By the time we got back to the highway it was dark and our drysuits were covered in dust. We’d taken out at dusk after a great run of the Opeongo River and discovered that Pablo had left his keys— the take-out keys—in the pocket of his cords on the front seat of the put-in truck. Twenty-four kilometres we hoofed it in soggy river shoes with no water and no food.
Goofy things like this happen to us all but they happen more often when you’re new to paddling. Whitewater is full of little tricks and secrets that if you stick around long enough you eventually figure out, usually the hard way.
I sit on the board of directors of the Trade Association of Paddlesports, a group that talks a lot about how to maintain growth in our sport. There is no shortage of people lining up to try whitewater. Paddling schools across the country are busy. The issue is attrition—turning students into paddlers.
As an instructor I seldom bump into my students on the river. Why not? They leave with a decent forward stroke, a roll and the skills to hit eddies. Walking out to the highway, Pablo and I had six hours to think about why there were no other paddlers around to give us a ride. We figured maybe we aren’t teaching the right things.
We need to remember that whitewater paddling is about rivers. Every student in every class should go down a river. Ideally a pretty one. For sure an easy one. Nobody dreams of learning the forward stroke. Wannabe paddlers dream of great adventures and shooting rapids, and we are squashing that spirit with stroke drills. There’s plenty of time for technique later; for now they need to learn to love the game.
You know why else it’s good to take them down a river? Because then they’ll know one. They’ll know how to scout, run safety, and shuttle. They can rent boats and gear and paddle that river all summer long, every weekend if they want.
We need to teach students to tie their own boats to a roof rack or trailer. we should go to a scrap yard with a cutting torch and lift the roof off a mini van, mount a set of Yakimas on it and have students practice loading boats and tying trucker’s hitches until they are sure they won’t be fishing boats out of a ditch. It’s pretty tough to go paddling if you can’t get your boat to the river, and nothing says newbie like asking retail staff to tie your boat on for you.
We need to give new paddlers the straight take about boats and gear. Not as salesmen, but as instructors, paddlers and friends. New paddlers need to know that they were using institutional gear and there is better gear that is more comfortable and warmer, and that nobody writes their name across the front of their helmet on duct tape.
As instructors we get two days with our students. It’s not enough time to master any stroke or move. So instead of teaching our students to paddle perfectly, we should teach them to be paddlers. Once they are hooked we’ll get them back. Then we’ll work on their strokes and bombproof their rolls. And if we can get rookie paddlers to stick with it, there will be more people to help when guys like us, who should know better, pull a rookie move.
This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2006 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here.
It had been just another great day on the French River until I decided to take my clothes off.
I had snuck down to the water for a skinny dip out of sight of my canoeing buddy Ashley and the group of women camped across the river. As far as I’m concerned, swimming in a bathing suit on a canoe trip is like wearing underwear in the shower. It’s invigorating to swim naked, and it’s hard to argue with the nudist belief that if we were meant to be clothed, we would have been born that way. Besides, it’s more practical. I swim naked to keep my clothes dry.
Ashley doesn’t share either rationale, and I wasn’t about to ask our neighbours what they thought. With Ashley suiting up on the point, I found a nearby spot to slip in under cover. I was almost to my waist when my foot slipped off a rock and a sharp pain made me scream like a…like a naked guy with a broken foot. Ashley looked over, and so did the women. I dropped into the water and waved—so much for my secret swim. Ashley switched into rescue mode, compelled by the duties of a canoe-buddy. I would have been glad for his help, but there was a little—shall I say skimpy?—problem: He was wearing a leopard-print Speedo.
I couldn’t stop laughing when Ashley first appeared in a Speedo earlier in the trip. He defended it, telling me that an Australian company came up with the infamous banana-hammock a century ago to minimize drag on a swimmer by mimicking a naked body. I told him that was why it was funny. But now I wasn’t laughing, I was caught naked and struggling waist-deep on slippery rocks with a broken foot and no help available but a hairy, middle-aged, wannabe Olympic swimmer.
I ran through my options. Ashley might grab me and toss my nude body over his shoulder fireman-style; he might hold me by the waist so I could put my arm around him—naked hip against spandex waist- band—and shimmy me up the slippery riverbank; or I could tough it out on my own. By now our female neighbours had gathered on the opposite shore.
My foot is approaching the size and colour of a football. I think I probably hurt it more trying to get out on my own.
Skinny dipping is about the only topic not covered in Kevin Callan’s new book The Happy Camper, An Essential Guide to Life Outdoors.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
Don’t let a fear of raging currents keep you from showing your young’uns how to go with the flow. These four trips offer all the joys of river paddling—helpful currents, intimate scenery, abundant wildlife, great campsites, gentle winds— but come without the higher stakes of intimidating whitewater.
Croche River, Quebec by Conor Mihell
At first mention, the Croche (French for tremble) sounds like your average roaring Quebec whitewater river. But unless you have a phobia of sand and smooth flowing water, there’s nothing on this section of la Rivière Croche to tremble over.
The Croche cuts a meandering path through the highlands of central Quebec’s haute-Mauricie before feeding into the St. Maurice river north of la Tuque. The best calm-water section of the Croche runs 48 kilometres from a logging road put-in to the town of la Croche. This is family float tripping at it’s best: there’s only one 250- metre portage, numerous swifts and a steady current make paddling optional, and nearly every bend in the river’s serpentine course features a sandy campsite. Paddlers with more moving water experience can add another 30 kilometres and three portages by putting in further upstream, at a bridge on the same logging road.
Hints While the Croche is runnable throughout the paddling season, sandcastle construction is best in low water when the most material and real estate is available, so plan a late-summer trip and bring a beach shovel. From la Tuque, follow the blacktop north to the town of la Croche, where you can drop a vehicle at the municipal campground take-out. Access the put-in from the same road, which becomes gravel north of la Croche. The Cartes Plein Air website provides all the details.
While You’re There If you think you might have some energy left at the end of your trip, remember your bent shaft paddle: you could continue downstream—albeit at a slightly faster pace—as part of the 193-kilometre La Classique Marathon Canoe Race. The event takes place over labour Day weekend and follows the St. Maurice River from La Tuque to Shawinigan.
Saugeen River, Ontario by Kevin Callan
Threading through the farms of Bruce County and protected by the Saugeen Valley Conservation Authority, the Saugeen River is an oasis for wildlife and paddlers alike. It’s the perfect destination for families looking for a quick weekend getaway in a setting that’s not remotely intimidating, or paddlers wanting to navigate their first bit of moving water.
The 105-kilometre, three-portage section between Hanover and Southampton can be paddled in three or four days. But the strictest float trippers will stick to the two-to three-day, 83-kilometre jaunt from Walkerton to Southampton. It’s portage free and has almost continuous gravel swifts and a few class I rapids. With numerous intermediate access points, it’s possible to devise different day trips.
Hints Walkerton is a 2.5-hour drive from Toronto on Highway 9. Drop a car downstream at Denny’s Dam, just east of Southampton, or arrange a shuttle with a local outfitter, load your canoe in Hanover and push off. Several islands downstream from Paisley offer Crown land camping among the faux-western charm of wispy willows and thick clumps of dogwood. Paisley’s Rotary Camp, Hidden Valley Camp or the Saugeen Bluffs Conservation Area are alternative options.
Lore In the early 1800s, the Saugeen River was the pioneer’s gateway to the Queen’s Bush, a fertile area that is still among Ontario’s most agriculturally productive. Prospective settlers gathered at Buck’s Crossing—today’s Hanover—to build scows and rafts for the trip downriver. After floating the Saugeen they dismantled their watercrafts to build the first shanties and farms in this section of south- western Ontario’s undeveloped hinterland.
Restigouche River by Andy Smith
New Brunswick’s Restigouche was a favourite river long before it achieved Canadian Heritage River status in 1998. It was once heavily travelled by the Mi’kmaq, and remains one of Atlantic Canada’s healthiest salmon rivers. For canoeists with solid flatwater skills and a splash of moving water experience, the Restigouche’s steady current, sweeping meanders and steep, forested banks make for exceptional multi-day tripping.
There are no portages to disrupt the three- to five-kilometre-per-hour current of the Restigouche. Swifts and riffles, punctuated by a handful of short, easy rapids, keep you alert, and numerous gravel bars provide a nearly unlimited supply of stones for your ongoing family rock-skipping championship.
Hints Access the river via Highway 17 and the village of Kedgwick. Local outfitters will provide detailed driving instructions and a shuttle to the put-in, which is about 50 kilometres north of Kedgwick. A great four-day trip splits your time on the Kedgwick and Restigouche rivers. Start at Camp 28 on the South Branch of the Kedgwick and make camps at Rapids Depot, the Kedgwick- Restigouche confluence and Cross Point Island before finishing up at the Rafting Grounds above Campbellton. To avoid crowds, skip long weekends, summer weekends, and school holidays.
Lore Million Dollar Pool is one of many famous salmon holes on the Restigouche. In the mid-1800s the governors of Quebec and New Brunswick, both avid fishermen, met at the pool at the junction of the Patapedia and Restigouche rivers to resolve a boundary dispute (though some historians have suggested they just wanted to fish). As the story goes, they were approached by Phyneas Wyers, a local, who persuaded the governors to give him $100 and title to the adjacent land for the privilege of fishing “his” pool. A century later the deed for the privately owned pool sold for $75,000.
North Saskatchewan River, Alberta by Darin Zandee
The North Saskatchewan rises in the melting Columbia Icefields and flows for 1,287 kilometres before draining into Lake Winnipeg. On its course, it falls in icy cascades through the Rockies, cruises smoothly through the boreal foothills to Edmonton and winds sedately across the Prairies. The best stretch for the float tripping family is the 160-kilometre section between Drayton Valley and Edmonton where the river loses its Rocky Mountain vigour but still maintains a steady clip. If the kids need a break from paddling, just point your canoe downstream and let the current carry you along. You can cover 40 kilometres in a day and spend your nights on expansive gravel bars that have been camped on for more than 5,000 years.
Hints Check Alberta Environment’s online water level gauge before heading out. For a more relaxing experience, look for a level of less than 225 cubic metres per second (cms)—the norm for July and August. Leave a vehicle at Fort Edmonton Park. From there, follow Highway 39 westward for 1.5 hours to the put-in at Willey West Campground, just east of Drayton Valley. Further downstream there are access points at Berrymore Bridge, Genesee Bridge and Devon Bridge—all of which make shorter trips an option. Plan on a four-day float from Drayton to Fort Edmonton.
Lore The North Saskatchewan was one of the rivers David Thompson, the Hudson Bay Company explorer, paddled while surveying for his 1814 map of the west. The 3.9 million square kilometres of wilderness he mapped informed the travels of more than a century’s worth of explorers, fur trad- ers and homesteaders.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
With more than 20,000 river-kilometres behind his paddle, Max Finkelstein is the perfect poster boy for the Canadian Heritage Rivers System. He’s travelled most of the 34 Heritage Rivers, explored hundreds of other waterways and written a book, Canoeing a Continent, about his trip retracing Alexander Mackenzie’s famous 18th century canoe route across Canada. He even paddles to work.
Work in this case is in the Gatineau, Quebec, offices of the Canadian Heritage Rivers System (CHRS), Canada’s federal program for river conservation. A six-kilometre paddle down the Ottawa River from his home lands him at his desk where, along with manager Don Gibson and planner Brian Grimsey, he promotes the Heritage Rivers System.
Canadian Heritage Rivers System: Preserving a nation of rivers
“I was a planner for Parks Canada in 1988 when I took my first northern trip to the Thelon River,” remembers the 52-year-old Finkelstein. “The Heritage Rivers guy in the office next to mine asked if I would submit a report on the ‘heritage resources’ I saw,” he recalls with a laugh. Finkelstein wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to report on, but he figured he had done a good job when he was offered a job.
Feature photo: J. David Andrews
Now the marketing and communications officer at CHRS, Finkelstein’s job is to make sure Canadians know about the program celebrating the river heritage of their country. Finkelstein’s 10-foot by 10-foot, standard-issue cubicle—overflowing with maps, books, photographs and files—is one place all significant rivers in this country pass through. He spends most of his time in the office on the web or the phone but he’s a frequent guest at conferences where he ambles up to the podium with his tanned, craggy face and ruffled hair, looking like he’s just pulled into a campsite.
He also spends a lot of time fielding questions from canoeists looking for information on the rivers.
“Sometimes I feel like a travel agent,” Finkelstein laughs. He’s happy to steer people toward information on canoeing the rivers, but he never tells them his favourite campsites.
Finkelstein finds a pair of glasses he didn’t need in the 1980s and pulls his original report on the Thelon River off his shelf. He thumbs through the 65 pages he wrote about the river’s archaeological sights, more recent history, plentiful wildlife, recreational opportunities and pristine, unspoiled state.
The Thelon River, in what has since become Nunavut, was added to the list of Heritage Rivers in 1990, joining rivers that had also been recognized as important for some combination of their natural assets, cultural history and recreational value. Once designated, the rivers benefit from management plans designed to preserve that which makes them so special.
Origins of the CHRS
The origin of the CHRS is legendary among wilderness paddlers. It goes back to the fabled Canadian Wild River Surveys of 1971 to 1974 when the Trudeau government hired students for the summer—no doubt clad in cut-off jeans with their long hair kept back by blue bandanas—and sent them out across the country in 17-foot Grummans to survey significant rivers. Those surveys—part of a National Parks planning initiative submitted to a young cabinet minister named Jean Chrétien—were the basis for a 1978 conference in Jasper National Park. It was the first time a national river conservation program had been contemplated by the senior levels of government. Six years later the CHRS was born.
“The whole CHRS process is now driven by concerned citizens who nominate their local river,” Finkelstein explains. “They are idealists and visionaries who involve themselves when they see their river becoming threatened, whether by something obvious like a dam proposal or something incremental like pollution.”
Once a river has been nominated the CHRS Board assesses whether it will meet their criteria. If the board supports the nomination it still has to be approved by the relevant provincial ministry.
The final step toward designation is the creation of a river management plan that will “conserve the river’s outstanding natural, cultural or recreational values.” This plan can spend years wending through government office corridors given the number of different agencies, departments, citizen groups, businesses and land owners that have an interest in a river and therefore have to lend support to any plan before the board will accept it. Ontario’s Missinaibi River languished as a nominated river for 19 years before lumber companies operating in the area were brought on board, allowing the river to gain status last year.
Even when full Heritage River status is granted, it carries with it no actual legislative weight.
“Heritage status means what the communities make it mean,” Finkelstein explains. A CHRS management plan co-ordinates conservation efforts and encourages cooperation, but unless governments extend additional protected status to the river, the fate of the river ultimately rests on the community’s resolve to stay true to the plan.
After being designated in 1994, the area adopted the Grand River as the focal point of its tourism pitch. | Photo: Courtesy Destination Ontario
How heritage designation helped the Grand
Finkelstein points to southwestern Ontario’s Grand River. The Grand was so polluted in the 1970s that local communities did their best to ignore it. After being designated in 1994, the area adopted the river as the focal point of its tourism pitch. Different groups along the river cleaned the waterfront, reduced pollution, restored buildings and re-stocked fish populations, and in 2000 the Grand River won the Thiess International Riverprize for “excellence in river management.”
Finkelstein’s low, rumbling voice becomes livelier when talk turns to rivers now working their way through the nomination process.
“Some really important rivers are finally getting attention,” he explains. “The Mackenzie, the Ottawa, the St. John and the Red are all in the works—truly major river systems of national importance.”
What has Finkelstein excited is the “cross jurisdictional” nature of these rivers. Early CHRS rivers, such as the Yukon’s Alsek River or Alberta’s Athabasca River, were often located within a national or provincial park. Full government support allowed for easy management planning. It wasn’t until some more urbanized nominees—such as the Grand River and New Brunswick’s St. Croix River—were proposed that the more difficult community-driven process was tested. The newest nominees involve numerous communities, various stakeholders and multiple levels of government. That the CHRS can be successful in these confused waters indicates a real maturing of the program.
Now just two years away from retirement, Finkelstein looks back on two decades of the Heritage River System with satisfaction at seeing how general attitudes toward conservation have shifted.
“An economic impact study was done years ago on the benefits of a river receiving Heritage River status. It was based on tourism dollars. It is not of much use, really,” Finkelstein admits, shuffling through papers in a file trying to find the forgotten study. “Really, how do we value a functioning ecosystem? How do we value a good place to live?”
Just because there is no easy answer to the question doesn’t mean it is unimportant, and Finkelstein has seen more Canadians realize that every year. The study stays missing as he packs up and walks down to the river where he’ll launch his canoe and head home.
It’s an upstream paddle on the way home; in low water he has to pole his way up the shallow swifts. Some would think it’s a tough way to get through the daily commute, but Finkelstein doesn’t think there’s any better way to get around his nation of rivers.
Jeff Jackson met Max Finkelstein in 1997 on the Ottawa River during Finkelstein’s cross-Canada paddle.
This article was first published in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
Buying a new tent is somewhat like buying your first house. It is a major investment that will shelter your family for a long time. To avoid costly mistakes it is important to consider your needs, do your research and check to see what’s on the local market. At the base of the pyramid-of-needs is shelter. First and foremost, your tent must protect you from elements like wind, rain, sun, snow, neighbours or bugs. Other features of modern family tents are more about lifestyle and convenience, frills you might say, but frills that will affect the happiness of everyone living inside.
Tent Size
Like a one-bedroom apartment, a low-profile two-person tent may have been adequate before the children arrived—but families need more space. Ensure that you have enough growing room and don’t forget about storage space. To live comfortably consider a tent designed for at least two more than the actual number of people sleeping inside—a family of four should look at six-person tents.
Floor plan
Just like a home, tents with the same amount of living area will feel larger or smaller depending on how the space is laid out. Young children may feel more secure sleeping near mom and dad while older ones may appreciate their own room. In- stead of having everyone under one roof, consider buying two smaller tents. This of- fers greater privacy, more set-up options at small campsites and a smaller tent for romantic weekends without the kids.
Photo by Kampus Production pexels.com
Shape and Season
If your family camping involves hiking to mountain summits, winter camping or camping in Kansas you’ll need a tent that can cope with a wide variety of temperatures and wind conditions. Low-profile dome tents and expedition-grade four-season tents can weather strong winds and snow loads and are warmer than traditional designs. For everyday summer camping look for good ventilation, higher ceilings and fine mesh coverings to keep insects on the outside looking in.
Materials
Traditional canvas tents are very robust and breathable, but also heavy and sus- ceptible to leaking in very wet weather. Most modern tents use man-made nylon fabrics that are very light and waterproof. These synthetic materials can be delicate and prone to condensation—look for plenty of vents if you’re headed for a hot climate. Inquire about what maintenance is required for the materials and if spraying, sealing seams or the use of a ground sheet are necessary.
Assembly
Some family tents are gigantic, others are complicated to set up and take down. Before you buy a castle think about how many skilled minions will be needed to erect your fortress. If you are base-camping and not breaking camp each morning you can get away with a more elaborate structure. A practice set-up at the store with experienced staff is good training for rainy arrivals and allows you to check the tent bag for all the parts.
Transport
Will you be backpacking with your tent or carrying it in your canoe? Will it fit in the trunk of your car or will you need a roof rack or trailer? How you will transport the tent to your campsite will affect the weight and size you are willing to carry. There are tents that try to be both big and light, but often you’re better off with two tents—one for the backpacking trips and one for car camping.
Storage
You will need a dry place to store your camping equipment. This may be in the van, under your canoe or in your tent. Where you store your stuff may determine the size and design of the tent you will choose. Storage options range from cute vestibules just big enough to hide a pair of boots to tents with separate rooms you can park a car inside.
Bells and Whistles
Take into account all of the extras. Tents can be very elaborate shelters with room dividers, canopies, windows, skylights, pockets and complicated zipper systems. Knowing what you really need before shopping will save you paying for and carrying things you won’t use.
Open House
Shop around and look at as many tents as you can. Check out the tents of your friends and ask them what they like or don’t like about them. Don’t rely on photos on the Internet; go to stores and ask questions. Good camping stores with trained staff will help you set up a number of models. Pile the entire family inside and listen to their opinions. If there is going to be complaining you want to hear it now. Remember, buying a tent is like buying a house. You wouldn’t buy a house without walking though it. The same should be true for your home away from home.
Putting in the Offer
All of the above considerations influence the price of a tent. Make a list of what you really need, then what you really want and then spend all the money in your purse. Camping is relatively inexpensive but there is an initial outlay and your shelter is never a place to scrimp. Remember to include in your budget essential items like ground sheets, sleeping bags and sleeping pads—all of which make sleeping in whatever tent you buy that much better.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
Killbear Provincial Park: A Group of Seven Campground
Killbear Provincial ParK, located just a half-hour drive from Parry Sound and less than three hours from Toronto, is one of Ontario’s most popular family camping destinations. The park’s rather un-park-like name isn’t a reference to the days when hunting was still allowed on this land; it’s a mistranslation of the Ojibwa name, “Bear Point.”
Located on a peninsula overlooking the magnificent 30,000 islands of Georgian Bay, Killbear offers campers a superb natural and recreational setting. Much of the shoreline scenery resembles Group of Seven paintings. The clear polished red granite headlands and wind-sculpted white pine overlooking the clear blue waters of Georgian bay will look familiar to anyone who’s seen F.H. varley’s most famous painting, Stormy Weather, Georgian Bay, or Arthur Lismer’s A September Gale, Georgian Bay, which was inspired by a visit to a nearby cottage in the early 1900s. Between these rocky headlands are spectacular sandy beaches, perfect for swimming and other watery fun.
Killbear has seven separate campgrounds with 882 campsites—147 with electricity—distributed within walking distance of each other around the perimeter of the six-kilometre-long peninsula. each campground has its own character, from the sandy, protective beaches of Kilcoursie and beaver Dams to the pine and polished rock settings of Harold’s Point, Granite Saddle and Georgian campgrounds.
Campgrounds feature a mix of trailer sites and tent sites, and modern bathrooms with showers and laundry. Radio-free zones are designated in some of the campgrounds for campers seeking peace and quiet and the sounds of nature. When the park is running near capacity, as is typical in summer, Blind Bay and Lighthouse Point campgrounds are more likely to have vacancies.
Classified as a natural environment park of 1,750 hectares, Killbear plays an important role in protecting an outstanding natural section of the Georgian Bay shoreline. In 2004 this area was designated by UNESCO as one of Canada’s 13 World Biosphere Reserves. Soon a new multimillion-dollar visitors center will interpret the ecology, geology and history of the Georgian bay coast as part of the recently commissioned provincial Great Lakes Heritage Coast Project.
The new visitors centre will complement Killbear’s already thriving natural Heritage education (nHe) program. It’s a first-rate educational experience for all ages. An amphitheater show we recently attended at the park was an interactive play about the life of bats. It was funny, educational and professionally delivered. The kids loved it.
Experienced staff also provide guided interpretive hikes and a range of other programs to enlighten visitors about park environment.
On the main park access road you will see signs that say “Brake for Snakes.” Massassauga rattlesnakes live in Killbear although they are rarely seen by visitors. Rattlesnake research at Killbear has been going on for many years. NHE staff have programs and other information about these shy snakes and other species. All snakes are protected in Killbear. Unfortunately motor vehicles are a major cause of death for the rattlers. The “Brake for Snake” T-shirts, available at the Ontario Parks Store located at the park office, make nice souvenirs and are a reminder to use caution on the park roads.
For aspiring painters, beach bums, amateur naturalists and active explorers, Killbear Provincial Park has something for everyone in the heart of one of Canada’s most beautiful landscapes.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
Safe Eating: Avoiding Food Poisoning in the Great Outdoors
There are few things I enjoy more than a cookout over an open fire or barbecue. It’s a great way to relax and have a good time, but if it isn’t done right it can lead to serious illness. Food poisoning is one of the most common and widespread ailments in human history, not to mention a surefire way to ruin a camping weekend or picnic.
According to the United States Department of Agriculture, food-related illnesses increase 150 per cent during the summer months.
Many people are unaware of the symptoms of food poisoning and never consider their storage or preparation of foods or drinks to be the cause of an illness.
The symptoms of food poisoning can vary depending on the type of bacteria causing the illness and the amount of food eaten. They include severe diarrhea, nausea, chills, fever, gas pains and vomiting—pretty similar to the flu or heat stroke. The incubation period of food poisoning can range from hours to weeks.
Most food-related illnesses can be easily prevented. Foods should be kept in a cooler in sealed containers—plastic tubs with snap-on lids work fine— and not wrapped in plastic wrap or aluminum foil. As the temperature in your cooler goes up, frozen foods will start to thaw and possibly leak. You don’t want your sticky buns sponging up the blood from your steak. When packing your food learn to live by the motto: Separate, don’t contaminate.
KEEPING THINGS CLEAN
Another big concern is keeping everything clean. Wash your hands, utensils and any food preparation surfaces before cooking and after handling any raw foods. Have a pot of warm, soapy water on hand for quick washes during meal prep. Good hygiene while cooking can greatly reduce the risk of food poisoning.
Every campground chef has theories about what makes the perfect burger or steak, but no matter the seasonings or goofy aprons, the rule of thumb is to keep them cold and cook them hot.
When using a charcoal grill ensure that the charcoal is glowing red and has a gray powder on the surface—this is a good idea when cooking over a campfire as well. Electric grills or gas grills should be cleaned or pre-heated to kill any bacteria on the cooking surface.
Some of you may laugh, but I use a meat thermometer to ensure my meats are cooked properly to kill all bacteria. Cook steak to 150 degrees, hamburger to 160 degrees, chicken to 180 degrees and fresh fish until you are certain it is cooked thoroughly. Hot dogs sold in stores are precooked but they should still be heated until they are piping hot throughout. Not all spots on your grill are as hot as others so move meat around so it cooks evenly.
Most cases of food poisoning from outdoor cooking can be prevented by proper storage, good hygiene and proper cooking. Food poisoning is a huge downer on any trip.
If you are staring into your icebox wondering whether you should eat it or not, I say: If in doubt, throw it out.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
Two years ago I would have laughed at the thought of saying that. Now I just see it as wonderfully ironic.
When my wife Tanya decided it was time for us to have children, I panicked. I’d run from any conversation about kids. I avoided any dealings with children that would encourage notions that I’d be a good dad. I experienced mysteriously well-timed debilitating headaches. That summer I rode 1,000 kilometres of rough trails on my mountain bike and drank gallons of coffee, two things I’d read might reduce a man’s chances of having offspring.
Now of course I know what all fathers know: kids don’t ruin an active outdoor lifestyle, they are the reason to have one. A friend of mine sat me down in his garage, looked around for our wives and whispered, “You don’t get it yet, do you? Kids are the ultimate excuse to buy more gear. Kids are the guilt-free card every time. ‘It’s not for me,’ you tell her, ‘it’s for the kid.’ And with all that new gear you’re obliged to use it.”
So I bought a fancy Chariot stroller rig complete with running, ski, bike and hiking accessories. I bought an inflatable canoe so we could float in the lily pads. I started eyeing up tent trailers. I ordered a 14-foot whitewater raft so we can still do whitewater river trips. Rafts, I figure, are floating playpens and the perfect gear boat for family-sized tents, two-burner stoves and massive cooler boxes.
Life is no longer about going light and fast. Camping with kids involves more planning and naps. We’ve applied for a permit to raft the Grand Canyon in the summer of 2016. By then my son will be 10, but he and I have already begun preparing.
His bathtub is full of my childhood Fisher Price canoes and kayaks, with paddles and a fishing rod complete with magnetic fish. At eight months, we swam together through rapids. He loved it. Set up in our living room is a kid-sized tent. Inside, or as inside as I can get, I read him bedtime stories in front of the fireplace. He turns the pages. This summer he’ll be one and half years old when we do our first father–son overnight camping trip. I’ve never been more excited about a ca- noe trip.
As a new dad, family camping for me has just begun. As the new publisher I’m very pleased that with Family Camping magazine comes the experience of founding editor Jennifer Birkby, her gang of regular contributors and seven years’ worth of dedicated readers. Together we will produce the best magazine about the best adventure in life, family camping.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
Eddies are sanctuaries of calm water formed behind obstacles that disrupt the flow of fast-moving water. When water hits an obstacle, such as a constricted shoreline or mid-river rock, it must move around it before continuing downstream. This leaves an area behind the obstruction where the water recirculates back upriver.
For canoeists, eddies provide a safe place to stop, rest and scout—or take to the portage—amid even the wildest whitewater. But first you have to break through the eddyline, the dividing line between current moving downstream and the eddy water recirculating behind the obstacle.
With practice it is easy to identify the boundary between the fast-moving and aerated downstream flow and the calmer, slower water of the eddy. It is important to cross this eddyline with an acute angle of approach. You should carry momentum across the eddyline and time your turn so the contrasting currents help to spin your canoe upstream as you enter the eddy.
The three components of an eddy turn are: angle—entering the eddy at an angle of between 45 and 90 degrees to the eddyline; motion—carrying speed and momentum into the eddy; and tilt—leaning the canoe into the turn.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
Whitewater River Conservation: Horror Movies With Happy Endings
At the Kendal Mountain Film Festival, held in England each fall for the last 25 years, there used to be one night in a week of climbing films dedicated to paddling and muddy bikes. Such has been the growth of interest in these two topics over the years, however, that last fall organizers decided to separate the boats and the bikes and offer whole evenings of each.
I’m not sure how the muddy bike evening sold, but the paddling program played to a packed house. It included presentations by two conventional open canoeists; Paul Grogan told of his odyssey down the Amur River along the Mongolian-Siberian border and yours truly talked about “Bugs, Blogs and Broken Canoes” in Canada. These live offerings were intermixed with a bevy of the latest whitewater paddling films.
Paul Grogan’s story was both funny (ridiculous hassles with the Chinese and Russian bureaucracies) and heart warming (generous people along the way took them in without hesitation) and sent the audience running to buy his book, Barbed Wire and Babushkas. My Canadian canoeing stories went over fine too. But the real story was the whitewater films, which ranged from beautiful to totally obscene.
A five-minute short called Falling was a masterwork of light play and creative camera pans on a kayaker shooting and re-shooting a medium-sized falls. No one was injured in the film and, as far as I know, there were no puddles under anyone’s seat when the credits rolled. The other films however, amounted to an orgy of total insanity.
TWO APPROACHES TO FALLING WATER
These films were little more than segments of footage strung together without narrative glue. They bombarded the audience with scene after scene of colourful kayaks falling over cliffs and crashing down waterfalls of increasing height and complexity, all to the nasty incantations of in-your-face neo-punk
music. Boof, bang, splash. Bang, bash and bang again—the act repeated ad infinitum, with the group divvying up the gear of any rag dolls and continuing on downstream after leaving their fallen on shore (not really … they actually airlifted out the guy with the broken back). How these people survive is beyond me, but I’m glad they do.
Since then, I’ve been thinking about the two approaches to falling water. On the one hand, you have the traditional canoeist who would paddle to the ends of the earth to experience a sight like the Nahanni River’s numinous Virginia Falls, just to sit there and reflect on its beauty before heading home. And on the other, you have the whitewater kayakers who would go to such places just to see if there was anything worth “hucking” themselves off.
On the basis of an unofficial poll, and in spite of what’s projected in some of their films, there is another difference between these two groups—and it’s not what you’d think. It’s the hucksters, not the silently reverential ones, you’re more likely to find at rallies and as members of groups trying to preserve these wild places. They’re the politically active ones, or so it seems.
Waterfalls transform the potential energy of calm water into plummeting kinetic energy, stasis into motion, complacency into action. I think some of the wild-hearted souls who get pum- meled by waterfalls have a better appreciation of their transformative essence than those who sit in quiet reflection and then float passively home. Sitting at home, full of appreciation—and potential—is not good enough.
The future of our rivers is being negotiated right now. There’s no bet- ter time to find out about groups like CPAWS and the Canadian Heritage Rivers System. With more participation these groups might become as powerful as American Whitewater is in the United States. AW marshals its 6,700 members in defence of 80 to 100 rivers at any one time. They do the grunt work of forcing their way into decision-making processes to give rivers a voice.
And regardless of what you think of their films, the next time you have the chance (at a conservation rally for a nearby river perhaps), buy a huckster a beer because a) they’re likely flat broke; b) they probably have something interesting to say; and c) it may be the last time you see them.
James Raffan monitors www.cpaws.org and www.chrs.ca to stay informed and active as a paddling conservationist.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2006 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here. 
This article first appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions 
