On Portage

port·age

Pronunciation (pôrtj, pr-, pôr-täzh)
n.
1.
a. The act or an instance of carrying.
b. A charge for carrying.
2. Nautical
a. The carrying of boats and supplies overland between two waterways or around an obstacle to navigation.
b. A track or route used for such carrying.
tr. & intr.v. port·aged, port·ag·ing, port·ag·es
Nautical
To transport or travel by portage: canoed and portaged the goods; portaging around the rapids.


During the last evening around the lake, we begin to look for our portage markers. This usually looks like a bright orange and red triangle posted to a tree on the shoreline. The purpose for this is to show you where to park your boat and where the trail through the forest begins. If you don't see one of these, there's a good chance you won't get to another lake very easily. The ground in this area is like a sponge covered in a hundred year old moss. Trees have fallen and become part of the overgrown landscape; the leftovers from beavers having felled pieces of timber for their homes.Plants older than all of us abound.There is no sidewalk, no visible path and no illuminated streetsigns to guide you. You carry a whistle with you to chase off moose and bear, though I haven't been informed as to how this might work.

At some point we have the map laid out in front of us during a meal. We have access to three lakes at this particular camp. The one we see as the shortest path is to Lake Yolanda, named after the daughter of our outfitters. We don't scale it out to find the distance. Instead we begin to make a list of the things we will need to take with us in order to spend the day at another lake. Most of it includes foodstuffs with large cast iron skillets, tackle, and gasoline. There will be another boat on the other side of the path, but as to how much gasoline is available for the motor there, we really have no idea.

We're up early with a hearty breakfast of potatoes, bacon and eggs. The small coolers are set with snacks but not lunch as we are set for a proper shore lunch this time. We get across the lake quickly enough and find the portage marker. I hop out to pull the boat up to the shore with my cousin within ten feet to my right doing the same with his and my uncle's boat. We're on land and putting on rain gear as it's cloudy. It's fine by me as my sunburn could use a little relief. However when they say bring rain gear, they really mean rain gear. I brought along track pants and one of those emergency ponchos to throw over my windbreaker in case of heavy downpour. This is not my best line of thinking. I don't even have rainproof shoes, having wanted to keep my bag light. I bring only two pairs of shoes, neither of which are weather proof hiking boots or really anything close. I decide today to wear the lesser of the two pair. They are old Vans skate shoes. Not the flimsy canvas ones, but serious grinding rails-type vans. I usually wear them when I mow the lawn. I take a minute to smear them with cooking oil as we leave camp so that I can hopefully improve their moisture resistance. This impresses the onlookers. I'm not usually this bright, apparently. They all have serious rain gear that zips and boots that look like comfortable plastic. I have what looks like a blue trash bag with open sides for sleeves pulled around my head. I'm screwed if it really rains.

We load up our arms and dig into the trail. My dad leads the way with whistle number one. I am next followed by my uncle and then my cousin bringing up the rear with whistle number two. I imagine that the shrill sound of air through plastic makes some type of sci-fi protective bubble shield that bears and moose are scared of or makes you invisible and impervious to bullets. Other than that the only service I can see these little yellow noisemakers provide is something to choke on and die from before being maimed by the 8 ft brown bear that just stood up and blocked out the sun thirty inches away from you.