September 14
Sabbath was forecasted to be the rainiest of all days on the circuit, but Friday night pounded us with rain all night long. Mud was splattered 2-3 inches up the sidewalls of my tent, even 3 feet in from the fly walls. We were afforded mostly dry skies for camp breakdown, and were on the water by 8:45 with the anticipation of beating out any potential head winds.
Paddling today was MUCH easier, and we enjoyed a leisurely pace as the rain pattered gently and consistently, without much change in scenery or weather for the first two hours until we stopped for a stretch break on a gravel point. We verbalized our gratefulness that it was only raining, not wind and rain, or snow, or sleet, or graupel. When the rain intensified, we hit the water again for the final hour, treated to sightings of a chittering otter, and three caribou swimming across the lake!! 😲 🦌

We reached the campsite and shelter just after noon, and hauled gear up the hill to the soggy tent pads, trying to feel grateful that this was our first setup in the rain. We used group-think (eg Ryan) to set up tarps over tent sites, then set up the sopping tents before heading to the open-air shelter to dry off and warm up by the wood stove, where we spent the remainder of the afternoon. Spirits were lifted as we had a moment of respite from the rain and temporary dryness of clothing, swapping stories with other canoeing parties as the rain continued to fall steadily and unrelentingly.
As we were cleaning up supper, a gale suddenly rose from the north, gusting off the lake and straight through the shelter (chilling us to the bone) and our tent site (turning the tarp over our tent into a wind and rain tunnel). Dad and I quickly cleaned up and headed to the tent, the outside of which was thoroughly soaked on the north side, and the tent body inside the fly more black with mud than the original yellow.

Poor Dad – I was in a very foul mood, fighting in vain to hide it. My frustration was magnified when I stepped in a mud hole on the way to the pit toilet, then couldn’t get the door to latch, then fumbled with the tent zipper.
Big Agnes tents are notorious for being lightweight but fragile, with frustratingly jammy zippers. Field research suggests that the zippers are 6x more likely to jam when covered in dirt splatter, 8x more likely to jam when soaking wet, and fully expected to jam when you’re in a foul mood because you’re in a gale rainstorm. As I was struggling to enter my side (the north side) of the tent without letting rain in, the zipper jammed on the storm flap of the fly, and I struggled mightily to loose it, finally feeling my thumb pierce through the fabric as the zipper held fast. My mood did not significantly improve. Stifling a scream that could have made William Wallace turn tail and flee, I unzipped the top of the fly, exposing the tent, and squeezed my body through the top, finally pulling the zipper free. I sat in the doorway of the tent to pant my anger out into the rain to sizzle.
Someday I will look back on this night and smile. Today, I will simply keep praying Dad and I stay warm and dry through the night.