It's been a while since I've posted on this blog. But not because I haven't been doing things, quite the opposite. Over the last year and a bit I've paddled some big water, including the hardest river I may ever run, climbed some big walls and generally gotten myself out there.
Just this week I listened to an episode of a show called "The Dirtbag Diaries" entitled "Moms have it hardest." It's caused me to pause and consider something I may never fully appreciate.
Those who know me know that I love the outdoors. I love silent, self propelled adventures in the wilderness. I love to do things that are hard, things that, while the risk has been mitigated to a manageable level, still scare me a bit. I believe that true adventure starts when the outcome is no longer certain. I don't mean doubting living through the adventure, I don't have a death wish, I just mean that you're into something that you don't know how it will evolve or terminate. For adventure to exist there has to be a possibility of things not going according to plan, a possibility that things could get uncomfortable or maybe even downright miserable. I love the uncertainty that tugs on my brain halfway through a tough climb, or above a new and tricky looking rapid. Will I fall or send the climb? Will I be sitting upright in my boat after the run or will I take a swim? I thrive on challenges like this, but not all of my loved ones share my view on adventure. My sister once called me and logically laid out why it was absolutely crazy to undertake a 320 kilometer solo paddle on a whitewater river to the Arctic Ocean that I was about to embark on. My mom, while certainly concerned before these trips, doesn't discourage me from going but rather shows her concern by making up first aid kits and making sure that I know she's praying for safety. My wife, while very supportive of my pursuits, says sometimes she has to avoid thinking of the worst. But like an elephant in a living room, the reality looms... there's a chance that I might not come home.
I believe in playing safely. I love sharing my love of the outdoors with my kids but, in keeping with my stated belief in safety, I wanted to know that the adventure I was sharing with my kids was, first and foremost, safe. I love paddling and climbing with my kids but, sometimes, I need a bigger challenge. I feel the pull to try something hard, to experience the thrill of adventure once more. My mom, my wife and others who love me see this and, due to conceptions, misconceptions and the unpleasant thought of me making a mistake and mangling myself, they worry.
So what about my mom? What about my wife? My mom has no choice in the matter other than her response to my choices. She is going to love me regardless. My wife chose to love me for who I am and, though she worries about me, she has decided that she accepts me for who I am and doesn't try to change me. I'm so thankful for these two moms, my mom and my kid's mom who don't try to change who I am or discourage me from the things that I love.
But, I wonder at times, am I being fair? I know what it's like to accept a certain amount of personal risk. But what is it like for my mom? What is it like to try to understand someone who does things that you wouldn't do?
My dad inspired me to an adventurous lifestyle by taking me to do cool but hard things when I was a kid. He and I trained for two years leading up to a seven hundred kilometer bike ride that we did together when I was only six. He taught me that anything is possible if you set your mind to it. He's had a no-holds-barred attitude toward life and towards challenges I've seen him face throughout his life. He always said that a life lived well was better than a life lived in fear. He allowed me to go camping for days at a time when I was twelve, taught me to operate heavy equipment when I was fourteen and always encouraged my ventures. Once, when recounting a breath hold dive I made to a depth of seventy meters, and a second time when telling of a particularly gnarly rapid that had me for breakfast, he said "Think of your mom when you tell us about your adventures. No use adding to her worries."
As I mull all of this over, I wonder, how much adventure is too much? And, at what point do you start to sacrifice the things you love for the peace of mind of those who love you? People who might understand that loving you means accepting you and all the things that make you who you are but may never fully understand what drives you to the wilderness. To my adventure seeking friends, and to those who love an adventurer, what say you?
You can find the Dirtbag Diaries episode by the same name below. I recommend it!
http://m.soundcloud.com/thedirtbagdiaries/mothers-have-it-hardest
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Hangin' with the Kool Kids
To say that I'm blessed in life would be some kind of crazy understatement. Some recent reflection has highlighted just how fortunate I am and how much I have to be thankful for.
Remember back in school when you wanted nothing more than for the Cool Kids to notice you, or if you were really lucky, hang out with you for a while? Well I had some time to hang with some pretty cool kids recently. Forgive me if I sound a little biased, but I'm kind of a fan. Ok, so I like climbing and I guess I'm easily impressed but these kids are pretty awesome and they hung out with me for a week including on some pretty chill climbs hundreds of feet above the fall colours of North Carolina.
Emma helps as we peel out of an eddy
As if being a kid and being a rockclimber isn't enough, earlier this year I watched these two hammer their way through some pretty gnarly whitewater. Emma, 8 years old and afraid of nothing, got launched at least head high in the front of my canoe as we charged through a rapid but still had the presence of mind to reach out with a strong cross bow draw to spin us into the eddy just as she landed. Her older brother, often conservative, still got up the nerve to paddle his first class three rapid in his little open boat this summer on the Ottawa River. He made it through the rapid full of water but upright and with a smile that went from ear to ear.
Kade, as well as another friend, on a lunch stop on the Ottawa River
Not too long ago these two started rock climbing. In the way that kids do, they progressed quickly at our local gym, moving up grade after grade far faster than I did when I started climbing. I watched as they learned and got stronger and I was impressed. When planning a fall climbing trip in North Carolina, I knew these two had to be there.
Emma follows me up pitch 2 of "Jim Dandy"
Arriving on the mountain we hiked out to a little single pitch crag, set up top rope and I had them review and demonstrate to me all the stuff they'd have to know to climb multi-pitch routes. They cleaned gear, they took apart anchors, they rappelled down the cliff, followed me up on top belay. All this without getting their ropes too crossed up! They were ready for the mountain.
Emma only climbs if she can find a rope that matches her outfit!
I woke the next morning with the sun streaming through the back door of my tent. I pulled on a wool sweater and stepped out of my tent into the early morning sun. We had set up camp on the shoulder of the mountain only about 800 vertical feet below the summit. The sun was hitting the ridge, but the valley below was still in the shadows blanketed by patches of fog.
There's something about breakfast when you're outside... Instant oatmeal, washed down with instant coffee, is somehow a gastronomic delight. I remember years ago, on a long, remote, solo river trip thinking that the coffee in my cup was the best I'd ever had. I vowed to give up buying real coffee at home and just switch to instant coffee. Upon my return I made myself a cup of my new favourite hot morning brew but it wasn't right. In fact it tasted downright bad. I adjusted the ratio. Still bad. I dragged my food barrel up from the basement, dug out my camp spoon and cup to made sure I had the ratios the same. Worse. Digging deeper in the barrel I grabbed the very same ziploc bag of coffee that I'd had on the trip. Something still wasn't right. It must just be the river water, the fact that I was sitting on the edge of the river watching the sun burn off the mist, and maybe even the fact that there was no one but me for at least a hundred miles all combining to make awful coffee taste good.
We ate breakfast under a big oak tree, as always, me washing it down with coffee, them with water and hot chocolate. The approach would be "fifteen minutes at the longest" I told them. We geared up and headed out. An hour later, still looking alternatively at the topo and at the rocks in front of us as we wandered around in the bush, Emma asked if we were close. "Oh ya" I said, "should be just around the corner."
We found it, we roped up and, after a careful check of harnesses and knots, headed up. They belayed me on double ropes as I headed up the first pitch. Ninety feet up there was an awesome bolted belay on a 3 foot ledge. They followed me up without a hitch, Emma testing the stickiness of her rock shoes on the slab and unclipping herself from each piece of protection and Kade following, carefully clipping gear to his sling.
Kade and Emma belay me as I work my way up pitch two
I headed out on the 130 foot second pitch. It works up and right on an exposed ramp initially before heading straight up to a little stance belay. I wondered how they would be with the exposure... Emma was a little shaky when she reached the belay which surprised me somewhat. I've never seen her at all scared by a climb. Kade on the other hand is a different story. He's conservative and careful, exactly the ingredients required to be a safe climber. He's also a little afraid of heights. I kept calling down to see how he was doing as he climbed up. "Fine!" he kept calling back cheerfully. When he reached the belay station he told me that he was careful not to look down, and hadn't, not once during the entire pitch!
Kade cleans pitch 2, careful not to look down!
The third pitch brought us to a big ledge where we had lunch. Kade hadn't had enough however and wanted one more pitch before we packed it in for the day. This one started out as an easy slab but quickly steepened up into a face climb. It was easily the steepest climb of the day, requiring a move out from under a roof and some good stem feet, but Kade had no trouble. We rapped back to the ledge below where Emma was waiting for us then started back to camp. On the way back we passed our starting point and both of them wanted to try the first pitch again. We did that, then finally, with my headlamp on, I stumbled into camp after dark with Emma skipping along beside me saying she wished she was still climbing! So much energy...
The next day we climbed again, Kade commenting on his use of holds changing as he learned to climb slab and Emma, not saying too much but just enjoying the climbs.
The colours in the valley below were spectacular! As always, pictures never do justice to the beauty of this world... You have to be there to really get it.
Ok, so my bias in my assessment of the skills of these kids is with good reason, I'm the lucky dude who they call "Dad." I do feel really, totally stoked that they like hanging out with their old man, something I hope continues for many years to come. These wonderful days of my life however, like the autumn colours on the trees in the valley below Table Rock, will all too soon end. While I hope they'll always think that time spent with me is time well spent, that may or may not happen. Before too long though, regardless of our desire to paddle another river, or climb another pitch, they'll have lives of their own. Lives with jobs, relationships, kids and various other complexities that sometimes hinder all of us from doing what we love. And while those complexities in and of themselves can be cool, I'm still going to take advantage of every spare moment I can with them now. Not just with these two but all four of my awesome kids. Besides, if I haul boats and various other gear for them now maybe someday they'll haul my gear for me while I struggle to keep up with them!
Emma raps off of pitch 4
If I could've chosen anyone in the world to go climbing with last week, I'm sure I couldn't have chosen better.
Remember back in school when you wanted nothing more than for the Cool Kids to notice you, or if you were really lucky, hang out with you for a while? Well I had some time to hang with some pretty cool kids recently. Forgive me if I sound a little biased, but I'm kind of a fan. Ok, so I like climbing and I guess I'm easily impressed but these kids are pretty awesome and they hung out with me for a week including on some pretty chill climbs hundreds of feet above the fall colours of North Carolina.
As if being a kid and being a rockclimber isn't enough, earlier this year I watched these two hammer their way through some pretty gnarly whitewater. Emma, 8 years old and afraid of nothing, got launched at least head high in the front of my canoe as we charged through a rapid but still had the presence of mind to reach out with a strong cross bow draw to spin us into the eddy just as she landed. Her older brother, often conservative, still got up the nerve to paddle his first class three rapid in his little open boat this summer on the Ottawa River. He made it through the rapid full of water but upright and with a smile that went from ear to ear.
Not too long ago these two started rock climbing. In the way that kids do, they progressed quickly at our local gym, moving up grade after grade far faster than I did when I started climbing. I watched as they learned and got stronger and I was impressed. When planning a fall climbing trip in North Carolina, I knew these two had to be there.
Arriving on the mountain we hiked out to a little single pitch crag, set up top rope and I had them review and demonstrate to me all the stuff they'd have to know to climb multi-pitch routes. They cleaned gear, they took apart anchors, they rappelled down the cliff, followed me up on top belay. All this without getting their ropes too crossed up! They were ready for the mountain.
I woke the next morning with the sun streaming through the back door of my tent. I pulled on a wool sweater and stepped out of my tent into the early morning sun. We had set up camp on the shoulder of the mountain only about 800 vertical feet below the summit. The sun was hitting the ridge, but the valley below was still in the shadows blanketed by patches of fog.
There's something about breakfast when you're outside... Instant oatmeal, washed down with instant coffee, is somehow a gastronomic delight. I remember years ago, on a long, remote, solo river trip thinking that the coffee in my cup was the best I'd ever had. I vowed to give up buying real coffee at home and just switch to instant coffee. Upon my return I made myself a cup of my new favourite hot morning brew but it wasn't right. In fact it tasted downright bad. I adjusted the ratio. Still bad. I dragged my food barrel up from the basement, dug out my camp spoon and cup to made sure I had the ratios the same. Worse. Digging deeper in the barrel I grabbed the very same ziploc bag of coffee that I'd had on the trip. Something still wasn't right. It must just be the river water, the fact that I was sitting on the edge of the river watching the sun burn off the mist, and maybe even the fact that there was no one but me for at least a hundred miles all combining to make awful coffee taste good.
We ate breakfast under a big oak tree, as always, me washing it down with coffee, them with water and hot chocolate. The approach would be "fifteen minutes at the longest" I told them. We geared up and headed out. An hour later, still looking alternatively at the topo and at the rocks in front of us as we wandered around in the bush, Emma asked if we were close. "Oh ya" I said, "should be just around the corner."
We found it, we roped up and, after a careful check of harnesses and knots, headed up. They belayed me on double ropes as I headed up the first pitch. Ninety feet up there was an awesome bolted belay on a 3 foot ledge. They followed me up without a hitch, Emma testing the stickiness of her rock shoes on the slab and unclipping herself from each piece of protection and Kade following, carefully clipping gear to his sling.
I headed out on the 130 foot second pitch. It works up and right on an exposed ramp initially before heading straight up to a little stance belay. I wondered how they would be with the exposure... Emma was a little shaky when she reached the belay which surprised me somewhat. I've never seen her at all scared by a climb. Kade on the other hand is a different story. He's conservative and careful, exactly the ingredients required to be a safe climber. He's also a little afraid of heights. I kept calling down to see how he was doing as he climbed up. "Fine!" he kept calling back cheerfully. When he reached the belay station he told me that he was careful not to look down, and hadn't, not once during the entire pitch!
The third pitch brought us to a big ledge where we had lunch. Kade hadn't had enough however and wanted one more pitch before we packed it in for the day. This one started out as an easy slab but quickly steepened up into a face climb. It was easily the steepest climb of the day, requiring a move out from under a roof and some good stem feet, but Kade had no trouble. We rapped back to the ledge below where Emma was waiting for us then started back to camp. On the way back we passed our starting point and both of them wanted to try the first pitch again. We did that, then finally, with my headlamp on, I stumbled into camp after dark with Emma skipping along beside me saying she wished she was still climbing! So much energy...
The next day we climbed again, Kade commenting on his use of holds changing as he learned to climb slab and Emma, not saying too much but just enjoying the climbs.
The colours in the valley below were spectacular! As always, pictures never do justice to the beauty of this world... You have to be there to really get it.
Ok, so my bias in my assessment of the skills of these kids is with good reason, I'm the lucky dude who they call "Dad." I do feel really, totally stoked that they like hanging out with their old man, something I hope continues for many years to come. These wonderful days of my life however, like the autumn colours on the trees in the valley below Table Rock, will all too soon end. While I hope they'll always think that time spent with me is time well spent, that may or may not happen. Before too long though, regardless of our desire to paddle another river, or climb another pitch, they'll have lives of their own. Lives with jobs, relationships, kids and various other complexities that sometimes hinder all of us from doing what we love. And while those complexities in and of themselves can be cool, I'm still going to take advantage of every spare moment I can with them now. Not just with these two but all four of my awesome kids. Besides, if I haul boats and various other gear for them now maybe someday they'll haul my gear for me while I struggle to keep up with them!
If I could've chosen anyone in the world to go climbing with last week, I'm sure I couldn't have chosen better.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
2011, A Year In Paddling
I was sitting in a hotel room in Ireland as 2011 was drawing to a close. I was trying to beat jet lag and get some sleep in spite of the fact that it was 7 am. Still dark outside, but sleep remained elusive. I grabbed my PlayBook and started a slideshow of the pictures I’ve taken over the year and queued up some music. My favourite artists, Prince Perry and the Gladtones, Adam Padfield, Diana Panton and many others started serenading me as the pictures began to file across the screen. I smiled as I looked at pictures of Kade and me negotiating a rapid on the Spanish River, Nigel and his son posing in the canoe beside a waterfall near the Arctic watershed, my daughters learning about echoes in the Barron Canyon, me and Emma on the Moon River, all these just to name a few. My strategy wasn’t working. I was more awake than I had been. Soon I was sitting upright, clinging to the tablet, watching as picture after picture reminded me of adventure after adventure.
For the last few years I’ve had a number in my mind. The quintessential paddling year, I was convinced, consisted of at least sixty paddling days. 2010 was my best, New Year’s Eve I went paddling, logging my fifty-seventh day of paddling. 2011 however got off to a slow start. The ice was heavy and thaws were nearly non-existent throughout December and. I anxiously referred to the heavy snowpack as “whitewater in the bank” to friends on several occasions. In February, while flying over Southwestern Ontario, I scanned the rivers and creeks looking for the telltale bits of open water signalling the approach of whitewater season.
Early in February I found myself in Florida for work. I had an afternoon to spare so I headed over to one of the many state parks and rented a canoe. The fibreglass was rotten from the sun and I was kneeling amidships paddling the canoe Canadian-style heeled up on one edge. Shortly into the paddle I realized that the glass fibres were embedding themselves into my bare shins. I decided to forego wearing my PFD and use it as protection from my boat versus protection from falling out of my boat. Just to be clear, I don’t condone paddling without a PFD but desperate times call for desperate measures! I left the river via a gap in the mangroves. A maze opened up before me and for the next few hours I paddled in eerie silence through the still water of the mangrove swamp. The canopy overhead broke the sunlight into distinct beams highlighting the odd spider web and dappling the surface of the water.
Late in February the weather back home warmed to above freezing for a couple days, then the rain came. The rivers were bursting with floodwater but the ice was still concerning. One Friday evening found me down at the river staring at the flow. Another paddler showed up which didn’t surprise me in the least. We scouted for nearly an hour the only surprise being that there was no ice to be found. I’d expected icejams everywhere. I had a new boat that I’d bought in the fall that I was anxious to get out in and with the Ice out I thought I’d try a section of the river if I could find anyone else crazy enough to go paddling. Saturday morning the temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up. None-the-less, three of us pushed off from Streetsville on the Credit. The river was over its banks with hardly an eddy to be found, but thankfully the ice seemed to be gone… Or so it seemed. I spotted an eddy and headed for it. As the boat spun into the still water I tried to put in a cross-forward stroke but my paddle hit the bottom only six inches under the boat. I began to probe the brown floodwater around me… same depth everywhere. Smooth bottom. Shockingly it still took me a moment to put together the fact that the ice hadn’t gone out. At least not in the eddies where the ice shelves were simply flooded out. The stakes had just risen.
A swim in the rapids is usually no biggie, keep your feet up, get away from the boat, hold onto your paddle and all that jazz… In February a swim has slightly higher consequences. But still, with proper exposure protection such as a drysuit, things should be fine. My personal exposure protection was a little sketchy. I couldn’t afford the drysuit I wanted, so I had a freediving wetsuit on with fleece and a rainsuit over that. I’d be ok for at least 30 minutes in the water if I did go for a swim. But ice changes everything. Had we known that the ice shelves were there none of us would’ve gone. Getting caught under the ice could easily be the last move a person ever makes. I switched modes, a little less playful and a lot more careful. “Keep this thing sunny-side-up” I told myself, “and everything will be fine.” We pulled back onto the river, Peter in the lead. Around the next bend he was sitting in a river left eddy, indicating in no uncertain terms that I join him there. I was on river right however and reaching that eddy wasn’t dead simple, but I did. While working my way cross-current I saw the problem. An ice jam, ten feet above the river level and, as we were about to learn, about 200 meters long, blocked the entire river. The river was rushing madly on towards the frozen jumble… all that water disappearing down into the thousands of gaps in the massive chunks of ice. Peter scrambled up the bank for a better look while Greg ferried over to the other side and climbed up on the ice. A large portion of the river, after passing the initial icepile, was flowing like a swollen creek through the forest on river right. A ferry across the river was the only way. Peter went before me and set up with his throw bag in case I missed my ferry. Getting swept into the ice was not an option. The ferry worked, we dragged the boats across the ice, then headed down the creeky bit. Greg led and Peter followed. At one point I broached on a mid stream tree but managed to stay upright. So began my paddling year.
During the month of March I got out eleven times. I ran the section of the Credit River near Hwy 7 a bunch of times in my newly outfitted Sunburst, got out on the flatwater section of the Humber River near Claireville in my newly constructed skin-on-frame canoe, chased a beaver across a pond with Ainsley, pulled someone out of the Credit river, caught an awesome surf on the Speed River and finally, back in Florida, took the kids on a search for ‘gators.
The 17th of March I paddled twice. The second trip found me at the put-in in Norval on the Credit. I was paddling with some others I’d never met and the river was high and fast. This section of the river is the one with which I’m most familiar and I had paddled it already several times in the preceding weeks. At Huttonville there’s a broken dam that forms a fun little rapid. Not terribly big even at these levels but a little tricky as the flow turns ninety degrees left as it pillows against the old dam, then ninety right as it flows through the gap in the old concrete. I was sitting in a river right eddy directly in front of the dam. A little surf wave forms at the higher levels just above where I was sitting due to a river wide ledge. A kayak amongst our group pulled out of the eddy across from me heading for the wave. A combination of too much angle and too little tilt flipped him instantly as he crossed the eddyline.
About a week before this paddle I’d read an article with different ideas and uses for throwbags. I was employing one of these and had, for the first time ever, tied my throwbag to the thwart in front of me with a slipknot. The idea was that you could get yourself somewhere secure and toss the line to someone who needed it without necessarily leaving your boat. Now, here I was, watching this guy vainly attempt a roll up while the current swept him towards the old dam. He pulled his loop and swam out but there was nothing I could do for him. The eddy I was in didn’t offer any holds and I knew if I gave him the line he’d just drag us both into trouble. I slid out of the eddy as he was being pushed into the face of the old dam. I shouted to him to get his feet between him and the dam worrying that he might get caught on the chunks of concrete or pieces of reinforcing steel below the surface. He listened and did as I said while I kept the boat just out of his reach. When he got pulled through the gap in the dam I told him to swim to the eddy on the left. The one on the right is fine, but it’s just above an island that divides the flow of the river, that portion totally blocked by a downed tree. He was confused however and began to swim the wrong way, positioning himself now above the big strainer. He realized his mistake and changed directions but I could see it was too late. He’d never make the eddy from where he was. I spun the boat into the eddy and threw him my bag, the line spooling out behind. I jumped into the shallow water and held onto my boat as he swung in the current making the shore about twenty feet above the tree. Odd now that I think about that day... I’ve never tied my bag to the boat in that manner before or since. Sure helped that day though!
In April I got out five times. I damaged my little skin on frame boat when I hit something sharp in the water. An easy fix back in the shop however. Took Aurora for a ride in the little boat after the repair. She crawled into the bow, put her chin on the foredeck and watched the water go by. That lasted for about ten minutes at which point she turned around, curled up and went to sleep.
On a snowy day late in the month I paddled the Head River with a couple of friends. Some of the rapids were at the limit of my comfort zone but managed to get through them all just fine.
On the 23rd I went on a very normal, but super special paddle. My dad and I have talked about paddling for years but had never gone. He and I pulled out the Flatwater Special that I’d been storing at his house and paddled the Hoc-Roc River from Lake Muskoka up to the logjam and back. Super cool.
Years ago, a friend told me about a river that was very special to him. The Spanish River had first captured his interest on a trip there when he was living in Sudbury. “It’s a great river!” He told me, “Rapid after rapid, but almost none of them too big to run.” I bought a map and started thinking about it. I re-outfitted my Sunburst, changing it from a big solo boat to a small tandem for the trip, now planned for May. On the 30th of April Kade and I met up with John, the friend who’d introduced me to the Spanish River. We met in the town of Pinkerton with the intention of running the Teeswater River down to just above the town of Paisley. It was a great run and it proved to me that the boat and Kade, my new bow-paddler, were ready for the Spanish.
On the 15th of May, Kade and I, as well as Nigel and Evan, drove north with canoes on the roof and barrels and bags full of river camping gear. Nigel is new to paddling but had expressed interest in going along. I had never been to the river, but thought that if running the rapids was too difficult, he could line and portage them. None-the-less I had him study the map and decide for himself. We talked and planned and a great trip started taking shape. I won’t bother with a play-by-play of that trip as it’s already in a previous blog post, but what a trip! The four of us had adventure after adventure all the while watching the leaves just starting to come out on the trees that covered the steep hills of the river valley. The little Sunburst carried our gear and us and still blazed through the whitewater with ease. We made it off the river just beating blackfly season by a day or two!
Right after leaving the Spanish River in the rearview mirror of the truck, Kade and I headed east through North Bay on our way to Palmer Rapids on the Madawaska River. The Palmer River Festival was just gearing up and Kade and I thought it a great way to finish the Spring whitewater season. On the Saturday Kade did a course called “Kids and the River.” This included a swim through a small section of the rapids. Unfortunately as Kade jumped into the water he smashed his knee on a rock which had him hobbling around for a bit, but he bravely continued. “I’m having too mush fun to quit just ‘cause my knee hurts” he told me. Later that day while paddling down through Second Set I tried for a river right eddy just above the ledge at the bottom of the rapid. We missed it and this left us in a bad position for the ledge. We flipped in the hole and drifted out into the lake. Fortunately the lake was full of boats and someone had our canoe emptied, righted and us back in it within a couple of minutes. I was worried about the knee and now a swim dampening Kade’s enthusiasm for whitewater, but on the paddle back he said to me “That was a good experience Dad! I’m glad I swam ‘cause now I’m not afraid to fall out of the canoe!”
Early in June I observed another milestone slide by. We were going to go for a nice little paddle on the Credit near Highway 7, a nice easy section of the river. The girls were coming with me in the Sunburst. Kade had a friend over and I wasn’t sure if he’d want to go. “Let me and Justin take your Bob-Special!!” Kade said to me. Kade had only paddled alone a few times and had never paddled tandem in the stern before but I’d seen him learn and practice a lot of new strokes on the Spanish and also at PalmerFest. “Okay,” I said, “Be careful though and stay with me.” We twisted and turned following the river on its course until we reached Churchville. Kade sure was proud of himself, and rightfully so. As I loaded the canoes on the roof of the truck the bittersweet realization that my son no longer needed me to go canoeing slowly washed over me. I was thrilled, but in a way also missed the days when he didn’t have the attention span to paddle for more than two minutes at a time, after which he’d drag his paddle, invariably drop it and begin to climb on the packs in his fidgety quest to keep himself entertained. “Do I have to paddle Dad??” He used to ask. He doesn’t ask that anymore. Now I see him shifting his weight slightly and tilting as he approaches an eddy line, switching seamlessly from a forward stroke to a cross-bow draw, often sensing the need for the stroke before I call for it. He’ll be out-paddling me before I know it, and that’s pretty cool.
Also in June I headed out with Emma to paddle the Moon River. I had thought about this river quite a bit and thought it was time to give it a go. We launched in Bala with plans to paddle to Wood’s Bay on Georgian Bay. Things got exciting during the first day, more excitement than either of us were looking for...
Just after leaving the flatwater section just below the Bala dam the Moon River flows through a dam. We carried around this dam, but the flow was huge. I looked at the place where the portage trail led and it was just white foaming outflow, not even a consideration. We dragged the boat and gear through the bush until the river had calmed enough for us to get back in. I took a good look at Hap Wilson’s notes and maps noting the next portage, a spot called “Island Falls Portage.” Looked simple enough, island in the middle of the river, land on the upstream side and portage down the waterfall. So we launched. Several minutes later I spotted a pretty serious looking horizon line approaching on the river... There was an island in the middle as forecast but the flow made the landing look tricky. I got out of my boat and had a good look. Still the landing looked ok, but one had to be in the right place or risk getting swept over the falls. As we approached the landing I had Emma put her paddle down and told her to get ready to hop onto the rock. She put down her paddle and, with less than a foot to go she stood up to ready herself to step out of the boat! Before I could shout to her to sit back down we bumped a rock causing her to lose her balance. In a flash she was in the water and out of my reach. I called to her to grab the boat which she did, I hopped into the waist deep water to ensure she didn’t get pulled toward the falls. Giving a massive sigh of relief I helped her up onto the rocks while reminding her of the importance of not standing up in canoes.
The excitement wasn’t over it turned out. After dragging the boat out of the water I took a look at the portage trail. Not a trail really, just a walk over the rocks, but at the lower end of the island there was no put-in! The water from the twin falls, one each side of the island, came together in a fury of white foaming water. Suddenly I realized, Hap’s notes were made at significantly lower levels. There was no way off the island but the way we’d come. We made a careful launch and a successful ‘scary ferry’ across to the shore where we bushwhacked a portage around the falls. After two loads they closed the dam we had just passed and the water went from dangerously high to totally benign in just a few minutes. Never before had I seen a river change levels so fast.
We proceeded on through now bony rapids and sections of flatwater. We found a nice campsite, slept, swam, ate and pushed off again the next day. It would seem however that this was a trip that should not have happened at all. Or maybe the river was just trying to warn us about something downstream! As the second day progressed into the afternoon the sky darkened. Storms were in the area but we were still in the clear, albeit under a very ominous sky. I was busy explaining to Emma how a thunderstorm works and said that if we felt a cool gust of air that that would be our signal to get off the river. We were on a narrow, flatwater stretch of the river and I knew I could make the shore in less than a minute. The wind died completely and an eerie calm ensued. Suddenly, in spite of the calm, I’d had enough and I wanted to get off the river. We turned the boat and were ashore in less than a minute. Before we could get out the rain and wind hit with a fury. I threw the packs into a pile and dragged the canoe to cover them. Then the hail started. I oriented the boat into the wind and propped the downwind side up on a log and Emma and I dove beneath it. The wind intensified and I began to worry that the canoe would blow away... I was holding onto it with all my strength still knowing that if the wind shifted and caught it, it would fly away like a leaf. Branches began breaking off of trees and landing on the boat. The hail was bigger than marbles, and that was when I heard trees begin breaking. I cringed when I heard a large tree no more than ten feet behind me give way. Fortunately it landed in the river, but when I looked out at the river the wind was so strong that it was lifting sheets of water up off the surface and pulling them up into the air. Never before have I seen such a thing.
Emma was scared so we sang songs and laughed about how she would sure have some big stories to tell after this trip! Shortly thereafter things calmed down and we peeked out from under the canoe. A strange sight met our eyes... The river was full of debris. Branches, leaves and a couple whole trees were covering the surface of the water. Not only that but many trees around us were simply snapped off mid trunk. More than a hundred trees with trunks up to two feet in diameter were broken. I didn’t see any uprooted trees but one tree in particular caught my eye. It was a maple with a trunk diameter of at least eighteen inches, like the others, snapped off. Unlike the others however its stump was nowhere to be found. It had evidently been carried by the massive force of that wind to its final resting place. Giving a prayer of thanksgiving for our safety, we climbed into the boat yet again. I’d had enough however. I called my dad and asked him to pick us up at the highway 400 bridge cutting the trip effectively in half.
Later in June Kade and I spent a weekend at Palmer Rapids. We had planned to take a paddling course but unfortunately the instructor hurt his back and was unable to teach. Kade and I had a fantastic weekend however making run after run of Second Set. Kade and another boy he met went paddling together. Several other times, both early in the morning and later in the evening, Kade slid the Sunburst into the water and went for solo paddles. It was so cool seeing him want to, even after a full day, go for yet another paddle.
On the first of July the whole family piled into two canoes and paddled down the Lake Ontario shoreline from the Humber River to see the fireworks. In the middle of the month I rented a solo boat and did some practice up at the Gull River at the Minden White Water preserve. Just after that I had a work related trip up to Yellowknife where I finally learned to roll a kayak. Got some beautiful paddling in there on Great Slave Lake. Near the end of the month I found myself yet again at Palmer, this time in another rented solo canoe. Lots of play in the Second Set with some new friends and even managed to run the Chute a few times.
In August we all headed for the Barron Canyon in Algonquin Park. A friend had recommended it to me as one of his favourite spots in the park. The kids loved it! We paddled through the canyon in the beautiful, bug-free weather that is so typical in August. The kids learned about echoes in the canyon as we paddled up to the waterfall. Then we went for a hike at the canyon rim looking at the places we’d paddled from so far above. Poor Georgia was in fits watching the kids up there! They were careful though. Several days later we paddled in Tobermory, launching from the lighthouse on Big Tub Harbour. We headed into the foot of the bay to look at the shipwrecks there.
September was great but we had the sale of our house looming cutting into free time. Still, I managed to get out onto my favourite stretch of the Credit River near Highway 7 with the girls as well as a few other nice paddles. The highlight of the month was a run on the Streetsville section of the Credit near the end of the month. This was with a friend and the river was full of salmon! We got soaked by the water the thrashing fish were throwing into the air... What a cool experience!
Near the end of October, with the move finally complete, we found ourselves living on the edge of a pond. From that pond flows a creek, which flows into the Grand River only a few hundred meters away. A paddler’s paradise to be sure! We paddled on the pond, on the creek and on the Grand several times before winter hit.
During the summer of 2010 I built an ultralight canoe. This boat is a skin-on-frame boat and only weighs 20 pounds. Since building it I had taken it on various day trips but never for a solo overnight trip, the very thing I envisioned when building it. I pictured myself with this super light canoe heading off for two or three days at a time to scout out new routes for the family in places we hadn’t paddled before. This hadn’t happened so far. I wanted to prove to myself that the boat was tough enough for trips like that. So, when in November I found myself with three free days, I decided to head for Killarney. The forecast was for rain every day and temperatures just above freezing. I packed warm clothes in a barrel, strapped the little boat onto the car, and headed off. It was gloomy and raining on and off during the drive up, but the sky cleared on my arrival. I headed into the park, across George, Freeland and Killarney lakes up to the grueling, four kilometer portage up to Threenarrows Lake. This is where I discovered that my system for carrying the boat needed some thought. I still have yet to come up with a good solution for carrying it easily. None the less I pressed on up to Threenarrows where I camped. The next morning dawned clear and cool, but not as cold as mornings in November can be that far north! I left camp early and paddled for hours over glass calm water while the sun slowly crept up over the pines on the far side of the lake. I did another huge portage from Threenarrows to Artist Lake, on through Muriel and onto the crystal clear azure water of OSA Lake. I camped again after cutting a good bunch of firewood for the long night. The next day, on Freeland and George lakes, I paddled through the strongest headwinds I’ve ever encountered. The little Northern Scout handled them with ease however as I slowly clawed my way upwind. I didn’t baby the boat and it did just fine including when I ran it up onto a rock fully loaded! Oops...
Early in December I decided that it was time I get myself and Kade solo whitewater canoes. I had been on the lookout for awhile and someone suggested that they might be willing to part with their Phantom. I consulted with some friends and decided that the Phantom was worth considering. I took it for a test paddle on a snowy morning on the pond in Norwood, the town where I had gone to look at it. A good friend was along and patiently waited for me as I paddled off into the gently falling snow. The leaves were gone but there were little red berries on the bushes on shore and the snow was clinging to them and to the branches. I felt like I was paddling through a Christmas card! It was so silent and peaceful. I can’t be sure if the conditions had anything to do with it, but I fell in love with that little yellow boat while on that paddle. I paid the asking price and brought her home and promptly attached a rubber duck onto the foredeck, like a hood ornament, and dubbed her Rubber Duckie! I paddled that boat several times waiting for winter to take hold, on the creek, the Grand and the Credit catching the high water as it passed.
A Composite Creations ‘Splash’ came available at around the same time and so Kade found himself with his own canoe also! He loves it and is paddling it quite a bit. He and I have been out on the creek together and hope to get out a lot in the future too. The Splash will be good for the girls as they start to grow and paddle more also.
One of those paddles on the creek, December 15th to be precise, I reached that number... The number that I had equated to the ultimate paddling year. No fireworks went off on that 60th paddle, but I did fall out of my boat on the second run! I managed to reach 64 paddling days by the time the year came to a close. The last paddle was on Christmas Eve with ‘Santa’ from Handcrafted Canoes as he paddled down the Grand in a tradition he keeps when the river allows.
As I sit now and look back over that year I feel blessed. So much time with family, so much time with friends as well as time alone, all while in my canoe. I don’t know what 2012 holds but I can’t wait to hop into my boat and push off and find out what’s around the bend in the river!
For the last few years I’ve had a number in my mind. The quintessential paddling year, I was convinced, consisted of at least sixty paddling days. 2010 was my best, New Year’s Eve I went paddling, logging my fifty-seventh day of paddling. 2011 however got off to a slow start. The ice was heavy and thaws were nearly non-existent throughout December and. I anxiously referred to the heavy snowpack as “whitewater in the bank” to friends on several occasions. In February, while flying over Southwestern Ontario, I scanned the rivers and creeks looking for the telltale bits of open water signalling the approach of whitewater season.
Early in February I found myself in Florida for work. I had an afternoon to spare so I headed over to one of the many state parks and rented a canoe. The fibreglass was rotten from the sun and I was kneeling amidships paddling the canoe Canadian-style heeled up on one edge. Shortly into the paddle I realized that the glass fibres were embedding themselves into my bare shins. I decided to forego wearing my PFD and use it as protection from my boat versus protection from falling out of my boat. Just to be clear, I don’t condone paddling without a PFD but desperate times call for desperate measures! I left the river via a gap in the mangroves. A maze opened up before me and for the next few hours I paddled in eerie silence through the still water of the mangrove swamp. The canopy overhead broke the sunlight into distinct beams highlighting the odd spider web and dappling the surface of the water.
Late in February the weather back home warmed to above freezing for a couple days, then the rain came. The rivers were bursting with floodwater but the ice was still concerning. One Friday evening found me down at the river staring at the flow. Another paddler showed up which didn’t surprise me in the least. We scouted for nearly an hour the only surprise being that there was no ice to be found. I’d expected icejams everywhere. I had a new boat that I’d bought in the fall that I was anxious to get out in and with the Ice out I thought I’d try a section of the river if I could find anyone else crazy enough to go paddling. Saturday morning the temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up. None-the-less, three of us pushed off from Streetsville on the Credit. The river was over its banks with hardly an eddy to be found, but thankfully the ice seemed to be gone… Or so it seemed. I spotted an eddy and headed for it. As the boat spun into the still water I tried to put in a cross-forward stroke but my paddle hit the bottom only six inches under the boat. I began to probe the brown floodwater around me… same depth everywhere. Smooth bottom. Shockingly it still took me a moment to put together the fact that the ice hadn’t gone out. At least not in the eddies where the ice shelves were simply flooded out. The stakes had just risen.
A swim in the rapids is usually no biggie, keep your feet up, get away from the boat, hold onto your paddle and all that jazz… In February a swim has slightly higher consequences. But still, with proper exposure protection such as a drysuit, things should be fine. My personal exposure protection was a little sketchy. I couldn’t afford the drysuit I wanted, so I had a freediving wetsuit on with fleece and a rainsuit over that. I’d be ok for at least 30 minutes in the water if I did go for a swim. But ice changes everything. Had we known that the ice shelves were there none of us would’ve gone. Getting caught under the ice could easily be the last move a person ever makes. I switched modes, a little less playful and a lot more careful. “Keep this thing sunny-side-up” I told myself, “and everything will be fine.” We pulled back onto the river, Peter in the lead. Around the next bend he was sitting in a river left eddy, indicating in no uncertain terms that I join him there. I was on river right however and reaching that eddy wasn’t dead simple, but I did. While working my way cross-current I saw the problem. An ice jam, ten feet above the river level and, as we were about to learn, about 200 meters long, blocked the entire river. The river was rushing madly on towards the frozen jumble… all that water disappearing down into the thousands of gaps in the massive chunks of ice. Peter scrambled up the bank for a better look while Greg ferried over to the other side and climbed up on the ice. A large portion of the river, after passing the initial icepile, was flowing like a swollen creek through the forest on river right. A ferry across the river was the only way. Peter went before me and set up with his throw bag in case I missed my ferry. Getting swept into the ice was not an option. The ferry worked, we dragged the boats across the ice, then headed down the creeky bit. Greg led and Peter followed. At one point I broached on a mid stream tree but managed to stay upright. So began my paddling year.
During the month of March I got out eleven times. I ran the section of the Credit River near Hwy 7 a bunch of times in my newly outfitted Sunburst, got out on the flatwater section of the Humber River near Claireville in my newly constructed skin-on-frame canoe, chased a beaver across a pond with Ainsley, pulled someone out of the Credit river, caught an awesome surf on the Speed River and finally, back in Florida, took the kids on a search for ‘gators.
The 17th of March I paddled twice. The second trip found me at the put-in in Norval on the Credit. I was paddling with some others I’d never met and the river was high and fast. This section of the river is the one with which I’m most familiar and I had paddled it already several times in the preceding weeks. At Huttonville there’s a broken dam that forms a fun little rapid. Not terribly big even at these levels but a little tricky as the flow turns ninety degrees left as it pillows against the old dam, then ninety right as it flows through the gap in the old concrete. I was sitting in a river right eddy directly in front of the dam. A little surf wave forms at the higher levels just above where I was sitting due to a river wide ledge. A kayak amongst our group pulled out of the eddy across from me heading for the wave. A combination of too much angle and too little tilt flipped him instantly as he crossed the eddyline.
About a week before this paddle I’d read an article with different ideas and uses for throwbags. I was employing one of these and had, for the first time ever, tied my throwbag to the thwart in front of me with a slipknot. The idea was that you could get yourself somewhere secure and toss the line to someone who needed it without necessarily leaving your boat. Now, here I was, watching this guy vainly attempt a roll up while the current swept him towards the old dam. He pulled his loop and swam out but there was nothing I could do for him. The eddy I was in didn’t offer any holds and I knew if I gave him the line he’d just drag us both into trouble. I slid out of the eddy as he was being pushed into the face of the old dam. I shouted to him to get his feet between him and the dam worrying that he might get caught on the chunks of concrete or pieces of reinforcing steel below the surface. He listened and did as I said while I kept the boat just out of his reach. When he got pulled through the gap in the dam I told him to swim to the eddy on the left. The one on the right is fine, but it’s just above an island that divides the flow of the river, that portion totally blocked by a downed tree. He was confused however and began to swim the wrong way, positioning himself now above the big strainer. He realized his mistake and changed directions but I could see it was too late. He’d never make the eddy from where he was. I spun the boat into the eddy and threw him my bag, the line spooling out behind. I jumped into the shallow water and held onto my boat as he swung in the current making the shore about twenty feet above the tree. Odd now that I think about that day... I’ve never tied my bag to the boat in that manner before or since. Sure helped that day though!
In April I got out five times. I damaged my little skin on frame boat when I hit something sharp in the water. An easy fix back in the shop however. Took Aurora for a ride in the little boat after the repair. She crawled into the bow, put her chin on the foredeck and watched the water go by. That lasted for about ten minutes at which point she turned around, curled up and went to sleep.
On a snowy day late in the month I paddled the Head River with a couple of friends. Some of the rapids were at the limit of my comfort zone but managed to get through them all just fine.
On the 23rd I went on a very normal, but super special paddle. My dad and I have talked about paddling for years but had never gone. He and I pulled out the Flatwater Special that I’d been storing at his house and paddled the Hoc-Roc River from Lake Muskoka up to the logjam and back. Super cool.
Years ago, a friend told me about a river that was very special to him. The Spanish River had first captured his interest on a trip there when he was living in Sudbury. “It’s a great river!” He told me, “Rapid after rapid, but almost none of them too big to run.” I bought a map and started thinking about it. I re-outfitted my Sunburst, changing it from a big solo boat to a small tandem for the trip, now planned for May. On the 30th of April Kade and I met up with John, the friend who’d introduced me to the Spanish River. We met in the town of Pinkerton with the intention of running the Teeswater River down to just above the town of Paisley. It was a great run and it proved to me that the boat and Kade, my new bow-paddler, were ready for the Spanish.
On the 15th of May, Kade and I, as well as Nigel and Evan, drove north with canoes on the roof and barrels and bags full of river camping gear. Nigel is new to paddling but had expressed interest in going along. I had never been to the river, but thought that if running the rapids was too difficult, he could line and portage them. None-the-less I had him study the map and decide for himself. We talked and planned and a great trip started taking shape. I won’t bother with a play-by-play of that trip as it’s already in a previous blog post, but what a trip! The four of us had adventure after adventure all the while watching the leaves just starting to come out on the trees that covered the steep hills of the river valley. The little Sunburst carried our gear and us and still blazed through the whitewater with ease. We made it off the river just beating blackfly season by a day or two!
Right after leaving the Spanish River in the rearview mirror of the truck, Kade and I headed east through North Bay on our way to Palmer Rapids on the Madawaska River. The Palmer River Festival was just gearing up and Kade and I thought it a great way to finish the Spring whitewater season. On the Saturday Kade did a course called “Kids and the River.” This included a swim through a small section of the rapids. Unfortunately as Kade jumped into the water he smashed his knee on a rock which had him hobbling around for a bit, but he bravely continued. “I’m having too mush fun to quit just ‘cause my knee hurts” he told me. Later that day while paddling down through Second Set I tried for a river right eddy just above the ledge at the bottom of the rapid. We missed it and this left us in a bad position for the ledge. We flipped in the hole and drifted out into the lake. Fortunately the lake was full of boats and someone had our canoe emptied, righted and us back in it within a couple of minutes. I was worried about the knee and now a swim dampening Kade’s enthusiasm for whitewater, but on the paddle back he said to me “That was a good experience Dad! I’m glad I swam ‘cause now I’m not afraid to fall out of the canoe!”
Early in June I observed another milestone slide by. We were going to go for a nice little paddle on the Credit near Highway 7, a nice easy section of the river. The girls were coming with me in the Sunburst. Kade had a friend over and I wasn’t sure if he’d want to go. “Let me and Justin take your Bob-Special!!” Kade said to me. Kade had only paddled alone a few times and had never paddled tandem in the stern before but I’d seen him learn and practice a lot of new strokes on the Spanish and also at PalmerFest. “Okay,” I said, “Be careful though and stay with me.” We twisted and turned following the river on its course until we reached Churchville. Kade sure was proud of himself, and rightfully so. As I loaded the canoes on the roof of the truck the bittersweet realization that my son no longer needed me to go canoeing slowly washed over me. I was thrilled, but in a way also missed the days when he didn’t have the attention span to paddle for more than two minutes at a time, after which he’d drag his paddle, invariably drop it and begin to climb on the packs in his fidgety quest to keep himself entertained. “Do I have to paddle Dad??” He used to ask. He doesn’t ask that anymore. Now I see him shifting his weight slightly and tilting as he approaches an eddy line, switching seamlessly from a forward stroke to a cross-bow draw, often sensing the need for the stroke before I call for it. He’ll be out-paddling me before I know it, and that’s pretty cool.
Also in June I headed out with Emma to paddle the Moon River. I had thought about this river quite a bit and thought it was time to give it a go. We launched in Bala with plans to paddle to Wood’s Bay on Georgian Bay. Things got exciting during the first day, more excitement than either of us were looking for...
Just after leaving the flatwater section just below the Bala dam the Moon River flows through a dam. We carried around this dam, but the flow was huge. I looked at the place where the portage trail led and it was just white foaming outflow, not even a consideration. We dragged the boat and gear through the bush until the river had calmed enough for us to get back in. I took a good look at Hap Wilson’s notes and maps noting the next portage, a spot called “Island Falls Portage.” Looked simple enough, island in the middle of the river, land on the upstream side and portage down the waterfall. So we launched. Several minutes later I spotted a pretty serious looking horizon line approaching on the river... There was an island in the middle as forecast but the flow made the landing look tricky. I got out of my boat and had a good look. Still the landing looked ok, but one had to be in the right place or risk getting swept over the falls. As we approached the landing I had Emma put her paddle down and told her to get ready to hop onto the rock. She put down her paddle and, with less than a foot to go she stood up to ready herself to step out of the boat! Before I could shout to her to sit back down we bumped a rock causing her to lose her balance. In a flash she was in the water and out of my reach. I called to her to grab the boat which she did, I hopped into the waist deep water to ensure she didn’t get pulled toward the falls. Giving a massive sigh of relief I helped her up onto the rocks while reminding her of the importance of not standing up in canoes.
The excitement wasn’t over it turned out. After dragging the boat out of the water I took a look at the portage trail. Not a trail really, just a walk over the rocks, but at the lower end of the island there was no put-in! The water from the twin falls, one each side of the island, came together in a fury of white foaming water. Suddenly I realized, Hap’s notes were made at significantly lower levels. There was no way off the island but the way we’d come. We made a careful launch and a successful ‘scary ferry’ across to the shore where we bushwhacked a portage around the falls. After two loads they closed the dam we had just passed and the water went from dangerously high to totally benign in just a few minutes. Never before had I seen a river change levels so fast.
We proceeded on through now bony rapids and sections of flatwater. We found a nice campsite, slept, swam, ate and pushed off again the next day. It would seem however that this was a trip that should not have happened at all. Or maybe the river was just trying to warn us about something downstream! As the second day progressed into the afternoon the sky darkened. Storms were in the area but we were still in the clear, albeit under a very ominous sky. I was busy explaining to Emma how a thunderstorm works and said that if we felt a cool gust of air that that would be our signal to get off the river. We were on a narrow, flatwater stretch of the river and I knew I could make the shore in less than a minute. The wind died completely and an eerie calm ensued. Suddenly, in spite of the calm, I’d had enough and I wanted to get off the river. We turned the boat and were ashore in less than a minute. Before we could get out the rain and wind hit with a fury. I threw the packs into a pile and dragged the canoe to cover them. Then the hail started. I oriented the boat into the wind and propped the downwind side up on a log and Emma and I dove beneath it. The wind intensified and I began to worry that the canoe would blow away... I was holding onto it with all my strength still knowing that if the wind shifted and caught it, it would fly away like a leaf. Branches began breaking off of trees and landing on the boat. The hail was bigger than marbles, and that was when I heard trees begin breaking. I cringed when I heard a large tree no more than ten feet behind me give way. Fortunately it landed in the river, but when I looked out at the river the wind was so strong that it was lifting sheets of water up off the surface and pulling them up into the air. Never before have I seen such a thing.
Emma was scared so we sang songs and laughed about how she would sure have some big stories to tell after this trip! Shortly thereafter things calmed down and we peeked out from under the canoe. A strange sight met our eyes... The river was full of debris. Branches, leaves and a couple whole trees were covering the surface of the water. Not only that but many trees around us were simply snapped off mid trunk. More than a hundred trees with trunks up to two feet in diameter were broken. I didn’t see any uprooted trees but one tree in particular caught my eye. It was a maple with a trunk diameter of at least eighteen inches, like the others, snapped off. Unlike the others however its stump was nowhere to be found. It had evidently been carried by the massive force of that wind to its final resting place. Giving a prayer of thanksgiving for our safety, we climbed into the boat yet again. I’d had enough however. I called my dad and asked him to pick us up at the highway 400 bridge cutting the trip effectively in half.
Later in June Kade and I spent a weekend at Palmer Rapids. We had planned to take a paddling course but unfortunately the instructor hurt his back and was unable to teach. Kade and I had a fantastic weekend however making run after run of Second Set. Kade and another boy he met went paddling together. Several other times, both early in the morning and later in the evening, Kade slid the Sunburst into the water and went for solo paddles. It was so cool seeing him want to, even after a full day, go for yet another paddle.
On the first of July the whole family piled into two canoes and paddled down the Lake Ontario shoreline from the Humber River to see the fireworks. In the middle of the month I rented a solo boat and did some practice up at the Gull River at the Minden White Water preserve. Just after that I had a work related trip up to Yellowknife where I finally learned to roll a kayak. Got some beautiful paddling in there on Great Slave Lake. Near the end of the month I found myself yet again at Palmer, this time in another rented solo canoe. Lots of play in the Second Set with some new friends and even managed to run the Chute a few times.
In August we all headed for the Barron Canyon in Algonquin Park. A friend had recommended it to me as one of his favourite spots in the park. The kids loved it! We paddled through the canyon in the beautiful, bug-free weather that is so typical in August. The kids learned about echoes in the canyon as we paddled up to the waterfall. Then we went for a hike at the canyon rim looking at the places we’d paddled from so far above. Poor Georgia was in fits watching the kids up there! They were careful though. Several days later we paddled in Tobermory, launching from the lighthouse on Big Tub Harbour. We headed into the foot of the bay to look at the shipwrecks there.
September was great but we had the sale of our house looming cutting into free time. Still, I managed to get out onto my favourite stretch of the Credit River near Highway 7 with the girls as well as a few other nice paddles. The highlight of the month was a run on the Streetsville section of the Credit near the end of the month. This was with a friend and the river was full of salmon! We got soaked by the water the thrashing fish were throwing into the air... What a cool experience!
Near the end of October, with the move finally complete, we found ourselves living on the edge of a pond. From that pond flows a creek, which flows into the Grand River only a few hundred meters away. A paddler’s paradise to be sure! We paddled on the pond, on the creek and on the Grand several times before winter hit.
During the summer of 2010 I built an ultralight canoe. This boat is a skin-on-frame boat and only weighs 20 pounds. Since building it I had taken it on various day trips but never for a solo overnight trip, the very thing I envisioned when building it. I pictured myself with this super light canoe heading off for two or three days at a time to scout out new routes for the family in places we hadn’t paddled before. This hadn’t happened so far. I wanted to prove to myself that the boat was tough enough for trips like that. So, when in November I found myself with three free days, I decided to head for Killarney. The forecast was for rain every day and temperatures just above freezing. I packed warm clothes in a barrel, strapped the little boat onto the car, and headed off. It was gloomy and raining on and off during the drive up, but the sky cleared on my arrival. I headed into the park, across George, Freeland and Killarney lakes up to the grueling, four kilometer portage up to Threenarrows Lake. This is where I discovered that my system for carrying the boat needed some thought. I still have yet to come up with a good solution for carrying it easily. None the less I pressed on up to Threenarrows where I camped. The next morning dawned clear and cool, but not as cold as mornings in November can be that far north! I left camp early and paddled for hours over glass calm water while the sun slowly crept up over the pines on the far side of the lake. I did another huge portage from Threenarrows to Artist Lake, on through Muriel and onto the crystal clear azure water of OSA Lake. I camped again after cutting a good bunch of firewood for the long night. The next day, on Freeland and George lakes, I paddled through the strongest headwinds I’ve ever encountered. The little Northern Scout handled them with ease however as I slowly clawed my way upwind. I didn’t baby the boat and it did just fine including when I ran it up onto a rock fully loaded! Oops...
Early in December I decided that it was time I get myself and Kade solo whitewater canoes. I had been on the lookout for awhile and someone suggested that they might be willing to part with their Phantom. I consulted with some friends and decided that the Phantom was worth considering. I took it for a test paddle on a snowy morning on the pond in Norwood, the town where I had gone to look at it. A good friend was along and patiently waited for me as I paddled off into the gently falling snow. The leaves were gone but there were little red berries on the bushes on shore and the snow was clinging to them and to the branches. I felt like I was paddling through a Christmas card! It was so silent and peaceful. I can’t be sure if the conditions had anything to do with it, but I fell in love with that little yellow boat while on that paddle. I paid the asking price and brought her home and promptly attached a rubber duck onto the foredeck, like a hood ornament, and dubbed her Rubber Duckie! I paddled that boat several times waiting for winter to take hold, on the creek, the Grand and the Credit catching the high water as it passed.
A Composite Creations ‘Splash’ came available at around the same time and so Kade found himself with his own canoe also! He loves it and is paddling it quite a bit. He and I have been out on the creek together and hope to get out a lot in the future too. The Splash will be good for the girls as they start to grow and paddle more also.
One of those paddles on the creek, December 15th to be precise, I reached that number... The number that I had equated to the ultimate paddling year. No fireworks went off on that 60th paddle, but I did fall out of my boat on the second run! I managed to reach 64 paddling days by the time the year came to a close. The last paddle was on Christmas Eve with ‘Santa’ from Handcrafted Canoes as he paddled down the Grand in a tradition he keeps when the river allows.
As I sit now and look back over that year I feel blessed. So much time with family, so much time with friends as well as time alone, all while in my canoe. I don’t know what 2012 holds but I can’t wait to hop into my boat and push off and find out what’s around the bend in the river!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Spanish River 2011
Kade and I had planned to paddle the Spanish River in Northern Ontario. Nigel and Evan joined up and planning began. On the 15th of May, a date chosen to hopefully beat the blackflies, we headed north to get started. Here's the excerpt from my paddling log.Stupid me or stupid Blogger, I could only get some of the pictures to load, so here's a link to the rest of the pictures...
15 May, Spanish River day 1! Kade and I paddling the Sunburst, Nigel and Evan in the Bob Special, aka RedBoat. Drove to the Elbow and dropped off Nigel's car, picked up a driver from Fox Lake Lodge, drove to Duke Lake and pushed off at around 1700. Made it to the campsite on mid-Ninth Lake. Beautiful day with big tailwinds.
Mon 16 May, Spanish day 2. 1200 push off, proceeded through the lakes to First. Nice weather and again, big tailwinds. Saw a moose at the entrance to Sixth Lake, but it was apparently camera-shy... It scampered (can a 700 kg. animal scamper??) off into the brush before I could get my camera out.
We camped on the southernmost site across from "The Rampart." Had some fun with some of the swifts and with Cavana rapid which went perfectly to plan. Kade cut his thumb somehow gathering wood. Pretty badly too. I cleaned and bandaged it as well as I could but I'm a bit worried about infection. Not sure if he can paddle, not sure if I want him to try!
Tuesday 17 May, river day 3. Paddled out of First Lake into the unknown of the no-portage Drive Road Rapids. Nigel and Evan went in first and we didn't see them until we reached a right-hander with some decent haystacks. They had partially swamped and were bailing their boat in an eddy. After that all went well through Expanse Lake, Breadner Swifts, Kingfisher Swifts and finally the forks.
We pulled out at the portage for Upper Athalone Rapid, and at first glance it looked like a portage. But eventually I ran it solo in the Sunburst loaded, then went back and took RedBoat through empty, both just as far as the mid-portage campsite. We camped there. Best site of the trip so far! Nigel brought chili for all, mmmmm...
Wed. 18 May, River day 4. Started by re-scouting Upper Athalone from the campsite on. My plan was left side, Nigel's was right. Water was just high enough for him to squeak over the rocky weir at the bottom of the rapid. Both of us stuck to our plans and things worked out well. Next came Lower Athalone, this we ran also after a fair bit of scouting, both to plan. Hiked up by The Flume to Pogamasing Lake then came down and ran Railway rapid.
A quick boat scout of Bridge Rapid was enough, and on we went. Talked briefly to someone in the hamlet of Sheehan, he keeps a boat there and takes it up to his place on Pogamasing.
Next there were lots of swifts then a long stretch of flatwater before we arrived at Cliff rapids. This required only a quick scout before running. We camped at the lower of the two campsites on river left just below the rapid.
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Thurs 19 May, River day 5. Started out at 1045. Uneventful but peaceful paddle through mostly flatwater to our campsite just below Spanish Lake. Rain started just above Spanish lake, and here, at 2200 the rain is still steadily falling on the tent. 10 k to the cars tomorrow! But should be an eventful 10k with a few rapids and lots of swifts to The Elbow.
Fri 20 May, River day 6. Awoke to the sound of the last few drops of yesterday's rain dropping from the trees to the tent fly. However beneath the singing of the birds and the dripping of water came the rumble of Zig-Zag Rapids less than a kilometer away. We made the short paddle to the portage trail and scouted. Kade and I played the eddies on river left while Nigel and Evan chose a route requiring less manouevering. Another short swifty paddle brought us to Toffelmire Rapid. There is no portage trail for Toffelmire nor a good spot to scout from. We slowed above the rapid and I asked Kade his opinion. He selected a center to river right line into a big eddy where the river swept to the left. From there we re-considered and he chose an S-turn into an eddy on river left. From there once again he selected an S-turn to an eddy on river right, but this took us through the biggest haystacks in the rapid. We paddled the line he chose but while going through the haystacks he went way up in the air up there in the bow seat, high enough he told me later, that he had "butterflies!" This was his first time completely reading a rapid then selecting our line, and it was well done. Probably exactly the line I would've chosen. After Toffelmire the river quickens and it was swift after swift to the Elbow where the cars were waiting for us. Good time had by all!
15 May, Spanish River day 1! Kade and I paddling the Sunburst, Nigel and Evan in the Bob Special, aka RedBoat. Drove to the Elbow and dropped off Nigel's car, picked up a driver from Fox Lake Lodge, drove to Duke Lake and pushed off at around 1700. Made it to the campsite on mid-Ninth Lake. Beautiful day with big tailwinds.
Mon 16 May, Spanish day 2. 1200 push off, proceeded through the lakes to First. Nice weather and again, big tailwinds. Saw a moose at the entrance to Sixth Lake, but it was apparently camera-shy... It scampered (can a 700 kg. animal scamper??) off into the brush before I could get my camera out.
We camped on the southernmost site across from "The Rampart." Had some fun with some of the swifts and with Cavana rapid which went perfectly to plan. Kade cut his thumb somehow gathering wood. Pretty badly too. I cleaned and bandaged it as well as I could but I'm a bit worried about infection. Not sure if he can paddle, not sure if I want him to try!
Tuesday 17 May, river day 3. Paddled out of First Lake into the unknown of the no-portage Drive Road Rapids. Nigel and Evan went in first and we didn't see them until we reached a right-hander with some decent haystacks. They had partially swamped and were bailing their boat in an eddy. After that all went well through Expanse Lake, Breadner Swifts, Kingfisher Swifts and finally the forks.
We pulled out at the portage for Upper Athalone Rapid, and at first glance it looked like a portage. But eventually I ran it solo in the Sunburst loaded, then went back and took RedBoat through empty, both just as far as the mid-portage campsite. We camped there. Best site of the trip so far! Nigel brought chili for all, mmmmm...
Wed. 18 May, River day 4. Started by re-scouting Upper Athalone from the campsite on. My plan was left side, Nigel's was right. Water was just high enough for him to squeak over the rocky weir at the bottom of the rapid. Both of us stuck to our plans and things worked out well. Next came Lower Athalone, this we ran also after a fair bit of scouting, both to plan. Hiked up by The Flume to Pogamasing Lake then came down and ran Railway rapid.
A quick boat scout of Bridge Rapid was enough, and on we went. Talked briefly to someone in the hamlet of Sheehan, he keeps a boat there and takes it up to his place on Pogamasing.
Next there were lots of swifts then a long stretch of flatwater before we arrived at Cliff rapids. This required only a quick scout before running. We camped at the lower of the two campsites on river left just below the rapid.
Thurs 19 May, River day 5. Started out at 1045. Uneventful but peaceful paddle through mostly flatwater to our campsite just below Spanish Lake. Rain started just above Spanish lake, and here, at 2200 the rain is still steadily falling on the tent. 10 k to the cars tomorrow! But should be an eventful 10k with a few rapids and lots of swifts to The Elbow.
Fri 20 May, River day 6. Awoke to the sound of the last few drops of yesterday's rain dropping from the trees to the tent fly. However beneath the singing of the birds and the dripping of water came the rumble of Zig-Zag Rapids less than a kilometer away. We made the short paddle to the portage trail and scouted. Kade and I played the eddies on river left while Nigel and Evan chose a route requiring less manouevering. Another short swifty paddle brought us to Toffelmire Rapid. There is no portage trail for Toffelmire nor a good spot to scout from. We slowed above the rapid and I asked Kade his opinion. He selected a center to river right line into a big eddy where the river swept to the left. From there we re-considered and he chose an S-turn into an eddy on river left. From there once again he selected an S-turn to an eddy on river right, but this took us through the biggest haystacks in the rapid. We paddled the line he chose but while going through the haystacks he went way up in the air up there in the bow seat, high enough he told me later, that he had "butterflies!" This was his first time completely reading a rapid then selecting our line, and it was well done. Probably exactly the line I would've chosen. After Toffelmire the river quickens and it was swift after swift to the Elbow where the cars were waiting for us. Good time had by all!
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sept 19-22, family camping trip in Killarney!
One of my goals for 2010 was to get out canoe camping with the whole family. Easier said than done, but much better done than not done! The number of opportunities for all of us to get out together is limited at best.
Earlier in the year we did get out for a 2 nighter in The Massassauga Provincial Park but I wanted to take them to Killarney, my favourite of Ontario’s Provincial Parks. More specifically I wanted to take them to O.S.A. Lake. The logistics of this were slightly more complicated as O.S.A. is four lakes back of the access point meaning quite a few paddling kilometers and 3 portages. Not a bit deterred we set out planning for September.
I had picked O.S.A. Lake for reasons which, if you’ve ever been there, don’t need explaining. For those of you who haven’t however, here’s what I see and know about this special lake:
I first paddled through O.S.A. sometime in 2006 or 2007. I was totally impressed by the natural beauty of this lake. To view pictures, or for me to try to describe it verbally would be in vain… It simply has to be seen.
Back around the turn of the last century the lake was named Whiterock Lake. The area around the park was being logged, dams were being built to raise water levels sufficiently to float logs out. The building of these dams connected smaller lakes making it easier to get the logs out, and to travel in the mountainous wilderness of the area. Threenarrows Lake, just to the northeast of O.S.A. is a great example of this. Remains of century old dams can still be seen, and the lake is maintained at the post 1900 level by a newer dam.
The Group of Seven, some of Canada’s most notable artists of the time, were spending their summers paddling and painting in Ontario’s lakes and rivers. One of them, it now escapes me whom, was in Baie Fine (pronounced like ‘fin’) talking to some of the loggers. The topic of Whiterock lake came up, which had yet to be reached by the advancing loggers, ever hungry for the straight beautiful lumber that can only come from a tree that has been around for a few hundred years. As these trees were now gone from all the accessible areas, plans were being made to access Whiterock to begin logging the yet untouched forest there. The artist went to Toronto as quickly as possible and began rallying support for a movement to protect the lake and it’s trees. Support was gained, the Ontario Government was persuaded, and shortly thereafter legislation was drafted to protect and rename the lake. The name O.S.A. was selected because of the Ontario Society of Artist’s valiant efforts. That land preserve was the beginning of what is now the “crown jewel of Ontario's Provincial Park system.”
Back to our story! On the 19th we loaded the carefully packed food, supplies and canoes onto the van. Five hours later we arrived finally at George Lake campground in the park. We stopped by the park office to register and while there we had a look at the “problem campsite” that they had set up. I asked Kade to identify the problem areas of the campsite for the girls. He quickly found the food left out, the campfire still burning, snacks in tent etc.
We headed down to Second Beach on George Lake to load the canoes. Upon our arrival at the beach a strong westerly was driving the waves up on the beach, but I didn’t mind as I knew this would help us along our way at least on the initial part of the trip.
Shortly after getting the canoes loaded and seating arrangements made we pushed off at around 3:00 in the afternoon. The strong wind pushed us quickly across George Lake towards the portage to Freeland. This helped Georgia who still has some difficulty making RedBoat (the “Bob Special” she and Kade were paddling) go where she wanted! I just made sure she was trimmed a little aft for the wind making it easier to keep the boat pointed downwind.
Emma and I reached the dock at the beginning of the portage and began unloading. We carried some of the packs across and when we returned Georgia, Kade, Ainsley and Aurora were approaching the dock. Suddenly Aurora began crying about something and I could see Georgia trying to maneuver the canoe. I slid the Prospector into the water, grabbed a paddle and took off towards them while Emma watched from the dock. When Georgia saw me coming she called out that Aurora had lost her hat. I made a search of the area but never did find it.
Finishing the portage to Freeland we continued on the easterly track in search of the portage trail to Killarney Lake. The wind continued it’s assistance and got even better when Ainsley, my boat partner for the rest of the trip, decided that she wanted to be the “sail!” So, she stood in the front of the canoe with a sleeping pad on her back and her arms outstretched holding it. In this manner we sailed down most of the rest of Freeland Lake.
After the portage up to Killarney Lake, I trimmed Georgia’s boat slightly nose down as I was expecting headwinds during our mostly westerly travel from here on. However, the wind was calm to slightly contrary due to the fact that we were mostly in the lee along the shoreline. The water levels caught my eye however. Killarney was about 2 feet lower than I'd seen before so, upon approaching the west arm of the lake, I headed to the longer portage thinking that the pass to the short portage would likely be a lift up and a very shallow approach. The longer portage was muddy in places (as always!) but fairly good. We pushed off through evening shadows onto beautiful O.S.A. A dying, but still stiff, breeze added to Georgia's difficulty somewhat and she was having trouble, even with Kade's help in the bow, making headway. I sent her along the north shore of the lake thinking that we could race the sunset over to the westerly sites. With the faster speed I was able to make in the prospector I planned to check out the site near the eastern short portage to Killarney for occupancy. When I reached it I found it vacant. I looked to where Georgia and Kade were and they had yet to make it as far as the first island in the NE corner of the lake... Quickly deciding that there was no way we could make the Bay of Islands before dark I gave her the signal that we would make camp here. As I paddled to meet her Ainsley kept up the pre-arranged signal (a waving paddle) until we were certain that she could see us. I met her east of a line between Iceberg Rock and the campsite and we paddled together to the beach just east of the site from which a faint trail leads to the site. We made camp, finishing as darkness fell. After a hearty meal of rice and meat sauce we all fell off to sleep quickly, all crowded into the Coleman tent (thanks Dad!) skipping the fire for tonight. Georgia said she slept better than she usually does on her new air mattress, but maybe it was just the good food following a 5 hour paddle with plenty of fresh air!
The next day we woke up not too early and began the process of acquiring breakfast. The water was calm and as beautiful as could be. As I stared off into the depths of the lake from the campsite the azure colour of the water was captivating to the eye. I decided there and then that, regardless of the temperature, I would swim. The morning was cold however and we all had coats and sweaters on. In spite of the fact that the sun was shining brightly, the ridgeline to the south of our campsite was shading the site and keeping it as cold as an icebox. Not exactly the weather one would hope for for swimming! None-the-less I knew that if I didn’t swim I’d wish later that I did. So following breakfast I headed over to the little beach, changed and fished a swim mask out of my pack. The sand was freezing my feet and I wasn’t exactly feeling like a swim was still a good idea! However on first contact, to my feet which were half frozen the water initially felt warm. It wasn’t however; I would guess that it was only about 12-14 degrees Celsius. Once I got over the initial chill however I was amazed at the clarity of the water. A peaceful feeling settled over me as with a few strokes I headed into deeper water. Blue, blue, blue and more blue! Centuries old logs peeked up from the depths as well as rocks the size of Volkswagens... As I toured along the shoreline the bottom would be smooth sand for awhile, about 30 feet deep, then there would be a ridge and the bottom would drop away. At one point while in fairly deep water there was another ridge and a rock pile that came close enough to the surface that I could stand easily and wave to the kids on shore. I continued eastbound along the shore, towards the portage to the beaver pond that leads to Killarney Lake, for about 10 minutes before turning back. On the return trip the kids had gathered on the rocks in the little bay on the east side of the campsite and were waving. I headed into the bay and chatted with them for a few minutes pretending I was going to splash them! All of us laughing I pushed off the rocks letting the water, as it has so often done, carry me once more.
After my swim we decided that it would be fun to paddle around the lake and explore the western bays and islands. I was especially interested in checking out the sites in the bay of islands area on the north shore of the lake near the western end. I remember paddling through that area years ago and thinking that it was the prettiest place in the world... Little islands just big enough to have lunch or a snack on, all perfectly ringed with rocks, almost as if they were in a park in some city somewhere.
We headed west along the south shore of the lake, around the bay and on into a smaller bay on the western portion of the lake, just south of one of the campsites there. As we paddled the sun kept poking its face out now and then. The rays were powerful, imparting some much needed heat to all of us but especially to me after my swim! After warming me the rays kept travelling deep beneath the surface of the glassy lake making sparkling shafts of light that danced in the endless blue beneath the hull of the Prospector.
We found a small, smooth rock island in the little bay, so we stopped, got out and dipped our feet in the water for a while. Aurora had fallen asleep during the paddle, so we just lifted her out and let her keep sleeping on the rock while we all snacked and relaxed. I washed out the canoe while the kids played, running all over that rock as if it was the local playground.
Time was slipping by easily. I swam again. The kids snacked again. The baby woke up. As time went by a thin layer of clouds started to thicken slightly. I wasn’t worried. It didn’t look like rain to me. Georgia was sitting quietly helping the kids with wet shoes and socks. Emma had gotten her pants wet and a solution to the situation was in the works when Georgia said “I think we better head back, looks like rain to me.” I assured her that there wasn’t a chance of rain. She, however, had a differing opinion. I wanted to just tour the rest of the end of the lake where we were so that I had an idea of what the campsites were like. Georgia said she didn’t think we had that much time. I thought she was wrong, but the kids were getting hungry anyway and had eaten all their snacks so we headed back.
The clouds continued to thicken and then the wind started. Out of the east, gently at first, then it began to stiffen and chill. “Maybe we will see rain” I silently mused. The wind continued freshening and before long the lake was churning out whitecaps a-plenty. Another canoe party had come out of the portage from Muriel Lake and had passed us eastbound just as we pushed off of the rock island. Four canoes were just ahead, and two more well ahead. I decided with the weather deteriorating the way it was that we wouldn’t go around the south bay again, but instead cut across the mouth of the bay along an island’s shore. I figured if things got really bad we could always pull out on the island. The canoes ahead of us began signalling and shouting to each other. Two of them decided to stay close to shore and began to trace the south shore of the bay. I, on the other hand, only had to cross about two hundred metres of water and then would be in the lee of a big island. They were directly into the wind however pulling hard for the shore. There was no longer any question about the rain, the only question that remained was how many minutes we had before it broke. Once we made the lee of the island we made much better time. Now there was only a small gap of open water, maybe a hundred metres or a bit more, between the island and the lee of the shoreline that led to our site. Kade and I pulled hard across the gap then continued along the shore to our site. Because of our much more direct route we now were far ahead of the group of four canoes. The hull of the pretty Kevlar Prospector slid up onto the sand beach and we piled onto the shore. Still no rain, so I wandered into the site and began arranging things under the other canoe in case of rain. While I was fixing up the Bob Special, and retying the tarp, I heard the canoe party beaching their boats out on our little beach. I looked out across the lake and there it was... A solid wall of rain was moving across the lake at at least 40 kilometres per hour. I thought we might have a minute, or maybe only 30 seconds. “Everyone!” I shouted, “Here, now!” I ran to the tent and unzipped the door. Kids were arriving on the run and I just tossed them, shoes and all into the tent. I pushed Georgia through the door as the rain started. By the time I got the door zipped shut the rain was coming down so hard that you could only see maybe a hundred feet. The tarp tore free from one of it’s grommets and started flapping, banging like the cracks of a rifle. I had my Tilley hat and my Gore-Tex jacket so I just stood there and watched in awe. Within two minutes the site, which was on a hill, had four to six inches of standing water. I couldn’t figure out how it stayed there! I kicked my shoes under the red canoe and went barefoot.
The people in the other party had donned their raingear and were standing huddled in the trees just off the beach. I invited them to try to get under the tarp but with one corner loose it was useless. So, relatively secure in our raingear, we chatted while the rain came down in sheets. I eventually got the stove lit, (man I love that alcohol stove!) and started heating water for coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the kids. The rain was still coming down so heavily though that it was somewhat futile. The thunder and lightening were happening almost in unison telling me that the centre of the storm was directly overhead. Emma started to cry. She didn’t like the thunder she said. I told her not to worry, and just be glad we made it back to the camp in time!
The little Coleman tent stayed totally dry, much to it’s credit, and the overturned hull of the Bob Special did a remarkable job of keeping the packs dry too. As the rain tapered off, the visiting voyageurs decided not to wait for coffee but rather to push off for Killarney Lake where they were camped. The water quickly drained from the site, not too surprising since it was on a hill! However things remained a bit muddy for the rest of the day.
On Tuesday we woke up a bit earlier, and after breakfast we headed off to Killarney Lake to try a hike to “The Crack.” The Crack is a split in the cliff face in the white quartz ridgeline that runs above Killarney Lake. It’s a beautiful hike that I have many warm memories of hiking with my Mom, sister, brother and son a couple years ago during an abnormally warm week in November. We all piled into the Prospector again, and this time we took the short portage to the beaver pond then lift-over to Killarney Lake. Arriving at the portage landing that leads to the trail to The Crack we encountered an extensive mud beach. It was ice cold and really gooey. I went barefoot, as I did for most of the trip, and helped the others to shore. It was a great day and a nice hike although actually making it as far as the Crack was a bit beyond the capabilities of some of the little ones.
An easy paddle, via the long portage, got us back to the campsite easily. A fire and a nice supper came shortly thereafter with the kids all trying to identify the Big Dipper. It was there, bright as could be in the cold night’s sky, gleaming out over the mountain to the north. I tried to get some pictures while one by one the kids begged to go to bed. Georgia and I sat by the fire watching the lake return to it’s most placid state. As the flames of our campfire flickered and finally died the stars shone brighter still. It was a cold night, but one for dreamers and lovers. We did a little of both until the efforts of the day finally pulled the girl of my dreams off to dreamland and I was left alone with my thoughts. A happy place when one is as content with one’s life as I was with mine at that moment.
Wednesday morning was lovely but was unfortunately the last day. None-the-less we had a lazy morning whilst breaking camp. I went for a solo paddle in the Prospector sprinting to the west end of the lake. I checked out the three campsites there as well as looking at Artist’s creek as a possible passage west. Artist’s creek, after a shallow part that took some wading to pass, I found myself in a large pond and after a turn some more flatwater. Things looked good until I rounded the next bend and encountered a tangle of fallen trees. A casual observation gave me the easy conclusion that the portage would be easier than the creek. The campsites seemed fine, only one was occupied. The island site would be cool but puts one rather close to neighbours on the nearby shoreline site. The site on the north shore took some finding as the map I was using had the site in the wrong spot. We get so used to things being exactly as marked while using maps that initially I thought the mistake was mine. The wind was calm on a bright sunny morning however and I was absolutely certain of my position. I finally paddled off to the east across the bay of islands toward our campsite. It was then, 500m further down the shoreline that I found the site. In the cartographer’s defence, I was using the hiking, not the paddling chart as it’s scale more closely matched the planned trip than did the other. This site was really the best choice on O.S.A. for a shoulder season trip as the sun would get into that site much better. Also, it’s on the Bay of Islands so it’d be fun for the kids to explore by canoe within easy range of the campsite.
On the return trip I basked in the sun and chatted with an eastbound boat before we separated ways near Iceberg rock.
After loading the canoes we too proceeded eastward over the longer portage, then through beautiful Killarney Lake towards the portage to Freeland. Across Freeland then into George we bucked stiff headwinds until finally reaching the landing at Second Beach. As we drove into the evening we laughed and reflected on what was truly a trip to remember. “Even the rain,” Georgia said, ‘made the trip better.” “And the fact I listened to you when you saw it coming!” I replied.
So ended our first whole family backcountry trip. If they’re all this good we’ll have no shortage of great memories someday!
Here's a link to the pictures...
One of my goals for 2010 was to get out canoe camping with the whole family. Easier said than done, but much better done than not done! The number of opportunities for all of us to get out together is limited at best.
Earlier in the year we did get out for a 2 nighter in The Massassauga Provincial Park but I wanted to take them to Killarney, my favourite of Ontario’s Provincial Parks. More specifically I wanted to take them to O.S.A. Lake. The logistics of this were slightly more complicated as O.S.A. is four lakes back of the access point meaning quite a few paddling kilometers and 3 portages. Not a bit deterred we set out planning for September.
I had picked O.S.A. Lake for reasons which, if you’ve ever been there, don’t need explaining. For those of you who haven’t however, here’s what I see and know about this special lake:
I first paddled through O.S.A. sometime in 2006 or 2007. I was totally impressed by the natural beauty of this lake. To view pictures, or for me to try to describe it verbally would be in vain… It simply has to be seen.
Back around the turn of the last century the lake was named Whiterock Lake. The area around the park was being logged, dams were being built to raise water levels sufficiently to float logs out. The building of these dams connected smaller lakes making it easier to get the logs out, and to travel in the mountainous wilderness of the area. Threenarrows Lake, just to the northeast of O.S.A. is a great example of this. Remains of century old dams can still be seen, and the lake is maintained at the post 1900 level by a newer dam.
The Group of Seven, some of Canada’s most notable artists of the time, were spending their summers paddling and painting in Ontario’s lakes and rivers. One of them, it now escapes me whom, was in Baie Fine (pronounced like ‘fin’) talking to some of the loggers. The topic of Whiterock lake came up, which had yet to be reached by the advancing loggers, ever hungry for the straight beautiful lumber that can only come from a tree that has been around for a few hundred years. As these trees were now gone from all the accessible areas, plans were being made to access Whiterock to begin logging the yet untouched forest there. The artist went to Toronto as quickly as possible and began rallying support for a movement to protect the lake and it’s trees. Support was gained, the Ontario Government was persuaded, and shortly thereafter legislation was drafted to protect and rename the lake. The name O.S.A. was selected because of the Ontario Society of Artist’s valiant efforts. That land preserve was the beginning of what is now the “crown jewel of Ontario's Provincial Park system.”
Back to our story! On the 19th we loaded the carefully packed food, supplies and canoes onto the van. Five hours later we arrived finally at George Lake campground in the park. We stopped by the park office to register and while there we had a look at the “problem campsite” that they had set up. I asked Kade to identify the problem areas of the campsite for the girls. He quickly found the food left out, the campfire still burning, snacks in tent etc.
We headed down to Second Beach on George Lake to load the canoes. Upon our arrival at the beach a strong westerly was driving the waves up on the beach, but I didn’t mind as I knew this would help us along our way at least on the initial part of the trip.
Shortly after getting the canoes loaded and seating arrangements made we pushed off at around 3:00 in the afternoon. The strong wind pushed us quickly across George Lake towards the portage to Freeland. This helped Georgia who still has some difficulty making RedBoat (the “Bob Special” she and Kade were paddling) go where she wanted! I just made sure she was trimmed a little aft for the wind making it easier to keep the boat pointed downwind.
Emma and I reached the dock at the beginning of the portage and began unloading. We carried some of the packs across and when we returned Georgia, Kade, Ainsley and Aurora were approaching the dock. Suddenly Aurora began crying about something and I could see Georgia trying to maneuver the canoe. I slid the Prospector into the water, grabbed a paddle and took off towards them while Emma watched from the dock. When Georgia saw me coming she called out that Aurora had lost her hat. I made a search of the area but never did find it.
Finishing the portage to Freeland we continued on the easterly track in search of the portage trail to Killarney Lake. The wind continued it’s assistance and got even better when Ainsley, my boat partner for the rest of the trip, decided that she wanted to be the “sail!” So, she stood in the front of the canoe with a sleeping pad on her back and her arms outstretched holding it. In this manner we sailed down most of the rest of Freeland Lake.
After the portage up to Killarney Lake, I trimmed Georgia’s boat slightly nose down as I was expecting headwinds during our mostly westerly travel from here on. However, the wind was calm to slightly contrary due to the fact that we were mostly in the lee along the shoreline. The water levels caught my eye however. Killarney was about 2 feet lower than I'd seen before so, upon approaching the west arm of the lake, I headed to the longer portage thinking that the pass to the short portage would likely be a lift up and a very shallow approach. The longer portage was muddy in places (as always!) but fairly good. We pushed off through evening shadows onto beautiful O.S.A. A dying, but still stiff, breeze added to Georgia's difficulty somewhat and she was having trouble, even with Kade's help in the bow, making headway. I sent her along the north shore of the lake thinking that we could race the sunset over to the westerly sites. With the faster speed I was able to make in the prospector I planned to check out the site near the eastern short portage to Killarney for occupancy. When I reached it I found it vacant. I looked to where Georgia and Kade were and they had yet to make it as far as the first island in the NE corner of the lake... Quickly deciding that there was no way we could make the Bay of Islands before dark I gave her the signal that we would make camp here. As I paddled to meet her Ainsley kept up the pre-arranged signal (a waving paddle) until we were certain that she could see us. I met her east of a line between Iceberg Rock and the campsite and we paddled together to the beach just east of the site from which a faint trail leads to the site. We made camp, finishing as darkness fell. After a hearty meal of rice and meat sauce we all fell off to sleep quickly, all crowded into the Coleman tent (thanks Dad!) skipping the fire for tonight. Georgia said she slept better than she usually does on her new air mattress, but maybe it was just the good food following a 5 hour paddle with plenty of fresh air!
The next day we woke up not too early and began the process of acquiring breakfast. The water was calm and as beautiful as could be. As I stared off into the depths of the lake from the campsite the azure colour of the water was captivating to the eye. I decided there and then that, regardless of the temperature, I would swim. The morning was cold however and we all had coats and sweaters on. In spite of the fact that the sun was shining brightly, the ridgeline to the south of our campsite was shading the site and keeping it as cold as an icebox. Not exactly the weather one would hope for for swimming! None-the-less I knew that if I didn’t swim I’d wish later that I did. So following breakfast I headed over to the little beach, changed and fished a swim mask out of my pack. The sand was freezing my feet and I wasn’t exactly feeling like a swim was still a good idea! However on first contact, to my feet which were half frozen the water initially felt warm. It wasn’t however; I would guess that it was only about 12-14 degrees Celsius. Once I got over the initial chill however I was amazed at the clarity of the water. A peaceful feeling settled over me as with a few strokes I headed into deeper water. Blue, blue, blue and more blue! Centuries old logs peeked up from the depths as well as rocks the size of Volkswagens... As I toured along the shoreline the bottom would be smooth sand for awhile, about 30 feet deep, then there would be a ridge and the bottom would drop away. At one point while in fairly deep water there was another ridge and a rock pile that came close enough to the surface that I could stand easily and wave to the kids on shore. I continued eastbound along the shore, towards the portage to the beaver pond that leads to Killarney Lake, for about 10 minutes before turning back. On the return trip the kids had gathered on the rocks in the little bay on the east side of the campsite and were waving. I headed into the bay and chatted with them for a few minutes pretending I was going to splash them! All of us laughing I pushed off the rocks letting the water, as it has so often done, carry me once more.
After my swim we decided that it would be fun to paddle around the lake and explore the western bays and islands. I was especially interested in checking out the sites in the bay of islands area on the north shore of the lake near the western end. I remember paddling through that area years ago and thinking that it was the prettiest place in the world... Little islands just big enough to have lunch or a snack on, all perfectly ringed with rocks, almost as if they were in a park in some city somewhere.
We headed west along the south shore of the lake, around the bay and on into a smaller bay on the western portion of the lake, just south of one of the campsites there. As we paddled the sun kept poking its face out now and then. The rays were powerful, imparting some much needed heat to all of us but especially to me after my swim! After warming me the rays kept travelling deep beneath the surface of the glassy lake making sparkling shafts of light that danced in the endless blue beneath the hull of the Prospector.
We found a small, smooth rock island in the little bay, so we stopped, got out and dipped our feet in the water for a while. Aurora had fallen asleep during the paddle, so we just lifted her out and let her keep sleeping on the rock while we all snacked and relaxed. I washed out the canoe while the kids played, running all over that rock as if it was the local playground.
Time was slipping by easily. I swam again. The kids snacked again. The baby woke up. As time went by a thin layer of clouds started to thicken slightly. I wasn’t worried. It didn’t look like rain to me. Georgia was sitting quietly helping the kids with wet shoes and socks. Emma had gotten her pants wet and a solution to the situation was in the works when Georgia said “I think we better head back, looks like rain to me.” I assured her that there wasn’t a chance of rain. She, however, had a differing opinion. I wanted to just tour the rest of the end of the lake where we were so that I had an idea of what the campsites were like. Georgia said she didn’t think we had that much time. I thought she was wrong, but the kids were getting hungry anyway and had eaten all their snacks so we headed back.
The clouds continued to thicken and then the wind started. Out of the east, gently at first, then it began to stiffen and chill. “Maybe we will see rain” I silently mused. The wind continued freshening and before long the lake was churning out whitecaps a-plenty. Another canoe party had come out of the portage from Muriel Lake and had passed us eastbound just as we pushed off of the rock island. Four canoes were just ahead, and two more well ahead. I decided with the weather deteriorating the way it was that we wouldn’t go around the south bay again, but instead cut across the mouth of the bay along an island’s shore. I figured if things got really bad we could always pull out on the island. The canoes ahead of us began signalling and shouting to each other. Two of them decided to stay close to shore and began to trace the south shore of the bay. I, on the other hand, only had to cross about two hundred metres of water and then would be in the lee of a big island. They were directly into the wind however pulling hard for the shore. There was no longer any question about the rain, the only question that remained was how many minutes we had before it broke. Once we made the lee of the island we made much better time. Now there was only a small gap of open water, maybe a hundred metres or a bit more, between the island and the lee of the shoreline that led to our site. Kade and I pulled hard across the gap then continued along the shore to our site. Because of our much more direct route we now were far ahead of the group of four canoes. The hull of the pretty Kevlar Prospector slid up onto the sand beach and we piled onto the shore. Still no rain, so I wandered into the site and began arranging things under the other canoe in case of rain. While I was fixing up the Bob Special, and retying the tarp, I heard the canoe party beaching their boats out on our little beach. I looked out across the lake and there it was... A solid wall of rain was moving across the lake at at least 40 kilometres per hour. I thought we might have a minute, or maybe only 30 seconds. “Everyone!” I shouted, “Here, now!” I ran to the tent and unzipped the door. Kids were arriving on the run and I just tossed them, shoes and all into the tent. I pushed Georgia through the door as the rain started. By the time I got the door zipped shut the rain was coming down so hard that you could only see maybe a hundred feet. The tarp tore free from one of it’s grommets and started flapping, banging like the cracks of a rifle. I had my Tilley hat and my Gore-Tex jacket so I just stood there and watched in awe. Within two minutes the site, which was on a hill, had four to six inches of standing water. I couldn’t figure out how it stayed there! I kicked my shoes under the red canoe and went barefoot.
The people in the other party had donned their raingear and were standing huddled in the trees just off the beach. I invited them to try to get under the tarp but with one corner loose it was useless. So, relatively secure in our raingear, we chatted while the rain came down in sheets. I eventually got the stove lit, (man I love that alcohol stove!) and started heating water for coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the kids. The rain was still coming down so heavily though that it was somewhat futile. The thunder and lightening were happening almost in unison telling me that the centre of the storm was directly overhead. Emma started to cry. She didn’t like the thunder she said. I told her not to worry, and just be glad we made it back to the camp in time!
The little Coleman tent stayed totally dry, much to it’s credit, and the overturned hull of the Bob Special did a remarkable job of keeping the packs dry too. As the rain tapered off, the visiting voyageurs decided not to wait for coffee but rather to push off for Killarney Lake where they were camped. The water quickly drained from the site, not too surprising since it was on a hill! However things remained a bit muddy for the rest of the day.
On Tuesday we woke up a bit earlier, and after breakfast we headed off to Killarney Lake to try a hike to “The Crack.” The Crack is a split in the cliff face in the white quartz ridgeline that runs above Killarney Lake. It’s a beautiful hike that I have many warm memories of hiking with my Mom, sister, brother and son a couple years ago during an abnormally warm week in November. We all piled into the Prospector again, and this time we took the short portage to the beaver pond then lift-over to Killarney Lake. Arriving at the portage landing that leads to the trail to The Crack we encountered an extensive mud beach. It was ice cold and really gooey. I went barefoot, as I did for most of the trip, and helped the others to shore. It was a great day and a nice hike although actually making it as far as the Crack was a bit beyond the capabilities of some of the little ones.
An easy paddle, via the long portage, got us back to the campsite easily. A fire and a nice supper came shortly thereafter with the kids all trying to identify the Big Dipper. It was there, bright as could be in the cold night’s sky, gleaming out over the mountain to the north. I tried to get some pictures while one by one the kids begged to go to bed. Georgia and I sat by the fire watching the lake return to it’s most placid state. As the flames of our campfire flickered and finally died the stars shone brighter still. It was a cold night, but one for dreamers and lovers. We did a little of both until the efforts of the day finally pulled the girl of my dreams off to dreamland and I was left alone with my thoughts. A happy place when one is as content with one’s life as I was with mine at that moment.
Wednesday morning was lovely but was unfortunately the last day. None-the-less we had a lazy morning whilst breaking camp. I went for a solo paddle in the Prospector sprinting to the west end of the lake. I checked out the three campsites there as well as looking at Artist’s creek as a possible passage west. Artist’s creek, after a shallow part that took some wading to pass, I found myself in a large pond and after a turn some more flatwater. Things looked good until I rounded the next bend and encountered a tangle of fallen trees. A casual observation gave me the easy conclusion that the portage would be easier than the creek. The campsites seemed fine, only one was occupied. The island site would be cool but puts one rather close to neighbours on the nearby shoreline site. The site on the north shore took some finding as the map I was using had the site in the wrong spot. We get so used to things being exactly as marked while using maps that initially I thought the mistake was mine. The wind was calm on a bright sunny morning however and I was absolutely certain of my position. I finally paddled off to the east across the bay of islands toward our campsite. It was then, 500m further down the shoreline that I found the site. In the cartographer’s defence, I was using the hiking, not the paddling chart as it’s scale more closely matched the planned trip than did the other. This site was really the best choice on O.S.A. for a shoulder season trip as the sun would get into that site much better. Also, it’s on the Bay of Islands so it’d be fun for the kids to explore by canoe within easy range of the campsite.
On the return trip I basked in the sun and chatted with an eastbound boat before we separated ways near Iceberg rock.
After loading the canoes we too proceeded eastward over the longer portage, then through beautiful Killarney Lake towards the portage to Freeland. Across Freeland then into George we bucked stiff headwinds until finally reaching the landing at Second Beach. As we drove into the evening we laughed and reflected on what was truly a trip to remember. “Even the rain,” Georgia said, ‘made the trip better.” “And the fact I listened to you when you saw it coming!” I replied.
So ended our first whole family backcountry trip. If they’re all this good we’ll have no shortage of great memories someday!
Here's a link to the pictures...
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Paddling priorities
Someone posted recently on a forum that I frequent asking the question "What get's between you and your solo paddling trips?" Now, for those of you who don't know me, my canoe is the vehicle that allows me to escape to the areas that I truly love. Far beyond the reaches of the road network and sometimes even to where the sighting of a plane is a novelty. I love wide open lakes and little streams, deep blue water and the sound of rushing water as I approach a rapid. I love the quiet, and you never experience quiet like on a multi day solo wilderness trip.
I love solo paddling/tripping, it's wonderfully selfish, edging on exorbitant and is, I'm sure, good for the soul. You simply follow your whims, point the boat where you want, eat when you feel like it, paddle as much or as little as you like, sleep when you're tired and wake up with the sun... I think you get the point! Most of my solo trips are afternoon runs down my local river here with an attempt at one bigger trip per year. 2010 only saw me out for an overnighter. In 2009 I did the lower portion of the Missinaibi, a river that runs 700+ kilometers from its headwaters in Northern Ontario to the Arctic Ocean. However I have bigger priorities than these, 3 of whom are in the picture below!
I have kids, all of whom still love to go paddling with me. I know that, regardless of the longevity of their love of paddling with me, someday our schedules will no longer coincide allowing us to trip together with the frequency that we enjoy now. So, I go with them as often as I can. I know that there will be many years to come when I'll wish for their company and won't be able to get it. At that point I'll trip more on my own or with my wife.
Priorities are important but maybe equally so are goals... Goals often help you accomplish more then you would've otherwise by giving you somthing to aim for. My paddling goals for 2010 were: to get the whole family out tripping together, which we accomplished twice; as well as to get out paddling 60 different calandar days... I didn't quite make #2, but I certianly paddled more than I ever have in a calandar year before, getting out 56 different days. Goals are awesome motivators! 2011's goals will be to paddle at least 60 calandar days again, and to get each of the kids out with me one at a time and maybe, if time permits, to get out for a little solo trip. If I don't make #3 though, no great loss. The bigger loss would be to miss the paddling with the kids!
Happy New Year everybody!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Lest We Forget...
During the war my Grandfather and four of his friends were cut off from their group and got stuck behind enemy lines. They hid in the basement of a bombed out farmhouse that was surrounded by enemy troops. Their food ran out quickly and they had to subsist for nearly a month on what they could find in a little wine cellar in that basement. Life seemed so fragile. They made a pact that, should any of them reach their fiftieth birthday (a ripe old age I'm sure in the eyes of five guys in their late teens and early twenties!), they would celebrate for all five.
Some 30 years later my Grandpa had a party... the others didn't make it.
Lest we forget.
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