Trip Report - Little Tupper Lake Multi-family Canoe Camper

Little Tupper Lake, 7/24-28/04

OCI – Mike McCrea, Diane Hollingsworth, Tyler McCrea, Cooper McCrea
OC2 – Scott Hollingsworth/Krista Hollingsworth, Jeanne Gilbert/Shar
Hollingsworth
K1 – Laura Hollingsworth

Although we hadn't intended to return to canoe camp on Little Tupper
this year, there we were. Dιjΰ vu all over again.

Brother-in-Law Scott and family – Jeanne and daughters Laura, Shar and
Krista – planned to borrow our trailer and some boats for an
experimental (hopefully inaugural) family canoe camper, and the lure
of joining them was too hard to resist. So Saturday evening found us
packing gear and racking seven boats for a multi-family trip to Little
Tupper Lake.

The drive up was uneventful, though a bit longer than our usual 8-hour
trek from the Mason-Dixon line to the Adirondacks. Towing the trailer
accounted for some portion of this additional time, but having raised
only male children I failed to appreciate the frequency of bathroom
breaks and the importance of a well-maintained rest room to a
traveling party composed of four women (and one long-outnumbered man).

This drive up was a modern remake of the Goldilocks story; this time
entitled Goldilocks and the Three Toilets. This one was too dirty.
This one was too smelly. And of course when four women seeking
micturitation facilities walk into a cinderblock tavern where the
daily lunch special is a beer and a lap dance the chances of
forthcoming bladder relief are dimmer than the lighting.

Nine hours and many rest stops later we arrive at the Little Tupper
put in to find Joe Lilydipper and the lovely Mrs. Lilydipper waiting
to greet us. As Joe noted elsewhere we had "nine in the party, with
gear for 12 and food for 15". I should clarify; while Diane, the boys
and I are famous for toting along creature comforts – two tents, four
chairs, an inflatable raft, a parawing and poles, a roll-a-table –
Diane is a masterful food planner, counting and calculating slices of
bread and calculating quantities of oatmeal, slices of luncheon meat,
soups and noodle packs. Rarely do we come out with more than an
insurance odds & ends meal remaining, and usually an odd odds & ends
meal at that.

The Gilbert/Hollingsworth (H/G) clan however believes in eating well.
Heartily. And often. They had everything but a live suckling
pig…although they did have a stuffed Miss Piggy doll which I took to
be some kind of indicative camp mascot. Fruit was packed in pecks like
pickled peppers. Fortunately consuming all that fruit keeps them on
the run, and all that running keeps them skinny.

Take for example Tuesday's breakfast at two different sites. The boys
had oatmeal and juice, Diane and I grits and coffee. Meanwhile over at
the Bistro H/G the menu consisted of assorted fruit, a dozen eggs, a
pound of bacon, an entire loaf of bread with jelly, a cantaloupe,
juice, tea and coffee. (H/G – breakfast at your place next time?)

And these people are slender I tell you. It's a mystery.

As the Lilydipper departed we finished hauling our gear and provender
down to the launch and Bruce Coons, the Little Tupper Ranger, strolled
over for the usual pre-launch interrogatory. Bruce was carrying a loon
egg he had found submerged in the lake and Scott mentioned that he had
never heard a loon. As if on cue a loon call resounded from the lake
behind him. A good omen, and of course the first of many loons seen
and heard throughout the trip, not to mention eagles, osprey and an
otter at play in the cove behind our camp at Rocky Point (site #6, a
fine site that loses points only for a lack of landing ease and boat
storage area).

A word about site selection: Our intention was to find two "Grade B"
or better sites within easy paddling range of each other, so that the
H/G contingent was within easy visiting distance and visa versa. Our
best choices for this arrangement would be sites 3 and 6, 6 and 7, and
10-12. We could hardly have done better than the sites we selected,
H/G on "Osprey View" (site #3) and our camp at Rocky Point.

Something new at Little Tupper; site #3 now has a thunderbox, as do
island sites 18 and 22. Tyler, in a moment of like-father, like-son
deviosity had tried to convince the H/G clan to select the Chimney
Point site (#7), since "it has an outhouse", neglecting to mention
that the outhouse is a remnant of the Whitney family days and is
filled to a depth of several feet with 30 years worth of porcupine
scat. T'any rate the H/G clan had at last found a bathroom to their
liking, complete with scenic view and fresh pine scent.

Early to bed (we had arisen before sunrise) and early to rise, Monday
dawned fair and calm, the placid lake beckoning an exploratory day
paddle. We dawdled in camp a bit, the boys started a morning fire
while Diane and I savored a second cup of coffee (one thing we splurge
on while camping is coffee; at home the usual drek of Maxwell House or
Folgers will suffice, but camping calls for something better than the
daily grind).

Watching my sons go through the familiar routine of camplife I came
across this line in Calvin Rutstrum's The Wilderness Life: "Wilderness
as a way of life assumed early is obviously the best means to a
desired end". Right on Calvin. I'm reminded of Peter Jay's sentiment
"Spend as much time as possible on mountains, in small boats, or
otherwise out in the weather; if you never get wet, cold, exhausted or
scared, you won't properly appreciate being dry, warm, rested and
safe". Right on Jay.

Post dawdle and java we canoed over to Osprey View to join the H/G's
in a day paddle up the lake, stopping on the sandy beach at Picnic
Point to swim, practice T-rescue capsize recoveries and swap boats so
that everyone had an opportunity to paddle solo. Continuing on from
Picnic Point we stopped at sites 10, 11 and 12 (Bocce Greens, Little
Haven and Big Haven), three more of the best sites on the lake,
amazingly all empty, before turning about.

Back acamp the lengthy swim-fest and raft abuse sessions resumed (the
trip record was five people straddling the tubes of a 2-person raft)
while Jeanne, Laura and Krista returned to Osprey View (perhaps to use
the pine-scented commode). We soon espied them swimming from a rocky
point on their island opposite our site. Saw them and then heard them,
as riotous laughter erupted from their site. A joyous noise, we
thought, not knowing this to be their hysterical response to Krista
finding a leech attached to her toe.

Although I had described the longitudinal flick technique for leech
removal the H/G clan decided to amuse themselves first by tormenting
the poor creature, first poking it, then prodding it, then covering it
with soap and shaving it with a safety razor. No doubt refreshed and
reinvigorated from this spa treatment the leech at last relinquished
its grip, just before the girls moved on to the little known leech
removal technique of applying rejuvenating cucumber slices to the
proboscis.

For the record Krista and Tyler ended up tied for the leech record
with two apiece. Next trip is the tie breaker.

As dusk approached we joined together for a group dinner and evening
of games. Laura and Cooper staged a miraculous come from behind
victory in all-terrain bocce and the H/G ladies team proved to be an
utter failure at charades, not to mention Christian upbringing, as
they were stumped by a three word book title after narrowing it down
to "The ____ Testament", shouting out guesses of "The First
Testament", "The Final Testament", The Last Testament", "The Second
Testament" and "The Best Testament". Little wonder Scott couldn't get
elected to the school board, raising that pack of heathen children.

Our paddle back to Rocky Point was made in full dark, under overcast
skies, the first time my entire family has been out for a night
paddle. All in solo boats, and solo canoes at that. On our various
trips back and forth between campsites we found that our hull speeds
were closely matched and that we could easily paddle four abreast, the
charge of the open boat brigade. The H/G clan remarked that watching
us approach was reminiscent of the paddling scene in the Lord of the
Rings film. Perhaps it was my furry Hobbit toes, but it kinda felt
that way to me too.

Thursday came, as the previous day's skywatching anticipated, rainy
and drizzly, meaning breakfast was an even more leisurely affair,
sipping coffee, more coffee, reading and writing under the parawing
before paddling over to the H/G site to stir interest in a damp day
paddle.

Scott and Jeanne elected to paddle up the outlet stream from Otter
Pond, while Diane and the kids went for a swim, leeches and rain be
damned. One of many favorable things about camping with the H/G's -
their spirits are not diminished by rain, or leeches, or wet tents or
raingear that consists of thin plastic ponchos from the Maid of the
Mist tour boat. Or, more accurately, from the trash receptacles at the
Maid of the Mist dock.

What they lack in high tech gear they make up for in heart and spirit,
and I'll take that over good gear and a bad attitude any day. They're
game.

Our day paddle up Otter Stream was another learning experience, as
Scott and I allowed Jeanne to take the lead and so attract the larger
quantity of deer flies, as she alternately paddled a few strokes and
then paused to flail both hands about her head. Unfortunately, once
this lesson has been learned it is time to find another unsuspecting
victim, er, lead boater for fly-infested small stream work. Not to
indulge in any sadistic tendencies you understand, but just in the
interest of imparting lessons in wilderness travel technique. Jeanne –
would you take the lead again through deer fly hell? See, a valuable
and memorable lesson learned. Thank me later.

Our route out of Otter Stream took us to investigate site #5 (Mal
Lodgement), possibly the most poorly situated site on the lake,
although it does offer a nice raspberry crop, or did before the
Fruitarian H/G progenitors descended. Site 5 does offer easy road
access to the Red Trail (fire road) for folks who want to stretch some
non-paddling muscles.

Departing Mal Lodgement we found a canoe beached on the no-access
osprey nesting island. Not just any canoe, but Cooper's Tupelo (my bad
for having removed the painters when tying it to the trailer). Cooper,
next shop day we'll outfit your Tupelo with proper bow and stern
painters and bungies.

We returned to our campsite just as the rain relented for the evening,
permitting us to enjoy supper around an evening fire at Rocky Point.
And the rain continued to cooperatively postpone on paddle-out day the
following morning, allowing us to pack up and canoe out on a calm,
rain-free lake. Just as we finished packing and launching our loaded
boats from Rocky Point we espied the H/G crew doing the same from
Osprey View. Good folks, good companions, good timing.

Much like the fortuitous weather we enjoyed during the brother-in-laws
trip to Assateague, where the wind was always at our backs, I fear the
four days of calm water may have imparted a misconception to the H/G
clan about the not-always benign nature of Little Tupper. I don't
believe we have ever camped Little Tupper without at least one day of
whitecaps. If Scott is the common denominator in fair-wind paddling I
think our next trip should include a traverse of Chesuncook at the end
of a W. Branch Penobscot trip. Lets talk about it.

Back at the launch we were packed and racked in short order; with nine
folks carrying gear and a portage cart handy the load out was quick
and easy. And of course the load had been reduced by several grocery
cart's worth of H/G consumables.

Our return trips from Little Tupper feature the now-traditional
meeting with Mad Mike at Gilligans Island for ice cream and canoe
kibitz. We gave Mike a call and he was waiting for us at Gilligans to
talk boats and paddling and trailers and, generous fellow, bestow upon
me a few choice pieces of northern ash and African mahogany. And so we
began and ended our Little Tupper trip meeting with paddler friends
from afar. Mike – next time we'll have to stop at the shop. And/or,
someday at least, meet on the water.

The ride south again took nine hours, this time featuring a hundred
miles of torrential downpour, numerous restroom inspections (some as
little as 10 miles apart), and a stop near home to pick up five
pizzas, figuring that the H/G's must be running on empty by now. I can
only imagine the length of that trip if there were fruit stands along
the route.

I'm hoping that another companionable family has been turned on to
canoe camping; the H/G clan are naturals. And I'm looking forward to
reading their trip report.