September 4, 2004

    Morning appeared grey and ominous, leaving us doubting our temporary homestead.  Our slumber was interrupted the night before by the slight pitter-patter of rain on the tents which sent us scurrying around camp to gather any belongings that we intended to keep dry.  Our neighbours across the way were also rambunctious for most of the night yip-yip-yipping and woohooing into the wee hours...

    Originally we had hoped to spend two days at this site and explore (minus all our gear) a small loop to the south of us (Hambone & Daisy Lakes).  Instead, the uncertainty of the weather sent Greg and I on an early morning reconnaissance while the waters remained calm.  We scouted out a site on the opposite side of the lake near the P620 portage with plenty of room and cover, and returned to tell the others.

     After quickly packing up, we set out to our new camp only to have the clouds break, making us second guess our destination of a closed in camp site.  We took a detour to another island for lunch on a sun bathed stony escarpment.  We them traveled further down the lake to another camp that opened up into a large grassy meadow to enjoy the rest of the afternoon sun.  It was another terrific day of swimming, lounging and incredible acts of stupidity.

While sitting around enjoying a few beverages, we noticed a large branch, far overhead (30 -40 ft) taunting us with a piece of white twine dancing in the wind.   This immediately spawned a competition to see who could get the rope for our food bag over the branch by swinging around a weighted plastic bottle tied to the rope and launching it underhanded.  What made this even more challenging is that Cam's tent was not far from being directly underneath the overhanging limb.  After many valiant attempts and a few bounces off the tent, Cam threaded the needle to clam victory in the first event.

    Greg then proceeded to build a swing from a log and our newly strung rope.  We all watched silently as the dead tree limb creaked and bowed with the weight of Greg's pendulum like motion and wondered if he would end up in Cam's tent, branch and all.  But all went well, and after a few turns we set about modify our makeshift swing into a trapeze bar.  In no time we were the Flying Linguini Brothers coasting through the air and probably looking quite foolish.

    Our night ended with the drunken preparation of campfire tacos and a chorus of really bad songs...