I vividly remember Omer standing on the dock at Camp Kandalore, describing headstands and shakeouts and all the cool stuff you could do in a canoe. As he was talking, his canoe, which floated behind him untethered, drifted gently away from the dock. Kids in the audience got agitated, pointing and calling out to Omer: “Your canoe is floating away!”

Totally unconcerned, he kept talking. Then, with the power of a gymnast and the timing of a circus showman, he did a standing broad jump from the dock into the moving canoe, clearing a couple yards or more without missing a beat in his discourse. Howls of approval pealed out from the audience.

I paddled the Dumoine River once—from the bridge above Lac Benoit to its outflow at the Ottawa River. It’s definitely a trip best done at a nonchalant pace to fully appreci- ate the rough-hewn landscape. That’s the approach Canoeroots publisher Scott MacGregor and his family took on their trip down the Dumoine. That’s not how my trip went. It was never really supposed to.

A few years ago, my crew of three made a deal with our employer, a local outfitter, to help drive the Dumoine’s punishing shuttle. In return, we could familiarize ourselves with the route by running the river. The group we shuttled was scheduled to take the standard five days. When we started the drive, we had just 36 hours until we had to be back in the city and back at work.

The bullet trip went off without a hitch. We took advantage of much of what the river had to offer, albeit at a much swifter pace than most canoeists with banked vacation days.

I’ve talked with scores of paddlers, new and seasoned, and it never takes long for the conversation to turn to practical canoeing advice, trip anecdotes and yarns. But all too often, when I ask about personal exploits, people bow their heads and write off their experiences as insignificant.

I mull this over when I find myself compromising trip plans to satisfy relatively mundane commitments.

Constantly bombarded with stories of dramatic canoeing accomplishments, I get caught up in the desire to hold a candle to those making larger waves than my own.

Like many of the modest folks who blush when asked about their past on the water, my canoeing career has been arguably less than monumental. I have no first descents. I’ve never paddled across the country. I’ve never been hit by lightning.

After some 20 years paddling, my canoeing resume is filled with a disproportionate number of seemingly random acts of canoeing like that trip down the Dumoine. Even spending most days eating, sleeping and breathing paddling, I remain in the camp of canoeists unspectacularly accomplished on the water. Still, I keep my head up when people ask how my season is progressing.

Here and there I develop a technique, pass a weekend with friends in a canoe or head out after work for a quick tour. My status may be hovering somewhere in the neighborhood of Weekend Warrior but I’m proud that it has developed well beyond Armchair enthusiast.

When I consider my trip down the Dumoine, I wonder if I did it right. There’s so much to see on this river that by rushing downstream, missing things was unavoidable. Then I realize that given my alternative, there’s no doubt the run was worth doing. Any canoeing is better than no canoeing. 

This article first appeared in the Fall 2011 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine.

“I don’t paddle unless I have to,” says Pinock Smith with his characteristic wry smile.

For the Algonquin Indian, canoe building is all about the process, not the reward. It seems counter-intuitive that a builder who doesn’t paddle could possess the know-how and inspiration, but spend a day at one of Smith’s workshops and he’ll have you convinced.

Smith grew up surrounded by community on a reserve in western Quebec. “I was never formally taught,” he says, “but I’m not self-taught either.”

He learned to build birchbark canoes through hands-on experience and exposure— the same way he shares his craft with audiences across North America.

Smith worked as a guide, trapper and carpenter until one day he decided to build a birchbark canoe for himself. “That was some 11 years ago,” he laughs, “and I still don’t have my own boat.” Each unique canoe is sold or shared with his pupils.

Since his uncle first took him through the building process step-by-step, Smith has built hundreds of birchbark canoes using the traditional methods and materials of his ancestors. “We complicate our lives so much today,” he muses, surrounded by yards of birch bark, lengths of spruce root and tin pots filled with fragrant pine resin. “I don’t see why we need complicated tools and materials and exact measurements.” With no measuring tapes or rulers anywhere in sight, Smith admits, “I couldn’t make two canoes the same if I wanted to.”

Smith’s art is in many ways about simplicity, appreciation of beauty and a connection to nature. “Listen to what the bark tells you,” he coaches his students. While Smith is seeing a decline in the availability of quality, naturally occurring materials, he believes that the spiritual experience of building is worth his efforts to preserve and promote the craft.

In an age filled with new and improved, high tech and exacting standards, Smith’s attitude is as contagious as his smile. “If you make a boat and it floats pretty well, I’d say that’s a damn good canoe.”

This article first appeared in the Fall 2011 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.

Name that Shadow

Can you match animals listed below to their shadows pictured?

• Deer [  ]
• Coyote [  ]
• Kangaroo [  ]
• Pitbull [  ]
• Robin [  ]
• Cougar [  ]
• Billy Goat [  ]
• Elephant [  ]

Answers: 1) Coyote, 2) Deer, 3) Cougar, 4) elephant, 5) Billy Goat, 6) kangaroo, 7) Robin, 8) Pitbull

This article first appeared in the Fall 2011 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.

“The greatest gift is a passion for reading,” wrote american literary critic, novelist and short story writer Elizabeth Hardwick. I think she was half right. The other half is a passion for the outdoors.

A paper produced almost 20 years ago by the University of Chicago on early childhood development and learning concluded that, “an infant’s brain structure is not genetically determined. Early experiences have a decisive impact on the architecture of a baby’s brain.”

This makes sense to me. I’m on the nurture side of the nurture-nature debate. I believe we are formed by life experiences.

There is plenty of other research that suggests the development of early literacy skills is critically linked to a child’s success in learning to read. Today, the benefit of reading to our children is drummed into us. Read to your kids, read to your kids, read to your kids. We get it from our parents, teachers and the media. Read. Read. Read.

“When we read to children, brain cells are turned on and new brain cells are formed, adding a bit more definition and complexity to the intricate circuitry that will remain in place for the rest of their lives,” says the university paper.

So if reading to our children is hardwiring them for life, I think we need to be more careful about what we’re reading. What’s happening in their little heads when we read them stories of huffing puffing wolves and thundering waterfalls?

We’re not born afraid of the woods. Mother Goose and Walt Disney scare us into being that way. and they do so without well-meaning parents thinking too much about it.

The comedian famous for one-liners Henny Youngman wrote, “When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading.”

When I realized I was reading to my children about the evils of being outside, I did two things. I took them outside to read. And when we couldn’t go outside, I started reading to them about the fun you can have outside.

The children’s books suggested on the following page are a wonderful start, but I also like to pull from my own library. Like, Tom Brown’s Field Guide to Nature Observation and Tracking. We read a little Tom Brown and then practice sneaking around, we build sticky forts and poke at animal scat. Cool.

Another family favorite is Mountaineering, The Freedom of the Hills. Out comes the storage bins full of my old lead climbing equipment. We set up complex anchors out of clothes pegs and turkey string. lego mini-figures with ice axes leapfrog the three pitches it takes to reach the summit of the sofa. At least one mini-figure is consequently evacuated from the back cushion by the search and rescue helicopter. Too bad, but it’s better the kids work the bugs out of their rope systems this way than on everest.

Mark Twain wrote, “the man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can’t read them.”

Good books for children, in my book, are ones about the wonders of the natural world and ones that inspire adventure, not instill fear. Good books are freedom of the hills and the rivers, even if you have to read them inside. 

This article first appeared in the Spring 2011 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.

Navigation

North America’s classic road trip routes boast some serious mileage. The famous Route 66 stretches for 2,451 miles from Chicago to Los Angeles and the TransCanada Highway connects the Pacific and Atlantic coasts over 8,030 kilometers of roadways. 

Reviewing online directions and road maps before you head out is a no-brainer. Folks that are familiar with your destination can also provide valuable info on the condition and location of elusive back roads and shuttle routes—details even a good map can’t provide.

“Get that canoe off the pavement,” the Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer bellowed from the window of his patrol car.

Panic set in. The camera crew about to film my triumphant portage across the grassy lawn of Ottawa’s Parliament Hill froze mid-step. We had no filming permit. We didn’t even ask permission prior to the shooting.

It was just a silly, spontaneous stunt—my Canadian flag-emblazoned canoe beneath the copper-spired towers of democracy and sovereignty; patriotism afoot—while we waited for better lighting to film an Ontario Tourism segment at the Rideau Canal.

The adrenaline that jolted through our bodies—urging us to fight or, more likely, flee to the inviolable freedom of the swift-flowing Ottawa River below—dissipated when we heard the officer chuckle. He suggested we put the canoe on the grass so it wouldn’t get scratched.

“So, is it okay if we film this scene?” the producer asked.

“Can’t see why not—it’s your grass,” came the good-natured reply.

The camera began to roll. A second and third officer appeared to wish us well with our project. A small crowd of tourists gathered, camera shutters clicking in the bright sunshine. Kids playing Frisbee on the grass and a gaggle of middle-aged women gathering for an early morning yoga class moved aside to give us more space.

Then a fourth officer—a supervisor— rolled up in a shiny cruiser. He demanded we remove ourselves from the area immediately. We apologized for filming without a permit, grovelling for forgiveness from this pillar of the law. The officer clarified, “You can stay and film all you want, but you can’t portage across Parliament Hill.”