It seemed 2010 was a year filled with pe troleum-related disaster—the Gulf, Lake Michigan, the Niger delta, the Yellow Sea. Gushing crude made for dramatic headlines, but these stories were as much about water as they were about oil.

In North America, we have 11.5 percent of the world’s renewable freshwater resources. However, our surplus is no excuse for sloppy stewardship or lack of policy governing downstream rights, ownership and access to water.

The Upper Delaware—a designated National Wild and Scenic River—topped American Rivers’ 2010 list of America’s Most Endangered Rivers. This watershed, which provides drinking water for 17 million people in New York and Pennsylvania, is threatened by development of the vast Marcellus Shale natural gas field.

While our understanding of balanced development and conservation continues to expand, as canoeists, so should our awareness and responsibility for our waterways.

With the spike in natural gas prices, the region has the potential to become one of the U.S.’s most lucrative energy deposits. Exploration and extraction come at the cost of surface and groundwater toxicity along with soil and habitat contamination throughout the Upper Delaware catchment.

In northwestern Canada, the Mackenzie River basin rivals the scale of the Amazon and Congo rivers. The Mackenzie is fed by a set of waterways at the epicenter of the largest industrial project on earth, the Alberta tar sands.

Currently, between two and five barrels of water are required for each barrel of oil extracted from the sands. This means the tar sands draw enough water every year to meet the needs of a city of 2.5 million people. Much of that water comes from the Athabasca River, raising concerns of overdrawing the resource.

The release of tailings into the Athabasca and the surrounding groundwater supply further intensifies pressure on the area. Tens of thousands of miles of waterways are affected by this continual contamination of the North’s most significant watershed.

This year marks an opportunity to clean things up. While our understanding of balanced development and conservation continues to expand, as canoeists, so should our awareness and responsibility for our waterways.

When a project like the Canadian Heritage Rivers System (CHRS) hits a milestone like it has in 2011, it’s worth celebrating. The CHRS program operates under the notion that rivers have shaped our continent and its people. And, under its framework, the people—communities, rec- reational user groups and landowners—are responsible for designating waterways as Heritage Rivers.

So hats off to organizations like American Rivers and programs such as the CHRS for engaging North Americans, keeping us all from being left thirsty for more.

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

In 2008, scientists made a rather exciting discovery at a cave in Paisley, Oregon—ancient human turds buried in 14,000-year-old rock strata.

Science has long assumed the first people to inhabit the Americas—the Clovis people—walked across Berengia, a land bridge over the Bering Strait, from Siberia and southward through the Rockies 11,000– 12,000 years ago.

The Paisley discovery rocked the scientific world. Says archaeologist David Meltzer, “The pre-Clovis genie is out of the bottle, and there’s no way of stuffing it back in.”

People before Clovis? Since the Ice Age was still in full swing, the high mountain passage that the Clovis are believed to have used would have been buried in ice.

These earlier settlers must have traveled by sea, and like the hunter-gatherers they were, followed marine animals living on rich coastal kelp forests. Enter the first paddlers in the New World.

Their route took them along the shore of Berengia, down the coast of Alaska and along the outside of the Queen Charlotte Islands, finally arriving at ice-free Oregon some 2,000 kilometers later.

Anthropologist Dr. Niobe Thompson speculates in his recent documentary, The Code Breakers (CBC, The Nature of Things, January 2010) that these ancient mariners likely built umiaks—wide, open boats up to 40 feet long, powered by single blade paddles or oars and fashioned from walrus skin, driftwood and bone.

To envision these vessels, you need look no further than Arctic photo archives or the work of replica builders like Washington state’s Skin Boat School. Says Thompson, “We can only assume that what works in recent times—the structure of the modern Alaskan and Chukotkan umiak—is similar in function and appearance.”

Unfortunately, the sea long ago reclaimed the coastline these ancient boats traveled, which means scientists may never find hard evidence of their passage. Nevertheless, Thompson says, “Pieces of the puzzle…give us a sense that sea travel was the only way humans could have reached North America…before the Ice Age ended.”  

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

In the summer before Pedersen’s final year, with the help of his geography teacher at UCC and the Kitikmeot Inuit Association, he finally pulled it all together—a canoe trip on the Coppermine River that would end at his house on July 9, Nunavut Day.

The goal of the expedition—named Atanigi, “when two things come together” in the language of Kugluktuk—was to bring together Pedersen’s new classmates with youth from his home in the North. Because paddling is part of the extra-curricular program at UCC, Pedersen had no trouble drumming up interest for the trip in Toronto. Back home, however, extra-curricular activities involved powerboats, snow machines and ATVs…but not canoes.

With the infectious enthusiasm of Kugluktuk High School counselor cum recruitment officer Kenny Taptuna, however, half a dozen northern youth signed up. They found a canoe and the will to start learning strokes. Unfortunately, it was May and nearly everything was still frozen. As a result, when the group gathered as a whole for the first time on Air Tindi’s wharf in Yellowknife, half had no real paddling experience on flatwater, let alone preparation for whitewater.

Incredibly, the northerners surmounted their inexperience with natural athleticism and a seemingly near-genetic familiarity with boats in general. Aided by the skill and determination of three wilderness guides, the group practiced strokes and maneuvers on the first hundred or so kilometers of calm water near the Northwest Territories/Nunavut border.

By the time the crew turned north at Big Bend and started into the current and class II–III rapids for which the Coppermine is known, cross-cultural paddling teams were working like reasonably well-oiled machines. On the more difficult rapids, lead guide Colin Smith lashed two canoes together to make a pontoon boat— a.k.a. the “party barge”—which created a super stable, almost relaxing whitewater experience for novice paddlers.

At the Coppermine campsites, Taptuna taught nightly lessons in Inuit language and traditional games. Others started string games, throat singing lessons and impromptu inukshuk-building workshops. Traditions from the north and south blended in the common experience of paddling to the Arctic Ocean under the midnight sun.

When the paddlers arrived cold, wet and happy in Kugluktuk on Nunavut Day, they were celebrated for coming together to accomplish something remarkable. Pedersen and the other northerners were recognized by the town as the first people ever from that community to arrive via the river.

Equally significant was the realization of one young person’s dream to make this land just a little bit smaller by bringing people together in canoes.

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

The year Rapid Media publisher and editor-in-chief Scott MacGregor was planning the launch of Canoeroots, Nissan kicked off its memorable ad campaign that promised, “Everything you want, nothing you don’t.”

At the time, drivers didn’t want to be sold another luxury SUV, so Nissan created the rugged Xterra and positioned it as a uniquely bold, utilitarian truck targeted at adventurous outdoor consumers. The campaign provoked a cult following—Xterra owners banded together to form clubs, undertake expeditions and host events. Nissan energized a group of people, cementing their identity around the simple concept that their beloved SUV had everything you want and nothing you don’t.

While putting together this issue’s retrospective, I looked through a decade worth of Canoeroots back issues. I read descriptions of canoeists forming clubs, undertaking expeditions and hosting and attending events. I quickly realized the success of Canoeroots is that it provides everything canoeists want and nothing they don’t.

The magazine was introduced as an annual canoe buyer’s guide. But instead of filling pages with endless tables and small print specs, details of the latest canoes were supplemented with colorful stories about the different types of canoes and the paddlers that enjoy them.

Never has there been a kayak featured in Canoeroots. To this day, remaining canoe-focused is something we—like you—take pride in. Canoeists are always talking about what canoes to buy, how to improve their technique and where to go paddling. So is Canoeroots.

“Everything you want, nothing you don’t.”

I recently spoke with a reader who told me that the reason he loves the magazine is because we feature authentic writers like Kevin Callan, James Raffan and Cliff Jacobson; real canoeists bringing with them a sense of tradition, humor and heritage lost in other magazines.

While black flies and uphill portages haven’t gotten any easier in 10 years, the way readers can access Canoeroots certainly has. The American Canoe Association provides the magazine to its members. You can read every issue on the web, with tablets like the iPad and on smartphones, as well as in print. Readers everywhere are finding Canoeroots and sharing their own stories with other canoeists on our Facebook page and online forum. We will never replace the real social networking of the campfire circle, but with Canoeroots’ blending of tradition and technology there are now more canoeists and stories to share.

Over the years, the editorial offices of Canoeroots have grown and some faces have changed. This being just my second issue as an editor, I find myself in the unique position of sharing admiration for the progression of this magazine with a sense of pride in being a part of something canoeists like myself can truly appreciate cover to cover. Inside I hope you continue to find everything you want, nothing you don’t. 

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

We hadn’t even backed out of the driveway and we were only going eight minutes to the general store for a bag of milk. This had to stop.

I could hardly blame them, the seven-inch LCD screen hung there from the ceiling. It was like taking a date to a sports bar and trying not to watch the game. Besides, it was far too easy to stop the whining by just pressing play.

For our family, this habit started innocently enough. We live a five-hour drive from both sets of grandparents. That’s a long way to be strapped into car seats. For long trips, Disney is a good way to pass the time. But, like most bad habits, you think you can stop whenever you want until you realize you’re pressing play on a drive to the corner store.

My problem with in-car entertainment systems is that pressing play turns me into a chauffeur. I may as well be rolling up the plexiglass of a limo: “I’ll drive. You kids enjoy the movie; help yourselves to the mini-bar.” This is not the way it’s supposed to be.

When I was a kid, getting to ride with my dad on saturday mornings was a special treat. I looked forward to it all week. The Silverado emblem on the red steel dash, the rumble of the diesel engine and the smell of Export A zregular smoke that didn’t escape out the triangular, no-draft window he’d crack for me. It was 1979 and I was eight years old, legs dangling from the bench seat and the Gatlin Brothers’ All the Gold in California crackling out of the AC Delco speakers. I don’t remember where we were going or what we did. It didn’t matter; those Saturday mornings I was riding with Dad.

My new DVD player rule—no movies on adventure days—came about last fall on a drive to Algonquin Park. We’d planned a hike, playing naked (them, not me) on remote beaches and then a bike ride for ice cream. It was the Daddy Day that we’d been looking forward to all week. and it began with, “Can we watch a movie?”

If all I can remember of the trips with my dad is the drive, this is likely to be true for my kids. I don’t want their memories of our Saturday adventures with me to be Finding Nemo piped through wireless headphones.

To make things easier, my new truck doesn’t have an on-board entertainment system. We play eye spy, tell stories, talk, sleep (them, not me) and watch the 3-D super-wide screen—looking out the windows. And, we listen to music.

To our adventures with Dad ipod playlist I’ve added All the Gold in California, but their favorite is Joan Jett’s, I Love Rock N’ Roll.

Now when we head to the ski hill or the lake, before we back out of the driveway I hear, “Dad, can we rock it out?”

Even if they don’t remember our canoe trips in the Barron Canyon, and all they remember is singing with their dad, I’m okay with that. 

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