Boy it sure felt good to be back on the water. For about five minutes.
"Good morning Archie baby," said my muscles. "Remember us? We're the guys you beat up yesterday. You didn't think we'd forget you, did you? And we sure don't want you to forget us. Around back, just to the left of center between your shoulder blades? Yeah, right there. That throbbing dent is from the peanut sized rock you missed when clearing off the tent site. Next time pay more attention, okay? Or should I say, eh?"
Just didn't seem fair. I was a kid in pretty good shape. Ate my Wheaties, played all the sports and biked or walked everywhere. But this paddling business was in a whole 'nother league. When I made a joke of asking Uncle Emil why I hurt, he saw through me and said, "It's all part of the game. The growing up game that is. You're asking your body to do things it's never done before. Odd thing is, your body likes it. The pain is just nature's way of saying thank you. One thing's for sure, it'll get better, easier over time. Or maybe the pain will eventually kill you. Either way, you won't hurt anymore." All of that spoken with his pipe clenched between his teeth.
Again, just like yesterday, our canoe slid forward slowly. That's the way of the canoe. Quiet for sure. Plenty of time to look around as you move. While I paddled, my mind drifted off to the ends of the universe. Or maybe to a night in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn in my lap. Then reality would come roaring back and I'd watch an otter bobbing and diving along the shore, checking us out like he'd never seen an aluminum canoe before. Guess that made us even. I'd never seen an otter before.
Sure enough the lake eventually gave way to another channel. Emil said we'd been on a river the whole time. "The Grass River. Doesn't sound like much of a wilderness track does it? When she widens, she's a lake. When she narrows. she's a channel. When she narrows more, she's a falls or rapids. Don't think there's actually a lake in the whole north of Manitoba. Just river. Except for where we're heading." And followed his opinion with one of those deep throated laughs like he's some evil guy with a big, black slouch hat, the kind from a 1930s black and white movie where you can only see his glowing eyes and you know for sure he's not the one you want to be with when walkin' hand in hand into the sunset. I hoped he was kidding. Yeah, that's it, kidding.
I followed his with a laugh of my own like I was playing along. Only my laugh sounded more like I was auditioning for a Warner Brothers cartoon as Porkie.
"Don't worry Archie me lad, it'll be fun."
At the end of Second Cranberry and back on what at least looked like a river, we pulled up our paddles. Let nature take us where she wanted while Uncle Emil stoked his pipe. Once puffing away he carefully passed a canteen forward on his paddle blade. Lemonade! Seemed he brought flavor crystals along. Sipping, listening to the play of waves on the gleaming hull, slowly turning broadside to the breeze, no hurry to be anywhere. What a great life.
"Put your feet up on the gunnels and lean back on the packs. Take a load off your backside. But do it gracefully. The drier I am, the happier I am. Yeah, your Uncle has rolled his share of boats. She's not the end of the world. No sir. But a dunking changes the flow of the day. Adds a sense of wet adventure a man has no need for."
My Uncle paused a moment, sculled us a few single handed strokes forward,
"Seems like adventure always begins when something goes wrong. And going wrong goes hand in hand with his buddy, stupidity. We all do stupid things in life but up here it pays to keep your eyes open. Take your time, do it right. Who knows, one of these days I might even listen to my own advice."
Twenty minutes of channel later another island clustered lake opened to view. So thickly planted with them, I couldn't separate shore from island. All looked the same to me. One continuous shoreline. Good thing Emil was at the helm.
Fifteen minutes later, for no apparent reason our canoe Emil turned us right and into a small bay accompanied by him humming a catchy tune.
"That's a pretty neat song. Any words to it?"
"None that I know of. Mozart wrote that as a piano piece. You wouldn't think something two hundred years old would be a toe tapper. Figure Wolfgang wore out a lot of fancy shoes tapping away while he wrote. Some of those concertos would sure sound good bouncing off these spruces but I'm not holding my breath 'til the time they do."
Off in the near distance a pole dock rose along the shore.
"Is that where we're heading?"
"More or less. Should we be in the Lund that'd be where we'd tie up. In the canoe it'd be asking for a bath or broken bones. Our slide-in is along the rock shelf off to the left. She'll be a grinder due to the rubble on the bottom. But that's what aluminum is good for. That and latching onto every stone in a river."
Our offload was an Emil affair. I helped some but as far as I was concerned the heft of the food pack said to leave it alone. Even Uncle Emil grunted on that one. From the rocky shore we moved our gear uphill to a little meadow about half a block inland. From our perch we surveyed the green and blue of our world and listened to the silence.
It was there I came to learn there's a never ending backdrop of activity no matter where you are. Here it was a lap of waves, shush of pines, flutter of aspens, twitter of birds, hammer of woodpecker and the play of breeze as it skipped across the bay. Yeah, those sounds were all there, all the time. Probably back in the city also. But how often had I ever stopped to listen to the wind?
Emil stoked up and added the fragrance of burning tobacco. His clouds would rise a bit, swirl, then dash off to the woods and brush behind us. I'd already heard how bad smoking was on a body. Many times. But there in the surrounding wilderness it sure had the feel of something spiritual, even holy. I could see why the Cree offered it as a gift of thanks. Smoke was much like a prayer on its drift toward the heavens. Then, just like a talk with God, it was gone to who knows where. Spread to the four corners of the universe.
Of course I wasn't thinking anything that profound at the time. But I did think the pipe tobacco smelled good and smoke seemed a fitting thing to share our space on the edge of the forest.
Again, just like yesterday, our canoe slid forward slowly. That's the way of the canoe. Quiet for sure. Plenty of time to look around as you move. While I paddled, my mind drifted off to the ends of the universe. Or maybe to a night in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn in my lap. Then reality would come roaring back and I'd watch an otter bobbing and diving along the shore, checking us out like he'd never seen an aluminum canoe before. Guess that made us even. I'd never seen an otter before.
Sure enough the lake eventually gave way to another channel. Emil said we'd been on a river the whole time. "The Grass River. Doesn't sound like much of a wilderness track does it? When she widens, she's a lake. When she narrows. she's a channel. When she narrows more, she's a falls or rapids. Don't think there's actually a lake in the whole north of Manitoba. Just river. Except for where we're heading." And followed his opinion with one of those deep throated laughs like he's some evil guy with a big, black slouch hat, the kind from a 1930s black and white movie where you can only see his glowing eyes and you know for sure he's not the one you want to be with when walkin' hand in hand into the sunset. I hoped he was kidding. Yeah, that's it, kidding.
I followed his with a laugh of my own like I was playing along. Only my laugh sounded more like I was auditioning for a Warner Brothers cartoon as Porkie.
"Don't worry Archie me lad, it'll be fun."
At the end of Second Cranberry and back on what at least looked like a river, we pulled up our paddles. Let nature take us where she wanted while Uncle Emil stoked his pipe. Once puffing away he carefully passed a canteen forward on his paddle blade. Lemonade! Seemed he brought flavor crystals along. Sipping, listening to the play of waves on the gleaming hull, slowly turning broadside to the breeze, no hurry to be anywhere. What a great life.
"Put your feet up on the gunnels and lean back on the packs. Take a load off your backside. But do it gracefully. The drier I am, the happier I am. Yeah, your Uncle has rolled his share of boats. She's not the end of the world. No sir. But a dunking changes the flow of the day. Adds a sense of wet adventure a man has no need for."
My Uncle paused a moment, sculled us a few single handed strokes forward,
"Seems like adventure always begins when something goes wrong. And going wrong goes hand in hand with his buddy, stupidity. We all do stupid things in life but up here it pays to keep your eyes open. Take your time, do it right. Who knows, one of these days I might even listen to my own advice."
Twenty minutes of channel later another island clustered lake opened to view. So thickly planted with them, I couldn't separate shore from island. All looked the same to me. One continuous shoreline. Good thing Emil was at the helm.
Fifteen minutes later, for no apparent reason our canoe Emil turned us right and into a small bay accompanied by him humming a catchy tune.
"That's a pretty neat song. Any words to it?"
"None that I know of. Mozart wrote that as a piano piece. You wouldn't think something two hundred years old would be a toe tapper. Figure Wolfgang wore out a lot of fancy shoes tapping away while he wrote. Some of those concertos would sure sound good bouncing off these spruces but I'm not holding my breath 'til the time they do."
Off in the near distance a pole dock rose along the shore.
"Is that where we're heading?"
"More or less. Should we be in the Lund that'd be where we'd tie up. In the canoe it'd be asking for a bath or broken bones. Our slide-in is along the rock shelf off to the left. She'll be a grinder due to the rubble on the bottom. But that's what aluminum is good for. That and latching onto every stone in a river."
Our offload was an Emil affair. I helped some but as far as I was concerned the heft of the food pack said to leave it alone. Even Uncle Emil grunted on that one. From the rocky shore we moved our gear uphill to a little meadow about half a block inland. From our perch we surveyed the green and blue of our world and listened to the silence.
It was there I came to learn there's a never ending backdrop of activity no matter where you are. Here it was a lap of waves, shush of pines, flutter of aspens, twitter of birds, hammer of woodpecker and the play of breeze as it skipped across the bay. Yeah, those sounds were all there, all the time. Probably back in the city also. But how often had I ever stopped to listen to the wind?
Emil stoked up and added the fragrance of burning tobacco. His clouds would rise a bit, swirl, then dash off to the woods and brush behind us. I'd already heard how bad smoking was on a body. Many times. But there in the surrounding wilderness it sure had the feel of something spiritual, even holy. I could see why the Cree offered it as a gift of thanks. Smoke was much like a prayer on its drift toward the heavens. Then, just like a talk with God, it was gone to who knows where. Spread to the four corners of the universe.
Of course I wasn't thinking anything that profound at the time. But I did think the pipe tobacco smelled good and smoke seemed a fitting thing to share our space on the edge of the forest.
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