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.

“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.

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 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.