Spanish Black Flies

So 6 good guys, 70 lbs of food, 3 canoes, 50 Advil and 5 hangovers waited dutifully at the train station in downtown Sudbury at 8:30am. And waited. and waited. At 11 or so, one of the two remaining "bud cars" in Canadian service ambled up the tracks.

We loaded up our gear and hopped aboard and immediately zoned out. 2? hours later the train slowed down and apparently we were at "the forks". The train stopped, our gear was expulsed out the back and then it headed off down the tracks to wherever antiquated train cars go to play on sunny Tuesday mornings.

We carried our sorry asses and our gear down to the river and immediately fell into a pace that was blindingly.... slow. Paddle, fish, paddle, fish fish, look at the map and laugh. Repeat endlessly over the next 5 days. It rained a lot and the bugs were bad. I shot my first rapids and learned how to actually paddle, portage and steer a canoe. We caught fish (although I had to put a self imposed ban on fishing as I learned that I have a knack for losing vast amounts of tackle in small amounts of time) and I temporarily sated my burgeoning addiction to fresh flesh. Pickerel floured and fried on an open fire is something that I could get used to.

Good chats and I haven't laughed that much in a long, long time. I am again impressed, humbled and blessed with the company that I find myself in. Solid.

Good times.

More photos are here.