Jasper's Blog Post

Temagami, a place that I consider a second home, is full of beautiful freshwater lakes. In Temagami is my summer camp, Wabun. A violent shake wakes me up by surprise. I groan as I hear crunching leaves slowly fading and my staff walking away. I put my hand on the zipper of my sleeping bag and unzip it. The sound seems so loud because I just woke up. As I fold away the flap, I feel a rushing chill of all the air around me. While shivering, I put on my dank, stinky trip clothes, and set up my roll. Rolling all of my trip gear is the hardest part of the morning since you just woke up and you have to do it quick. As I sit on my rolled-up gear, I reach for my roll straps and put them around my roll. There is a satisfying click, as both heads of the clip go together. When my two other tent mates and I are rolled we put on our cold, wet trip socks and shoes. Taking down the tent is always a chore. You constantly bend over to take out the stakes. I put your hands on the tent poles only to feel the chill of the metal that the night gave to it. We run restlessly to the fly area in order to get the first tent spot pick for the next campsite. The oatmeal that I eat has a sweet taste from the chocolate and soggy texture. As I eat I also tump my wannigan with a leather head strap and make sure I did a good job, as I will carry it later. My stern man and I try to load the canoe, while also trying not to slip in the water. We push off and it is only the beginning from there. 

Every paddle stroke I take in a canoe, I feel my muscles tense up as my arms push and pull the paddle. When I paddle, I notice what people usually do not realize is there. I slightly tilt my head to the left and watch the canoe slice through the calm, glassy water as tiny waves protrude from the bow of the canoe. My brain goes from focusing on one minuscule detail to the other. My left hand that is gripped tightly to the handle of my paddle, is getting a bit dry from the un-resined part of the wood. I dip my hand in the water to moisten it a bit, quickly but quietly in order for my stern man not to tell me to paddle. Then, I suddenly hear birds coming from the forest. The chirps and whistles soothe me and I drift down the lake. My section comes closer to the shore, and we quickly hop out and unload our canoe so that others can follow.

Portaging is a break of sorts from paddling. I pick up my wannigan by the head strap of the tump and hear the squeaks and whines of the leather on wood. The crunch of the leaves under my feet and the sounds of the forest always distract me from the pressure of the wannigan on my neck. I may go on the trail with a buddy or two if it is difficult, but will mainly go by myself. It is easier to focus on the task at hand rather than talking to people. I hear the sound of rushing water as I stride past a little stream, knowing I am close to the end. The break in the trees is there, and I put down my wannigan and take a short break only to walk back and get the duffle bags. My fellow section mates pass me as I walk back on the trail and pick up the duffle bags, which are also carried by a tump strap. They are not as hard to carry, though because they are much softer and lighter. I get to the end of the portage, and my stern man and I pack up our canoe and help other people too. 

The next stop is lunch out on the water where my staff pulls out a large loaf of cornbread that was baked last night. My stern man also takes out the peanut butter and jelly and slaps it on neatly but quickly. We all enjoy our lunch break and then it is back to work for us.

Several other portages are done throughout the day whether they are one hundred meters long, or even two kilometers. This last paddle is the final stretch of the day before we get to our campsite, so our staff tells us to paddle hard. Once we get to our campsite, we unload our canoes and quickly set up camp. Canoes are turned over, the fly is put up, and finally, the tents are pitched. The relaxation time in our tents is night after a long day, but that does not mean the work is done. We hear the call for the wood crew, and we sprint out of our tents into the forest where our staff have cut down trees. My section mates and I carry logs of wood to the campfire as our hands get tired and sticky with sap. Then we take out the saws and start cutting the wood into billets that our staff can split for the fire. My back starts to hurt as it usually does from slouching and cutting wood for such a long time. Then I either go back to my tent or sit around the main area hearing the chopping of wood and waiting for dinner to be cooked.

I hear the call for dinner and jump up from where I am sitting to get the hard-earned food for the night. Everyone in the section inhales the food because of their hunger and then rushes to get another. After dinner is over, the people that did not cut wood have to wash all of the pots and dishes. That is not me though, so my work is done. We then all eat our bannock that was baked for dessert and thoroughly enjoy the bread-like cake with frosting and everything else. Our staff swat us to our tents and we happily go. All of us will go into one tent and talk for a bit about anything really, and then jump back into our sleeping bags, and go to sleep for another big day tomorrow.