Wednesday, September 23rd /// Well, I had intended to stay at Little Gabro for another night. And for today to be a rest day. I woke and made coffee, set out the hammock, and two chapters into The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, I heard voices and the clanging thump of paddles on the sides of canoes. Looking over my hammock, I saw several canoes heading my way. The first canoe wanted to know if I was leaving today. I said I intended to take a rest day and wasn’t sure how long I intended to stay.
In the distance I could hear the other guys talking about taking the other campsite about 100 yards away. My zone of quiet solitude and safety was being penetrated. They began to examine the other site and I hollered out asking if that site were big enough for their group. They said they weren’t sure. Grimacing, I said my site was plenty big and if they could give me an hour, they could have it. they enthusiastically agreed. 1) I felt somewhat guilty being solo taking up a large campsite. (More about this later.) 2) I didn’t want to share my small lake with a group of vocal men, 3) Now I would be pushed further into the lake having to cross some rapids into Gabro. So I packed up camp, loaded the Cronje (my canoe) and set off for a short paddle towards Gabro. The lake is about 3 feet down from the looks of the markings on the rocks. The water is littered with boulder fields just below the surface of the water. I spent a good portion of my paddling on my knees upright trying to the see the well-camouflaged granite boulders. It reminds me of the ice “growlers” that sailors encounter near Antarctica. After portaging around the rapids (which at normal water level would probably be able to shoot through without portaging) I came upon a husband and wife in a canoe fishing. We spoke for a few minutes. He has been coming here every year for 30 years. I’m hoping to find out why. They helped me gain my bearings on Gabro. They said they had a campsite just around the bend and that there was a campsite on a island that was unoccupied. So I paddled my way there. On approach, I couldn’t find the landing according to the map. So I brought the canoe to a granite landing and saw a faint trail—too faint to be the main trail in. Every camp site has a fire grate. So I walked into the island following the the in search of a fire grate. I found it in the middle of the island near a granite ledge. The island left me speechless. It had old growth pines standing 100’ or more. The floor was clear and open between the trees. There was a trail leading every which way. I was worried about an island due to the wind, but this island was large. Easily a football field in diameter. It’s a cathedral of a campsite. A mansion of a campsite and it’s all mine. My very own island. That large group of men would have loved this island if only they went a bit further. But they didn’t. I did. And I don’t feel one bit guilty. the sun set about an hour ago. I’m writing this by the fire grate under the light of a small electric lantern. Before leaving, I had asked Katrina to write me a few letters for when I feel lonely or guilty for being out here. She instead crafted me a little booklet of memories and photos. This will be one of my life-long treasures. I cried when I read it. She said things perfectly.
Each night I’ve spent time in prayer. Conversing. And in silence. I’m laying it all out there. My disappointments. My joy. My gratefulness. Sometimes we notice His presence most in retrospect. I would like for this to not be one of those times. I want my heart open. My ears open. Too much is at stake. Lord, come. I go to pray now. Then bed.