Chefprefers BLOG

For our long awaiting moment, with four days and three nights. Over the ocean with long airplane flights.

We first touchdown long into the dark, to travel to the depths of Algonquin Park.

Making J strokes, steering the bow, using the light winds to helps us how.

Searching the shores for the orange camp sign, it takes lots of strokes to get to the find.

Lifting the 20kg Swift, one hand with control, swatting flys with the other I’m told.

Carrying the canoe from lake to lake. You find out which has the best make.

Feet in the mud, stepping over the logs, down the banks and into the portage.

The summer warmth, splashing the blade, the silence of the forest disturbing the glades.

The tents erected, the sleeping bags unrolled, time for a lake wash for the sweat of the fold.

Pat Pat Pat , the towel around the waist. Walk up the bank, seeking warmth in haste.

Scavenging for firewood, searching far and wide. Time for the axe, cut hard along the side.

The wood was collected, the fire was a blazed. The stories were told. The loons were amazed.

The smell of the smoke from the flickering flame, sit down on a log, let’s play a game.

Pushing the ashes to make the light inspire, for our nightly ritual campfire.

The night has arrived, the food was consumed, the dishes rinsed under the full moon.

Time for sleep and the night was silent. Settle to comfort within the thin layer of nylon.

Laying down awaiting as eye to the sky hopefully not for an inside fly.

The food is hanging and the snoring is heard. The night is calm awaiting for next days observed.