My day started with a toad and ended with frogs. I’m not saying it means anything, but it’s an odd coincidence, don’t you think?

Right out of Lane Cove campground, after crossing the plank bridge and just as I was starting the climb up the first ridge, a toad as big and fat as my fist just barely managed to avoid getting squished under my boot, jumping out of the middle of the trail into the leaf litter off to one side at the last moment. He had been trying to catch the first warm rays of the rising sun and along I came to interrupt his morning. Didn’t look very happy about the situation, either. It could have been worse, Mr. Toad!

My goal for the second day was to reach West Chickenbone Lake campground. From Lane Cove, that’s a hike of 12.7 miles. Spoiler alert: even on a good day, without a 40-pound backpack, that might be way too much for me.

It took me an hour and a half to make the climb from Lane Cove to the top of the Greenstone Ridge Trail, which filled me with confidence. It took an hour and forty-five minutes for me to hike from the top of the ridge down to Lane Cove the day before, so it seemed like I was doing great, but I also knew going down a steep hill is usually harder than climbing up.

I stopped for a snack and some water, and before saddling up to continue the hike I took off my shirt because it was already getting warm. I think I mentioned already that I didn’t have any sunscreen. That’s not entirely true. The button-down long-sleeved shirt I was wearing was made to block UV rays. It was also made of a material weaved to breathe so well that it was cool even under a relentless sun. I knew this. That’s why I bought it. But on this particular day I must have left my dumb switch ON instead of OFF. It’s the only explanation I can think of for taking off my long-sleeved shirt, which would have prevented the sunburned arms I had at end of the day, and walking along the mostly treeless ridge in a t-shirt with no sunblocking qualities whatsoever. Dumb.

Two more hours of hiking got me to the top of Mount Ojibwa. This is where everyone takes a break to climb the firespotter’s tower and take photos of the island, so that’s what I did. The photo above is looking north — Lane Cove is back there somewhere, 4.7 miles away. I stayed for 15 minutes to eat a light snack and drink plenty of water, then got back into the saddle and headed out again.

The hike to Mount Ojibway to East Chickenbone Lake was 5.7 miles. West Chickenbone was another 1.6 miles beyond that. I can hike a mile in thirty minutes if I don’t stop, but I was stopping a lot, so this was going to be a long hike. Every shady spot I could find, not that I could find too many, I paused for a few minutes at least, grabbed a water bottle out of my pack, and eagerly swallowed a few gulps. I was drinking so much water that I started to worry the two liters I carry might not be enough. (It was enough. This story isn’t going to end with me licking the last few drops out of my water bottle.)

I had been telling myself that if going all the way to West Chickenbone ever seemed like it was too far, I could always fall back on camping at East Chickenbone instead. Then I met a couple who said they were coming from an overnight stay at East Chickenbone and they were very unimpressed by it. That’s probably why, when I got to the junction where I could have turned to East Chickenbone, I decided to press on to West Chickenbone instead.

And almost immediately regretted my decision. After a short walk down the trail, maybe five or ten minutes, I came to a marsh where the beavers must have been at work, because the bridge across it was flooded out. The only way to cross was by walking along a fallen tree that other hikers had obviously been using, but it was so narrow that I had serious doubts I would be able to cross on it. Still, if others had crossed, then maybe I could, too.

I got halfway across it taking baby steps before I lost my balance and my backpack tried to pull me backwards into the water, which was three or four feet deep at that point. Only dumb luck kept me from getting wet. I windmilled my arms, reached out with my trekking pole and stabbed what was left of the plank bridge. It was steady enough to support the fraction of my weight on the trekking pole, and I baby-stepped the rest of the way across.

West Chickenbone has six camp sites but only two of them are any good, in my opinion. Site # 4 is the best site, right on the trail but also right on the edge of the lake. Unfortunately it was occupied when I got there. Site # 1 was the next best because it had plenty of shade and easy access to the lake. First thing I did when I got there was string up my hammock, hung the rain fly over it so the shade was absolute, then pried my boots off my aching feet, flopped down across the hammock and had a well-deserved nap.

There were about a million billion frogs having an orgy in Chickenbone Lake and screaming about it the whole time. They were at it all day and all night. I would say I’ve never heard anything like it, but in fact it sounded very much like the noise I hear every second of every day. I have tinnitus, so I was used to hearing noise like this all the time. I was a bit worried at first it might keep me up at night but I hardly noticed it after a while. I’m not saying it was soothing, I’m just saying I have lots of practice ignoring this kind of noise.

Read about Day Three!