We faced only one portage that day, but it was a long one, almost three miles. Which was a great deal, considering that we had to walk the route three times, once with the first load, then make our way back to pick up a second pile, and carry all that down the trail again. The whole trip would come to a tough nine miles. We were well into the routine, everyone strapped on his or her pack with a moderate amount of efficiency, excepting Rachel who still ignored anything heavier than her own day pack and water bottle. Craig carried the lunch barrel but he didn’t have it on him when we finally reached the trial’s end. “A little more than half way back, there’s a fabulous waterfall and swimming hole. I suggest we stop there for lunch and a bit of a rest before getting the canoes and the last of the stuff.” So down the path we trotted. Like an overworked trail pony on the way back to the barn, my steps were lightened considerably by the prospect of lunch at the end. The promised waterfall was only about a hundred yards off the main path, but not marked, so passers-by would be unlikely to find it unless they knew it was there.
