Sam and the garbage bags

In the summer of 1992 Sam and Joe and I took a canoe/backpacking trip with my father into the wilderness area of Quetico Provincial Park north of Lake Superior in Ontario, Canada. Dad and I had gone there almost every summer when I was between 8 and 18 years of age, and we went back once in the late 1970’s/early 1980’s, but we had not gone since. Having talked about these trips with Sam and Joe, they were interested in experiencing it also. Dad made arrangements for access to the Park, and we went in late June-early July. The weather was mild at first, and we camped the first evening in Lake Saganaga, and the next day we went through the Silver Falls portage, Lake Saganagons and through another portage that led to Bitchu Lake where we camped again. This route was different from the one we had always taken in the past—what was called the “Falls Chain”—due to Park regulations that had been put into place to try and restrict traffic on this most popular route to the Kawnipi lake system. We had never camped on Bitchu Lake before, and we were not impressed with the general upkeep of the camp, perhaps because it was right on the eastern boundry of the Park. It also rained that evening; we discovered the next morning that we had forgotten to bring any cooking oil, which made making pancakes difficult; and, most significantly, the weather started to change. The skies became overcast, the temperatures barely made it into the 50’s, and there was an almost constant light rain. We continued on through two more portages, but were forced because of the weather to halt in an unnamed lake between Ross and Mack Lakes and camp short of our hoped-for destination in Kawnipi. There was a constant stiff wind blowing and it was difficult to get out on the lake and do any fishing. It was perfect weather for hypothermia, and it took all we could do to keep warm. We mostly stayed at the campsite, which was situated on a rocky point overlooking the lake, and focused on keeping the fire going, and the attendant chores of cooking and cleaning up for three meals a day. I remember that we wore virtually all the clothes we had brought (including our rain ponchos and life jackets) just to keep warm. This was not the fun time we had hoped for.

Here is a picture of us fully decked out against the cold:


After a number of days of this, Dad and I decided it was time to call it quits and go home. With the cold weather and not a lot of fish to supplement our rations, we were going through our food pretty fast. The weather did not show any signs of improving, and we had no access to forecasts that would tell us otherwise. I was concerned for our safety, and remember praying for guidance and protection—you, know, one of those prayers where you are willing to promise the Lord anything if you can just get out of whatever you are facing at the moment that seems particularly desperate. After nearly a week in the cold I was seriously beginning worry, knowing it would take significant effort to traverse the portages and paddle back the 20-25 miles we had come. One false step on a portage and a twisted ankle could be very dangerous. The route we had taken was not being frequented by anyone else despite the Park’s efforts to redirect traffic. We had honored the Park’s request, but apparently others had not, and the two parties a day that were booked on our route never showed. We had not seen anyone else for a week. We felt very much alone.

The next day the weather had not changed, so we packed up and headed back. As we paddled to the first portage it began raining even harder than it had the previous few days, and we wondered about our decision to leave that day. But we forged through the portage and continued on. After a few more hours of cold wind and rain we discovered to our dismay that the rain ponchos that Sam, Joe & I were wearing had started to leak through the shoulders. Upon inspection, the waterproof coating on the underside of the fabric had begun to deteriorate and flake off. This was not good. I wondered what the purpose of this was in the larger scheme of things. The thought of getting soaked to the core was especially distressing, and I my worries about hypothermia increased. We considered stopping at the portage that led into Lake Saganagons and building a fire, but we reasoned this would only be a temporary solution and we really wanted to make some headway getting back. Then Sam said, “Why don’t we use the garbage bags as ponchos?” I was amazed. That was it! Why hadn’t I thought of that? We had a number of large, heavy-duty, black plastic bags that we had carried along with us for the entire trip. I immediately recognized Sam’s idea as providential. With the plastic bags holding in the heat and protecting our body core from the rain, and some vigorous paddling, Joe, Sam, & I were still wet, but were reasonably warm again. On top of that, the sun came out for the first time in a week. We camped that evening on an island in Lake Saganagons. It was July 4th, and Dad and Joe went hunting firewood for a fire. That was a challenge considering the constant rain that had taken place for the last week. However, they found an old upright dead pine log that they removed from the ground with not too much effort—“a real find”, Dad said, and what turned out to be another grace of Providence. Joe at first thought Dad was crazy for having him carry this big, wet log back to camp, but just a little under the surface it was tinder-dry, and so full of resin that it literally burst into flame when the pieces Dad split out of it were lit. The flames rose high from that fire and so did our spirits.

Here we are drying off our clothes:

The next day the wind was still brisk, and the temperatures were still cool, but the sun was out, and we made it back to the car and civilization in good order.

Here we are at Tahquamenon Falls on the way back home:

When I asked Sam what made him think of using the garbage bags as ponchos, he said that he remembered a scout hike when it had rained and some boys who had forgotten ponchos had been forced to resort to wearing garbage bags instead. When he thought of our situation with leaking ponchos, Sam remembered how stupid they had looked wearing the bags. It is often said that Scouting teaches skills that can be useful later in life. Who would have known that this alternative use for garbage bags might be one of them, or how quickly it might find application? There can be lots of reasons to be involved in Scouting, and I guess that might be one of them. It is also clear to me that for adults who are preoccupied with concerns, responsibility, and even fear, guidance and help can come in unexpected ways and through unexpected means.