My Trip to Burnt Island
Lake and Camp Mimmesing
A new resort affiliated with the Highland Inn opened on Burnt Island Lake by the name of Camp Mimmesing. (1913)
It was 1957, when days, weeks and summer vacations lasted forever. I was at summer camp and we were preparing for our first Canoe Trip to Burnt Island Lake. Through the eyes if a child, the name "Burnt Island" brought
to mind images of a desolate
and dreary looking gray lake surface dotted here and there with islands, sparsely
covered with bone like fingers
of burnt and blackened deadfall. My childhood imagination mixed this desolate scene with jutting
sporadic gray rock face, cracked by the heat of fires long since passed. My five bunkmates and I could not begin to understand why we were going to such a place.
Our Councilor had provided each of us with a large khaki knapsack. With his help and the aid of the two assigned C.I.T.s
(Councilor in training), we individually put our clothing for the three-day canoe trip loosely into these big packs. Once packed, we each slipped into our assigned
knapsack and headed
off. This was was going to easy we thought, as we ran laughing and jumping
with these virtually empty packs strapped across
our backs on our way to the outfitting place. Canoe tripping is going to be easy.
We were going to the outfitting building just past the massive structure that made up the main dining hall and then along the camp access road to the first
building on the left. The lake formed a outlet here where the water, went under
a little bridge and right up to a dock at the edge of the building. The councilor
and C.I.T.s dropped their packs at the edge of the entrance and told us to do
the same. As we waited the three of them
crossed the road to where all the tripping canoes were stacked resting on their
gunnels on “T” like posts off the ground. These canoes were special and were 17
feet long. The canoes that we paddled at the camp each day were 15-foot and 16-foot
canoes and were not suitable for canoe trips. The three of them individually
lifted and examined several canoes before making a choice. They helped each other lift them off the storage
posts and rested each canoe upright on the ground. Once completed each one then
rested their chosen individual canoe across their bent knees and then rocked
the canoe up and over their head, once balanced each carried their canoe over
to the outfitting building and placed them side by side next to the dock area.
The packs were made of greenish brown canvas material that smelled musty and a bit like old car oil. It was the waterproofing oil that had been applied
and reapplied throughout the years. Each pack had a large flap at the top with two straps sewn one on to each side of the lower edge. These connected into two corresponding belt-type buckles located on the lower half of the back of each packsack. Under
this large top flap were two smaller flaps that met in the middle and had leather
thongs attached to each. These were then tied together
before the larger flap was secured over top. This double
flap system helped
provide some flotation when and if required. There
were three broad thick leather straps configured below
the flaps on one side. These were positioned as two parallel supple straps, laid side by side, made to go over each shoulder. The third was attached at right angles to these and it was made differently, being quite wide in the
middle. The ends hooked
into 2 buckles sewn to each side of the pack near the top flaps. It was sort of like a double-sided belt. This strap went across
your forehead when wearing the pack. We found later that this head strap,
tump line, as it was called, really
helped when you were loaded down with pack of 50 pounds or better. You quickly
learned to apply
the pressure of the pack against the top of your head, using your hands and arms to pull downward on the straps. This motion
distributed the weight,
by applying pressure
along your spine. By repeating this action once in a while walking to take the strain off your shoulders, you were able to travel much further in relative comfort. It was actually
almost the same as
taking a rest.
Once inside the Outfitting building, our Councilor and the two CITs arranged
our six packs side by side in a straight single row along
the floor, just in front of a counter covered with assorted
food product. They then unpacked
our belongings and placed them on
the floor behind each of the assigned packs. Individually they then lined the inside face of each pack opposite
the straps with some of our clothing checking off the various food items on a paper list that lay on the counter. Next they began distributing the heavier objects such as pots, pans and bags of cutlery.
This was followed by canned
food products such as stew, beans and evaporated
milk into the bottom of each pack. Over these articles
went lighter items such as bags of sugar, powdered milk, orange juice mix and eggs, pancake
mixes, Kraft dinner and slab bacon in a
grey cloth drawstring bag. The last of the items to go in were their clothing, the two tents, toilet paper and the rest of our clothing. They
did their best to pack each one based on the size and perceived strength
of
each of us. We were responsible for carrying
all the supplies in our six packs, as the three men would be responsible for portaging the three cedar strip canoes.
We would be
out for only two nights. We had two tents, made out of a kind of stained white Egyptian cotton, one for the 6 of us and one for the three
adults. You learned quickly not to touch the inside
surface of these tents when sleeping
in the rain because
it caused them to leak. But of course we all learned
this lesson the hard way; we just had to verify through action what we had heard. This
was done by vigorously rubbing
the
area just above your cabin
mate's head, and then he retaliated and soon everyone in the tent was involved
and
soon all would be equally
soaked.
On the day of departure we
rose at the normal time. Under the supervision of our Councilor, we cleaned our individual areas of the took our early morning
swim in Wigwam bay and then returned to our cabin, made our beds, secured our belongings by
locking our
trunks and
duffle bags at the foot of our beds and made our way over to the dining
hall, caps and paddles
in hand ready for the adventure
ahead. The morning air was warm
even
though the sun was still low in the sky and filtered
through the thick foliage to overhead
and
to the east leaving a dappled
pattern of green above and in the brown earth around our feet. A light summer breeze
danced through the branches causing the leaves to flutter
sporadically. We passed in front of the log building on the left that housed
the general office, home of Chief (Taylor Statton), Dr.Tay (his son) and Gent Carol (the camp general manager). On our right, directly
across from the office was the wooden throne-like structure
that
had been home to Mark Robinson, the famous Park Ranger who had spent most of his adult life in these woods, he had also been actively involved
in the investigation of the death of Tom Thomson. It was said that Mark would sit in this wooden chair surrounded by
campers and spend hour upon hour spinning yarns of the bygone days of the park.
Breakfast always began with a singing of Grace accompanied by
the pounding of a piano amplified over the PA system. We all stood at our places and sang.
"Yesterday is now a memory
Once completed, the assembled group
immediately sat and indulged in luke warm scrambled eggs, icy cold under cooked bacon
and
toast piled in the center
of
each table. Each individual cabin and camp section
had their own tables and specific area with a Councilor seated at the table head. A guest such as a CIT usually
took the other end of the table. We, as campers, would sit on one of two long benches
on each side of the table. On this particular morning
we had the two CITs that were going on the canoe trip sitting
with us. One sat in the
chair opposite the Councilor and the other joined us on the bench. We had only met the two CITs once before, while picking and choosing canoes for
the trip.
Once breakfast and announcements were behind us, we made our way out to the front of the dining hall where we assembled to sing Oh Canada and watch the raising
of the Red Ensign. Once this formality was out of the way we made our way, paddles in hand, with our Councilor
and two C.I.T.s past the tuck shop, back to the outfitting building where the three canvas
canoes sat loaded and ready to go at the water's edge. Our canoes
were very distinctive, each was painted a distinctive bright orange colour
with a contrasting two-inch thick black stripe running end to end along the gunnels.
We each took our places as assigned in each canoe, two campers
and one adult. I had the bow position with one of the CITs. Soon, we were off the sandy beach, paddling furiously and under the small bridge that leads up the stone outcropping to the nurse's station, the tennis courts
and eventually to the riding
stables. In moments, we were in open water and heading
towards Mowatt point. The sun shone high in the southeast turning
the heavens and the lake ahead of us a kind of soft and pale blue. The touch of light morning breeze
felt wonderful against our faces and bare arms.It created only the slightest ripple
to the water's surface as our paddles
and canoes also cut their way across its surface. Puffy white clouds interspersed themselves haphazardly and high up into the heavens across
this spectrum, divided only by
the light green ribbon of tree line at the horizon
and lake edge. We could now clearly
see the totem pole in the distance that formed a permanent record
of the drowning and the life of Tom Thompson. His
spent body, overturned canoe, his
legs
tangled in fishing line, with a deep gash on his forehead had been found floating off this point. We eventually rounded the point
and headed to the north along the eastern edge of this upper arm of Canoe Lake.
To our left traveling in the same direction, was a group of American boy scouts in four shiny aluminum canoes that dazzled in the strong reflective light of the summer sun. It was painfully obvious that none had ever taken any kind of paddling lessons. Their canoes zigzagged
literally in most directions except
backward, as
their paddlers determinedly and frequently changed
sides and tried to correct
their erratic course. Our CITs and Councilor knew all the important paddling
strokes, such as the "J" stroke, and
therefore never had to change
side when paddling. We soon left the novices far behind into the distance, priding ourselves
on our expertise. We also only knelled in our canoes, legs spread outward, resting against
the lower side gunnels
and the ribs on the bottom of the canoe. This gave us a lower center of gravity
and greater stability
when paddling. We traveled
for some time along a wide channel in the river that soon ended near a
controlled waterfall coming from our right. To our left was a large wooden dock about twenty feet long and over 10 feet wide moored against
the bank. We pulled
alongside and the center
camper in each canoe jumped out and held the canoe steady against the dock. The C.I.T.s and Councilor
got out next and then began to unload our gear. We soon discovered that that packs, that we thought were so much fun to carry before, were now massive in size and really heavy. One by one, they helped
each of us into our straps and tumpline. They then supported the pack for a moment while we each one by one leaned forward balancing
the additional weight
over our small frames and then very gingerly headed off and up the well traveled trail to the new lake beyond.
Because of our diminutive size, we actually gave these large packs a perceived life of their own. It was an incredible picture
from behind when you were the last one in line. A mismatched
row of five large brown (three
to four foot high) packsacks each with spindly toothpick-like legs protruding beneath, bobbing
up, then down, staggering back, then forth, on, then off, and then back on the wooded trail
like toy ducks floating
in rough bath water. This rag tag group, following quickly
behind the three men carrying
the three upside-down bright orange canoes down the irregular pathway
of
the portage into the distance.
You learned quickly the hard way that did not dare sit down, for if you did you could almost
never get up again alone. If you tripped, or fell, you either lay there or you took of your pack off and sat on it until help came and an adult lifted back onto your feet. Everyone has taken a fall at one time or another; after all at the ripe old age of ten or eleven, the packs were now just about as big as we were. There was one way to get back up when you were alone. You first lay with your back on the pack close to a small sturdy tree and placed your arms through the two shoulder
straps. You made sure to push the tump strap to the side. Then, very slowly you rolled over onto your stomach. Once
in this position you would slowly work your way up onto your knees, then grabbing
the trunk of the tree and slowly
pulling yourself up. Picking up your paddle
at this point was usually a real challenge and could result
in you falling forward onto the ground.
Once the Councilor and C.I.T.s had finished portaging
the canoes, they usually walked back along the trail to look for stragglers or fallen campers. Soon, we were all sitting or lying sprawled across
our
pack sacks on the departure dock. This was Joe Lake and here there were motorboats tied up and several boats scattered across the lake. This was the site of the Joe Lake train station, the Algonquin
Hotel and the Joe Lake Portage Store. The portage
store itself was the outfitter associated with the hotel at the water's edge, even so it was
constructed out of cedar logs while the hotel itself was actually a multi storied stained dark wood frame building. We had already been to the Canoe lake Portage store by canoe as an outing
once before with our Councilor. He now asked us if we wanted to stock up on any treats at the portage
store before we moved on. I, in my wisdom, asked how many more portages we would have to take before we reached our campsite. He advised only one. I decided to wait until we got to the next portage to buy something. In my limited frame of reference world of Canoe Lake and now Joe Lake canoe travel, there was logically a portage
store situated on every portage
ready to meet each hungry camper's culinary needs!
Soon our canoes were reloaded, packs and campers in place and once again we were on our way. The light breeze now at out back seemed to give us greater speed. At this point headed east across Joe Lake, this then took us south into Little Joe and finally northeast across Baby Joe. Along this route, we periodically passed other trippers
in a wide assortment of canoes proudly brandishing their
affiliated colors and logos all heading toward Joe Lake and beyond. Here we also passed Arrowan
and Arrowan Pines one last bit of civilization as we now headed to Burnt Island Lake.
Baby Joe shoreline narrowed
as we approached the northeast end of the lake and our ears now picked up the distant
roar of rushing water. The water table of Burnt Island lake was considerably higher
than that of Baby Joe. We headed into an opening in the tree line at the water's edge,
just north of the tumbling
water at the bottom of the falls and rapids. This time, the person who sat in the bow of each canoe got out first, lowering the weight in the front of the canoe
enabling each of us to pull our individual canoe further
up onto the beach for additional steadiness. Then one by one we each sat facing the lake straddling each canoe, planting
our feet firmly on the ground and our hands locked on the gunnels in front to add further stability. Our cabin mates, C.I.T.s and Councilor
then exited each canoe by walking carefully
along the center keel and by bracing themselves using their paddles. Laying their respective paddle across the gunnels
and leaning forward onto this support as they walked forward accomplished this.
Soon we were again loaded down with packs and canoes and were off up the portage
trail that edged its way away from the falls and into the thick of the forest ahead. As we walked along the trail our heads were naturally inclined downward with the tumpline across our foreheads. This
created a line of sight only a few feet in any direction. For this reason the sounds
around us became more important. The twittering
and sweet songs of the huge number of species of birds native to Algonquin Park filled the air, complemented by the sporadic buzzing
of house flies, bees, horse flies, mosquitoes, dragon files and other flying insects that made the forest their home. As the trail moved closer to the falls, the sound of roaring
and rushing water would drown out all other sounds. The face of the portage trail was hard backed form years of campers and other adventurers tramping across
its surface. Part of the reason that we all kept our heads down was for balance and to watch were you were stepping. Being tripped
up by an exposed rock or root could send you sprawling.
Once across the portage
we once again took a break and I began to look for the portage store. When by Councilor
explained the situation
to me, advancing my worldliness
and disappointment, I finally
understood that Portages
were just trails between lakes and that Portage
stores were few and far between
and usually located
by the highway to outfit campers. With a supply of candy, I took my place in the bow of our canoe and the CIT pushed us off into a small swampy
pond like area. We had arrived at Burnt Island Lake.
As we paddled forward we approached what appeared to be a channel to the right. On the point at the left was a vacant campsite marked with wispy
and ragged cedars and pines
leaning out over the water's edge. We headed for that. The shoreline here had
been cleared away and trees removed and trimmed back. The shore area was hard packed earth and exposed rock dotted here and there with tufts of grass. Just beyond, now visible to the eye was a large lake probably
about 4 miles long, dotted with islands. About
a half a mile ahead on
the right hand shore appeared
to be debris and ruins of what were once docks and some sort of floating building.
The campsite was on a small island
that served as a closing point for the large bay next to the portage adjacent
the main lake. The
campsite covered most of this island. Near the back of
the island, the land mass narrowed
into a strip of submerged
land covered in deadfall and bull rushes. I guessed that at one time the water level was lower and the increase in level killed off these
trees many years ago. Mixed among the rushes and barkless tree trunks were charcoal stump like remnants
of
much larger older trees that must have been part of the namesake fire. At one time
the Lake was known as Island Lake.
Within an hour we had our tents up and our sleeping bags and belongings in place inside in our allocated
places. Outside the councilor and CITs had laid out the food neatly on the wooden picnic table provided by the park administration that had been covered with a
rubberized ground sheet. The fire had been laid in a
small circle of stones that formed a fire pit and it now spluttered and snapped into life, bringing a kettle of water to a boil that had been placed above suspended on a "Y" shaped piece of sturdy tree branch. The branch had been cut by one of the C.I.T.s and then soaked in the lake
since we arrived at the site, before burying its point into the hard-packed earth next to the fire pit. The smoke from the fire drifted lazily into the treetops overhead, its aroma filling the air with the scent of fresh cedar
and birch.
That evening
we were each given a metal plate which was about 8
inches in diameter. We had a dinner
of stew and mashed instant potatoes. The meal was quite satisfying, and the
orange crystals made a satisfying beverage.
Two
of the other Campers in our group did the dishes tonight. We were able to relax by the fire drinking
hot chocolate watching the fire crackle sending sparks mixed in the smoke into
the evening sky. The sky soon began to darken as the sun slipped below the tree
line behind the portage we came in on. On a canoe trip the campers shared the
same tent. The six of us, slept side by side in our sleeping bags across the
depth of the tent. We all had clothes for the 3 days of our trip and these we
rolled up serving as great pillows. The Councilor and C.I.T.s shared the second
tent. As soon as the sky darkened and filled with thousands of stars, we happily
went to bed, eager for the adventures planned for tomorrow. We were all soon
fast asleep filled with happy dreams.
Our
Councilor was now calling us all to the water’s edge. An outing had been planned for the day by canoe
into the western part of Burnt Island Lake.
The 3 canoes had been placed back into the water by the CITS and our
Councilor. Ahmek Canoes were, in fact, proper 17 ft cedar strip tripping style. They weighed over 100 lbs. apiece, painted
bright orange with a black stripe just under the gunnels. The canoes got to the
lake by being paddled by our group across 4 lakes and then carried across 3
portages on the shoulders of each of our guides. They now sat in the water once again sitting
side by side, with the councilor and C.I.T.s sitting across the stern of each,
one leg on each side, feet in the water, each wrapped in well-worn Greb
Kodiaks. This technique served to hold each canoe unmoving between your bent
knees while loading passengers from the rear. We now all piled into our designated places, 2
of us in each canoe, paddles in hand, ready for today’s adventure.
Our
Councilor had advised that we were going visit 2 places today. A Ranger’s Cabin
that had just burnt down last year and Camp Mimmesing. We were really quite
excited. I had the front position in our
canoe. I had already learned the basic
techniques for the paddler in the front position in a canoe. The special strokes
were the “bow cut” and the “cross bow cut”.
These were used when you needed a sharp turn left or right when entering
fast moving water into a mainstream. To execute the first, you leaned forward
with your paddle still held with your left hand on the top of the grip and your
right hand just above the blade and then placed the blade along the left side
of the canoe resting against its edge so the tip protruded down at right angles
below the keel in front of the canoe. As
the two stern people paddled hard forward the canoe would make sharp right
turn. The “cross bow cut” was done the
same way but on the opposite side of the front of the canoe. The result was a sharp left turn. The water
here was quite still and this sort of maneuver was not required. I was quite
proud of being awarded this lead position in our canoe.
We
now all sat quietly, kneeling just in front of our designated seats and
thwarts, with our paddles resting across the gunnels just in front of us ready
for the command to start paddling. One
by one the Councilor and each CIT each stood up still standing in the water and
lifted each canoe one by one in order up off the rocky shore. Resting their paddle across the gunnels for
balance, each placed one foot squarely on the ribs inside the canoe just above
the center keel in front of the rear seat and each in turn shoved their canoe
forward out into main lake stepping into the canoe at the same time. ‘Paddle” came the command.
We
now moved through the channel between the island and the south shore of the
lake. The water glistened in the bright morning sun. I watched calm surface of
the blue green water where my paddle entered, breaking the surface, causing it
to reflect into dozens of tiny silver dancing clusters of light so bright that
you had to look away.
Yesterday
when we arrived, we passed a dam adjacent this end of the portage entrance to
the lake. They must have changed the
water level at some point. I now noticed
a consistent amount of dead wood along all the shore edge below the thick tree
line that surrounded the lake. The
solid tree line started in again, unbroken, almost 6 feet up on the north shore
above the island. Just ahead, to the
right about a half mile, a small clearing broke the thickness of the trees once
again. Here I could see wildflowers, grasses and weeds across the clearing.
Almost directly in the center of the open space a large number charred large
cedar logs protruded at odd angles here and there in what appeared to be a
somewhat disorganized square pattern. In addition, the stone chimney still
stood for the fireplace, as well as a burnt bed frame and remains of a wood
stove and tin chimney. In front of the clearing at the shore edge still stood
an unused small dock, boards still in good shape, resting on a crib of stones
just above the lapping surface if the lake’s waters. A path lead through the
weed and grass field about 3 feet wide winding its way to the remains of the
cabin.
As
we paddled toward it you could make out more and more detail. It had been abandoned only for a couple of
years. Our counselor told us, it was
built in 1913 as a wilderness lodge for the very rich. They would arrive in their private rail cars
on the Grand Trunk Railway at the Cache Lake Hotel. From there they would begin
the 16 km stagecoach trip to Burnt Island Lake. The trial would have been a rough one, winding
its way around creeks, streams and small lakes.
All supplies, gas for boats and generators, food and material would have
been delivered the same way. The size of the facility certainly portrayed an
opulent lifestyle. The Grand Trunk ran
the facility for about 10 years as a hotel. They rented it to Dr. Henry Sharman in 1923 and 1924. Finally he bought it in 1925 after
renting the full facility for 2 years.
He then ran the facility until the lease expired in the 1950s as a
religious retreat and missionary school each summer.
We
finally reached the docks; they were still in good shape. We exited our canoes and collectively pulled
them up on the dock surface turning them over, placing paddles underneath along
with other superfluous materials until our return from our adventure.
Everyone
headed off in different directions each wanting to see something different
first, our group headed up the steps to the veranda and the beckoning open
double doors beyond, leading into the main lodge. I noticed that the windows where all broken
out including cross pieces leaving each a gaping hole for the elements to
permeate. We cautiously entered through
the main doors moving slowing taking everything in.
This
room, the lobby and reception area, ran across the entire front inside of the
structure. Here the varnished surfaces
of the pine log walls and floors reflected a bright yellow glow coming from the
morning sunlight cascading though the edges of some of the window
openings. The pine floors across the
front quarter of the room stood badly warped and stained from the elements,
unrestricted doing significant damage since that last retreat took place a few
years past. The furniture was still in
place in disarray for the most part in the room but vandalized and broken. The
floors were littered with flyers and brochures.
I reached down and picked up a brochure. The front page showed a male
water skier being pulled across the lake dressed in out of date bathing suit by
a 1940’s power boat. Other activities
were described in the brochure such as canoeing and sail boating and other
things to do at Mimmesing Lodge. It all
seemed sad and surreal as I stood there now visualizing in my mind’s eye, these
days gone by and trying to bring back to life these activities in what was now
clearly just the residue of all the bright lights and gaiety of what once
was. I now once again moved to my own
thoughts, as I walked slowing across the room toward the reception desk on the
left side of the back wall, visualizing the student clerks, and their happy
hotel guests deep in conversation. Mixed
images ran in my head, one of opulence in the time of the Grand Trunk guests
and then the more conservative religious guests enjoying a summer bible study
and retreat. I wondered if meals would
be the same, would they have water skied or just canoed and sailed. Would they
have liquor served to them by waiters or just an afternoon or evening tea? What were they like? Were they different than me?
Directly
ahead of where I stood was a wide natural cedar plank staircase with large hand
hewn stripped and vanished cedar rails on both sides leading up the guest rooms
above. I headed up the stairs to the
landing and a wider hallway that went behind the staircase. Above the staircase on both sides and the
back was another hand-hewn varnished cedar railing with smaller cedar uprights
spaced about 6 inches apart. Standing at the top of the stairs I found it
darker here, the light filtering only through any open or partially open
doorways to each of the guest rooms at the front of the building or on both
sides of the long hallway. Here again on
the floors stood the litter of several years of abandonment and neglect. I walked now to the first room on the right
closest to the stairs. A metal porcelain
faded “7” was screwed into the raised paneling of the upper center of the door. The door was partly open and rather than use
the porcelain white stained doorknob, I just pushed the door inward. My eyes first focused on the open window,
vandalized like everything else, the glass broken out along with the inside of
the frame. Faded yellow sheer curtains,
danced along the windows edge driven by the warm summer’s breezes. Moving to
the left of the window opening, a wooden double bedframe stood intact in place
complete with headboard stood against the corner of the room; the mattress
still on the bed rotting, springs protruding.
At the opposite end of the bed, a painted dresser stood with drawers in
disarray with contents spilling over or fallen on the floor below. A torn and
soiled carpet covered most of the floor littered with damaged pillows, torn
sheets, dirty towels, papers, and other debris.
On the right side of the window stood a sink with 2 taps on wooden frame
pipes running into the floor by the wall. Just beyond this closer to me,
leaning against the middle of the right wall, stood a large fabric chair
severely stained and weathered by the elements, one of its rear legs
missing. I turned and, one by one,
visited room after room, all were similar in set up, about half with only 1
twin bed, all about the same size.
I
now headed back down the stairs to the main lobby, back into the light. Again, my imagination taking over and trying
to visualize wives, sipping tea or whatever, sitting in one of the many broker
rockers that now lay scattered about, waiting for their husbands to come up the
hill to the veranda.
The
arrival would an event every day, the husband, beaming and smiling from ear to
ear, ready for cocktails and supper with the days’ reward of 3 or more huge
lake trout held high for all to envy.
Back
on the main floor, I now moved through a large doorway on the right side of the
reception desk that took me into the main dining room. Here were scattered chairs, tables, broken
plates and cutlery. It was a bit like
the Twilight Zone presented by Rod Sterling years later, it’s as if everyone
just got up from their tables and left.
I guess when the Park lease was canceled it was probably too expensive
to haul away a lot of used furniture by what could best be referred to as a
logging road. Still it seemed sad and a
waste, my young mind had trouble grasping.
To the right, on the wall directly opposite where we had entered, stood
a double doorway, the two doors were beaten and stained. Each had a circular
glass portal in the center near the top. We walked to the doors and pushed
against them. They readily opened inward and we now found ourselves standing in
the entrance to the hotel kitchen.
Shelves still held a few glasses, plated, linen, etc. The large wood burning cooking stoves were
still in place but connecting pieces of chimney pipe were missing. A double
doored, turn of the century oversized commercial ice box lay unceremoniously on
its side against the far log wall, it top open and its vacant ice cavity
exposed disintegrating and dirty. The
double steel sink and surrounding counters were still in place under the open
widow on the West wall. In the middle of the floor amid the debris, a kettle
lay dented on its side, mixed with old battered pots, pans, bits of rag and
toweling. 
The
old ice house stood with its double doors open abandoned but still filled with 3
or 4 feet of sawdust just across what used to be a driveway. It now stood
choked with weeds, wildflowers, tall grasses and saplings. Up to the left behind following the road out
stood the manager’s cabin. It was in perfect shape; it was obviously now being
maintained as a replacement park ranger cabin.
The roadbed to the back edge of the hotel site was clear of weeds, was
obviously well traveled. This smaller log cabin had all windows intact,
covered inside, and its front door solid and padlocked. We stayed away at the advice of our
Councilor. We walked back toward the hotel.
Over
toward the lake, just parallel to the hotel itself, stood 2 large cedar 2 story
log cabins.
Each
had windows and dormers running along the side nearest where we stood. The
first one stood with its front door almost facing the lake. The furthest one sat parallel to the lake so
we could see that it had a single window feature as well on the upper peak
above the veranda entrance.
We
made our way now across the open space to the first cabin, climbed the steps
onto the veranda and opened the front door.
We stood quietly, soaking in the grandeur that met us here.
All the rooms and sitting areas were
completely void of furniture, unlike the main hotel. Directly across from us
stood a massive natural stone fireplace that rose straight up though the 2-story
open interior. To our left and right on each side of the entrance door stood
individual staircases leading to the second-floor bedrooms. A walkway to the back of the building, with
cedar side railing, ran along each side above the center sitting area and
fireplace below. There were 4 bedrooms
on the main level, 2 on each side, situated behind the overhanging walkways on
each side. On entering the room, we
noticed hot and cold water taps on the sinks in the corner of the bedrooms. On
further inspection we found the hot water pipe ran inside the fireplace. Our Councilor explained that the hot fire in
the fireplace heated the water supply and the result was hot water in the
taps…We did not remember seeing any toilets anywhere.
It
was time to go. We headed down the bank now toward the dock. Just below us to the right of the large dock
area stood a weathered building made from wood slat siding and wood
frame. The roof was cedar shakes. It had collapsed sideways away from the dock
side and lay fairly flat.
There
was no way inside, but the doors were crushed open on the shore side of the
building. We gingerly walked along the shore side trying to see inside. About midway along in the center, the door
had come off its framework and now lay pinned beneath the bent and collapsed
framed doorway. I decided to crawl up onto the wood frame door. It moved and
cracked under my weight. In spite of my fears, I really wanted to see inside.
Laying on my stomach I moved slowly forward grabbing onto the raised cross
pieces as I went for stability and finally, could now see through the gap above
the door edge up into the main area inside.
I could not believe my eyes, it was amazing, the darkened space was
filled with crushed, bent canoes, sailboats, sails, and battered equipment.
Most now lay broken, forced against the floor, solidly wedged between the
collapsed roof, ceiling debris, fallen joists, the rack frames and the floor
below.
I
slowly edged myself back off the door and stood silently for a moment, taking
it all in. Such waste, I thought, the former owners had just locked up and
left. I guessed that based on the
isolation of the lodge and the cost of moving everything out, it was probably
all they could afford to do.
I
then turned back, looking up at the grand old lady, with her 2 large cabins off
to the right side. Here and there in all three buildings, bits of torn curtain
flapped in ithe window cavities as the warm soft summer breezes played in and
out of the empty buildings, It was as if she was waving goodbye. I raised my right arm and waved, then turned
and focused on regaining my position in the front of our canoe. Funny, not much
was said as we silently paddled away.
I
visited Camp Mimmesing once again, this time with my wife in 2012. We traveled
by Canoe and portage from Arowhan Pines Hotel on little Joe Lake. In my 66th
year, I could still portage a canoe by myself across my shoulders over the 2 portages…still
remembering all the old techniques…. Easily found on the south shore, behind a
campsite, the rubble remains of the foundation of the main building as well as
rusted galvanized water lines, other pieced of rusted metal, all laying among
the mature trees that now covered everything, and finally the 2 chimneys of the
2 gust cabins that I had visited so many years ago. But, that’s another story.
Written
by Gib Heggtveit (gib@gibandmary.com)
