At the end of the point stood the Blockhouse. Hidden from the water by a blanket of trees, it fell into a deep slumber while it waited for ships to appear on the horizon. Soon it would be dark but for now the sun came eye-to-eye with the garrison’s stone face.
"After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains."
As the canoe approached the shore, the bottom of the lake gently brushed against the bottom of the bow. We pulled the canoe onto the bank, flipped it over our shoulders, and began marching through the woods. This was the last portage on our journey to a lake that has never seen roads or motorboats.