This year, our annual tripping group was paired down to five. This allowed us to get all our gear and people into one plane, which cut down considerably on flight costs. The somewhat controversial side effect was that we now had one solo canoe, as well as two tandems. Someone would have to paddle alone.
During our trip planning meetings, there was some concern that the solo boat would be a problem, and how it might be difficult for the solo paddler to keep up with the tandem boats. I, for one, was determined to keep this myth alive. I was looking forward to spending as many days as possible in the solo boat. And I realized that if I could make the solo boat look like more work, then maybe no one else would want to paddle it.
On the first morning, I strategically chose two small packs to load into the hull of the solo canoe—the “over- flow pack” (a drybag loaded with extra bits and pieces that would not fit anywhere else) and my personal pack, both lightweight. I pushed away from shore and floated, while my companions wrangled with burdensome barrels and dry bags, seeking perfect trim. Already I was remind- ed how great it could be to be the odd one out.
“Hey Fi,” Andy called out from shore as he lugged another 80-pound food barrel into his canoe, “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure and wait for you today.” They were playing right into my hands. As the rest of the group finished loading and paddled toward me, I dug my paddle into the water, feigning intense effort.
I soon discovered other misconceptions I could foster among my fellow paddlers. It was clear from the outset that people were making a special effort to include the “socially isolated” solo boater in inter-boat conversations. But far from feeling lonely, I was the social butterfly. When I felt like joining a conversation, all I had to do was dart across the water in the lighter, under-loaded solo boat and interrupt.
“Hey what are you guys talking about?” I would say. That’s all it would take to get in on an interesting chat, and generate a little sympathy for the lonely solo boater. It was the best of both worlds. No longer stuck with one partner all day to deal with their shifting weight, ineffec- tive paddle strokes, annoying personal habits, and long awkward silences, I was able to engage only in the fun parts of being with other people, and flit away when things became boring, or tense.
At lunchtime, it was even more obvious that the solo boat was where I wanted to stay. As we approached the chosen lunch spot, I made sure I lagged a little bit behind the others. I watched one pair as they fumbled around trying to identify the wanigan to extract the condiments and utensils, and the other as they searched for the barrel with the lunch. If I had timed it right, I would just be rolling in as everything had been found and unloaded.
That afternoon brought our first portage. Again I found myself hanging back, this time to observe the age-old struggle with other people’s “froo.” The lake echoed with calls of “Is this yours?” and “Where do you want me to put this?” as my friends waved water bottles, bits of discarded clothing and other loose items at each other. As I drifted into shore, I quickly tucked my loose items away, unloaded my two wee packs, shouldered one and was off. As I lifted the solo canoe onto my shoulders I had another revelation—it was a feather compared to the tandem beasts we had brought along. Could this get any better?
While things remained amicable for the first couple of days of the trip, I knew from experience that as the days wore on, the tensions and petty irritations inherent to paddling in a tandem boat would become more pro- nounced. Therefore I made it a point to extend my tenure in the solo canoe for as long as I could. I kept up to the group just enough to make it look like more work, deflecting all offers to trade with a heroic grin and an “Oh no, I’m fine” (ask your mother for a demo next time you’re home) while making a good show of straining into my strokes.
Despite my efforts it became more and more difficult to fend off the requests of others to “give it a try.” Paddling partners were increasingly irritable with each other, especially the one couple in the group.
While there are some things best done with a companion or two, perhaps paddling is not one of them. What better way to bring all your lurking relationship issues bubbling to the surface than to jump into an overloaded canoe and set off down an isolated wilderness river for two or three weeks? Arguing about boat angle, trim, and the location of underwater rocks can be a strain on any relationship.
By day four I had lost my grip on the solo boat, and eventually everyone had caught on to my little secret. In the end, the solo boat ceased to be seen as a problem. The problem was that we only had one.
Solo paddler Fiona Hough has occasionally been spotted doing various things in the company of others. She is a freelance writer, teacher, corporate trainer and outdoor instructor in Ottawa.
This article first appeared in the Summer 2004 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
