Algonquin Adventure: Exploring Tom Thomson Lake During COVID-19 in 2020

A Welcome Reprieve from COVID

Dur­ing the sum­mer 2020 lull in COVID-19, between the ini­tial lock­downs and sub­se­quent waves of infec­tion, Lily and I con­coct­ed a naïve plan for a road trip to the east coast to vis­it the unpro­nounce­able Kouch­i­bouguac Nation­al Park in New Brunswick. We recalled the fond mem­o­ries from our first-ever camp­ing adven­ture on the east coast in 2017 and want­ed to relive the expe­ri­ence, albeit on a less ambi­tious scale. Our plan­ning had pro­gressed to book­ing an overnight AirBnB for the dri­ve there and a front coun­try camp­site for three nights at the park. Almost imme­di­ate­ly after receiv­ing our con­fir­ma­tions, we learned the dread­ful news that had some­how escaped our aware­ness: the mar­itime provinces had imple­ment­ed trav­el restric­tions on res­i­dents from oth­er regions. They required all out-of-province trav­ellers to quar­an­tine for 14 days upon arrival. These restric­tions made our trip near­ly impos­si­ble, so we weighed the pros and cons of dis­obey­ing the quar­an­tine, con­clud­ing that can­celling our trip was the most prag­mat­ic deci­sion. Instead, we man­aged to book two nights at a back­coun­try camp­site on Lit­tle Doe Lake in Algo­nquin Park. 

Lit­tle­doe Lake holds a spe­cial place in my heart because it’s where I expe­ri­enced overnight camp­ing for the first time back in August 2007. It’s about a 10 kilo­me­tres pad­dle from the Canoe Lake access point, with a short and straight­for­ward 150–300 metre portage about halfway through. Lily and I spent a night there in Sep­tem­ber 2017 to ini­ti­ate her into back­coun­try camp­ing. (A sto­ry for anoth­er post). I hoped to revis­it one of the two camp­sites from those pre­vi­ous trips.

I’m writ­ing this three years hence, and my mem­o­ry has grown hazy about the details. Dur­ing that time, COVID-19 sparked an unprece­dent­ed demand for camp­ing and led Ontario Parks to ease check-in require­ments to min­i­mize in-per­son inter­ac­tions. In prac­tice, it meant that back­coun­try camp­sites in Algo­nquin Park were run­ning on the hon­our sys­tem, and unfor­tu­nate­ly, not every­one act­ed with integri­ty. After pad­dling for three hours, we reached Lit­tle­doe Lake to dis­cov­er that all camp­sites were occu­pied. Some­one was­n’t play­ing by the rules. 

At this point, I should men­tion that Lily and I were worn out, and with only two hours until sun­set, retrac­ing our 10-kilo­me­tre jour­ney back to the car was not a sen­si­ble solu­tion. Instead, we chose to steer our canoe to Tom Thom­son Lake, locat­ed just north­west of us, hop­ing to find an avail­able camp­site. 

Nav­i­gat­ing through the chan­nel that sep­a­rat­ed Lit­tle­doe and Tom Thom­son lakes required some exer­tion because a beaver dam crossed the water. A nar­row breach in the dam was just large enough to per­mit our canoe to slip through, albeit against the flow of water.

After pass­ing beyond the beaver dam and emerg­ing onto Tom Thom­son Lake, we found that most of the most promi­nent and acces­si­ble camp­sites were already tak­en. How­ev­er, we lucked onto sev­er­al vacant sites in the lake’s south­west cor­ner and made one of them our tem­po­rary home. 

The camp­site was unique. Water access from our canoe was tricky, no thanks to sev­er­al ledges of curved rock, which did­n’t offer much in terms of secure footholds under the weight of our gear. This pat­tern con­tin­ued to the long, nar­row camp­site, char­ac­ter­ized by sev­er­al tiered plat­forms, few of which had enough space for a tent. On a pos­i­tive note, it made up for what it lacked in flat real estate with copi­ous built-in seat­ing. The rock ledges that made canoe access a pain con­tin­ued below the water’s sur­face, cre­at­ing a nar­row swim plat­form that abrupt­ly end­ed, drop­ping into the murky depth. Last­ly, this camp­site faces the north­west across Tom Thom­son Lake, giv­ing it excel­lent sun­set views—or so we spec­u­lat­ed, as it was large­ly over­cast. (Read a detailed review of this camp­site on All of Algo­nquin.)

After unload­ing our gear, we set up camp, fil­tered some water, and I scoured the sur­round­ings for fire­wood. Despite expand­ing my search fur­ther into the for­est, I returned most­ly emp­ty-hand­ed. Pre­vi­ous campers had metic­u­lous­ly picked the sur­round­ings of all the dry wood, leav­ing only small branch­es and decay­ing logs. We were forced to make a mod­est fire using a com­bi­na­tion of twigs and one of the three logs we had brought along. These logs would­n’t last us for two nights. 

We awoke to a beau­ti­ful morn­ing. The air was crisp and the sky dynam­ic, filled with swift clouds cast­ing shift­ing shad­ows on the oppo­site shore. The lack of abun­dant fire­wood was a let­down. What’s camp­ing with­out fire? No fun, that’s what!

After break­fast, we hopped in the canoe to explore Tom Thom­son Lake and scav­enge for fire­wood. Since we were camp­ing there with­out a per­mit, we want­ed to assess how busy it was in case we had to accom­mo­date those with legit­i­mate book­ings. Giv­en the lake’s beau­ty, and con­sid­er­ing the pos­si­bil­i­ty of return­ing in the future, we were nat­u­ral­ly curi­ous about the fea­tures of the oth­er camp­sites, such as views, water access, and so forth. 

While explor­ing emp­ty sites, we gath­ered fire­wood and found a charm­ing spot at the lake’s north­ern cor­ner. Lat­er, we land­ed on its sec­ond-largest island—devoid of campsites—and explored it with Porthos. There, Lily snapped one of the trip’s few pho­tos of me.

Ear­li­er, we had con­sid­ered cut­ting our trip short because of the chal­lenges and less-than-ide­al con­di­tions. After all, we camp for enjoy­ment, not to over­come hard­ships. We’re not on Sur­vivor. But now, with fuel for a fire and our wood-burn­ing stove, life at the camp had improved remark­ably. The clouds were thin­ning, allow­ing sun­light to peek through more often, and grad­u­al­ly, the day became warmer. 

We spent the time cook­ing, eat­ing, nap­ping, drink­ing, and enjoy­ing our­selves. Before we knew it, the day had rolled into the evening, and our unique lit­tle camp­site became a par­adise bathed in gold­en sun­light. Through­out the day, we saw sev­er­al canoes laden with gear and peo­ple cross­ing the lake, some set­tling the unoc­cu­pied camp­sites. But in the end, a cou­ple of sites would remain unclaimed.

Dur­ing the gold­en hour, I took the canoe for a brief tour around the lake’s cen­tral part while Lily stayed behind to bask in the sun and per­form ‘active stretch­es.’ Pad­dling an unloaded canoe by myself was rare, and the speed boost gave me a thrill.

We ate while watch­ing the sun­set and used the under­wa­ter ledge for bathing and swim­ming in the buff under the twi­light sky. There’s a strik­ing pho­to of Lily bal­anc­ing on the edge of the sub­merged plat­form, bathed in blue light.

The fol­low­ing day was over­cast, with spo­radic rain­drops falling on our exposed skin, fore­shad­ow­ing what lay ahead. A light and inter­mit­tent driz­zle began soon after we got on the water, and this evolved into steady rain by the time we cleared Lit­tle­doe Lake. The rain accom­pa­nied us to the portage, only eas­ing sub­stan­tial­ly and then peter­ing out when we reached the open waters of Canoe Lake. 

Tom Thom­son Lake had become more than just a last-minute change of plans. That beau­ti­ful sec­ond day, filled with explo­ration and cher­ished mem­o­ries, became the high­light of our trip. Despite the rain that marked our return, we could­n’t help but feel thank­ful for the cir­cum­stances that forced our stay there.