We hauled our gear down the embankment with increased enthusiasm only to realize such energy would extend to a four- legged friend. One with a mighty rack… of antlers (*not horns, which as I once called them, but was trumped by logic and reason that deer, a BUCK rather can not play musical tunes from those formations atop its’ melon). Apparently we dun scared that deer and faced with the daunting choice of scampering back up in the woods un noticed vs. swimming across the open bay before us (a distance greater than a kilometer) it chose the latter in stride. 
Now until this point in my life, I had never seen anything so extraordinary. When Alissa hollered “ there’s something swimming in the water, I think it’s a moose, or a deer” – I had to respond in some mobster-esque monotone. ‘aaaaaaahhhh eeeeehhhh whaaaaddddyyyyaaaa meeeaaann? Theeeyyyrreee ain’t no deeeeaaaaarrr ooooowwwtttt theeeerrreee’- (Think bad mix between some intimidating character in the God Father and the T.V. character da Fonz). But sure enough there was a buck out there swimming away. Fascinating.Some time after our black nosed, ambitious antlered friend had made it ashore safely we set ourselves underway for what he had hoped to be a momentous day on the water. The initial press was done in a 10kt headwind laying the foundation for a fairly debacle-ish day.
The sky blue, clouds traveling well spaced and sun beaming down on 5 point something miles that separated us from the highly scrutinized island of pie. The folks we had talked to, accounts previously read, heeded a strong caution whilst dealing with this temptuous isle. The weather can change there in the bay of Thunder don’t you know? We could have had painted a picture with much more foreshadowing, but we’ll just cut to the chase and lay it out straight.Paddling by Thunder cape inspired confidence, the water was calm, people were looking at birds or something, no large lake-going vessels were present and a lone sailboat motored aimlessly towards the city of Thunder Bay.
This is what adventures are made of. Setting our sights on the monstrous land mass ahead of us we began to paddle, paddle like a demonic beast toward our destiny. However paddling with such primordial voracity seemed to put us in a class of watercraft, which we seldom experience, the ‘faster than the sailboat class’. This caused some minor traveling, routing rather, confusion as we overtook our sailing friend and he had to stand down to our course. 
Which, I am certain there are some folks out there shaking their noggins, but to our credit we did try to hail this vessel with the VHF radio – to no avail. (And yes, for those naysayers I did have the unit on…. This time). So we made the crossing in around an hour, which by fully loaded boat standards was fairly encouraging. Re-hydrating and snacking in the shadow of this topographically endowed island was quite a treat and made time for a small reflection upon keeping on… And keep on we did for the remaining twenty plus miles of the day. Paddling around that east side of the island we began to feel the wind build in an unfavourable way.
Not much else to do than paddle we held our own. This side of the island is fascinating. In places the rock (basalt?) raises right out of the water towering overhead in hexagonal type patterns that look stamped in. Add to this scaled effect (like some gigantic reptile) and cover it with vibrant orange lichen. We are hesitant to believe that there is much of anything on this here lake that makes you think ‘ho-hum, how disinteresting’. THIS STUFF IS COOL! Ok, so back to the water. We’re paddling the wind is getting heavy, the waves bigger and our opportunity to stop disappeared a while back. The south side of the island (south east-ish) met us will full out beam winds, burly breaking waves and a crux decision. 
I imagine this like some Indiana Jones scenario with a big bridge spanning a canyon, you know the ones with wooden planks, some missing etc; well yeah so there’s this bridge (a.k.a. crossing of a bay) we could do, looks a little dodgy, perhaps we could stay on one side (a.k.a. land in the bay) and wait to cross when conditions seemed a little less-oh how shall I say- Insane. But, if Indiana Jones, err- we don’t make this crossing the bridge (weather) could further deteriorate and we would be so stucks… And although wearing a fedora is cool, it’s usually more appreciated in the company of others, am I right?
We kept paddling. Made it across this bay, got fairly wet, and then faced the next challenge, even more mind boggling than the first, what flavour of cliff bar to have for a snack? Joking…. Still joking. There was the exit to Thunder Bay, broken into a few small crossings which we fought through in big seas and unrelenting winds. However, stroke after stroke we eventually made it to a little isle in the midst of a melee. Brief rest and we continued across the bay to another island, Flat Island as it were, to seek shelter. This island had a weird vibe, it was after all quite flat, there were an abundance of trees, but on closer inspection it seemed to be the host to several derelict structures, docks, etc. One place we investigated happened to have a pan sitting on a picnic table, like someone just up and left their cooking creation of a sudden and disappeared. To all we know this could have been a farce and those folks were watching us from the woods. Anyhow we did not seek residency on Flat Island. We paddled another mile or so crossing into the wind and sought out refuge in any uninhabited place with some beach…
Luck and daylight seemed to run in unison that day and in the waning hour of sunset Alissa found a marvelous little bay to set up shop. At that point in the day after 23 some miles in the wind (the day hosted more miles than that) and waves, wet clothing, not much for sunlight we were ready to be done. Settling into camp we hung all the wet stuff, got the tent up and began to appreciate the serenity and evidence of wildlife. A boisterous otter swam up to inspect our beings. “How cool is that,” or was it “how cute is that?” Alissa denoted as this little water lover swam by snorting. Well, when you take into consideration the snort is not so much a term of endearment, then it’s difficult to gauge the cute factor. The otter swam off and we thought nothing of it. That is until we were eating our dinner when FOUR more otters came back. He or she had left our little locale to recruit four of its buddies to come see what the heck was going on. They swam by a few times sticking their heads above the water, snorting, diving back down and eventually swam away. Who does that? Veer off and recruit buddies- Crazy. I half expected to wake up the next morning to find our hard goods bearing some graphic inscription bearing the notion “You otter be on your way or ELSE!!” – Sorry, couldn’t resist.
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