Change of pace

Last week I talked about how pleasant it can be to explore beautiful trails with friends...then went out and basically did the exact opposite of that the following day.

Definitely not the Bruce Trail.

I decided to forgo my usual run down to the famers' market in favour of a race-specific training stimulus, and also a sort of test. You see, usually my runs are in a state of near-constant interruption: when I run on my lunch or after work there are stoplights that interfere with the flow, and when I run trails on weekends I'm usually hiking (ok, walking) up hills or stopping to take photos of all the pretty things around me. It's not really a bad thing: in most races I end up hiking the hills, carefully mincing my way through anything even the least bit technical so my clumsy arse doesn't fall and hurt myself, and at least stopping at aid stations to fill my hand bottle...if not actually stopping to take 600+ photos of the course itself.

Having done all this for years now, I had serious doubts about my ability to run for any sustained period of time. I wanted to know if I still had enough running endurance (rundurance?) to keep on truckin' for a couple of hours, particularly over fairly flat terrain. I'm doing something really stupid next weekend that makes this of rather pressing interest, and Saturday was about my last opportunity to give it a whack.

I needed a course that would have little elevation change and allow me to run without interruptions - minimal road intersections, and nothing really spectacular that would persuade me to abandon my primary mission in favour of exploration and photography. I had just the thing.

Look out - there might be a slight curve in a mile or so.

I got Tanker - who has always been such a good sport about such things - to drop me off at the Jean Rich Trailhead near km58 of the Cambridge to Paris Rail Trail so I could run back and meet him at our favourite café. A little shy of a 19km stretch of open trail with very little to distract me.

Almost flat, but with a slight net uphill.

Fortunately I had a mild tailwind to offset the gain.

Setting off at 4pm with the sun due to set at 4:50pm, I just tried to find a comfortable, sustainable pace, and made it about an hour and a half (and just shy of 15km) before needing to bust out my headlamp. I had brought a few gels with me, but I'd eaten a peameal bacon-and-duck-egg laden bagel for a late brunch a couple of hours before starting and was still getting some nasty burps as the sun went down. I took an electrolyte tab at 1h7m as dusk drew in as my vision was going a bit weird - I have a theory that sodium loss affects my sight because your eyeballs are basically just bags of saltwater - but other than that I just drank water.

And watched this on repeat for the best part of a couple of hours.

I had to pause ever so briefly at Footbridge Road (km72) for an oncoming car that waved me through, but as I ran through the darkness an idea occurred to me: since I'd got my Garmin watch in April of 2016 my only 21km-ish runs had been on trail, so Garmin Connect still showed that my half marathon PR was something like 2h48m - a far cry from my actual (very modest but still a bit quicker) road half marathon best time of 1h58m13s. It would be pretty easy to extend my route a little to see if I couldn't draw that down a bit closer to my real capabilities..

..so of course I did. An extra few blocks through Galt, where I did have to stop at a couple of stoplights, but I ended up with a final "chip" time of 2:12:49 with a total start-to-finish duration of 2:14:20. 

Not so bad for an ultra dork.

I will freely admit that the run beat me up a fair bit and wore me the heck out, which does not necessarily bode well for next weekend...but then again nothing about that race really seems like a good idea, so why moan about it? I managed another slow, easy 10k on some lovely trails the next day, stopping whenever I wished to take photos in brilliant sunshine.

Which was often, as the Royal Recreation Trail is a favourite.

I also got a little cross training in toward the end of the run.

Show me a climbing wall and I only know one way to behave.

Monday I was back to my usual lunch run shenanigans, but Tuesday I ended up working through my lunch break at a client's office, and then a fair bit of overtime as well. I managed to slip out of the office around 6:30pm for a quick run, but knowing I needed to do some more work after I got back meant I needed it to be as efficient a use of time as possible. So, I did another thing I never do: hill repeats.

My office is on a street with a decent size hill in the middle, and the only way I could run 5-ish kilometers without encountering an intersection - and particularly the 4-way stop that is a terrifying free-for-all just 200m from my office's driveway - was to run out-and-back over the sizeable hill 3 times, for a total of 6 uphills. 

I also learned it's a smidge bigger in one direction than the other.

I'd hoped that working until 8pm was the last of the arse kicking the universe had in store for me on Tuesday, but it was not to be - our water heater apparently breathed its last gasp sometime after we got home, with Tanker and I using the last of its labours before collapsing into bed. I called Wednesday morning to see when we could get it repaired, but the first appointment that wouldn't require one of us to take a day off work wouldn't be until Friday evening.

I did my usual post-work 8-ish kilometer run down toward my Mum's house for a visit on Wednesday, but then the weather snapped cold again on Thursday, when I don't really have a lunch break on which to run. I couldn't quite bring myself to venture out in the frosty night air once we got home from work, knowing that there'd only be cold water to wash up afterward. So, I actually took a day off running to do something else that has seldom happened this year.

*GASP*

Yep - I splashed my way through only my 5th swim of 2019, and my first since mid-June. I was annoyed to find they'd removed the pace clock in my absence - I can't seriously be the only one who uses it! - but it was gratifying to realise I could still make my way through the water half decently via all 4 major strokes (freestyle/front crawl, backstroke, breaststroke, and butterfly...though it was more like butterflop), if a bit slowly and with a lot of gasping. My reward afterward was a pleasant stretch session in the on-deck hot tub and a lovely, hot shower.

Happy dork!

So, it was definitely a change up for me in the past few days, and I'm probably better for it - doing the same thing all the time lets you stagnate, while new training stimuli drive adaptations that will keep you getting fitter. With the 100 runs in 100 days challenge about to start on Sunday, though, I don't expect it'll last. Let the absurdly contrived plodding begin!

Dimensionality

As the sun has now set on a rather spotty season of "racing", my mind turns to all the things that winter and the off season have to offer.

Well, I say off season - I did actually take a full week off running, but was back at it in the dark of our early night on Sunday evening.

Making friends along the way.

My ankles - which took a pounding over 43-odd kilometers at Horror Hill and then another 50 at The Beav in a 2 week period - are still calling the shots on when I run. I did manage to get 4 days in a row from Sunday to Wednesday, but took Thursday off running as the right one is still being a jerk.

The sun angle is so low on my lunch runs these days

That's also why I decided against getting my cross-country skis out when we got the big dump of snow last week: I didn't feel like my ankles were strong or rested enough to strap on the boards for the first time this year when conditions were decent, and despite the bitter cold we've had the ski-able snow didn't really last.

There will be time to ski later, and snowshoe as well. There had better be - I've actually signed up for a snowshoe race in early February, and figure I might as well try training for it a bit...especially since my snowshoes are not really designed with running in mind.

If I had this little monster's enormous back feet, I wouldn't need snowshoes at all!

I'm looking forward to taking some time to do the things that fell by the wayside as I pushed to train and race at the highest level of which my injured arse was capable. I've actually made it back to the pool for the first time since May the 8th (!), putting in 1,700y on Saturday and another 1,300y last night in lieu of a run.

I didn't even need the lifeguard to fish me out!

Just those couple of swims have shown me how much I've been missing by ditching my pool workouts. I've come to realise that some of the issues I've experienced this year are actually due to the lack of swim training in the past 6 months - there is just no replacement for the muscle engagement and movement patterns required to swim the four main strokes (front crawl, backstroke, breaststroke and butterfly), and the delicious soreness that has come with the return to the water tells me that I may have made a grave mistake in foregoing the pool in order to try to get more sleep.

I do have a master of the snoozing arts to teach me, if she can find time between naps.

I haven't managed to get on my bike (or my motorcycle) due to the weather, but it's not all about training anyway - it's the damn off season! We're actually going tonight to pick up a pass for one of our favourite local climbing gyms this evening (because SALE PRICING people!), and I can't wait to actually get out and pull on some plastic again. I've kept up with doing some pull-ups on the rock rings in my livingroom weekly in an effort not to lose all of my climbing strength, but we haven't climbed at all (other than a bit of scrambling last month) since the via ferrata route at Parc de la Chute Montmorency back in mid-July.

Oddly enough, I'm also really excited that the local ski hills have started to blow snow in an effort to get their base layer built. I was really disappointed that they all closed for the season long before my ankle was ready to try snowboarding again, and I honestly can't wait until I can strap into my bindings and do some very careful shredding. It might seem strange that I'm amped to go do a thing that hurt me so badly 9 months ago - particularly since I'm still dealing with the effects of the injury - but I've been in love with snowboarding since I was 17 years old. I've broken bones while doing so, dislocated a shoulder (long story), and knocked myself silly trying stupid things in terrain parks years before helmets were mandated for such things. It may not be the safest thing for my clumsy arse, but it's also something in which I find a lot of joy, and I'm stoked to get back out there again even if it does cause me some pain.

Reminds me of some other activities I could name..

Let's just hope I don't do something completely foolish that leads to another year like this one.

Sacrifice or stupidity?

I haven't been in a great place lately, and I'm second guessing a lot of things.

Part of it has been brought on by a total inability to shed the pounds I put on after Pick Your Poison. In the spring I was actually making decent progress at shedding my winter insulation, with even April going well despite a week off and reduced training throughout the month due to injury. Since the end of April, though, I've gained about 4lbs that don't seem to want to budge.

Which makes #sportbrasquad running in the recent hot weather something no-one really wants to see.

While I know that some of it is due to a week of "eat whatever I damn well please" after Sulphur Springs - which was my main race for this season - I'm chubby enough right now that I'm putting myself at risk for injury as I'm ramping up mileage again. I have a certain weight that I know from experience is a break point: below it and I'm generally ok, but above it I'm more likely to get hurt from the extra strain on my bones and joints while banging out miles in training. I'm only a pound or so above that, but I'm also pushing to get some decent training in before Limberlost and ultimately for the Haliburton 50 miler in September, and one pound multiplied by 65+km per week can definitely equal injury.

I'm actually back on the Slowtwitch 7-day leaderboard as of last night's run.

Despite a couple of weeks of trying to make better decisions (no more ice cream, trying to reduce sugar intake and snacking in general), generally healthy food choices (I have a sweet potato with almond butter for breakfast during the week, a salad every day, and bring leftovers from the dinners I make from scratch as lunches), and increasing training volume the scale refuses to move the way I want it to. I'm actually a bit heavier than I was last week, which is bloody depressing. I'd love to believe it's muscle mass, but the way my clothes fit tells a different story. I'm theoretically doing the right things: I strength train four times per week, make vegetables the focus of my meals and try to only consume the few sweets I do eat (medjool dates, apples, bananas, Larabars or protein bars) immediately before or after workouts. It's just that nothing seems to work at the moment, despite success in the past. So, I plug on and hope..

Last night I went out for a run, and was lucky enough to have Tanker follow along on his mountain bike.

He's wonderfully accepting of my jiggling.

It was hot, VERY humid and rather unpleasant to run through, but would have been perfect conditions to just sit out on the driveway (we don't have a porch) and enjoy a summer evening. I told Tank as much, and he fully agreed.

Instead, I went to the pool and thrashed my way through 1,200m of what a friend of mine calls "drowning with direction". Honestly, I'll be lucky if the water doesn't sue me for sexual assault.

"Please just let me make it to the wall alive.."

Since I don't have any interest in triathlon anymore, the only reasons I still swim are for the recovery benefit, some full-body conditioning and to try to burn my chub off. I could probably have got almost as much recovery benefit (if not more) by sitting with Tanker with my feet up and watching the heat lightning roll in. I didn't want to go to the pool and didn't enjoy my fistfight with the water (though I do admit that stretching in the swirlpool afterward was fairly pleasant), plus it meant another night of getting to bed past midnight. Worse still, I woke up half a pound heavier today than I was on Thursday morning, so even the whole "at least I burnt some calories" argument falls rather flat.

I'm brought to a point where I can't really say whether I made a reasonable sacrifice for my sport or simply being stupid by missing out on a nice, relaxing evening in pursuit of foolish goals. Ultrarunning is not going to bring me fame or fortune, and my sweet husband luckily doesn't care if I have an extra inch or two 'round my middle. Much as I'm loath to miss a workout - I always feel like it'll set a precedent and lead to me skiving off more in the future - I can't help but think I could achieve some better balance. I waffle between just saying "screw it" and eating whatever I want since the fat isn't coming off anyway and hating being so pudgy.

Pretty sure the neighbours would rather I kept trying to lose the belly if I'm going to run around half naked.

It's also quite possible I'm just still feeling the effects of a lot of racing recently - between Pick Your Poison and Sulphur I ran 23.5hrs of hilly trails in a 4 week span (not including training), plus I've put in another 156km in the slightly-less-than 4 weeks since...including a full week off after the 100k. I may very well just be heading toward overtraining and need to eat some more starch. All I can say for sure is that I've been a bit miserable, and I really hope I can make some progress - both physically with fat loss and psychologically - soon.

On the bright side, it's my day off. No tough decisions about whether to train or just kick back today - this evening is just for Tanker and I. With a bit of luck, I'll get a second chance at sitting out on the driveway on a warm, summer evening and watching the clouds float by..

Pooling your resources

I'm here to make a case for swimming as part of training for ultrarunning.

Sick cannonballs into the pool are optional, but recommended.

Because I used to be a triathlete (but I got better..) I used to swim a fair bit - 3 or 4 times a week on average, sometimes pushing up to six days a week if I was in a swim focus. When I made the decision last year to focus exclusively on ultrarunning, I stopped worrying about long bike workouts but still continued to swim a couple of times per week, with the key session being Thursday evening - the last workout before my immutable day off on Friday. Due to circumstances like a 2-week pool closure for annual maintenance, further closures due to the holiday season, dental procedures in January and general exhaustion (laziness?), I hadn't been to the pool much since last year but I've been getting back in the water the last week or two and it's doing me a lot of good.

There are several benefits that ultrarunners - or anyone else - can derive from swimming.

1. Burn Baby Burn

I'm currently carrying some extra insulation that I'd like to be rid of before the race season gets into swing in ERMAGHERD LESS THAN TWO MONTHS *panicked breathing*

Ok, sorry about that. To continue, I'm chubby right now thanks to some less-than-ideal nutritional choices over the last few months. I'd like to be less chubby, but food tastes good and I'm likely to injure myself if I try to pile on any more running mileage than my somewhat carefully planned weekly increases, especially while I'm carrying extra pounds. I can burn some additional calories in the pool without the danger of stress fractures or joint damage, and since swimming uses your whole body, it's a pretty solid way to torch through some of my winter fat stores.

2. It's Not Always Leg Day

Further to swimming's engagement of almost every muscle in your body (particularly if you swim a variety of strokes), it's a great way to build functional fitness for everyday life. Many runners are notoriously bad at doing any sort of cross training, so while they may have legs for days they could be arm-wrestled into submission by your average 7 year old. Swimming requires your upper body, core and lower body to all work in concert, which can even help with your general coordination as well...though I must say that I've put in over 1.6 million metres (over a thousand miles) since January 2009 and I'm still clumsy as hell. There's just no overcoming some handicaps.

3. Go Hard

Swimming is an incredible workout for your heart and lungs. Between the lack of oxygen (particularly if you do flip turns and breathe less frequently than every stroke cycle, as I learned to do in my tri-dork days and continue out of habit) and the sheer volume of muscle groups involved in getting you from one end of the pool to the other, you're making your cardiovascular system work hard. You can accomplish the same thing while running, but an increase in running pace to get yourself really gasping carries an increased risk of injury. In the pool, you can go as hard as your masochistic brain desires and you're unlikely to damage yourself - your shoulders may take a pounding if your technique is poor, but at least that won't put you out of commission for run training like a pulled hamstring.

If you're really down with doing some water-based HIIT (high intensity interval training), learn to swim butterfly and you'll become intimately acquainted with the feeling of your lungs try to punch their way out of your chest, setting fire to every muscle in your body as they make their exit.

"Swim some 'fly" they said.
"It'll be fun" they said.

The thing is, you're really, REALLY not supposed to stop in the middle of the pool, or hold on to the lane ropes. So, swimming can also train you to push through burning muscles and oxygen debt while running as you gasp and flail your way to the wall - your body will become more efficient at flushing waste products from working muscle groups and you'll increase your maximal aerobic capacity (VO2 max), both of which translate to improved running fitness.

4. It's All In Your Head

That bit about pushing through hard intervals counts as mental training, too, which is another benefit swimming can offer ultrarunners. Once you've fought your way through some heart-exploding sets in the pool, you're better prepared to push yourself up and over that nasty hill without dropping to a walk, or to keep on running until that next aid station. Working on technique can assist with proprioception (the personal spatial sense of where parts of your body are and how they move) and coordination, too, which are valuable on the trails where the footing can change at any moment.

Another aspect of mental training that swimming offers that applies specifically to ultrarunning is becoming comfortable with boredom. Depending on the event, you may be running through the same scenery (or lack thereof) for hours or days on end, with little to keep your mind occupied but your own thoughts. This can be detrimental to both your mental health and performance if you allow boredom to get on top of you, but swimming laps with nothing to entertain you but the immutable black line on the bottom of the pool can help inure you to even the dullest of tracks or trails.

Yeah, I really make it sound fun, don't I?

5. Shake It Off

By far the best reason I can offer to incorporate some swimming into training for ultrarunning is the assortment of ways it can help you recover from the incessant pounding of running high volume. The hydrostatic pressure of the water on your legs is like the lightest of massages, loosening up tight, sore muscles with a loving squeeze - almost a softer version of wearing compression tights, or dynamic compression boots. The kicking action of backstroke or front crawl/freestyle gently mimics the action of running, making it ideal for active recovery after a race or hard workout - the light muscular contractions and increased heart rate will flush out waste products and provide a supply of fresh, clean blood to repair damaged tissues, decreasing soreness and making you stronger. If I've done a particularly long, hilly, or otherwise damaging race I will often simply walk and swim for a few days before I return to running a single step.

Once you're done swimming and have your muscles all nicely warmed up, you're primed for some stretching to lengthen tight fascia and promote healthy movement. I've written before about the fact I only ever do any static stretching after a swim, and I know that part of the benefit I've felt from getting back in the pool lately has been from returning to my post-swim stretching habit - particularly for my chronically tight hamstrings. This is also why 

6. Facilities

Many public pools and pool-equipped fitness facilities also have a hot tub and/or sauna. 

Need I say more?

That's also where I choose to do my post-swim stretching - the turbulent water provides a welcome massage as I stretch, leaving me relaxed and feeling like a happy pile of jelly. This is also why I try to make it to the pool after my evening run on Thursday; so I'll have those tired, sore muscles in the best possible shape to recuperate during my rest day on Friday.

I strongly believe that swimming a couple of times a week is an excellent addition to my training for ultras, and suggest that it's at least worth a try for anyone else, too. I don't advocate sacrificing sleep to go swim during the week of a race - many lane swims are early in the morning or (in my case) later at night, so I'll forsake the pool in favour of extra Zs in the few days before a key event - but unless you're literally running every moment outside of work and sleep I'd suggest you could find time for a 30min swim here and there.

If you don't know how to swim, I strongly advise learning - there are classes available for adults who have never dipped so much as a toe in the water, and they'll get you swimming functionally without judgement or ridicule. It's a skill that can save your life (or the life of another, should you come across a person drowning and have the knowledge to safely perform a rescue), and a form of exercise that you can continue throughout your entire existence since it offers resistance and cardiovascular benefits with no damaging impact on fragile bones or joints. Not to mention, it really can be fun and relaxing; we spend the first months of our lives floating weightlessly in our mother's womb, and on a good day an easy swim can let you recapture just a bit of that sub-aquatic tranquility.

Go on - make a splash!

Remediation

I ran the race of my life back in May, setting a massive 50k PR at Sulphur Springs in the best running shape of my life.

Then I got injured.

Then we went paddling.

Then we went motorcycle touring.

While I'd been training in between all of these things, I don't think I'd managed to run more than 20km in a week since the end of May. I did get fairly aggressive with cycling for a bit there and continued to swim, but I was only running 3 times per week and fairly short distances to try to let the damage heal.

Then the two vacations came along, and everything ground to a halt. I was out of the pool and off the bike for 11 days, and I didn't run at all for 2 full weeks.

Yikes.

I started running again last Thursday, just as a patch of really hot and humid weather set in. I'm sure I'd be slow and a sweaty, puffing mess even if I was still in the shape I was in May.

Unfortunately, I'm not. My fitness has declined and my weight has risen.

This is not the right way 'round for this time of year.

So if you see some poor, chubby soul puffing like a steam engine and pouring a river of sweat as she struggles to keep from being passed by snails out on the trails around Cambridge, spare me a wave, will you?

Warning: trail users in the first 5 rows will get wet.

Britt to Pointe au Baril - Canoeing Georgian Bay

Tanker and I were married in August of 2003, and set out 3 days later to sea kayak Georgian Bay from Britt to Pointe au Baril - the 30,000 Islands have always been my favourite place on Earth. We had an incredible time, I got insanely sunburned, and we've held fond memories of the area since.

The day we came off the water, hanging with Garnet at Larry's
(which has since burned to the ground)

So, we decided we'd try it again, in the canoe a friend of ours gifted to us a couple of years ago.

The warboat, aka the Punkrawkanoe

And then we tried actually paddling our boat while loaded down with 75lbs of weight (to simulate the gear we'd need for 5 days of backcountry camping) and nixed that idea completely. While perfectly seaworthy for an afternoon jaunt around a tiny local lake, there was no way in hell I was heading out into the whims of Georgian Bay with only 4" of canoe above the waterline.

My Mum is freakin' awesome, though, and agreed to spend an absolutely absurd amount of money on a new-to-us Souris River Quetico 16 kevlar canoe that would do the trip handily. It used to be a rental boat in White Squall's fleet and bore a few scratches from its former life, but those just add character. We have officially dubbed it Sheena, because she's a punk rawker now.

Me and my pretty new boat.

We dropped our car off at White Squall (which also happens to be the place we rented the sea kayaks from for our honeymoon trip) on the morning of Monday, July 20th, caught a ride from them up to Britt, then loaded our gear into the canoe and buggered off.

Ready to hit the water

Westward down the channel to the Bay, we faced a stiff headwind that brewed up some chop. Before we'd left the river the waves were up to 2' high and we were getting some spray over the bow.

Still sheltered in the river.

This would assuredly have been the end of the line had we been in the warboat, as we'd have swamped within minutes. The extra 6" of bow & centre height was already coming in handy as we paddled out to Gereaux Island.

Coast Guard house & lighthouse just a choppy crossing away

After a warm welcome and offer to refill our nalgenes & use of the washroom from one of the young Coast Guards, they took off in their boat - hopefully just to patrol the area & not because anyone was in distress. We wandered out across the island and had ourselves a bit of lunch on the windward side of the lighthouse. We could see white-capped waves breaking out on the open Bay as we munched - it wasn't a great way to start our trip, though we were quite content inhaling the fresh air from shore.

Tanker's just happy to be on dry, non-moving land for a bit.

As the wind continued to blow, we tried to stay in the lee of any land we could find a we made our way up into Burritt's Bay to find a place to camp. There was nothing that really offered any shelter, but at least we finally found enough flat land to pitch our tent.

Like camping on Mars, with the occasional tree stuck on it.

We got set up early, and laid down for a nap around 4pm. Tank crashed almost immediately, but the gusting wind kept me awake as it shook the tent. I kept wondering if it was going to shift the rocks we'd used to anchor it down, but she held solid. After an hour or so, though, the breeze coming through the wide-open windward side of the tent got much cooler and the gusts started to shift around. I popped my head up and saw a rain shower in progress just a kilometer or so north of us, so rolled out to pitch the tarp to give us both a wind break and a dry place to cook dinner.

Tanker hunkering under a classic Georgian Bay pitch.

I'd just managed to get everything guyed out and the vestibule on the windward side of the tent (which had been rolled back completely open) zipped down & anchored with another rock by the time the first of the rain showers hit us. Fortunately they were pretty minor - a few minutes of sprinkling here and there, with only one 10 minute period of moderately hard rain - and cleared off long before the sun went down. The tarp still provided a nice wind break to cook dinner, though.

Kitchen, dining & livingroom in one!

We had hoped for some calmer weather as we'd built a small fire pit from rocks and had plentiful driftwood around the site to burn, but the 40kph wind from the west refused to abate. It did, however, blow the clouds away as evening drew in, treating us to a magnificent sunset over Burritt's Bay.

No words needed, or indeed adequate.

As the last of the light faded, though, our campsite became overrun by mosquitoes in a way I've never experienced before. Even the onslaught at Lynch Lake in Frontenac Provincial Park earlier this year paled by comparison. With our bug repellent apparently ineffective, we unanimously said SCREW THIS and dove into our tent without even one last visit to the peeing rocks. Clearly the Georgian Bay mozzies were firmly in charge here.

I slept fitfully as the wind continued to  shake and rattle our tent all night long, fearing what this might mean for the following day's paddle. We had no cell reception at our campsite so I had no way to get a forecast - we'd just have to roll with the punches.

After a solid breakfast to sustain us, we loaded up and paddled out of Burritt's Bay back toward the open water...which was clearly still in a rather grumpy mood.

That's what 3+ foot waves look like breaking on the other side of some sheltering rocks.

We stuck inland as much as we could, using the outlying rocky islands as our shield against Georgian Bay's wind-fueled fury and eventually as a place to stop for some lunch. We saw innumerable herons and cormorants, and even a wild mink swimming around and playing on the rocks as we paddled.

Typical 30,000 Islands scenery.

After a seriously hairy crossing south of the Head Islands to get around the west end of Olwyn Island, we darted into the Naiscoot River to seek shelter and bail at least a couple of gallons of water that had washed in over the gunwales as the waves broke around us. After a couple of thwarted attempts due to lack of flat ground (and we weren't that picky about what constituted "flat"), we finally found a place to call home for the night.

SWEET, MERCIFUL LAND!

We even had a shady spot to set up our chairs (a blessing after 2 days of nearly uninterrupted sunshine), and the little cove behind the point where we beached the canoe gave Tanker a place to fish and me a spot to go for a bit of a swim. I hadn't brought a bathing suit, so it was a good thing we were in a very secluded area - less of a skinny dip than a chunky dunk.

Having regained cellular reception (on account of being further East - closer to the Hwy 69/400 corridor), I also managed to check the weather and marine forecasts...discovering this, from about 20mins before we left camp that morning:

Well, that explains a lot.

The wind was supposed to drop a little overnight, so we hoped to have a better day on the water on Wednesday. My bitterness over not being able to have a fire the night before was appeased just after another wonderful backcountry dinner - our chosen digs already had a fire pit built and a massive supply of driftwood, plus a big chunk of birch bark to get things rolling. 

This is what contentment looks like to me.

We managed to plan things a bit better, getting our teeth brushed (woo!) and one last visit to the pee rocks, plus dousing our fire before retreating to the safety of the tent as twilight came and the mosquitoes once more took over camp. While the early evening had been a bit calmer, the darkness brought strong, shifting gusts that once more saw me making do with a series of short naps overnight. I knew this was an ill portent for conditions for the next day.

Awaking early to get a start before the worst of the chop could blow up, I checked the forecast again to see that the wind warning had been renewed at 6:30am with no respite anticipated until evening. With the Bayfield Inlet as our intended destination, we decided to try to shoot the Chicken Liver Channel to cut the distance we'd have to paddle without protection from outlying land by almost two-thirds. After one false start, we found our route and enjoyed a lovely jaunt through the calm, shallow waters.

In the Chicken Liver Channel.

We still had to round Naiscoot Point before we could duck into the relative safety of the Charles Inlet. The waves were even nastier than the day before, with cross-swells running due to the shifting winds overnight. I had my work cut out for me to keep us on track as we weren't able to ballast the stern of the boat enough to stop it wanting to turn upwind - guess I need to put on some weight (ha, ha)!

In the Charles Inlet, letting the adrenaline die down.

No, there are no photos of us out in the open Bay - I was a little too busy trying to keep us safe to be taking photos. Conditions were rather similar to when I worked water safety for the Wasaga Beach sprint tri back in 2013, so here's a photo from that day to give you an idea:

NOPE

Pictures would not do it justice anyway - you'll just have to either take my word for it, or go paddle a 16 foot canoe with 4' waves hitting you broadside to see just how small you feel for yourself (NB: do not recommend). The only good thing about it all was that we could surf those buggers when we finally made our way around the point and could head straight downwind again.

Things were a bit fraught even crossing the Charles Inlet, but eventually we made our way through the the Alexander Passage and headed east toward the Bayfield Inlet.

Calmer waters.

We stopped on a rocky point beside Jean Island to have some lunch and remove some of Georgian Bay from our little canoe.

Lunchbreak!

Bailing out.

We continued southeast until we hit the Hangdog Channel, then scooted down along Gibraltar Island's shore. We just managed to sneak through a little passage (that every chart & map I've seen swears is solid land) to find a sheltered little cove to call home for Wednesday night.

It was a bit vertical and spread out, but it was ours.

These photos are actually evidence of another blissful dip in the Bay - having a waterproof/shockproof camera rules!

You know it's shockproof if it didn't die taking pics of me in the buff.
(Photo cropped for your comfort & protection)

No fire pit at this site and the sunset was blocked by the land behind us, but we did get a treat just as the golden hour arrived - a beaver came swimming into our cove, hopped out of the water for a moment on a rock across from us, then splashed back into the water and swam back out the way he'd come...all to a soundtrack of loonsong in the distance.

We just felt so Canadian.

We nailed our timing for our retreat to the tent as the wind finally, mercifully died. We awoke to a beautiful, calm morning.

View out the tent flap.
A person could get used to waking up like this.

After fixing an issue with our stove and another hearty breakfast, we paddled back out to the Hangdog Channel to make our way around the Hangdog Reef. Unfortunately, while the Bay had settled a bit overnight, it was far from calm out there.

Dangit.

We worked hard to make it into the relative safety of the Nares Inlet, then paddled past Leblanc Bay and Laura Bay while wishing the Armstrong Rocks offered more shelter from the continuing rolling waves. At least they'd stopped breaking around us so we weren't taking in water over the gunwales. Tank was a total trooper.

So impressed with this guy!
He'd never paddled a canoe before about 6 years ago.

Of course, I had my one and only navigational cock-up of the entire trip just when it counted: we managed to miss the turning into the Pointe au Baril Channel, instead coming around the south side of Lookout Island...which meant an extra ~400m of paddling in the open Bay when we could have been headed downwind.

HOW DO YOU MISS THAT?

With the wind now at our backs and surfing the swells up the channel, we finally found ourselves somewhere with flat ground that didn't have a cottage stuck on it and set up camp. The forecast said the wind would back to the north and drop as evening came, so the land would provide shelter for us. In the meantime, we tripled up the rocks that anchored our tent.

Feeling a bit windswept.

With it being only 1:30pm, we took time to relax knowing that we only had an ~8km paddle up the channel for the following day. Thursday being our last night on the Bay, we drank in the beauty around us.

Including the very stone on which we camped.

I got in another skinny dip in the little lagoon behind our point, and Tank tried his hand at terrifying the local aquatic population again. We also finally saw another paddler! As the golden hour drew in we spotted a canoe heading down the channel on the south side - no idea if they were tripping or just out for an evening jaunt, but we hadn't seen a single other canoe or kayak the entire time we'd been out. For that matter, we'd seen very few boats at al anywhere but in the inlets though we did watch an elderly couple run a small powerboat aground in the Shoal Narrows. The buoys are there for a reason, kids!

As we sat enjoying the lovely evening we got to watch a couple of little minks play around on the rock just across the lagoon mouth from us, too - they really are the cutest things ever.

I miss having a pet ferret.

The wind still blew around us, but we felt like we had won.

Wooooo!

After dinner our sense of triumph was even greater when we discovered a huge patch of perfectly ripe wild blueberries. I'd been finding little handfuls of them here and there throughout the trip (as well as a couple of wild raspberries on Gereaux Island), but we'd hit the motherload!

This was the sparser of the two bushes.
Really.

Tank and I did a few minutes of picking (because it would be a shame to have such a bounty go to waste), and in no time at all we had ourselves about the best dessert you could ask for...especially since we'd eaten the last of the fresh food Wednesday evening!

JOY

We watched agape as another beaver came swimming up the channel past our campsite, diving for minutes on end with a powerful whack of his tail and resurfacing a hundred yards or more from where he'd gone under. A loon serenaded us as he swam into the mouth of our lagoon before flying away to parts unknown. The wind shifted and died as promised, and we had a wonderful night's sleep after once more retreating to the tent as dusk settled: we could see dozens of mosquitoes swarming the outside of the tent as darkness fell! Then, just because it's us, we both awoke at dawn - almost 90mins earlier than any other morning of the trip, on the day we had the least distance to cover.

Did not mind watching this, though.

Because we were up so early, we could take our time packing up - I figured we had a maximum of 2hrs of paddling to get to our extraction point, and our ride wasn't due to show up until 3:30pm. Tanker did some more fishing, and I took advantage of the calm morning and our sheltered little lagoon to try a solo paddle in our awesome little canoe.

Little known fact: I'm not wearing any pants.
Seriously.

By 10am, despite our best efforts to dawdle, we were packed up and ready to go. I called White Squall to request an earlier pickup time, and we got it bumped up to 1pm to allow for any unexpected delays. At 10:05am we pulled out for our final jaunt up the channel to Pointe au Baril Station.

Headed for the Brignall Banks Narrows.

Conditions were near perfect - a milder, breezy wind behind us and lovely calm water. It was the hottest day of the journey so far, though, so we actually rather missed the cooling of the wind! We had to pull our sunglasses away from our faces to keep them from fogging, and drank water at an astonishing rate. Despite a quick stop to use the washroom at Payne Marine just past the Narrows, it was only 11:30am when we reached our final destination: Desmasdons Boatworks, which is the same place we extracted at the end of our honeymoon trip almost 12 years prior.

Glad to be there.

We treated ourselves to a wonderful cafe mocha each from their ice cream and espresso bar, then happily pulled up on a bench outside the marina store to await our shuttle from White Squall. Not too long afterward we were picked up, brought back to our car, loaded up all our gear and lashed on our trusty new canoe, then headed home to wash 5 days worth of sunblock, bug repellent and sweat from our tired bodies.

A real bed has never felt so wonderful and I could have done without the (ahem) intensity of Georgian Bay during not one but TWO days of high wind warnings...but I wouldn't trade the memories we made for all the comfort and safety in the world.

It fills my heart with joy, really, that as a Canadian I am still able to simply walk (or rather, paddle) out of civilization and find a patch of land on which to rest for the night. I can still meander off into the back of beyond and visit with the animals that call it home, sharing just a tiny piece of both their struggle to survive and the tranquility of the wild. A taste of our forebears, who explored this vast land in just the same way to open it up to a couple of punks like us.

You can see almost the exact route we took here.

Now we're off for an insane motorcycle tour of the Blue Ridge Parkway - see you in mid-August!