I awoke to a gray day. There was good news however. No sign of bears; my food and gear were intact. It was in the low 30's; my water bottle had ice. The trend of the barometer was down and as I paddled the short distance to the first portage up the Phoebe River the wind shifted to the southwest--the beginning of a warming trend I thought.Two hours later I was at Hazel Lake. The trip up the Phoebe R. was very beautiful. I ascended through bogs, low hills, rock slab landings on some of the 5 portages and the winding river itself. I liked the low hills around the lake. Here and there were a few patches of budding trees. But as I near the opposite shore, I realized that the portage would go over one of the low hills. It was a good climbup at least 60' in about 100 r. I was relieved that there were no more portages for 2 ½ to 3 miles. The wind had increased but I only rarely had to paddle into it. The folks camped in the northernmost site on Phoebe Lake were hunkered down. It was close to mid-day and there was no sign of life. It was still cold and the wind was coming all the way up the lake to their camp.I enjoyed the cascading water along side the trail up to Grace Lake. At the exit from Grace awaited the long 285 r. portage. My rule of thumb is that I can carry all my gear and canoe at a pace of about 10 r. per minute. So this meant an almost half hour carry. The trail was mercifully flat but muddy. I was able to do the whole trail without stopping but I was wiped at the end and rested for a bit. I pushed on to Grace and encountered another blow-down on the portage into Alton Lake. There had been several other blow-downs--so many that I lost count.Now the southwest wind worked to my advantage. It blew me up the lake to the portage into Sawbill Lake. I need to have a way of using my front spray skirt as a sail. I could have really made time with no paddling. The portage into Sawbill was the best I had ever seen. It was wide, straight, flat, downhill and lined with evergreens. It looked like a tunnel. And there was light at the end. You could see the end even before you started out.The same wind blew me up Sawbill to the 100 r. portage to Smoke Lake. Sawbill is a busy entry point; but I didn't see anyone. But I did appreciate the nice wooden footbridge that crossed the boggy ground into Smoke Lake. The advantage of being near a busy place is that the portages are well maintained. I have waded through similar muskeg in more remote areas. As I headed toward the easternmost camp on Smoke, the wind began to shift. By the time I landed it was coming out of the north and the barometric trend was up. The wind increased, the temperature dropped and I knew I was in for a cold night. I called my mother again and we repeated our previous conversation. "Well, Shipp, where in the world are you?""I'm at Smoke Lake, Mom."There was a pause and then she said, "We're going to have to look that up."It was really getting cold and foam was getting thrown up on the rocks at the camp. I had a quick and meager supper and climbed into my sleeping bag to read about how the Confederate soldiers were barefoot and starving for the last part of the war. I still felt cold but couldn't complain.