In the summer of 1995 a friend and I were staying at a lodge in North
Ontario (just like the CSNY ditty).
We were told of an old tradition where in one takes a map of the
local land, picks a lake, of which there are literally hundreds,
leaves at sunrise, and attempts to find that lake and canoe it by
sundown of the same day.
We set out early, avoiding the black bears at the dump, and making
fun of moose tracks that looked like genitalia, eating blackberries…
After hours of four wheeling both on and off mining roads, bush
whacking through briars, and assembling bridges made from mattresses
and discarded bookshelves, we found our oasis.
It was a small puddle of a pond-like lake surrounded by a perimeter
of 50 yards of dense brush and aspens. We were exhausted and pissed. We took a break beside an earthen dam before making the descent down the hill to the water.
While sitting quietly, staring off into nothingness, we heard a
“SLAP!!!!” come from just over our shoulders. We turned to see a
beaver moving across the back flow of the small pool formed by the dam.
As soon as we turned and glimpsed it’s oily head, it dipped beneath
the surface and entered its lodge.
Thanks Greg for submitting our first international sighting!