A VISIT TO Crystal Palace begins with a paddle. Or, as the case may be, a brush with shoreline authorities. “Area patrolled by Black Lab Security Co.,” warns the sign affixed to a red pine at the boat launch. I’m admiring this bright metal placard, complete with a canine silhouette, when I realize my own stocky shadow has snuck off. Great. We haven’t yet slid our canoe into Ragged Lake, a secret-feeling spot in the Shield country south of Bancroft, Ont., and already we are making waves.
I find the trespasser on the deck of a nearby cottage, pestering the owner. “Not a problem,” he insists. My dog proceeds to sniff around the base of his barbecue, licking a few planks. Peering at us through a screen door, meanwhile, is the very beast we are supposed to fear—for her surveillance skills, perhaps even her shakedown abilities—although, of course, she’s not too fierce. We get off with more of a lick on the palm than a slap on the wrist and resume our short portage to the dock.
The lake, as seen on a map, is itself shaped like a dog, possibly a cougar. Let’s call it a wolf—a wolf running full-tilt, downhill, mouth ajar. We are launching from a hackle on its neck. Crystal Palace, as neighbours have playfully dubbed our destination, would be at the tip of a forepaw—on a small bay that tapers like an arrowhead. Owner Paul Webster has
