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In the Heart of Quetico

by Debra Rosin

230 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-2437; ISBN 1-4120-1959-1; US$21.50, C$24.95, EUR17.50, £12.50

Ever dreamed of spending a summer canoeing in Quetico? Dreams can come true if you're willing to volunteer as a canoe ranger. Debra Rosin describes her adventures as a volunteer canoe ranger in Quetico during the summer of 2001.

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About the Book      About the Author      Sample Excerpts      Catalogue Info

About the Book Attacked by mosquitoes on Black Robe Portage Paddling upstream on the mighty Maligne River Clearing fallen trees on the 1000 meter Eat'em Up Portage Reading poignant letters from the olive barrel found in the heart of Quetico Chased off French Lake by a lightening storm These are some of the adventures Debra Rosin experienced as a volunteer canoe ranger in Quetico during the summer of 2001. In her book, In the Heart of Quetico, Debra shares her experiences with us. She also discovers the reason why people are drawn back to Quetico. Whether it is listening to the haunting but beautiful call of a loon as it pierces the evening silence, or paddling around a bend in the river and coming face-to-face with a moose quietly feeding in the marshy waters, Quetico holds a special place in the heart of many of its visitors who have the opportunity to experience a little bit of wilderness.

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About the Author Debra was born in Beausejour, Manitoba. In 1994 she moved to The Pas, Manitoba to teach at Keewatin Community College. It was in northern Manitoba where Debra's love for the outdoors grew and where she was first introduced to the canoe. Since then Debra has paddled many lakes and rivers in Manitoba and northwestern Ontario.

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Sample Excerpts

Excerpt from:

Tuesday, July 24th
'Who says you can't camp on a portage trail?'

"You could probably set your tent up here," Martin suggested. We were looking at the only six-foot level spot on the portage trail, with no rocks or tree roots to protrude into my back. He added, "And I'll bushwhack a spot over here for my tent."

We went to work setting up our tents. Just outside my tent door, I had a young six-foot Maple tree and a small Aralia plant. Martin took the pork chops out of his personal pack and walked past me to where we would be cooking. As he passed, I noticed a strong smell that concerned me. He had purchased the pork chops yesterday at Foodland, but they hadn't been frozen so they had been sitting in his pack at room temperature for almost two days. Another thought occurred to me. If I could smell the pork chops, what about the bear? After all, they had a keen sense of smell.

"Are those pork chops still good?" I asked. "They have a strong smell."

"I'll check," Martin said.

After he left the smell lingered, causing me to think maybe it wasn't the meat. It was possible that an animal had died near my tent site.

Martin returned, "There's a bit of a stench to them."

"So they don't just smell, there's a stench to them," I said. "That doesn't sound good."

At this point we hadn't even cut open the plastic wrapped around them. Once we did though, the stench escaped and we both backed away from the pork chops.

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Excerpt from:

Tuesday, July 31st
'The Storm that Blew us Home'

I was watching the storm from my tent when suddenly the front of my tent began to lift up. Oh right! I had gotten lazy last night and hadn't pegged my tent down. Now I stretched my arms out across the floor of the tent and held it down against the fury of the wind. It was a struggle and my tent did move a bit, causing my vestibule to shift and expose my boots to the pouring rain. Meanwhile, I hadn't closed the zipper of my door completely. It was slightly open at the bottom and water was running down the front of the door and into my tent so I quickly zipped the door closed, still needing both hands to hold the floor of my tent down. The puddle outside my front door was growing larger and turning into a small lake. Would the water come under my tent?

While all this was happening, I realized there was an advantage to not having a complete fly on my tent. At least I could watch the storm. Martin, on the other hand, had a complete fly and couldn't see a thing, just like an ostrich with his head in the sand.

This storm lasted longer and it was almost 10:00 A.M. before it finally eased up and I was able to step out of my tent. The rain was still lightly falling, so I wore my gortex jacket as I walked down to the beach. At the spot where we had left our canoe pulled up on the beach close to the trees, I could only see two paddles. Where was the canoe? I quickly looked to the south and was relieved to find our canoe resting on some shrubs and sand dunes, forty feet from its original position. The marks in the sand told the story of where the canoe had rolled over and over again until it reached its final resting place. Fortunately, there was no damage.

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Excerpt from:

Friday, July 13th
'In the Heart of Quetico'

One letter dated June 1984 was unsigned, but explained the history of the olive barrel:

'At least 20 years ago a tradition was established by unknown canoeists at Delahey Lake. Access requires some effort and here travelers experienced wilderness. To share their appreciation (or distaste for the portages) they began to leave messages in a jar beside a tree at this campsite. Notes accumulated until in 1974 it took almost an hour to read them all. Word spread and sometime in late 1983 the jar disappeared. By 1984 disappointment led to the re-establishment of the tradition by former visitors. The Quetico archives at French Lake have donated messages from their Museum Visitor's book to help save this special tradition in this special year - the 75th anniversary of the establishment of the Quetico Forest Reserve.'

There were poems, birthday wishes, and love letters written between a husband and wife who both used to work for Quetico on the Portage Crew. And then there was a letter I found quite humorous, dated September 16, 1997:

'I am out here with my husband. We were looking for a campsite, he docked the canoe in the back of the island and I came up here to check it out. I checked it out and my husband asked, "What was it like?" My reply, "The place is a pit! There's a keg in some rocks, chew in the fire pit, and a knife and a pen on the ground. I can't believe the slobs out here. But you go check it out." He did and told me the 'keg' was the infamous jar of notes and based on that, and the fact that we were tired, wet and crabby, we decided to camp here. We have read the notes and enjoyed them immensely......'

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Excerpt from:

Saturday, June 9th
'Observing the Beauty of Nature'

I awoke to another beautiful day - sunshine, blue skies, and no breeze in the morning. I went for a walk to the pavilion and stopped for a few minutes at the sandy beach by the Picnic Shelter. The water was calm and as I stood there, a school of minnows caught my attention. They seemed to be in a feeding frenzy, about ten feet from shore. They were jumping out of the shallow water and I could see their silver bodies sparkle when the sunlight glistened on them. The call of a loon drew my attention away from shore and further out in the lake. Two loons were floating peacefully and then seemed to dive in unison as they looked for food. I heard the honking of geese overhead and searched the clear sky until my eyes rested on three geese flying north. And then, in the distance, was the sound of an approaching floatplane, as it lifted off from Eva Lake (just outside the park boundary) and headed south, flying directly above me on its way to transport another group of people into the depths of the Quetico wilderness.

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Catalogue Information

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