Through the Lens

In an earlier entry this year I mentioned a friend of mine and how we spent many afternoons with our cameras in tow.   In a sense photography has always been a big part of my life and I consider myself somewhat of a hobbyist when it comes to taking pictures. It began when I was in junior high school. I started documenting my life and everything around it with a Kodak Instamatic camera (those of you old enough must remember the drop-in cartridge films and the one-use flash bulbs) and used that all through high school. My interpretation of the world became a sightline through a viewfinder. With my best friend, who also had the same kind of camera, we would go for long walks after school and on weekends framing in our “nature shots” and dreaming about being professional photographers one day. 


In grade 12 my boyfriend at the time generously gave me a fully manual Yashica 35mm camera. It was my constant companion and I can’t count the number of rolls of film I blew off trying to get “just the right shot”. Of course in those days I didn’t have the luxury of instant gratification like we do in today’s digital age, and had to wait sometimes a couple weeks for the film I sent off to be developed only to find out that it had all been overexposed or blurry. By then the opportunity for the shot was long past.  

Regardless, I was soon able to predict with accuracy what would be a good picture. One year I enlarged 12 of my best shots and hand-made a calendar for my father for Christmas. He was speechless – something rare in my father – as he flipped through it . I became the go-to photographer in the family.

Later, shortly out of University and working for a small town newspaper I was able to learn darkroom techniques and would spend my spare time on weekends in the “cave” experimenting with black and white photography. Back in the city after a couple years I  would“borrow” my boyfriend’s pass-code and used the university dark-room whenever I could,( always purchasing my own supplies) but loving the equipment they had available, enlargers and filters and things that could manipulate my images into something as close to an art form as I had ever produced. (Today my old camera gathers dust. The Yashica still sits in its case on a shelf in the house and I can’t remember the last time I purchased a roll of film - do they even still sell film in rolls?). 

But unstoppable time continued to march and in came the age of digital. I reluctantly gave in and purchased a digital camera. A part of me had always envied those with digital cameras –being able to see immediately if the picture was any good, if everyone had their eyes open and was smiling, if the sun wasn’t casting odd shadows on someone’s face…delete and take another! easy-peasy – but an even bigger part of me missed the old days. Sure it was nice to be able to filter your pictures right after taking them or to take hundreds of pictures while on vacation and choose which ones to delete at a later date, but the mystique had disappeared.

I moved on and merged with the masses, recently acquiring an iPhone. I think it is a better camera than most of the ones I used in the past. I have also joined the“cool kids” and opened an Instagram account (lmcase37). One morning a week and a half ago I was on my regular walk to work when I noticed the sky was a brilliant shade or red/orange/pink. I stopped and framed up what I figured would be a nice shot of the sunrise and posted to Instagram. Later that morning I read that CBC had a Manitoba fall photo contest – all I had to do was hashtag my picture and follow them on Instagram. Heck, what could it hurt?

Turns out it didn’t hurt a bit. In fact I won that week’s contest. And it only took me 35 years.

Canoe Trip - Fall 2012 - Final Day

DAY FIVE – OCTOBER 3, 2012 – 4.5 miles

 

We woke up around 6:20 to the sound of the pines above us rustling in the wind and the water gently lapping on the beach. Clayton and I looked at each other and barely had to say anything as we knew what the other was thinking. Pack up now while it’s calm and get ourselves across the lake before the wind got any stronger. By 7:05 we were launching the canoe and chuckled at how quickly we were able to break camp and pack up the canoe. The waves were just starting to come in but the paddling was manageable. As we left the beach and found ourselves halfway to the point where we were heading I looked ahead at the moon just setting over the trees and the sun just rising behind us. The sky was a myriad of pinks and reds and oranges and the lake glowed in the morning chill.

We noticed another campsite and pulled in to check it out. By this point we were only around the bend from where the final portage was and we had time to kill. The worst was behind us. So we pulled in to explore.  Like the beach we had just come from this was obviously a well-used campsite but the location was completely different. Higher up on the granite shore there were a number of cleared areas for tents and another large communal area for campfires. In the summer this area would be great for swimming as there were flat rocks to sun on and jump off.

We pushed off knowing this was our last morning of the trip. The final bay on Buzzard was calm and quiet and mist was rising. We drifted through it eerily and it swirled and stirred as we slipped through pulling up to the portage point. The initial trip up the portage revealed that we had a very steep climb ahead of us. Clayton scoped it out as he was the one who would be carrying the canoe across. This would be our longest portage as it took us over 14 minutes to walk back, even without carrying gear.

As we loaded up the remainder of the gear, Clayton with the canoe and me with the paddles and food bags, we were silent. I walked behind him as he maneuvered the canoe up the steep slope, so steep in places that the bow was bumping into the rocks in front and he had to tilt it slightly to get the canoe up the hill. I prepared myself to grab the stern if needed. Turns out it wasn’t needed. I watched as Clayton deftly tackled the steep incline, placing one foot, pausing, then the next as he searched for footholds on the rocky hill. Throughout the climb he kept the canoe steady although I could see him beginning to work up a sweat by the time we reached the top. He adjusted the cushioning on the yoke and then we continued the rest of the portage.

From the beach we could see a point a couple hundred metres out. It looked sheltered from the wind and was bathed in sunlight. We decided to stop there and brew a pot of coffee, delaying the end of the trip as much as possible. We had just enough Sangsters for the last two cups. Sitting back, we enjoyed the sun’s warmth and reflected on the last few glorious days. It was a bittersweet a moment. As much as I looked forward to a hot shower and fresh fruit I was reluctant to leave the wilderness and all its beauty and simplicity of life.

Don’t get me wrong – it is not easy - setting up and breaking camp daily, cooking breakfast, washing up and packing the canoe, paddling, portaging, making supper, cutting firewood, packing and hanging the food bags before some quiet time around the fire with a flask of Drambuie. But there is a rhythm to the routine, one we hone each time we set off on an adventure. There is also comfort in routine and a satisfaction in instinctively knowing what needs to be done and doing it.

After we finished our coffee and washed and packed the dishes back up I called Mom to let her know what time we planned to arrive at our takeout point. Dad would meet us here with the car.

We took our time paddling back, savouring the beauty and soaking up the sights. We sighted two bald eagles circling above as we tucked into the lee side of the last big island. The only sound was the wind in the pines and the sound of our paddles, dripping and pulling in the water. As we rounded the island we could see the landing ahead as well as a couple of cabins in the bay. The parking lot was on the other side of the railway tracks so we got all the gear up and over to wait for my father. While preparing the coffee we also made up the last pasta salad we’d packed and while we waited for dad we had a bite to eat then pulled out our e-readers and leaned up against the canoe to wait for our ride. Dad was prompt and anxious to hear all about the trip as we drove back to the house. It was nice to have a cold beer and a hot sauna waiting for us when we arrived.

We’ve now had a couple months to contemplate and look back on the trip. Whenever I feel stressed I pause and remember how I felt that first night, sitting on the rocky point and staring at the full moon rising over the tall trees. I can transport myself back there. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to do these things with my husband. Trips like this solidify my love for the wilderness and spending time there with someone who loves it as much as I do.

I realized at the end of the trip that we took no pictures on the final day...:(((

 

 

Canoe Trip 2012 - Part lll & IV

DAY THREE  – OCTOBER 1, 2012 – 10 miles

 

We slept in a little later this morning and woke to the sun shining on the ridge across our little bay. It was slightly breezy and cool as we made breakfast. Camp was torn down and packed and we were on our way around 10:45. The portage from Teggau back down to Eagle was easier in that it was downhill. We had the canoe moved and packed up again in no time. Coming out from the creek the wind was from the north. We went straight across the bay to where it was sheltered and had an easy paddle up to the Buzzard/Winnage portage. We could see the falls spilling into the lake and an area that appeared to be well used beside the falls. Clayton went to check out the path and when he came back said that it didn’t appear to have been used much as there were a number of fallen trees. We concluded that this path must be an older one and that there must be another well-used path somewhere else. I went up along the bank and down the shore a bit until I came to a sandy and rocky beach. Not sure how we missed it but the portage was a great wide path leading up the hill and was quite obvious. Clayton brought the canoe over and we made our usual two trips over the steep portage.

At the top of the portage we took a quick break for some trail mix and took a look around the falls. There was a memorial at the mouth of the falls to a trapper who obviously was a regular on the lake.

Buzzard was choppy from the get go. We headed straight across the first small bay to reach a leeward area sheltered from the north wind. We spotted a small beach and pulled up to take a look – discovering moose and bear tracks. From there we made our way through a sheltered narrows until we rounded the next corner and found ourselves heading straight across a big section of lake, almost right into the wind. We headed to what the map showed as a big peninsula leading into a narrows dividing the lake into two main sections. We put our heads down and just paddled for close to an hour straight until we were in calmer waters. Our canoe held up well and we found it very stable, especially in the choppy waters.  It was strange to have one side of the shoreline burnt and barren and the other side lush and forested – the entire narrows was like that until we emerged into the northern and larger section of the lake. Waves were buffeting the shore so we stopped for bite to eat and spend a few sunny moments resting before our last big push.

As we rounded the point and headed north the waves were coming at us from the north-north west so we couldn’t head straight to the other side. We set our sights on a small island and paddled toward it until it could provide some leeward shelter and then we turned and made our way to a most amazing freshwater beach.  We arrived at the beach shortly after 4:00p.m. so we still had ample daylight to scope out a campsite and explore the beach. I kicked off my shoes and we walked barefoot in the sand from one end to the other. We found a flat site just up off the beach with a fire pit already set up.

Clayton started on supper and I set up the tent and bedrolls. We had a glass of wine and sat around the fire watching the moon come up over the trees. I gave mom and dad another call – reception here was not as good but our call was short and they were assured that we were safe on land once more.

We got up in the middle of the night to another bright shining moon – casting crisp as sunlight shadows on the sand beach. I truly felt like we were as close to heaven as possible.

DAY FOUR – OCTOBER 2, 2012 – 0 (paddling) miles

We woke up to the sound and sight of our tent being blown around by the wind. We made breakfast and the wind kicked up some more. Our entire tent leaned sideways in the wind – robust little Trango and a purchase that we have never once regretted.

We had decided the previous night that we would spend the day on Buzzard Beach. As it turned out, we wouldn’t have had a choice anyway. The winds were blowing from the south and the waves were crashing on our shore. Any attempt to try to launch the canoe would likely result in swamping or capsizing.

We spent the day exploring the beach and surrounding area. At one point in time the area had been used as a winter logging camp. We saw what looked like they may have been outlines for cabins a little ways in the bush. At the north-eastern end of the beach it looked like someone had set up a group use area with a huge fire pit area surrounded by four big logs for seats. There were a number of flat areas for tenting and they’d even put in “toilets” so you didn’t have to squat over a log.

 

 

We walked to the west end of the beach with our Kobos and a black bean salad we’d made up earlier in the day. There was a sunny spot out of the wind and we had a quiet little picnic before going back to the tent where we read for a little while, hoping for the wind to die down, even momentarily.

 

 

The wind continued on so we propped up the canoe so Clayton could set up the stove for supper without fear of it blowing out before cooking our meal. We finished the wine off and cleaned up. Clayton started a fire and the wood, which had burned only reluctantly the previous night, caught instantly in the wind crackling and popping. We were scared of sparks being carried off into the dry bush, so the fire was short lived. We passed around the Jagermeister as we let the fire die down.

As Clayton and I headed to bed we voiced concerns about the wind, which had not let up at all during the day and was still blowing when we zipped up the tent. If it kept up we would not be able to get off the beach the next day. We had enough food for at least a couple more days, but when I spoke with Mom again she said that there was some nasty weather coming our way. We didn’t want to be stranded out there in less than ideal conditions. We drifted off to sleep with the tent flapping and leaning with each gust.

I woke in the middle of the night to a deafening silence. The wind had died down completely and the lake was completely still. The moon provided enough light that we could have paddled across the lake with no aid. I felt some relief and hope that it would stay calm.