- On the way down, Isha and I decide to forgo the International Meeting Place in Eganville so as not to taint the sweet memory of last year’s visit (or because 3PM is too early for dinner). Instead, we stop at a Mr. Sub in Barry’s Bay. While it doesn’t have all the local flavour of the IMP, we take a mean sort of enjoyment from two sashes nailed up on the wall: one for some local beauty pageant (Miss Snow Countess or Miss Cherry Jubilee or something), and the other which reads simply, “Mrs. Mr. Sub.” Awwwwww.
- Later that night, Dennis and Lorraine arrive with their new(ish) black lab, Farley, in tow. Jorge doles out bag after bag of jerky, which we’d preordered off him through his top secret jerky connection. Between the lot of us, we have seven pounds of the stuff. This is not an exaggeration.
- Nat and Tien arrive early the next morning. There’s hugs all around, and I jokingly embrace Tien. An unspoken sexual tension continues between us for the remainder of the trip.
- On the paddle out, due to lackadaisical lotion application, both Mrs. Jorge and I end up with pretty bad burns. Mine runs in a strip from my knee down to my ankle. Mrs J's ruins her otherwise flawless décolletage.
- I creeped even myself out with that last one.
- Brad and Phung arrive late that night. In addition to the jagermeister, rums and vodkas of the many flavour, lychee liquor, and some mystery booze that Isha brought back from Tokyo, Brad throws Newfie Screech into the mix. Capping the night off with screech leads me to an interesting revelation…
- …that I’m becoming just like my dad when it comes to drinking. Dad will never admit he’s hung over. “I’m just tired, b’y. I feel some tired this morning.” The second morning I wake up with an awful headache, which I attribute to: sleeping on the ground, the paddling from the day before, not having showered, global warming—everything except, you know, an actual hangover.
- On the second night, we sit around the fire and tell stories based on questions like, “Who was your biggest unrequited crush?” or “Have you ever had a brush with Celebrity?” Out of this storytelling session comes the revelation that Isha was a teenage bad apple (knife fights and chicky-races every weekend), and that one of Lorraine’s old friends gave oral pleasure to a member of the Funky Bunch (see also: Marky-Mark and The)
- By the third day of tromping along in the woods, I accrue no less than seven billion tiny cuts all over my body.
- The only thing more numerous than the cuts and scrapes on my body, is the number of games of euchre Natalie
forcedasked me to play
- Rather than wreck our good knives all over again by throwing them at stuff, I bring actual throwing knives this year. We attain reasonable accuracy hitting a few dead logs we’ve lined up. I also lose all but one of the knives.
- Somewhere in Algonquin Park, well armed chipmunks are plotting their revenge.
- Along with the traditional Island Idol, Jorge and I carve a spear. Later on, out in the water, we enact a scene where Jorge as mighty hunter spears Dave as tubby manatee. The pictures are a frigging riot, but I’ve official disallowed their being posted. Jorge hates me for this. However, my physical resemblance to said tubby manatee is way too close for me to unleash these pictures to the world. Those of you who all hot and bothered for topless Dave pics can find satisfaction here.
- On the paddle back, there’s a headwind like you wouldn’t believe. While there aren’t many whitecaps, the water splashes over the canoe a few times, and there’s one pretty bad tipping scare. We all manage to make it back okay, but it’s totally exhausting. Also, it almost makes up for the prior month of physical inactivity on my part.
That’s all, I think. It has been a week, mind you, and I’ve only just now gotten over the DTs. More detail and analysis of the trip can be found here, and maybe here.
Lastly, if you’d like to know what Sarah was up to, there’s a frigging hilarious recap over on Beth’s site. Honest to God, it was the longest post I've ever read that I never wanted to stop.