3200km Camping on my CBR125R-Part 4
When I had completed the lookout trail more than 30 yrs ago, I did it with my older brother and one of my younger sisters. The expedition was led by one of my parent’s adventurous friends who was camping at the park as well. He brought along his two young sons. This time though – it was just me. I wondered if my journey along the trail would spark any sudden deja vu moments. I looked around at some of the large trees and rocks and it was fun to imagine that I was now looking at the same landmarks that I had observed along the same path many years ago. The beginning of the trail involved a gradual climb that eventually met up with a large boulder – an erratic. I can’t say I remember the boulder from the last time I traveled through – maybe it arrived during a more recent glacial period. But I thought I’d take a photo anyway.
Here is the erratic.
Erratic nicely describes my route for a brief time after that photo was taken. The trail veered right from the boulder – and then the path faded to the point where I had to stop and look closely to identify where it continued. The signage was non-existent, but I prodded along and eventually the way became more obvious again. The trail continued on and up and I wondered what the topic of conversation had been along this same route as kids. Within about 30 minutes I could tell that I had crested the ridge. The trail followed the top for quite some time to the point where I wondered if I had missed a cutoff to the lookout. But I persevered and patiently remained on the trail. Soon the route headed inwards toward the cliffs and I knew I was about to reach the lookout. I approached the clearing and the view opened up like a large bay window framed by a smattering of trees. It was really breathtaking – not something you’d forget – even as a kid. I had made it back to the same spot from my youth. The same spot where I’d been so many years ago. I was filled with excitement, reflection, and awe all rolled in one.
View from the Helenbar Trail lookout.
The wooden box containing the sign-in book was no where to be seen. Was this just a false memory? However, there was a picnic table that was filled with names and dates – carved into the wood by previous visitors. It was the edge of the cliff that really caught my attention though. It doesn’t just drop off vertically. It sort of gradually falls off – rounded – like a bell. If someone was unfortunate enough to fall down it – they would have plenty of time to contemplate their fate as they slowly skidded over the rounded surface – finger tips clinging desperately to the lichen as they gradually picked up speed and disappeared over the edge. These were the visual images me and my siblings shared over the years – retold countless times and sparked by an incident that occurred at this very lookout when we were last here. Our leader was careful to tell us in a serious tone to NOT go anywhere close to the edge. We really didn’t need much convincing. But we were young. And kids are easily distracted. Some of us were really young. My sister was about 5 yrs old. One of the leader’s sons was about the same age. In his little hand he was holding a toy car. At some point he dropped the car and it tumbled near where the edge disappears in the photo below. I remembered hearing him say “car car!!” and before I realized what was happening, he started running toward the edge. I recall hearing his dad shriek his name and yell “NO!!!”. He managed to grab his car – and then his dad managed to grab him. They were safe. But the flashbulb images of that scene were protein synthesized into our collective memories. A few days ago when I showed my sister the photos, she said the image below looked exactly as she had always remembered it. Rounded, and slowly, gradually, dropping off into oblivion.
Near the edge of the cliff.
Helenbar Lake is also noteworthy in that it was the site of a fighter jet crash in 1946 (long before the park was established in 1965) when the aircraft ran out of fuel while flying through a thunderstorm. You can read some of the details toward the bottom of the page here:
http://www.bushwhacker.ca/mississaugi.html
Another view of Helenbar Lake
After snapping a few photos I had to decide whether to re-trace my route back to the campground or continue on and complete the loop. Clearly the latter choice would take much longer. But where is the adventure in returning the same way I came in? I opted to complete the loop. Just as I was leaving the lookout I remembered to make another attempt to call my dad on my cell. This time my Blackberry had a signal and before I knew it I was chatting with him on the phone from the lookout. It made me reflect for a moment that if someone had told me back then, as a 10 yr old, that more than 30 years later I’d be standing in this very same spot all alone, holding a small strange device with no attached cord – called a smart phone – and chatting with my dad who was living in Guelph…..
As it turned out, the trail soon began its descent down the ridge so it was easy to maintain a quick pace. I eventually reached the portage trail that connects Helenbar Lake to Semiwite Lake (where the campground is situated). After a few minutes of walking I approached Semiwite lake at the end of the portage trail. I looked around and suddenly – deja vu – I had been here before. I then realized that this was probably the area where the trail leader friend of my parents took us boating, swimming, and waterskiing during our stay at the park. This was the beach where we had spent the day. I recently asked my dad about this and he confirmed that this was likely the spot.
Beach at the end of the portage from Helenbar Lake to Semiwite Lake.
I made it back to the campground as the light started to fade. It only took 1 hour and 45 minutes to complete the loop. I decided to take a dip at the camper’s beach. The park itself doesn’t have a comfort station so a hot shower was out of the question. Apparently they are in the midst of trying to acquire one for the park. The swim felt great – a fitting end to a long hot day of riding and hiking. Several of the parks I had visited during my trip had “boil water” advisories posted above the sinks at the outhouses. The water is treated but the advisories suggested that other microscopic critters might still be able to make it through the chlorine gauntlet. Even brushing your teeth with the water was not recommended. This presented a dilemma. I was completely parched. I had ran out of Powerade quite some time ago. The closest store was 25 kms away in Elliot Lake. I drank the water anyway. Actually I drank copious amounts of it – like it was ambrosia. And it was cold – and so refreshing that my eyes teared up it felt and tasted so good. To be honest – I’ve drank clean Northern Ontario lake water all my life – on every camping trip. Rarely boiled it. Never a problem. This time was different. About 1 hour after having drank the water my stomach started making unearthly gurgling sounds and the sudden severe cramping could only mean that an alien was about to pop out of my gut at any moment, or that this was a warning sign that old faithful was about to erupt. I burst out of the blocks and desperately sprinted towards the nearest outhouse faster than Ben Johnson on Stanozolol. I barely made it to the stall and lifted the seat before I evacuated what seemed to me like either someone had stuck a turbo powered Wagner Power Painter down the hole and set it to Spinal Tap “11″ and extra “wide” spray pattern on the dial – or what it would look like if Ricky Carmichael was going for the holeshot on his RM-Z450 and managed to spray the entire contents of his rooster tail into an outhouse hole. If you are still reading this and haven’t yet vomited – I hope you realize that I’m just joking. This never happened. I was completely fine after drinking the water. I just thought that this trip segment needed a little more humour. Sorry for the vivid visual imagery. It may not have had the clever wit and subtle sophistication of animal900′s knee-slapping posts but I thought it might still find an audience.
As I prepared to retire to my tent for the evening – I was somewhat concerned about a frog situated in the water near my tent who boasted a croak louder than the loudest belch I had ever heard. And it re-occurred about every 15 seconds. Could he hold out all night? Did he really need a mate that badly? Did he really have enough staying power? The answer to all the above questions was yes. I had a terrible sleep. By 6am I had had enough, so I took down the tent and loaded up the CBR125R. I then gingerly crept down to the waters edge and clubbed the huge frog over the head with one of my tarp poles and then draped his dead carcass over the end of the picnic table. You can see him hanging in the photo below.
Early morning view from campsite
Actually – just teasing again about clubbing the frog. Though I’m still not sure what the object is in the photo. I think it is my daypack.
Stay tuned for Part V – Manitoulin Island and the Chi-Cheemaun ferry.
But I thought I’d give it a try anyway. Yep – it was him. His reply? “Yes it was me, I was on my way to work. I thought it might be you because of the gear and the windshield. If you changed your exhaust it would look like mine.” When he passed me he said it looked as though he was looking in a mirror. Really. What are the chances?
As I began riding, I soon noticed that someone had cranked the heat on again. Now, even the wind at my back felt warm. I was stopped for construction around Lion’s Head, ON when a young dude controlling traffic looked at me like I was wearing a black snowmobile suit. I guess, in a sense I was. “How can you wear all that gear in such hot weather – you must be cooking under there?” I replied – “Yes, I am. Could you please remove the BBQ thermometer from my ass, I think I’m done”. Well, at least that is what I wanted to say. Instead I reassured him that once I was moving again, I would be fine.
