The Mid-Week Dash - Day 3

The hound, looking less than impressed

A storm-free night gave way to a cooler, brighter morning, one that led me to re-deploy the awning, if only for the comfort of the hound. I'd walked her a fair bit around the campground and this fine morning she seemed more reluctant than ever to take a stroll. She needed to be dragged, almost, away from the trailer and all the time that we're moving away then she's into sniffing everything and showing a great degree of interest in the squirrels, chipmunks and birds. As soon as I turn and start to go back towards the trailer she scoops up the loose leash in her mouth and gently tries to lead me back, ignoring all the things that had so interested her earlier. I think that this is because she's uneasy on the unfamiliar territory and is keen to get back to what she knows. Either that or she's bone idle.

I have to have a moan about the normally wonderful Park showers. Two days running, now, the water's gone cold and shown no signs of recovering, which is very poor and rocking my faith in the Ontario Parks system. Alright, I might be taking things a little too seriously here, they're only showers after all, but for me a good hot shower is something the Parks normally excel in providing. I feel an official complaint coming on!

So, it was time to pack, hitch up and leave. The un-hitching issue of the ball on the hitch being too high became the hitching issue, if only by a couple of inches. Mrs T came to the rescue, though, with an immediate solution; an angled approach to avoid at least some the awkward rise in the ground, thus getting one side of the car down lower and allowing the trailer to be dropped onto the ball - she's a clever one that Mrs T.

We had fun driving home with some construction work delaying us and meeting a whole plethora of very wide farm vehicles, police cars and busy junctions. Still, it's all experience and Mrs T was only fretting a little about getting to her 3.30 appointment. As a counter to my appalling backing up onto the camp site two days earlier, we managed to get the beast backed onto the driveway at home in matter of a minute or so; you win some, you lose some.

I have to say that this had been an unusual trip. It was a short, midweek break and I kept on getting my days muddled up, thinking Tuesday was Saturday and Wednesday was Sunday, but that could be just age I suppose. We haven't socialised on one of our jaunts before (we are anti-social sorts at the best of times), so that was quite interesting, what with catering for eight rather than four. We also didn't get to do a lot whilst there, mostly because the weather was so unpredictable. Lugging two bikes down there didn't really work as the big tadpole realised that he couldn't text whilst cycling so retired to his nylon cave in disgust, and I was still suckered into pumping up the tyres on the small tadpole's bike before she raced off and covered all her clean clothes with a brown muddy stripe from the wheels. Mudguards - old fashioned perhaps, but useful in my view. The tent worked quite well, though, even with the half fly-sheet (tut). I think that particular piece of equipment will accompany us on future tadpole trips. 

What next? Well, it's prep for the big trip, Toads Go East, where we hit the eastern seaboard of the US then head north to the Francophone heartlands of Quebec, quickly followed by some time in Canada's Capital city and the St Lawrence 1000 Islands region. Watch for rolling updates, toad fans.

As a postscript, I need to let you know that for some reason best known to Google, I can't view any of the comments you make on the blog. I see them in the Blogger Dashboard as published comments but can't see them as part of the blog, nor can I reply to them. I've raised a work ticket with Google but like most of these things it'll disappear into the machine, never to be seen again. Pffffft.

The Mid-Week Dash - Day 2

Before the deluge

Tuesday started wet. Not raining you undertand, actually it was very sunny and very hot at 8am, but everywhere was sodden from the night's rain. The big tadpole's tent seemed to have survived although as a former back-packer, I couldn't help tutting at the tent's feeble construction. The fly-sheet was about 12 to 18 inches shy of a good fly-sheet, ending well short of the ground. This is fine in good weather and will keep the dew at bay, but running water, well that just drips onto the bottom of the tent. Mind you, at least the tent had a fly-sheet; many don't here and people have to rig up huge tarpaulins over their tents in poor weather when a good fly-sheet would do the job much more simply. To be fair, this tent was pretty cheap and we intended it that way because it may not get a huge amount of use, but to get a decent tent with a proper fly-sheet then we were looking at three times the price. It's all so stupid, too, because how much would an extra foot or so of nylon cost to make a really excellent fly? Tut. See, there I go.

Back to the camping and we met up with our friends again in the morning whilst Emma (the grand-daughter) tried her hand at wind surfing on the bay and Isaac (the grand-son) had a go at fishing from the dock. We sat on the bench at the end of the dock and Mrs T remarked on the mist rolling in across the bay, something I had to correct her on as it looked like rain to me and lots of it. Sure enough, and only a minute later, down it came. It was accompanied by some spectacular lightning and some booming thunder. We made it as far as the covered patio at the Camp Store and sat it out for a while; Accuweather said that there was a chance of a storm and they were, on this occasion, absolutely right. When the rain eased, we headed for Towed Haul and sat down there to witness a follow up storm which was louder and wetter than the earlier effort. The awning threw off rivers of water and the tent did its best with its limited resources, but at least as this storm passed it was followed by some sun.

The afternoon was rushing by and it was soon time to set the camp fire for our evening gathering with the friends. It was about 4.30pm as I built up the kindling and it was getting darker by the minute. I lit the fire, watched it take and then placed a couple of logs as the rain started. It came down quite heavily but relented quickly so I threw a couple more logs on, placed the baking potatoes and watched it get hotter, thinking that a good hot fire will resist the rain anyway. At about 5pm, just as the friends arrived, the rain came too - so did the lightning and the thunder and as the deluge gathered strength, the fire disappeared in a cloud of steam and smoke, amidst much hissing. The rain was so heavy that I had to dip one corner of the awning a second notch down so that the water ran off it more quickly, and the poor old tent was blown about and rained on something chronic. Yes, it did pass after a short while and I emerged to a fire that was still going strong (phew!) and a tent that didn't look too wet, even where the enormous blow-up mattress was touching the sides; thank goodness the sleeping bag was in the centre.

As it turned out, that was the last rain of the trip. Our friends casually mentioned that the Park had been under a severe storm watch that afternoon, a point which might have been more useful had we known a tad earlier! Still, no harm done and the supper was duly cooked on the fire and good evening was had by all, even if the chairs were wet.

We went into Towed Haul relatively early that night and settled to an old movie, or at least everyone else did as I had a snooze on the couch through most of it. I had stowed the awning, just in case of further storms, and walked the hound at around 11pm in brilliant moonlight. It was nice to see two Park staff on foot patrol through the campground, armed only with Maglights and stab vests fortunately, as they used to go around in a vehicle. So light was it that I saw them coming at quite a distance, too, which was just as well as they may have spooked me if they'd have just appeared in front of me. 

Tomorrow would be leaving day so I was hoping for a dry morning. I decided against checking Accuweather and thought I'd better look out of the window because that's far more accurate than their forecasts, to be sure.

The Mid-Week Dash - Day 1

Tent City  - Look! It matches my Towel!

I'm a little tardy with the publication of the this the latest episode of the adventures of the meandering toads, but that's what happens when you don't make the time to dash off your notes as things are happening. I blame the tadpoles.

Anyway, a quick run down to Rondeau Provincial Park was what we had planned, midweek this time, to catch up with some friends who were camping there with their grand-children. According to Accuweather, Monday was to be dry and warm; always a good forecast for day one. Unfortunately there were big gobs of rain falling as we packed and hitched up, not so much as to even call it a shower, but there was enough water on the road for the spray to cover both Towed Haul and the Toadmobile in a fine coating of road grime as we motored.

We never travel with much fresh water on board, preferring to fill at our destination before we set up camp. Monday afternoon at the Park saw me waiting for someone else to fill first, and that took a while because the fellow was struggling to get the water into his tank. I know from experience that end of the water supply hose is truncated with a big, brass hose thread and that doesn't fit into the fresh water tank filler pipe, so I always carry a short length of garden hose with a coupler to fit onto the brass hose thread. He was having to hold the end of the supply hose to his filler pipe and was putting almost as much water on the road as he was in his tank. Being Canadian, he was far too polite to ask to borrow my bit of hose pipe, but I was too stupid to offer him a loan of it. Doh! Mind you, he did remark on what a good idea the garden hose was; I do have them occasionally.

We were booked on site 63, a new one for us, and we were disappointed to see the slope we needed to negotiate to get Towed Haul backed up and into position. What was more, what I thought was going to be an easy back up turned out to be a nightmare as I couldn't see a thing as I positioned for the push back. There was just too much foliage everywhere. After a couple of abortive attempts, I came out and approached the site from the right, which is not the optimum way of doing it in a left-hand drive car, but we sorted it in the end. The slope onto the site meant that the hitch on the car was high relative to the trailer and I was concerned that I'd not be able to lift the trailer high enough on the tongue jack to get it off the hitch ball. I hear you saying "just stick a couple of bits of wood under the jack to gain some extra height", which would be fine except that we'd then never have been able to lower the front of the trailer enough to get it level if we did that. As it was, I had to leave the metal "foot" off the tongue jack, knowing that I needed full depression at the front to get the trailer level. We did get the trailer off the hitch ball, but it was close.

Then we had the setting up to negotiate. Normally we do this quickly and efficiently but today we had the tadpoles and the hound and that, dear readers, really throws a spanner in the works. For this trip, the big tadpole had come equipped with a tent and, in a moment of rashness on my part, I said that he should put it up whilst we were unhitching. What I hadn't counted on was that I'd stowed the tent in the trailer and that he'd require help to get the tent set up. We did get everything set eventually but the process took an age whilst the tent appeared to take priority; darned tadpoles!

Then the thunderstorms started. Not too bad on that Monday evening but I was wondering if anyone at Accuweather had actually looked out of the window.

We did at least locate our friends and had a beer or two in their company, which was nice. The morrow looked a little stormy but hey, that's camping!

The Six Nights Away Run - Day 7

Emily Marsh on Pigeon Lake

Another scorcher beckoned as I sat outside at 7am, quietly beginning to boil. This was the last day of our trip so I decided to hop into the car and get some photographs of Emily Provincial Park before Mrs T surfaced. Why the car? Well, the temperature was already above 25C at 8am and I had no intention of sweating around the place when I had a nice, cool car to do the leg work. One of the photographs is shown above; a very agreeable Park, I think. That said, I'll still be dropping them a line about the tired old shower blocks!

We seem to have hitching up pretty much sorted and we can be done and out of a site in half-an-hour these days, albeit when we have no tadpoles or hound to hinder our progress. I watched a couple packing up their site the day before and they took well in excess of two hours to complete the process, but they were not travelling light like we do.

I'd been a little concerned that I was going to struggle to get our 28' long caravan off this particular site, especially if we had someone camped opposite as I felt I needed a bit of room to negotiate the tight turn required. As it happened, the site opposite was free when we were leaving and even then it wasn't as tight a turn as I'd thought so we accomplished it easily; you live and learn, I suppose. The Park's dump station was something else, though. Dump stations normally consist of concrete basin at the side of the road, depressed a bit like a shallow sink and with a covered hole in the centre; a bit like a crude French footprint toilet but with a brass lid on the hole. You connect up your "slinky", a wide, flexible hose, to the trailer's waste tank outlets, poke the other end of the pipe into the hole in concrete, using the lid to hold it in place and then open the trailer's tank valves, black first (that's the poo) and then grey (that's the shower and sink). Well, this dump station was, as the dear Mrs T would say, "minging". It smelled bad (they don't usually, surprisingly), the concrete basin was old and pitted and clearly in need of a good hose down, and the place was crawling with flies. When I opened the lid over the hole there was an evil smelling scum visible, again not normal, but I had to press ahead anyway. Like the showers, this one old and tired dump station for the number of camp sites in the park was just not sufficient and it showed after the busy weekend. I was very, very pleased to get out of there, but not before hosing down my feet!

Back on the road, we decided to do a bit of old style navigation and use a map. We weren't so far from Toronto so most roads go north to south, but we wanted to avoid the big city and go east to west. I have no doubt that the SatNav would have found us a suitable route, although of late it had been finding us routes that would perhaps have been better without the Airstream in tow, but it only ever lets you view an area of map about 500 metres square and we wanted a bigger view. A little bit of preparation time and we had a good, if slightly out of the way, route planned and how pleased we were that we took it. It was up and down some quite steep hills, but the Toadmobile and its 7,000lb load eat them all up, and with some style. The gas consumption looks scary as you go up, and the speed drops off of course, but it's all made up for as you coast down the other side (a tad too fast at times!). We saw a bit of rural Ontario that we didn't know and even with one small navigation error, we made good time and were back on the 407 ETR Toll Road in no time at all. The ETR takes you north of Toronto and avoids the hideously overcrowded 401 highway through the more urban areas of the big city. We'll get the toll charge bill later, but it was worth whatever it cost as we cruised through without a pause.

The ETR joins up with the 401 west of Toronto (and the airport, thank goodness) and then it was a straight run home. We were driving into a fairly steady headwind which was knocking the gas mileage a bit, but in the 33C heat, the engine water temperature hit 100C at one point, about 15C above normal. Still, it soon settles when you're not pushing, coming down a hill for example, and that 100C is well within acceptable limits.

We did decide to stop off at our Airstream dealership in London, specifically to pick up RV toilet paper (expensive but essential when it has to go into that holding tank) and a couple of other bits. We came away with a rather spiffy 12v LED light "bulb" to go in the trailer's fridge; it was $22 but is really sexy and a different class to the yellow tinged thing that is standard. We also saw a really nice Ford Taurus SHO sedan hitched up to a 30' Airstream; a lovely combination, a photograph of which I will tease all my pick-up loving friends on the Airstream Forum.

So we arrived home to big heavy clouds, thunder and few spots of rain, but it was still 30C at 8pm. Over the six nights and seven days, we'd towed just a little over 900 kms, which isn't that far, really. We'd had rain once, during our first night, and had the awnings (all of 'em!) deployed for most of that time. Sure we missed the Tadpoles and the hound (a bit) but it was great to be unencumbered for a week.

Our next trip is a local hop to Rondeau next week for some socialising, then in August we hit the road for the Boston/Quebec/Thousand Island adventure; stay tuned, toad fans. 

The Six Nights Away Run - Day 6

Cameron Lake

 

Well, we had our quiet day. A very slow start was achieved as we watched people pack up and head home, albeit that there are quite a few stayers on the site, it being school holiday time.

The sun was getting a bit scary by midday and the temperatures were up above 30 degrees celsius as we retreated inside Towed Haul and enjoyed her air conditioning. These aluminium trailers are not great at keeping either warm in winter or cool in summer, despite their white painted roofs; you'll all recall your school physics lessons on the heat conductivity of metals I'm sure. Still, it was much hotter in Florida and we managed perfectly well when we where there. What we haven't had is rain, apart from on the first night of this trip, so we're already one up on Florida!

Eventually we jumped into the (air conditioned) Toadmobile and went north again, this time to Red Rock Antiques, on the road between Bobcaygeon and Fenelon Falls. On the way there we had a bit of a senior moment when we looked up the opening times of the antiques place only to find that it was closed on Monday. Mrs T was all for calling ahead to see if they's open up for us when we realised that the day was, in fact, Sunday and the place was open. Doh! That's what happens when you spend a week out of your normal routine.

Red Rock Antiques consisted of two barns full of old furniture (mostly) and a few other bits and bobs. None of it was particularly well presented and neither did they have much that we might have liked, but it was good to rummage around in there. The owner (who's name escapes me just now) turned out to have been born and raised in Chatham Ontario, went to the same school that the Tadpoles attend and lived about two streets away from where we live. She hadn't been back in many a year but she and Mrs T had a few mutual acquaintances, not least the lady's mother who Mrs T remembers working at Rossini's Restaurant and to whom she'd spoken! Sometimes it can be a small world.

We left Red Rock with a $12 olde worlde hole punch for the "Desk Of Many Treasures" at home, then went on a mini road trip to Balsam and Cameron lakes. We hoved-to at Lock 35 on the Trent-Severn Waterway (yes, the TSW again), on the short stretch of canal that links the two lakes. I have to say that it was most pleasant sitting in the shade and watching boats work the locks. I say boats but it's actually Parks Canada staff that operate locks, all resplendent in their green shorts and khaki shirts. We being highly respectable toads did turn our noses up at a couple of very noisy power boats that went through, crowded with youngsters. I suspect that they were heading for Sturgeon Lake where they could open up the throttles on the two long stretches of water there. We preferred the more sedate boats, each running at a couple of hundred thousand dollars a piece I reckon; we have rich tastes.

Then it was a gentle run back to Emily, via Kawartha Lakes and Omemee. I was looking to get some gas and saw one gas station on the opposite side of the road near Kawartha Lakes but thought I'd look for one on our side of the road. Well, we traveled all the way to Omemee and our turning up to Emily and didn't see a single gas station in all that way, not even on the other side of the road. Mrs T wisely suggested heading towards the large town of Peterborough rather than heading north again and sure enough, we came across an Ultramar place (on the other side of the road) about 3 Km further on. It was a particularly wise decision by Mrs T as the gas was $1.179, which was a huge improvement on the $1.339 we paid last week down near the Big City. My dad would have been pleased.

We wound up the evening with microwaved mushroom lasagne, one of our few meals in this week, and settled down to watch a DVD, "The Snapper", based on Roddy Doyle's book. I fell asleep within the first ten minutes and retired soon after, me being the gadabout that I am. Party animal or what?

Tomorrow is moving day for us, heading home again. The weather looks set fair so let's hope it all goes without a hitch. Or rather with a hitch, because we can't tow the caravan without one!

The Six Nights Away Run - Day Five

Native Art by Freddy Taylor

Saturday is Art Day. That sounds posh; we just wanted to have a look at some things with which to finish off the dreaded Kitchen Project, so scooting around the region looking at galleries and craft centres was to be the order of the day.

I was up with that bloody lark again but at least it gave me a clear run at the shower block at about 7am. This one isn't up to the usual Provincial Park standard because it's quite old and extremely well used, but it was serviceable and the water was hot. Over the past few days, the bugs have been feasting on me and my ankles, wrists and neck are covered in itchy little red spots; the shower helped to calm down the itch, at least for a while. Back at Towed Haul I was able to sit out under the awning and blog to my heart's content and to watch the campground wake up.

After brekkie, we loaded up with cold drinks and set off north-west towards Curve Lake Ojibway Reservation and the Whetung Art and Craft Gallery (www.whetung.com), as recommended by that nice lady in Bobcaygeon. I've been on a few reservations down in our part of the world and they are places of obvious poverty, at least by the standards of the surrounding non-reservation areas, but this one seemed a touch more prosperous. There were two big gas stations right on the reservation's perimeter catering to the non-native traffic, and quite a few well tended houses. By way of a quick diversion, here, I should explain that First Nations people are not required to pay taxes to the Provincial or Federal government, so sell both gas and cigarettes ("Smokes" as they are known on the reservation) at knock down prices, which draws a lot of non-native business. Technically, though, as a non-native, once you drive off the reservation then you should be paying that tax and I know that the Provincial government is getting a bit sniffy about this tax evasion. I'll make no comment as to its rights and wrongs but I do know that there's a heathy profit in it for the native people, which is all to the good.

Anyway, back to the reserve, and the Whetung Gallery. In an authentic and original log cabin (that's grown a bit over the years) was a collection of native arts and crafts the like of which I've never seen. It ranged from the usual tourist tat, to some quite nice bits of cothing, right through to some wonderful and wickedly expensive arts and crafts. Most of it is original work and, if you've ever seen seen any native art you'll know how stunning it is. We spent ages in there and could have spent many thousands of dollars, including a few hundred on some small wooden carvings of geese that would have been a great indigenous version of Hilda Ogden's flying ducks. As it worked out we did drop a bit of money on a small soapstone carving and some decorated gourds.

One of the artists, Freddy Taylor (http://www.whetung.com/freddytaylor.html), was in the gallery working on a painting. He was quick to engage us in conversation and proceeded to tell us of his harrowing life in the Brantford Residential School and how he has redeemed himself somewhat through his art. Residential Schools are a particularly dark part of Canada's history and something that the native people still suffer the effects of even though the last of the schools was closed in 1996. This Wikipedia link (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadian_Indian_residential_school_system) gives some of the detail, but to listen to Freddy's testimony of the physical, sexual and emotional abuse he suffered at the hands of the staff of this church run and state sanctioned establishment was horrific, and this was one voice among many, many thousands. He is an angry man and it showed in his work, all of which had written explainations of its inspiration taped to the back of the canvases. He says that he's calmer now and although a chastening experience to listen to him, I'm glad we did.

From Whetung we moved to the Gallery On The Lake at Buckhorn. A wooden, circular building (It may have been octagonal or something) set on the lake a few kilometres outside Buckhorn, it housed what we might consider more conventional art. Being down a long, dirt track I thought the place might be deserted, and it was. We weren't hassled by the staff there, though, and spent a little while browsing the paintings and sculpture. We did like one fairly abstract piece but it was a bit too expensive to take a gamble on so we took a photograph and will think about it later. We also liked some quite big soapstone carvings of walruses, but the price made us put them down right away.

From the quiet of Buckhorn we went west to the lake community of Fenelon Falls, in search of "collectables", that is bits of stuff not really posh enough to be considered "antiques". We'd been to Fenelon Falls before, on the houseboat trip, and moored below the falls and the big lock there and witnessed a really stormy night. A power pole (known as a Hydro Pole here) was overloaded, or hit by lightning perhaps, and the big oil filled transformer on top of it caught fire. The local Fire Department went tackle it and it exploded in a huge shower of sparks and flame and the entire town was plunged into darkness. We, on the the other hand, were on our battery powered boat and enjoying natures display without all the light polltion from the town! Anyway, today it was hot, hot, hot, and not the kind of day we wanted to browse around. We dropped into a couple of collectibles places and were underwhelmed by what we saw, so jumped back into the air conditioned comfort of the car and headed back towards Bobcaygeon.

It was late afternoon by now and we'd not eaten so were easily seduced by one of the many "Chip Trucks" that litter the landcape here. Unwittingly, and foolishly as it turned out, we opted for large Poutine and large chips and were somewhat taken aback when the two enormous conatiners full of chips arrived. It was far too hot to sit out to eat, even under the umbrellas provided, so we drove out to a rural side road, stopped the car under some trees with the air conditioner running, and tried to eat this mountain of potato. Well, we did reasonably well but with bloated stomachs we gave up the unequal struggle and drove into Bobcaygeon in search of an ice cream, that well known restorative for over-eating. I'm honour bound to report the discovery of sixteen, yes sixteen peanut butter cups in Mrs T's Moose Tracks cone. Well done the young lady who served us that ice cream treat!

I should make mention of the person ahead of us in the ice cream queue who took some time to select her desired flavour. She was a lady of a certain age, sunglasses propped on her head and a certain middle-class haughtiness which she then proceeded to display. Having selected her ice cream choice, she watched the young employee ball up the scoop of ice-cream then just as it was about to be placed on the cone, changed her mind. The poor employee had to start again in a different flavoured bucket and, as she when to place the ice cream onto the cone was told by the sunglasses lady to "press it down!" in a commanding manner. Now I'm fairly certain that people who serve ice cream all day do know how to serve it and don't require direction from snotty customers like that. If I'd had an axe I'd have split the lady's sunglasses in two, without removing them from her head. Tut.

Replete with chips and ice cream, we made our way back to Emily and, after I'd made a short and very hot expedition to the lakeside beach, both took an early evening nap with Towed Haul's air conditioning rumbing away.

We managed a movie later, "The Bridges Of Madison County" (yes, Clint Eastwood is so name because he is actually made of wood), and enjoyed watching Meryl Streep recreate "Brief Encounter" in rural Ohio. The morrow being Sunday and moving day (we suspect) for the bulk of people on the campground, we've decided to have a quiet day. We may well be indoors with the air conditioning on but hey, that's glamping!

More tomorrow, Toad fans.

The Six Nights Away Run - Day Four

Moving day today so no plans for any expeditions. I was up with the lark (that's early!) and fighting off the bugs on the way to the shower block as the sun was warming the woods quickly. Making a quick foray off site to get some petrol, I made my way over the narrows between lakes Simcoe and Couchiching and was able to see both lakes stretching away in the bright morning sunshine, flat calm and glassy looking. I'm sure it's not so wildly attractive in winter but early on a summer's morning, it was delightful.

$1.239 for gas as opposed to $1.399 on the way out of Toronto the other day - I had to put that in as my dear old dad would have loved to have known.

It was a leisurely start to the day and as Mrs T did what she does in the mornings, I packed away a few things outside, aware that the bugs were getting quite viscious. When it came to do doing the joint things like hitching up, poor old Mrs T needed to nip in under cover at every opportunity to avoid the biting little blighters. The thing is that we had the site cleared and were away out of the Park gates in under an hour; it's amazing how a lack of dogs and children can speed things up.

So, it was off to Emily Provincial Park, some 90 Km south-west of Mara, smack in the middle of the Kawartha Lakes region. As is often the case, the grid road pattern didn't allow a straight run down but rather so many miles south, turn sharp left, so many miles west, then sharp right, and so on. That, combined with a surprising amount of stop lights way out in the countryside, meant a lot of stopping and starting, which played havoc with the gas mileage. Even at 50 mph, we still only managed 17.8 litres/100 Km which was worse than the motorway figures we achieved on the way up. Some of the roads were a bit, er, bouncy, too; what with the railways tracks to cross and the SatNav taking us on some fairly rural roads, poor old Towed Haul took a bit of a beating.

Emily Provincial Park is on the lower reaches of Pigeon Lake, where it's no wider than a medium-sized river. It's not a large park but has two beaches and two boat slips and two pretty big campgrounds to support them. That said, although we can hear the road outside, our pitch is surprisingly private and I'm sat here now looking at the mixed deciduous and conifer woods, listening the birds and I can only see one other site. The best bit is, though, that the bugs aren't biting so I'm outside writing this and enjoying every minute of it.

Once set up, we jumped into the Toadmobile and made for Bobcaygeon, about half an hour north of here, on the point at which Pigeon and Sturgeon lakes meet. Indeed, Bobcaygeon really only exists because a small canal and lock was built over 100 years ago to link the two lakes and to become part of the Trent-Severn Waterway between Trenton and Port Servern - you may remember Port Severn from a few days ago. This was actually a return visit for us because we'd passed through a couple of times on a houseboat a few years ago.

We parked up on the main street, free and for nothing, and walked the area looking at the shops. It was just 5pm and most were closing up for the night but we did a bit of browsing before settling down to watch some boats traverse the lock. A lot of the boats on the Trent-Severn are enormous and probably cost many hundreds of thousands of dollars to buy and maintain. We watched one such vessel in the warm evening sunshine and wondered what the long haired, much tatooed man piloting it had done to have the money to own such a craft. We settled on drug dealer or pimp; not that we'd make any assumptions of course.

Supper was taken at Donatella's Restaurant on Bolton Street, just south of the lock. It was one of those rare restaurants that offered a wide choice that suited us both; home made mushroom soup was the order of the day, followed by pizza of various flavours. I had a draught Stella Artois which was nice at the time but gave me a bit of headache later in the evening. Donatella's could have done with some air conditioning, though, because we were dripping by the time we came out.

A longer than planned drive home (I missed the turning!) was a nice run through the corn-covered countryside. We arrived back at Towed Haul as the sun was beginning to drop, rigged the fairy lights on the awning and set off for a short walk around some of the camp sites in the fast fading light; quite dimpsy it was, but nice to see the lights and the camp fires in amongst the trees.

Tomorrow is art day, that is a run through the region to look at some galleries. The nice lady in one the shops in Bobcaygeon told us about a couple over towards Buckhorn so we'll head over that way in the morning, followed by Fenelon Falls and finally back to Bobcaygeon. What a pair of gadabouts, eh? We're making the most of our dog and tadpole-free time!

I shall report back in due course so please look out for the next installment...

The Six Nights Away Run - Day Three

Well, night two wasn't one to be remembered. The agregated effects of a day of rich food, sweets and beer kept me awake half the night and modesty forbids me to go into any of the details. A warming shower and a walk around the campground sorted me out, though, and by mid-morning, Mr Toad was ready for action.

A note on the campground, though. It's very quiet, hardly anyone here, but it is without doubt the "buggiest" campground we've been to yet. It may be the humid weather, the Park's proximity to the lake or the dense tree cover but whatever the reason, these bugs can bite; my ankles and wrists are covered in red, itchy blotches. It's not even as if we've been sat outside much, either. I'm feeling that myy statement "Let's not bring the Bug Tent" could have been mis-placed.

Anyway, to the day's events. A gentle run to Penatanguishene was in order, with the aim of an afternoon's boat trip into Georgian Bay's 30,000 Island region. Penatanguishene is at the head of the next bay along from Midland, where we'd been the previous day but it was lovely to re-trace our route through the undulating country-side, especially as hills are something we don't really have in south-western Ontario. The weather was a bit better, too. The wind had come around to the north-west (normal for these parts, apparently) and taken the humidity away, albeit that it was still sunny and in the mid-twenties.

The drop down the "Rue Main" towards the harbour was surprisingly steep and the presence of so much French signage set this place apart from its near neighbour, Midland. We keep coming across these pockets of Francophone resistance to the English tide and it was nice to see all the signs, posters and the like so resolutely bi-lingual; in our part of the world, only the Federal stuff is truly bi-lingual.

Down at the harbour, now a marina of course, stood the Georgian Queen, the former HMCS ice-breaker that's been taking tourists around the bays and islands for decades. She looked a stout vessel, as I suppose she would given that she had been an ice-breaker, but gay (in the traditional sense) with her strings of coloured lights and Maple Leaf flags. The ticket office wasn't open as we were a couple of hours ahead of her sailing time, so we decided to head over to Midland to pick up lunch in Ciboulette et Cie, that rather nice looking cafe and food shop in King Street. It only took ten minutes to get there and after dropping an obscene amount of money for said lunch (Quiche and quinoa salad for Mrs T, Chicken in ciabatta for me) we were back on the dock at Penatanguishene in no time and munching through our goodies.

When the Georgian Queen's ticket office opened, we parted with $54 and at 2pm, set off into Georgian Bay. There was only about 50 people on board the Georgian Queen, which meant plenty of room to move around, but served to remind me that it's rare for anywhere to busy, even at the height of summer, in these here parts. If you're thinking of heading this way for a holiday, you'll find it quiet and relaxing.

The cruise was scheduled to run for three and a half hours and, given that it takes over half an hour to get out of Penatanguishene Bay, I could see why they'd allowed so long. The ship's Captain also did the commentary and was really very good. He was obviously a local boy and had lots of asides about who owned what houses and whose boat was which. There are some seriously expensive houses flanking Penatangushene bay, some used only as summer "cottages"; the presence of a couple of float 'planes and some seriously sleek boats confirmed the affluence. As we moved out of the small bay and into Georgian Bay proper, that north-westerly was really blowing but it was still  pleasant to sit by the rail and watch the islands slip by. We crossed a tract of water called The Gap and suddenly where there had been sandy beaches on the shore, it was all rock; every island was made of humps of smoothed over granite and mostly covered in straggly pines. For the geography buffs, we were now on the Canadian Shield, the rocky area scoured for millenia by ice that had been kilometres thick.

The Captain nosed the ship through some very narrow channels between these rocky outcrops and there we were, in amongst some of the 30,000 islands. It's very interesting to see that just about every island, even some no more than a few hundred feet across, had some form of house built on it. Not a shack or hunting lodge, you understand, but a smart house with acres of glass, a private dock and a couple boats tied up there. Most houses had electricity, piped in from the mainland, water drawn from the lake and septic tank sewage systems that are regularly emptied by floating poop collectors. Both Mrs T and I had a few misgivings that people can have these summer cottages with all mod. cons. as their second homes and yet so many people struggle to have a single roof over thier heads. That said, these cottages have been built with local labour and are supplied and maintained by locals, so I guess there's a economic system working here.

Three and a half hours later we were back on the dock in Penatanguishene, a bit sunburned, but quite pleased at such a pleasant afternoon's diversion.

On our return to Mara, we dined on Duckworth's fried supper and sat down to watch a movie. Me, I fell alseep in minutes and was chivvied to bed by the good Mrs T, and it wasn't even ten o'clock.

Tomorrow is departure day, not departure for home, though, but for Emily Provincial Park, about 80 Kms south west of here. Let's hope that the excellent weather continues!

The Six Nights Away Run - Day Two

Big Chute!

A hot and rainy night gave way to a hot and steamy morning, one where we failed again to recognise the convenience of the air conditioning system. Doh!

I made my way over to the Bath House and was delighted to find that the already good Provincial Park showers had been enhanced here with the addition of a plastic foot mat that drained away water nicely from the vestibule area, and a little shelf on which to rest one's soap whilst showering; small improvements perhaps but useful all the same. Extra points go to Mara for these embellishments I think.

Once in the land of the living (that is showered and shaved), I made may way to the nearest Tim Horton's to procure some breakfast comestibles. It was one of those double drive-through places but that didn't stop the queues snaking around the car park. Being as sharp witted as I am I got out of the car and ducked into the shop to make my purchase, but as is usual in these cases, when I'm faced with a big decision on what to get I went to pieces. The two toasted bagels should have been buttered, I forgot Mrs T's Fruit Muffin and ordered myself a smaller coffee than I'd intended. Mind like a steel trap, me.

So to the business of the day. Firstly, a trip to Lock 45, the northern terminus of the Trent-Severn Waterway at Port Severn. You may know that I'm a canal nerd and that we'd enjoyed a few days boating on the mid section of the Trent-Severn a few years back. At the time we lacked the courage to strike north as we were afeared of going onto Lake Simcoe as it's big and sea-like, and that it lay between us and Port Severn. Of course, we didn't really have the time, either, but it sounds more exciting to say that we were scared of the waves on Lake Simcoe. Anyway, we promised ourselves a trip to Port Severn one day and today was that day. It turned out that the town itself was little more than the lock, a marina and a General Store, but it was very pleasant all the same. Parks Canada run the lock, as they do the whole waterway, actually, and I was rather hoping to watch some Parks employees sweating over the gate paddles and the gates themselves but it wasn't to be - no boats today - so we sloped off after rattling off loads of photos.

Next stop was Lock 43, up at Big Chute. It's not actually a lock but an inclined plane, using a big carriage thingy on rails to lift the boats out of the water and transport them up or down the 60 foot height difference between one lake and the next. Because it runs on rails, the whole contraption is known as The Big Chute Marine Railway, which I suppose it is, really. The photograph at the top of the page shows the carriage descending into the water at the bottom of the track so that the little motor boat can drive off downstream, that is if the two people on board the boat could stop kissing each other long enough to drive anywhere! I should put more photos up but the Internet situation here isn't great so uploading is problematical. Anyway, it was jolly nice to see the Marine Railway in action and I was glad we'd made the effort to get there.

The drive to and from was good, too, as it was through a land of rocks, lakes and trees; real Canadian Shield territory. It was also Cottage Country, which means big expensive houses by the lakes; how the other half live, eh?

Next we went south and west to the port town of Midland, which is nestled on the southern edge Georgian Bay. Its Main Street (actually called King Street) was broad and ran gently down to the Harbour at the bottom. I say harbour but as is the case with most former working harbours, it's now home to lots of small and expensive pleasure craft and is known as a Marina. Not that I'm complaining, you understand, it's always good to see things so bouyant. Bouyant. Boats. Geddit?

There was at least a big, working grain elevator at one end of the harbour. There were no freighters there at the time but it's clear to see how Midland connected to the Great Lakes, Canada and the rest of the world.

On more important matters, we scouted out a decent Italian restaurant and a nice cafe and food place called Ciboulette et Cie. It was quite posh but the range of snazzy food available was excellent, even if the prices were not. Lily's restaurant served us up some lovely dishes, even if the one had wasn't the one I ordered. The error was made as one of the kitchen team was having to do front of house stuff and was quite ticked about it. Still, no harm done and she even offered to buy me some ice cream as recompense.

I think Midland is starting to cater for the boaters and that's why the place seemed "up and coming" (read "getting expensive"). We liked the place and will be back, I'm sure, although I can't imagine the place in February.

Back in Orillia, we decided to have a close look at the Ospreys that were nesting on a telegraph pole close to Mara Park. There were actually two nest sites within a few hundred yards of each other, one with three chicks the other with one (that we could see). The parents were taking it in turns to fly for food as the chicks were big and probably not too far off leaving the nest. we used our camera's big lens to have a closer look and to snap a few pictures; again, I think uploads will have to wait until we get home. It was just fantastic to get so close, though.

So that was our day. None of the predicted storms showed up and it remained hot and humid all day, which is wahy we finally saw sense and put the cool air on in the trailer; bliss.

Tomorrow? It's weather dependent. Check back to see if it rained!

The Six Nights Away Run - Day One

It's not a Friday and it's not five-to-five, so it can't be Crackerjack (Crackerjack!), but what are we doing hitching up? It must be Summer and it must be the start of the Six Nights Away Run for the Toads.

The hound's gone on her holidays to Mary Lou's Pet Palace and the Tadpoles are off with their father, so it's a free run for the grown ups, which doesn't happen often. In the words of the great Homer Simpson, "Whoo hoo!"

We did have the Tadpoles as far as Missisauga but with a fully loaded car and trailer, travelling at 100 Km per hour, we were managing a very respectable 17.2 litres per 100 Kms fuel consumption. Normally, with no trailer, we'd get around 11 litres per 100 Kms so that wasn't too shabby at all. It's almost entirely down to the wind, though, or rather a lack of it; wind resistance is our biggest enemy when towing.

Once Tadpole free, we struck north from Missisauga along the 407 Toll Road around Toronto then onto Highway 400 towards Parry Sound. The road was clear and we made good time before turning off onto Highway 11 as we neared our destination, Orillia, and the Mara Provincial Park. Orillia is at the top of Lake Simcoe (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Simcoe), the largest of the Kawartha lakes and the start of the Ontarian North; not too far above us, the fields give way to the granite, lakes and scrub of the Canadian Shield.

Mara is a small park, but pretty and heavily wooded. The access roads are small and twisty but locating our site was easy and we were soon unhitching and getting ourselves settled in, sweating in the humidity and 29C heat but feeling pleased that it was still only a little after 3pm, which makes a real change from the usual 8pm or so when we've left home at 5pm. So pleased were we that we didn't actually spot the the ever-so slight ommission that we'd neither dumped the waste tanks or taken on fresh water. Doh! We had no choice but hitch up again and drag Towed Haul first to the dump station, then to the fresh water point. It took an hour all told to get back on the site and set up properly, so our smugness at our early arrival had been mis-placed somewhat. Not only that, I was so sweaty that my shirt was soaked through - oh the joys of camping. We also discovered that Mara is the bug capital of Ontario and we were getting eaten alive, even after being doused in bug repellent.

However, when we were settled we took a quick run down to the little sandy beach on the lake's shore. The wind was quite lively but it was taking the edge off the heat and made our paddling time there most acceptable. We stood on the boat slip (so called because it was very slippery), up to our ankles in warm water whilst we watched a small and very confused Cray Fish struggle about in the shallows. One can only have so much excitement in a day so we made our move to Duckworth's Fish and Chips, situated just a mile from the park's gates. I'd like to have thought that Duckworth's was a Coronation Street themed shop but no, it had been established in 1930, slightly ahead of Jack and Vera's arrival and was a fairly basic, fairly hot and extremely busy little restaurant. It was, of course, Senior's night (discounts for the elderly) so the place was heaving with Sanatogen junkies, which meant a 15 minute wait for a table. It's well known that Toads don't wait for tables so we settled on a take-away and headed into the town of Orillia to eat it.  We happened upon the curiosly named J.B. Tudhope Memorial Park on Lake Couchiching and discoved a delightful little place in which to consume our haddock, chips and battered mushrooms. There was a fine beach there with kids still running around and swimming even at 8pm, a lovely trail along the lake's edge and a couple of baseball games in progress. (As an aside, I don't really understand baseball but I'll be happy to explain the rules of cricket to anyone prepared to open baseball's mysteries to me.). All in all we had a very pleasant evening and only returned to Towed Haul as it was getting dark.

I'm not entirely sure why but we sat in the trailer sweating quietly whilst watching "Team America" on the DVD player. We have air conditioning but chose, for some reason I can't fathom, to leave it unused. We went to bed with the windows and vents open and perspired as we expired. 

At 4.25am we were woken by the sound of a major rain storm, the rain hammering on the aluminium skin of Toad Haul and gushing off the awning onto the ground with great splashing noises. Mrs T decided to get up and shut some the trailer windows and we eventually went back to sleep as the rain eased off. I can't really complain because we'd been promised such storms all day so for this one to arrive at 4.25am was quite nice really, but being inside the trailer when the rain comes down must be like being in an oil drum during a monsoon. 

Anyway, it had been a good day but with the threat of stormy weather for Wednesday, we made no firm plans. What did we get up to? Was it exciting? Are you interested? Look out for Day Two of the Six Night Run; it could be the best thing you read all day. It might not be, of course.