LADY EVELYN by BARNEY MOORHOUSE

Circa 1969/70 I guided for Camp Kandalore from its base camp on Lady Evelyn Lake in Timagami. Or Temagami. Take your pick. I’ve seen it spelled both ways. Professor Kirk Wipper (U of T) owned the camp that is renowned for having started the Canoe Museum now located in Peterborough, Ontario.

We used to put in at Mowat’s Landing where after a brief paddle across the Montreal River and a short portage we entered Lady Evelyn Lake. As I recall it was a 3 hour paddle to our base camp which was on an island. Word was that Colonel Sam McLaughlin had built the camp as a fly-in fishing camp for friends and clients. I recall a magnificent fishing boat in the boathouse sitting on the lake bottom. Can’t imagine how it got to the lake; it was so large. Colonel Sam of course started the McLaughlin Motor Car company in 1907 and it eventually morphed into General Motors of Canada. (Update – In 2018 GM announced it was leaving Oshawa.)

I spent the summer guiding kids on canoe trips. It’s the only place where I have seen an anvil cloud. Actually, on one trip, three of these violent clouds were circling surrounded by flashes of thunder and lightning off in the distance as we paddled to camp. We were prepared to go ashore if they approached. We no sooner had arrived at camp, unloaded our canoes and were in the shelter of our cabins when the storm broke.

The cabins apparently were built by Norwegians with the logs being vertical, as versus horizontally placed. Each had a small wood cook stove that also served to keep us warm during colder days. I found Temagami was either heaven or hell. One day it would be 90F and the next just above freezing. I recall my fingers being so cold that I needed assistance unzipping my rainwear. I believe to-day the island is called Garden Island.

On one occasion, we borrowed one of Charlie’s boats located at the portage. Charlie owned a nearby fishing camp. The motor was ancient. To start it you wrapped a cord around the top and pulled. I think it was a Johnson. To go in reverse you simply turned the motor 180 degrees.

One time we had to undo the top cover and when we did it seemed like a thousand springs sprung everywhere at the landing. What to do?

I had never met Charlie but I had heard he loved the young lads we guided but hated us older lads (early 20s). We had a choice, leave the country or face up and go tell Charlie. We decided upon the latter and let me say that the paddle seemed forever as we headed for our moment of reckoning.

Crossing the island to Charlie’s cabin was painful. “You knock and I’ll talk,” said my compatriot.

I knocked and when Charlie answered my companion said, “Barney wants to tell you something.”

Suckered, there was nothing to do but to explain what had happened. And, do you know, Charlie couldn’t have been nicer or more understanding.

FRANK FALLS

We used to canoe to Frank’s Falls and portage up the Horseshoe in the Maple Mountain area. (Years later a Hydro crew were killed when their chopper crashed into the mountain.) Frank Falls was a favoured campsite. Adjacent to it was a small island with a plague explaining that the University of Guelph was conducting some insect experiments; enough to keep us off that site as our imaginations conjured up all kinds of itchy situations.

The swimming at Frank Falls was always a highlight. Rule One: Swim with a buddy. Rule Two: NO DIVING!

We had just come from an excursion up Maple Mountain. Feeling lazy in the heat of the day we decided to camp early nurturing visions of a leisurely afternoon snoozing, swimming, baking and perhaps, a little fishing.There was a perfect spot at the base of the falls where I could see everyone and act as life guard. Accidents happen. Quickly!

As I was doing a head count I noted someone was missing. An inquiring yell revealed he was “visiting Mrs. Murphy.” Then I noticed a camper standing next to his counsellor preparing to dive.  I yelled but the roar of the falls prevented the counselor from hearing me. The camper dived and I shuddered as I saw a streak of bright red blood well up where he had entered the water.

Diving in I soon retrieved the camper. He had a hole in his forehead the size of a golf ball. Fortunately he was conscious and the cold water apparently numbed the pain and slowed the bleeding. My C.I.T. (Counselor in Training)  brought me the first aid kit and kept the other campers away from the scene. I didn’t want them “ooing and awing.” What you don’t know might not hurt you and the injured camper had no idea of the severity of his situation. I asked for a canoe.

Immediately we wrapped his head to stem any blood flow and I made plans for a marathon paddle to base camp. I would take the C.I.T. and the strongest camper. We were approximately a day’s paddle from the nearest landing. While instructing the two counselors to stay camped, and we started to put the camper in a canoe when some Americans arrived in their fishing boat, totally lost.

I recall a lady taking pictures of us lowering the camper, whose head bandage was quite red, into their fishing boat.

If they would render us some assistance I promised to help them find their way.

When we arrived at base camp Peter, the head guide, said that there was a Medic, recently returned from Viet Nam, on a neighbouring island and he had a motor boat. We hastened there only to discover that his high powered outboard wouldn’t start.

He checked our first aid, said we couldn’t do more and advised us to not let the camper fall asleep. We never sang so much in our life; camper included. “I’ll see if the motor will start”, he promised, but offered no assurances.

The first turn of the key started the engine, I said a silent prayer of thanks, and we were off. After a short portage to the Montreal River and a spirited paddle across its width to Mowat’s Landing we weren’t long finding Peter’s car. I vaguely recall us driving to the hospital in New Liskeard where we had to leave the camper for care. We would pick him up after our canoe trip. I have since driven that road and to this day have no idea how we manged to cover it so fast to New Liskeard.

Throughout the entire ordeal I don’t think the camper ever became aware of how seriously he was injured. He certainly tolerated our endless jokes, stories and songs as we attempted to keep him conscious.

As it turned out the camper was the son of the deputy minister of the then Lands& Forests. While recovering, apparently the camper went around the hospital visiting with other patients and basically cheering everyone up. One of the doctors then took him home for the duration as he had boys of the camper’s age and felt that he would be less lonely.  The father later thanked us for our care and said his son tended to be accident prone having once dived into the family pool before there was any water in it.

MAPLE MOUNTAIN

There used to be a manned fire tower on Maple Mountain. Base camp was a cabin inland from Frank’s Falls. It was a long hike to the tower that included climbing a ladder up a cliff to reach the top where there was a small storage shed. In that shed was a radio. If the tower man spotted a fire he had to descend the tower and call from the shed. As he was up there for a period of time his food supplies were also kept in the shed. Otherwise the watchman was up the tower. We know this because the head guide discovered a tower man’s diary that was semi-literate but most readable.

At the top was a natural cold water spring and lots of blueberries. On one occasion a family of bears arrived and besides feasting upon the berries broke into the shed and devoured the food supplies. The tower man had no choice but to stay in his tower. Don’t know what he would have done if he had to report a fire.

I recall being at the top of the tower, which as all towers do, slowly moved with the wind. I suppose one could get sea sick. I loved to climb fire towers as the view was always spectacular although I’d never want to have to climb on the roof to repair an aerial. And the fire guys were always fascinating. Although there was no tower man on Maple Mountain there was one at Go Home Bay. But that’s another story.

As I was up the Maple Mountain tower I watched a storm brewing, heading my way. I decided to stay and ride it out. The thunder, lightning, wind and pelting rain was invigorating. Like most such storms it hit and passed quite quickly. But the memory lingers.

While anticipating the approaching storm I was mindful that a tornado had passed through the vicinity within the previous recent years. Bear Island looked like the Jolly Green Giant had used his lawnmower to cut a swath through the forest. A firetower that was in the path of the twister disappeared never to be found.