Fishing Camp

When I woke up with the wind was trying to roll the tent over, but a few hours later, having worked hard banking up gravel berms on the tent's windward side, the wind seemed to peter away to nothing. I rushed to stow the camp into the kayak hatches and launch. I was off again, but for how long? Soon the wind began making cat's paws on the surface. I pondered whether I could make it across the open bay, a distance of perhaps two or three miles. I decided to chance it. The head of the bay would take all day to make good what crossing directly would give me in less than an hour.
Reaching the far shore without too much drama, I discovered high gravel banks with no place to pull up a kayak to camp. The wind fortunately blew straight off the high shore leaving me to paddle in the lee. I plodded along the shore as it slowly curved away to the left, mile after mile of monotonous grey shoreline.
Finally I saw something different, a slight point of land up ahead with just enough level ground to pull ashore. Within the hour I was rounding it, looking into the mouth of a small gushing stream tumbling downwards to the sea. Just beyond the far shore were three white tents and a bunch of people looking in my direction. I headed towards them.
Two of the men waded into the water to catch the bow and guide it around the rocks lying in wait on the bottom. As soon as it was shallow enough, I clambered out and promptly slipped and fell in the water. I'd been paddling too long and the stiffness in my legs didn't add much gracefulness to my entry into the Inuit fishing camp!
I was helped up and managed to shake hands and say hello with everyone while the men kindly carried my kayak to shore. I was invited up the beach to the larger tent to have tea. They were the first people I had seen since leave the village of Hall Beach almost a week ago. It was good to have smiling faces and conversation again.
It was also a chance to try out my very rusty Inuktitut as the adults spoke only a few words of English and the children who did understand some English were far too shy to speak above a whisper and that only to their parents. I struggled for words long forgotten after nearly 30 years of being away.
I was offered one of their tents that evening and accepted. During the night the wind rose again and I could feel the tent beginning to give way. I went out and started adding extra stones to the guy lines. Soon everyone was out doing the same as the wind continued to rise. We all got up several times, but eventually there was a roar and screams, then laughter and cursing. I ducked out of the tent to see the large tent had completely disappeared leaving people and their belongings sitting out exposed to the elements. Parents were up quickly grabbing things and weighting them down with rocks, children were sent running after items which were heading off across the landscape.
By the end of the day most of the larger items had been recovered and the tent put up again, but it was decided to repair a small wooden cabin which was close by. We spent the next day working on this. We repaired the leaky roof and chain-sawed a hole in one wall so we could put a window, frame and all into it to give us some light. All eight of us, adults and children bedded down on the floor together, family and stranger in a big pile of bodies and sleeping bags. In the midst of all this the lady of the 'house' produced tea and bannock nearly non-stop, we continued to fish and the wind continued to blow.
Five days later when the wind finally ease up a bit, the big freighter canoes were loaded and my new family headed for home across the open water. I watched the sea dancing in the wind for several more hours wondering what to do, then decided that the wind had dropped enough. I could manage the crossing as well. I left and arrived several hours later in the midnight sun to greet old friends on a familiar arctic beach. Tikipunga!

Have you been speeding lately?

Summertime is the season for getting out on paddling adventures. Several big time expeditions are underway or will be and many of us will soon be heading out there as well to do our thing. No matter what your plans are, there is often a question of how far to go in the time you have. The relationship between these two variables is what we call 'speed'. When you add in the third component of 'where', then you can refer to your speed as your 'velocity'. So what's yours?
If you're booked into a group outing, then how fast you go and what you get to actually see as you paddle along will be determined by the skills of the group. Add an inexperienced, slower paddler, and the whole group slows down to a speed just above 'drift'. You can nearly drown in the flower smells as you gradually drift by them. On the other hand, you can go out with the racing crowd and never see a flower, let alone smell one. Again, it's your call.
The choice is yours. You can pick and chose who you paddle with. On commercial trips, that option is more limited, but usually the outfitter will let you know who's in the group and the general skill level of the paddlers signed up. Another option is to travel solo. Here your speed is what you make it: fast when you want fast, slow when you prefer that.
The best option of all is to find that special someone who paddles the same speed you do, shares the same ideals as you do, wants to stop at the same places and race to the same campsite at the end of the day. Partners like these are out there, but they are not easy to find. Cross your fingers however, and keep on searching. There's got to be one out there for you if you keep looking! In the meantime keep paddling, stay positive, stay calm and watch for the speeding signs...

Qajaq Montreal

Last weekend a group of Greenland style kayakers had a booth at the Outdoor Festival and put on several demonstrations for the Montrealais who showed up. Saturday it rained so hard the site, (part of the old Expo 67 World's Fair on an island in the St Lawrence) was rapidly disappearing into the river. Mud was the order of the day, glorious mud. However once in the pond next to the site the people along the shores were entertained watching various rolls and braces. Nicolas Bertrand managed to do a stand up paddle until a kid in a bath-tub plastic kayak bumped into him. All in all a fun day and a chance for many people, both spectators and Euro-style paddlers to get an idea of what Greenland-style kayaking is all about. I think one interesting thing was that of the many people who went out to paddle during the two days, only the Greenlanders rolled their boats, suggesting that this critical skill is not given much value among most of the paddling public. Is that a good thing? I don't think so...


This was our little sancturary from the rain on Saturday. We had a larger crowd on Sunday after the rain let up and were able to show a lot of people how our boats are made. As most people think only of glass or plastic kayaks, it opened a number of eyes. After all, SOF kayaks are where it all began and in Montreal, it is beginning to return to its roots. More and more people are building boats and developing new skills. Is a good thing? I think so!

Cheery news!

Every now and then something happens to stop you in your tracks and make you feel good all over. I had one of those moments earlier in the week. Years ago when I was teaching in a small Inuit village in northern Quebec called Kangirsuk, I lived with a family in order to try and improve my Inuktitut language skills. It was the village where I watched an elder build a qajaq in the old way, using a bow drill and caribou sinew for lashing materials. I wish I had known that people with his skills were rapidly disappearing at the time. I would have paid more attention to him!
The lady of the house was named Ikuma. She was an outspoken and fun loving lady who taught me many things about life even though my language skills remained poor. When my wife and I brought our first child home from the hospital, it was Ikuma's lessons on how to fold and put on a diaper which saved us from certain disastor!
This week a friend of mine was speaking to Ikuma as she passed through a northern airport and he said, "She spoke with great fondness of you. Tears came to her eyes as she told me that she still refers to you as "irnira" "my son" in her conversations with others... and that there never has been a teacher so attuned to the Inuit..."
Now are those nice words or what? I am so touched by these words. Maybe it's time I went 'home' before she disappears as well...

Hey Freya, Happy Birthday!

Can you imagine a better birthday activity than paddling the south coast of Newfoundland? I can't. I'm so jealous! Anyway, Freya (seen here last March instructing at the Sweetwater Symposium in Florida), I hope you have a great day, with sunny skies, a comfortable tail-wind and no fog.

Now I have noticed that several other bloggers are heading off on their summer adventures in the next couple of weeks. I'll be heading to a Greenland paddling event in Montreal this weekend, and then I too will hit the trail to adventure. The setting will be someplace in a well known galaxy, not very far away, in a time set with sunny skies and friendly people. I know, I'm a little hazy about exactly where that is as well, but much depends on dinner, saith the Walrus through his salt-teared eye. I'll try to post from the leading edge...

Getting older?

You're an aging kayaker if...

1. You've tried to find water-proof hearing aids in case you roll accidently.
2. Your adult diaper has a Coast Guard sticker allowing it to be used as a PFD.
3. Your wooden GP paddle comes apart and converts into crutches.
4. Your beard is a mix of white hair and green seaweed.
5. You know which seaweed relieves the discomfort caused by gas or heartburn.
6. You use wrinkle-abatement sun screen lotions.
7. You can list a few pension-stretching paddling locations.
8. You think 303 Protectant helps in the treatment of arthritis.
9. You take Viagra to improve your forward stroke.
10. You own a pair of sponsons for easy entry and exiting when kayaking.
11. You own more Ace bandage tape than you do duct tape.
12. You use arch support insoles in your paddling booties.
13. Your dry-suit has built in support-hose.
14. Your pacemaker has a GPS display option.
15. You've bought a wooden coffin which works well as a touring kayak.
16. You've taken a course in hip replacements using an all-in-one tool.
17. You attach your Camelbac bag to your catheter tube.
18. Your maps all come with big-size print.
19. You freeze-dry the meals you get from the 50+ Club.
20. The foam in your Thermo-Rest has more memory than you do!

(With thanks to the folks at PaddleWise who dreamt many of these up!)


Poor granny.
I hope she wasn't out kayaking when it happened...

Here and There

Years ago, when I was a young boy, my friends and I would come to this spot each Spring to collect frogs eggs in the shallows by the grass. We'd take them home and sometimes to school to watch them go through their stages. When I got a bit older, we would play pirates in this same spot. We all had row boats and would make surprise attacks out of the creek mouth, descending upon unsuspecting passers-by and threaten them will all manner of horror. We never caught anyone one, but pretend pirates seldom did. It wasn't the point.
Still later when we graduated to motor boats, we discovered a hidden log just off the creek mouth. It was sticking up from the bottom and could catch the odd motor boat, breaking its shear-pin and giving us that pleasure that comes from knowing something hidden to others.
Today, I still paddle up that creek each Spring sort of to check on things, see what's the same, what's changed. Until recently I would come here at the request of my children. We'd come by canoe so we could all share in the pleasure of visiting this special spot in nature. Both children have lives of their own now and no longer live at home, but I'm sure they're thinking about this creek and the pleasures it has given all of us over so many years.
I went there today. The frog eggs are just appearing. The log is still waiting for the unsuspecting. I was the only pirate present, but I could feel the others. Their spirits were there. We all had a grand time, and then I paddled home!

Kent's Strippers

I first met Kent LeBoutillier at a Newfound Rendezvous several years ago.

He had brought along several boats, an SOF and this strip built boat, an Outer Island. To say the boat was stunning is to vastly understate Kent's skills. Not only had he chosen a wonderful paddling boat design to build, but his woodworking skills resulted in a work of beauty and class. We were all fighting for a chance to paddle it!

This year Kent brought another strip boat, his newly created Derijp, replicated again with superb skill. Many people have seen his pictures of this boat on QajaqUSA, but to see it in the flesh is to marvel. He recently responded on QajaqUSA to the question of how this version paddled compared to the Derijp original SOF. Unfortunately he was unable to make the comparison as he was unable to get into the SOF version due to the ribs restricting his entry. One advantage of the strip version is obviously the ease of entry into the rib-less interior.
Isn't it great to have skilled people like Kent producing these beautiful boats? It would be interesting to get a Greenlander's reaction!

Smooth Paddling

I was in the United States last weekend for the Greenland event in Burlington, Vermont. Crossing the border, I was asked to give 'proof of identification', so I handed over my photo-ID driver's licence. No problem. I was welcomed into the 'Land of the Free, Home of the Brave". Next year it won't be quite so easy. I'll require a valid passport.
Well, quess what! My new Canadian passport application is all ready to be sent away and in a short span of time, I'll have the offical document itself. Then, not only will the USA be my paddling wonderland, but the rest of the world as well. Which brings up another problem... Do I break down and buy a bag boat, like a Feathercraft? How do I chance on renting something sea-worthy?
I remember reading that delicious book by Paul Theroux, "The Happy Isles of Oceania' and thinking what a strange thing to do. That was before I discovered the pleasures of traveling by kayak, however, so now it seems like a perfectly natural thing to get busy doing.
There just may be a folder in my growing stable before too long. Armed with my new passport, fresh and flush from a juicy bank robbery, international travel looks like a future worth living!

Today's picture was on the lake this morning. A brief interlude between the rain storms we've been having lately.

Watching Wenley's Winsome Wenches

For some time now many of us have followed the trials of Sr Palacios as he has gained his kayaking skills and led us through his trials in the ever shifting fields of romantic endeavour. Lately he has set his paddling eye on the Isle of Skye on the west coast of Scotland, yet his recent efforts at attracting a suitable "ginger haired" companion have until now left him without. Well, finally, a valiant knight has offered up two attractive offerings, ginger haired from stem to stern, and they seem fond of the sea as well... Will he bite? Check his 'On Kayaks' site and see.

My own trials continue as well. I sit and wait upon my skin. My canvas skin, that is, with which to cover my now much lower volume qajaq. I'm growing impatient.

Much like the poor bears, sixteen of whom set their minds on feasting upon Nigel Foster and Kristin Nelson during their paddle through Ungava and Labrador. Meeting and speaking with Kristin is not to know her inner strength nor her way with bears, but to read their story in the recent SeaKayaker magasine is to learn she is very special indeed. I recommend this article. It will prepare you for the rest of their wonderful story when Nigel's book hits the bookstores someday soon.

Paddle dragging news...

So... I'm not anywhere on the list! Now what? The link to the list is on Justine's site and is all about keeping track of expeditions indicating who went where, when, first and how. Looking through her listings, circumnavigating Antarctica is nearly the only challenge left for us hardcore paddlers. Are we at an impasse, now forced to think up new ways to paddle old routes? Will we be seeing 'Oldest Guy Around Cuba' or first to paddle around 'Borneo Backwards' on the list soon?
What's it really all about anyways, this business of long distance paddling? Why do people go?
Some will say, 'Because it's there'. For many people that's the challenge. After paddling around Manitoulin Island when I was 60, I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to have my story published. I wanted to be on a list someplace so everyone would stare at my name in awe. Then, I discovered another paddler, who having done the same trip, simply looked ahead to his next expedition. He felt very differently about his accomplishment. It was not a glory trip, but a thing of quiet inner joy for him. That realization hit me then and stays with me now.
It's actually why I had paddled around Manitoulin Island in the first place. It wasn't for glory. It was so that I could feel something inside. Not getting published and not presenting a slideshow at a major Outdoor Show has not changed the joy I still feel about what I was able to do as a 60 year old. Perhaps that's what going on long paddling expeditions is really all about for me. It's about making connections in my life between the things I dream about and the things I can do. It's about connecting the dots, living the mystery, nurturing my insides. It isn't the publicity or the job offers, although those don't hurt if they come. It's just not why I leave the shore in the first place.
So I won't be doing something crazy just to get my name on Justine's expedition list. It isn't my goal at all. Paddling my dream is much more important. I'll focus on that, the rest will come. Perhap's even a slot on Justine's list!

We were all mad back then...

It's over. Summer can now officially start anytime in northern Vermont. The assembled kayakers have rolled in competition once again at the Burlington Boathouse. The highlights for me were Michael S's walrus pull and seeing a number of young people out there learning and enjoying.
However, the big disappointment was the flat refusal of the triple decker tour boat to even attempt a basic balance brace. I mean, even I can do that if pushed as hard as they were. Isn't that so, Cheri? Remember, that time in your 'cheater' boat?

On Sunday 20 paddlers headed out for lunch on the far side of Lake Champlain. It was sunny, with a light wind, lots of good humour and best of all - at least for coffee freaks - was Turner's amazing expresso beach cafe! Who would have thought that what Wendy Killoran wrote about in Sardinia would show up on a beach in northern Vermont! Turner added to the ambiance by appearing in his black monk's habit and surrounded himself with people equally dressed in black. Only Freya was noticeable absent...

Opening Day!

The fisherman are back on the water! Thank whoever it was on a Friday. Tomorrow I suspect one will be able to walk across any of the lakes around here by stepping from boat to boat all the way across! Today was slightly less crowded, but I could tell immediately something was different.
I usually change in a boathouse facing the water. I don't even bother shutting the door, I just strip down and suit up. Not today! I hadn't even loosened my belt before two boats puttered by. When I carried my kayak to the beach a passing fisherperson (they're all 'persons' these days, as you probably already know), suggested there wasn't any room on the lake for kayaks. "You might get arrested..." he claimed. "We'll see about that!" I thought.
But every bay and cove had the sounds of motor boats and popping beer cans. Fisherpeople have so much more fun than kayakers. You can really tell when they're working hard at their pleasure. One guy I know said he had been out since sun up and wasn't going home 'til sun down. Now that's fishing tough, fishing hard, as he put it.
For me, it was a nice sunny day with little wind. I paddled for a couple of hours, poking into favourite haunts and crannies. I got hung up on fishing lines a couple of times, but nothing serious. I made it home in one piece and changed back into my street clothes without getting a public nudity citation or even a cat call.

Renata's Voyage

Both Frogma's blog and Paddling.net have been carrying items recently about Renata's Chlumski's incredible voyage around the mainland US states. Truely this woman is on yet another amazing adventure. A few years ago she met her late friend Goran Kropp in Kathmandu, after he had peddled his bike from Sweden to Mt Everest. She worked as his base camp crew as he summited after which they then returned home across Russia on their bicycles.
I suppose she has a support team helping in this present endeavour to enable her to carry on month after month on her present odyssey. It seems most big expeditions these days require support teams of some sort or another. Insurance companies demand it, families insist on it and even governments require some guarantee they won't be called in for a rescue operation.
Does this take away from the accomplishment? In a way it does. There is nothing quite like knowing you are paddling off the edge of the world into adventure and will only return months later with found treasures surprising the world with what you've done. Those days are gone, perhaps sadly for would-be future explorers. Still these voyages stir the hearts of many and no one can take away the feeling of accomplishment for the finisher.
I suspect that Renata will be biking as she passes through my area, but I hope to get out to cheer her on. It will be a cheer for all those out there pushing their limits discovering who they really are and what life is all about.

April is the cruelest month...

I suppose you have to live life completely outdoors and know nothing of the 'inside' life to really appreciate why we need a month like April. The weather changes on an hourly basis, now sunny, now rainy, now snow, now heat. How does one dress for that? You either freeze because you didn't put enough on, or you boil under your layers. There're no winners here, or are there?

Why not stay inside and play guitar? There's so much here to learn. There are technical skills to practice for the right hand, others for the left, there's music both written and not to learn, there's the joy of playing a well known piece one more time, the mindless improvisation of just letting the tune wander as it wants around the fretboard... In short, another little universe to explore while the climate slowly makes it's shift from winter to summer. So I'll not paddle today. I'll 'toca la guitarra' instead and dream of my summer paddling plans.

Where's the put-in?

Ya, right! Have you ever had a problem with the put-in? I have...

I once wandered around a small Ontario town for a whole morning wondering where my paddling partner was. Certainly not at the same put-in I was at. The town was so small I think I knew the whole place before we finally met up. Another time I traveled for two and a half days and never got to see the put-in at all! Now that was the worst of all.

Last winter in Marco Island I wound up going down a series of deadend streets with marble tiled driveways looking for a put-in. It was like a I'd gone to some kind of rich heaven with no put-ins anywhere. Now what kind of a heaven could that be? I beat a retreat before some rich sweet widow enticed me through the door...

We all know the best put-ins are the ones we can find, down little gravel roads with free parking spots. Down at the beach, the waters stretch before us out in the distance and even if it's raining, who cares. We unload, pack our gear and launch the boats, and with a smile towards our friends, we leave the shore forever - or as Pooh said, "Even longer".

I'm working on just that! I hope you are too.

Trapped?

The ice is bearly out of the lake, mine is the only boat I've yet seen on the water, but it's the weekend. Anything can happen on the weekend. When I put in, the lake was crystal calm, but exiting the bay there was a good chop driven by a south wind. That means about a seven mile fetch, so I was expecting some fun. I purposefully headed down wind so I would be bashing the stuff on the way home. By then I could expect some 2 footers perhaps.
It wasn't to be. Instead I played 'trapped', sneaking around and dodging a suspicious looking boat with those metal lattice things up over the wind-screen. The only people around here rich enough for that stuff are the 'zebra muscle' cops. I was having a great time until I heard their boat out there somewhere. I just knew some weekender would have their boat out. At first I figured it might be a fisherperson. Then I saw the lattice. Cops! Great they'd wonder where my 'zebra muscle' stamp was, and would generally harass me because I'd failed to buy one so they could spend the summer chasing small boaters (the only ones they can catch) and generally wasting my tax money. We all know this scam well enough by now!
They were about a mile away coming down the opposite shore. I looked for possible cover. Not much, but up ahead was a point I could slip behind. I pushed the paddle down hard and in no time skidded into an edged turn around the point. By then I could hear the cops had crossed over to my side of the lake and weren't far behind. I worked fast. I hit the beach, threw my paddle into the deck cords and yanked the boat out of the water. A short run up the beach, around some trees, across a little meadow and I was back in the water again. A shallow creek with good high banks would permit me to paddle unseen back to the lake where I would come out behind the cops. It was a perfect dodge!
I could hear the motor boat turn in towards shore as it passed the point. Now the fun would begin. I had totally disappeared! I let my kayak slowly drift through the trees along the creek as it headed to the lake. I had fooled them! They had stopped, no doubt pondering whether I was worth a chase on foot. No doubt they knew they'd catch me. After all, I was carrying a kayak on my back! It should be an easy kill.
I waited, hearing nothing, then cautiously paddled towards the lake. What! Several trees had fallen across the creek and blocked my route. I was trapped. The cops wouldn't have far to go to see where I'd gone. I sculled over to the bank and peered through the trees. There they were... fishing! Not cops at all, but early fisherpersons with a rich person's boat. Well, I'll be.
Last summer I had bought a small folding hand saw thinking I would use it for a paddle down the Lower North Shore. I never made that trip, but the saw was just the tool for slicing my way out of that creek. Good thing I'm not too well trained at cleaning out my boat's hatches...

Maintaining Good Order...

Years ago when Quebec Inuit would hunt with their kayaks, they had a system of taking care of each other when traveling from one place to another. The basic rule was: the guy behind you is your responsibility. Thus when paddling, you always kept in touch with the paddler directly behind you. If he needed assistance, you were the one who provided it. In this way hunters learned the value of staying close by, within helping distance, and could send messages quickly up and down the line. The result was the group stayed together. Of course, in the melee of the hunt itself, the system could get a bit confusing...
This same system was used in more recent times when travelling by ski-doo during the winter and that's where I learned it. Once, traveling at night on the way home from a fishing camp my sled hitch broke stranding me in the middle of nowhere with few supplies. I was at the back end of the line and thought I would end up passing the night in a snow house - if I succeeded in building one, which was hit and miss. Most attempts had been wonky at best up until then. I knew nothing of the 'system', but was astounded at how quickly everyone ahead of me circled back to give assistance and help me get home safe and sound.

While out paddling today in a brisk north wind, which on my lake is not its normal direction, I got thinking about all those qajait - those boats built in northern Canada. Where are they? Why can't we see them? How many still exist? The Canadian Canoe Museum in Peterborough, Ontario has several examples, as well as some Greenland varieties. Given that Canadian Inuit have produced a wide variety of boats, it is a pity so few can be seen in our museums. All the examples seen in this picture are from either Quebec or Labrador and look somewhat similar. Yet other styles existed from the west, from the barren grounds and from Baffin Island. In each place the boats under went modifications due to the hunting realities that faced the builders. Yet they seldom see the light of day.

I was the only boat on the water all day, in spite of the warm, sunny weather. I spoke to a lady out raking her beach, two others were passing the time with their sketch books (did I get drawn?). A single, brave, middle aged lady was tucked into a corner sun-bathing in a bikini! I found that wonderful. She made me think that museums need to get out their middle aged kayaks and show them to us, wrinkles, sags, white skin and all. We don't care. We just want to know they were built and that they still exist for us to admire. What they look like isn't important!

Ying and Yang, Part 2

"There's a song in every silence,
There's a dawn in every darkness,
From the past will come the future.
In the cold and snow of winter,
There's a spring that waits to be." (lines from hymn 703)

Our friends buried their son today. It was hard, very, very hard. Probably the hardest thing a parent is ever compelled to do. I tried to close my ears to the questioning mourners. I wanted only to move past the moment. I wanted to work on finding comfort and peace for them and myself. I wanted so much to be in next week. Some place, far far away. Suicide has a way of forcing questions. No one really wants to know the answers. Yet we question anyway. Why can't we just be glad we knew him, that our paths crossed however briefly? That he gave us joy.

At the reception afterwards I saw a once familiar face. She turned and our eyes met, narrowed slightly. Who is that? Yes? Maybe, I don't know. We began the usual, "Do I know you?" and yes we did. "What are you doing these days?" "Kayaking!" Really, me too. I just finished building a wood strip Guillemot!" "No way!" "You should try making one. I'll give you all the station forms, even the book. It's such fun making a kayak..." "But I've made two, Greenland SOF boats..." "Really?"...

I thought I was reaching an end of something in recent weeks. Maybe I'm not. There was talk of resurrection during the service. I'm not a religious person at all, but maybe I need to look more closely at the spring that waits to be!