Those (Im)Perfect Days

Last summer, I happened across a magazine article, lyrically penned and lavishly illustrated, extolling a perfect day of living large in the great outdoors. To my delight, the piece centered on a weekend canoe trip in a region of northwoodsy lakes and rivers I knew well. Digging deeper into the story, it soon became apparent that this was definitely unlike any paddling getaway that I’ve ever been on.

In the accompanying dreamy photographs, the GQ-ready paddler, complete with Brad Pitt’s dashing good looks and a perfect two days worth of stubble, was seated ramrod straight, sans PFD, in the stern of a classic wood-stripper canoe. The boat, with its classic lines and warm-hued natural wood finish, was stunning. Nearly as stunning as the statuesque bow paddler, an übersexy blonde attired in a sports bra and knockout tights, again, no PFD, who I swear I’ve seen gracing the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. 

In between the lavish images of the two beautiful models who just happened to be sitting in a canoe, the article waxed poetically about the glorious morning sun casting itself over the sky-blue waters and the sweet-smelling wilderness air. It rambled on about the sensual, hypnotic motion of the sleek canoe gliding over the mirror-calm surface, the enchanting yodeling of a pair of courting loons and the picture-perfect campsite under tall white pines awaiting day’s end.

Well, jolly good for Brad and Gisele, I say. For the rest of us Average Joe and Jane Bagadonuts who canoe in the real world instead of Never Never Land, all this pabulum was a bit much. 

In 35 years of dinking around in canoes, I’ve had my share of memorable days on the water. Though I have to admit, not one of them was ever shared with a supermodel and not a single person has ever mistaken me or any of my paddling buddies for Brad Pitt.

Some of my most vivid remembrances from canoe trips past have not been of days when life was blissful, beautiful and perfect, but rather those imperfect days. Days when canoeing was more about fearsome storms, chilling capsizes and portages from hell. 

Sadly to say, my canoeing-related misadventures are not isolated events, but I’m glad of them all. Even now, years later, these wayward recollections still make me grin in a puckered-brow, I-can’t-believe-this-happened-to-me kind of way.

By now I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll never have an angel as a paddling partner, other than my wife, and I’ve been told I look a lot more like Larry David than any GQ coverboy.

Truth be told, canoeing as often as I do, I’m bound to have more of those indelible imperfect days. After all, shit happens, which only makes me appreciate it even more when everything does go right. Besides, for the paddlers I know, mishaps make better stories.

Larry Rice’s most recent imperfect day involved a sand-blasting, tent-flattening, all-night windstorm in the Lower Canyons of the Rio Grande in Big Bend, Texas.

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2013 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.