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.

The Inuk’s patience and focus are awesome. Pauloos Simigaq has been floating on the mercurial, iceberg-choked waters of Inglefield Fjord for hours with only the unbroken water and the occasional Marlboro to pass the cramped time in his homemade, canvas-covered kayak.

He is nestled against one of the countless bits of fractured ice pan in the fjord—the white underbelly of his kayak blending in with the ice when viewed from below. The boat, his paddle and harpoon, his seat made of a skinned polar bear head, and his sealskin boots all resemble those his father wore, and those worn by countless preceding generations of Inughuit hunters.

Without warning the silence is split by a wet, hollow “pfew…pfew” of exhaled breath and the still surface of the fjord is broken by the watermelon-like heads of a small pod of narwhal. Their wake leaves a jagged arrow on the silver sky-reflection of the sea, as they rise from their deep-water halibut feasting to fill their black blood with oxygen.

Pauloos, alert, hurriedly pinches off the embers of his cigarette with his calloused fingers and slips the butt into the front pocket of his white cotton anorak. His wife, Inge, has been watching with our group of southern tourists on the lookout—a grassy prow of land that affords a 180-degree view of the fjord, and warns Pauloos of the approach of the narwhal with a tiny handheld radio. Such is the paradoxical situation of the Greenland Inuit—with one weathered hand Pauloos stows his thin-bladed hand-carved paddle and adjusts his ivory-tipped harpoon, and with the other he holds the portable radio to his mouth, asking Inge where the narwhal are in relation to him, which way they are heading.

Soon he sees the rounded heads moving through the ice floes toward him. Slicing the water ahead of the pod are the sharp points of the males’ spiral horns—the unique teeth from which sprang the legend of the unicorn when the first narwhal tusks appeared in mainland Europe in the Middle Ages. These mysterious horns were said to have magical cure-all properties and were bought and sold for small fortunes. 

Sand sticks to your feet and under your socks, piles up at the bottom of sleeping bags and falls out of your hair onto the pillow when you’re sure you’ve kept your head out of the ground that day. 

If, on the third weekend in May, you happen to drive your pickup truck through Georgia, cross the Ogeechee River, take a right on Ogeechee River Road, go over the railway tracks and right at the bottom of the hill, you’ll rattle into the Traditional Bow Hunters of Georgia Southern Championships. And if you thought of packing your traditional hickory longbow and arrows whittled from wood, cane or bamboo you could, for 20 greenbacks, enter the tournament in the primitive class.

Thirty yards ahead of you, you’d see a McKenzie 3D deer target, the pride of the McKenzie Target line—the official targets of Buckmasters, North American Bow Hunters and the National Field Archery Association. As you drew back your handcrafted longbow and took a bead on the vital zone, you’d notice how exceptionally sculpted and meticulously painted the life-size buck is. A massive set of synthetic antlers adds the finishing touch.

McKenzie puts so much attention to detail into their targets because, they say, “We believe that nothing can prepare a bow hunter better for the hunt than prac- ticing with a target that looks exactly like the game they will be hunting.”

If, on the last weekend in August, you happen to be driving your Saab wagon along Highway 17 on the north shore of Lake Superior and turn down Michipico- ten River Village Road just south of the gi- ant Canada goose marking the Wawa exit, you’ll end up at the mouth of the Michipicoten River and the base of Naturally Superior Adventures.

If you had thought of tying on your homebuilt traditional Greenland skin-on-frame kayak or mass-produced synthetic replica, you could, for $250 Canadian, join 50 other Greenland-style kayak enthusiasts at the first annual Naturally Superior Traditional Sea Kayak Symposium. Once registered, you’d paddle your traditional hunting craft, learn rolls and build a paddle.

And on Saturday night you’d gather for a concert, although the organizers are still searching for a big-name musical act.

You would not, however, find yourself with a harpoon launcher in hand 30 yards off an anatomically correct 3-D narwhal or seal target.

Reading about Greenland-style kayaking, I was struck by how little attention today’s recreational Greenland-style paddlers, in their quest to master traditional paddling strokes and rolls, have paid to the kayak’s original purpose—hunting.

Even Chris Cunningham, author of the book Building the Greenland Kayak: A Manual for its Construction and Use, admits, “While I’ve made a few harpoons and darts and have even managed to get off some good throws, the only thing I’ve ever hit was the bow of my kayak.”

All is not lost.

Qaannat Kattuffiat is a Greenland-based kayaking organization dedicated to keeping the traditional kayaking skills alive. At their annual championships and through affiliates like Qajaq Copenhagen and Qajaq USA, competitors practice throwing harpoon for distance and targeting floating fluorescent balls about the size of seal heads.

I pitched David Wells, owner of Naturaly Superior Adventures, my idea of working hunting into his symposium. I thought Adventure Kayak magazine could sponsor the traditional hunting part of the week- end, and McKenzie Targets could surely sculpt a more realistic Greenland hunter’s target than an orange rubber ball.

In principle, Wells liked my idea of recreating the traditional hunt, but he concluded that throwing harpoons at lifelike narwhal or seal targets might not go over very well with the sensitive sea kayak crowd. I suspect he’s right, although it’d be a way to get anti-seal-hunting protestor Paul McCartney to attend the event. And maybe Paul would bring his guitar.

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2006 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.