Day 1 (Monday)
	It was around 10am when I reached the Kingscote Lake access road, twelve kilometers north of Harcourt on the Elephant Lake Road. A large sign gives clear directions. First stop was the Pine Grove Point Lodge to obtain my interior permit. It was then back across the Elephant Lake Road and a seven kilometer drive westward on the Kingscote Lake Road. Signs warn you to lookout for trucks due to logging activities in the area. The road has a good gravel surface but isn't overly wide, so keep your speed down and your eyes wide.
	This interior access point had just recently undergone marked changes. In 1999 the road surface was widened and regravelled to its current state. At the access point, a substantial gravel parking lot was put in. A pair of wooden frame toilets (with concrete vaults) , a concrete garabage recepticle and a wooden dock have also been built. Previously, there'd been a small 'cottage camp' located here. The Nature Conservancy of Canada purchased the camp for Ontario Parks, under the Legacy 2000 project. On its location there are now six campsites and another vault toilet. Two of these sites are 'drive-in' style. Four are the 'walk-in' type. And, two of these are lakeside, with their own small wooden dock. Just before branching off to the access point, one notices that the main forest road continues to 'regulated hunting camps' and deep interior logging areas. Hunting rights (during part of the off-season) were conditions of the addition of this area to the park in 1961. A handful of private cottage sites exist on Kingscote Lake. However, they are scheduled for elimination by the year 2017 (similar to the cottage site leases in the central section of Algonquin). A pair of older fellows in a small fishing boat had set out from the access dock just ahead of me. Boats with up to 20hp motors are allowed on Kingscote Lake. Just as I was readying my canoe at the dock, a group of twelve 'scouts' and leaders drove up with their four canoes on a trailer. I was able to paddle off ahead of them. It was 11am and the sky was quite cloudy with the odd small blue patch. By the time I entered into the north half of Kingscote, the group of canoes had passed me by. Paddling against an increasingly brisk headwind, I checked out the campsites along the west shore. For the most part, they're shaded amongst cedars and quite close to the water. The 'official canoe route map' showed two sites located at the lake's north end, having a more open, southerly exposure. As I started out through the waves, across the north bay, I noticed the last of the four canoes disappear into the portage at the lake's northeast bay.
	I ended up selecting the site closest to the portage. A narrow rock shoreline provides a sunny, breezy area.The site itself is mostly open to the sun with the birch and oak forest wrapping around, providing shelter from the brunt of the north wind. I'm used to the north Algonquin sound of the wind through white and red pines ... ranging from a whisper to a whistle. Here, the younger forest's wind-blown birch leaves sounded like falling rain ... quite an odd effect in the bright sunshine.
	By mid-day, the sun had broken through nicely. After getting the tent and tarp up, I spread my sleeping bag out in the sun, lounged in the sun and made a journal entry. Mid-afternoon, the boat with the two fishermen came slowly put-putting by. I was able to get their attention. I held up my arms overhead, moving my hands apart and together, asking how big their catch was. One of them held out his two hands, with raised index fingers less than a foot apart. I could see his shoulders shake with laughter. It wasn't long after that they turned their boat south, back down the lake. I soon had the place to myself. The forest area behind the site contained a lot of windfall. As a result, I was able to gather plenty of dry firewood. I cooked up an early dinner over the fire ... a Knor soup, stiffened with some dry potato flakes and augmented with a diced half-garlic. I preceed summer camping trips with garlic added to a meal for each of two days ... bringing enough along to add to the trip's dinner menus. I find it effectively repels mosquitos. However, it doesn't seem to totally inhibit black flies or deer flies. If you aren't going solo, you owe it to any trip-mates to bring along enough garlic for them too. Otherwise, you'll be repelling more than the bugs. After dinner, the wind died down, so I took a paddle around the northeast bay. I took along my collapsable fishing rod in the faint hope of catching a small surface-feeding trout. No such luck. But I did have some entertainment from countless pesky rock bass. Three quarters of the way between the portage and the first cabin, I found a 'hole' full of the little fish. Actually someone had found it before me and had tied a marker ribbon to a bush on shore. It's usually the largest 'rocky' that first nails your spinner. After its released, the next largest goes for it. If the first one's aren't big enough for the frying pan, give up. They won't get any bigger.
Day (2) Tuesday
	It was a daybreak wake-up call from ravens 'croaking' somewhere just behind the site and kingfishers 'laughing' up and down the shore. During my breakfast of granola-coffee-stew, loons and warblers took over the show. Soon, the sun had risen sufficiently to shine into the firepit area, warming the air over its rocks.However, a few steps back toward the trees, my breath was still visible in the forest's cold night air. To the east beyond the portage,a lazy mist slid out of the marsh, hung over the lake and was reflected in its mirror-perfect surface. Time itself seemed suspended. Then a breeze stirred, and so did I. A brief paddle got me to the portage to Big Rock Lake. The mid-morning air was still cool. When I travel solo, I take my pack (around 55lb) on for about 150 meters, placing it on a rock or stump that will facilitate my relifting it onto my back. I then return to get my canoe (approx. 55lb) and walk past the pack by another 150 meters and then deposit it. This way, I limit my load at any one time and break it with a relatively restful walk, during which I take in the view and snap the odd photo. On all three segments of the portage, I carry my small fanny pack. It contains compact camera, light-poncho, energy food (jelly beans), small water bottle, bug repellant, knife, map, compass, etc. Part-way into the portage, is the north turnoff to Lower and Upper Minnow Lakes. Without campsites indicated on the map, I can only assume there must be some attraction to them .. perhaps Brook Trout.
	At 1300 meters in length, many will find this portage to be long. The fact that it hasn't had a tremendous amount of traffic, coupled with the young forest's tendency to grow it over with ground plants, makes this portage more demanding than a lot of the older ones in the park's central area.
	In addition, my crossing of the portage was also affected by saturated low spots and full brooks from the previous week's heavy rains.
	It had taken me about an hour and a half to complete this first portage. A marshy bay adjoins the portage's put-in. Next was a short paddle of about 500 meters along the north shore of Big Rock Lake. The greater part of this lake curves off to the southeast. There are no campsites on it, perhaps due to its heavily stained water.
	I could tell the wind was building. Guessing that a headwind would greet me at Byers Lake, I took a short rest at the take-out, before starting on the portage.
	There was in fact a brisk headwind blowing by the time I got to Byers Lake, an hour later. I was down on the knee pads to cross over to the York River as it enters into the northwest corner of Byers Lake.
	In this section of the river, the current was negligible, despite the high levels. Between Byers and Branch Lakes, the river could almost be likened to a very skinny lake.
	However, the canoe route map doesn't accurately show all the twists, turns and bends. After a while, I became a little concerned that one of the 'wide spots' in the river, that I had already travelled through, might have actually been Branch Lake.
	I came to a place where a treed 'bar' or point stuck out into the river from the north shore, followed by another such structure from the south shore. Coming around the latter from the south, I could see the undeniable largeness of Branch Lake up ahead. It was edging past mid-day.
	The only campsite on Branch Lake is located right beside the portage landing, actually sharing the same beach. Their designating signs were obscurred by the combined effect of line of sight and vegetation. However, someone had erected a five inch wide and six foot long 'post' on the beach. It 'drew me closer', to a spot from where I could see the portage sign. This post will not likely survive winter ice. So, upon entering the lake, one should immediately paddle along the northeast shore. The site and portage are before the end of the sand and gravel beach .. before the first weedy bay.
	I was still putting up my tent when I heard a heavy splash .. close by. I picked up my camera and sneaked down to the beach. And, there was the moose .. chomping on weeds in the bay. How I wished for my SLR and 200mm lens. But 'packing-light' is part of going solo. I set my little compact camera to its zoom's maximum 70mm and took my shot. The water of Branch Lake is also coloured by surrounding vegetation and soil. Its colour is not as extreme as that of Big Rock Lake. However, since I was drawing it from a beach next to a marshy bay, I chose to extend the duration of its 'rolling boil' from 7 to 10 minutes. Fortunately, the location's plentiful supply of dry firewood meant I didn't have to cut into my supply of stove gas.
Day 3 (Wednesday)
	Another early wake-up call .. this time from ravens and a woodpecker. The far end of the lake was socked-in with mist. The early morning coffee and my wool sweater were really welcome, as the site had absolutely no eastern exposure. It took a long time to feel the day's growing warmth.
	An hour or so and the mist was mostly gone. A blue heron had landed by the weedy bay, looking for breakfast. About a kilometer away, along the far shoreline, I noticed a bright orange and white movement. After a studied moment, I could discern the very large white-tailed deer .. its orange-brown back and white underside. Soon, a second slightly smaller one came out of the bushes .. about twenty feet ahead of the first. Heads down, they worked their way along the shore. On occasion, the larger one raised its head and peered about. After a while they disappeared behind an intervening point. A few minutes later, the heron took off with repeated, noisy 'croaky caws'. The extra loud departure had been caused by a mother merganser and her brood blithely swimming right through the heron's very breakfast nook. For those fond of wildlife viewing, this is a good spot!
	I started on the 900 meter portage to Scorch Lake, adopting a leisurely pace and arrived at the lake's west end by mid-morning. The west end of Scorch Lake is a very narrow, long bay. I came across the first of its four sites about a kilometer along its north shore. It was still within the narrows and had rocky rubble at its shoreline, with weeds in the water, close all around. As I paddled by, I could see that it hadn't been getting much use.
	Suddenly, a wierd noise broke out a distance behind me from the direction of an odd little island covered with large bedraggled white pines .. somewhat like a 'clacking-shreech'. It was difficult to zero-in on, until I looked up and saw the pair of blue herons high upon their stick-built platform nest. The male was doing his best to impress his intended with all manner of ritual sign and sound.
	In all, there were about a dozen herons, occupying at least eight nests, high among the tops of the old white pines. This rookery had probably been used many years in a row. No wonder the pines were looking a bit worse for wear.
	After seeing another so-so campsite along the north shore, I noticed the site on the large westward-facing point two thirds of the way down the lake. This site's exposure, looking westward straight down the lake, drew me right to it. An old long-dead pine trunk lies along the site's beach, serving as both a canoe dock and a bench for lakeside activities. Wooden steps lead up to the firepit and tent-site area. Someone's ambitious effort at a multi-logged dock was floating off-shore, tethered by light metal cables.
	A bay is located immediately to the south of the site's point. From its south shore rises a forested height, topped by an area of bare rock. The canoe route map shows this to be the 'Scorch Lake Lookout' . It's reached by a kilometer long trail, starting from a shoreline access near the head of the bay. The campsite is shielded from the lookout by a short row of white pines.
	By late afternoon, I had set up camp, boiled up a supply of drinking water and paddled up the south bay to find the hiking trail. I found the trail access hidden away in the shadows at the far reaches of the bay's southeast corner. If I had hiked in from outside the park, I'd sure want more than this truncated view of the lake as my destination. It's shown on the map as the end of the Bruton Farm Trail.
	While I was securring the bow rope, I noticed this purple wildflower bravely trying to brighten its dark little corner. So often in Algonquin, such a splash of colour will lift up your spirits and prompt you to look more carefully into the distance and shadows. I followed the trail signs, with their little white hiker symbols on a blue diamond background. I soon came across a juncture with the actual 'farm' trail, the signs for which were on a red background. A text sign indicated it was both a 'ski and hiking trail'. The lookout trail naturally went uphill, but at a much steeper angle than the trip's preceeding portages! It took almost an hour of huffing and puffing, including a 5 minute 'turnaround' near the top where some lowlife had ripped out a sign or two. Just before the trees start to thin out, you may notice a 2 foot high pile of white quartz rocks to the right (courtesy of myself). Ascend the last rise and then proceed due right (north). You should quickly pick up the line of blue signs. At that point you are about another 5 minutes from the lookout.
	The lookout's area was comprised of a mossy shelf on a small rock outcrop .. all still in a natural state. It was a comfortable spot to lean back and take a well deserved rest. I was quite pleased to have brought along a full water bottle, with which to quench my thirst.
	The view from the lookout was worth every step of the climb. Down below was the point of land where my campsite was located, hidden behind a line of trees.
	I adjusted the camera's zoom to wide angle, getting in the campsite area, Scorch Lake and a large expanse of surrounding Algonquin spread out to the north. I returned to camp by early evening and decided to have a lazy float-around in my life-jacket. A few feet from shore, the pebble bottom dropped away. Kicking about brought cold water up from below. I decided to lay quietly in the warmer surface layer, relax and enjoy the moment.
	I then went for a walk, still in my 'water slippers', north along the shallows of the pebble beach. The pebble beach is quite narrow and quickly slopes steeply into the dark depths.
	There were some weathered remains of pine trees, still 'rooted' in the ground right at the very water's edge .. their roots like stilts, deep into the beach .. remains of some of their feeder roots jutted out into the water .. some stubbornly attached to the higher sandy soil of the shore. Some of the old bleached shoreside stumps were scarred by large areas of charcoal. This one short walk told me that fluctuating water levels, logging, fire and erosion had all played an important part in the life of Scorch Lake.
	I returned to camp and put my socks and shoes back on. I then parallelled my stroll by taking a pleasant little trail amidst red pines, that heads along the small ridge above the beach. It ended at a sand bar, which provided a view eastward up the weedy northeast bay that I had seen earlier from the lookout.
	While cooking dinner, I had occasion to gaze back toward the lookout. The last light of day was softly upon it, with the nearly full moon hanging overhead. Holding my camera firmly against a nearby tree, I carefully took a slow shutter-speed picture.
	My garlic-laced dinner was late that evening .. savoured in the dusk's cool air. The sunset had come quickly and plainly to the lake. The silence and stillness made an absolute solitude.
Day 4 (Thursday)
	After my morning coffee and granola, I started to pack my gear. From behind the site, in the south bay, a splash sounded . Through the intervening branches, I could see the source. About 100 yards away, a big female deer had just walked into the water. With camera in hand, I slowly crept clear of the trees. Meanwhile, another deer had joined her. It was obviously mother and child. I had no sooner moved free of the trees, than she saw me. It only took that moment for the mother deer to rush them both back into the forest. It was all over in a moment .. no picture except the one snapped in my memory.
	Soon, I was back in the canoe, paddling across the glass-still water of Scorch Lake. I made a point of checking the time. It was 8:20am. My ex-co-workers would be swinging their cars into the office parking lot, ready to start another day at the grind. Oh, the smug satisfaction of being retired and deep within the solitude of Algonquin!
	I was about halfway down the lake when I saw another deer at the shoreline up ahead. I placed the paddle across my pack, letting the canoe glide along as I reached for my camera. Even as I brought the viewfinder to my eye, I could sense her nervous awareness of my presence. As the camera's tiny servo extended the zoom to its 70mm length, she picked up its sound, turned her back and looked over her shoulder to me. She snorted, exhaled with a loud hiss, snapped her white tail upward and jumped toward the shoreline bushes. I took my shot. She was gone .. again so quickly! Once I completed the portage to Branch Lake, I was back at my old campsite. Vacant and quiet, it seemed like a lot more than one day since I'd left it. When one camps the interior alone, time can become a slippery thing indeed.
	The clouds were becoming quite varied, as if another system were trying to move in. As I headed down the York River, the wind was with me at about 15kph. I spent a few distracted minutes cutting through large beds of water lilies. The wind had doubled by the time I got to Byers Lake. Large white cumulus clouds had started to blow out of the west. Realizing that the next day would include both substantial portages and a fair amount of paddling, I chose the westmost of the lake's two sites (nearest to the next day's first portage).
	After setting up camp, I toyed with the idea of exploring eastward down the lake to a 2 km hiking trail located there. However, with the wind and clouds building, I opted for a lazy afternoon .. even a catnap or two. By late afternoon the sky had cleared somewhat and the wind had dropped.
	Fair weather returned as if it had never left. It made for a very warm and lazy evening on the site's westward facing beach. It was a rose tinted sunset .. quite a pleasant end to the trip's last full day.
Day 5 (Friday)
	The morning had a melancholy and surreal air to it. I delayed my departure, soaking in the tranquility. Reluctantly, and ever so slowly, I set out across Byers Lake to the waiting portage.
	Sunshine illuminated the portage, making for an enjoyably bright passage through the forest. Bird songs filled the air, letting me forget that this was my trip's last day.
	When I arrived at Big Rock Lake the wind was still subdued. I relaxed for a while at the put-in, realizing that another escape to Algonquin was all too quickly drawing to a close.
	Part way across, within the shadows of the east shore, a group of Common Loons circled about the canoe. I drifted about for a while, enjoying their company.
	On this last portage, I really took my time. It's on the empty-handed return walks that things tend to attract your attention .. a grouse hidden deep in the underbrush or an oddity in a tree's growth.
	It can be a comical chipmunk underfoot or a minute deformation in an oak leaf. The trick is to slow down and keep your eyes and ears open. There's a lot more to be taken in than you can ever capture with a camera. Photos are just keepsakes. Memories are the real treasures. By the time I reached Kingscote Lake, the wind was up a bit and there was a very light, sporadic drizzle. Aside from the odd bluster of wind, the southward return paddle was uneventful until I passed a small motorboat heading in the opposite direction. It was occupied by three MNR staffers and their tools, probably heading north to build some portage walkways. I was suddenly struck by the fact that since seeing the pair of fishermen on Monday, these were the first people I had seen. Four days without another soul .. no wonder time had become somewhat elastic!