), and it had a number of first-come,
first-served campsites. Some sites at Cottonwood were nice, but too close to
the road and not as cozy at the ones at Monarch. The separate day use area had
huge dues and picnic areas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Although we were quite busy with our activities, I still
managed to finish reading one book, “The Courtyard”. Its author, Arkady Lvov,
smuggled it from the Soviet Union in a shoe-shine kit. The book dealt with the
lives of the residents of an apartment building in Odessa from 1936 to 1953.
Readers had an opportunity to closely observe their everyday struggle under
communism and their dealing with the absurdities of communal living and daily
repressions, albeit some trivial, of the Stalinist system. Although almost 700
pages long and at times somehow boring, overall I enjoyed this epic work as it
gave me a unique and humorous insight into the lives of individuals
representing various sections of Soviet society, who shared the same apartment
building.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5739/30068296314_5427acfe99_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5739/30068296314_5427acfe99_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poison Ivy at campsites</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Long Point is the world’s longest freshwater sand spit,
about 40 km long and about 1 km across at its widest point. The Point’s sand
dune system is constantly shifting. It is also home to various wildlife and
plants. Several hundred years ago there was a portage here and a historical
plaque located just before the entrance summarized its history:</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: medium;">Long Point
Portage<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext 3.0pt; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt; padding: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
This
portage, which crossed the isthmus joining Long Point to the mainland, was used
by travelers in small craft following the north shore of Lake Erie in order to
avoid the open waters and the length of the journey around the Point. Although
used earlier by the Indians, the portage was first recorded in 1670 by two
Sulpician missionaries, Dollier de Casson and René de Bréhant de Galinée. For
about 150 years traffic increased over the carrying place, first as a result of
the French expansion to the southwest, including the founding of Detroit in
1701, and, after 1783, because of the movement of settlers into this region.
The portage was abandoned in 1833 when a storm broke a navigable channel
through the isthmus.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The shallow waters and shifting shorelines around Long Point
claimed a lot of victims in the early 1800s, and wrecks were frequent. In 1828
deliberations on a proposed channel at the base of Long Point to create a safer
route for the ship traffic. In November, 1833 a big storm washed a cut 400
meters wide and 4 meters deep across the base of the Point and the government
of Canada kept maintaining it. Storms changed the channels’ characteristics
over the years from the width of a ship and 1.5 meters deep to nearly a
kilometer width and 7 m deep. In 1879 a wooden lighthouse was built to guide
ships to the tricky channel. Some storms closed one cut and opened another, so
ships, seeking shelter from open lake storms, often had a hard time finding
their way. No wonder that many ships ran aground around Long Point.
Furthermore, during the mid 19<sup>th</sup> century, that area became a center
for land-based piracy, called ‘<i>blackbirding’</i>.
Local residents, called ‘blackbirders’, erected fake lighthouses during times
of low visibility. Ships trying to enter the old cut would run aground. When
the crew abandoned ship, the <i>blackbirders</i>
would loot the ship of cargo and other valuables.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5626/30663530246_2de18b3327_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="466" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5626/30663530246_2de18b3327_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Old Cut Lighthouse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Fortunately, not all locals were so callous. Abigail Becker (1830–1905),
also known as the Angel of Long Point, saved the lives of numerous sailors
caught in storms along the shores of Long Point. In November, 1854, she spotted
an overturned rowboat and immediately realized there must have been a shipwreck
nearby. Six sailors managed to reach the Old Cut lighthouse (the lighthouse keeper
already gone for the winter) and they were nursed back to health by Abigail.
Not long afterwards, on November 23<sup>rd</sup>, 1854, the schooner
“Conductor” was caught in blinding snow squalls and captain Henry Hackett
decided to change the course and head towards the safety of Old Cut.
Unfortunately, finding the cut in such a weather was almost impossible and soon
the schooner ran aground. As it was stuck in a shallow sandbar, 200 meters from
shore, it was mercilessly pounded by the waves and torn apart as 8 men clinging
to the rigging. After spotting the wreck, Abigail got her children and rushed
to beach opposite the wreck, where she started a huge fire, thus encouraging
the men to swim to the shore—the only viable chance they had to survive. And so
they did, with her help, reach the shore—she waded into the water to drag the
men to the shore, where the blessed fire and hot tea that was waiting for them!
There is a historical plaque in Port Rowan dedicated to Abigail Becker:</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b><span style="font-size: medium;">The Heroine of
Long Point<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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In November,
1854, the schooner "Conductor" was wrecked off this shore during one
of Lake Erie's many violent storms. Jeremiah Becker, who resided nearby, was
away on the mainland but his courageous wife, Abigail, risked her life by
repeatedly entering the water while assisting the exhausted seamen to reach
land. The eight sailors were housed and fed in her cabin until they recovered
from their ordeal. In recognition of her heroism she received a letter of
commendation from Queen Victoria, several financial awards, and a gold medal
from the Life Saving Benevolent Association of New York.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The “Old Cut” channel remained navigable until 1906, when it
was filled in by storms, thus ending Long Point’s brief history as an island.
The lighthouse was decommissioned in 1916. Its refurbished likeness on the
original foundation is a remainder of Long Point’s fascinating human and
natural history—as well as for those not familiar with Long Point’s history, it
looks out of place. (Sources: Bird Studies’ information plate, “Wikipedia” and
“Lake Erie Stories: Struggle and Survival on a Freshwater Ocean” by Chad
Fraser).</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5744/30066310233_eebd0b73e8_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5744/30066310233_eebd0b73e8_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relaxing in the dunes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Long Point is very well-known for its bird migration and one
day we visited (for the second time) the Bird Observatory/Field Station,
located on Old Cut Blvd. It was just fascinating to watch the staff (partially
made up of volunteers) catch, identify, measure, weight, band and release
various birds. It was also a great opportunity to learn about birds, as the
staff are very knowledgeable and willing to share their knowledge with
visitors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We found out that some birds were persistently hanging out
around the observatory (certainly feeders full of seeds were one of the main
reasons) and not only had they been caught numerous times, but sometimes more
than once in one day! A small store sells books and other ornithological
materials. Several informative plates along the nearby trail tell the story of
Long Point and bird migration. Just be careful and do not get caught in the fine
nets designed to trap birds, or you might end up being banded (or perhaps
handcuffed), too! Although I was not interested in birds that much, each visit
to this field station turned out to be a very inspiring, delightful and
thrilling experience.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5578/30663524646_fd14d367b3_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5578/30663524646_fd14d367b3_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twins' Ice Cream Parlour</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We went to the nearby town of Port Rowan several times and
of course, each time had excellent ice cream at Twins’ Ice Cream Parlour, as
well as spent a few hours browsing in the Thrift Shop and a well-stocked dollar
store—a lifesaver for campers forgetting needed items or a getaway on a rainy
day. Like last year, we brought bikes and were looking forward to riding on
numerous biking trails near Waterford, Simcoe and Delhi.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5347/30700466465_22de047a22_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5347/30700466465_22de047a22_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Asparagus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Port Rowan and Long Point are in Norfolk County—a well-known
agricultural area, which has been the center of the Ontario tobacco belt.
Because of the decrease in the tobacco consumption, many farmers have switched
to other crops, like ginseng and asparagus. There were still plenty of almost
historical kilns (curing barns, where tobacco leaves were undergoing a
curing/drying process), often heated by coal—some, semi-abandoned, sat empty,
others transformed into storage.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Many farmers have decided to switch to farming ginseng, yet
it requires a large investment of capital and it takes at least three years
before the first harvest. Since ginseng is native to the floor of the mixed
hardwood forests, it requires little sunlight. Thus, fields where ginseng is
cultivated must have been modified to resemble its natural preferences by
erecting shade that can filter most of the sunlight.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5505/30583489242_93099209d2_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5505/30583489242_93099209d2_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old kilns</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We also visited several farms growing asparagus—it is said
that one sure sign of the spring season is asparagus appearing in local
stores—or on farms, from which we could directly purchase it. We bought a
couple of very fresh bundles and at the campsite we added some butter, wrapped
them in aluminum foil and grilled over the fire. They were soft and delicious!</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5536/30663512556_a2f3e6d97e_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5536/30663512556_a2f3e6d97e_o.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ginseng plantation</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
After planting asparagus, it takes several years before the
first harvest, but amazingly, it is a perennial vegetable and can be productive
for 20 to 30 years if given proper care. If the stalks are not picked they will
grow into tall fern like with small red seeds. There were a number of workers
employed on the farm—some harvesting, others sorting and washing asparagus.
Many of them were seasonal workers were from Mexico and Caribbean countries,
they annually come to Canada to work on farms, since not too many Canadians are
interested in such work—they much prefer living comfortably in cities, often in
subsidized housing units and collecting social assistance (i.e., welfare) which
the Liberal governments in Ottawa and Ontario generously bestow on them, almost
no questions asked. O, Canada… I feel like crying</span>…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5616/30400198900_b907e71b24_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5616/30400198900_b907e71b24_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morden Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">
While driving from the park, several times we passed by the
Morden Cemetery, located at Concession Road East and East Quarter Line. It was
an ‘abandoned’ cemetery, operated by Norfolk County (which has one hundred and
eleven documented burial sites/cemeteries). Such cemeteries are quite common in
Ontario. Unfortunately, many headstones got lost, vandalized, broken and
unreadable and local authorities decided to just collect them and erect them in
one place, not necessarily at their original locations. Most of the burials
occurred at the end of the 19<sup>th</sup> century and beginning of the 20<sup>th</sup>
century. Many of the graves are children’s.<o:p></o:p><br /></span>
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5493/30612025351_42be70fecf_o.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5493/30612025351_42be70fecf_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">
DELHI RAIL TRAIL</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Although it was very windy, we drove to Delhi and found the
beginning of the Delhi Rail Trail (which runs almost 14 km from Delhi to
Simcoe) on Fertilizer Road, near the Co-op Fertilizer Plant. Surprisingly,
there were semi-abandoned tracks on the other side of the road and they
actually ran parallel to the Delhi trail for about one hundred meters. They
were part of Trillium Railway, also known as the St. Thomas & Eastern Railway,
operating between Delhi and St. Thomas, which carried fertilizer, grain, salt,
ethanol, forest products and other goods. The line ceased local operations at
the end of 2013. The rail lines were established by the Great Western Railway
in 1873 and the Simcoe-Delhi line must have been abandoned several decades ago.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5792/30068351924_3b33dc9632_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="612" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5792/30068351924_3b33dc9632_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delhi Rail Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
There was a small parking near Fertilizer Road and several
informative plaques. The trail passed through fields and forests, sometimes
very close to farmers’ buildings and crossed several roads. We saw some other
people also using the trail-cyclists, joggers and hikers. The shoulders of the
trail had plenty of poison ivy. Because it was very windy, we decided to turn
back a few kilometers before reaching Simcoe. Overall, it was a very easy, flat
and scenic trial, perfect for beginners.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">WATERFORD HERITAGE TRAIL</span></b></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5790/30068115454_a4e517ab98_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5790/30068115454_a4e517ab98_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Waterford Train Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The Waterford Heritage Trail is almost 20 km long and passes
through forests, wetlands, fields and grasslands. It follows the right of way
of the Lake Erie and Northern Railway (LEN), which commenced operation from
Galt to Port Dover in 1915, transporting passengers and freight. It made stops
in Galt, Brantford, Waterford, Simcoe, Port Dover and other places in between.
The passenger service was discontinued in 1955. The line between Waterford to
Simcoe was abandoned in the early 1990s.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5535/30068127304_977ec65836_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5535/30068127304_977ec65836_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Black Bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
The most prominent—and still existing—feature of the LEN is
the imposing Black Bridge that carried it across the Toronto Hamilton and
Buffalo Railway (THB) and Canada Southern (CASO). In the past Waterford was an
important railway hub. Passengers could go by train not only to New York, but
also to Detroit and even Chicago. The passenger service on the THB line ended
in the 1960s and freight service in the late 1980s, when the route was
abandoned. Remarkably, up to 120 trains per day used to pass through Waterford!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We departed from Simcoe at Lion’s Park (on Davis Street
East), which had ample parking. According to the information plaques along the
route, this trail is part of what is known as “Brock’s Route”—it is for the
most part aligned with the route that Major General Isaac Brock took between
Hamilton and Port Dover through Brantford in the war of 1812-1814.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5736/30611909261_321e045b25_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5736/30611909261_321e045b25_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Black Bridge towards another old rail bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
After riding for 9 kilometers, we arrived in the town of
Waterford. On our right (at the end of Nichol Street W) stood big silos, now
apparently abandoned—their side draws, designed to unload their content
directly to railways cars, were still in place. The empty site across from the
silos is where the LEN station once stood.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5717/30700222085_5469a645ec_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="377" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5717/30700222085_5469a645ec_o.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Brock's Route</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We continued for about a hundred meters and reached the
impressive Black Bridge (which just celebrated its centenary), now modified for
the new trail users. From the bridge we could admire Waterford Ponds and the
town of Waterford. There was also a small pedestrian bridge—I think that once
it had connected the LEN and THB.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
As we did not have the time to continue on the trail towards
Brantford, we retraced our route for approximately 600 meters, where the trail
split—I guess it had been another junction connecting the LEN and the THB. We
took the other sloping paved trail, turned right under the Black Bridge and
ended up riding on the THB and Canada Southern right of way. A few minutes
later we arrived at the old railway station of the Canada Southern Railway
Company at the west end of Alice Street ( its sign still proclaiming,
“Waterford. Pop. 2700. Elev. 820”). This modest station, built in 1871,
resembles train stations in the USA. Fortunately, not only has it been
preserved, but also thoroughly renovated and now it is the home of “Quilt
Junction”</span>.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5705/30663304456_21973a5160_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5705/30663304456_21973a5160_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Waterford Heritage Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
After enjoying two slices of pizza at a local pizzeria and
cycling on several streets in town for a while, we got back to the trail via
Nichol Street and returned to Simcoe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Altogether it was an easy and very pleasant excursion which
also allowed us to learn so much about local history. Kudos to the
organizations and individuals that maintain this trail!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>
PORT DOVER</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We drove to Port Dover <i>en
route </i>home to Toronto just a week after the Friday the 13<sup>th</sup>
celebrations, when thousands of motorbikes descended on this small town. In
fact it was the Friday eve of the May long weekend and very busy once again. We
walked to the lighthouse, then bought a pizza at Harbour Pizza and had it while
sitting near the Port Dover museum, on the Lynn River. We got chatting with a
local lady. Catherine asked her about a newly opened Bed & Breakfast on the
former Clonmel Castle Estate property and got directions to visit. It was still
a beautiful stone-fenced property that looked straight out on an Irish movie
set, but had been subdivided and had a new subdivision of upscale homes just
meters from the entrance. There were a number of very informative plaques along
the Lynn River with photos and interesting facts pertaining to Port Dover’s
history and I took liberty in reproducing some of that text below.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5794/30612132531_fb7e28c3b6_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5794/30612132531_fb7e28c3b6_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza delivery in Port Dover!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In the 1840s the mouth of the Lynn River was dredged and the
first piers and lighthouse were built. Soon commercial wharves and warehouses
sprang up along the banks of the Lynn River. They were essential for loading
and unloading the trading schooners, which made regular stops here, bringing
manufactured goods and other merchandise and taking away farm products, lumber
and tanned hides. With the coming of the railways in the late 1800s, schooner
trade fell off and the harbor and creek sides became the domain of commercial
fishing boats.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5688/30611955811_bd3086731c_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5688/30611955811_bd3086731c_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Port Dover</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
In the twentieth century Port Dover was the heart of
Canada’s freshwater fishing industry. The stretch of the Lynn River was once
lined on both sides with net shanties, docks and processing plants associated
with these fisheries. By the 1970s Port Dover was home to the world’s largest
freshwater fishing fleet. Well, I only spotted one old shanty on the other side
of the river.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
There were several photographs on the plaque, depicting the
banks of the Lynn River in the late 1890s and early 1900s—and red dots
indicated the exact spot where we were standing now. Indeed, it was just
unbelievable to look at all the structures that dotted the shores then—almost
all of them now gone! It remained me of the ghost town of French River in the
mouth of the French River: old photographs showed numerous buildings standing
on the rocky shores—when I visited that place in 2008, I could only see the
lighthouse and the ruins of a once very tall chimney. Time marches on…</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5345/30583283402_3a93bb7f96_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5345/30583283402_3a93bb7f96_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Port Dover, an old shanty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">
When the prohibition was introduced in the United States in
1920, commercial fishermen on Lake Erie were experiencing one of their
industry’s cyclical downturn—what a wonderful coincidence! Soon boxcars full of
whisky were appearing on railway sidings and their contents were shipped across
the lake aboard a variety of craft, and then transferred to American vessels.
Thousands of cases of Canadian whisky and beer made their way to American
speakeasies. With the end of the prohibition in 1933, this colorful era was
brought to an end as well.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5341/30700319905_123086dcc3_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5341/30700319905_123086dcc3_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The story of my life</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
Near Port Dover we briefly stopped at Canada’s First
Forestry Station and Interpretative Center and drove around for a while. This
station was established by the Ontario government in 1908, on 40 ha of
wind-eroded sandy land. There was a huge tree trunk on display, its growth
rings clearly visible. The information plaque, “The Story of My Life”, was
explaining the history of this 277 year old tree—in its own words!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">“I
grew from an acorn in 1723 along the bank of the Lynn River, when there were
only native people in this region … When I was 25, in 1750, I could start
seeing what was going on around me … I saw horse-drawn carriages travelling
along Norfolk Street … In 1795 the popular governor John Graves Simcoe came to
visit our county and camped close by …In 1812 war broke out with the United
States and I could see the militia practice all around me … In 1914 there was
war again and many soldiers practiced where I could see them before they went
off to fight in Europe … The farmers had cut down too many trees and the good
soil was blowing away. In 1908 a few people at St. Williams had started a
nursery to try to stop the dust storms by replanting the trees … In about 1980
my end was coming near: new insects from foreign lands attacked my leaves …
Then disease struck my bark and I passed away in the year 2000. I had to be cut
down and people made many beautiful things from me.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
While driving near Simcoe, we spotted a small distillery in
a tiny community of Green’s Corners, which for the last 6 years had been
producing rice-based Silver Lake Vodka. It was possible to buy (or sample) the
product at the distillery, but it was already closed.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5522/30068130544_2f3a59d4e2_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5522/30068130544_2f3a59d4e2_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McQueen Cemetery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
On our way home I noticed a historical plaque in Port Dover—there
was a small McQueen Cemetery-United Empire Loyalists Burial Ground. The United
Empire Loyalists were those who had been settled in the <span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250);">thirteen colonies at the outbreak of the American
Revolution, who remained loyal to and took up the Royal Standard, and who
settled in what is now Canada at the end of the war. </span>Apparently the
McQueen cemetery is on the original McQueen farm in Port Dover. </span><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250);"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the oldest, and most prominent
graves, was that of Alexander McQueen, who died in 1804. The inscription days
the following:</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250);"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5541/30700231335_ae662ab864_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5541/30700231335_ae662ab864_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexander McQueen's grave</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">In memory of Alexander McQueen<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">Died 10th July 1804<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">Aged 93 years<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">As a highland soldier under the valiant Wolfe,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">He helped to capture Quebec and<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">Win Canada for Britain.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">This memorial is erected by one of<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">His great, great grandsons<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">Mr. Justice Teetzel<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">1908</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">
We wished we could have stayed in Long Point Provincial Park
for the long weekend, but as I mentioned before, all campsites had been booked.
It was our first camping trip of 2016 and we enjoyed it a lot!<o:p></o:p><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>More photos from this trip:</b> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157675877697576"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/jack_1962/albums/72157675877697576</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="PL"><b>Blog in Polish/po polsku:</b><span style="color: cyan;"> <a href="http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/biwakowanie-w-parku-long-point.html">http://ontario-nature-polish.blogspot.ca/2016/10/biwakowanie-w-parku-long-point.html</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div>
<span lang="PL"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01119054699374924586noreply@blogger.com0