Tim River Part 2: Formidable Foe #1

Since the beginning of time, man has yearned to destroy the sun.  We did the next best thing- buy one bottle of SPF 15 for three people, and then proceed to sit shirtless under its rays for several hours.  Three straight days of sunny, 25 degree weather, give no reason to complain, right?  Wrong.  The ability to complain under any circumstance is a trait of the cunning.  And we’re a clever lot.

The first stretch of the Tim River made for easy paddling- even though our unbalanced canoe seemed destined to flip over.  Kolya was particularly anxious, since he had rented a $10 000 camera lens for the weekend.  Nevertheless, we managed to hit Tim Lake in absolutely no time, lens intact, and we slowly traversed the lake by going north along its western shore, and then by heading east along its northern shore.  Having read that this route occasionally produces brook trout, I took out my rod and threw in a few lures, despite my concern that the relentless sun was heating the water and therefore making the fish lethargic and inactive.  Either my concern was reasonable, or I am inept as a fisherman- regardless, I didn’t have any bites on Tim Lake.  This was the sun’s first victory.

We continued along the Tim River, and the route slowly became wearisome.  The first obstacle was a short 120m portage.  Normally, this would be a tiny hurdle to jump, and would possibly even provide a welcome respite from the tedium of paddling.  Unfortunately, partly because we packed inefficiently, and partly because we had a good deal of loose fishing and photography gear, we had to traverse the portage several times.  But this was only the beginning of what would eventually become utter exhaustion.

After the Portage, the Tim River narrows significantly, and it begins to meander lazily.  At this point, the river’s turns are like switchbacks on a hiking trail.  We travelled slowly, basking shirtless in the sunlight, exposing our pale bodies to the tanning machine that is the sun.  Occasionally, we needed to step out of our vessel in order to move it over a beaver dam.  On one such occasion, we ran into a couple of gentleman returning from an eight day trek in the park.  In a friendly manner, they warned us to protect ourselves from the dangerous UV rays that were constantly bombarding us.  Although we felt fine at the time, we looked at ourselves after receiving the warning, and realized that we were redder than Soviets vacationing in Cuba.  We immediately put on long-sleeved shirts, covered our faces and applied another layer of that potent SPF 15.  But the sun had already won another important battle.

We eventually reached Rosebary Lake, a shallow body of water surrounded by a plethora of campsites.  On its northern shore lies a beach, an anomaly in an otherwise coniferous setting.  We scowled the lake, intending to find a place to stay.  Seeing that many of the prime sites had already been taken, we decided to go all the way to Long Bow Lake in order to find something which better suited our tastes.  By this point we were utterly exhausted, not so much because of the canoeing per se, but because the sun seemed to sap us of our energy.  The feeling of burnt skin consumed us, and we could feel the heat emanating for our large, supple bodies.  Sweat.  Another stroke.  Another unavailable campsite.  Heat.  Stroke.  Unbearable heat.  Brightness.  And I thought to myself: will night never come?

We finally reached a portage where there was supposed to be a campsite.  I jumped out of the canoe while Kolya and Bohdan waited, and looked to see whether or not there was in fact a place to stay.  After following a trail for a few moments, I stumbled upon what I first presumed to have been a mirage.  A perfectly flat area for a tent and a fire-pit surrounded by log benches glared straight into my eyes.  It was too good to be true.  To Descartes’ disappointment, my eyes were not deceiving me, and so I ran back to the boys to tell them the good news.  Relief and shade were finally in our possession.

Before Bohdan and Kolya had even managed to swing the canoe around into our campsite, I quickly stripped down into my unmentionables and ran into the water, despite its frigid temperature.  Swimming in the cold, clear water, my body glistening in the sun, I could have easily been mistaken for a bear or, perhaps, a large Italian man.  The plunge satiated my body’s basest needs, and my mental exhaustion rapidly dissipated.  After my dip, we set up camp and passed out in the tent.  As the sun slowly descended into its trench, we awoke and made dinner.  It was evening, and I was ready to do some fishing.

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