Canoe adventure!
Spent the weekend up north near avenray's old haunts. Out on the water, an adventure was had!Drove up Saturday morn, down a couple of bush roads, through a busy group of tree-planters, and down to Lake 1. Wooden canoe handles like a dream, much more agile than the aluminum ones I'm used to. Went down a crick to find a bridge had fallen down into it. A bit of hauling, some heavy lifting, and away we go again! This was not to be our only obstruction; it seemed to have been several years since someone had come down this route, and the river was full of trees and ex-trees above, below, and at the waterline. Those that were sufficiently above were not too big a deal; hack a couple branches out of the way and pass under. Those that were significantly underwater were not too big a deal; get up a bit of power and scoot over. It was the ones at the waterline that were worst; it often took quite a bit of sawing and chopping to get it cleared sufficiently to pass a canoe over.The target lake was beautiful. Dead quiet; we were alone but for a trio of terns based on a rock across from our point. The life underwater was a different story; at the rivermouth it was one-cast-one-pickerel. I captured a mighty one and devoured it just this eve. We dined well with our catch. I set my tent on the soft moss, and was so comfortable that no matress was required. I dropped my tent two feet short of the flat spot I had intended, but it turned out to be an S-curve that made my back feel wonderful! I may this evening experiment with a similar configuration on my own bed, such was my delight.The rains came sometime overnight, and were fairly heavy at breakfast-time. It turned out to make things easier; with no concern about getting my feet wet, I could stand on submerged logs and get us moving over snags with much ease. The swamps turned to enchanted moss-floored spruce forests, and finally to cedar. We ate lunch on an island scarcely the size of my living-room, and decided to waste no more time. We would use the motor.Our lead canoe, which had until now been doing the bulk of trail-breaking due to its resilient aluminum nature, was equipped with an as-yet unused 3.5HP motor, a privilege owing to the retirement of our guide. So we roared out and down the next river. When we came to the first rapids, they chose to shoot them, while I elected to walk ours through. The next ones were beyond our ability, and we did our only true portage, perhaps 150 feet along a woodland trail that once again showed just how little-used this route was. I became fascinated with the detritus on my hands; it was difficult to tell which flecks of dirt were actually insects. About half, it seemed, as I'd picked up hundreds of a variety of micro-leech in the rapids. Fascinating! But we were once again en-route, and once again under tow.The standard sternsman strokes and draws become second nature after a while, but under tow they take on entirely different meanings. One has to watch one's heading, one's alignment to the lead boat, and one's sideways motion in the river. More than once I misjudged the width of a turn and dragged us to the bush before I could correct. But it was exciting; instead of casually scanning the river ahead for snags every now and then, one had to keep constant vigilence and be ready to backpaddle a braking maneuver at a moment's notice. Once I took a heavy log to the chest, but otherwise it was remarkably injury-free. Twenty-four skin breaks to the hands and arms, but if there was only one to each log we cut, it was a small price.We passed the largest cow moose I've ever seen. With the light rain misting off her shoulders, she looked like a truck on stilts. Immense.But we came to the end, loaded up and were on our way. It felt strange to be standing on solid ground rather than submerged logs. To be in a warm shower was wonderful. Nonetheless; bruised, bleeding, and exhausted, I can't wait till the next time!