Tripping the Gaspe - Part 2

I had been advised by the Forrillon Park guides that I would be better off launching and paddling my kayak from the south side of the peninsula, but being one of the stubborn types who needs to see the evidence first hand, I drove around to see what they were talking about for myself.
There is a small marina basin on the north side a few kilometers from the peninsula, which looked ideal for launching. I drove over and indeed there was good parking, and a decent wood-lined concrete ramp extending into the sheltered artificial harbour. Once out on the sea however, I could see some possible problems. The open bay was exposed to the full blast of the Gulf winds, and one could easily end up having a long slog back to the shelter at the end of the day. The steep beaches along the way tended to be exposed to dumping waves and many rocky shoal areas extended just offshore making them tricky areas for landing in an emergency situation. On a calm day, the nine kilometer paddle out to the tip would be easy, but I was concerned that, with changing conditions, the chances of being trapped against the cliffs with no possible exits was too great, especially as I was going solo. Paddling with others tends to bolster one's confidence or at the least gives one the impression that they might be available for a possible rescue attempt!
The park maps suggested another launching possibility lay closer to the peninsula itself, so I checked it out next. As I arrived in the parking lot, I was gratified to see a number of other paddlers preparing themselves to head down to the beach. That meant getting into their wetsuits - none had dry suits - and so on and preparing their boats and gear for the carry to the beach.

I chatted briefly with them and headed down to the beach to look it over. A little trail led from the parking area into the trees and towards the beach. After a short walk and a dozen or so stairs I arrived at an overlook area with the beach still far below me! It turns out that this overlook was still about a 100 steps above the beach via a double set of the steepest stairs I've seen in a while. Obviously the other kayakers had decided this presented no obstacle to them as they already had one boat on the cobble beach below. They were moving them several people carrying at a time!

Down on the beach itself, the dumping waves and the steepness of the beach began to turn me off bothering to carry my boat down. I shuddered at the fun it was going to be getting back up those stairs especially with the wind that was already blowing! Somehow, I decided, there must be an easier way for an older guy my age to enjoy a paddle out to the point without begging for help getting my boat to and from the beach and without providing a cardiac festival for those innocent folks enjoying themselves on a tourist beach!

Instead of paddling I decided to hike to the cliff summit and survey my new domain. That walk proved to be a fun outing as the view from the top was spectacular. By the time I got to the top, the kayakers - in three doubles and a single - were making their way along the cliffs out to the tip. From the heights they looked small and fragile out on the waves! I began to wish I'd got their help carrying my boat down the stairs...
On my way back down the trail I began to notice small signs marked SIA/IAT. Suddenly it dawned on me! This trail was, in fact, the end point of the famous Appalachian Trail which begins far to the south in Georgia and recently became international by extending from Mount Katahdin across Maine, New Brunswick and ending here in Quebec at Cap Gaspé. Oddly enough, my sister lives at the other end of the trail!

Returning to the car, I drove around to the south coast, got a camp site and headed out to see what the launching prospects were. It turns out they were perfect! Close to the water, an easy carry, a sheltered bay, and a parking lot where changing wouldn't provoke a 'nude-man-caught-in-the-parking-area' type scandal as it seemed nearly deserted most of the time. My kind of put-in!
Tomorrow I'll write about my first trip out to the point and the interesting conditions I discovered out there!

Tripping the Gaspe - Part 1

I drove to the Gaspé along the shores of the St Lawrence river so this posting will be about that coast. There is a new series of maps out called 'La Route Blue' which, when finally complete, will become a 'water trail' outlining various features of the south shore of the St Lawrence river. At the moment it is complete from roughly Quebec City to Rimouski. Places to launch, land, rest and camp as well as ecologically sensitive areas are all marked both on the map as well as via signs on land. In theory, these maps should make a kayak trip interesting and fun. Unfortunately, for me at least, most this coast is low lying, girded in gooey mud flats and awash with boulder strune shelves of jagged rock just waiting to feast on my precious gelcoated kayak. While there are some really great paddling areas, like the islands off of Kamouraska where I saw beluga whales feeding last spring, most of the coast is a somewhat boring paddle at least from a scenery perspective. I had thought it would make a great paddling trip, but having now driven its length, I see problems.


The prospects begin to change north of Matane where the first picture (above) was taken. Gone are the endless mud flats and real beaches with some possible camping opportunities begin appearing. Things change quickly however, so that by the time one reaches Sainte Anne des Monts huge hills plunge directly into the river. The hills are so high and abrupt they are now well known hang-gliding sites and draw dare-devils from afar. The road either tucks inland to avoid the cliff faces or is built on fill alongside the cliffs themselves and protected by concrete walls. Towns appear only in the deeper bays and coves where tiny bits of flat land affords room for a few houses, a huge church and a place to drink. These villages are the only place a kayaker can land because of the cliffs or the concrete walls supporting the road bed. I can't imagine a worse lee shore in a storm! You'd need to carry a grappling hook on your rear deck within easy reach... The propects were scarey indeed.
This picture of cliffs and tiny towns carries on right to the outskirts of Parc Forillon where the cliffs end up pointing out almost needle-like into the Gulf of St Lawrence (see below).

Depending on the wind direction, the best choice is to camp on the south side of the park. The north side seen in the picture is almost always windier and the put-in choices both have issues I didn't care for. I'll talk about them in detail in the Part 2 of this post.

Gannets Galore!

I had no idea that there were gannet colonies on Bonaventure Island which is a few kms offshore from the town of Perce Rock here in the Gaspe. This morning, at 8:30 under overcast skies I headed out from a small town about 9 kms south of Bonaventure and circled the island. I chose thisa town as Perce itself has no easy water access, there being high cement sea walls of cliffs everywhere. Once I was under the colonies of birds, I was astounded at the racket and the skies and cliffs full of gannets and mures and a couple of other species I don't know! I have never seen anything like it from the sea before. The seas being reasonably calm, I was able to go right in under the cliffs, just me and a number of seals to see the birds. Dropping started to become a serious issue!
As I rounded the island and began to see Perce Rock again, the wind started blowing, fortunately at my back. I decided not to paddle beneath the famous rock, but instead took advantage of the wind to surf back the way I had come.
After winding my way through the fisherman's floats for a about an hour and a half, I was back where my paddle had begun. It was 12:30, time for lunch! What a great morning's paddle. I estimate distance paddled there and back and around the island was around 30 kms. That's enough to warrant beer with lunch, for sure!

Perce Rock

After spending a few days paddling in the Park Forrillon area I I have moved my site of operations into the Perce Rock area this morning. This is the site of the famous ship-like rock which most people think of as Gaspe. In fact, the town of Gaspe is northwest of here about 60 kms. However...
I had some great paddling at Forrillon during the past few days. I tried twice to get around the cape, paddling out the 10 kms to try it, but the first day was far too rough for me! I actually got scared by the breaking waves and cross swell action that was going on out there. I am not rock-garden paddler, it would seem!
Yesterday after battling head winds all the way out to the point, I went around in total calm! Incredible. There were birds, seals (making a strange howling noise...) and even a whale out there to keep me company. I will post some pics when I get home.
If the weather cooperates tomorrow I will paddle out to the Rock and maybe even Bonaventure Island which is further offshore.

Gaspe Bound!

I`m finally on my way to the Gaspe area to do a little paddling. I stayed in Trois Pistoleslast night and am using the free internet service in Matane at the moment to post this note. Hope to be paddling tomorrow.

Wherechago? Whachado? Eh?

I went for my customary paddle this afternoon, down one side of the lake, under the two bridges - a tight fit with the water being so high - then return, under the bridges, this time against the current, up the far side and back to the put-in. Remember those people drinking on that low-lying restaurant porch on the river a few days ago? Unbelieveably, there were people there today, having drinks on that porch who had actually waded out to their tables! Mind you it was 34°C in the shade this afternoon, so I suppose a person would go anywhere, do anything for a drink!
I chatted with a teaching colleague of mine as well. She was sitting on a dock near her river home. She has been snubbing me for over a year now because she claims that I kissed her improperly... I had taken advantage somehow. It seems that I had overdone the Quebeçois tradition of kissing people we meet on both cheeks. I had no idea until today of where I'd gone astray with her, but we seemed to have straightened that misunderstanding out. Some days, it pays to paddle!
Next I came upon this old boat. It's been lying in the bushes for about a year now. I wonder why no one has what it takes to get rid of it? Why isn't it a cool, hard to find kayak? I'd gladly tow it home and fix it up. I guess old boats aren't that cool.


Out on the lake again to find the wind had really picked up. I got to slog my way upwind as the waves began building and cresting. Given the heat, it was a fun wet ride. I began to fantasize about being on an expedition again. Would I make it into a quiet cove at the day's end, or would it be an unceremonious dumping on some rocky beach like Chris Duff got in New Zealand, the one that smashed up his boat? Well, as you can see I made it home in one piece, the boat ready to paddle another day.

The Walrus's Gift

I'm finally ready to motor down the road to adventure. I've done with "speaking of many things," the walrus said, and want to get paddling some place wild and new like I've been promising myself these many weeks. So Monday is the big day. I'm on the road again (that could be a song title, don't you agree?).
Speaking of walrus takes me back to 1969 when Neil Armstong stepped onto the moon. As he did so, I was on an ice pan in northern Foxe Basin with a man named Qaminaq. We'd made a supply run into Igloolik a few days earlier and were now returning back to his hunting camp at Iglujjuaq about 70 miles away. It was a beautiful sunny day and as we traveled in his large 24 foot freighter canoe the number of ice pans began to grow in number all around us. Before long, we were weaving through the few open water leads between the ice pans, wondering if we'd make it back to camp that evening. Then around mid afternoon, we spotted some walrus hauling themselves out onto a large pan of ice ahead of us. Qaminaq shot one of the animals and we began cutting it up to take home with us as both his family and the dogs in camp were getting short of food. Suddenly he slit open the stomach and out onto the ice poured a pile of freshly shelled clams which the walrus had been eating only moments before. We didn't hesitate! Rinsing off the gastric juices in some fresh melt water on the ice pan, we feasted on the clams. They were excellent, and not a speck of broken shell to break our teeth on!
While finishing getting all the meat into the canoe, I looked up and noticed the moon in the sky and it hit me. I had learned the news while in Igloolik that Neil Armstong was due to step onto its surface that very day! Thinking back, it was a big day for both of us: his on the moon and mine being fed by a walrus. How marvelous life can be for those willing to live through adventure. Certainly for me, it's a day I'll always remember. I'm sure Neil feels the same.
Qaminak was less impressed. He's heard many stories about people visiting the moon from Inuit shamen over the years. That there was a man walking on the moon while we ate our clams was not really a day to remember! How naive and cloistered I felt in my ethnocentric ways!
We made it to camp about 24 hours later after spending part of the time sitting in dense fog, surrounded by ice only about 100 yards offshore of the camp. We could hear people talking and doing things, but because the fog was so thick, we had no clear idea where they were and no way to reach them! We could hear them complain to us of having little to eat and yet just a moment away in times of good weather, we had a ton of walrus all to ourselves. Life can be full of opposites sometimes.

Water!

If you've been following this blog recently, then you might recognize there is a missing dock in this picture! We've had so much rain that the lake has risen close to two feet above the previous picture I put up showing my boat on the dock. Now I can paddle right over it saving valuable time.
This hasn't been the only effect of the rain. I put off my trip to the Gaspé partly because our driveway washed out and required my road rebuilding skills. Unrelated, but still water oriented, our sink drain plugged up solid forcing me into a day and a half of plumbing. I was finally forced to actually cut out the blocked pipe and install new plastic pipe. Now that's what I call stuck! Lovely job, working in the drain business...

I took a chance of drowning and went out for a paddle this afternoon where I spent the time dodging rain showers. This final picture is my favourite boat house. I like it's closeness to the water, it's conveniently submerged dock and the pewter blue colour of the trim. I'm thinking of stealing it one night and dragging it to a certain 'Lot 23' on Manitoulin Island someday. It'll be perfect for my needs up there!

On second thought, with all this rain, I wonder if 'Lot 23' even exists anymore. Maybe I'd better go for a paddle up there and check...

My Cluster Map

I've been enjoying my little 'cluster map' down at the bottom of the right hand column. Not only does it tell me the number of folks looking in each day, but it gives a general idea where in the world they are located. I had expected to have readers from the United States and Europe, so those dots didn't give me any big surprises, although I thought southern Europe would have found more paddlers. The northern Norway hits were really also a surprise to see!
Then come the really fun ones. Probably the most far out reader seems to be from the Alice Springs area in Australia. What are they thinking? Are there kayak freaks surfing down Ayer's Rock or something? Some one checked in from Israel, another from Sri Lanka and then Singapore and Japan. So cool!
Next come three heartwarming dots, two in the Canadian arctic, one seems to be from around Churchill, the other from Nunavut or as I like to call it Nunasiavut (!). Could that be Mittimattaluk (Pond Inlet)? And the third is from west Greenland where my paddle design comes from.
Finally come the blank areas. Large parts of the Earth appear not to be reading my blog. Is it a question of language? Perhaps it is internet access. Whatever it is I find it a bit troubling, not so much that they aren't visiting my blog, but I wonder if they can or want to connect to other people in the same way my readers obviously have been doing. I'd like to think all of us will eventually have equal access to the cyber-world and can feel free to explore our world as those with access presently do. I have learned a great deal even in the short time this blog has appeared. I intend to learn much more in the future! Thanks for visiting me!

You got wheels, I got wheels...

A few years ago I blew out my right elbow while throwing hay bails into our hay loft. The elbow seemed fine to paddle with, but lugging my boat to and from the car and the water was a serious problem. I'd heard about canoe carts, but most of them were big and I didn't want to have to stow the thing on my deck. I spent a few minutes in the local hardware store's wheel section and realized I could make a single wheeled 'cart' which I could use to push my boat like a wheel-barrow.
As you can see in the picture, it's made of 4 basic pieces. First is the wheel assembly, which I screwed onto a piece of 2x4 scrap. I cut a 'V' shaped groove into the wood for the keel and added some plastic covered hooks. These help to keep the wheel unit from slipping off sideways when underway. Finally I used a piece of webbing with a clip attachment to hold the unit onto the kayak stern.

Here is the unit attached onto my Boreal kayak, ready to head off to the water. Under way, the kayak wants to tip sideways, so one is obliged to hold it upright. It will work pushing or pulling, however pushing seems to work better (much as it does with a wheel-barrow). To be honest, I have not used it much. It turned out using it didn't seem to help my elbow. I have also not used it with a fully loaded boat, which may be problematic. I don't know.

Having seen Rodem's wheel unit, makes me think the idea could be developed into something quite workable and it being small, it takes very little storage space and can easily be stored below deck.
Now I also have a roll-up plastic sled which I want to try. It slips under the hull and allows one to pull the boat across wet grass, sandy beaches, through shopping malls, airports, symposium parking lots... well you get the idea!

Rainy Reading Revelations

Yet another day in a long drippy wet string of days, darkly revealing low hanging clouds, the prisoners of the guardian trees in the surrounding hills. The lake looks up at the grayness above and weeps with rain circles. The wee folk of the forests stay hidden in their musky homes in the crook of knarled roots. The fish watch the growing circles above and slow their gill movements. They will wait.
No one will carve a keel-line in the lake's surface today. Not even me. Only sodden adventurers stir themselves and venture away from the hearth on a day like this. Unlike the fish, they are driven by other gods deep within their souls.
No. Instead, I will read about a woman who goes off to live in the desert with a band of Australian Aboriginals to learn their secrets and their wisdom. She will discover a Nature unknown to her. She will put her trust and faith in another culture's inner knowledge and seek what she can of their spiritual guidance. She will test her physical endurance and search for a personal transformation among one of the oldest cultures we know. Why?
Powerful stuff. Rainy day stuff for us non-adventurers in arm-chairs, reading with tears in our eyes, and impossible dreams in our hearts.

Telling Tales

It was -30°C with a crisp wind so I wasn't about to waste much time wandering around the little village. When I saw a number of people in the window of Tattie and Nuna's house, I headed for the door. Inside, people were piled up everywhere like they'd been thrown inside in a hurry. I carefully made my way in trying not to crush any fingers or toes on my way to a bit of empty space along a far wall. My glasses steamed up in the sudden heat. The only light in the place came from a bedroom where some of the kids were already asleep.

Old Tomassie Kudluk was telling a story. He was an elder, a qajaq builder, and one of the last of the great story tellers in Kangirsuk. He knew all the old stories, but tonight he was mesmorizing his audience with a hunting tale from his younger days. In spite of the packed house, the only sound was Tomassie's quiet voice working it's way through the story once again.
Tomassie was not a big man, standing perhaps 5 ft 5in at the most. The story he told was about a bear hunt he had been on years ago. The men he was with had located the winter den of a mother bear. Being smaller than the others as well as agile, Tomassie was elected to wiggle his way throught the snow tunnel and into the den of the sleeping bear where he would work his way behind her and then wake her up. The idea was that the suddenly awakened bear would panic and head towards the entrance where the other hunters lay in wait.
I guess the plan must have worked. After all, all those involved were still around to tell the story, but it made me think that somehow, the old days provided more opportunities for serious excitement than we can easily get today. I mean you can't even play with the bears in the zoos these days!

The next day I mentioned the story to some friends who'd been there listening as well. They were amazed that I'd been there too. It turns out they were so involved in the story, they'd never seen me enter the room or leave afterwards. Imagine being so connected to the story-teller that all else disappears. The people in that room had actually entered the story itself and had been transported to the time and place of the actual event. And we like to think time machines don't exist!
Tomassie's dead now, but one of his inland style qajaqs can be seen in the Canadian Museum of Civilization in Ottawa.
It made me realize it's a bit like you're paddling along then suddenly you 'wake up' to the fact that you've been paddling on automatic for a while, lost in your thoughts, in another world entirely. Perhaps that why many people find paddling so relaxing and comforting. Traveling by dog sled is much like that too. I remember sleeping on a sled for several hours not knowing we had arrived in the village! No one said anything. They let us sleep away the day!

All Day Paddle!

As my wife's car is laid up in the garage for repairs, my grand adventure is on hold for a few days. But all is not lost! I decided to follow the lead of the other adventurers out there and so got an early launch into a calm lake with the idea of paddling all day. Just like the real expedition people do!
Now I don't usually do this sort of thing, so I was prepared for some surprises, aches and pains. I have a fair amount of endurance, so the first few hours went well. No pains kicked in to wreck things, no cramps in my legs, nothing like that. The day was hot so I did suffer a bit from the sun and heat. I laid on the sun-screen, but wish I'd brought along my wide-brimed hat. I'll probably feel that sun right into the evening.

The turn-around point at noon I named Point Blister after a blister which formed in the early afternoon on my right index finger. That was a first for me. I never get blisters on my hands from my paddle, but there it was. I will bring along my leather palmed gloves on my next adventure. I was also getting low on water by mid-afternoon. I had thought a liter bottle would be enough, but the heat was unexpected. I have a bladder bottle system which holds 2 liters, so that will also come along next time.
As the afternoon went by, I ran into patchy winds which kept changing directions, but generally wind and waves never became a problem. I kept waiting for a muscle to start howling, but other than a slight twitch in my left wrist which came and went, I was in good shape as I drifted into the dock.

My all day paddle adventure was a great success, but my wife tells me her car won't be ready until tomorrow night. Does that mean I have to go out again? All day? What if it's windy or raining? I think I'll go anyway. I could really get into this stuff!
I have no idea how far I was able to paddle, but I figure at about 4 mph and a little over 8 eight hours, I might have done around 35 miles for the day. I wonder if that's good enough to get invited on a real expedition somewhere...

This one's for you...

Claire! This is the sudden first birth-ling from a plant we've had for many years in the house and several times nearly pitched into the compost as it tried us sorely with it's bug problems and other various ailments over time. Who would have guessed it would so miraculously produce such a delight! Alas, like all it's kind, the flower lasted only a day before it withered, but there's promise of siblings to come. Pity the most delightful things in life can be so fleeting. Why can't we make the good times last?

Today's paddle comes after yesterday's rain. When I put-in at the dock I noticed the water was higher than it had been. In fact looking at the photo I'd say the water was about 20 cms higher than it had been. On a lake this large, that represents a tremendous amount of newly added water.
I hadn't gone very far when I saw my first person on water skis this year. I also found I didn't need to wear my neoprene gloves. The water was noticeably warmer. Then it hit me. The newly added rain water being warmer and lighter was sitting on the heavier, colder water down below. With little wind, there had been almost no mixing of the lake and rain waters. Not only that, but it's possible that the lake had gone through it's years 'turn over', something which occurs each spring about this time.
What that means is that as the ice melts and the resulting water warms up to 4°C, it gets heavy and sinks to the lake bottom displacing the water at the bottom, forcing it to the surface, hence the lake 'turns over', top water to the bottom, bottom water to the top. As the lake water continues to warm up, the warmer water ends up floating on top of the denser 4°C water. During the summer warming period, the body of warm water grows larger and larger, and goes deeper and deeper. You can actually determine how big it is by swimming down and suddenly entering the cold layer on which the warm water is floating. This cold water layer begins at the surface in the spring and gradually descends to about 10 meters in our lake by mid-summer.
The warm water in the lake today was mostly the result of the recent rain, but the appearance of water-skiers and swimmers indicates that the lake may have turned over as well. Summer is on it's way!

Another inch and those drinkers on the right there will be swimmers! Good thing I'm in my trusty kayak!

It Doesn't Matter Anymore...

I took this picture yesterday as I was leaving the wharf for a paddle. I didn't realise until this morning that the spider was missing a leg. In fact his whole right side has obviously suffered some kind of damage. He was definitely hurting.
The paddle began in calm conditions, but a storm was coming. After about an hour, the wind began building and the ride was beginning to get wet. I slipped into my favourite little creek so I could make a phone call without drenching my unprotected phone with spray. By the time I got back on the lake, the rain had started in ernest, but I followed my usual route anyway. I was dressed for getting wet, so, why not continue?
For the first time, people were actually in the water swimming - and screaming! It was still cold enough for me to be wearing my waterproof gloves! A couple were making out under the over-hang of their boat house. Why not? It was 32°C, raining and blowing hard, and they thought there was no one on the water who could see them... I kept paddling. I began to fantasize I was on a major trip somewhere. I tackled the on-coming waves with real survival in mind. I was having fun! I was feeling good.
This morning the spider made me think of something profound. Nature is constantly at work repairing whatever damage life inflicts on our pysches and our bodies. If bad things happen, then so do good things. Even short distance 'adventure' kayaking on a small lake in a rain storm can be restorative.
Maybe that spider lives by the words in Paul Anka's song, "There ain't no use of crying... it don't matter anymore... All the days I've wasted, just don't matter anymore." Thank you spider! Thank you storm! Thank you cell-phone!

Oh Look! A Kayak, Yum, Yum!

A few years ago some kayakers left Salluit on the north coast of Quebec on a paddling trip to Kuujjuak at the head of Ungava Bay. It's a desolate coast yet an interesting one to travel along for many reasons . You begin with high hills which plunge into the chilly waters of Hudson Strait and gradually as you move eastward the land flattens out somewhat. Kangirsujjuak is a large fjord-like inlet and the first village you encountered after leaving Salluit. The high surrounding hills make it a very scenic paddling venue by itself.
At the turn into Ungava Bay, called Cape Hopes Advance, is the village of Quoartaq. From this point southward, it is not unusual to encounter walrus basking out on floating ice pans. You can also expect to see bears. In fact, the whole of Ungava Bay has a reputation for bear sightings and sometime bear chases!
Our kayakers had had a good trip getting as far as Cape Hopes Advance, but the ice and poor weather in Ungava Bay began to slow them down. By the time they arrived at the mouth of the Payne River, they were nearly out of food. For some reason - perhaps it was the rough tidal action at the river mouth that intimidated them - they chose to leave their boat and walk to the village of Kangirsuk a few miles up river. Here they were able to re-supply and head back to their waiting kayak. Today there is a rough road leading down to the coast, but back then it was a tough walk across very uneven, rocky ground and tundra ponds. By the time they arrived at their boat they were exhausted.
Coming around the shore towards their campsite, they could immediately tell something was wrong. Their double kayak had been broken into and badly smashed. Their gear was all over the place, much of it torn up and chewed. Their trip was over. Bears had made certain of that! They had little choice but to hike back to Kangirsuk and fly out.
What should they have done? It's hard to say, but I would have paddled up the river to Kangirsuk rather than leave my kayak - and sole means of travel - unattended in bear country. There is a slack water opportunity to get up the Payne River, not to mention several quieter sections near the shore where you can work the eddies. Failing that, they might have made an effort to put their boat up on a stone kayak rack. There is no shortage of stones in that area and an hour's work would have put the kayak up where a bear might not recognize it as a food source. Giving it a good wash before leaving it may also have made a difference. Still, bears will be bears, it is their country too and they do love to munch on kayaks now and then... Yum!

Signs of Life

You might not think this young lady was ready to go kayaking, but let's look closely. That little smile. Doesn't it say, "Let's go!" to you? And the casual pose. Surely she's up for an outing of some kind. Just look at those boots. They're ready for some serious work at the put-in, I'd say. But best of all, is the tarp. Look at the size of the thing. That says, "Let's do some serious kayaking-camping, dude. Let's talk about several weeks in the bush! Let's get it on down to the water..."
All to say, when I went paddling today, on my favourite little lake, I wasn't alone. For the first time since the fishermen appeared in April, there were other signs of life. Kayaking life, actually. I spoke with a young lady out in her brand new Dagger, an excited beginning kayaker. She was so thrilled to be out on the water. Then there was a older couple in some 'swamp darters' boats, little open cockpit jobs, which just love to sneak into every little creek to explore. They tried to avoid eye-contact, but I yelled, "Hello" anyway and waved, not easy with a paddle in your hands. Then a young guy paddling a canoe, you know, the way they sit just aft of center with the thing cranked right over so there's hardly any freeboard left at their hip-side. He glided around looking very sure of himself. Fortunately the motor boats weren't out churning up some wake for him. Might have caused some panicky moments.
I did my usual circuit, along one shore, under the two bridges, down the river to the dam and back (no, the naked lady wasn't sun-bathing today), back up the other shore and then the long open crossing back to my put-in. A quick, pleasing hour or so on the water in familiar surroundings. Just the cure for the nagging little thoughts which irk you for no reason.
Then I went home and wondered what to do about the hog-back keel line in my SOF which lies dormant in the garden shed. Not able to reach a decision, I went into the workshop and put the finishing touches on my new Greenland paddle, a spare for my trip coming up to the Gaspé abd beyond. I know you're not supposed to, but I think I'll put satin vanish on it. I love the feel of vanish in my hands. So sensual, somehow...

... there's more!

I had no sooner posted my item on the Search for the Grail in Newfoundland than new information came in which is truly startling! You might be wondering why are paddlers searching for the Grail in Newfoundland this particular year? Why not some other year? Well, as we all know, timing is of the essence! You see, this year, October 13 falls on a Friday! What's important about this date? Until the year 1308, there was nothing interesting or strange about the 13th falling on a Friday. Suddenly everything changed in 1308. It was the unlucky year of the Knights Templar. It was on that date the Catholic Church decided enough was enough, the knights must go, and go they did, to the stake! Every knight that could be found was killed and Friday the 13th became a thing of legends and myths. Guess what? This year, 2006, has October 13th falling on a Friday!
To make matters worse, who was the patron Saint of the Knights Templar? No! Not St John? Yes, and of course the capital city of Newfoundland is named for him.
Want more? Did you know there is a mysterious 'Veiled Madonna' in a church in St Johns? It was commissioned in Italy in the 1850's, but why was she veiled? Is it so we don't know who she really is? Could she be Mary Magdalene? If so, then another connection to the Grail can be made, as it is sometimes believed that it was she who secreted the Grail out of the Holy Land, brought it to France where the Basques may have brought it to Newfoundland for safe-keeping...
I wish I had Dan Brown's money. I'd be out paddling somewhere instead of coming up with this rubbish! But all in good time. I'll be out there soon enough and boring you all with another kind of nonsense.

Kayaking for the Da Vinci Code and the Grail!

Have you been been to see the movie yet? Neither have I. Probably won't need to with the real thing so close at hand...
You see the Holy Grail was secretly (naturally) taken from it's hiding place in Europe years ago and hidden in Nova Scotia ( that's 'New Scotland' - you get it?). Yes, I know - incredible, but there's more. Have you noticed that several more or less unknown kayakers have been making curious connections with Nova Scotia this summer? Have you noticed that they have suddenly - for no obvious reasons to most of us - set out on 'expeditions' which each begin with Nova Scotian links? Well I have. Surely this cannot be coincidental? Occult things like this never are. Every little nuance is important and part of the mystery. Just like The Last Supper painting, we need to take a closer look at the picture in front of us.
And, sure enough, there's more still. Two of the 'expeditions' have somehow discovered quite apart from each other, that the Grail has more recently been moved to a location somewhere along the coast of Newfoundland (again notice the 'New' in the name. What other reason could there be for calling it 'new', except to link it New Scotland! Clever, eh?) Which in turn explains why would anyone want to paddle such a desolate and barren coastlines when Florida, for example, remains still above sea level in the midst of Global Warming, is warm, has huge cuddly alligators and is always sunny? Surely we're looking at Quests for the Grail in these stories! These paddlers are, in fact, modern Knights!
One 'seeker', an academic accompanied by a Germanic Knight all dressed in Black, has already begun the search along the south coast, although without apparent success to date. The other pair of 'seekers', both young and keen eyed Knights, are keeping a very low profile, probably due to their having mono-syllabic names. Little is known about them or their steeds other than a brief trip report of their Prior search along the Cape Breton shores of Nova Scotia. Lastly, a sole female paddler-Knight - with links to the Holy Land - and with a very mysterious Name is searching for the Grail along Iceland's coastal shores. Perhaps she knows something the others don't, but I doubt it. The Grail is definitely in the New World, brought here and carefully hidden by the T-Knights of Olde. I refuse to believe it would have been returned eastward. To what possible purpose? The Holy Land connection is troubling though, I do admit.
The big question we're all now asking is will any of these people find the Grail? Will it change their lives if they do? Will we all be changed? Or will we continue to paddle as we always have, seeking our own Contentment and solving our own Mysteries as we always have? Only time will tell, but I think I know where my Grail lies. Of course, that's my Priory secret, isn't it! Good luck finding yours...
And thanks Monty Python for the neat castle pic!