Saturday started with pushups, lunges, and crunches - I pledged to stay somewhat active over the vacation - and an egg mcmuffin.
It was a long, but beautiful drive, rolling hills, rocks, and so much forestry! On almost every rock face, someone had stacked rocks, mostly into inukshuks. At first we didn't notice it - just one here or there, but then we realized that there was one on every large rock. My guess is that hitchhikers must do that, or very dedicated locals. Either way, it was very neat - a way to leave your mark without defacing the land.We stopped for a quick wade in Lake Superior - the soft sand beach gave way to pebbles at the water's edge, and then back to fine sand after about three feet. Little minnows frolicked, and sandpipers ran along the shore... certainly not what I expected from northern Ontario.
We drove all the way to Marathon, on the northeastern shore of the lake. We got in just as it was dusking (Chris didn't want to risk running into a moose) (I really wanted to see a moose), and this time opted for a Travelodge, since somebody didn't want to sleep on an uncomfortable bed again. We had room service bring us some drinks, and we stayed up a bit too late watching the Food network.
The alarm (actually, every alarm we set) didn't go off, so we rolled out of bed around 9:30, and I did my Attack tracks again before we hit the road. We were aiming for Dryden, but if we made good time, we'd push on to Kenora.
From Sunday's journal:
Just leaving Marathon, the town in which Terry Fox was forced
to concede his heroic run, the scenery was still rugged and beautiful: lots
of rock faces, tall, forests, and the occasional view of a sparkling Lake
Superior beach. After Thunder Bay, however, it gets much less
stunning. The trees grow closer together, tall, weedy and
sickly. There were sometimes copses of trees or naked trunks; some of
the conifers were stained a rust colour, when they had needles at all.
This continued for three hours. Was it caused by the railroad?
The highway? A forest clear-cut then replanted poorly?
Then, outside of Dryden, the lush greenery returned.
We passed Eagle River. "Eagle River!" I exclaimed.
Chris didn't get it.